wade rolled a vest into a tight wad and tucked it into a corner of the till. then he glanced around the sitting-room, saw nothing else to pack, and softly dropped the lid. that done he sat down on it and relighted his pipe.
it was two days since eve and the doctor had talked under the cedars, one day since wade had received her note. he had not seen her since. she hadn't asked him not to, but wade had stereotyped ideas as to the proper conduct of a rejected suitor, and he intended to live up to them. of course he would call in the morning and say good bye.
he felt no resentment against eve, although her note would have supplied sufficient excuse. he didn't quite know what he did feel. he had striven the evening before to diagnose his condition, with the result that he had decided that his heart was not broken, although there was a peculiar dull aching sensation there that he fancied was destined to grow worse before it got better. so far, what seemed to trouble him most was leaving the cottage and eden village. he had grown very fond of both. already they seemed far more like home to him than craig's camp or any place he had known. there had been nothing in that brief, unsatisfactory note intimating that he was expected to leave eden village, but he was quite sure that his departure would be the best thing for all concerned. the doctor, to whom he had confided his plan, had thought differently, and had begged him to wait and see if things didn't change. the doctor was a mighty good sort, but—well, he hadn't read eve's note!
he wasn't leaving eden village for good and all. there was comfort in that thought. some day, probably next summer, he would come back. by that time he would have gotten over it in all probability. until such time mr. zenas prout and zephania, in fact the whole prout family, there to take care of the cottage. zephania was to sweep it once a month from top to bottom. wade smiled. he hadn't suggested such care as that, but zephania had insisted. zephania, he reflected with a feeling of gratitude, had been rather cut up about his departure.
of course it was nobody's fault but his own. he had deliberately fallen in love, scorning consequences. now he was staring at the consequences and didn't like their looks. thank heaven, he was a worker, and there was plenty of work to do. whitehead and the others out there would be surprised to see him coming into camp again so soon. well, that was nothing. perhaps, too, it was just as well he was going back early. there was the new shaft-house to get up, and the sooner that was ready the sooner they could work the new lead. he raised his head, conscious of a disturbing factor, and then arose and closed the door into the hall. closing the door muffled the strains that floated down from upstairs, where zephania, oppressed, but defiant of sorrow, was singing:
"'my days are gliding swiftly by,
and i, a pilgrim stranger,
would not detain them as they fly!
those hours of toil and danger.'"
after awhile, his pipe having gone out again from neglect, he strapped and locked the trunk, glanced at his watch and took up his hat. he passed out through the immaculate kitchen, odorous of soapsuds and sunlight, and down through the orchard, which zenas third with his saw and shears had converted from a neglected and scrubby riot into a spruce and orderly parade. unconsciously his feet led him over the same course he had taken on that first walk of his, which ended in an unintentional and disconcerting visit to the cedars. as before, he followed the brook, much less a brook now than then by reason of the summer drought, and speculated as to the presence of fish therein. he had intended all along to stroll down here some day and try for sunfish, but he had never done it. well, that was one of several dreamed-of things which had not come to pass.
the meadow grass had grown tall and heavy, and was touched with gold and russet where the afternoon sunlight slanted across it. the birds flew up at his approach and scattered in darts and circles. to-day when he reached the fence he didn't turn aside toward the road, but climbed over and found an open space on the side of the little hill under the trees, and threw himself down there to smoke his pipe and stare back across the meadow. it was very still in the woods, with only the sleepy chirp of a bird or rustling of a squirrel to be heard, but from somewhere in the hot glare of the afternoon came the rasping of the first locust.
zephania served supper that evening with chastened mien, and for once she neglected to sing.
"you do think you'll come back, don't you, mr. herrick?" she asked.
"why, yes, zephania, i expect to. do you want me to?"
"oh, yes, sir! we all want you to. father says if there was more gentlemen like you here, eden village would perk right up. and zenas says you and he haven't done nearly all the fishing you were going to."
"no, i suppose not. tell him we'll try again next summer. i'm leaving my tackle here, tell him, so as i will be sure to come back."
"yes, sir." zephania hesitated, half-way to the door. finally, "it's been awful nice for me, mr. herrick," she said. "i've had just the best summer i ever did have."
"why, you've had a lot of hard work," said wade. "is that what you call nice?"
"yes, sir, but it ain't been very hard. i like to work. it seems as though the harder i work the happier i am, mr. herrick."
"really? well, now, i reckon that's the way with me, zephania, come to think about it. i suppose keeping busy at something you like doing comes just as near to spelling happiness as anything can, eh?"
"yes sir."
"by the way, zephania, do you wear a hat?"
"why, yes, sir, of course!"
"oh! well, i didn't know; i never saw you with one on. how would you like me to send you a hatpin, then, with a nice little gold nugget for a head?"
"i'd love it! but—but what is a nugget, mr. herrick?"
"oh, a little—a little lump."
"do you mean real gold?" asked zephania, awedly.
"yes, real gold, virgin gold, just as it comes out of the ground, you know."
"wouldn't it be worth a good deal, though?" asked zephania, doubtfully.
"oh, a few dollars; ten or fifteen. why?"
