Part 33 (1/2)
”Fix--the--light, as it was--please? That's--it. Thank you, Doctor.
How beautiful she is--how beautiful!” He seemed to gather strength, and looked carefully into the face of each member of the little group about the bed; the shepherd, Old Matt, Aunt Mollie, Pete, and the physician. Then he turned his eyes back to the painting. To the watchers, the girl in the picture, holding her br.i.m.m.i.n.g cup, seemed to smile back again.
”I loved her--I loved--her. She was my natural mate--my other self. I belonged to her--she to me. I--I can't tell you of that summer--when we were together--alone in the hills--the beautiful hills--away from the sham and the ugliness of the world that men have made. The beauty and inspiration of it all I put into my pictures, and I knew because of that they were good--I knew they would win a place for me--and--they did. Most of all--I put it there,” (He pointed to the painting on the wall) ”and the crowd saw it and felt it, and did not know what it was. But I knew--I knew--all the time, I knew. Oh!--if that short summer could have been lengthened--into years, what might I not have done? Oh, G.o.d!
That men--can be--so blind--so blind!”
For a time he lay exhausted, his face still turned toward the picture, but with eyes closed as though he dreamed. Then suddenly, he started up again, raising himself on his elbows, his eyes opened wide, and on his face a look of wondering gladness. They drew near.
”Do--do--you--hear? She is calling--she is calling again. Yes-- sweetheart--yes, dear. I--I am--com--”
Then, Old Matt and Aunt Mollie led the shepherd from the room.
And this way runs the trail that follows the lower level, where those who travel, as they go, look always over their shoulders with eyes of dread, and the gloomy shadows gather long before the day is done.
CHAPTER XLIII.
POOR PETE.
They buried the artist in the cave as he had directed, close under the wall on the ledge above the canon, with no stone or mark of any sort to fix the place. The old mine which he had discovered was reached by one of the side pa.s.sages far below in the depth of the mountain. The grave would never be disturbed.
For two weeks longer, Dr. Coughlan staid with his friend; out on the hills with him all day, helping to cook their meals at the ranch, or sitting on the porch at the Matthews place when the day was gone. When the time finally came that he must go, the little physician said, as he grasped the shepherd's hand, ”You're doing just right, Daniel; just right. Always did; always did. Blast it all! I would stay, too, but what would Sarah and the girls do?
I'll come again next spring, Daniel, sure, sure, if I'm alive.
Don't worry, no one will ever know. Blast it all! I don't like to leave you, Daniel. Don't like it at all. But you are right, right, Daniel.”
The old scholar stood in the doorway of his cabin to watch the wagon as it disappeared in the forest. He heard it rattle across the creek bottom below the ruined cabin under the bluff. He waited until from away up on Compton Ridge the sound of wheels came to him on the breeze that slipped down the mountain side. Still he waited, listening, listening, until there were only the voices of the forest and the bleating of the sheep in the corral. Slipping a book in his pocket, and taking a luncheon for himself and Pete he opened the corral gate and followed his flock to the hills.
All that summer Pete was the shepherd's constant companion. At first he seemed not to understand. Frequently he would start off suddenly for the cave, only to return after a time, with that look of trouble upon his delicate face. Mr. Howitt tried to help the boy, and he appeared gradually to realize in part. Once he startled his old friend by saying quietly, ”When are you goin', Dad?”
”Going where? Where does Pete think Dad is going?”
The boy was lying on his back on the gra.s.sy hillside watching the clouds. He pointed upward, ”There, where HE went; up there in the white hills. Pete knows.”
The other looked long at the lad before answering quietly, ”Dad does not know when he will go. But he is ready any time, now.”
”Pete says better not wait long, Dad; 'cause Pete he's a goin' an'
course when he goes I've got to go 'long. Do you reckon Dad can see Pete when he is up there in them white hills? Some folks used to laugh at Pete when he told about the white hills, the flower things, the sky things, an' the moonlight things that play in the mists. An' once a fellow called Pete a fool, an' Young Matt he whipped him awful. But folks wasn't really to blame, 'cause they couldn't see 'em. That's what HE said. An' HE knew, 'cause he could see 'em too. But Aunt Mollie, an' Uncle Matt, an' you all, they don't never laugh. They just say, 'Pete knows.' But they couldn't see the flower things, or the tree things neither. Only HE could see.”
The summer pa.s.sed, and, when the blue gray haze took on the purple touch and all the woods and hills were dressed with cloth of gold, Pete went from the world in which he had never really belonged, nor had been at home. Mr. Howitt, writing to Dr. Coughlan of the boy's death, said:
”Here and there among men, there are those who pause in the hurried rush to listen to the call of a life that is more real.
How often have we seen them, David, jostled and ridiculed by their fellows, pushed aside and forgotten, as incompetent or unworthy.
He who sees and hears too much is cursed for a dreamer, a fanatic, or a fool, by the mad mob, who, having eyes, see not, ears and hear not, and refuse to understand.
”We build temples and churches, but will not wors.h.i.+p in them; we hire spiritual advisers, but refuse to heed them; we buy bibles, but will not read them; believing in G.o.d, we do not fear Him; acknowledging Christ, we neither follow nor obey Him. Only when we can no longer strive in the battle for earthly honors or material wealth, do we turn to the unseen but more enduring things of life; and, with ears deafened by the din of selfish war and cruel violence, and eyes blinded by the glare of pa.s.sing pomp and folly, we strive to hear and see the things we have so long refused to consider.