 CHAPTER VII. A NEW ERA BEGINS. Bertrand Ballard's studio was at the top of his house, with a high north window and roughly plastered walls of uncolored sand, left as Bertrand himself had put the plaster on, with his trowel marks over the surface as they had happened to come, and the angles and projections thereof draped with cobwebs. When Peter, Jr. was able to leave his home and get about a little on his crutches, he loved to come there and rest and spend his idle hours. And Bertrand found pleasure in his companionship. They read together and sang together and laughed together, and no sound was more pleasant to Mary Ballard's ears than this same happy laughter. Peter had sorely missed the companionship of his cousin, for, at the close of the war, no longer a boy and unwilling to be dependent and drifting, Richard had sought out a place for himself in the work of the world. First he had gone to Scotland to visit his mother's aunts. There he found the two dear old ladies, sweetly observant of them, willing to tell him much of his mother, who had been scarcely younger than the youngest of them, but discreetly reticent about his father. From this he gathered that for some reason his father was under a cloud. Yet he did not shrink from trying to learn from them all they knew about him, and for what reason they spoke as if to even mention his name was an indiscretion. It was really little they knew, only that he had gravely displeased their nephew, Peter Craigmill, who had brought Richard up, who was his mother's twin brother. But why did Uncle Peter have to bring me up? You said he quarreled with my father. Will, you see, your mother was dead. It was Aunt Ellen, the elder by a twenty years, who told him most about it, she who spoke with the broadest scotch. Was my father a bad man, that Uncle Elder disliked him so? Will now but not say that. He was far from that to be right better to them both, for you see, your mother would never have loved him if he had been that, but he was an Irishman, and your Uncle Peter could never thaw an Irishman, and he far stole your mother from us, and she hesitated to continue then boarded out the real horror. Your Uncle Peter kind, had once been in the theatre, and sort of an actor body, and he could have thaw that. But little was to be gained with all his questioning, and what he learned seemed no more than that his father had done what any man might be expected to do, if someone stood between him and the girl he loved. So Richard felt that there must be something unknown to any but his uncle that turned them all against his father. Why had his father never appeared to claim his son? Why had he left his boy to be reared by a man who hated the boy's father? It was a strange thing to do, and it must be that his father was dead. At this time Richard was filled with ambitions, fired by his early companionship with Bertrand Ballard, and thought he would go to France and become an artist. To France, to the mecca of Bertrand's dreams, he desired of all things to go there for study, but of all this he said nothing to anyone. For where was the money? He would never ask his uncle for it, and now that he had learned that he had been all his young life really a dependent on the bounty of his Uncle Peter, he could no longer accept his help. He would hear after make his own way, asking no favors. The old aunt's guest at his predicament, and offered to give him for his mother's sake enough to carry him through the first year, but he would not allow them to take from their income to pay his bills. No, he would take his way back to America and find a place for himself in the new world, seek some active, stirring work, and save money, and sometime, sometime he would do the things his heart loved. He often thought of Betty, the little Betty who used to run to meet him and say such quaint things. Someday he would go to her and take her with him. He would work first and do something worthy of so choice a little mortal. Thus dreaming, after the manner of youth, he went to Ireland, to his father's boyhood home, he found only distant relatives there, and learned that his father had disposed of all he ever owned of Irish soil to an Englishman. A peasant much older than himself, owned and still lived on the estate that had been his grandfather Kildeen's, and Richard was welcomed and treated with open-hearted hospitality. But there, also, little was known of his father, only that the peasants on the estate remembered him lovingly as a free-hearted gentleman. Even that little was a relief to Richard's sore heart. Yes, his father must be dead. He was sorry. He was a lonely man, and to have a relative who was his very own, as near as a father, would be a great deal. His cousin, Peter, Jr., was good as a friend, for from now on, they must take paths that diverged, and that old intimacy must naturally change. His sweet Aunt Hester he loved, and she would fill the mother's place if she could, but it was not to be. It would mean help from his uncle Peter, and that would mean taking a place in his uncle's bank, which had already been offered in him, but which he did not want, which he would not accept if he did want it. So, after a long happy visit at his cousin Kildeen's, in Ireland, at last he left for America again and plunged into a new interesting and vigorous life, one that well suited his energetic nature, found work on the Great Railway that was being built across the plains to the Pacific Coast. He started as an engineer's assistant, but soon his talent for managing men caused his employers to put him in charge of gangs of workmen who were often difficult and lawless. He did not object. And he liked the new job better than that he began with. He was more interested in men than materials. The life was hard and rough, but he came to love it. He loved the wide sweeping prairies and later on the desert. He liked to lie out under the stars, often when the men slept under tents, his gun to his side and his thoughts back on the river buffs at Leobide. He did a lot of dreaming and thinking, and he never forgot Betty. Thought of her still as a child, although he was expecting her to grow up and be ready for him when he should return to her. He had a vague sort of feeling that all was understood between them and that she was quietly becoming womanly and waiting for him. Peter Jr. might have found other friends in Leobide had he sought them out, but he did not care for them. His nature called for what he found in Bertrand's studio, and he followed the desire of his heart regardless of anything else, spending all the time he could reasonably felt from his home. And what wonder Richard would have done the same, and was even then envying Peter the opportunity. As Peter well knew from his cousin's letters, there was no place in the village so fascinating and delightful as this little country home on its outskirts, no conversation more hopeful and helpful than Bertrand's, and no welcome sweeter kinder than Mary Ballard's. One day after Richard had gone out on the planes with the engineers of the projected road, Peter lay stretched on the long divan in the studio, said supported by his hand to see you half reclined on his elbow. In his one crutch, he had long since discarded the other within reach of his arm. His violin also lay within reach. He had been playing there by himself as Bertrand had gone on one of his rare visits to the city a hundred miles away. Betty Ballard heard the whale of his violin from the garden where she had been gathering pairs. That was how she knew where to find him when she quickly appeared before him. Rosie and flesh from a run to the house and up the long flight of stairs. As Peter lay there, he was gazing at the half finished copy he had been making of the head of an old man. Peter had decided since an all probability he would be good for no active work such as Richard had taken up that he too would become an artist like Bertrand Ballard to have followed his cousin would have delighted his heart for he had all the Scotchman's love of adventure. But since that was impossible, nothing was more alluring than the thought of fame and success as an artist. He would not tie himself to Levi to get it. He would go to Paris. And there he would do the things Bertrand had been prevented from doing or Bertrand how we would have loved the chance Peter Junior was planning for himself as he lay there dreaming and studying the half finished copy. Suddenly he beheld Betty standing directly in front of the work extending to him a folded bit of paper. Here's a note from your father. She cried. Looking upon her thus, with eyes that had been filled with the age rugged face on the canvas, Betty appealed to Peter as a lovely vision. He never noticed before. And just this way, her curious charm. But these months of companionship and study with Bertrand had taught him to see beauty understandingly. And now, as she stood panting a little, her breath coming through parted lips and hair flying and the wild way of her childhood, Peter saw as if it were a revelation that she were lovely. He raised himself slowly and reached for the note without taking his eyes from her face. He did not open the letter, but continued to look in her eyes at which she turned about half shyly. I heard you violin. That's how I knew you were up here. Oh, have you been painting on it again? On my violin? No, I've been playing on it. No, painting on the picture of the old man. I think you have it too drawn out and thin. He's too hollow there under the cheekbone. Is he miscritic? Well, thank your stars, you're not. I know, I'm too fat. She rubbed her cheek until it was redder than ever. What are you painting your cheeks for? There's color enough on them as they are. She made a little mouth at him. I could paint your old man as well as that, I know. I know you could. You could paint him far better than that. She laughed quickly repenting. I didn't say that to be horrid. I only said it for fun. I couldn't. And I know you could. He rose and stood without his crutch, looking down on her. And you're not too long drawn out, are you? See, you only come up to about here on me, measured with his hand a little below his chin. I don't care. You're not so awfully tall. Very well, have it so. That only makes you the shorter. I tell you, I don't care. You'd better stop staring at me if I'm so little and read your letter. The man's waiting for it. That's why I ran all the way up here. By this, it may be seen that Betty had lost all her awe of the young soldier. Maybe it left her when he doffed his uniform. Here's your crutch. Doesn't it hurt you to stand alone? She reached him the despised prop. Hurt me to stand alone? No, I'm not a baby. Do you think I'm likely to grow a bulllegged? He thundered, taking it from her hand without a thank you and glaring down on her humorously. You're a bit cruel to remind me of it. I'm going to walk with a cane hereafter. The next thing you know, you'll see me stalking around without either. Why, Peter Jr., I'd be so proud of that crutch I wouldn't leave it off for anything. I'd always limp a little, even if I didn't use it. Cruel, I was complimenting you. Complementing me? How? By reminding you that you had been brave and had been a soldier and had been wounded for your country and had been promoted and him. But Peter drowned her voice with a brorous laughter and suddenly surprised himself as well as her by slipping his arm around her waist and stopping her lips with a kiss. Betty was not surprised but shocked. She knew of no reason why Peter Jr. should not kiss her, even though it was not his custom to treat her this. And Betty's home, demonstrated with expressions of affection were as natural as sunlight. And why should not Peter like her? And therefore it was Peter who was shocked and embarrassed her with his sudden apology. I don't care if you did kiss me. You're just like my big brother, same as Richard is. And he often used to kiss me. She was trying to set Peter a disease. But anyway, I like you. Why, I suppose, of course you liked me, only naturally not as much as I liked you. Oh, more, much more. He stammered tremblingly. He knew in their heart that there was a subtle difference. And that what he felt was not what she meant when she said, I like you. I'm sure it is I who like you the most. Oh, no, it isn't. Why, you never even used to see me. And I used to gaze on you and be so romantic. It was Richard who always saw me and played with me, used to toss me