5. CHAPTER V.
THE WALK HOME.
YOU expect me to describe that walk. You have
had enough of the Jack Meanses and the Squire
Hawkinses, and the Pete Joneses, and the rest. You
wish me to tell you now of this true-hearted girl and
her lover; of how the silvery moonbeams came down
in a shower—to use Whittier's favorite metaphor—through the
maple boughs, flecking the frozen ground with light and shadow.
You would have me tell of the evening star, not yet gone down,
which shed its benediction on them. But I shall do no such
thing. For the moon was not shining, neither did the stars give
their light. The tall black trunks of the maples swayed and
shook in the wind, which moaned through their leafless boughs.
Novelists always make lovers walk in the moonlight. But if love
is not, as the cynics believe, all moonshine, it can at least make its
own light. Moonlight is never so little needed or heeded, never
so much of an impertinence, as in a love-scene. It was at the bottom
of the first hollow beyond the school-house that Ralph
overtook the timid girl walking swiftly through the dark. He
did not ask permission to walk with her. Love does not go
by words, and there are times when conventionality is impossible.
There are people who understand one another at once.
When one Soul meets another, it is not by pass-word, nor by hailing
sign, nor by mysterious grip, that they recognize. The
subtlest freemasonry in the world is this freemasonry of the
spirit.
Ralph and Hannah knew and trusted. Ralph had admired
and wondered at the quiet drudge. But it was when, in the
unaccustomed sunshine of praise, she spread her wings a little,
that he loved her. He had seen her awake.
You, Miss Amelia, wish me to repeat all their love-talk. I
am afraid you'd find it dull. Love can pipe through any kind
of a reed. Ralph talked love to Hannah when he spoke of the
weather, of the crops, of the spelling-school. Weather, crops,
and spelling-school—these were what his words would say if
reported. But below all these commonplaces there vibrated
something else. One can make love a great deal better when
one doesn't speak of love. Words are so poor! Tones and
modulations are better. It is an old story that Whitefield could
make an audience weep by his way of pronouncing the word
Mesopotamia. A lover can sound the whole gamut of his affection
in saying Good morning. The solemnest engagements
ever made have been without the intervention of speech.
And you, my Gradgrind friend, you think me sentimental.
Two young fools they were, walking so slowly though the night
was sharp, dallying under the trees, and dreaming of a heaven
they could not have realized if all their wishes had been granted.
Of course they were fools! Either they were fools to be so
happy, or else some other people are fools not to be. After all,
dear Gradgrind, let them be. There's no harm in it. They'll
get trouble enough before morning. Let them enjoy the evening.
I am not sure but these lovers whom we write down fools are the
only wise people after all. Is it not wise to be happy? Let
them alone.
For the first time in three years, for the first time since she
had crossed the threshold of “Old Jack Means” and come under
the domination of Mrs. Old Jack Means, Hannah talked cheerfully,
almost gaily. It was something to have a companion to
talk to. It was something to be the victor even in a spelling-match,
and to be applauded even by Flat Creek. And so, chatting
carnestly about the most uninteresting themes, Ralph courteously
helped Hannah over the fence, and they took the usual
short-cut through the “blue-grass pasture.” There came up a
little shower, hardly more than a sprinkle, but then it was so
nice to have a shower just as they reached the box-alder tree
by the spring! It was so thoughtful in Ralph to suggest that the
shade of a box-alder is dense, and that Hannah might take cold!
And it was so easy for Hannah to yield to the suggestion. Just
as though she had not milked the cows in the open lot in the
worst storms of the last three years! And just as though the
house were not within a stone's throw! Doubtless it was not
prudent to stop there. But let us deal gently with them. Who
would not stay in paradise ten minutes longer, even though it did
make purgatory the hotter afterward? And so Hannah stayed.
“Tell me your circumstances,” said Ralph, at last. “I am sure
I can help you in something.”
“No, no! you can not,” and Hannah's face was clouded. “No
one can help me. Only time and God. I must go, Mr. Hartsook.”
