it certainly would seem a very unceremonious proceeding to escort a little party across the great, wide sea, and then follow the fortunes of some of the group, to the utter exclusion of others; so if you please we will just take a look right away at the snug little english cottage to which chris hartley hurried the same april morning that he reluctantly took leave of marie-celeste at the steamer. the cottage itself is just such a dear little place as you find nowhere else save in england. it is straw-thatched, and thatch and walls alike are mellow with the same soft grav of time and weather. the cottage stands close to the river thames, on the outskirts of the town of nuneham. in front is an even hawthorn hedge, that reaches round to the back as well, and encloses a quaint little kitchen garden. beyond the hedge lies a pasture meadow, where a flock of sheep are grazing, and encircling the meadow another hedge, less closely clipped, and so making bold to riot here and there in a snowy wealth of hawthorn blossom, a fine alderney cow, with coat as well cared for as the gray mare’s in the stable, is also enjoying the sweet grass of the meadow, and the shining milk, pans ranged beneath the kitchen window bear witness to the generous service she renders. within the little cottage all is as prim and dainty and neat as without, for the sweet-faced old housewife gives as close heed to the household as the “gudeman” of the house to the flock and the cow and the hedgerows. and this was the home to which chris had come—to the grandparents who had cared for his orphaned boyhood, and whom he never would have left but for the more certain prospect of well-paid work across the water. and now five years have gone by, and having grown strong and manly, meantime, through his contact with the world, chris is back on his first home visit, and you may be sure he has not come empty-handed. for the grandfather there is a new wallet with twenty five-pound notes laid between its leather-scented covers, and for the grandmother a labor-saving gift that will never cease to be a marvel—a wonder-working churn that turns bess’s milk to butter in just twelve seconds over a minute. and best of all, chris himself is just the same thoughtful fellow he left them, and at once settles down to a general supervision of the farm, that leaves the old man free to smoke his brier-wood pipe and read the news from morning till night, if he cares to.
“you are spoiling us, chris,” old mrs. hartley would say every time chris chanced to be within hearing distance, when she brought the golden butter to the surface from the depths of the uncanny churn; and chris as invariably remarking, “there is no fear of that, granny dear,” would look as pleased and surprised as though she had not known she could count upon every word of his answer. and now, you see, you have an idea of the quiet, eventless life chris led on this home visit until one evening in the latter part of june, when something happened. the lane that ran past the meadow and up to the hartley cottage branched out from the road that led directly to nuneham from oxford, and in fine weather there was much driving out that way, so that toward evening chris would sometimes take a seat on a low gate-post that marked the entrance to the lane and watch the people as they passed. there were always more or less college men among them, driving in stylish drags behind spirited horses or in shabby livery turn-outs, according to their station in life, or rather the condition of their pocket-books. and so it chanced that chris noticed on this particular june evening—as, in fact, no one could help noticing—a very merry party who rolled by in a dog-cart. they were far too merry, in fact, and so noisy that teams in front of them were glad to make way for them, and those they met most desirous to give them a wide berth. it was evident, however, that the young fellow who held the reins knew perfectly well what he was about, and how to handle his horses, so that no danger was actually to be feared in that direction. but what was true at five o’clock in the afternoon was not true a few hours later, and any one who had seen the same party turn their faces toward home, after a rollicking supper and no end of good cheer at holly-tree inn, would have prophesied disaster before they reached it. wondering if they would make their return trip in safety, chris himself happened to favor them with his last waking thought, ere he fell asleep in his little room under the eaves—a cosey little room that still was bright even at ten o’clock with the glow of the long english twilight. it was this last conscious thought, no doubt, that made him quick to waken two hours later, when a low, penetrating “helloa there!” broke the stillness. springing to the window, he was able to discern two or three men supporting some heavy burden and standing in front of the cottage.
“be as still as possible, please,” he said in a loud whisper, mindful of the old people; “i will be down in a moment,” and instantly recalling the party he had seen drive past to nuneham, there seemed no need to ask who they were or what had happened.
but expeditious as chris had been, mrs. hartley, in gray wrapper and frilled night-cap, was at the door before him.