up. And I would run away down the road to meet him. I wonder when he's coming back. I wish he'd come. Why don't you read your father's letter? The man's waiting, you know. Ah, yes. I suppose dad's waiting too. I wonder why he wrote me when he can see me every day. Well, read it. Don't stand there looking at it and staring at me. Do you know how you look? You look as if it were a message from the king saying, you were remanded to the tower and are to have your head struck off at sundown. That's the way they did things in the olden days. Shurn to go. Stay here until I see if you're right. He dropped on the divan and made room for her to side. All right. That's what I wanted to do. But I thought it wouldn't be polite to be curious. You wouldn't be polite anyway, you know, so you might as well stay. I'm remanded to the tower, sure enough. Father wants to meet me in the director's room as soon as banking hours are over. Fine, old dad. He wouldn't think of infringing on banking hours for any private reasons unless the sky were falling. And even then he would save the bank papers first. See here, Betty. Never mind. I'll tell you another time. Please tell me now. What is it? Something dreadful, Peter Junior? I wasn't thinking about this. It's something else. About what? About you. Oh, then it is no consequence. I want to hear what's in the letter. Why did you tell me to stay if you weren't going to tell me what's in it? Nothing. We've had a little difference of opinion, my father and I, and he evidently wants to settle it out of hand this way by summoning me in this official manner to appear before him at the bank. I know. He thinks you're idling away your time here trying to paint pictures, and he wishes to make a respectable banker of you. She reached over and began picking the strings of his violin. You mustn't finger the strings of violin that way. Why not? I want to see if I can pick out the star spangled banner on it. I can't on the flute. Father's old one, he lets me. Because you'll get them oily. She spread out her two firm little hands. My fingers aren't greasy. She cried indignantly. That's pear juice on them. The other genius gravity turned the laughter. Well, I don't want pear juice on my strings. Wait, you rogue. I'm going to kiss you again. No, you're not. You old hobbledy-hoi. You can't catch me. And when she was halfway down the stairs, she called back. The man's waiting. Coward, coward, called after her to run away from poor cripple and then call him names, thrust the letter into his pocket and seizing his scratch began deliberately and carefully to descend the stairs with grave set face, not unlike his father's. Catch Peter Junior called Betty from the top of the pear tree as he passed down the garden path and tossed him a pear which he caught, then another and another. There. Don't eat them now. Put them in your desk and next month they'll be just as sweet. Will they? Just like you. I'll be even with you yet when I catch you. You'll get pear juice on your strings. There are lots of nice girls in the village for you to kiss. They'll do just as well as me. Good girl, good grammar, goodbye. You wave at his hand toward Betty and turn to the waiting servant. You go on until the elder I'm coming right along, he said and hopped off down the road. It was only lately he'd begun to take long walks or hops like this. But with one crutch, it was growing frantic to be fairly on his two feet again. The doctor had told him he never would. But he said a square chin and decided that the doctor was wrong. More than ever today, with the new touch of little pear stained fingers on his heart, he wanted to walk off like other men. Now he tried to use his lame leg as much as possible. If only he might throw away the crutch and walk with a cane, it would be something gained. With one hand in his pocket, he crushed his father's letter into a small wad and tossed it in the air and caught it awhile and then put it back in his pocket and hobbled on. The atmosphere had the smoky appearance of the fall and the sweet haze of Indian summer way over the landscape. The horizon only faintly outlined through it. Peter Jr. sniffed the air. He wandered off the forest and the north were a fire. Golden maple leaves danced along the path for him. World hither and thither by the light breeze and the wild asters and goldenrod powdered his dark trousers with pollen as he brushed them in passing. All the world was lovely and he appreciated it as he had never been able to do before. Bertrand's influence had permeated his thoughts and widened thus his reach of happiness. He entered the bank just at the closing hour and the staid, faithful old quirks nodded to him as he passed through the inner room where he found his father awaiting him. He dropped wearily into a swivel chair before the great table and placed his crutch at his feet. Wiping the perspiration from his forehead, he leaned forward and rested his elbows on the table. The young man's wand look for the walk had taxed his strength, reminded his father of the day he had brought the boy home wounded and his face relaxed. You retired, my son. Oh, no, not very. I have been more so. Peter Junior smiled a disarming smile as he looked in his father's face. I've tramped many a mile on two sound feet and they were so numb from sheer weariness that I could not feel them or know what they were doing. What did you want to say to me, father? Well, my son, we have different opinions, as you know, regarding your future. I know indeed. And a father's council is not to be lightly disposed of. I have no intention of doing so, father. No, no, but wait, you've been loitering the day at Mr. Ballard's. Yes. I've nothing else to do, father. And Peter Junior's smile again came to the rescue. It isn't as though I were in doubtful company. I there are worse places here in the village where I might where idle men waste their time. Ah, yes, but they are not for you, not for you, my son. The elder smiled in his turn and lifted his brows, then drew them down and looked keenly at his son. The afternoon sunlight streamed through the high Western window and fell on the old man's face, bringing it into strong relief against the dark oak paneling behind him. And as Peter Junior looked on his father, he received his second revelation that day. He had not known before what a strong, fine old face his father's was. For the second time, he surprised himself when he cried out, I tell you, father, you have a magnificent head. I'm going to make a portrait of you, just as you are someday. The elder rose with an indignation, despairing downward motion of the hands and began pacing the floor while Peter Junior threw off restraint and laughed aloud, the laughter freed his soul, but it sadly irritated the elder. He did not like unusual or unprecedented things, and Peter Junior was certainly not like himself, and was acting in an unprecedented manner. You have now regained a fair amount of strength, and have reached an age when you should think seriously of what you are to do in life. As you know, it has always been my intention, but you should take a place here and fit yourself for the responsibilities that are now mine, but which will someday devolve on you. Peter Junior raised his hand and protest, then dropped it. I mean to be an artist, father. Fah, an artist, look at your friend Bertrand Ballert. What has he to live on? What will he have laid by for his old age? How has he managed to live all these years? He and his wife, the misbrow hand-to-mouth existence, I see my son trying to emulate them. You'll be an artist, and I will you support a wife if you ever have one. You mean to marry someday. I mean to marry Bertrand Ballert, said Peter Junior, with a rather good set of his jaw. Again, the elder made that despairing downward thrust with his open hands. Take a wife who has nothing in a career which brings in nothing, and live on what your father has amassed for you, and leave your son's nothing, a pretty way for you to carry on the work I have begun for you, to establish an honorable family. Father, father, I mean to do all I can to please you. I will always be dutiful and honorable, but you must leave me my manhood. You must allow me to choose my own path in life. The elder paced the floor a few moments longer, then resumed his chair opposite his son, and, leaning back, looked across the table at his boy, meditatively, with half-closed eyes. At last he said, We'll take this matter to the Lord, and leave it in his hands. Then Peter Junior cried out upon him, No, no, Father, spare me that. It means only that you'll state to the Lord what is your own way, and pray to have it, and then be more than ever convinced that that is the Lord's way. My son, my son, it is so, Father, I'm willing to ask for guidance of the Lord, but I'm not willing to have you dictate to the Lord what I must do, and so whip me in line with the scourge of prayer, Peter Junior paused, as he looked at his father's face, and saw the shocked and sorrowful expression in there, instead of the passionate retort he expected. I'm wrong to talk, so, Father, forgive me, but have patience a little. God gave to man the power of choice, didn't he? Certainly, through it, all manner of evil came into the world. And all manner of good, too, I, a man ought not to be merely an automaton, letting someone else always exercise that right for him. Surely the right of choice would never have been given us if it were not intended that each man should exercise it for himself. One who does not is good for nothing. There is the command you forget, that of obedience to parents. But how long, how long, Father, am I not man enough to choose for myself? Let me choose. Then the elder leaned forward and faced his son, as his son was facing him, both resting their elbows on the table, and gazing straight into each other's eyes. The old man spoke first. My father found at this bank before I was born. He came from Scotland when he was a lad, with his parents, and went to school and profited by his opportunities. He was of good family, as you know. When he was still a very young man, he entered a bank in the city as his clerk, and received only ten dollars a week for his services. But he was a steady, good lad, and ambitious, and soon he moved higher and higher. His father had taken up farming, and at his death, being an only son, he converted the farm all but the homestead, which we still own, and which will be yours into capital, and came to the town and started this bank. When I was younger and my son, I went into the bank and stood at my father's right hand, as I wished you, for your own sake, to do by me. We were a set race, a determined race, but we are not an unsubordinate race, my son. Peter Jr. was silent for a while. He felt himself being beaten, and he made one more play. It is not that I am an unsubordinate father, but as I see it, to each generation something enters, different from a preceding one. New elements are combined. In me that which my mother gave me. Your mother has always been a sweet woman, yielding to the judgment of her husband, as is the duty of a good wife. I know she was brought up and trained to think that her duty, but I doubt if you really know her heart. Did you ever try to know it? I don't believe you understood what I meant by the scourge of prayer. She would have known. She has lived all these years under that lash, even though it has been wielded by the hand He paused the second time, arrested by his father's expression. At first it was that of one who was stunned. Then it slowly changed to one of rage. For once the boy had broken through that wall of self-control in which the elder encased himself. Slowly the elder rose and leaned towering over his son across the table. I tell you that is a lie, he shouted. Your mother has never rebelled. She has been an obedient, docile woman. It is a lie. Peter Jr. also rose, taking up his crutch, turned toward the door. There he paused and looked back, splashing eyes. His lip quivered but he held himself quiet. Come back, his father shouted. I have told you the truth father. He still stood with his hand on the door. Has your mother ever said anything to you to give you reason to insult me this way? No. Never. We can't talk reasonably now. Let me go and I'll try to explain some other time. Mother is sacred to me father. I ought not to have dragged her into this discussion. The elder's lips trembled. He turned and walked to the window and stood a moment, silently