The Man Thou Gavest. Harriet T. Comstock

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СКАЧАТЬ he never swore before ladies, and in his best he remembered what was due them and upheld their honour and position with fervour.

      “Lil’ Nella-Rose,” he was saying as Marg paused outside the door in the dark, “why don’t you marry Burke Lawson and settle down here with me?”

      “He hasn’t asked me, father.”

      “He isn’t in any position now to pick and choose”—this between hiccoughs and yawns—“I saw him early this morning; I know his back anywhere. I’d just met old Jim White. I reckon Burke was calculating to shoot Jim, but my coming upset his plans. Shooting a sheriff ain’t safe business.” What Greyson really had seen was Truedale’s retreat after parting company with Jim, but not knowing of Truedale’s existence he jumped to the conclusion which to his fuddled wits seemed probable, and had so informed Marg upon his return.

      “I tell yo’, Nella-Rose,” he ran on, “yo’ better marry Burke and tame him. There ain’t nothing as tames a man like layin’ responsibilities on him.”

      “Come, father, let me help you to the table. I don’t want to talk about Burke. I don’t believe he’s back.” She steadied the rolling form to the head of the table.

      “I tell yo’, chile, I saw Burke’s back; don’t yo’ reckon I know Lawson when I see him, back or front? Don’t yo’ want ter marry Lawson, Nella-Rose?”

      “No, I wouldn’t have him if he asked me. It would be like marrying a tree that the freshet was rolling about. I’m not going to seek and hide with any man.”

      “Why don’t yo’ let Marg have ’im then? She’d be a right smart responsibility.”

      “She can have him and welcome, if she can find him!” Then, hearing her sister outside, she called:

      “Come in, Marg. Shut out the cold and the dark. What’s the use of acting like a little old hateful?”

      Marg slouched in; there was no other word to describe her indifferent and contemptuous air.

      “He’s coming around?” she asked, nodding at her father.

      “Yes—he’s come,” Nella-Rose admitted.

      “All right, then, I’m going to tell him something!” She walked over to her father and stood before him, looking him steadily in the eyes.

      “I—I killed the hog to-day;” she spoke sharply, slowly, as to a dense child. Peter Greyson started.

      “You—you—did that?”

      “Yes. While you were off—getting drunk, and while Nella-Rose was traipsing back there in the Hollow I killed the hog; but I’ll never do it again. It sickened the soul of me. I’m as good as Nella-Rose—just as good. If you can’t do your part, father, and she won’t do hers, that’s no reason for me being benastied with such work as I did to-day. You hear me?”

      “Sure I hear you, Marg, and I’m plumb humiliated that—that I let you. It—it sha’n’t happen again. I’ll keep a smart watch next year. A gentleman can’t say more to his daughter than that—can he?”

      “Saying is all very well—it’s the doing.” Marg was adamant. “I’m going to look out for myself from now on. You and Nella-Rose will find out.”

      “What’s come to you, Marg?” Peter looked concerned.

      “Something that hasn’t ever come before,” Marg replied, keeping her eyes on Nella-Rose. “There be times when you have to take your life by the throat and strangle it until it falls into shape. I’m gripping mine now.”

      “It’s the killing of that hog!” groaned Peter. “It’s stirred you, and I can’t blame you. Killing ain’t for a lady; but Lord! what a man you’d ha’ made, Marg!”

      “But I ain’t!” Marg broke in a bit wildly, “and other things are not for—for women to do and bear. I’m through. It’s Nella-Rose and me to share and share alike, or—”

      But there was nothing more to say—the pause was eloquent. The three ate in silence for some moments and then talked of trivial things. Peter Greyson went early to bed and the sisters washed the dishes, sharing equally. They did the out-of-door duties of caring for the scanty live stock, and at last Nella-Rose went to her tiny room under the eaves, while Marg lay down upon the living-room couch.

      When everything was at rest once more Nella-Rose stole to the low window of her chamber and, kneeling, looked forth at the peaceful moonlit scene. How still and white it was and how safe and strong the high hills looked! What had happened? Why, nothing could happen and yet—and yet—Then Nella-Rose closed her eyes and waited. With all her might she tried to force the “good, kind face” to materialize, but to no purpose. Suddenly an owl hooted hideously and, like a guilty thing, the girl by the window crept back to bed.

      Owls were very wise and they could see things in the dark places with their wide-open eyes! Just then Nella-Rose could not have borne any investigation of her throbbing heart.

CHAPTER III

       Table of Contents

      Lynda Kendall closed her desk and wheeled about in her chair with a perplexed expression on her strong, handsome face. Generally speaking, she went her way with courage and conviction, but since Conning Truedale’s breakdown, an element in her had arisen that demanded recognition and she had yet to learn how to control it and insist upon its subjection.

      Her life had been a simple one on the whole, but one requiring from early girlhood the constant use of her faculties. Whatever help she had had was gained from the dependence of others upon her, not hers upon them. She was so strong and sweet-souled that to give was a joy, it was a joy too, for them that received. That she was ever tired and longed for strong arms to uphold her rarely occurred to any one except, perhaps, William Truedale, the invalid uncle of Conning.

      At this juncture of Lynda’s career, she shrank from William Truedale as she never had before. Had Conning died, she knew she would never have seen the old man again. She believed that his incapacity for understanding Conning—his rigid, unfeeling dealing with him—had been the prime factor in the physical breakdown of the younger man. All along she had hoped and believed that her hold upon old William Truedale would, in the final reckoning, bring good results; for that reason, and a secret one that no one suspected, she kept to her course. She paid regular visits to the old man—made him dependent upon her, though he never permitted her to suspect this. Always her purpose had centred upon Con, who had, at first, appealed to her loyalty and justice, but of late to something much more personal and tender.

      The day’s work was done and the workshop, in which the girl sat, was beginning to look shadowy in the far corners where evidences of her profession cluttered the dim spaces. She was an interior decorator, but of such an original and unique kind that her brother explained her as a “Spiritual and Physical Interpreter.” She had learned her trade, but she had embellished it and permitted it to develop as she herself had grown and expanded.

      Lynda looked now at her wrist-watch; it was four-thirty. The last mail delivery had brought a short but inspiring note from Con—per Dr. McPherson.

      “I’ve СКАЧАТЬ