Sunlight Patch Part 12

"You mean to say she prayed for the only kin she had on earth to be struck dead if he ever went wrong?--an' him a man? Well, that surely is grit!"

"The thing is, Nan," Jane said softly, "that people with two eyes ought to do at least as much!"

Nancy arose and brushed her skirt.

"I reckon," she murmured, "that girl can teach us a heap when it comes to gettin' your teeth in things an' holdin' on. I ain't got a good reason now for not goin' back an' fightin' the ole man; but I wish to Gawd somethin' would strike _him_ dead! Much obliged, Miss Jane--I sort of feel more like a Christian now."

CHAPTER XI

ON THE THRESHOLD

Toward evening Dale rode back to Arden. His mind was a confusion of happy impressions, the result of having laid its touch upon the throttle of power. From the dusky room where his life had sat wondering, he felt now that a hand had pressed his shoulder, aroused him, and led him to the silver threshold whose outlook was a landscape of golden opportunity. As, twenty-four hours earlier, when his eyes for the first time rapturously feasted on this valley of plenty, so now his mind roamed across a dazzling future--a future which was his, his very own.

Tossing back his head he gave a yell, a wild, joyous yell, that startled the horse and sent scurrying to higher branches an inquisitive squirrel which had been looking down at him with chattering interest.

When he turned into the circle, the Colonel stood up and stretched, welcoming him with an open smile of approval. He could imagine what tact Bob had employed to bring about this new attire, but little did he guess at what sacrifice to personal comfort. For the donation of clothes was not what stamped Bob a philanthropist. He had taken Dale into his room and there prosecuted a stragetic system; voluntarily submitting to Uncle Zack's shears on his hair which required no cutting. Nor was this all.

He made the old servant shave him, a thing he despised from any hand but his own. Then he tubbed, and continued this game of follow-the-leader throughout the entire toilette, affably talking all the while, until Dale emerged a different looking, and a much more gratified, man.

"Lawd, Ma.r.s.e Dale," Uncle Zack had exclaimed, "you suah does look handsome! I'se gwine to shave you ever' mawnin' now, till you ketches on for yohse'f!"

The Colonel's smile was immeasurably pleasing to his new guest, and when the old gentleman playfully spoke of fine clothes Dale responded like a happy boy.

"Ain't they fine!" he looked admiringly down at himself. "I reckon I hain't never had on decent clothes before in all my life! D'ye reckon I'll get used ter this collar? Bob said so!"

Under his arm were two books--a speller and a simple reader. These Jane had given him as he left, after an afternoon spent in lessons on the lawn. It was the first lesson, of course; a lesson, perhaps, which both would remember all their lives; vivid to Dale because the tentacles of his mind were beginning to stir and stretch in their new awakening; vivid to her for many reasons. As the day had progressed she became more and more astounded by his ability to learn, for in an incredibly short time he had mastered the first four columns of her spelling book with an ease which made her wonder if he had not before been over it.

Enthusiastically now he related this to the Colonel, who saw that he was trembling--tingling, like a thoroughbred ready for the start in a big race.

"You must use the library for your studies, sir," the old gentleman declared with warmth. "In there you will find a dictionary--if you know how to use one."

"Show me how!" the new student eagerly turned to him.

Laying aside his own volume, a treatise on the calorific power of fuels--a brain-rasping subject which had been absorbing him since the coal fields were in prospect--he led the way into that s.p.a.cious, mellow room, walled from floor to ceiling with shelves upon shelves of books.

Dale stood transfixed. His head was thrown back and his hands were clenched, as though in very truth the secrets of this silent store-house were already creeping out to enter his attentive brain. Colonel May opened the clumsy dictionary, explaining it with a word the mountaineer had already learned to spell, and left him in this paradise of fancies.

Some time later Uncle Zack opened the library door, announced dinner, and left unheard. A few minutes after this he returned, but again left unheard, and only when a hand pressed Dale's arm did the young man look up. The Colonel was smiling down at him.

"Come, Sam Johnson. Dr. Jared Sparks, Ben Franklin, Davy Crockett, Abe Lincoln, and more such indomitable shades rolled into one! Man must eat; it is time for dinner!"