looking out. At last he said in a low voice, she is sacred to me also, my son. Peter Jr. went back to his seat and waited a while with his head in his hands. Then he lifted his eyes to his father's face. I can't help it and I've begun. I might as well tell the truth. I meant what I said when I spoke of the different element in me and that it is for my mother. You gave me that mother. I know you love her but you know that your will is her law and you feel that it ought to be. But when I am with her I feel something of nature in her that is not yours and why not? Why not father? There is that of her in me that makes me know of this and that of you in me that makes me understand you. Even now you're insisting on your own way because you think it is for my good but nothing can alter the fact that I have inherited from my mother a taste that are not yours and that entitle me to my manhood's right of choice. Well what is your choice now that you know my wish? I can't tell you yet father I must have more time I only know what I think I would like to do. You wish to talk it over with your mother? Yes She will agree with me. Yes no doubt but it's only fair to tell her and ask her advice especially if I decide to leave home. The elder caught his breath inwardly but said no more he recognized in the boy enough of himself to know that he had met him in a power of resistance equal to his own. He also knew what Peter Jr. did not know but his grandfather's removal to this country was an act of rebellion against the wishes of his father it was a matter of family history he had thought best not to divulge. End of Chapter 7 Recording by Chelsea Baker Chapter 8 of The Eye of Dread This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org The Eye of Dread by PaynerSkin Chapter 8 Mary Ballet's Discovery Peter Jr.'s mind was quite made up to go his own way and leave home to study abroad but first he would try to convert his father to his way of thinking then there was another thing to be done not to marry of course that, under present conditions would never do but to make sure of Betty let someone come and steal into her heart before his return After his talk with his father in the bank he lay long into the night gazing at the shadow of the tracery on his wall cast by the full harvest moon shining through the maple branches outside his window the leaves had not all fallen and in the light breeze they danced and quivered and the branches swayed and the shadows also swayed and danced delicately over the soft grey wallpaper and the red-coated old soldier standing stiffly in his golden frame often in his waking dreams and afterlife he saw the moving shadows silently swaying and dancing over grey and red and gold and often he tried to call them out from the past to banish things he would forget long this night he lay planning and thinking should he speak to Betty and tell her he loved her should he only know what the Frank liking of her girlhood so well expressed to him that very day but with the warm feeling which could cause her cheeks to redden when he spoke could he be sure of himself to do this correctly to do this discreetly or would he overstep the mark he would wait and see what the next day would bring forth in the morning he discarded his crutch as he had threatened and walked out to the studio using only a stout old black thorn stick he had found one day when rummaging among a collection of friends in the attic he thought the stick was his father's and wondered why so interesting a walking stick or staff it could hardly be called a cane he thought and because it was so large and oddly shaped should be hidden away there had his father seen it he would have recognized it instantly as one that had belonged to his brother in law Larry Kildine and it would have been cut up and used for lighting fires but it had been many years since the elder had laid eyes on everything in the new world and a fine antique specimen of genuine black thorn it had belonged to his great grandfather in Ireland and no doubt had done its part in cracking crowns Betty kneading bread at the table before the kitchen window spied Peter junior limping warily up the walk without his crutch and ran to him dusting the flour from her hands as she came lean on me I won't get flour on your coat what did you go without your crutch for PSA to laugh but it was a self-conscious one I'm not going to use a crutch all my lifetime don't you think it I'm very well off without and almost myself again I don't need to lean on you will just for fun put his arm about her and drew her to him stop Peter junior don't you see you're getting flour all over your clothes I like flour on my clothes who will do for stiffening you raised her hand and kissed her wrist where there was no flour you're not leaning on me you're walking you're so tired come all this way without your crutch I think you're foolish if you say anything more about that crutch I'll throw away my cane too he dropped down on the piazza and drew her to the step beside him I must finish kneading the bread I can't sit here you rest in the rocker a while before you go up to the studio father's up there he came home late last night after we were all in bed she returned to her work and after a moment I want you to go we're going out to Carter's Grove and we've got permission everyone's going Peter Junior rubbed the moisture from his hair and shook his head he must get nearer her but it was always the same thing just a happy game with no touch of sentiment no more he thought gloomily than if she were his sister what are you all going there for why nuts goosey didn't I say we were going nutting don't happen to hope him to go for her sake but what could he say he left a seat took the side path around to the kitchen door and drew up a chair to the end of the table where she definitely manipulated the sweet smelling dough patting it and pulling it and turning it about until she was ready to put the shapely balls in the pans holding them in her two firm little hands with a slight rolling motion as she slipped each loaf in its place it had never occurred to Peter Junior that making bread with such an interesting process ran any old way that's the way I'd do but he loved to watch her pink tip fingers carefully shaping the loaves nevertheless oh because good reason well the more you work it the better it is just like everything else and then if you don't make good looking loaves you'll never get a handsome husband mother says so she tossed a stray lock from her eyes and opening the oven door thrust in her arm my but it's hot mother's gone to town and I'd rather sit here with you thank you spoke stiffly and waited what could he say what could he do next she left him a moment and quickly returned with a cup of butter you know I'd stop and go out in the cool with you Peter but I must work this dough I have left to raise biscuit and then I have to make a cake for tomorrow and cookies something to do in this house I tell you only our little crowd when I said everybody you didn't think I meant everybody in the whole world did you you know us all do you want me to go there'll be enough others she tossed her head and gave him a side long glance I always ask people to go when I don't want them to he rose at that and stood close to her side stooping looked in her eyes for the first time the color flamed up face because of him I say do you want me to go no I don't but the red he had brought into her cheeks intoxicated him with the light now he know a thing to do he soothed her wrist and turned her away from the table and continued to look into her eyes she twisted about looking away from him but the burning blush made even the little ear she turned toward him pink and he loved it his discretion was all gone he loved her and he would tell her now she must hear it and slipping his arm around her he drew her away and out to the seat under the old silver wave poplar tree you're acting silly Peter junior my bread will spoil and get too light and my hands are covered with flower and I'll sit you right here and talk to you a bit with the bread spoils and gets too light and everything burns to a center she started to run away from him and his preemptory tone changed to plating please Betty dear just hear me this far I'm going away Betty and I love you no sit close to me and be my sweetheart dear it isn't the old thing it's love and it's what I want you to feel for me I woke up yesterday and found I loved you he held her closer and lifted her face to his you must wake up too Betty can't play always say you'll love me and be my wife someday won't you Betty she dripped in his arms hanging her head and looking down on her flowery hands say it Betty dear won't you her lip quivered I don't want to be anybody's wife and anyway I liked you better the other way why Betty tell me why because lots of reasons I must follow my mother and I'm only 17 and most 18 I know because well anyway mother says no girl of hers she'll marry before she's of age and she says that means 21 and that's alright I can wait kiss me Betty but she was silent with face turned from him again he lifted her face to his I say kiss me Betty just one it was a stingy little kiss you know I'm going away and that is why I spoke to you now I didn't dare go without telling you this first you're so sweet Betty someone might find you out and love you just as I have only not so deeply in love with you no one could but someone might come and win you away from me so I must make sure that you will marry me when you were of age and I come back for you promise me where why Peter junior where are you going Betty removed his arm from around her waist and slipped to her own end of the seat there with hands folded decorously in her lap with heightened color and serious eyes she looked shyly up at him he'd never seen her shy before always she had been merry and teasing and his heart was proud that he had wrought such a miracle in her I'm going to Paris I mean to be an artist he leaned toward her and would have taken her in his arms again but she put his hands away will your father let you do that her eyes widened with surprise and the surprise netled him I don't know he's thinking about it anyway a man must decide for himself what his career will be and if he won't let me I'll earn the money wouldn't that be the best way anyway what do you mean to go without his consent of course not goosey she laughed and was herself again but he liked her better the other way to earn the money and then go it would be more more as if you were an earnest my soul do you think I'm not an earnest you think I'm not in love with you instantly she was serious and shy again his heart leaped he loved to feel his power over her vest still she tantalized him I'm not meaning about love that's not the question I mean it would look more as if you were an earnest about becoming an artist no the real question is do you love me will you marry me when I come back she was silent and he came near say it say it I must hear you say it before I leave her lips trembled as if she were trying to form the words and their eyes met yes if if then he caught her to him and stopped her mouth with kisses he did not know himself he was a man he had never met the like of and he gloried himself it seemed as if he heard bells ringing out in joy then he looked up and saw Mary Ballard's eyes fixed on him Peter Junior what are you doing her voice shook I'm kissing Betty I see that we are to be married someday and you will precipitate Peter Junior then Betty did what every woman does when her lover is blamed no matter how earnestly she may have resisted him before she went completely over to his side and took his part he's going away mother he's going away to be gone perhaps for years and I've I've told him yes mother so it isn't his fault then she turned and fled to her own room and hit her flaming face in the pillow and wept sit here with me a while Peter Junior and we'll talk it all over said Mary he obeyed her and looking squarely in her eyes manfully told her his plans and tried to make her feel as he felt that no love like his had ever filled a man's heart before at last she sent him up to the studio to tell her husband and she went in and finished Betty's task putting the bread alas too light by this time and the oven and shaping the raised biscuit which Betty had left half finished then she paused a moment to look out of the window down the path where the boys and little Janie would soon come