Part 21 (1/2)
”The top o' the morning to ye!” She broke into a glad laugh, blessing that luck, herself, which had broken into her disquieting thoughts and provided at least fair company and some news--perhaps. She held out her hand in hearty welcome. ”Are ye 'up so early or down so late'?”
”I might ask that, myself. Is it the habit of celebrated Irish actresses to tramp miles between sun-up and breakfast?”
”'Tis a habit more likely to fasten itself on French cooks, I'm thinking,” and Patsy smiled.
”Then how is a man to account for you?”
”He'd best not try; I'm a mortial poor person to account for. Maybe I'm up early--getting my lines for the next act.”
”Of course. What a stupid duffer I am! You must find us plain, plodding Americans horribly short-witted sometimes. Don't you?”
Patsy shook a contradiction. ”It's your turn, now. What fetched ye abroad at this hour?”
Gregory Jessup slipped his arm through the horse's bridle and fell into step with her. ”Princ.i.p.ally because I like the early morning better than any other part of the day; it's fresh and sweet and unspoiled--like some Irish actresses. There--please don't mind my crude attempt at poetic--simile,” for Patsy's eyes had snapped dangerously. ”If you only knew how rarely poetry or compliments ever came to roost on this dry tongue, you really wouldn't want to discourage them when it does happen. Besides, there was another reason for my being up--a downright foolish reason.”
Gregory Jessup accompanied the remark with a downright foolish smile, and then lapsed into silence. In this fas.h.i.+on they walked to the bend of the road where another graveled driveway branched forth; and here the horse stopped of his own accord and whinnied.
”This is the Dempsy Carters' place--where I'm stopping,” Gregory explained.
”Aye, but the other reason?” Patsy reminded him, her eyes friendly once more.
”Oh--the other reason; I told you it was a foolish one.” He stood rubbing his horse's nose and looking over the road they had come for some seconds before he finally confessed to it. ”It's Billy, you see.
Somehow it occurred to me that if he should be in trouble and at the same time knowing his father was sick--dying--he might be hanging around somewhere near here--uncertain just what to do--and not wanting any one to see him. In that case, the best time to run across him would be early morning before the rest of the people were awake and up. Don't you think so?”
”It sounds more sensible than foolish; but I don't think ye'll ever find him that way. If he was clever enough to let the earth swallow him up, he's clever enough to keep swallowed. There's but one way to reach him--and it's been in my mind since yester-eve.”
A look of surprise came into Gregory Jessup's face. ”Why, Miss O'Connell! I had no idea what I said that day would fasten Billy on your mind like this. It's awfully good of you; and he's a perfect stranger--”
Patsy broke in with a whimsical chuckle. ”Aye, I've grown overpartial to strangers of late; but ye hearken to me. Ye'll have to leave a sign by the roadside for him--if ye want to reach him. Otherwise he'll see ye first and be gone before ever ye know he's about.”
”What kind of a sign?”
”Faith! I'm not sure of that yet--myself. It must be something that will put trust back in a lad and tell him to come home.”
”And where would you put it?”
”Where? On the roadside, just, anywhere along the road he's used to tramping.”
Gregory Jessup's face lost its puzzled frown and became suddenly illumined with an inspiration. ”I know! By Hec! I've got it! There's that path that runs down from the Burgeman estate to our old cottage.
It was a short cut for us kids, and we were almost the only ones to use it. Billy would be far more likely to take that than the highroad--and it leads to the Burgeman farm, too, run by an old couple that simply adore Billy. He might go there when he wouldn't go anywhere else. That's the place for a message. But what message?”
”I know!” Patsy clapped her hands. ”Have ye a sc.r.a.p of paper anywheres about ye--and a pencil?”
Hunting through the pockets of his riding-clothes, Gregory Jessup discovered a business letter, the back of which provided ample writing s.p.a.ce, and the stub of a red-ink pencil. ”We use 'em in the drafting-room,” he explained. ”If these will do--here's a desk,” and he raised the end of his saddle, supporting it with a large expanse of palm.
Patsy accepted them all with a gracious little nod, and, spreading the paper on the improvised desk, she wrote quickly:
”If it do come to pa.s.s That any man turn a.s.s,”
Thinking the world is blind And trust forsworn mankind, ”Ducdame, ducdame, ducdame”: Here shall he find Both trust and peace of mind, An he but leave all foolishness behind.
”With apologies to Willie Shakespeare,” Patsy chuckled again as she returned paper and pencil to their owner. ”Ye put it somewhere he'd be likely to look--furninst something that would naturally take his notice.”