The Red Moccasins Part 8

B. "Will he be the less of a rogue for the frog-pond?"

W. 'Round and 'round.

The questions duly answered, and evidently to his entire satisfaction, the bear wound up the dialogue thus:

"Then, Will, lead on, over mire and clay, And when you come where the dead men lay, Hold your lantern close to the mound, That we may keep on Manitou ground."

With Will-o'-the-Wisp now at their head, again were they speeding swiftly onward. Of their guide, Sprigg could at first see nothing, saving his big, dim lantern; but, soon chancing to look a little lower, there, directly under the light, he saw, strange to tell, a pair of red moccasins, gliding on over the tops of the rank swamp weeds, and so lightly that the long, lithe sedge, swaying to the slightest breeze, bent not under their tread. The boy glanced quickly down at his heels to rea.s.sure himself that the wispy elf had not stepped into and walked off in his own moccasins. But there they still dangled, just the same, each with a toe at one of his heels. Then flashed it upon his mind that he had not really seen his own moccasins since he had flung them from him up there on the Manitou hill; and so, for aught he or anybody else could tell, red moccasins, if people could only see them, might prove to be as plentiful in the world as Yankee shoes.

How long, how far they traveled Sprigg, of course, had no means of judging; but the moon had well nigh climbed to the top of the sky, when, having left the mora.s.s far behind them, they came to the foot of another lofty mountain, where, under the shadow of a beetling cliff, yawned the rocky jaws of a huge cavern, into which Will-o'-the-Wisp led the way, his big, dim lamp beginning to brighten the moment it entered the subterranean gloom. Hardly had they crossed the threshold when Sprigg could perceive that they were descending as steeply as, but now, they had been rising. Deeper and deeper into the heart of the mountain they sank; deeper and deeper into the heart of the earth; the ball of light no longer a phosph.o.r.escent gleam, but a flame of living fire. But it was not long before they had descended again to the level ground, which they traversed for some distance, then, for the first time since quitting the farther side of the swamp, came they to a pause.

Sprigg looked around him. Nothing could he see, saving the bear, the red moccasins behind him, the red moccasins before him; and just over the latter the ball of light, which was now burning with such brilliancy that the luminous hemisphere around it formed a wide and lofty dome in the solid darkness of the cavern. For some moments past he had heard a murmuring sound, as of abundant waters rippling over a rocky bed; and filling all the air was a delectable perfume, as if flowery fields and fruitful groves must be blooming and waving not far off. By this time nothing amazed him. Nothing frightened him. He moved and felt and thought as one in a dream; and so, indeed, had it all appeared to him from the moment he had lost sight of his father, there at the old hunting camp.

CHAPTER XIII.

Meg of the Hills.

"Meg of the Hills! Meg of the Hills!" So called the bear in a loud voice; very loud, indeed, yet in the tone of the voice was something which Sprigg had not before observed there, so deep and mellow and musical was it. In answer to the summons, forth into the luminous circle, from some mysterious depth of the cavern, soon came gliding a bearess, who seemed in every way a match for the bear, excepting that she was of a smoother, gentler type.

"Meg of the Hills, have all come home, From mountain climb and forest roam, From river mist and ocean foam, From moon-rise white and sun-set red, From elk-stag lair and bison bed, From panther ambush still and dread, All, all returned?"

To which the bearess answered:

"Yes all returned to Manitou den, Save those who walk by night with men.

To bring the deeds in darkness done, To the dread light of the tell-tale sun."

Then suddenly a.s.suming a tone of voice as different from the former as fiddle from violin, and with a particular eye to our hero, where he still kept his seat on his charger's back, or rather was kept there by the unlocked arms of Manitou-Echo, the bearess added:

"And you did find the little runaway, sure enough, Nick?"

"Aye, that did I, and a stiff-necked, strong-backed, hard-muzzled cub of a human thing do I find him, too! Tough! Tough!"

"Then all the accounts we have heard of him are but too true," sadly observed the bearess, whom the bear called "Meg."

"But too true!" echoed the bear, whom the bearess called "Nick."

Meg. "Is it really a fact, then, that his thoughts by day and his dreams by night are so taken up with red moccasins that he is in a fair way to make a monkey of himself?"

Nick. "Really a fact."

Meg. "A fact, too, that he had no thanks in his heart for the beautiful moccasins, which his kindest of fathers gave him one night last week?"

Nick. "A fact, too!"

Meg. "A fact, also, that his thoughts are so wrapped up in the moccasins that he has none left for his prayers?"

Nick. "A fact, also!"

Meg. "And, likewise, a fact that he sneaked off, like a spit-thief dog, when his best of mothers had told him and told him, times and times, that he ought not, and he should not?"

Nick. "Like--wise--a--fact!" slowly pulling the words, as if he could hardly find it in his heart to testify to behavior so shabby.

Meg. "But, Nick," and she looked earnestly at her lord, as if hoping that for this one time, at least, he would vary his affirmative echoes just a little, "that slip of the tongue on the fence, which Manitou-Echo reported to us--surely, now, you can't say 'yes' to that?"

But Nick said neither "no" nor "yes." He answered never a word! All mum, he hung his head, and but for the hair on his face he would have been seen to blush up to the very eyes.