“some mishap on the road, chris,” she said, her hand trembling on the bolt.
“yes, sure, granny; but you’d best let me open the door.”
“we’ve had an ugly accident,” said one of the men, as the light from within fell upon them; and then as chris held the door wide open they pressed into the little sitting-room with their gruesome burden.
“put him here,” chris directed, clearing the way toward a low box-lounge. “he may be badly hurt,” he added, but speaking roughly, as though even his pity could scarce conceal his disgust that men should ever allow themselves to get into such a sorry plight.
“we couldn’t tell out there in the dark,” answered the only one in the party who seemed to have his wits about him. the other two had at once made their way to the nearest chairs, and with steps so unsteady that chris wondered how they had been able to lend any aid whatsoever.
“was he unconscious when you got to him?” he asked, unfastening the clothing at the injured man’s throat.
“yes; he hasn’t seemed to know anything from the first. it looks almost as though he might be dying, doesn’t it?” and the young fellow stood gazing helplessly down at his friend, the very picture of despair.
“no; i don’t think it’s as bad as that. you’ve been run away with, of course,” for the whole party were covered with mud and dirt from head to foot, and there was evidence of two or three ugly cuts and bruises among them.
“yes,” said the other; “it was a clean upset, and ted here was driving, so that the reins got tangled about him, and he was dragged full a hundred yards or so. if the horses hadn’t succeeded in breaking away from the trap the moment that it went over, i should have been killed surely, for it fell on top of me in some way, and as it was, i could scarcely get from under it;” and the young fellow’s blanched face grew a shade whiter as he realized how narrow had been his escape. meanwhile, with a little maid to hold the light, mrs. hartley searched through a tiny corner cupboard for a flask that had been carefully stowed away behind some larger bottles, and then poured a generous share of its contents into a glass held in readiness in the little maid’s other hand.
“you give it to him, chris,” she said, not daring to trust her shaking hands; and raising the poor fellow’s head, chris pressed the glass to his lips. as he swallowed the brandy his eyes opened for a moment, but there was no sign of returning consciousness.
“now, the next thing,” said chris, “is to get a doctor, and i’ll have to drive into nuneham for him. do you suppose one of your friends there can help me harness?” but one of the friends was already asleep, and the attitude of the other showed that no assistance was to be looked for in that direction.
“what’s to be done with them, mother?” asked old mr. hartley, who, enveloped in an old-fashioned, large-patterned dressing-gown, had arrived rather tardily upon the scene, and had stood for several seconds glaring down at the two disgraceful specimens.
“martha is making the guest-room ready,” replied mrs. hartley, showing she was not too old to think ahead in an emergency, and yet drawing a deep sigh with the next breath at the thought of that best spare-room being put to so ignoble a service. chris had himself been thinking it was rather a serious question to know how to dispose of them, and was glad to have mrs. hartley herself suggest the way.
“thank goodness you’ve got your senses left,” said chris, turning to the young fellow, who really seemed anxious to render every possible service; “and if we get them into the room there you can put them to bed, can’t you? while i go for the doctor;” and in a voice scarcely audible from mortification the young fellow replied that he thought he could; so after some difficulty in making them understand the move impending, the two men were successfully landed in the best spare-room.
“you’ll need this,” said chris, pushing a clothes-brush and a whisk-broom on to a chair, “and you’ll find plenty of water on the stand yonder;” then he came out and closed the door, to the infinite and audible relief of the serving-maid martha. indeed but for the all too serious side of the whole affair, it would have been amusing to watch that little maid. so great was her horror, either by education or intuition, of the state of inebriety, that the moment she surmised that at least two of these midnight visitors were bordering on the same, she could conceive of no means strong enough to express her disapproval. every time she had come anywhere near them she had gathered her skirts about her as though in fear of actual contamination, and with her pretty head high in the air, as she moved away, would look askance over her shoulder as though not at all sure even then of being at a safe distance. indeed, chris himself could not quite suppress a smile as he saw the relief expressed in every line of martha’s face at the click of the closing door.
“how did it happen, mother?” asked mr. hartley, after a long interval in which no word had been spoken.