And they walked on to the front gate in silence and in
some constraint. But still in happiness.
As they came to the gate, Dr. Small pushed past them in his
cool, deliberate way, and mounted his horse. Ralph bade Hannah
[ILLUSTRATION]
"YOU'RE A PURTY GAL, A'N'T YOU? YOU AIR!"
[Description: 556EAF. Illustration page. Engraving of two women, a man, and a dog
at a hearth. ]
good-night, having entirely forgotten the errand which had
been his excuse to himself for coming out of his way. He
hastened to his new home, the house of Mr. Pete Jones,
the same who believed in the inseparableness of “lickin' and
larnin'.”
“You're a purty gal, a'n't you? You're a purty gal, a'n't you?
You air! Yes, you air!!” and Mrs. Means seemed so impressed
with Hannah's prettiness that she choked on it, and could get
no farther. “A purty gal! you! Yes! you air a mighty purty
gal!” and the old woman's voice rose till it could have been
heard half a mile. “To be a santerin' along the big road after
ten o'clock with the master! Who knows whether he's a fit man
fer anybody to go with? Arter all I've been and gone and done
fer you! That's the way you pay me! Disgrace me! Yes, I say,
disgrace me! You're a mean, deceitful thing. Stuck up bekase
you spelt the master down. Ketch me lettin' you go to
spellin'-school to-morry night! Ketch ME! Yes, ketch ME,
I say!”
“Looky here, marm,” said Bud, “it seems to me you're a
makin' a blamed furss about nothin'. Don't yell so's they'll hear
you three or four mile. You'll have everybody 'tween here and
Clifty waked up.” For Mrs. Means had become so excited over
the idea of being caught allowing Hannah to go to spelling-school
that she had raised her last “Ketch me!” to a perfect whoop.
“That's the way I'm treated,” whimpered the old woman, who
knew how to take the “injured-innocence” dodge as well as anybody.
“That's the way I'm treated. You allers take sides with
that air hussy agin your own flesh and blood. You don't keer
how much trouble I have. Not you. Not a dog-on'd bit. I may
be disgraced by that air ongrateful critter, and you set right here
in my own house and sass me about it. A purty fellow you air!
An' me a delvin' and a drudgin' fer you all my born days. A
purty son, a'n't you?”
Bud did not say another word. He sat in the chimney-corner
and whistled “Dandy Jim from Caroline.” His diversion had produced
the effect he sought. For while his tender-hearted mother
poured her broadside into his iron-clad feelings, Hannah had
slipped up the stairs to her garret bed-room, and when
Mrs. Means turned from the callous Bud to finish her assault
upon the sensitive girl, she could only gnash her teeth in
disappointment.
Stung by the insults to which she could not grow insensible,
Hannah lay awake until the memory of that walk through the
darkness came into her soul like a benediction. The harsh voice
of the ogre died out, and the gentle and courteous voice of Hartsook
filled her soul. She recalled piece by piece the whole conversation—all
the commonplace remarks about the weather; all
the insignificant remarks about the crops; all the unimportant
words about the spelling-school. Not for the sake of the remarks.
Not for the sake of the weather. Not for the sake of the crops.
Not for the sake of the spelling-school. But for the sake of
the undertone. And then she traveled back over the three years
of her bondage and forward over the three years to come, and
fed her heart on the dim hope of rebuilding in some form the
home that had been so happy. And she prayed, with more
faith than ever before, for deliverance. For love brings faith.
Somewhere on in the sleepless night she stood at the window.
The moon was shining now, and there was the path
through the pasture, and there was the fence, and there was
the box-alder.
She sat there a long time. Then she saw some one come
over the fence and walk to the tree, and then on toward Pete
Jones's. Who could it be? She thought she recognized the
figure. But she was chilled and shivering, and she crept back
again into bed, and dreamed, not of the uncertain days to
come, but of the blessed days that were past — of a father
and a mother and a brother in a happy home. But somehow
the school-master was there too.
