Voices; Birth-Marks; The Man and the Elephant Part 7

He sat down; his face as red as his hair; provoked at Jeannette's abrupt departure. But when he recalled that she had called him Mr. Blair for the first time in his life, he was consoled, believing that it evidenced progress in his suit. He realized that he had made an impression of some kind; and his experiences, which were not limited, suggested that even an awakened animosity was better than the indifference of the past years.

Jeannette felt ashamed for having run away. "Running from Sandy Blair-sakes alive! Why did I do it? Have I grown timid? Am I afraid of Sandy Blair? I suppose he's laughing at me. Well, tonight I'll give him another lesson on the violin, just to show him, light-footed, empty-headed young men of his cla.s.s mean nothing to me."

Sandy rose from the supper table and after a yawn remarked: "It's too quiet around here for me; I think I'll go up to Hiram Lewis'." He took his fiddle from its case and tucking it under his arm, put on his hat and stood for a moment in the doorway. Hiram Lewis was their nearest neighbor and had two daughters of marriageable age.

Jeannette who had read all the afternoon and really desired to hear him play their mountain music, which he did so capably, was disappointed.

Without understanding the cause, she felt embarra.s.sed at the thought of asking him to remain; and would not do so directly.

"If you are going you better put your violin in its case. It's going to rain."

"My what?"

"O, your fiddle then; if it gets wet it will affect its tone."

"O! the sound it makes. If I stay will you teach me to play that hard piece of yours?"

"That was my intention; but do not let me detain you."

"My intention-is that the name of the piece?"

"No, sit down Sandy, I'll get my fiddle."

Jeannette went to her room for the violin and music. While there the thought occurred they had better use her reading lamp instead of Mrs.

Blair's smoky, smelly, tin one, which gave but a feeble flame; removing the green shade, she subst.i.tuted one of pink silk which was much prettier and which transformed the light into a more becoming tint.

Carrying it into the other room she placed it on the small table near the door, and sat down beside it, her face tinted by the shade. The Blair family were on the porch, just beyond the doorway; and Sandy sat on the door-step, almost at her feet; his bright red hair and smiling, healthy face in the full glare of the light.

As he played she noted his mobile features, which betrayed their owner's feelings by sudden changes of expression. She had always thought his face an agreeable one; now first she noted its expressiveness and evidences of character and determination; attributes, which she had said he lacked.

Her musing was interrupted by the Blair family coming in the door. They were in the habit of retiring with the chickens; and their cousin's playing was no reason for a violation of the rule. After they were gone Sandy seemed to play with even more perfect expression. She marveled at the ease and certainty with which he played his homely pieces. "He is quick and with a few lessons would soon learn to play better than I can-perhaps with training he might make one of the world's great musicians. I will teach him the notes, and how to hold the bow. His habits are good; he neither chews nor drinks, as most of our boys. I believe he would make a good hus-; but he is uneducated."

Just here Sandy looked up: "Listen! I worked this out yesterday and call it 'Voices Jeannette Hears.'" He played something not much louder than a whisper, a chorus of all the still small voices she had heard about her home-the wind, the birds, the brooks, the crickets, the spirits of the hills and dells; little prayers of praise, little prattlings of joy and happiness-yes, and of love. She felt so happy; and yet so very, very lonely, for someone or something to love. A tear found its way down each cheek and two others nestled on her lashes, loath to leave the fountains of their birth. When he finished neither spoke. He did not look towards her, but out into the darkness of the peaceful, starry night.

While thus they sat it seemed to Jeannette that something with a touch light as a feather and lips soft as the petals of a rose brushed her ear and a joyous little spirit with a dulcet young voice, such as she had never heard before, whispered: "Is he not handsome? Do you not see how quick he is to learn? Teacher, teach him! you can in a few months. How delightful to educate him; mould his fresh, open, plastic mind; make of him not alone a husband but a soul companion; which you could not do were his soul awake to its full strength and vision. Jeannette, it is springtime for you; be not a virgin of steel; let your soul bud and flower, the blossom of life is love, let it bear fruit. Would you die a spinster with a drying heart, knowing only a spirit love, little better than a dream? Cast off this sombre veil that you have wound about your heart; open your eyes; do you not love him? I have brought Sandy to you."

She rose from her seat and in a voice not much louder than the one she had been listening to, managed to say: "Good night, Sandy," and left the room.