tumbling home from school hot and hungry the tears slowly coursed on her cheek and following the curves trembled on the tip of her chin she brushed it away impatiently of course it had to come that was what life must bring but ah not so soon not so soon then she set about preparations for dinner without Betty's help that too was what it would mean sometime to go on doing things without Betty she gave her a little sigh and at the last instant an arm was slipped about her waist and she turned to look in Bertrand's eyes is it alright Mary why yes that is if they'll always love each other as we have I think it ought not to be too definite in engagement though until those plans are more settled what do you think you were right no doubt I'll speak to him about that then he kissed her warm flush cheek I declare it makes me feel as Peter Jr. feels again to have this happen ah Bertrand you never grew up thank the Lord then Mary laughed after all they had been happy and why not Betty and Peter surely the young had their rights Bertrand climbed back to the studio where Peter Jr. was pacing restlessly back and forth and again they talked it all over until the call for dinner came when Peter was urged to stay but would not no he would not see Betty again until he could have her quiet to himself so he limped away feeling as if he were walking on air in spite of his halting gait and Betty from her window watched him pass down the path and off along the grassy roadside then she went down to dinner flushed in grave though shining eyes father kissed her but nothing was said and the children thought nothing of it her was quite natural in the family to kiss Betty End of Chapter 8 Recording by Chelsea Baker Chapter 9 of The Eye of Dread This is a Libberfox recording All Libberfox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer please visit Libberfox.org Recording by Anna Simon The Eye of Dread by Payne Erskine Chapter 9 The Banker's Point of View There was no picnic and nutting party the next day owing to a downpour of rain Betty had time to think quietly over what had happened the day before and her mind misgave her What was it that so filled her heart and mind that so stirred her imagination? Was it romance or love? She wished she knew how other girls felt who had loved us Was it easy or hard for them to say yes? Should a girl let her lover kiss her the way Peter Jr. had done? Some of the questions which perplexed her she would have liked to ask her mother but in spite of their charming intimacy she could not bring herself to speak of them She wished she had a friend with a lover and could talk it all over with her but although she had girlfriends none of them had lovers and to have one herself made her feel much older than any of them So Betty thought matters out for herself Of course she liked Peter Jr. she had always liked him and he was masterful and she had always known she would marry a soldier and one who had been wounded and been brave that was the kind of a soldier to love but she was more subdued than usual and sewed steadily on gingham aprons for Janie making the buttonholes and binding them about the neck with contrasting stuff Anyway, I'm glad there is no picnic today the boys may eat up the cookies and I didn't get the cake made after all She said to her mother as she lingered a moment in the kitchen and looked out of the window at the pouring rain but she did not see the rain she saw again a grey clad youth lumping down the path between the lilacs and a way along the grassy roadside Well, what if she had said yes It was all as it should be according to her dreams, only only he had not allowed her to say what she had meant to say she wished her mother had not happened to come just then before she could explain to Peter jr that it was yes only if when he came back he still wanted her and still loved her and was sure he had not made a mistake about it it was often so in books men went away and when they returned they found they no longer loved their sweethearts such a terrible thing should happen to her oh dear or maybe he would be too honourable to say he no longer loved her and would marry her in spite of it and she would find out afterward when it was too late that he loved someone else that would be very terrible and they would be miserable all their lives I don't think I would let the boys eat up the cookies dear it may clear off by sundown and be fine tomorrow and they'll be all as glad as to go today you make your cake but Martha's coming home tomorrow night and I'd rather wait now until Saturday that would be only one day longer and it would be more fun with her along but he spoke brightly and tried to make herself feel that no momentous thing had happened she hated the constraint of it by that time Peter jr will think that he can go too he's so funny she laughed self-consciously and carried the gingham aprons back to her room bless her dear little heart Mary ballad understood Peter jr also profited by the rainy morning he had a long hour alone with his mother to tell her of his wish to go to Paris and her way of receiving his news was a surprise to him he had thought it would be a struggle and that he would have to argue with her setting forth his hopes and plans bringing her slowly to think with quiescence of their long separation but no she rose and began to pace the floor and her eyes grew bright with eagerness oh Peter Peter she came and placed her two hands on his shoulders Peter jr, you are a boy after my own heart you're going to be something worthwhile I always knew you would it is Burton Ballad who has waked you up who has taught you to see that there is much outside of lovite for a man to do I'm not objecting to those who live here and have found their work here it is only that you are different go go it is as your father have you asked his consent oh yes has he given it I think he's considering it seriously Peter jr, I hope you won't go without it as you went once without mine never before had she mentioned it to him or recalled to his mind that terrible parting why not mother it would be as fair to him now as it was then to you it would be fairer for this is a question of progress and then it was a matter of life and death ah that was different I admit but I never could retaliate or seem to even in the smallest thing I don't want him to suffer as I suffered it was almost a cry for pity and Peter jr. wanted in his heart at the death of anguish she must have endured in those days when he had thrust the thought of her position to one side as merely an obstacle overcome and it felt the triumph of winning out in the contest as one step toward independent manhood now indeed their viewpoints had changed he felt almost a sense of peak that she had yielded so joyously so suddenly although confronted with the prospect of a long separation from him did she love him less than in the past had his former disregard of her wishes lessened even a trifle her mother loved for him I'm glad you can take the thought of my going as you do mother he spoke coldly as an only son may but he was to be excused he was less spoiled than most only sons in what way my son why him being glad to have me go what a feeling as you did it then glad? glad to have you go it isn't that dear understand me I'm sorry I spoke with that old time it was only to spare your father you see we look at things differently he loves to have us follow out his plans it is almost death to him to have to give up and with me it was not then as it is now I don't like to think or speak of that time don't mother don't cried Peter contritely but I must make you see this as you should it was love for you then that made me cling to you I want to hold you back from going just the same it is love for you now that makes me want you to go out and find your right place in the world I was letting you go then to be shot at to suffer fatigue and cold and imprisonment who could know perhaps to be cruelly killed I suppose your father was the nobler in his way of thinking but I could not see it his way angels from heaven couldn't have made me believe it right but it's over now I know your life will be made broader by going and you'll have scope at least to know what you really wish to do with yourself and what you are worth as you would not have to sit down in your father's bank although you would be safer there no doubt but you went through all the temptations you are me safely and I have no fear for you now dear no fear Peter junior's heart melted he took his mother in his arms and stroked her beautiful white hair I love you mother dear was all he could say should he tell her of Betty now the question died in his heart it was too much he would be all hers for a little nor intrude the new love that she might think divided his heart he returned to the question of his father's consent mother what shall I do if he will not give it wait try to be patient and do what he wishes it may help him to yield in the end never I know dad better than that he will only think all the more that he is in the right and that I have come to my senses he never takes any viewpoint but his own his mother was silent never would she open her lips against her husband I say mother naturally I would rather go with his consent but if he won't give it how long will some man be obedient just for the sake of obedience does such bondage never end am I not of age I will speak to him wait and see talk it over with him again today after banking hours I I have something I must must do today he was thinking he would go out to the bullets in spite of the rain the dinner hour passed without constraint these days Peter Junior would not allow the long silences to occur that used often to cast a gloom over the meals in his boyhood he knew that in this way his mother would sadly miss him it was the eldest way to keep his thoughts for the most part to himself and especially when there was an issue of importance before him it was supposed that his wife could not take an interest in matters of business or in things of interest to men so silence was the rule when they were alone this time Peter Junior mentioned the topic of the wonderful new railroad that was being pushed across the plains and through the unexplored desert to the Pacific the mere thought of it is inspiring, said Hester how so, queried the elder with a lift of his brows he deprecated any thought connecting sentiment with achievement sentiment was of the heart and only hindered achievement which was purely of the brain it's just a wonder of it think of the two great oceans being brought together, only two weeks apart don't they estimate that the time to cross will be only two weeks yes mother, and we have those splendid old pioneers who made the first trail across the desert to thank for it's being possible it isn't the capitalists who have done this it's the ones who had faded themselves and dared the dangers and the hardships they are the ones I honor they never went for love of humanity it was mere love of wandering and migratory instinct, said his father grimly Peter jr. laughed merrily what a dulled grandfather craig mild pulled up and come over to his country full they had to cross insane vessels then and take weeks for the journey progress my son, progress your grandfather had the idea of establishing his family in honorable business over here and he did it well, I say these people who have been crossing the plains and crawling over the desert behind ox teams in prairie schooners for the last 20 or 30 years braving all the danger of the unknown have really paved the way for progress and civilization the railroad is being laid along the trail they made do you know richards out there at the end of the line, nearly? he would be a likely to be roving boy what's he doing there? poor boy he almost died in that terrible southern prison he was the mere shed of himself when he came home said hester the young man of the present day he had little use for a decent path and safe ways I offered him a position in the bank but no he must go to scotland first to make the acquaintance of our aunts if he had been satisfied with that but no, again he must go to Ireland on a fool's errand to learn something of his father the elder passed and bit his lip and a vein stood out on his forehead he's never seen fit to write me of late of course, such a big scheme as this road across the plains would appeal to a man like Richard he's doing very well, father I wouldn't be disturbed about him hmm, I might