Meg. "I spare you the verbal answer. I read it but too plainly in your looks. Hard is it for us poor Manitous to imagine how a boy--a Christian, human boy, who knows his catechism--could be so false to the mother that bore him! Using the very breath she gave him to tell her a lie! Then we can no longer doubt that, in addition to all, he did actually curse the red moccasins, when he spurned them from him up there on Manitou Hill. The beautiful moccasins he had so earnestly longed for, and which had been procured for him at such cost, and had borne him so bravely through wood and swamp, over hill and dale!"

Nick. "My dear, to give the round sum of the matter, it is all precisely as Manitou-Echo has reported. But, if you need additional evidence to set your doubts at rest, know, then, that the boy himself has made a clean breast of it to me, and the two stories tally from beginning to end--tally as nicely as our two tails."

Meg. "What! Not to leave out those secret designs on--what did Manitou-Echo call them--the boy and the girl?"

Nick. "Young Ben Logan and little Bertha Bryant."

Meg, "Not to leave out his secret designs on young Ben Logan and little Bertha Bryant? The boy to lose his life for envy; the girl her senses for love--all because of the beautiful moccasins!"

Nick. "Well, well, Meg, mum's the word just there. He's human, remember, and you know they say that 'Adam's fall made fools of all;' and so, with their tails up, here they come; and, with their tails down, there they go--in that respect resembling dogs, who, in their turn, acquired the habit from their human masters. But I am deviating, and I perceive that you are wis.h.i.+ng to make some further inquiry. What is it, my dove?"

Meg. "I was longing to ask if--what's his name?"

Nick. "Sprigg."

Meg. "If Sprigg has not manifested the deepest sorrow and repentance for what he has done to-day. Does he not mourn to think of the pain and distress which, by his most undutiful conduct, he is causing his dear father and his dear, dear mother?"

Nick. (With a sad shake of the head.) "Not with heart-grief, I fear; not with heart-grief! He mourns over the ills which he has brought upon himself by his undutiful conduct, rather than over the wrong thereof, or because of the pain and distress which it must be causing his dear mother and his dear, dear father!" And again Nick shook his head, as were it a desperate case almost beyond hope.

Meg. (With almost as hopeless a shake of the head as Nick.) "Ah, me! who would have thought it? Who could have thought it? Why, Nick, he is as bad as Robinson Crusoe, is he not?"

Nick. "Oh, worse than Robinson Crusoe. Robinson Crusoe, it is true, ran away from home against the command of his father and the prayers of his mother. But he used no deception in the matter. Robinson did not go a-sneaking off, with a lie in his mouth and his shoes in the water bucket; a-sneaking off like a spit-thief dog, to use your own expressive words. And yet, even his case was considered serious enough for a putting through on a desert island. Yes! A good deal worse than Robinson Crusoe, else no need were there of putting him through so."

Meg. "But come, now, Nick; you can't stand there and tell me that Sprigg is as bad a boy as Jack Bean-Stalk?"

Nick. "Well, no; not so bad as that. Not so bad as Jack Bean-Stalk. Jack Bean-Stalk was so near the very tipping-over edge of total depravity that I have often wondered since--in fact, wondered at the time--that it did not require a more tremendous putting-through than sliding up and down, between earth and moon, for developing such a hard case of a boy into an honest man. Perhaps, the man in the moon, while the rogue was up there, lent us a helping hand, not suffering him to come down to earth again, excepting on condition that he would thenceforth keep his shadow, as much as possible, in the suns.h.i.+ne; as little as possible in the moons.h.i.+ne; sow no more wild oats, plant no more wild beans."

Meanwhile, the subject of this moral confab remained comfortably seated upon his charger's back. The matter and the manner of the confab smacked so much of the kind he was used to, that he was beginning to feel himself quite at home, and fancied that he could have little to fear for life or limb, so long as he found himself in the company of people, with feeling so home-like in their hearts, and with words so home-like on their lips. Therefore, the more home-like grew the moralizers, the more Sprigg-like grew the subject. But, bearing in mind how sensitive he was to ridicule, you can well imagine how he winced to hear himself compared to a "spit-thief dog;" and how he squirmed to find his secret designs on young Ben Logan and little Bertha Bryant, which he had not openly owned to himself, thus come popping out into the tell-tale light of Will-o'-the-Wisp. The wispy lamp was now not only burning as a living flame, but twinkling like a living eye, which winked or blinked or stared at the boy, as were it perfectly cognizant of all that was pa.s.sing among them. But if it was all a dream, as Sprigg by this time was half persuaded it must be, what mattered it, though Will-o'-the-Wisp did snuff his lamp into a tell-tale brightness, for Meg of the Hills to show a "spit-thief dog" in, or for Nick of the Woods to hold up a bug-bear lie in? It was only a dream, which, coming soon to an end, should be wondered over for a moment, then forgotten. Yes, and in the like sense, so is life.

"Then, dear Nick," answered Meg at length, after they had shaken their heads for some moments in silence, "as Sprigg's case is not so bad as Jack Bean-Stalk's, it is not yet too late to bring the poor, stray cub back to his milk again. But he must first be made, not only to see, but to feel and acknowledge the error of his ways before we can hope to amend them. Now, how is this to be brought about? How is this case to be treated?"

"My dear Meg, that is the very question I have been asking myself all this time, and to find the answer I must be allowed a few hours' privacy for thinking the matter over. So you and the children go to bed and leave me to my reflections, and in the morning we will hold another consultation."