“i have not heard yet, peter; but i don’t believe we had better talk. he seems to be growing uneasy. oh, i do wish chris would come!”
0084
“now, don’t you get flustered, mother—don’t get flustered,” bending over the freshly lighted fire and spreading his hands to its blaze.
meanwhile, mrs. hartley had taken her station at the side of the senseless fellow on the couch and, her old face tense with anxiety, was rubbing the ice-cold hands.
“and now the doctor, chris, as quick as ever you can,” she said gravely; and chris, realizing the need for haste, was out of the house before she had finished the sentence, and the gray mare made better time that night into nuneham than for many a year before.
“you’ve done splendid, so far. ‘tain’t likely a strong-looking fellow like that’s going to go under easy.”
“there’s no tellin’, peter—there’s no tellin’; strength don’t count for much if one’s head is hurt past mending.”
just then the door of the spare-room opened, and the young man, closing it gently after him, was just in time to hear the last words.
“oh, you don’t think it’s so bad as that?” he said in an almost agonized whisper, as he came to the side of the couch.
“there’s no tellin’,” repeated mrs. hartley very seriously; and then as she looked up and saw, now that dust and grime and the stains from two or three slight cuts were removed, that the face above was a good face, after all, her heart went out in sympathy, and she added gently, “but we’ll hope for the best, dear—we’ll hope for the best. chris must come with the doctor very soon now whereupon, for some reason or other, the poor fellow broke down utterly, and sinking into the nearest chair, buried his face in his hands.
“the heart knoweth its own bitterness,” said mr. hartley solemnly, turning over the back-log of the fire and shaking his head gravely from side to side.
“i doubt if that’s what the young man’s needing just now, father,” remarked mrs. hartley dryly; and although evidently resenting the implied reproof, mr. hartley wisely determined to keep his own counsel; and for many minutes thereafter the heavy breathing of the men asleep in the next room and the crackling of the wood upon the andirons were the only sounds that broke the silence. now and then martha came in with a cloth freshly wet with cold water from the well—for mrs. hartley suspected some form of injury to the brain—and then slipped as noiselessly out again. at last the sound of wheels in the lane without, and then for the first time the young man raised his face from his hands and hurried to meet the doctor. as they came in together he was apparently explaining just how the accident had happened, and the doctor’s face looked grave with apprehension.
“what is your friend’s name?” he asked as he reached the lounge.
“theodore—-morris,” after a second’s hesitation. convinced that he had not given an honest answer, the doctor looked keenly into his face a moment; “and yours?” he added.
“allyn, sir,” returning his glance as keenly, and then not another word was spoken, while the doctor carefully looked his patient over. close beside him stood mrs. hartley, trying to read his conclusions in advance, and martha stood just beyond, eager to render the slightest service, while chris, with steady hand, held the light now high, now low, according to the signal from the doctor.
“it is a case, doubtless, of concussion of the brain,” he said at last; “just how serious i cannot at once determine, but, first thing, mrs. hartley, we must get this poor fellow to bed.”
“it will have to be in my little spare-bedroom, then, doctor; my best room is already appropriated. bring clean linen from the chest quickly, martha;” and hurrying into the little room, mistress and maid soon had everything in readiness for the unexpected guest.
tenderly and carefully they lifted and then carried the unconscious man, and as they laid him gently down in the cool bed he drew a long, deep breath, as though in some vague way appreciative of a grateful change. then one thing and another was done at the doctor’s bidding, until at last there was need of nothing further, and old mrs. hartley, first sending the little maid to her room above stairs, crept off to bed, more utterly worn out and exhausted than for many a weary day. chris threw himself on the living-room lounge, and was soon fast asleep, and the doctor, sitting near the bed, and where he could closely watch his patient, motioned young allyn to draw a chair close to his side.
“now, my friend,” he said, “i want you to tell me the real name of your friend here, for i am convinced you have not done so, and then i want you to give me a true account of this whole deplorable affair. it will not disturb him in the least if you keep your voice carefully lowered.”
young allyn did not answer for several seconds. he sat leaning way forward in the chair he had drawn to the doctor’s side, his elbows on his knees and his chin resting on his tightly clasped hands. he was evidently thinking hard, and it was easy to read the play of intense emotion on his face.