"i'd almost be afraid of losing it, mr. herrick. would you please see that it wasn't a very big nug—nug—"
"nugget'? all right," he laughed. "i'll see that it's only about as big as your thumbnail."
"thank you, sir; i'd think a great deal of it. will you have some more tea?"
"no, no more tea, zephania. no more anything. you may take the things out."
later in the evening came doctor crimmins, very regretful and full of arguments in favor of postponing action. when twilight passed they went out onto the porch with their pipes and glasses. they talked as friends talk on the eve of parting, often of trivial things, with long pauses between. the moon came up over the tree tops, round and full, and flooded the garden with silver.
"'the moon, serene in glory, mounts the sky,'" murmured the doctor. "'the wandering moon'—how does it go? i'm thinking of some lines of milton's. let me see; ah!"
"'the wandering moon,
riding near her highest noon,
like one that has been led astray
through the heaven's wide pathless way.'"
later, when the lights of the village had disappeared one by one under the tranquil elms, the doctor returned to the attack.
"take another week to think it over, herrick," he urged. "who knows what may happen in a week, eh? women's minds have been known to change before this, my friend."
"hers won't," answered wade, convincedly. "her note left little doubt as to that."
"but don't you think you ought to see her again?"
"yes, i shall call in the morning to say good-by."
"h'm, yes," muttered the other, doubtfully. "i know what such a call is like. you go into the parlor and miss eve and miss mullett come in together, and you all talk a lot of pasty foolishness for five minutes and then you shake hands and leave. that doesn't help any. see her alone if only for a minute, herrick; give yourselves a chance; bless my soul, lad, don't you realize that you can't risk spoiling two lives for the want of a moment's determination? if it's pride, put it in your pocket!"
"i'd do anything," replied wade, with a little laugh, "if i thought it could do any good. the fact is, doctor, i'm pretty certain that the other fellow is too strong for me."
"the other fellow! i don't believe there is or has been another fellow! i'd bet my bottom dollar that you two young folks care for each other. you've gone and made a mess of things between you, and damned if i don't think it's my duty to meddle!"
"please don't," said wade. "it's good of you to want to help, but—what's the use of talking about it? miss walton knows her own mind—"
"she didn't a couple of days ago," said the doctor, gruffly. "she asked my advice about you. i told her to take you if she wanted you, and she said she didn't know whether she did or didn't."
"she seems to have found out since then," said wade, dryly.
"it must have been sudden, then. look here, was there any quarrel? any misunderstanding?"
"none. i haven't spoken to her since saturday night."
"well, it beats me," said the doctor, leaning over to knock the ashes from his pipe. "i'm plumb certain she cares for you, and just as certain that you're making a mistake by running away." he stood up and scowled fiercely at the moon. "well, i must be off. i'll see you to-morrow. you're not going until afternoon, you said?"
"i leave here about two," said wade. "i shall spend to-morrow night in boston and take a morning train west."
"well, you know my opinion," the doctor growled. "sleep on it; think it over again. good night."
after the doctor had gone wade sat for a while longer on the porch. he didn't feel the least bit sleepy, and the doctor had shaken his determination in spite of himself. supposing, after all—then he shook his head and sighed. there was the note. he fumbled in his pocket and found it and looked at it in the moonlight. there was no use in imagining things when that sheet of paper stared him in the face. he strove to reread the message, but the light was too faint. he folded it again, started to drop it back in his pocket, hesitated, and then tore it savagely into tiny bits and tossed it over the side of the porch. it was as though he had destroyed a malign influence, for, even as the little white fragments went floating down into the shadow, a new hope crept into his heart, and he went upstairs, arguing this way and that in a sudden fever of mental energy. in the bedroom there was no need to light his lamp, and he started to undress in the broad path of moonlight that flooded the little chamber. but after he had thrown his coat aside he forgot to go on with the process, and after many minutes he found himself leaning on the sill of the open window staring at the moon.
"bed?" he muttered, in a strange excitement. "why should i go to bed? i'm not sleepy. i'm moon-struck, probably. i'm full of crazy thoughts and fancies. i don't want to sleep, i want to walk—and think. i want to be out of doors."
he found his way down the stairs, unmindful of the fact that he had left his coat behind, and stepped out into the warm fragrant night. the road was a dark cavern, splotched with silver. he turned away from it, seeking the open spaces of the garden, his shadow stalking beside him, purple-black in the moonlight. the air scarcely moved.
the world was hushed and heavy with sleep. once, as he passed under the drooping branches of a tree, a bird stirred in its nest with a sleepy cheep. he made his way around the house at the back, absentmindedly feeling for his coat pocket and his pipe. he had left it upstairs, but no matter. why should one want to defile such a night as this with tobacco-smoke, anyway? he stopped once under a pear-tree and wondered why his pulse raced so.
"what's the matter with me?" he murmured. "am i going to be sick? or am i just plain locoed by that moon? well!"
he sighed, laughed softly at himself, and went on. he was in the shade now, but beyond him was a moonlit space where stood the little arched gateway in the hedge. he went toward it, his footsteps making scant sound on the soft turf; reached it; passed—but no, he didn't pass through just then. instead he stopped suddenly, drew in his breath and stared wonderingly into the startled face confronting him.
该作者的其它作品
《the brother of a hero》
