An Arkansas Planter Part 8

"Yes, as long as I live."

She looked up at him, and her eyes were full of beauty and tenderness.

"Your mother----"

"None of that," he broke in. "I am my own master. To me you are the most beautiful creature in the world, and----"

"Somebody's comin'," she said.

A horseman came round a bend in the road, and he stepped off from her, but they did not permit the horseman to pa.s.s between them. He did not put his arm about her again, for now they were within sight of her uncle's desolate house. They saw Wash Sanders sitting on the verandah.

Tom carried the jug as far as the yard gate.

"Won't you come in?" Sanders called.

"I ought to be getting back, I guess."

"Might come in and rest awhile."

Tom hesitated a moment and then pa.s.sed through the gate. The girl had run into the house.

"How are you getting along?" the young man asked as he began slowly to tramp up the steps.

"Porely, mighty porely. Thought I was gone last night--didn't sleep a wink. And I don't eat enough to keep a chicken alive."

"Wouldn't you like a mess of young squirrels?" Tom asked, as he sat down in a hickory rocking chair. Of late he had become interested in Wash Sanders, and had resented the neighbors' loss of confidence in him.

"Well, you might bring 'em if it ain't too much trouble, but I don't believe I could eat 'em. Don't eat enough to keep a chicken alive."

He lifted his pale hand, and with his long finger nail scratched his chin.

"What's the doctor's opinion?" Tom asked, not knowing what else to say and feeling that at that moment some expression was justly demanded of him.

"The doctors don't say anything now; they've given me up. From the first they saw that I was a dead man. Last doctor that gave me medicine was a fellow from over here at Gum Springs, and I wish I may die dead if he didn't come in one of finis.h.i.+n' me right there on the spot."

There came a tap at a window that opened out upon the verandah, and the young fellow, looking around, saw the girl sitting in the "best room."

She tried to put on the appearance of having accidentally attracted his attention. He moved his chair closer to the window.

"How did you know I was in here?" she asked, looping back the white curtain.

"I can always tell where you are without looking."

"Are you goin' to make fun of me again?"

"If I could even eat enough to keep a chicken alive I think I'd feel better," said Wash Sanders, looking far off down the road.

"I never did make fun of you," the young fellow declared in a whisper, leaning close to the window. "And I wish you wouldn't keep on saying that I do."

"I won't say it any more if you don't want me to."

"But I can't eat and can't sleep, and that settles it," said Wash Sanders.

"Of course I don't want you to say it. It makes me think that you are looking for an excuse not to like me."

"Would you care very much if I didn't like you?"

"If I had taken another slug of that Gum Springs doctor's stuff I couldn't have lived ten minutes longer," said Wash Sanders.

And thus they talked until the sun was sinking into the tops of the trees, far down below the bend in the river.

CHAPTER VII.

At the Major's house the argument was still warm and vigorous. But the evening was come, and the bell-cow, home from her browsing, was ringing for admittance at the barn-yard gate. The priest arose to go. At that moment there was a heavy step at the end of the porch, the slow and ponderous tread of Jim Taylor. He strode in the shadow and in the gathering dusk recognition of him would not have been easy, but by his bulk and height they knew him. But he appeared to have lost a part of his great strength, and he drooped as he walked.

"Where is the Major?" he asked, and his voice was hoa.r.s.e.

"Here, my boy. Why, what's the trouble?"

"Let me see you a moment," he said, halting.

The Major arose, and the giant, with one stride forward, caught him by the arm and led him away amid the black shadows under the trees. Mrs.

Cranceford came out upon the porch and stood looking with cool disapproval upon the priest. At a window she had sat and heard him enunciate his views. Out in the yard Jim Taylor said something in a broken voice, and the Major, madly bellowing, came bounding toward the house.

"Margaret," he cried, "Louise is married!"

The woman started, uttered not a sound, but hastening to meet him, took him by the hand. Jim Taylor came ponderously walking from amid the black shadows. The Englishman and old Gid stole away. The priest stood calmly looking upon the old man and his wife.

"John, come and sit down," she said. "Raving won't do any good. We must be seemly, whatever we are." She felt the eye of the priest. "Who told you, Mr. Taylor?"

"The justice of the peace. They were married about an hour ago, less than half a mile from here."

She led the Major to a chair, and he sat down heavily. "She shall never darken my door again," he declared, striving to stiffen his shoulders, but they drooped under his effort.

"Don't say that, dear; don't say that. It is so cold and cruel."

"But I do say it--ungrateful little wretch. It rises up within me and I can't keep from saying it."

The priest stepped forward and raised his hand. "May the blessings of our Heavenly Father rest upon this household," he said. The woman looked a defiance at him. He bowed and was gone. Jim Taylor stood with his head hung low. Slowly he began to speak. "Major, you and your wife are humiliated, but I am heart-broken. You are afflicted with a sorrow, but I am struck down with grief. But I beg of you not to say that she shan't come home again. Her marriage doesn't alter the fact that she is your daughter. Her relations.h.i.+p toward you may not be so much changed, but to me she is lost. I beg you not to say she shan't come home again."

Mrs. Cranceford tenderly placed her hand on the giant's arm. He shook under her touch.

"I will say it and I mean it. She has put her feet on our love and has thrown herself away, and I don't want to see her again. I do think she is the completest fool I ever saw in my life. Yes, and we loved her so.

And Tom--it will break his heart."

In the dusk the wife's white hand was gleaming--putting back the gray hair from her husband's eyes. "And we still love her so, dear," she said.

"What!" he cried, and now his shoulders stiffened. "What! do you uphold her?"