University of Virginia Library

31. CHAPTER XXXI.
KIKE.

TO reach Peterborough Kike had to go through
Morton's great diocese of Jenkinsville Circuit.
He could not ride far. Even so intemperate a zealot
as Kike admitted so much economy of force into his
calculations. He must save his strength in journeying
or he could not reach his circuit, much less preach
when he got there. At the close of his second day
he inquired for a Methodist house at which to stop,
and was directed to the double-cabin of a “located”
preacher—one who had been a “travelling” preacher,
but, having married, was under the necessity of entangling
himself with the things of this world that he might
get bread for his children. As he rode up to the
house Kike gladly noted the horses hitched to the
fence as an evidence that there must be a meeting in
progress. He was in Morton's circuit; who could tell
that he should not meet him here?

When Kike entered the house, Morton stood in the
door between the two rooms preaching, with the back
of a “split-bottomed” chair for a pulpit. For a moment
the pale face of Kike, so evidently smitten with
death, appalled him; then it inspired him, and Morton
never spoke better on that favorite theme of the early

Methodist evangelist—the rest in heaven—than while
drawing his inspiration from the pallid countenance of
his comrade.

“Ah! Kike!” he said, when the meeting was dismissed,
“I wish you had my body.”

“What do you want to keep me out of heaven for,
Mort? Let God have his way,” said Kike, smiling
contentedly.

But long after Kike slept that night Morton lay
awake. He could not let the poor fellow go off alone.
So in the morning he arranged with the located brother
to take his appointments for awhile and let him ride
one day with Kike.

“Ride ten or twenty if you want to,” said the expreacher.
“The corn's laid by and I've got nothing to
do, and I'm spoiling for a preach.”

Peterborough circuit lay off to the southeast of
Hickory Ridge, and Morton, persuaded that Kike was
unfit to preach, endeavored to induce him to turn aside
and rest at Dr. Morgan's, only ten miles out of his
road.

“I tell you, Morton, I've got very little strength
left. I cannot spend it better than in trying to save
souls. There's Peterborough vacant three months since
Brother Jones was first taken sick. I want to make
one or two rounds at least, preaching with all the
heart I have. Then I'll cease at once to work and
live, and who knows but that I may slay more in my
death than in my life?”

But Morton feared that he would not be able to
make one round. He thought he had an overestimate

of his strength, and that the final break-down might
come at any moment. So, on the morning of the
second day he refused to yield to Kike's entreaties to
return. He would see him safe among the members
on Peterborough circuit, anyhow.

Now it happened that they missed the trail and
wandered far out of their way. It rained all the afternoon,
and Kike got drenched in crossing a stream.
Then a chill came on, and Morton sought shelter.
He stopped at a cabin.

“Come in, come in, brethren,” said the settler,
as soon as he saw them. “I 'low ye're preachers.
Brother Goodwin I know. Heerd him down at
camp-meetin' last fall,—time conference met on the
Ridge. And this brother looks mis'rable. Got the
shakes, I 'low? Your name, brother, is—

“Brother Lumsden,” said Morton.

“Lumsden? Wy, that air's the very name of our
school-miss, and she's stayin' here jes' now. I kinder
recolleck that you was sick up at Dr. Morgan's, conference
time. Hey?”

Morton looked bewildered.

“How far is Dr. Morgan's from here?”

“Nigh onto three quarter 'round the road, I 'low.
Ain't it, Sister Lumsden?” This last to Patty, who at
that moment appeared from the bedroom, and without
answering the question, greeted Morton and Kike with
a cry of joy. Patty was “boarding round,” and it was
her time to stay here.

“How did we get here? We aimed at Lanham's
Ferry,” said Morton, bewildered.

[ILLUSTRATION]

THE REUNION.

[Description: 554EAF. Page 300. In-line engraving of four figures; one man rests a hand on the back of a chair, another holds his hat in his hands, a third man looks on in the background, and a woman extends both hands outward.]

“Tuck the wrong trail ten mile back, I 'low. You
should've gone by Hanks's Mills.”

