Part 15 (1/2)

The Piper's voice was very tender; the little dog lay still at his feet. She leaned against the crumbling wall, and turned her veiled face away.

”'T is not for us to be happy without trying,” continued the Piper, ”any more than it is for a tree to bear fruit without effort. All the beauty and joy in the world are the result of work--work for each other and in ourselves. When you see a b.u.t.terfly over a field of clover, 't is because he has worked to get out of his chrysalis. He was not content to abide within his veil.”

”Suppose,” said Miss Evelina, in a voice that was scarcely audible, ”that he couldn't get out?”

”Ah, but he could,” answered the Piper. ”We can get out of anything, if we try. I'm not meaning by escape, but by growth. You put an acorn into a crevice in a rock. It has no wings, it cannot fly out, n.o.body will lift it out. But it grows, and the oak splits the rock; even takes from the rock nourishment for its root.”

”People are not like acorns and b.u.t.terflies,” she stammered. ”We are not subject to the same laws.”

”Why not?” asked the Piper. ”G.o.d made us all, and I'm thinking we're all brothers, having, in a way, the same Father. 'T is not for me to hold myself above Laddie here, though he's a dog and I'm a man. 'T is not for me to say that men are better than dogs; that they're more honest, more true, more kind. The seed that I have in my hand, here, I'm thinking 't is my brother, too. If I plant it, water it, and keep the weeds away from it, 't will give me back a blossom. 'T is service binds us all into the brotherhood.”

”Did you never,” asked Evelina, thickly, ”hear of chains?”

”Aye,” said the Piper, ”chains of our own making. 'T is like the ancient people in one of my ragged books. When one man killed another, they chained the dead man to the living one, so that he was forever dragging his own sin. When he struck the blow, he made his own chain.”

”I am chained,” cried Evelina, piteously, ”but not to my own sin.”

”'T is wrong,” said the Piper; ”I'm thinking there's a loose link somewhere that can be slipped off.”

”I cannot find it,” she sobbed; ”I've hunted for it in the dark for twenty-five years.”

”Poor soul,” said the Piper, softly. ”'T is because of the darkness, I'm thinking. From the distaff of Eternity, you take the thread of your life, but you're sitting in the night, and G.o.d meant you to be a spinner in the sun. When the day breaks for you, you'll be finding the loose link to set yourself free.”

”When the day breaks,” repeated Evelina, in a whisper. ”There is no day.”

”There is day. I've come to lead you to it. We'll find the light together and set the thread to going right again.”

”Who are you?” cried Evelina, suddenly terror stricken.

The Piper laughed, a low, deep friendly laugh. Then he doffed his grey hat and bowed, sweeping the earth with the red feather, in cavalier fas.h.i.+on. ”Tom Barnaby, at your service, but most folks call me Piper Tom. 'T is the flute, you know,” he continued in explanation, ”that I'm forever playing on in the woods, having no knowledge of the instrument, but sort of liking the sound.”

Miss Evelina turned and went into the house, shaken to her inmost soul.

More than ever, she felt the chains that bound her. Straining against her bonds, she felt them cutting deep into her flesh. Anthony Dexter had bound her; he alone could set her free. From this there seemed no possible appeal.

Meanwhile the Piper mowed down the weeds in the garden, whistling cheerily. He burned the rubbish in the road, and the smoke made a blue haze on the hill. He spaded and raked and found new stones for the broken wall, and kept up a constant conversation with the dog.

It was twilight long before he got ready to make the flower beds, so he carried the tools back into the shed and safely stored away the seeds.

Miss Evelina watched him from the grimy front window as he started downhill, but he did not once look back.

There was something jaunty in the Piper's manner, aside from the drooping red feather which bobbed rakishly as he went home, whistling.

When he was no longer to be seen, Miss Evelina sighed. Something seemed to have gone out of her life, like a sunbeam which has suddenly faded. In a safe shadow of the house, she raised her veil, and wiped away a tear.

When out of sight and hearing, the Piper stopped his whistling. ”'T is no need to be cheerful, Laddie,” he explained to the dog, ”when there's none to be saddened if you're not. We don't know about the loose link, and perhaps we can never find it, but we're going to try. We'll take off the chain and put the poor soul in the sun again before we go away, if we can learn how to do it, but I'm thinking 't is a heavy chain and the sun has long since ceased to s.h.i.+ne.”

After supper, he lighted a candle and absorbed himself in going over his stock. He had made a few purchases in the city and it took some time to arrange them properly.

Last of all, he took out a box and opened it. He held up to the flickering light length after length of misty white chiffon--a fabric which the Piper had never bought before.