The Wooing of Calvin Parks

"That so?" said Calvin. "This confounded rinktum put it out of both our heads, I expect. Why, I done first-rate, Mr. Cheeseman; first-rate! I've got five hundred dollars laid by now, sir; and as I reckon it out that's enough to start out on, with a good route, doin' well. What say?"

"Full enough!" said Mr. Cheeseman heartily. "I wish you joy, friend Calvin! Have you got it in the bank?"

Calvin's face fell slightly.

"Not yet," he said. "I only got my full sum made up last night; 'twarn't convenient for some to pay cash, you know, and to-day's bank holiday. But to-morrow mornin', Mr. Cheeseman, at nine o'clock, you look out and you'll see little Calvin on them bank steps over yonder, with his wallet in his hand; and then, Mr. Cheeseman, – then's my time!"

Mr. Cheeseman looked after him as he drove slowly away, his head bent in thought, a very different Calvin Parks from the one who had burst in so joyously an hour before with his New Year greeting.

"He's a good feller!" said the old gentleman. "I never see a better feller than that. I hope he'll come through all right; but there's just one thing troubles me, and yet I couldn't feel to say it to him. Where did Phrony Marlin get that money?

CHAPTER XVII

NIGHT

The brown horse had a dull day of it. No cheery remarks, no snatches of song, no cracking of the whip about his responsive ears. He whinnied remonstrance and inquiry now and then, but received no reply. Calvin Parks drove moodily along, his shoulders up to his ears, his head sunk between them, his eyes staring straight ahead. He could hardly even bring his mind to trade, and Mrs. Weazel got five cents off the price of her marshmallows, and was straightway consumed with anguish because she had not tried for ten.

"What's wrong with you, Cal?" asked Si Slocum at the Corners. "Didn't the Pie-fillene set good?"

"That's all right!" said Calvin briefly.

"I was clearin' out a lot of old samples," Si went on, "and Phrony come meechin' and beseechin', the way she does, and I give her the whole bunch. I mistrusted she'd try 'em on you. Come in, won't ye?"

"I'm in a hurry!" replied Calvin. "Here's the goods you ordered; all right, be they?"

"Look so!" said Si; "and taste so!" he added, attacking a cinnamon stick. "Ah! what's your hurry, Cal? Come in and set a bit! It's New Year's Day, you know, and a holiday by rights."

"I know; and I wish you a happy New Year!" said Calvin soberly; "but I must be moseyin' along. Gitty up, hossy!"

"He looks bad!" said the storekeeper, shaking his head as he watched Calvin's retreating figure. "Well, I should think he would, if all they say is true about him and Phrony Marlin. I was bound I'd get in a hint about her and her ways; he's too good a sort to be grabbed by them cattle; but he shut me right up."

It was night when Calvin reached the Marlin gate. Silently he came, for some hundred yards back he had got out and taken the sleigh-bells from Hossy's neck, to the great astonishment of the worthy animal. The snow was soft and deep, and there was no sound as Calvin drove past the house. At the barn door he paused, and seemed to reflect; started to drive in, then checked the horse and got out of the sleigh. Hastily bringing an armful of straw, he cast it down on the barn floor, spreading it thick and soft where the iron-shod hoofs must tread. Then, without a sound, he led the good beast in, rubbed him down, washed his feet, and gave him his supper.

All the while, though he spoke no word aloud, one phrase was saying itself over and over in his mind; the same phrase that old Ivory Cheeseman had spoken as he looked after him in the morning.

"Where did she get the money?"

The stairs which led to his attic room went up from the shed. Coming in silently, his foot was on the lowest step when he heard voices in the kitchen, one of them speaking his own name. Involuntarily he paused.

"S'pose the Cap'n should find it out!" said the old woman's creaking voice.

"He won't find it out!" barked her daughter. "It's all wopsed up in a bunch, I tell you, and stuffed into the wallet anyhow. He don't know how much he's got. Hark! was that the sleigh-bells?"

"Dust and ashes!" creaked the old woman. "I never thought a child of mine would be a thief, but I don't know as it matters. Hell-fire lights easy!"

"I ain't a thief!" said Phrony fiercely. "I'm only takin' what's my own, or will be when we're man and wife."

"Jesus'll kerry me through!" Mrs. Marlin piped. "Who knows you ever will be, darlin'? He's no fool, the Cap'n ain't, for all his easy ways. You may go too fur. Jordan's rollin' past, rollin' past!"

"Let it roll!" cried the other woman savagely. "If you'll only hold your tongue, mother, I can fix it all right. Do you want the mortgage foreclosed, and us both on the town? You leave this to me! Mebbe he ain't a fool, but he's as good as one for soft-heartedness. If I can't get round that man – hark! was that the bells?"

