Down the Ravine Part 9

Birt kept silent, but the gloom and trouble in his face suddenly touched her heart.

"Thar now, Birt!" she exclaimed, with a world of consolation in her tones, "I don't mean ter say that, nuther. Ain't I a-thinkin' day an' night o' how smart ye be--stiddy an' sensible an' hard-workin'

jes' like a man--an' what a good son ye hev been to me! An' the t'other chill'n air good too, an' holps me powerful, though Rufe air hendered some, by the comical natur o' the critter."

She broke out with a cheerful laugh, in which Birt could not join.

"An' I mus' be gittin' breakfus fur the chill'n," she said, kneeling down on the hearth, and uncovering the embers which had been kept all night under the ashes.

"Don't ye fret, sonny. I ain't goin' ter grudge Nate his gold mine.

I reckon sech a good son ez ye be, an' a gold mine too, would be too much luck fur one woman. Don't ye fret, sonny."

Birt's self-control gave way abruptly. He rose in great agitation, and started toward the door. Then he paused, and broke forth with pa.s.sionate incoherence, telling amidst sobs and tears the story of the woodland's munificence to him, and how he had flung the gift away.

In recounting the hopes that had deluded him, the fears that had gnawed, and the despair in which they were at last merged, he did not notice, for a time, her look as she still knelt motionless before the embers on the hearth.

He faltered, and grew silent; then stared dumbly at her.

She seemed as one petrified. Her face had blanched; its lines were as sharp and distinct as if graven in stone; only her eyes spoke, an eloquent anguish. Her faculties were numbed for a moment. But presently there was a quiver in her chin, and her voice rang out.

And yet did she understand? did she realize the loss of the mine?

For it was not this that she lamented

"Birt Dicey!" she cried in an appalled tone. "Did ye hide it from yer MOTHER--an' tell NATE GRIGGS?"

Birt hung his head. The folly of it!

"What ailed ye, ter hide it from me?" she asked deprecatingly, holding out her worn, hard-working hands. "Hev I ever done ye harm?"

"Nuthin' but good."

"Don't everybody know a boy's mother air bound ter take his part agin all the worl'?"

"Everybody but me," said the penitent Birt.

"What ailed ye, ter hide it from me? What did ye 'low I'd do?"

"I 'lowed ye wouldn't want me ter go pardners with Nate," he said drearily.

"I reckon I wouldn't!" she admitted.

"Ye always said he war a snake in the gra.s.s."

"He hev proved that air a true word."

"I wisht I hedn't tole him!" cried Birt vainly. "I wisht I hedn't."

He watched her with moody eyes as she rose at last with a sigh and went mechanically about her preparations for breakfast.

There was a division between them. He felt the gulf widening.

"I jes' wanted it fur you-uns, ennyhow," he said, defending his motives. "I 'lowed ez I mought make enough out'n it ter buy a horse."

"I hain't got time ter sorrow 'bout'n no gold mine," she said loftily. "I used ter believe ye set a heap o' store by yer mother, an' war willin' ter trust her--ye an' me hevin' been through mighty hard times together. But ye don't--I reckon ye never did. I hev los' mo' than enny gold mine."

And this sorrow for a vanished faith resolved itself into tears with which she salted her humble bread.

CHAPTER VIII.

If she had had any relish for triumph, she might have found it in Birt's astonishment to learn that she understood all the details of entering land, which had been such a mystery to him.

"'Twar the commonest thing in the worl', whenst I war young, ter hear 'bout'n folks enterin' land," she said. "But nowadays thar ain't no talk 'bout'n it sca'cely, 'kase the best an' most o' the land in the State hev all been tuk up an' entered--'ceptin' mebbe a trac', hyar an' thar, full o' rock, an' so steep 't ain't wuth payin' the taxes on."

Simple as she was, she could have given him valuable counsel when it was sorely needed. He hung about the house later than was his wont, bringing in the store of wood for her work during the day, and "packing" the water from the spring, with the impulse in his attention to these little duties to make what amends he might.

When at last he started for the tanyard, he knew by the sun that he was long over-due. He walked briskly along the path through the sa.s.safras and sumach bushes, on which the rain-drops still clung.

He was presently brus.h.i.+ng them off in showers, for he had begun to run. It occurred to him that this was no time to seem even a trifle remiss in his work at the tanyard. Since he had lost all his hopes down the ravine, the continuance of Jube Perkins's favor and the dreary routine with the mule and the bark-mill were his best prospects. It would never do to offend the tanner now.

"With sech a pack o' chill'n ter vittle ez we-uns hev got at our house," he muttered.

As he came cras.h.i.+ng through the underbrush into view of the tanyard, he noticed instantly that it did not wear its usual simple, industrial aspect. A group of excited men were standing in front of the shed, one of them gesticulating wildly.

And running toward the bars came Tim Griggs, panting and white- faced, and exclaiming incoherently at the sight of Birt.

"Oh, Birt," he cried, "I war jes' startin' to yer house arter you- uns; they tole me to go an' fetch ye. Fur ma.s.sy's sake, gimme Nate's grant. I'm fairly afeared o' him. He'll break every bone I own." He held out his hand. "Gimme the grant!"

"Nate's grant!" exclaimed Birt aghast. "I hain't got it! I hain't"

He paused abruptly. He could not say that he had not touched it.

Tim's wits were sharpened by the keen anxiety of the crisis. He noticed the hesitation. "Ye hev hed it," he cried wildly. "Ye know ye hev been foolin' with it. Ye know 'twar you-uns!"

He changed to sudden appeal. "Don't put the blame off on me, Birt,"

he pleaded. "I'm fairly afeared o' Nate."

"Ain't the grant in the pocket o' his coat--whar ye left it hangin'

on a peg in the shed?" asked Birt, dismayed.

"Naw--naw!" exclaimed Tim, despairingly. "He missed his coat this mornin', bein' the weather war cooler, an' then the grant, an' he sent me arter it. An' I fund the coat a-hangin' thar on the peg, whar I hed lef' it, bein' ez I furgot it when I went off with Rufe ter look at his chickens, an' the pocket war empty an' the paper gone! Nate hev kem ter sarch, too!"

Once more he held out his hand. "Gimme the grant. Nate 'lows 'twar you-uns ez tuk it, bein' ez I lef' it hyar."

Birt flushed angrily. "I'll say a word ter Nate Griggs!" he declared.

And he pushed past the trembling Tim, and took his way briskly into the tanyard.

There was a vague murmur in the group as he approached, and Nate Griggs came out from its midst, nodding his head threateningly. His hat, thrust far back on his sandy hair, left in bold relief his long, thin face with its small eyes, which seemed now so close together that his glance had the effect of a squint. He scanned Birt narrowly.