"What does that mean?" he asked, leaning back in his chair.

"Oh, Lord," the Colonel groaned. "I'll tell you another time. Come! You understand 'dinner,' I hope?"

Entering the dining room Dale's mind was like a country pup walking stiff-legged into a crowd of city dogs, its hair belligerently on end and the tip of its tail wagging a friendly compromise. Not that he was at all defiant, and of course not afraid, but his whole mental att.i.tude had become one of alert watchfulness, ready to spring this way or that, to follow this new custom or that new custom, and not intending to lag if the others made a move. So it was that when the Colonel held a chair back for Miss Liz, and Bob was seating Jane, Dale, who never in his life had seen anything of this sort, made a pretense of imitating them for the convenience of Ann;--and even though she were rudely jolted by the violence with which he shoved her into the table, her appreciative smile made him determine to do this thing forever.

"How will you have your coffee, Mr. Dawson?" Miss Liz presently asked--for dinner at the Colonel's was of the farm variety which scorned the demita.s.se.

"A mite of long sweetenin', please Ma'm," he answered to that lady's utter consternation. She laid down the tongs and stared at him.

"He'll take it as you fix Bob's, Miss Liz," Jane interposed readily enough to save the situation, and at the next opportunity she turned in a confidential undertone: "We don't use 'long sweetening' down here, Dale. People in the valleys use sugar exclusively--'short sweetening,'

as you call it. They don't have to grind and stew up corn-stalks to get sorghum for their coffee, as we used to do. But I remember how good that mola.s.ses--that 'long sweetening'--was," she added, lying for the benefit of charity. "Don't forget, they use 'short sweetening' all the time here in coffee, but they never call it anything but sugar. While on the subject of customs I want to correct you about something else.

Today, over home, you stood in the drive and halloed for Bob till he came out for you. That isn't done in the settlements. Here you can walk right up to anybody's front door and knock, or ring the bell, without the slightest fear of having a rifle poked through a c.h.i.n.k because people may take you for an enemy. Of course, your way is the proper and polite thing to do where we come from, but in the valley it isn't good etiquette."

"What's etiquette?" he asked.

She explained it and continued:

"The etiquette of knives and forks and spoons also materially differs between our people and these."

"I never seed one of these little fellers before," he picked up a teaspoon and turned it curiously over.

"I didn't either," she laughed, "until I went to the convent. But now, since I'm to be your teacher, you must let me teach you these things, too."

"I want ye to teach me everything in the world," he whispered.

"Then watch how I use them," she replied, flus.h.i.+ng at the way he said this, "and which ones I use. Down here, people who eat with their knives are murdered--I mean socially murdered. Break--" she was about to say: break all the commandments before doing this! but thought better of it and added: "yourself of that habit the very first--the very first thing you do. And I want to hear more of that good English you say you know,"

she laughed at him. "You've been talking atrociously all day!"

"What's atrociously?" he asked.

"I don't see Brent," Miss Liz raised her lorgnette. "Is he ill?"

"No, my dear," the Colonel answered, "he is otherwise engaged and cannot be with us."

"John," the good woman stared severely across at him, "I believe that boy is working too hard! You must prevail upon him to take more rest."

A bomb exploding could scarcely have produced more surprise, yet one could never know just at what point Miss Liz would "break out"--as Zack called it. In the midst of their spellbound silence Ann giggled, and Jane managed to say:

"That would be rather difficult, wouldn't it, Miss Liz?--I mean, persuading him to take _more_ rest?"

"Well, your father must try," she insisted; for, when very much in earnest, Miss Liz impartially denoted the Colonel as father to whomsoever she might be speaking.

"He's makin' a railroad, ain't he?" Dale turned to Ann. "Do ye reckon he'll show me how?"

"He'll turn it all over to you, no doubt!--he'll have to turn it over to someone if it gets built! It only shows, Daddy," she laughed across to the Colonel, "that one can't serve a corporation and a G.o.ddess both at the same time! Isn't that a natty little epigram?"

"I don't follow the subject of your epigram," the Colonel smiled.

"Why, Brent, and the G.o.ddess, and the railroad," she replied.

"G.o.ddess, my dear? What G.o.ddess?"

She and Jane exchanged glances.