Calvin Parks stole noiselessly up the stairs. Slipping off his shoes, he crept across the garret room to the cupboard; groped with trembling hands for the wallet, found it, and brought it out; lighted the lamp and hastily counted the money it contained. One hundred dollars – two hundred – three hundred! He counted again and again; there was no mistake. He thrust the money into his bosom and stood up; his face showed white under the tan.

"She has taken two hundred dollars!" He said. "Poor miserable creatur'!"

He stood perfectly still for some minutes, thinking rapidly. Then, creeping swiftly about the room, light and noiseless as a cat for all his great height, he gathered together his few belongings; the daguerreotype of his mother (saved from the burning house at the risk of his boyish life), the Testament she gave him, Longfellow's poems, and his few clothes; and packed them all hastily but neatly in his old valise. When all was done he paused again; then finding a scrap of paper, he sat down and wrote hurriedly;

"I shall not do anything about the money unless you try to follow me; mebbe you need it more than I do; but you had best take back the bunnet, for you will never need that. Wishin' you well and more wisdom, from

    "C. Parks.

"P. S. You be good to the old woman, or I will tell."

Put out the light now, Calvin! creep softly, softly, down the rickety stairs, testing each board as you go, lest it creak. Out to the barn, where the good brown horse is dozing peacefully. He has had a good supper and a good rest; he is fit for the ten miles that lie between you and safety. Stow the bells under the seat, muffling them carefully in the horse-blanket lest any faintest jingle betray you. Now softly, softly, out over the snow, out past the silent house where the two women are watching for you behind closed shutters; out to the open road, and away!

CHAPTER XVIII

MORNING

The sun was not yet up, but the sky was brightening in lovely pale tints, pearl and opal and rose, when Mary Sands opened the shed door and tripped lightly down the path to the barn. She unbarred the great doors, and entering the dim, fragrant place, was greeted by a five-fold whinny from the stalls, and a trampling of twenty friendly hoofs.

"Good morning, hossies!" she said cheerily. "I expect you're surprised to see me. I've got to get breakfast for all hands this mornin', and I'm goin' to begin with you. Mornin', colty! mornin', marey! mornin', John! mornin', old hoss! Oh! you naughty old hoss, who ever would have thought of your actin' that way at your time of life! I was surprised – my goodness! who's this in the box-stall? Calvin Parks's Hossy? What upon earth! Why, you darlin', where's your master?"

Hossy's explanations, though fervid, and accompanied by agreeable rubbings of a soft brown nose on her shoulder, were not lucid, and Mary gazed about her in bewilderment.

"You never run away, hossy?" she asked; "you wouldn't do that! Then – where is he?"

Just then a golden finger of sunshine slanted through the dusty window and fell on the harness-room door, which stood slightly ajar. Mary Sands ran to the door and peeped in. There, in the one chair tilted back, his feet on the stove, his head against the farther wall, sat Calvin Parks, sound asleep.

"Oh! you blessed creatur'!" cried Mary under her breath. She stood looking at him, taking swift note of his appearance.

"He's sick!" she said; "or he's been through the wars somehow. He looks completely tuckered out. There! he is not fit to be round alone, and that's the livin' truth. Oh dear! 'tis cold as a stone here; he'll get his death. Calvin! Mr. Parks! Wake up, won't you? Wake up!"

Now Calvin Parks had been dreaming, a thing that seldom occurred in the simple organism of his brain. He dreamed that he was on a lonely road, with high, rocky banks on either side; and that he was pursued by two black hooded snakes with glittering eyes, that reared and hissed on either side of him, and darted at him as he sped along. He tried to cry out, but found no voice. As he panted on in terror and anguish, thinking every moment to feel the venomed fangs in his flesh, suddenly a bird came flying down, a blue bird with a white breast, and took the evil creatures one after the other and flung them far from his path. And as he looked, still panting and breathless, the bird turned into Mary Sands in her blue dress and white apron, and she cried – "Wake up, Calvin Parks! wake up!"

He opened his eyes, dim and bewildered with sleep. The vision was still before him, the trim blue and white figure, the pretty brown hair, the hazel eyes full of anxious tenderness. Still bewildered, still only half awake, he opened his arms and gathered the little figure into them. "My woman!" he said. "My woman, before God and while I live."

"Oh! yes, Calvin!" said Mary Sands; and she hid her head on his broad breast and sobbed, a little happy sob.

So they stood for a moment, heaven as near to their middle-aged hearts as to any boy and girl lovers under the sun; then suddenly Calvin put her from him with a quick movement, and stepped back.

"I forgot!" he cried. "Mary, I forgot. I – I spoke too soon."

"Too soon!" echoed Mary Sands.

"I've no right to you yet!" he cried. "I thought I had; I forgot last night. Mary, I won't ask for you till I have a right to. Yesterday I had the right, or thought I had; to-day I haven't. You – you'd better forget what I said – no! don't forget one word of it, but – but put it away till – some day – " his voice broke, and he turned away with something like a sob.

Mary Sands eyed him keenly; then she spoke in her usual quiet cheerful tone.