Mr. Achilles Part 18

"n.o.body must hurt Mrs. Seabury!" said the child suddenly.

"I tell you that," said Achilles--he had half stopped on the road.

"n.o.body hurt that good lady--she, your friend."

"Yes, she is my friend. She was good to me.... _She_ had a little girl once--like me--and some bad men hurt her.... I don't think they stole her--" She pondered it a minute--"I don't seem to understand--" she gave a little swift sigh. "But Mrs. Seabury is going to take her a long, long way off--and keep her always."

Achilles nodded. "We help her do that," he said. "They don't hurt that good lady."

His eyes were on the stars, and he lifted his face a little, breathing in the freshness. A swift star shot across the sky, falling to earth, and he pointed with eager finger. The child looked up and caught the falling flash, and they ran a little, as if to follow the leaping of their hearts. Then they went more slowly, and Achilles's long finger traced the heavens for her--the Greek G.o.ds up there in their swinging orbits... the warm, August night of the world. Betty Harris had never known the stars like this. Safe from her window, she had seen them twinkle out. But here they swept about her--and the plain reached wide--and close, in the darkness, a hand held her safe and the long finger of Achilles touched the stars and drew them down for her... Orion there, marching with his mighty belt--and Mars red-gleaming. The long, white plume of the milky way, trailing soft glory on the sky--and the great bear to the north. The names filled her ears with a mighty din, Calliope, Venus, Ura.n.u.s, Mercury, Mars--and the s.h.i.+ning hosts of heaven pa.s.sed by. Far beyond them, mysterious other worlds gleamed and glimmered--without name. And the heart of the child reached to them--and travelled through the vast arches of s.p.a.ce, with her dusty little feet on the wide plain, and a hand holding hers, safe and warm down there in the darkness. Her eyes dropped from the stars and she trudged on.

When Achilles spoke again, he was telling her of Alcibiades and Yaxis and of the long days of waiting and the happiness their coming would bring--and of her father and mother, asleep at Idlewood--and the great house on the lake, ready always, night and day, for her coming--

"Do they know--?" she asked quickly, "that we are coming?"

"n.o.body knows," said Achilles, "except you and me."

She laughed out, under the stars, and stood still. "We shall surprise them!" she said.

"Yes--come!" They pressed on. Far ahead, foolish little stars had glimmered out--close to the ground--the fingers of the city, stretching toward the plain.

Her glance ran to them. "We're getting somewhere--?" she said swiftly.

"We're getting home!" Her hand squeezed his, swinging it a little.

"Not yet--" said Achilles, "not yet--but we shall take the car there.

You need not walk any more."

She was very quiet and he leaned toward her anxiously. "You are not tired?" he asked.

"No--Mr. Achilles--I don't think--I'm tired--" She held the words slowly. "I just thought we'd go on forever, walking like this--" She looked up and swept her small hand toward the stars. "I thought it was a dream--" she said softly--"Like the other dreams!" He felt a little, quick throb run through her, and he bent again and his fingers touched her cheek.

"I am not crying, Mr. Achilles," she said firmly, "I only just--"

There was a little, choking sound and her face had buried itself in his sleeve.

And Achilles bent to her with tender gesture. Then he lifted his head and listened. There was another sound, on the plain, mingling with the sobs that swept across the child's frame.

He touched her quietly. "Someone is coming," he said.

She lifted her face, holding her breath with quick lip.

The sound creaked to them, and m.u.f.fled itself, and spread across the plain, and came again in irregular rhythm that grew to the slow beat of hoofs coming upon the road.

Achilles listened back to the sound and waited a minute. Then he covered the child, as before, with his coat and turned back, walking along the road to meet the sound. It creaked toward him and loomed through the light of the stars--a great market wagon loaded with produce--the driver leaning forward on the seat with loose rein, half asleep. Suddenly he lifted his head and tightened rein, peering forward through the dark at the figure down there in the road. Achilles held his way.

"h.e.l.lo!" said the man sharply.

Achilles paused and looked up--one hand resting lightly on his hip, turned a little back--the other thrust in his breast.

The man's eyes scanned him through the dimness. "Where you bound for?"

he asked curtly.

"I walk," said Achilles.

"Want a job?" asked the man.

"You got job for me?" asked Achilles. His voice had all the guileless caution of the foreigner astray in a free land. The man moved along on the seat. "Jump up," he said.

Achilles looked back and forth along the road. "I think I go long," he said slowly.

The man gave an impatient sound in his throat and clicked to the horses.

The heavy wagon creaked into motion, and caught its rhythm and rumbled on.

Achilles's ears followed it with deepest caution. The creaking ma.s.s of sound had pa.s.sed the flat-spread coat without stop, and gathered itself away into a slow rumble, and pa.s.sed on in the blurring dark.

Beyond it, the little, low lights still twinkled and the suburb waited with its trailing cars.

But when he lifted the coat she had fallen asleep, her face resting on her arm, and he bent to it tenderly, and listened.

x.x.xV

AND CLANGING CARS

He looked up into the darkness and waited. He would let her sleep a minute... there was little danger now. The city waited, over there, with its low lights; and the friendly night shut them in. Before the morning dawned he should bring her home--safe home.... A kind of simple pride held him, and his heart leaped a little to the stars and sang with them--as he squatted in the low gra.s.s, keeping guard.

Presently he leaned and touched her.

She started with a s.h.i.+ver and sprang up, rubbing her eyes and crying out, "I--had--a--dream--" she said softly--"a beautiful dream!" Then her eyes caught the stars and blinked to them--through dusty sleep--and she turned to him with swift cry, "You're here!" she said. "It's _not_ a dream! It's _you_!"

And Achilles laughed out. "We're going home," he said, "when you're rested a little."

"But I'm rested _now_!" she cried. "Come!" She sprang to her feet, and they journeyed again--through the night. About them, the plain breathed deep sleeping power--and the long road stretched from the west to the east and brought them home.

Each step, the city lights grew larger, and sparkled more, and spread apart farther, and a low rumble came creeping on the plain--jarring with swift jolts--the clang of cars and lifting life... and, in the distance, a line of light ran fire swiftly on the air, and darted, red and green, and trailed again in fire... and Achilles's finger pointed to it. "That fire will take us home," he said.

The child's eye followed the flas.h.i.+ng cars--and she smiled out. The first light of the city's rim touched her face.

"Just a little farther!" said Achilles.

"But I am not tired!" said the child, and she ran a little, beside him, on the stone pavement, her small shoes clumping happily.

Achilles lifted a swift hand to a waiting car. The car clanged its gone--impatient. A big conductor reached down his hand to the child.

The bell clanged again and they were off--"Clang-clang, clear the track!

Betty Harris is going home--This is the people's carriage--Going home!

Going home! Clear the track--clang-clang!" Through the blinking city streets they rode. Safe among the friendly houses, and the shops and the stores, and the people sleeping behind their blinds--all the people who had loved the child--and scanned the paper for her, every day--and asked, "Is Betty Harris found?"... Going home! Going home!... They would waken in the morning and read the news and shout across the way--"She's been found--yes--a Greek! He brought her home! Thank G.o.d. She's found!"