“dr. arnold,” he said finally, as though he had slowly thought his way out to a decision, “my friend’s name is theodore harris, but it is the first time he has ever been mixed up in anything of this sort, and should he get over it, i wanted to spare him the mortification of its being known if i could. do you think he is so much hurt that his family—that his brother—ought to be sent for?”
“we can’t tell about that to-night. the opiate i have given him will account for this heavy sleep. everything will depend upon how he comes out of it in the morning.”
“and if it does prove not as serious as you feared”—trying to steady a voice that trembled in spite of him—“what then?”
“two or three weeks of careful nursing.”
“will they let us stay here, do you think?”
“they’ll have to for a while. it would be out of the question to move him.”
“oh, but it’s a crying shame, this whole business!” and young allyn, leaning back in his chair, looked the picture of anger and chagrin.
“you seem like a self-respecting fellow,” said the doctor, scrutinizing him closely; “perhaps it is your first time, too.”
“yes, it does happen to be but, as though there was little or no credit in that, there is some excuse for ted—he is younger than i and easily led; but for me there is none whatever.”
“you ought to know,” said the doctor dryly. “and your friends in the room yonder, are they at all responsible for this first time of yours and young harris’s? come, mr. allyn, don’t wait for me to question you. if you are as anxious as you claim to hush this affair up, you must make a clean breast of things with me. i can, of course, be of service to you in the matter.”
“really, dr. arnold, there is not much to tell beyond what you already know. we belong up at oxford, of course, and harris here has plenty of money and plenty of friends—not always the best, i am sorry to say. the two men in the other room there are known around town as jolly good fellows; neither of them are college men, but they have dogged harris’s footsteps ever since they came to know him, a year or so ago, and have done all in their power to drag him down. to-night they have come pretty near making an end of both of us. i’ve warned harris against them time and again, but when they planned this afternoon to drive up to nuneham in harris’s trap for a champagne supper, i took to the scheme, and i hadn’t the moral courage to decline myself or to persuade ted to do so.”
“how do you and harris happen to be in oxford anyway, now that the term is over?” queried the doctor.
“we thought we were having too good a time to go home.”
“and you have found out your mistake?”
“yes, sir;” and the pain and mortification on young allyn’s face assured the doctor that the lesson of the hour was being well taken to heart.
“where does harris live, mr. allyn?”
“we both live at windsor, sir; harris has a younger brother, but no father or mother; and if ted only gets over this, he need never know anything about it. we were going to start on a long driving trip to-morrow; so we’re not expected up at windsor, and ted’s the kind of fellow, dr. arnold, that if he found out that people knew about a scrape like this, i believe he’d grow perfectly reckless, and there wouldn’t be any such thing as saving him;” and there was such suppressed earnestness in the young fellow’s voice that no one could have doubted his sincerity for a moment.
“but the accident to-night, just how did that happen?”
“i think—yes, i’m sure—ted had taken a little too much; but we would have gotten home all right but for”—nodding in the direction of mrs. hartley’s best room. “there was no doing anything with them, and finally one of them tried to get the reins from ted, and then the horses, that need to be carefully handled at best, broke into a clean run. where they are now, land knows!”
“mr. allyn,” said dr. arnold, after several minutes of suspense, “if mr. harris’s condition proves not to be serious i will do what i can to shield you both.”
“oh, don’t bother about me,” as though he honestly felt he was not worth it.
“yes, i will bother about you, for since you told me you live at windsor, i begin to suspect you are canon allyn’s son.”
“the more’s the pity, dr. arnold.”
“the more’s the reason for my doing all in my power to give both of you another chance but we won’t talk any more. now wrap yourself in that comforter chris has laid in the chair for you, and try and get a little sleep.”
all this while poor wayward ted, whose name you must have guessed almost from the first, was lying wholly oblivious to everything about him, muttering now and then a few delirious, incoherent words, and yet by degrees subsiding into a gentle, regular breathing that the professional ear was quick to detect, and that was full of good omen for the waking in the morning.
