"Oh, I'm used to bullies like you," pursued the old man."I know the kind of brute that thinks he can knock his way into heaven.
Your father was jest sech another, and if you come to die a crazy drunkard like him it'll be about the end that you deserve!"An impatient frown drew Christopher's brows together, and, picking up the hoe, he walked leisurely out into the field.
"Well, I can't stop to hear your opinion of me," he observed.
"You'll have to keep it until another time," and breaking into a careless whistle, he strode off between the tobacco furrows on his way to bring the old mare from the pasture.
A little later, alone with the broad white noon and the stillness of the meadow, his gay whistle ended abruptly on his lips and the old sullen frown contracted his heavy brows.It was in vain that he tried to laugh away the depression of the moment; the white glare of the fields and the perfume of wild flowers blooming in hot sunshine produced in him a sensation closely akin to physical nausea--a disgust of himself and of the life and the humanity that he had known.What was it all worth, after all? And what of satisfaction was there to be found in the thing he sought?
Fletcher's face rose suddenly before him, and when he tried to banish the memory the effort that he made brought but the more distinctly to his eyes the coarse, bloated features with the swollen veins across the nose.Trivial recollections returned to annoy him--the way the man sucked in his breath when he was angry, and the ceaseless twitching of the small muscles above his bloodshot eyes."Pshaw! What business is it of mine?" he questioned angrily."What am I to the man, that I cannot escape the disgust that he arouses? Is it possible that I should be haunted forever by a face I hate? There are times when I could kill him simply because of the repulsion that I feel.As for the boy--let him marry a dozen Molly Peterkins--who cares? Not I, surely.When he turns upon his grandfather and they fall to gnawing at each other's bones, the better I shall be pleased." He shook his head impatiently, but the oppression which in some vague way he associated with the white heat and the scent of wild flowers still weighed heavily upon his thoughts."Is it possible that after all that has happened I am not yet satisfied?" he asked, with annoyance.
For awhile he lingered by the little brook in the pasture, and then slipping the bridle on the old mare, returned slowly to the house.At the bars he met Sol Peterkin, who had hurried over in evident consternation to deliver his news.
"Good Lord, Mr.Christopher! What do you think that gal of mine has gone and done now?"Christopher slid the topmost bar from its place and lifted his head "Don't tell me that she's divorced already," he returned."Why, the last I heard of her she had run off this morning to marry Will Fletcher.""That's it, suh; that's it," said Sol."I'm meanin' the marriage.
Well, well, it does seem that you can't settle down an' begin to say yo' grace over one trouble befo' a whole batch lights upon you.To think, arter the way I've sweated an' delved to be honest, that a gal of mine should tie me hand an' foot to Bill Fletcher."In spite of his moodiness, the humour of the situation struck home to Christopher, and throwing back his head he burst into a laugh.
"Oh, you needn't poke yo' fun, suh," continued Sol."Money is a mighty good thing, but you can't put it in the blood, like you kin meanness.All Bill Fletcher's riches ain't soaked in him blood an' bone, but his meanness is, an' that thar meanness goes a long sight further than his money.Thar ain't much sto' set by honesty in this here world, suh, an' you kin buy a bigger chaw of tobaccy with five cents than you kin with all the virtue of Moses on his Mount; but all the same it's a mighty good thing to rest yo' head on when you go to bed, an' I ain't sure but it makes easier lyin' than a linen pillow-slip an' a white goose tick--""Oh, I dare say," interrupted Christopher; "but now that it's over we must make the best of it.She didn't marry Bill Fletcher, after all, you know--"He checked himself with a start, and the bridle slipped from his arm to the ground, for his name was called suddenly in a high voice from the house, and as he swung himself over the bars Lila came running barehead across the yard.
"Christopher!" she cried; "we could not find you, and Bill Fletcher has talked to mother like a madman.Come quickly! She has fainted!"Before she had finished, he had dashed past her and through the house into the little parlour, where the old lady sat erect and unconscious in her Elizabethan chair.
"I found her like this," said Lila, weeping."We heard loud voices and then a scream, and when we rushed in the man left, and she sat looking straight ahead like this--like this."Throwing himself upon his knees beside the chair, Christopher caught his mother to his breast and turned angrily upon the women.
"Has nothing been done? Where is the doctor?" he cried.
"Jim has gone for him.Here, let me take her," said Cynthia, unclasping his arms."There, stand back.She is not dead.In a little while she will come to herself again."Rising from the floor, he stood motionless in the center of the room, where the atmosphere was heavy with the fragrance of camphor and tea-roses.A broad strip of sunshine was at his feet, and in the twisted aspen beside the window a catbird was singing.
These remained with him for years afterward, and with them the memory of the blind woman sitting stiffy erect and staring vacantly into his face.
"He has told her everything," said Cynthia--"after twenty years."
