The Spinners Part 54

"Don't hate him. He's not worth hating."

"I will hate him, I tell you. But for him I'd be the great man in Bridetown when he dies. Mister Baggs told me that."

"You mustn't give heed to what people say. You've got mother to look after you."

The boy was tired and spoke no more. He padded silently along beside her and presently she heard him laugh to himself. His thoughts had wandered back to the joy of the old store.

And she was thinking of what had happened. She, too, even as Raymond, had imagined what speech would fall out between them after the long years and wondered concerning the form it would take. She had imagined no such conversation as this. Half of her regretted it; but the other half was glad. He had gone on, but it was well that he should know she had stood still. Could there be any more terrible news for him than to hear that she had stood still--to feel that he had turned a living woman into a pillar of stone?

CHAPTER VIII

EPITAPH

It cannot be determined by what train of reasoning Abel proceeded from one unfortunate experience to create another, or why the grief incidental on a loss should now have nerved him to an evil project long hidden in his thoughts. But so it was; he suffered a sorrow and, under the influence of it, found himself strong enough to attempt a crime.

There was no sort of connection between the two, for nothing could bear less upon his evil project than the death of Mr. Churchouse's old cat; yet thus it fell out and the spirit of Abel reacted to his own tears.

He came home one day from school to learn how the sick cat prospered and was told to go into the study. His mother knew the child to be much wrapped up in Peter Grim, and dreading to break the news, begged Mr.

Churchouse to do so.

"Your old playfellow has left us, daddy," said Ernest. "I am glad to say he died peacefully while you were at school. I think he only had a very little bit of his ninth and last life left, for he was fifteen years old and had suffered some harsh shocks."

"Dead?" asked Abel with a quivering mouth.

"And I think that we ought to give him a nice grave and put up a little stone to his memory."

Thus he tried to distract the boy from his loss.

"We will go at once," he said, "and choose a beautiful spot in the garden for his grave. You can take one of those pears and eat it while we search."

But Abel shook his head.

"Couldn't eat and him lying dead," he answered. He was crying.

They went through the French window from the study.

"Do you know any particular place that he liked?"

Slowly the child's sorrow lessened in the pa.s.sing interest of finding the grave.

"You must dig it, please, when you come back from afternoon school."

Abel suggested spots not practical in the other's opinion.

"A more secluded site would be better," he declared. "He was very fond of shade. In fact, rather a shady customer himself in his young days.

But not a word against the dead. His old age was dignified and blameless. You don't remember the time when he used to steal chickens, do you?"

"He never did anything wrong that I know of," said Abel. "And he always came and padded on my bed of a morning, like as if he was riding a bicycle--and--and--"

He wept again.

"If I thought anybody had poisoned him, I'd poison them," he said.

"Think no such thing. He simply died because he couldn't go on living.

You shall have another cat, and it shall be your own."

"I don't want another cat. I hate all other cats but him."

They found a spot in a side walk, where lily of the valley grew, and later in the day Abel dug a grave.

Estelle happened to visit Mr. Churchouse and he explained the tragedy.

"If you attend the funeral, the boy might tolerate you," he said. "Once break down his suspicion and get to his wayward heart, good would come of it He is feeling this very much and in a melting mood."

"I'll stop, if he won't be vexed."

Mr. Churchouse went into the garden and praised Abel's energies.

"A beautiful grave; and it is right and proper that Peter Grim should lie here, because he often hunted here."

"He caught the mice that live in holes at the bottom of the wall," said Abel.

"If you are ready, we will now bury him. Mother must come to the funeral, and Estelle must come, because she was very, very fond of poor Peter and she would think it most unkind of us if we buried him while she was not there. She will bring some flowers for the grave, and you must get some flowers, too, Abel. We must, in fact, each put a flower on him."

The boy frowned at mention of Estelle, but forgot her in considering the further problem.

"He liked the mint bed. I'll put mint on him," he said.

"An excellent thought. And I shall pluck one of the big magnolias myself."

Returning, Ernest informed Estelle that she must be at the funeral and she went home for a bunch of blossoms to grace the tomb. She picked hot-house flowers, hoping to propitiate Abel. There woke a great hope in her to win him. But she failed.

He glowered at her when she appeared walking beside his mother, while before them marched Mr. Churchouse carrying the departed. When the funeral was ended and Abel left alone, he sat down by the grave, cried, worked himself into a very mournful mood and finally exhibited anger.

Why he was angry he did not know, or against whom his temper grew; but his great loss woke resentment. When he felt miserable, somebody was always blamed by him for making him feel so. No immediate cause for quarrel with anything smaller than fate challenged his unsettled mind; then his eyes fixed upon Estelle's flowers, and since Estelle was always linked in his thoughts with his father, and his father represented an enemy, he began to hate the flowers and wish them away. He heard his mother calling him, but hid from her and when she was silent, came back to the grave again.

Meantime Estelle and Ernest drank tea and spoke of Abel.

"When grief has relaxed the emotions, we may often get in a kindly word and give an enemy something to think about afterwards," he said. "But the boy was obdurate. He is the victim of confused thinking--precocious to a degree in some directions, but very childish in others. At times he alarms me. Poor boy. You must try again to win him. The general sentiment is that the young should be patient with the old; but for my part I think it is quite as difficult sometimes for the old to be patient with the young."

He turned to his desk.

"When I found my dear cat was not, I composed an epitaph for him, Estelle. I design to have it scratched on a stone and set above his sleeping place."

"Do let me hear it," she said, and Ernest, fired with the joy of composition, read his memorial verse.