as well be disturbed by the cause of the Wisconsin river I might as well worry over the rush of a cataract the lad has no stability he never fails to write to me and I must say that he was considered the most dependable man in the regiment what is he doing I should like to see the boy again hester looked across at her son loving light in her eyes I don't know exactly but it's something worthwhile and calls for lots of energy he says they're striking out into the dust and alkali now right into the desert and doesn't he say a word about when he's coming back not a word, mother he really has no home, you know he says scotland has no opening for him and he has no one to depend on but himself he has relatives who are fairly well to do in Ireland so I've heard and my aunts in Scotland talked of making him their heir when I was last there he knows that father but he says he's not one to stand round waiting for two old women to die he says they're fine decorous old ladies too who made a lot of him I warn't they'd hold up their hands in horror if they knew what a rough life he's leading now how rough my son I wish he'd make up his mind to come home there I told him this is his home just as much as it is mine I'll write him you said that mother indeed yes, bless the boy the elder looked at his wife and lifted his brows a sign that it was time the meal should close and she arose instantly it was her habit never to rise until the elder gave the sign Peter Junior walked down the length of the hole at his father's side what Richard really wished to do was what I mentioned to you yesterday for myself he wanted to go to Paris and study but after visiting his great aunts he saw that it would be too much he would not allow them to take from their small income to help him through so he gave it up for the time being but if he keeps on as he is it is my opinion he may go yet he's making good money then we could be there together the elder made no reply but stooped and drew on his in-ear rubber overshoes stamping into them and then got himself into his raincoat with sundry liftings and hunchings of his shoulders Peter Junior stood by waiting if happily some sort of sign might be given that his remark had been heeded but his father only carefully adjusted his head and walked away in the rain setting his feet down stubbornly at each step and holding his umbrella as if it were a banner of righteousness the younger men's face flushed and he turned from the door angrily then he looked to see his mother's eyes fixed on him sadly at least he might treat me with common decency he need not be rude even if I am his son he thought he detected accusation of himself in his mother's gaze and resented it be patient dear oh mother patient patient what have you got by being patient all these years peace of mind my son mother try to take your father's view of this matter have you any idea how hard he has worked all his life and always with the thought of you and your advancement and welfare why Peter Junior he's bound up in you he expected you would one day stand at his side his mainstay and help and comfort in his business then it wasn't for me it was for himself that he's worked and built at the bank it's his bank and his wife and his son and his tower of Babel that he's built and now he wants me to bury myself in it but it's idolatry hash Peter I don't like to rebuke you but I must you can twist facts about and see them in a wrong light but the truth remains that he's loved you tenderly always I know his heart better than you better than he it is only that he thinks the line he has taken a lifetime to lay out for you is the best he is as sure of it as that the days follow each other he sees only futility in the way you would go I have no doubt his heart is sore over it at its moment and that he's grieving in a way that would shock you could you comprehend it enough said mother enough said I'll try to be fair he went to his room and stood looking out at the rain washed earth and the falling leaves the sky was heavy and drab he thought of Betty and her picnic and of how gay and sweet she was and how all together are desirable and the thought rotted change in his spirit he went downstairs and kissed his mother then he too put on his rubber over shoes and shook himself into his raincoat and carefully adjusted his head and his umbrella then with the assistance of the old black thorn stick he walked away in the rain limping it is true but nevertheless a younger, sturdier addition of the man who had passed out before him he found Betty alone as he had hoped for Mary Ballet had gone to drive her husband to the station the merchant was thinking of opening a studio in the city at his wife's earnest solicitation for she thought him buried there in their village as for the children they were still in school this came about that Peter Jr. spent the rest of that day with Betty and her father's studio he told Betty all his plans he made love to her and consoled her and was happy indeed he had a winsome way and he made her say she loved him more than once or twice and his heart was satisfied we'll be married just as soon as I return from Paris and you'll not miss me so much until then oh no ah but, but I hope you will you know of course I shall, what would you suppose but you said no naturally, didn't you wish me to say that I wanted you to tell the truth well I did there it is again I'm afraid you don't really love me she tilted her head on one side and looked at him a moment would you like me to say I don't want you to go to Paris not that exactly but all the time I'm gone I shall be longing for you I should hope so it would be pretty bad if you didn't now you see what I mean about you I want you to be longing for me all the time until I return all right I'll cry my eyes out and I'll keep writing for you to come home oh come now tell me what you will do all the time oh lots of things I'll paint pictures too and I'll write and help mother just as I do now and I'll study art without going to Paris will you you rogue I'd marry you first and take you with me if it were possible and you should study in Paris too that is if you wish to wouldn't it be wonderful but I don't know I believe I'd rather write than paint I believe I'd rather have you they say there are no really great women artists it isn't in the woman's nature they haven't the strength they have the delicacy and all that it's something else they lack it's rather nice to have it lacking in one thing and another isn't it it gives you men something to do to discover and fill in the legs I know one little lady Betty looked out of the window and down into the yard there's mother driving in let's go down and have cookies and milk I'm sure you need cookies and milk I'll need anything you say very well then you'll need patience if ever you marry me I know that well enough stop a moment kiss me before we go down he caught her in his arms but she slipped away no I won't you've had enough kisses one when you come hereafter and one when you go away but no more then I shall come very often he laughed and leaned upon her instead of using a stick as they slowly descended Mary Ballet was chilled after a long drive in the rain and Betty made her tea then after a pleasant hour of chat and encouragement from the two sweet women Peter Jr. left them promising to go to the picnic and nutting party on Saturday it would surely be pleasant for the sky was already clearing yes truly a glad heart brings pleasant prognostications end of chapter 9 Chapter 10 of The Eye of Dread this is a LibriVox recording or LibriVox recordings are in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org recording by Christine Blashford The Eye of Dread by Payne Erskine Chapter 10 The Nutting Party Peter Jr. made no attempt the next day to speak further to his father about his plans it seemed to him better that he should wait until his wise mother had talked the matter over with the elder although he put in most of the day at the studio painting he saw very little of Betty and thought she was avoiding him out of girlish cockatry but she was only very busy Martha was coming home and everything must be as clean as wax Martha was such a tidy housekeeper that she would see the least lack and set to work to remedy it and that Betty could not abide in these days Martha's coming marked a semi-monthly event in the home for since completing her course at the high school she had been teaching in the city Bertrand would return with her and then all would have to be talked over just what he had decided to do and why in the evening a surprise awaited the whole household for Martha came accompanied not only by her father but also by a young professor in the same school where she taught Mary Ballard greeted him most kindly all things were happening too rapidly in her family Jamie and Bobby watched the young man covertly yet eagerly taking note of his every movement and intonation was he one to be emulated or avoided only little Janie was quite unabashed by him and this lightened his embarrassment greatly and helped him to the ease of manner he strove to establish she led him out to the sweet apple tree and introduced him to the calf and the bantams and invited him to go with them nutting the next day we're all going in a great big picnic wagon everybody's going and will have just lots of fun and he accepted provided she would sit beside him all the way Bobby decided at this point that he also would befriend the young man if you're going to sit beside her all the way you'll have to be lively she never sits in one place more than two minutes you'll have to sit on Papa's other knee for a while and then you'll have to sit on Peter Junior's that will be interesting anyway who's Peter Junior? oh he's a man he comes to see us a lot he's the son of Elder Craig Mile explained Martha is he going to you Betty? yes the whole crowd are going it will be fun I'm glad now it rained Thursday for the Deans didn't want to postpone it till tomorrow and then when it rained Mrs. Deans said it would be too wet to try to have it yesterday and now we have you I wanted all the time to wait until you came home that night when Martha went to their room Betty followed her and after closing the door tightly she threw her arms around her sister's neck oh Martha dear tell me all about him why didn't you let us know? I came near having on my old blue gingham what if I had? he's awfully nice looking is he in love with you tell me all about it does he make love to you oh Martha it's so romantic for you to have a lover hush Betty someone will hear you of course he doesn't make love to me why? I wouldn't let him Martha why not do you think it's bad to let a young man make love to you? Betty you mustn't talk so loud so through this house it would mortify me to death what would mortify you to death to have him make love to you or to have someone hear me? Betty dear well tell me all about him please why did he come out with you you shouldn't always be thinking about lovemaking and such things Betty dear he just came out in the most natural way just because he loves the country and he was talking to me about it one day and said he'd like to come out some Friday with me just about asked me to invite him so when father called at the school yesterday for me I introduced them and he said the same thing to father and of course father invited him over again and so he's here that's all there is to it I bet it isn't how long have you known him why ever since I've been in the school naturally what does he teach he has higher Latin and beginners Greek and then he has charge of the main room when the principal goes out Betty pondered a little sitting on the floor in front of her sister you have such a lovely way of doing your hair is that the way to do hair nowadays with two long curls hanging down from one side of the coil you wind one side round the back knot and then you pin the other up and let the ends hang down in two long curls don't you I'm going to try mine that way may I of course darling I'll help you what's his name Martha I couldn't quite catch it and I did not want to let him know I thought it queer so wouldn't ask over his name is Lucian Turbyville it's not so queer Betty oh you pronounce it Turbyville you know I thought father said Mr. Turbyville or something like that when he introduced him to mother and that was why mother looked at him in such an odd way the two girls laughed merrily Betty what if you hadn't been a dear and had