| |
| MARY sat musing on the
lamp-flame at the table |
|
| Waiting
for Warren. When she heard his step, |
|
| She ran
on tip-toe down the darkened passage |
|
| To meet
him in the doorway with the news |
|
| And put
him on his guard. “Silas is back.” |
5 |
| She
pushed him outward with her through the door |
|
| And shut
it after her. “Be kind,” she said. |
|
| She took
the market things from Warren’s arms |
|
| And set
them on the porch, then drew him down |
|
| To sit
beside her on the wooden steps. |
10 |
| |
| “When was
I ever anything but kind to him? |
|
| But I’ll
not have the fellow back,” he said. |
|
| “I told
him so last haying, didn’t I? |
|
| ‘If he
left then,’ I said, ‘that ended it.’ |
|
| What good
is he? Who else will harbour him |
15 |
| At his
age for the little he can do? |
|
| What help
he is there’s no depending on. |
|
| Off he
goes always when I need him most. |
|
| ‘He
thinks he ought to earn a little pay, |
|
| Enough at
least to buy tobacco with, |
20 |
| So he
won’t have to beg and be beholden.’ |
|
| ‘All
right,’ I say, ‘I can’t afford to pay |
|
| Any fixed
wages, though I wish I could.’ |
|
| ‘Someone
else can.’ ‘Then someone else will have to.’ |
|
| I
shouldn’t mind his bettering himself |
25 |
| If that
was what it was. You can be certain, |
|
| When he
begins like that, there’s someone at him |
|
| Trying to
coax him off with pocket-money,— |
|
| In haying
time, when any help is scarce. |
|
| In winter
he comes back to us. I’m done.” |
30 |
| |
| “Sh! not
so loud: he’ll hear you,” Mary said. |
|
| |
| “I want
him to: he’ll have to soon or late.” |
|
| |
| “He’s
worn out. He’s asleep beside the stove. |
|
| When I
came up from Rowe’s I found him here, |
|
| Huddled
against the barn-door fast asleep, |
35 |
| A
miserable sight, and frightening, too— |
|
| You
needn’t smile—I didn’t recognise him— |
|
| I wasn’t
looking for him—and he’s changed. |
|
| Wait till
you see.” |
|
| |
| “Where
did you say he’d been?” |
40 |
| |
| “He
didn’t say. I dragged him to the house, |
|
| And gave
him tea and tried to make him smoke. |
|
| I tried
to make him talk about his travels. |
|
| Nothing
would do: he just kept nodding off.” |
|
| |
| “What did
he say? Did he say anything?” |
45 |
| |
| “But
little.” |
|
| |
| “Anything? Mary, confess |
|
| He said
he’d come to ditch the meadow for me.” |
|
| |
| “Warren!” |
|
| |
| “But did
he? I just want to know.” |
50 |
| |
| “Of
course he did. What would you have him say? |
|
| Surely
you wouldn’t grudge the poor old man |
|
| Some
humble way to save his self-respect. |
|
| He added,
if you really care to know, |
|
| He meant
to clear the upper pasture, too. |
55 |
| That
sounds like something you have heard before? |
|
| Warren, I
wish you could have heard the way |
|
| He
jumbled everything. I stopped to look |
|
| Two or
three times—he made me feel so queer— |
|
| To see if
he was talking in his sleep. |
60 |
| He ran on
Harold Wilson—you remember— |
|
| The boy
you had in haying four years since. |
|
| He’s
finished school, and teaching in his college. |
|
| Silas
declares you’ll have to get him back. |
|
| He says
they two will make a team for work: |
65 |
| Between
them they will lay this farm as smooth! |
|
| The way
he mixed that in with other things. |
|
| He thinks
young Wilson a likely lad, though daft |
|
| On
education—you know how they fought |
|
| All
through July under the blazing sun, |
70 |
| Silas up
on the cart to build the load, |
|
| Harold
along beside to pitch it on.” |
|
| |
| “Yes, I
took care to keep well out of earshot.” |
|
| |
| “Well,
those days trouble Silas like a dream. |
|
| You
wouldn’t think they would. How some things
linger! |
75 |
| Harold’s
young college boy’s assurance piqued him. |
|
| After so
many years he still keeps finding |
|
| Good
arguments he sees he might have used. |
|
| I
sympathise. I know just how it feels |
|
| To think
of the right thing to say too late. |
80 |
| Harold’s
associated in his mind with Latin. |
|
| He asked
me what I thought of Harold’s saying |
|
| He
studied Latin like the violin |
|
| Because
he liked it—that an argument! |
|
| He said
he couldn’t make the boy believe |
85 |
| He could
find water with a hazel prong— |
|
| Which
showed how much good school had ever done him. |
|
