Part 30 (1/2)

”Then, sir, you knock my props from under me,” Lyman replied. ”I am not equipped with that firmness which men call justice. Nature sometimes makes sport of a man by giving him a heart. And what does it mean? It means that he shall suffer at the hands of other men, and that when his hour for revenge has come, his over-grown heart rises up and commands him to be merciful. McElwin, I ought to publish you--I ought to tell your wife and daughter that you have conspired with ruffians to have me whipped from the town, but I will not. You may go now.”

The banker's arrogance flew back to him. ”You may go” were words that pierced him like a three-p.r.o.nged fork, but he controlled himself, for now his judgment was stronger than his dignity. He arose and stepped up close to Lyman. ”I am under deep obligations to you,” he said.

”You are a kind and generous man.”

”Why don't you say that you are thankful to find me a fool?”

McElwin took no notice of this remark. ”And I hope that I may be able to do something for you,” he said. Still he stood there, as if he had not struck the proper note. ”Do something for you. And if you need--need money, I shall be glad to let you have it.”

”Oh, you couldn't get away without mentioning your G.o.d-essence, could you? Good day.”

CHAPTER XXIV.

AT MT. ZION.

On a Sunday morning, Lyman and Warren hired a light spring wagon and drove out through the green and romantic country that lay stretched and tumbled along the Mt. Zion road. The great clover-fields, now red with bloom, looked like a mighty spreading of strawberry-land ready for the pickers; and a red bird, arising from the ground, might have been a bloom of a berry suddenly endowed with wings. The air breathed delicious laziness, and when the horse stopped midway and knee-deep in a rivulet, he stood with his mouth in the water pretending to swallow, stealing the enjoyment of the cool current against his legs. The two men enjoyed the old rascal's trick, agreeing to let him stand there as long as he practiced the duplicity of keeping his mouth in the stream.

Minnows nibbled at his lips, and he lifted his head, but observing the men, who leaned out to look at him, he again immersed his mouth and pretended to swallow. At last, as if ashamed of himself, he pulled out, trotting briskly in the sun, but hanging back in the shade. Down in the low places bright-winged flies had come in swarms to hum their tunes, and on the high ridges where the thin gra.s.s was wilting, the gaunt rabbit sat in the sun. Driving along the low, smooth and sandy margin of a stream, where the thick bushes bore a bloom that looked like a long caterpillar, they reached an iron spring, deep red, a running wound on the face of the earth. They came to an old water mill, long ago fallen into decay and halted to listen to the water pouring over the ruined dam. They turned into a broader road, and now saw numerous vehicles, bright with calico and dun with home-spun, all moving in one direction, toward the old Mt. Zion meeting house on a hill. To view one of those places of wors.h.i.+p is to gaze upon religious history. We look at the great trees, the rocks worn smooth, the house squatting with age, and we no longer regard our country as new. In Mt.

Zion there were loop-holes where men had stood to shoot Indians, while their wives were muttering a prayer. The old oak benches, made of split slabs, were almost as hard as iron. A slab, called the altar, but known as the mourners' bench, had caught the tears of many an innocent maiden and roistering youth.

Lyman unhitched the horse and led him down a glade to feed him in the cool shadow of a chestnut tree, and while he was spreading the oats Warren came running down to him.

”Lyman, she's here,” he said. ”It's a fact and I'll swear it. Yes, sir, she's here, and I was never more surprised in my life.”

”I am not surprised,” Lyman replied. ”I expected her.”

”The deuce you did! Then you know her.”

”Know her. Of course I do.”

”Then why didn't you tell me?”

”Tell you? What do you mean?”

”Why, I mean that you ought to have told me. What's her name?”

”Look here, have you gone crazy?”

”No, but you have. How the deuce did you know she would be here? All right, but she won't get away from me so easy this time. I see the old man's with her, and the idea of supposing that he could have been her husband is preposterous.”

”Oh,” Lyman laughed, ”I thought you meant my--meant Eva McElwin.”

”No, I mean the girl that flavored the apple. Come up and I'll introduce you to her.”

”But have you met her?”

”I met her in the path a minute ago.”

”But have you been introduced to her?”