Sunlight Patch Part 6

"Chivalry? Why, bless my soul, sir," the old gentleman exclaimed, "chivalry, sir, chivalry is what we all have, sir!" He wiped his brow and stood in the path, planting himself firmly with a glare that defied contradiction.

"Chivalry, Dale," Bob said, not daring to laugh, "is the skeleton, or framework, on which gentlemen are built."

"Bones?" he asked, with a perplexed pucker between his eyes.

"Not bones, exactly," Bob smiled now. "And yet it is a sort of backbone, too, when you come to think of it."

"Bob, your ignorance is colossal, sir," the Colonel sternly looked at him. "Chivalry, Dale, is what we all have, and what prompted you to tackle that ruffian yesterday. The definition is quite simple, and of course you follow me. As I was saying, sir, we prefer to thank you now in behalf of Miss Jane, since any further reference to the matter will be unnecessary. You appreciate this?"

"What's appreciate?" he asked.

The old gentleman told him and, while his face still held a troubled look, he nodded as though understanding--not only the word, but the delicacy imposed on him.

"I don't want n.o.body ter thank me," he said. "I didn't do nothin' fer _her_!"

He said this quietly, so simply, that its peculiarity did not at once seem apparent, and before they had time to wonder at it, Dale, who now was leading, turned in the path and glared at them. His eyes were as stern as those of a wrathful G.o.d, and his lips as resolute as Thor.

"Do ye reckon I'd hev let that d.a.m.ned hound scare the teacher away, when I've jest now got hyar fer the big larnin'? If I hadn't stepped in, he'd a-tuck her ter his cabin; 'n' if I hadn't burned 'im out, he'd be likely ter stay 'round; 'n' as long as he'd be likely ter stay 'round, she'd be likely ter stay away from school. Then how'd I git my larnin'?" He gritted his teeth, and suddenly yelled at them: "I won't take no chances! I'll git the larnin', I tell ye! 'N' if one, or a hund'ed, tries ter come 'tween me 'n' hit--" He did not finish, but stood swaying from side to side with an overwhelming intensity of feeling.

Bob's inclination was to smile; not at what he said so much as at the grotesque figure he made while saying it. The long hair that had been flying back from his forehead as a lion might have tossed its s.h.a.ggy mane, the homespun trousers tucked into wrinkled boots which were planted well apart as foundations for the swaying body, the antiquated rifle on which he leaned, all seemed to be the very ant.i.thesis of mental advancement.

The Colonel, on the other hand, had not been impressed by the clothes; or, at any rate, he had been more impressed by something which robbed them of their oddity. His observing eyes were fixed with growing interest on the purposeful face still thrust forward, and for a moment they were startled by something uncanny, something back of a normal human enthusiasm. It was only for a moment, only for a fleeting glimpse through the dilating pupils which shot defiance out at him; but in that moment he would have sworn that he had seen enthusiasm gone mad.

And yet, so brief had been the glimpse, that his conscious feeling was but of charm, inspired by the primal strength of this wild and unconquerable thing before him. The restive swaying of the body brought to the old gentleman's mind an incident he once had seen at a circus, when an elephant, fretted by its ankle chain, rocked from foot to foot in sullen disquiet. He pictured an ankle chain on this well made youth before him now, the ankle chain of ignorance, and a wave of pity made him resolve to be the means of breaking it.

"If that is what you want, Dale," he gently said, "you shall have it, all that you can store away." And he smiled at the flush of pleasure which followed his words. "I'll talk to you about it this afternoon," he added. "Let us now hurry; we must reach the horses."

CHAPTER VII

DALE DAWSON'S PHILOSOPHY

Pa.s.sing out to the road, the Colonel being somewhat in advance, Bob laid his hand on Dale's shoulder.

"There are lots of things to be learned out of schools, as well as in,"

he said, falling into step, "and some of them I can teach you better than Miss Jane. You mustn't hesitate to ask me, nor be put out--offended, I mean--if I volunteer things for your own good.

Understand?"

"Hit seems thar hain't nuthin' but goodness down hyar," the mountaineer murmured.

"How about that cabin behind us?" the young planter laughed.