called him that and he's so very correct oh is he then I'll try it tomorrow and we'll see what he'll do don't you dare I'd be so ashamed I'd sink right through the floor he'd think we'd been making fun of him then I'll wait until we are out in the woods for I'd hate to have you make a hole in the floor and I'll be going through it Betty you'll be good tomorrow won't you dear good am I not always good didn't I scrub and bake and put flowers all over the ugly what not in the corner of the parlor and get the grease spot out of the dining room rug that Jamie stepped butter into and all for you without any thought of any Mr. Tubful or anyone but you all day long I've been doing it of course you did and it was perfectly sweet and the flowers and mother looked so dear and Jamie's hands were clean I look to see you know usually they are so dirty I knew you'd been busy but Betty dear you won't be mischievous tomorrow will you he's our guest you know and you never were bashful not as much as you really ought to be and we can't treat strangers just as we do well people we have always known like Peter Junior they wouldn't understand it but the admonition seemed to be lost for Betty's thoughts were wondering from the point hasn't he ever ever made love to you Martha was washing her face and neck at the wash stand in the corner and now she turned her face very rosy possibly with scrubbing and threw water over her naughty little sister well hasn't he ever put his arm around you or anything I wouldn't let a man do that not if you were engaged of course not that wouldn't be a nice way to do shouldn't you let a man kiss you or or put his arm around you or anything even when he's trying to get engaged to you of course not Betty dear you're asking very silly questions I'm going to bed well but they do in books he did in Jane Eyre don't you remember and she was proud of it and pretended not to be and very much touched and treasured his every look in her heart and in the books they always kissed their lovers how can Mr. Turbyville ever be your lover if you never let him even put his arm around you Betty Betty come to bed he isn't my lover and he doesn't want to be and we aren't in books and you are getting too old to be so silly then Betty slowly disrobed and bathed her sweet limbs and at last cracked in beside her sister surely she had not done right she had let Peter junior put his arm around her and kiss her and that even before they were engaged and all yesterday afternoon he had held her hand whenever she came near and he had followed her about and had kissed her a great many times her cheeks burned with shame in the darkness not that she had allowed this but that she had not been as bashful as she ought but how could she be bashful without pretending Martha she said at last you are so sweet and pretty if I were Mr. Turbyville I'd put my arm around you anyway and make love to you then Martha drew Betty close and gave her a sleepy kiss no you wouldn't dear she murmured and soon the two were peacefully sleeping Betty's troubles quite forgotten still when morning came she did not confide to her sister anything about Peter junior and she even whispered to her mother not to mention a word of the affair to anyone at breakfast Jamie and Bobby were turbulent with delight all outings were a joy to them no matter how often they came Martha was neat and rosy and gay Lucian Turbyville wanted to help Lucian Turbyville wanted to help her by wiping the dishes but she sent him out to the sweet apple tree with a basket and joining him to bring only the mellow ones be sure to get enough we're all going father and mother and all it's very nice of your people to make room for me on the wagon and it's nice of you to go I see Peter junior he's coming shouted Bobby from the top of the sweet apple tree asked Martha with us he always does said Betty I wonder why his mother and the elder never go out for any fun the way you and father do the elder always has to be at the bank I suppose said Mary Ballard and she wouldn't go without him did you put in the salt and pepper for the eggs dear yes mother I'm glad father isn't a banker it takes a man of more ability than I to be a banker said Bertrand laughing albeit with concealed pride we don't care if it does dad said Jamie patronizingly when I get through the high school I'm going to hire out to the bank he sees the lunch basket and marched manfully out to the wagon I thought Peter junior always went with Clara Dean he did when I left said Martha in a low voice to Betty as they filled bottles with raspberry shrub and with cream for the coffee did you tie strings on the spoons dear they'll get mixed with the Walters if you don't you remember there's a just like ours oh I forgot why he likes Clara a lot of course but I guess they just naturally expected him to go with us they and the Walters have a wagon together anyway and they wouldn't have room we have one all to ourselves hello Peter junior Mr. Turbieville this is Mr. Junior happy to meet you Mr. Junior said the correct Mr. Turbieville the boys laughed up roriously and the rest all smiled except Betty who was grave and really seemed somewhat embarrassed what is it she asked Mr. Turbieville this is Mr. Craig mile said Martha you introduced him as Mr. Junior Betty I didn't well that's because I'm bashful come on everybody mother's in so they all climbed into the wagon and began to find their places oh father have you the matches the bottles are on the kitchen table exclaimed Martha don't get down Mr. Ballard said Lucian I'll get them it would never do to forget the bottles now where's the little girl who was to ride beside me and Janie crawled across the hay and settled herself at her new friend's side now I think we are beautifully arranged for Martha was on his other side very well we're off and Bertrand gathered up the reins and they started there they are there's the other wagon shouted Bobby we ought to have a flag to wave then Lucian the correct startled the party by putting his two fingers in his mouth and whistling shrilly they have such a load I wish Clara could ride with us said Betty Peter Junior won't you get out and fetch her so they all stopped and there were greetings and introductions and much laughing and joking and Peter Junior obediently helped Clara deem down into the ballad's wagon Clara Mr. Turbyville can whistle as loud as a train through his fingers he can do it Mr. Turbyville said Bobby oh I can do that said Peter Junior not to be outdone by the stranger and they all tried it Bertrand and his wife settled comfortably on the high seat in front had their own pleasure together and paid no heed to the noisy crew behind them what a day autumn leaves and hazy distances soft breezes and sunlight and miles of level road skirting woods and open fields where the pumpkins lay yellow among the shocks of corn and where the fence corners were filled with flaming sumac with golden rod and purple asters adding their softer coloring it was a good eight miles to Carter's wood but they boarded the river where the bluffs were not so high and it would be possible to build a fire on the riverbank with perfect safety Bertrand had brought roasting ears from his patch of sweet corn and as soon as they arrived at their chosen grove he and Mary leisurely turned their clothing of the lunch with Mrs. Dean and Mrs. Walters leaving to the young people the gathering of the nuts Mrs. Dean, a slight, wary woman, who acted and talked easily and unceasingly, spread out a fresh linen cloth and laid a stone on each corner to hold it down and then looked into each lunch basket in turn to equate herself with its contents I see you brought cake and cookies and jam, Mrs. Ballard, besides all the corn and cream, you always do too much and all your own work to look I brought a lot of ham sandwiches, and that brown bread your husband likes so much. I always feel so proud when Mr. Ballard praises anything I do. He's so clever it makes me feel as if I were really able to do something. And you're so clever, too. I don't know how it is some folks seem to have all the brains, and then there's others. Good enough. But there. As I tell Mr. Dean, you can't tell why it is. Now, where are the spoons? Everyone brings their own, of course. Yes, here are yours, Mrs. Walters. It's good of you to think of that sweet corn, Mr. Ballard. Oh, he's gone away. Well, anyway, we're having a lot more than we can eat, and also good and tempting. I hope Mr. Dean won't overeat himself. He's just a boy at a picnic. I always have to remind him. How? Did you bring the cups for the coffee? It was Mrs. Walters who interrupted the flow of Mrs. Dean's eloquence. She was portly and inclined to brevity, which made her a good companion for Mrs. Dean. I had such a time with my gel this summer, and now this fall my grape gels just as bad. This is all running over the glasses. There, I'll set it on this paper. I do hate to see a clean cloth all spotted with gel, even if it is a picnic, when people think it doesn't make any difference. I see Martha has a friend. Well, that's nice. I wish Clara cared more for company. But there, as I tell Mr. Dean, oh yes, the cups. Clara, where are the cups? Oh, she's gone. Well, I'm sure they're in that willow basket. I told Clara to pack towels around them good. I do hate to see cups all nicked up. Yes, here they are. It's good of you to always tend the coffee, Mrs. Walters. You know just how to make it. I tell Mr. Dean nobody ever makes coffee like you can at a picnic. Now if it's ready, I think everything else is. Well it soon will be, with such a fire, and the corn's not done anyway. Do you think the sun will get round so as to shine on the table? I see it creeping this way pretty fast, and they're also scattered over the woods. There's no telling when we will get everyone here to eat. I see another tablecloth in your basket, Mrs. Ballard. If you'll be good enough to just hold that corner, we can cover everything up good, so, and then I'll walk about a bit and call them all together. And the kindly lady stepped briskly off through the woods, still talking, while Mrs. Ballard and Mrs. Walters sat themselves down in the shade, and quietly watched the coffee and chatted. It was past the noon hour, and the air was drowsy and still. The voices and laughter of the nut-gatherers came back to them from the deeper woods in the distance, and the crackling of the fire where Bertrand attended to the roasting of the corn nearby, and the gentle sound of the lapping water on the river-bank came to them out of the stillness. I wonder if Mr. Walters tied the horse's good, said his wife. Seems as if one's got loose. Don't you hear a horse galloping? They're all their eating, said Mary, rising and looking about. Someone's coming, a way off there, over the bluff, see? I wonder now, my, but he rides well. He must be coming here. I hope there's nothing the matter. It looks like it might be Peter, Jr., only he's here already. It's—it's—no, it can't be. It is! It's Bertrand! Bertrand! Why it's Richard! He's gallad, as the horsemen came toward them, lapping smoothly along under the trees, now in the sunlight and now in the shadow. He leapt from the saddle, and throwing the rain over a knotted limb, walked rapidly toward them, holding out a hand to each, as Bertrand and Mary hurried forward. I couldn't let you good folks have one of these fine old times without me. Why, when did you come? Oh, Richard, it's good to see you again, said Mary. I came this morning. I went up to my uncles, and then to your house, and found you all away, and learned that you were here, and my twin with you, so here I am. How are the children, all grown up? Almost. Come and sit down, and give an account of yourself to Mary, while I try and get hold of the rest, said Bertrand. Mrs. Dean has gone for them, Father. Mrs. Walters, the coffee's all right. Come and sit down here, and let's visit until the others come. You remember Richard killed Dean, Mrs. Walters. Since he was a baby, but it's been so long since I've seen you, Richard, I don't believe I'd have known you unless for your likeness to Peter, Jr. You look stronger than he now, Redder and Browner. I ought to, I've been in the open there and sun for weeks, I'm only here now by chance. A happy chance for us, Richard, where have you been of late, asked Bertrand. Out on the plains, riding and keeping a gang of men under control, for the most part, and pushing the work as rapidly as possible. He tossed back his hair