Despite all protestations from the Methodist brother,
Morton was determined to take Kike to Dr. Morgan's.
Kike was just sick enough to be passive, and he suffered
himself to be put back into the saddle to ride
to the doctor's. Patty, meanwhile, ran across the fields
and gave warning, so that Kike was summarily stowed
away in the bed he had occupied before. Thus do

men try to run away from fate, and rush into her arms
in spite of themselves.

It did not require very great medical skill to understand
what must be the result of Kike's sickness.

“What is the matter with him, Doctor?” asked
Morton, next morning.

“Absolute physical bankruptcy, sir,” answered the
physician, in his abrupt manner. “There's not water
enough left in the branch to run the mill seven days.
Wasted life, sir, wasted life. It is a pity but you
Methodists had a little moderation in your zeal.”

Kike uneasily watched the door, hoping every
minute that he might see Nettie come in. But she did
not come. He had wished to avoid her father's house
for fear of seeing her, but he could not bear to
be thus near her and not see her. Toward evening
he called Patty to him.

“Lean down here!” he said.

Patty put her ear down that nobody might hear.

“Where's Nettie?” asked Kike.

“About the house, somewhere,” said Patty.

“Why don't she come in to see me?”

“Not because she doesn't care for you,” said Patty;
“she seems to be crying half the time.”

Kike watched the door uneasily all that evening.
But Nettie did not come. To have come into Kike's
room would have been to have revealed her love for
one who had never declared his love for her. The
mobile face of Nettie disclosed every emotion. No
wonder she was fain to keep away. And yet the desire
to see him almost overcame her fear of seeing him.

When the doctor came in to see Kike after breakfast
the next morning, the patient looked at him wistfully.

“Doctor Morgan, tell me the truth. Will I ever
get up?”

“You can never get up, my dear boy,” said the
physician, huskily.

A smile of relief spread over Kike's face. At that
word the awful burden of his morbid sense of responsibility
for the world's salvation, the awful burden of
a self-sacrifice that was terrible and that must be life-long,
slipped from his weary soul. There was then
nothing more to be done but to wait for the Master's
release. He shut his eyes, murmured a “Thank God!”
and lay for minutes, motionless. As the doctor made a
movement to leave him, Kike opened his eyes and
looked at him eagerly.

“What is it, my boy?” said Morgan, stroking the
straight black hair off Kike's forehead, and petting him
as though he were a child. “What do you want?”

“Doctor — ” said Kike, and then closed his eyes
again.

“Don't be afraid to tell me what is in your heart,
dear boy.” The tears were in the doctor's eyes.

“If you think it best—if you think it best, mind—
I would like to see Nettie.”

“Of course it is best. I am glad you mentioned
it. It will do her good, poor soul.”

“If you think it best — ”

“Well?” said the doctor, seeing that Kike hesitated.
“Speak out.”

“All alone.”

“Yes, you shall see her alone. That is best.” The
doctor's utterance was choked as he hastened out.

Kike lay with eyes fixed on the door. It seemed
a long time after the doctor went before Nettie came
in. It was only three minutes—three minutes in which
Nettie vainly strove to wipe away tears that flowed
faster than she could remove them. At last her hand
was on the latch. She gained a momentary self-control.
But when she opened the door and saw his emaciated
face, and his black eyes looking so eagerly for her, it
was too much for the poor little heart. The next
moment she was on her knees by his bed, sobbing
violently. And Kike put out his feeble hands and
drew the golden head up close to his bosom, and spoke
tenderer words than he had ever heard spoken in his
life. And then he closed his eyes, and for a long time
nothing was said. It came about after Nettie's tears
were spent that they talked of all that they had felt;
of the life past and of the immortal life to come.
Hours went by and none intruded upon this betrothal
for eternity. Patty had waited without, expecting
to be called to take her place again by her cousin's
bedside. But she did not like to remain in conversation
with Morton. It could bring nothing but
pain to them both. It occurred to her that she had
not seen her patient in Higgins's Hollow since Kike
came. She started immediately, glad to escape from
the regrets excited by the presence of Morton, and
touched with remorse that she had so long neglected a
man on whose heart she thought she had been able to
make some religious impression.