Part 21 (2/2)

”Well, yer meant yeast.”

”No, I didn't mean yeast. I just meant something like Brace was talking about to-day.”

”What was it?” Peter stood round and solid with the firelight ruddily upon him.

”He said that the fighting overseas ain't properly a war, but a general upheaval of things that have got to come to the top and be skimmed off. We ain't ever looked at it that way.” Polly resorted to familiar similes when deeply affected.

”I guess all wars is that.” Peter looked serious. He rarely spoke of the trouble that seemed far, far from his quiet, detached life, but lately he had shaken his head over it in a new way. ”But G.o.d ain't meaning for us to take sides, Polly. It's like family troubles. You don't understand them, and you better keep out. Just think of our good German friends and neighbours. We can't go back on them just 'cause their kin across the seas have taken to fighting. Our Germans have, so to speak, married in our family, and we must stand by 'em.” Peter was voicing his unrest. Polly saw the trouble in his face.

”Of course, brother, and I only meant that lately so many things are stirring in the Forest that it seems more like the Forest wasn't a sc.r.a.p set off by itself. I seem to have lots of sc.r.a.ps floating in my mind lately--things I've heard, and all are taking on meaning now. I remember someone saying, I guess it was the Bishop, that in a drop of ocean water, there was all that went into the ocean's making, except size. That didn't mean anything until Brace set me to--to turning over in my mind, and, Peter, it seems terrible sensible now. All the big, big world is just little sc.r.a.ps of King's Forests welded all together and every King's Forest is a drop of the world.”

Peter looked gravely troubled as men often do when their women take to thinking on their own lines. Usually the heedless man dismisses the matter with but small respect, but Peter was not that kind. All his life he had depended upon his sister's ”vision” as he called it. He might laugh and tease her, but he never took a definite step without reaching out to her.

”A man must plant his foot solid on the path he knows,” he often said, ”but that don't hinder him from lifting his eyes to the sky.” And it was through Aunt Polly's eyes that Peter caught his view of skies.

”I don't exactly like Brace digging down into things so much.” Peter gave a troubled sigh. ”Some things ain't any use when they are dug up.”

”But some things _are_, brother. We must know.”

”Well, by gos.h.!.+” Peter began to sway toward the door like a heavily freighted side-wheeler. ”I get to feeling sometimes as if I'd kicked over a hornet's nest and wasn't certain whether it was a last year's one or this year's. In one case you can hold your ground, in the other you best take to your heels. Well, I'm going to leave you, Polly, for your date with your young man. Don't forget the fire and don't set up too long.”

Left to herself, Polly neatly folded her knitting and stuck the glistening needles through it. She folded her small, shrivelled hands and a radiant smile touched her old face.

Oh! the luxury of _daring_ to sit up for a man. The excitement of the adventure! And while she waited and brooded, Polly was thinking as she had never done until recently. All her life she believed that she had thought, and to suddenly find, as she had lately, that her conclusions were either wrong or confused made her humble.

Now there was Mary-Clare! Why, from her birth, Mary-Clare had been an open book! Poor Polly shook her head. An open book? Well, if so she did not know the language in which that book was written, for Mary-Clare was troubling her now deeply.

And Larry? Larry had suddenly come into focus, and Maclin, and Northrup. They all seemed reeling around her; all united, but in deadly peril of being flung apart.

It was all too much for Aunt Polly and she unrolled her knitting and set the needles to their accustomed task. Eventually Mary-Clare would come to the inn and simply tell her story--full well Polly knew that.

It was Mary-Clare's way to keep silent until necessity for silence was past and then calmly take those she loved into her confidence. But there were disturbing things going on. Aunt Polly could not blind herself to them.

At this moment Northrup's step sounded outside. He came hastily, but making little noise.

”What's up?” he asked, starting back at the sight of Aunt Polly.

”Just me, son. Your dinner is scorched to nothing, but I wanted to tell you where the cookie jar is.”

Northrup came over to the sofa and sat down.

”You deep and opaque female,” he said, throwing his arm over the little bent shoulders. ”Own up. It isn't cookies, it's a switch. What have I done? Out with it.”

Aunt Polly laughed softly.

”It's neither cookies nor switches when you come down to it,” she chuckled. ”It's just waiting and not knowing why.”

Northrup leaned back against the sofa and said quietly:

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