At the Crossroads Part 54

But Peter could not be diverted.

"They were fearful rough with him--he, a trapped creature, Polly! I always feel as if one oughtn't to harry a trapped thing. That's not G.o.d's way. It was all my fault! What was I a magistrate for--and just standing by--staring?"

"Well, he should have held still--he put up fight. Brother, you make me indignant."

"They mauled him, Polly, mauled him. And they took him--to what?"

Polly got up.

"Peter," she said, "you're a sick man or you wouldn't be such a fool.

I always did hold that your easy-going ways might lead you into mush instead of clear vision, and it certainly looks as if I was right.

What you need is a good spring tonic and more faith in G.o.d. Maclin was leading us into--what? Hasn't he sent the old doctor's boy into--what?

The Almighty has got all sorts to deal with--and he's got Maclin, but we've got what's left. Peter, I put it up to you--what are we going to do about it?"

"What can we do?" Peter placed his two hands on his wide-spread knees--for he had dropped exhausted into his chair. "Has any one heard of Larry?"

This sudden question roused Aunt Polly; she had hoped it would not be asked.

"Yes, Peter. Twombley has," she faltered.

"Where is he?" Peter's mouth gaped.

"The letter said that when he came back we'd be proud of him and"--Polly choked--"he begged our pardons--for Maclin. He's gone to that war--over there. He said it was all he could do--with himself, to prove against Maclin."

A silence fell in the warm, sunny room. Then Polly spoke with a catch in her voice:

"Twombley and Peneluna hold that we better not tell Mary-Clare. Better give Larry a chance to do his proving--before we get any hopes or fears to acting up."

"I guess that's sensible," Peter nodded, "he mightn't do it, you know."

Polly was watching her brother. She saw the dejection dropping from his face like a mask; the hypnotism of fear and repulsion was losing its hold.

"It's powerful hot here!" Peter muttered, wiping his face. "And what in thunder ails that dog?"

Ginger was certainly acting queer. He was circling around, sniffing, sniffing, his nose in the air, his tail wagging. He edged over to the door and smelt at the crack.

"Fits?" Peter looked concerned. But Polly had an inspiration.

"I believe, Peter," she said solemnly, "Ginger smells--spring! I thought I did myself as I came along. There were fluffy green edges by the water. I do love edges, Peter! Let's open the door wide, brother.

We get so used to winter, and live so close, that sometimes we don't know spring is near. But it is, Peter, it is always on the edge of winter and G.o.d has made dogs terrible knowing. See! There, now, Ginger old fellow, what's the matter?"

Polly flung the door open and Ginger gave a glad cry and leaped out. A soft breath of air touched the two gentle old people in the doorway and a fragrance of young, edgy things thrilled them.

"Peter dear, spring is here!" Polly said this like a prayer.

"Spring!" Peter's voice echoed the sound. Then he turned to the closet for his coat and hat.

"Where you going, brother?"

The big bulky figure, ready for a new adventure, turned at the door.

"Just going to the Point and stand by! We must take care of the old doc's leavings. The iron, that boy of his, and--the rest. Come on, Ginger."

Polly watched the two pa.s.s from sight and then she readjusted her spectacles to the far-off angle.

And while this was occurring at the inn there was a tap on the door of the yellow house, and with its welcoming characteristic in full play, the door swung in, leaving a tall woman on the threshold flushed and apologetic.

"I never saw such a responsive door!" she said. "I really knocked very gently. Please tell me how far it is to the inn?"

Mary-Clare, her little group of children about her, looked up and smiled. The smile and the eyes made the stranger's breath come a bit quicker.

"Just three miles to the south." Mary-Clare came close. "You are walking? I will send my little girl with you. Noreen?"

But Jan-an was holding Noreen back.

"She's one of them other children of Eve!" she cautioned. "Don't forget the other one!"

"Thank you so much," the stranger was speaking. "But may I rest here for a moment? These children--is it a school."

"A queer one, I'm afraid. We're all teachers, all pupils--even the dogs."

Mary-Clare looked at her small group.

"One has to do something, you know," she said. "Something to help."

"Yes. And will you send the children away for a moment? I have something to say to you."

Mary-Clare's face went white. Since Maclin's exposure the girl knew a spiritual fear that never before had troubled her. Maclin and Larry!

Doubt, uncertainty--they had done their worst for Mary-Clare.

When the children were gone the stranger leaned forward and said quietly:

"I am Mrs. Dana--I am here on government business. There, my dear Mrs.

Rivers, please do not be alarmed--I come as your friend; the friend of King's Forest; it is on the map, you know."

The tears stood in Mary-Clare's wide eyes, her lips trembled.

"I conscript you!" Mrs. Dana leaned a little further toward Mary-Clare and took her hands. "I was directed to you, Mrs. Rivers. You must help me do away with a wrong impression of the Forest. Together we will tell a story to the outside world that will change a great many things. We will tell the truth and set the Forest free from suspicion."

"Oh! can we? Why, that would be the most splendid thing. We're all so--so frightened."

"Yes. I know. See, I have my credentials"--Mrs. Dana took a notebook from her bag. "The mines--well, all the danger there is destroyed. The mines are cleaned out." She was reading from her notes.

"Yes." Mary-Clare was impressed.

"And there's iron on the Point--we must get at that--you own the Point?"

"No; I gave it to my husband." The words were whispered. "And he sold it to a Mr. Northrup." There was no holding back in King's Forest these days.