He did not move, though he answered: "Good night," and as her door closed added: "O Life! O Life! I have found the place of thy dwelling."

He laid his violin upon the table and went out into the night. The night was not dark, though there was no moon. The stars were bright, they seemed to be holding a carnival. The night was not cold; a midsummer breeze stirred the trees; the leaves whispered of love and threw kisses to the stars.

Jeannette slept with a red rose on her pillow; and before she slept looked out the window at the stars and thought of many things.

"Jeannette, have you any letters to mail, I am going to the Big Creek postoffice?"

She gave him one addressed to the editors of --, which contained the ma.n.u.script of some verses-"The Heart of Things"-the first of her published poems. She offered the loan of the old mule, saying: "It's more than twelve miles; will you be back tonight?"

"Yes, I'm traveling light; twenty-four miles is a mere stroll; and I shall return, much as I imagine the old mule would, at a brisker gait, because I'm coming home."

She said nothing more; being surprised by Sandy's speech, which had suddenly dropped the mountain idiom.

When night came she sat on the porch until after nine o'clock, then she went to her room, fearful that if Sandy should come and find her there he might misunderstand; might think she had been waiting-but the idea, that's impossible. She tried to read, she had not read much lately, she was not in the mood; blew out the lamp-and just afterward the gate opened; and she heard him enter the house and go to his room.

She spent most of the following day until late afternoon in her bower under the great vine; then went for a walk along the path which skirted the left bank of the creek, the way of the foot-traveler, to avoid repeated fordings, necessary if one followed the road.

Along the path were scattered sc.r.a.ps of letter paper and a little further on she saw an empty envelope from the War Department, addressed to Captain William L. Blair. When she returned, she asked Simeon: "Who is Captain William L. Blair?"

"I don't know no Captain Blair. Sandy's name is William Lees Blair, but everybody calls him Sandy. O! I saw that name the other day on a letter he brought back from Big Creek-'Captain William L. Blair, U. S. A.'-the letter had been sent him from Coblenz, Germany. Do you reckon Sandy was a captain?"

Jeannette began to suspect that Sandy might be amusing himself at their expense. At supper she was formally courteous; she first thought of calling him Captain Blair, but changed her mind and addressed him as Mr.

Blair.

When the supper dishes had been put away and the ch.o.r.es done, all of them sat upon the porch until Simeon announced it was his bedtime; when he and his family retired.

"Jeannette, will you give me a lesson on the fiddle?"

"All right, Sandy. Would you like to know how to read music? In music there are signs standing for sounds, as the letters of the alphabet in combination form words, by which we express our thoughts. Do you catch what I mean?"

"Yes, I guess. But that's funny. I thought you just learned the tune."

"Put your chair near mine; I will show you some of the signs and symbols. What's a symbol, Sandy?"

"Down in Mexico they tell me the gals play on them; banging them on their elbows and knees; that is the big ones and the little ones they click in their fingers."

"Well, Sandy, this is another kind. Now this is a symbol in music, telling-" and so she went on for some time, Sandy listening attentively, with his head very near hers and their chairs as close together as he thought the occasion would justify.

When she finished he said: "Miss Jeannette, please play that fine piece of yourn?"

She played it through, then arranging his fingers on his bow, showed him just how he should stand; and playing a few notes at a time, instructed him to replay them.

That part of the music which was difficult and she felt satisfied she had not played correctly, it struck her Sandy played with greater ease and expression than she could do; but he made horribly ludicrous mistakes in the easy portions. Intentionally, she had misplayed a portion and when he reached this part he played it correctly. Then she knew that for some reason he was fooling them.

"Now Sandy, play it alone. Do your best, I shall go out on the porch and listen."

He started off in a halting amateurish way, making many blunders; as he played his mistakes became fewer, his touch fuller; gradually he forgot his purpose to deceive, the music was a favorite; towards the end he played as she had never dreamed the piece could be played.

He came out on the porch and sat down beside her. Neither spoke. He knew she was no longer fooled.

"Jeannette, I can read and write."

"Write something so I can see; you may be fooling me."

He felt in his pockets for a sc.r.a.p of paper but found nothing. Then he opened a card case and taking out his card, wrote on the back a few words.

She went into the light and read: "_Chi si marita alla svelta si pente adagio_. William L. Blair."

She turned the card over and read "William Lees Blair." She called out the door, "Good night, Captain William Lees Blair;" and went to her room.