Part 8 (2/2)

jokin' and cheerful. Make her feel as if she wanted a man of her own, too. Think about it, Cal! Say you'll think about it!”

”I'll think about it!” said Calvin Parks.

CHAPTER VIII

”PLAYING S'POSE”

Calvin did think about it. He thought about it as he drove out of the yard, and it was a grave salute that he waved to Mary Sands, smiling on the door-step in her blue dress, with the low sun glinting on her nut-brown hair.

He thought about it on the road; and hossy missed the usual fire of cheery remarks, grew morose, and jogged on half asleep. He was still thinking about it, when he came to a narrow lane that branched off from the main road, some half a mile from the Sill farm. It was a pretty lane, but it had a deserted look, and there were no wheel-marks on its gra.s.s and clover. Coming abreast of this opening, Calvin checked the brown horse with a word, and sat for some time looking thoughtfully down the lane. It ended, a few hundred yards away, in an open gateway; there was no gate. Beyond stood some huge old maple trees, which might hide anything--or nothing.

”Want to go in, hossy?” asked Calvin. He flicked hossy on the ear, but his tone was not the usual one of friendly banter. Hossy shook his head.

”Might as well!” said Calvin. ”I've kep' away so fur, but it's there, you know, hossy, all the same. Gitty up!”

Thus urged, the brown horse jogged slowly up the gra.s.sy lane, s.n.a.t.c.hing now and then at the tall gra.s.s as he went. Pa.s.sing through the empty gateway, they came to the maple trees, and saw--only one of them knew before--what they hid. A yawning hole in the ground; at one side of it a well, its covering dropping to pieces, its sweep fallen on the ground; behind, a tangle of bushes that might once have been a garden. In front, almost on the edge of the hole, some long blocks of granite lay piled one atop of the other; these had been the door-steps, when there was a door.

Calvin Parks sat silent for a long time looking at these things.

Then,--”Hossy,” he said, ”look at there!”

Hossy looked; saw little that appealed to him, and fell to cropping the gra.s.s.

”What did I tell you?” said Calvin, addressing some person unseen. ”Even the dumb animal won't look at it. Hossy, what do you think of this place, take it as a place? Speak up now!”

Hossy, flicked on the ear, shook himself fretfully, whinnied, and returned to his cropping.

”Nice home to offer a woman?” said Calvin. ”Cheerful sort of habitation?

Hey? Well, there! you see how 'tis yourself. A rolling--stone--gathers--no--moss, little hossy.”

As he spoke he was climbing down from his perch; now he threw the reins over the brown horse's neck, and walking to the edge of the empty cellar-place, sat down on one of the granite blocks.

”But I want you to understand that I warn't born rollin'!” he continued with some severity. ”If you think that, hossy, you show your ignorance.

I was a stiddy boy, and a good boy, as boys go. Mother never made no complaint, fur as I know. Poor mother! if I'm glad of anything in this mortal world, it's that mother went before the house did. That old lobster was right, darn his hide! a woman has to have a home. Poor mother! She thought a sight of her home and her gardin. I can't but scarcely feel she must be round somewheres, now; pickin' gooseberries, most likely. Sho! gooseberries in October! well, b.u.t.ternuts, then! The old b.u.t.ternut tree warn't burned. Hossy, I tell you, it seems as though if I was to turn round this minute I should expect to see mother's white apurn--”

He turned as he spoke, and stopped short. Something white glinted behind the withered bushes of the garden plot.

Calvin Parks sat motionless for a moment, gazing with wide eyes. A cold finger traced his spine, and his heart thumped loud in his ears. The something white seemed to move--a swaying motion; and now a soft voice began to croon, half speaking, half singing.

”I'd--I'd like to know what you are scairt of!” said Calvin Parks, addressing himself. ”You might put a name to it. It would be just like mother, wouldn't it, to come back if it was anyways convenient, and see to them b.u.t.ternuts? Well, then! You wouldn't be scairt of mother, would you? I've no patience with you. The dumb critter there has more s.p.u.n.k than what you have.”

The brown horse had raised his head, and his ears were pointed toward the something white that glinted through the bushes.

Another instant, and Calvin rose, and casting a scared look at the brown horse, made his way with faltering steps round the cellar-hole and put aside the bushes.

A small girl in a white pinafore cowered like a rabbit under a straggling rose-bush, and looked up at him with wide eyes of terror.

Calvin's eyes, which had been no less wide, softened into a friendly twinkle.

<script>