with the old movement Mary remembered so well. Tell me about the children, Martha and Betty, both grown up, or still ready to play with a comrade. They're all here to-day, Martha's teaching in the city, but Betty's at home helping me as always, the boys are getting such big fellows, and little Janeys as sweet as all the rest. There, that's Betty's laugh I know, I'd recognize it if I heard it out on the plains. I have, sometimes, when a homesick fit gets hold of me out under the stars, when the noise of the camp has subsided—a good deal of that work is done by the very refuse of humanity, you know, a mighty tough lot. And you like that sort of thing, Richard, asked Mary. I thought when you went to your people in Scotland you might be leading a very different kind of life by now. I thought so too, then, but I guess for some reasons this is best. Still, I couldn't resist stealing a couple of days to run up here and see you all. I got off a carload of supplies yesterday from Chicago, and then I wired back to the end of the line that I'd be two days later myself. No wonder I followed you out here. I couldn't afford to waste the precious hours. I say that's Betty again, I'll find them and say you're hungry, shall I? Oh, they're coming now. I see Martha's pink dress, and there's Betty in green over there. But Richard was gone, striding over the fallen leaves towards the spot of green which was Betty's gingham dress, and Betty, spying him, forgot she was grown up. She ran toward him with outstretched arms, as of old, only just as he reached her she drew back and a wave of red surfaced her face. She gave him one hand instead of both, and called to Peter, Jr., to hurry. Well, Betty Ballard, I can't jump you along now over stocks and stones as I used to. And here's everybody. Why, Jamie, what a great man you are. I'll have to take you back with me to help build the new road. And here's Bobby, and this little girl, I wonder if she remembers me well enough to give me a kiss. I have nobody to kiss me now when I come back. That's right, that's what Betty used to do. Why, hello, here's Clara Dean, and who's this? John Walters? So you're a man, too. Mr. Dean, how are you, and Mrs. Dean? You don't grow any older, anyway, so I'll walk with you. Wait until I've pounded this old chap a minute. Why didn't I write I was coming? Man, I didn't know it myself. I'm under orders nowadays. To get here at all, I had to steal time, so you're graduated from a crutch to a cane — good. Everyone exclaimed at once, while Richard talked right on, until they reached the riverside where the lunch was spread, and then the babble was complete. That night, as they all drove home in the moonlight, Richard tied his horse to the rear of the ballads wagon, and rode home seated on the hay with the rest. He placed himself where Betty sat on his right, and the two boys crowded as close to him as possible on his left. Little Janey, cuddled at Betty's side, was soon fast asleep with her head in her sister's lap, while Lucy and Turbieville was well pleased to have Martha in the corner to himself. Peter Jr. sat near Betty, and listened with interest to his cousin, who entertained them all with tales of the Plains and the Indians, and the game that supplied them with many a fine meal in camp. Say, did you ever see a wheel-herd of wild buffalo just tearing over the ground and kicking up a great dust, and stampeding in everything, said Janey? Oh, yes, and if you are out there all alone on your pony, you'd better keep away from in front of them, too, or you'd be trampled to death in a jiffy. What stampeding! said Bobby. So Richard explained it, and much more that elicited long breaths of interest. He told them of the miles and miles of land without a single tree or hill, and only a sea of grass as far as the eye could reach, as level as Lake Michigan and far vaster, and how the great railway was now approaching the desert, and how he had seen the bones of men and cattle and horses bleaching white, lying beside their broken-down wagons, half buried in the drifting sand. He told them how the trail that such people had made with so much difficulty stretched far, far away into the desert along the very route, for the most part, that the railroad was taking, and answered their questions so interestingly that the boys were sorry when they reached home at last, and they had to bid good-night to Peter Jr.'s fascinating cousin Richard. CHAPTER XI. THE EYE OF DREAD. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Christine Blashford. THE EYE OF DREAD by Paine Urskine. CHAPTER XI. BETTY BALARD'S AWAKENING. Mary and Bertrand always went early to church, for Bertrand led the choir, and it was often necessary for him to gather the singers together and try over the anthem before the service. Sometimes the rector would change the hymns, and then the choir must have one little rehearsal of them. Martha and Mr. Turbyville accompanied them this morning, and Betty and the boys were to walk, for four grown-ups with little Janey sandwiched in between more than filled the carry-all. In these days Betty no longer had to wash and dress her brothers, but there were numerous attentions required of her, such as only growing boys can originate, and sister was as kind and gay in helping them over their difficulties as of old. So now, as she stepped out of her room all dressed for church in her white muslin, with green rose-sprigs over it, with her green parasol, and her prayer-book in her hand, Bobby called her. Oh, sis, I've broken my shoestring, and it's time to start. I have a new one in my everyday shoes, Bobby dear. Run upstairs and take it out, they're just inside the closet door. Wait a minute, Janey, that lock stands straight up on the back of your head. Can't you make it lie down? Bring me the brush. You look splendid in your new trousers. Now you hurry on ahead, and leave this at the deans. It's Clara's sash-bow, I found it in the wagon after they left last night. Run, she may want to wear it to church. Yes, Bobby dear, I sent him on, but you can catch up. Have you a handkerchief? Yes, I'll follow in a minute. When the boys rushed off, looking very clean in their Sunday clothing, and very old and mannish in their long trousers and stiff hats, Betty looked after them with pride, then she bethought her that the cat had not had her saucer of milk, and ran down to the spring to get it, leaving the doors wide-open behind her. The day was quite warm enough for her to wear the summer gown, and she was very winsome and pretty in her starched muslin, with the delicate green buds sprayed over it. She wore a green belt too, and the parasols she was very proud of, for she had bought it with her own chicken-money. It was her heart's delight. Betty's skirt reached nearly to the ground, for she was quite in long dresses, and two little ruffles rippled about her feet as she ran down the path to the spring. But alas! As she turned away, after carefully fastening the spring-house door, the cat darted under her feet, and Betty stumbled, and the milk streamed down the front of her dress and spattered her shoes, and if there was anything Betty liked, it was to have her shoes very neat. Oh, kitty, I hate your running under my feet that way all the time. Betty was almost in tears. She set the saucer down, and tried to wipe off the milk, while the cat crouched before the dish, and began drinking eagerly, and unthankfully, after the manner of cats. Someone stood silently, watching her from the kitchen steps, as she walked slowly up the path, gazing down on the ruin of the pretty starched ruffles. Why, Richard, was all she said, for something came up in her throat and choked her. She waited where she stood, and in his eyes, her aspect seemed that of despair. Was it all for the spilled milk? Why, Betty dear? She caught her, and kissed her, and laughed at her, and comforted her all at once. Not tears, dear, tears to greet me. You didn't half greet me last evening, and I came only to see you. Now you will, where there's no one to see and no one to hear. Yes, never mind the spilled milk, you know better than that. But Betty lay in his arms, a little crumpled whisper of sorrow, white and still. Away off there in Cheyenne, I got to thinking of you, and I went to headquarters, and asked to be sent on this commission, just to get the chance to run up here, and tell you I have been waiting all these years for you to grow up. You have haunted me ever since I left Loebite. You, darling, your laughing face was always with me, on the march, in prison, and wherever I've been since. I've been trying to keep myself right, for you, so I might dare some day to take you in my arms like this, and tell you, so I need not be ashamed before your—oh, Richard, wait, Wilde, Betty, but he would not wait. I've waited long enough. I see you are grown up before I even dreamed you could be. Like heaven I came now, you are so sweet, some one would surely have won you away from me. But no one can now, no one. Richard, why didn't you tell me this when you first came home from the war, before you went to Scotland? I would—not then, sweetheart, I couldn't. I didn't even know then I would ever be worth the love of any woman. And you were such a child, then, I couldn't intrude my weariness, my worn-out self on you. I was sick at heart when I got out of that terrible prison, but now it is all changed. I am my own man now, dependent on no one, and able to marry you out of hand, Betty dear. After you've told me something, I'll do whatever you say, wait as long as you say. No, no, listen, don't break away from me. You don't hate me as you do the cat. I haven't been running under your feet all the time. Have I, dear? Listen, see here my arms are strong now. They can hold you forever, just like this. I've been thinking of you, and dreaming of you, and loving you through these years. You have never been out of my mind, nor out of my heart. I've kept the little house wife you made me, and bound with your cherry-coloured hair-ribbon until it is in rags, but I love it still. I love it. They took everything I had about me at the prison, but this they gave back to me. It was the only thing I begged them to leave me. Poor little Betty. She tried to speak, and tried again, but she could not utter a word. Her mouth grew dry, and her knees would not support her. Richard was so big and strong, he did not feel her weight, and only delighted in the thought that she resigned herself to him. Darling little Betty, you do understand, don't you? Won't you tell me you do? But she only closed her eyes and lay quite still. She longed to lift her arms and put them about his neck, and the effort not to do so only crushed her spirit the more. Now she knew she was bad and unworthy, such a great love as this. She had let Peter Jr. kiss her, and she had told him she loved him, and it was nothing to this. She was not good, she was unworthy, and all the angels in heaven could never bring her comfort any more. She was so still, he put his cheek to hers, and it seemed as if she moaned, and that without a sound. Have I hurt you, Betty, dear? Oh, no, Richard, no. Do you love me, sweet? Yes, Richard, yes, I love you so I could die of loving you, and I can't help it. Oh, Richard, I can't help it. It's asking too much that you should love me so, and yet that's what my selfish, hungry heart wants and came here for. Take your face away, Richard. Stop. I must talk if it kills me. I have been so bad and wicked. Oh, Richard, I can't tell you how wicked. Let me stand by myself now. I can. She fought back the tears, and turned her face away from him, but when he let go of her, in her weakness she swayed, and he caught her to him again, with many repeated words of tenderness. If you will take me to the steps, Richard, and bring me a glass of water, I think I can talk to you then. You remember where things are in the house? Did he remember? Was there anything he had forgotten about this beloved place? He brought her the water, and she made him sit beside her, but not near, only that she need not look in his eyes. Richard, I thought something was love, that was not. I didn't know. It was only liking, and—and now I've been so wrong, and I want to die—oh, I want to die. No, don't. Do you want to make me sin again? Oh, Richard, Richard, if you had only come before, now it is too late. She began sobbing bitterly, and her small frame shook with her grief. He seized her wrists, and his hand trembled. She tried to cover her face with her