"Shucks, he hain't yo' kind," Dale said in a tone of deep disgust. "He belongs moh ter my people, I reckon, than ter yourn."

"Why shouldn't your people and my people be the same?" Bob asked. "We're the same stock, and live in the same State, and speak the same language."

"Three chestnuts come outen the same burr," Dale slowly answered, "but ye hain't never seed all three alike yit! 'N' they're the same stock, too, 'n' live in the same house, 'n' borned of the same tree! Hit don't foller what ye say is right!"

"But they're chestnuts, all the same," Bob laughed, pleased with the simile.

"'N' I never said they warn't," the other replied. "'N' yeou're a man, 'n' I'm a man, 'n' we're white men, too, 'n' borned in Kaintuck; but thar hain't only one thing as kin make us alike. That's the one thing Natur' hain't provided fer--education! Accordin' ter my way of thinkin', education draws the line 'tween a man 'n' a dawg; 'tween a woman 'n' a sow. A man kin git hit, but a dawg can't; 'n' if a man don't, then he's even wuss'n a dawg. I've done a lot of thinkin' 'bout hit," he added in a reverential, wistful voice, "since Ruth come back ter Sunlight Patch."

"You seem to take things pretty seriously, Dale." Bob gave his shoulder a slap. "Don't draw your lines too fine with Nature. It's apt to make you ride over the hounds; it's risky."

"How do ye mean risky?" he quickly asked.

"Lots of ways," Bob laughed, trying to think even of one. "In Nature, for instance, water flows down hill, but man must continually go up hill if he expects to be any account--even though he's mostly all made of water, at that! There's one way for you." And Bob felt proud of this, and glad the Colonel was listening. And the Colonel, still stalking on before them, nodded his head in approval.

"'Doth Nature itself not teach you?'" Dale sternly replied in faultless English. "That's in the Good Book, 'cause Ruth read it out; 'n' that's what fu'st made me look in the woods 'n' mountings fer my larnin'.

Natur' hain't lied ter me yit--but," he added suspiciously, "hit hain't said nuthin' 'bout folks being mostly made of water!"

The Colonel gave an explosive snort, but did not turn around.

"It won't lie to you either," Bob said in good humor, "but neither will it give up all its secrets; and the danger is in thinking you have guessed what isn't there. Who's Ruth?"

"Ruth?" he turned as though the question surprised him. "She's the sloc.u.m of Sunlight Patch."

"The--sloc.u.m?" Bob again asked.

"Yes, the sloc.u.m," he answered simply.

"I don't remember having heard of a sloc.u.m. Is that one of Nature's lessons?"

"Bob," the Colonel spoke in a tone of warning, "you astonish me by your ignorance, sir. Everybody knows what a sloc.u.m is!"

They had reached the road, and Dale gave a long, low whinny, in so exact an imitation that even before Lucy answered and was heard coming toward him, the other horses, near by, had also whinnied a response. Bob laughed outright, and the Colonel chuckled.

"Upon my word, sir," he said, "I thought there was a horse right at the back of my neck! You do it remarkably well!"

Dale smiled, for compliments, even the simplest, he had not experienced.

His people were unversed in many of the gentler ways, and this brought him a pleasant sense of being appreciated.

"Can you imitate other things?" Bob asked.

"All thar is in the mountings," he answered. "I've talked with 'em ever since I war a brat."

"They have a language, then?" Bob winked at the Colonel, who replied with another warning look.

"'Course they hev a language. They talk jest like we-uns do, but 'thout so many words. Lucy, hyar," he continued, after having patted her nose, "'n' all critters, has one kind of whinny fer hunger 'n' thirst, another when somethin's scarin' 'em, another when they're hurt, another when they're callin' a critter, 'n' another when they're answerin'. Most all varmints has those, too; jest the same as a critter--'cept the hunger call."

"I don't quite follow your distinction between critters, as you call them, and varmints," the Colonel turned curiously.

"Bob-cats, 'n' foxes, 'n' skunks, 'n' c.o.o.ns, 'n' them sech, is varmints.

Lucy is a critter," he said simply. "'N' they all have 'bout the same sort of calls--'ceptin' hunger calls."