| He wanted
to go over that. But most of all |
|
| He thinks
if he could have another chance |
|
| To teach
him how to build a load of hay——” |
90 |
| |
| “I know,
that’s Silas’ one accomplishment. |
|
| He
bundles every forkful in its place, |
|
| And tags
and numbers it for future reference, |
|
| So he can
find and easily dislodge it |
|
| In the
unloading. Silas does that well. |
95 |
| He takes
it out in bunches like big birds’ nests. |
|
| You never
see him standing on the hay |
|
| He’s
trying to lift, straining to lift himself.” |
|
| |
| “He
thinks if he could teach him that, he’d be |
|
| Some good
perhaps to someone in the world. |
100 |
| He hates
to see a boy the fool of books. |
|
| Poor
Silas, so concerned for other folk, |
|
| And
nothing to look backward to with pride, |
|
| And
nothing to look forward to with hope, |
|
| So now
and never any different.” |
105 |
| |
| Part of a
moon was falling down the west, |
|
| Dragging
the whole sky with it to the hills. |
|
| Its light
poured softly in her lap. She saw |
|
| And
spread her apron to it. She put out her hand |
|
| Among the
harp-like morning-glory strings, |
110 |
| Taut with
the dew from garden bed to eaves, |
|
| As if she
played unheard the tenderness |
|
| That
wrought on him beside her in the night. |
|
| “Warren,”
she said, “he has come home to die: |
|
| You
needn’t be afraid he’ll leave you this time.” |
115 |
| |
| “Home,”
he mocked gently. |
|
| |
| “Yes,
what else but home? |
|
| It all
depends on what you mean by home. |
|
| Of course
he’s nothing to us, any more |
|
| Than was
the hound that came a stranger to us |
120 |
| Out of
the woods, worn out upon the trail.” |
|
| |
| “Home is
the place where, when you have to go there, |
|
| They have
to take you in.” |
|
| |
| “I should
have called it |
|
| Something
you somehow haven’t to deserve.” |
125 |
| |
| Warren
leaned out and took a step or two, |
|
| Picked up
a little stick, and brought it back |
|
| And broke
it in his hand and tossed it by. |
|
| “Silas
has better claim on us you think |
|
| Than on
his brother? Thirteen little miles |
130 |
| As the
road winds would bring him to his door. |
|
| Silas has
walked that far no doubt to-day. |
|
| Why
didn’t he go there? His brother’s rich, |
|
| A
somebody—director in the bank.” |
|
| |
| “He never
told us that.” |
135 |
| |
| “We know
it though.” |
|
| |
| “I think
his brother ought to help, of course. |
|
| I’ll see
to that if there is need. He ought of right |
|
| To take
him in, and might be willing to— |
|
| He may be
better than appearances. |
140 |
| But have
some pity on Silas. Do you think |
|
| If he’d
had any pride in claiming kin |
|
| Or
anything he looked for from his brother, |
|
| He’d keep
so still about him all this time?” |
|
| |
| “I wonder
what’s between them.” |
145 |
| |
| “I can
tell you. |
|
| Silas is
what he is—we wouldn’t mind him— |
|
| But just
the kind that kinsfolk can’t abide. |
|
| He never
did a thing so very bad. |
|
| He don’t
know why he isn’t quite as good |
150 |
| As
anyone. He won’t be made ashamed |
|
| To please
his brother, worthless though he is.” |
|
| |
| “I can’t think Si
ever hurt anyone.” |
|
| |
| “No, but
he hurt my heart the way he lay |
|
| And
rolled his old head on that sharp-edged
chair-back. |
155 |
| He
wouldn’t let me put him on the lounge. |
|
| You must
go in and see what you can do. |
|
| I made
the bed up for him there to-night. |
|
| You’ll be
surprised at him—how much he’s broken. |
|
| His
working days are done; I’m sure of it.” |
160 |
| |
| “I’d not
be in a hurry to say that.” |
|
| |
| “I
haven’t been. Go, look, see for yourself. |
|
| But,
Warren, please remember how it is: |
|
| He’s come
to help you ditch the meadow. |
|
| He has a
plan. You mustn’t laugh at him. |
165 |
| He may
not speak of it, and then he may. |
|
| I’ll sit
and see if that small sailing cloud |
|
| Will hit
or miss the moon.” |
|
| |
| It hit
the moon. |
|
| Then
there were three there, making a dim row, |
170 |
| The moon,
the little silver cloud, and she. |
|
| |
| Warren
returned—too soon, it seemed to her, |
|
| Slipped
to her side, caught up her hand and waited. |
|
| |
| “Warren,”
she questioned. |
|
| |
| “Dead,”
was all he answered. |
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