hands, but he took them down and held them. Betty, what have you done? Tell me, tell me quick. Then she turned her face toward him, wet with tears. Have pity on me, Richard. Have pity on me, Richard, for my heart is broken, and the thing that hurts me most is that it will hurt you. But it wasn't yesterday when I came to you out there in the woods, I heard you laughing, and you ran to meet me as happy as ever. You did not hear me laugh once again after you came and looked in my eyes there in the grove. It was in that instant that my heart began to break, and now I know why. Go back to Cheyenne. Go far away, and never think of me any more. I am not worthy of you, anyway. I have let you hold me in your arms and kiss me when I ought not. Oh, I have been so bad, so bad. Let me hide my face. I can't look in your eyes any more." But he was cruel. He made her look in his eyes, and tell him all the sorrowful truth. Then at last he grew pitiful again, and tried brokenly to comfort her, to make her feel that something would intervene to help them, but in his heart he knew that his cause was lost, and his hopes burned within him, a heap of smouldering coals dying in their own ashes. He had always loved Peter, Jr. too well to blame him, especially as Peter could not have known what havoc he was making of his cousin's hopes. It had all been a terrible mischance, and now they must make the best of it and be brave. Yet a feeling of resentment would creep into his heart in spite of his manful resolve to be fair to his cousin, and let nothing interfere with their lifelong friendship. In vain he told himself that Peter had the same right as he to seek Betty's love. Why not? Why should he think himself the only one to be considered? But there was Betty, and when he thought of her, his soul seemed to go out of him. Too late! Too late! And so he rose and walked sorrowfully away. When Mary Ballard came home from church, she found her little daughter up in her room on her knees beside her bed, her arms stretched out over the white counterpane asleep. She had suffered until nature had taken her into her own soothing arms, and put her to sleep through sheer weakness. Her cheeks were still burning, and her eyelids red from weeping. Mary thought her in a fever, and gently helped her to remove the pretty muslin dress and got her to bed. Betty drew alongside as her head sank back into the pillow. My headaches, don't worry, Mother dear." She thought her heart was closed for ever on her terrible secret. Mother will bring you something for it, dear. You must have eaten something at the picnic that didn't agree with you. She kissed Betty's cheek, and at the door paused to look back on her, and a strange misgiving smoked her. I can't think what ailed her, she said to Martha. She seems to be in a high fever. Did she sleep well last night? Perfectly! But we talked a good while before we went to sleep. Perhaps she got too tired yesterday. I thought she seemed excited, too. Mrs. Walters always makes her coffee so strong. Peter Jr. came into dinner buoyant and happy. He was disappointed not to see Betty, and frankly avowed it. He followed Mary into the kitchen, and begged to be allowed to go up and speak to Betty for only a minute, but Mary thought sleep would be the best remedy, and he would better leave her alone. He had been to church with his father, and all through the morning service as he sat at his father's side, he had meditated how he could persuade the elder to look on his plans with some degree of favour, enough at least to warrant him in going on with them, and trust his father's coming around in time. Neither he nor Richard were at the elders at dinner, and the meal passed in silence, except for a word now and then in regard to the sermon. Hester thought continually of her son and his hopes, but as she glanced from time to time in her husband's face, she realized that silence on her part was still best. Whenever the elder cleared his throat and looked off out of the window, as was his want, and about to speak of any matter of importance, her heart leapt and her eyes gazed intently at her plate to hide the emotion she could not restrain. Her hands grew cold and her lips tremulous, but still she waited. It was the elder's custom to sleep after the Sunday's dinner, which was always a hearty one, lying down on the sofa in the large parlour where the closed blinds made a pleasant somberness. Hester passed the door and looked in on him as he lay apparently asleep. His long bony frame stretched out, and the muscles of his strong face relaxing to a softness they sometimes assumed when sleeping. Her heart went out to him, oh, if he only knew, if she only dared, his boy ought to love him and understand him, if they would only understand. Then she went up into Peter Junior's room, and sat there where she had sat seven years before, where she had often sat since, gazing across at the red-coated old ancestor, her hands in her lap, her thoughts busy with her son's future even as then. If all the others had lived, would the quandary and the struggle between opposing wills have been as great for each one as for this sole survivor? Where were those little ones now, playing in happy fields and waiting for her and the stern old man who also suffered, but knew not how to reveal his heart? Again and again the words repeated themselves in her heart mechanically. Wait on the Lord, wait on the Lord, and then again, oh Lord, how long? Peter Junior returned early from the ballads, since he could not see Betty, leaving the field open for Martha and her guest much to the guest's satisfaction. He went straight to the room occupied by Richard whenever he was with them, but no Richard was there. His release was all packed ready for his start on the morrow, but there was no line pinned to the frame of the mirror telling Peter Junior where to find him, as was Richard's way in the past, with a fleeting glance around to see if any bit of paper had been blown away, he went to his own room, and there he found his mother, waiting. In an instant that long ago morning came to his mind, and as then he went swiftly to her, and kneeling, clasped her in his arms. Are you worried, Mother Mine? It's all right. I will be careful and restrained. Don't be troubled." Hester clasped her boy's head to her bosom, and rested her face against his soft hair. For a while the silence was deep, and the moments burned themselves into the young man's soul, with a purifying fire never to be forgotten. Presently she began speaking to him in low murmuring tones. Your father is getting to be an old man, Peter dear, and I, I am no longer young. Our boy is dear to us, the dearest, in our different ways we long only for what is best for you, if only it might be revealed to you and us alike. Many paths are good paths to walk in, and the way may be happy in any one of them, for happiness is of the spirit. It is in you, not made for you by circumstances. We have been so happy here since you came home wounded, and to be wounded is not a happy thing, as you well know, but it seemed to bring you and me happiness nevertheless. Did it not, dear? Indeed, yes, Mother, yes, it gave me a chance to have you to myself a lot, and that ought to make any man happy, with a mother like you. And now a new happiness came to me, the other day, that I meant to speak of yesterday, and couldn't after getting so angry with father. It seemed like sacrilege to speak of it then, and besides there was another feeling that made me hesitate. So you are in love with someone, Peter. Yes, Mother, how did you guess it? Because only love is a feeling that would make you say you could not speak of it when your heart is full of anger. Is it, Betty, dear? Yes, Mother, you are uncanny to read me so. She laughed softly and held him closer. I love Betty too, Peter. You will always be gentle and kind. You will never be hard and stern with her. Mother, have I ever been so? Can't you tell by the way I have always acted toward you that I would be tender and kind? She will be myself, my very own. How could I be otherwise? Again Hester smiled her slow, wise smile. You have always been tender, Peter, but you have always gone right along and done your own way absolutely. The only reason there has not been more friction between you and your father has been that you have been tactful. Also you have never seemed to desire unworthy things. You have been a good son, dear. I am not complaining. And the only reason why I have never, or seldom, felt hurt by your taking your own way has been that my likings have usually responded to yours, and the thing I most desired was that you should be allowed to take your own way. It is good for a man to be decided and to have a way of his own. I have liked it in you. But the matter still stands that it has always been your way and never anyone's else's that you have taken. I can see you being stern even with a wife you thought you wholly loved if her will once crossed yours. Peter, Jr. was silent and a little hurt. He rose and paced the room. I can't think I could ever cross Betty or be unkind. It seems preposterous, he said at last. Perhaps it might never seem to you necessary, Peter, boy, listen. You say she will be myself, my very own. Now what does that mean? Does it mean that when you are married her personality will be merged in yours, and so you too will be one? If so, you will not be completed and rounded out, and she will be lost in you. A man does not reach his full manhood to completion until he has loved greatly and truly, and has found the one who is to complete him. At best, by ourselves, we are never holy man or holy woman until this great soul completion has taken place in us. Then children come to us, and our very souls are knit in one, and still the mystery goes on and on. Never are we completed by being lost, either one, in the will or nature of the other, but to make the whole and perfect creature, each must retain the individuality belonging to himself or herself, each to each the perfect and equal other half. Mr. Jr. paused in his walk and stood for a moment looking down on his mother, awed by what she revealed to him of her inner nature. I believe you have done this, mother. You have kept your own individuality complete, and father doesn't know it. Not yet, but my hand will always be in his, and some day he will know. You are very like him, and yet you understand me as he never has, so you see how our oneness is wrought out in you. That which you have in you of your father is good and strong. Never lose it. You will become one you will be glad to have had such a father. Out in the world men need such traits, but you must not forget that sometimes it takes more strength to yield than to hold your own way. Yes, it takes strength and courage sometimes to give up, and tremendous faith in God. There, I hear him walking about. Go down and have your talk with him. Remember what I say, dear, and don't get angry with your father. He loves you too. Have you said anything to him yet about me, mother? No. I have decided that it will be better for you to deal with him yourself, courageously. You'll remember? Peter, Jr. took her again in his arms as she rose and stood beside him, and kissed her tenderly. Yes, mother, dear, good, wise mother, I'll try to remember all. It would have been easier for you, maybe, if ever father's mother had said to him the things you have just said to me. Life teaches us these things. If we keep an open mind, so God fills it. She stood still in the middle of the room, listening to his rapid steps in the direction of the parlor. Anne Hester did a thing very unusual for her to do of a Sunday. She put on her shawl and bonnet, and walked out to see Mary Ballard. No one ever knew what passed between Peter, Jr. and his father in that parlor. The elder did not open his lips about it either at home or at the bank. That Sunday evening, someone saw Peter, Jr. and his cousin walking together up the bluff where the old camp had stood, toward the sunset. The path had many windings, and the bluff was dark and brown, and the two figures stood out clear and strong against the sky of gold. That was the last scene of either of the young men in the village. The one who saw them told later that he knew they were the twins, because one of them walked with a stick and limped a little, and that the other was talking as if he were very much in earnest about something, for he was moving his arm up and down and gesticulating. End of Chapter 11