第45章

THE first day that John felt strong enough to walk as far as that end of the town, he was pulling himself unsteadily past the shop when he saw Peter and turned in to rest and chat.The young blacksmith refused to speak to him.

"Peter!" said John with a sad, shaky voice, holding out his hand, "have Ichanged so much? Don't you know me?"

"Yes; I know you," said Peter."I wish I didn't.""I don't think I recognize you any more," replied John, after a moment of silence."What's the matter?""Oh, you get along," said Peter."Clear out!"John went inside and drank a gourd of water out of Peter's cool bucket, came back with a stool and sat down squarely before him.

"Now look here," he said with the candour which was always the first law of nature with him, "what have I done to you?"Peter would neither look nor speak; but being powerless before kindness, he was beginning to break down.

"Out with it," said John."What have I done?""You know what you've said.""What have I said about you?" asked John, now perceiving that some mischief had been at work here."Who told you I had said anything about you?""It's no use for you to deny it."

"Who told you?"

"O'Bannon!"

"O'Bannon!" exclaimed John with a frown."I've never talked to O'Bannon about you--about anything.""You haven't abused me?" said Peter, wheeling on the schoolmaster, eyes and face and voice full of the suffering of his wounded self-love and of his wounded affection.

"I hope I've abused nobody!" said John proudly.

"Come in here!" cried Peter, springing up and hurrying into his shop.

Near the door stood a walnut tree with wide-spreading branches wearing the fresh plumes of late May, plumes that hung down over the door and across the windows, suffusing the interior with a soft twilight of green and brown shadows.A shaft of sunbeams penetrating a crevice fell on the white neck of a yellow collie that lay on the ground with his head on his paws, his eyes fixed reproachfully on the heels of the horse outside, his ears turned back toward his master.Beside him a box had been kicked over: tools and shoes scattered.A faint line of blue smoke sagged from the dying coals of the forge toward the door, creeping across the anvil bright as if tipped with silver.And in one of the darkest corners of the shop, near a bucket of water in which floated a huge brown gourd, Peter and John sat on a bench while the story of O'Bannon's mischief-making was begun and finished.It was told by Peter with much cordial rubbing of his elbows in the palms of his hands and much light-hearted smoothing of his apron over his knees.At times a cloud, passing beneath the sun, threw the shop into heavier shadow; and then the school-master's dark figure faded into the tone of the sooty wall behind him and only his face, with the contrast of its white linen collar below and the bare discernible lights of his auburn hair above--his face, proud, resolute, astounded, pallid, suffering--started out of the gloom like a portrait from an old canvas.

"And this is why you never came to see me." He had sprung up like a man made well, and was holding Peter's hand and looking reproachfully into his eyes.

"I'd have seen you dead first," cried Peter gaily, giving him a mighty slap on the shoulder."But wait! O'Bannon's not the only man who can play a joke!"John hurriedly left the shop with a gesture which Peter did not understand.

The web of deceptive circumstances that had been spun about him had been brushed away at last: he saw the whole truth now--saw his own blindness, blundering, folly, injustice.

He was on his way to Amy already.

When he had started out, he had thought he should walk around a little and then lie down again.Now with his powerful stride come back to him, he had soon passed the last house of the town and was nearing the edge of the wilderness.He took the same straight short course of the afternoon on which he had asked Mrs.Falconer's consent to his suit.As he hurried on, it seemed to him a long time since then! What experiences he had undergone!

What had he not suffered! How he was changed!

"Yes," he said over and over to himself, putting away all other thoughts in a resolve to think of this nearest duty only."If I've been unkind to her, if I've been wrong, have I not suffered?"He had not gone far before his strength began to fail.He was forced to sit down and rest.It was near sundown when he reached the clearing.

"At last!" he said gratefully, with his old triumphant habit of carrying out whatever he undertook.He had put out all his strength to get there.

He passed the nearest field--the peach trees--the garden--and took the path toward the house.

"Where shall I find her?" he thought."Where can I see her alone?""Between him and the house stood a building of logs and plaster.It was a single room used for the spinning and the weaving of which she had charge.

Many a time he had lain on the great oaken chest into which the homespun cloth was stored while she sat by her spinning-wheel; many a talk they had had there together, many a parting; and many a Saturday twilight he had put his arms around her there and turned away for his lonely walk to town, planning their future."If she should only be in the weaving-room!"He stepped softly to the door and looked in.She was there-- standing near the middle of the room with her face turned from him.The work of the day was done.On one side were the spinning-wheels, farther on a loom; before her a table on which the cloth was piled ready to be folded away; on the other the great open chest into which she was about to store it.She had paused in revery, her hands clasped behind her head.

At the sight of her and with the remembrance of how he had misjudged and mistreated her--most of all swept on by some lingering flood of the old tenderness--he stepped forward put his arms softly around her, drew her closely to him, and buried his check against hers:

"Amy!" he murmured, his voice quivering his whole body trembling, his heart knocking against his ribs like a stone.