Westways: A Village Chronicle Part 80

"There are two things to consider, and I want your advice; but, first, I want to say that there is no head to that family. I wonder how Leila stands it. I mean that your advice shall be taken about a consultation with Prof. Askew."

"You want my advice? Do you, indeed! Mrs. Penhallow will ask the Colonel's opinion, he will swear, and the matter is at an end."

"I mean to have that consultation," said John. Tom laughed and nodded approval.

"It's no use, John, none," said the older man.

"We shall see about that. Do you approve?-that is my question."

"If that's the form of advice you want, why, of course-yes-but count me out."

"Count me in, John," said the younger surgeon. "I know what Askew will say and what should have been done long ago."

"An operation?" asked his father.

"Yes, sir, an operation."

"Too late!"

"Well," said John, "he gets no worse; a week or two will make no difference, I presume."

"None," said Dr. McGregor.

"It may," said Tom.

"Well, it may have to wait. Just now there is a very serious question. Aunt Ann made last night the wild suggestion that the Colonel might be amused if we had one of those rummage-sales with which she used to delight the village. Uncle Jim at once declared it to be the thing he would like best. Aunt Ann said we must see about it at once. Her satisfaction in finding an amus.e.m.e.nt which the Colonel fancied was really childlike. Leila said nothing, nor did I. In fact, the proposal came about when I happened unluckily to say what a fine chance Uncle Sam had for a rummage-sale after a forced march or a fight. I recall having said much the same thing long ago in a letter to Leila."

"Then there's nothing to be done just now, John," remarked Tom McGregor, "but I cannot conceive of anything more likely to affect badly a disordered brain."

The older man was silent until John asked, "Is it worth while to talk to Aunt Ann about it-advise against it?"

"Quite useless, John. I advise you and Leila quietly to a.s.sist your aunt, and like as not the Colonel may forget all about it in a day or two."

"No, Doctor. To-day he had Billy up with him in the attic bringing down whatever he can find, useful or useless."

With little satisfaction from this talk, John rode homeward. Sitting in the saddle at the post-office door, he called for the mail. Mrs. Crocker, of undiminished bulk and rosiness, came out.

"How's your arm, Captain? I bet it's more use than mine. The rheumatism have took to permanent boarding in my right shoulder-and no glory like you got to show for it."

"I could do without the glory."

"No, you couldn't. If I was a man, I'd be glad to swap; you've got to make believe a bit, but the town's proud of you. I guess some one will soon have to look after them Penhallow mills." Mrs. Crocker put a detaining hand on his bridle reins.

"Yes, yes," said John absently, glancing well pleased over a kind letter of inquiry from General Parke. "Well, what else, Mrs. Crocker?"

"The Colonel quite give me a shock this morning. He's not been here-no, not once-since he came home. Well, he walked in quite spry and told me there was to be a rummage-sale in a week, and I was to put up a notice and tell everybody. Why, Mr. John, he was that natural. He went away laughing because I offered to sell my old man-twenty-five cents a pound. I did notice he don't walk right."

"Yes, I have noticed that; but this notion of a rummage-sale has seemed to make him better. Now, suppose you let my reins go."

"Oh, Mr. John, don't be in such a hurry. It's surely a responsible place, this post-office; I don't ever get time for a quiet talk."

"Well, Mrs. Crocker, now is your chance."

"That's real good of you. I was wanting to ask if you ever heard anything of Peter Lamb. He wrote to his mother he was in the army, and then that was the end of it. She keeps on writing once a week, and the letters come back stamped 'not found.' I guess he's wandering somewhere."

"Like enough. I went to see her last week, but I could not give her any comfort. She couldn't have a worse thing happen than for Peter to come home."

"Well, Captain John, when you come to have babies of your own, you'll find mothers are a curious kind of animal."

"Mothers!" laughed John. "I hope there won't be more than one. Now, I really must go."

"Oh, just one more real bit of news. Lawyer Swallow's wife was here yesterday with another man to settle up her husband's business."

"Is he dead?"

"They say so, but you can't believe everything you hear. Now, don't hurry. What most killed Swallow was just this: He hated Pole like poison, and when he got a five hundred dollar mortgage-grip on Pole's pasture meadow, he kept that butcher-man real uneasy. When you were all away, Swallow began to squeeze-what those lawyers call 'foreclose.' It's just some lawyer word for robbery."

"It's pretty bad, Mrs. Crocker, but two people are waiting for you and this isn't exactly Government business."

"Got to hear the end, Captain."

"I suppose so-what next?" Dixy wondered why the spur touched him even lightly.

"Pole, he told Mrs. Penhallow all about it, and she wasn't as glad to help her meat-man as she was to bother Swallow, so she took over the mortgage. When the Squire first came home from Was.h.i.+ngton and wasn't like he was later, she told him, of course. Now everybody knows Pole's ways, and so the Squire he says to me-he was awful amused-'Mrs. Crocker, I asked Mrs. Penhallow how Pole was going to pay her.' She said she did put that at Pole, and he said it wouldn't take long to eat up that debt at Grey Pine. He wouldn't have dared to speak like that to your aunt if she hadn't got to be so meek-like, what with war and bother." By this time Dixy was with reason displeased and so restless that Mrs. Crocker let the reins drop, but as John Penhallow rode away she cried, "The price of meats at Grey Pine has been going up ever since, until Miss Leila-" The rest was lost to the Captain. He rode away laughing as he reflected on what share of Pole's debt he was to devour.

CHAPTER x.x.xI

The bustle and folly of a rummage-sale was once in every two or three years a frolic altogether pleasant to quiet Westways. It enabled Ann Penhallow and other wise women to get rid of worn-out garments and other trash dear to the male mind. When Leila complained of the disturbing antecedents of a rummage-sale, Mrs. Crocker, contributive of unasked wisdom, remarked, "Men have habits, and women don't; women have blind instincts. You'll find that out when you're married. You see marriage is a kind of voyage of discovery. You just remember that and begin early to keep your young man from storing away useless clothes and the like. That's where a rummage-sale comes in handy."

Leila laughed. "Why not sell the unsatisfactory young man, Mrs. Crocker?"

"Well, that ain't a bad idea," said the post-mistress slyly, "if he's a damaged article-a rummage-sale of husbands not up to sample."

"A very useful idea," said the young woman. "Good-bye."

In the afternoon a day later, Leila, making her escape from her aunt's busy collections, slipped away into the woods alone. The solitude of the early woodland days of summer were what she needed, and the chance they gave for such tranquil reflection as the disturbance and restless state of her home just now made it rarely possible to secure. She tried to put aside her increasing anxiety about her uncle and had more difficulty in dealing with John Penhallow and his over-quiet friendliness. She thought too of her own coldly-worded letters and of the suffering of which she had been kept so long ignorant. He had loved her once; did he now? She was annoyed to hear the voice of Mark Rivers.

"So, Leila, you have run away, and I do not wonder. This turmoil is most distressing."

"Yes, yes-and everything-those years of war and what it has brought us-and my dear Uncle Jim-and how is it to end? Let us talk of something else. I came here to be-well, to see if I could find peace of soul and what these silent forests have often given me, strength to take up again the cares and troubles of life." He did not excuse his intrusion nor seem to notice the obvious suggestions, but fell upon their personal application to himself.

"They have never done that for me," he said sadly. "There is some defect in my nature-some want. I have no such relation to nature; it is speechless to me-mute, and I never needed more what I fail to find in myself. The war and its duties gave me the only entire happiness I have had for years." Then he added, in a curiously contemplative manner, "It does seem as if a man had a right to some undisturbed happiness in life. I must go. I leave you to the quiet of the woods."

"I am sorry," she said, "I am sorry that you are able to imply that you have never known happiness. Surely you cannot mean that." It was all she could say. His look of profound melancholy hurt her, for like all who knew Mark Rivers well, she loved, respected and admired him.

He made no explanatory reply, but after a brief silence said, "I must go, Leila, where there are both duties and dangers-not-no, not in cities."

"I trust you do not mean to leave us-surely not!"

"No, not yet-not while I can be of use to these dear friends."