Part 19

"What is the matter with him, Doctor?" asked Morton, next morning.

"Absolute physical bankruptcy, sir," answered the physician, in his abrupt manner. "There's not water enough left in the branch to run the mill seven days. Wasted life, sir, wasted life. It is a pity but you Methodists had a little moderation in your zeal."

Kike uneasily watched the door, hoping every minute that he might see Nettie come in. But she did not come. He had wished to avoid her father's house for fear of seeing her, but he could not bear to be thus near her and not see her. Toward evening he called Patty to him.

"Lean down here!" he said.

Patty put her ear down that nobody might hear.

"Where's Nettie?" asked Kike.

"About the house, somewhere," said Patty.

"Why don't she come in to see me?"

"Not because she doesn't care for you," said Patty; "she seems to be crying half the time."

Kike watched the door uneasily all that evening. But Nettie did not come. To have come into Kike's room would have been to have revealed her love for one who had never declared his love for her. The mobile face of Nettie disclosed every emotion. No wonder she was fain to keep away. And yet the desire to see him almost overcame her fear of seeing him.

When the doctor came in to see Kike after breakfast the next morning, the patient looked at him wistfully.

"Doctor Morgan, tell me the truth. Will I ever get up?"

"You can never get up, my dear boy," said the physician, huskily.

A smile of relief spread over Kike's face. At that word the awful burden of his morbid sense of responsibility for the world's salvation, the awful burden of a self-sacrifice that was terrible and that must be life-long, slipped from his weary soul. There was then nothing more to be done but to wait for the Master's release. He shut his eyes, murmured a "Thank God!" and lay for minutes, motionless. As the doctor made a movement to leave him, Kike opened his eyes and looked at him eagerly.

"What is it, my boy?" said Morgan, stroking the straight black hair off Kike's forehead, and petting him as though he were a child. "What do you want?"

"Doctor----" said Kike, and then closed his eyes again.

"Don't be afraid to tell me what is in your heart, dear boy." The tears were in the doctor's eyes.

"If you think it best--if you think it best, mind--I would like to see Nettie."

"Of course it is best. I am glad you mentioned it. It will do her good, poor soul."

"If you think it best----"

"Well?" said the doctor, seeing that Kike hesitated. "Speak out."

"All alone."

"Yes, you shall see her alone. That is best." The doctor's utterance was choked as he hastened out.

Kike lay with eyes fixed on the door. It seemed a long time after the doctor went before Nettie came in. It was only three minutes--three minutes in which Nettie vainly strove to wipe away tears that flowed faster than she could remove them. At last her hand was on the latch. She gained a momentary self-control. But when she opened the door and saw his emaciated face, and his black eyes looking so eagerly for her, it was too much for the poor little heart. The next moment she was on her knees by his bed, sobbing violently. And Kike put out his feeble hands and drew the golden head up close to his bosom, and spoke tenderer words than he had ever heard spoken in his life. And then he closed his eyes, and for a long time nothing was said. It came about after Nettie's tears were spent that they talked of all that they had felt; of the life past and of the immortal life to come. Hours went by and none intruded upon this betrothal for eternity. Patty had waited without, expecting to be called to take her place again by her cousin's bedside. But she did not like to remain in conversation with Morton. It could bring nothing but pain to them both. It occurred to her that she had not seen her patient in Higgins's Hollow since Kike came. She started immediately, glad to escape from the regrets excited by the presence of Morton, and touched with remorse that she had so long neglected a man on whose heart she thought she had been able to make some religious impression.

_CHAPTER XXXII._

PINKEY'S DISCOVERY.

Pinkey was grum. He didn't like to be neglected, if he was a highwayman. He had gotten out of bed and drawn on his boots.

"So you couldn't come to see me because there was a young preacher sick at the doctor's?" he said, when Patty entered.

"The young preacher is my cousin," said Patty, "and he is going to die."

"Your cousin," said Pinkey, softened a little. "But Goodwin is there, too. I hope you didn't tell him anything about me?"

"Not a word."

"He ought to be grateful to you for saving his life."

"He seems to be."

"And people that are grateful are very likely to have other feelings after awhile." There was a significance in Pinkey's manner that Patty greatly disliked.

"You should not talk in that way. Mr. Goodwin is engaged to be married."

"Is he? Do you mind telling me her name?"

"To a lady named Meacham, I believe."

"What?--Who?--To Ann Eliza? How did it happen that I have never heard of that? To Ann Eliza! Confound her; what a witch that girl is! I wish I could spoil her game this time. Goodwin's too good for her and she sha'n't have him." Then he sat still as if in meditation. After a moment he resumed: "Now, Miss Lumsden, you've done one good turn for him, you must do another. I want to send a note to this Ann Eliza."

"_I_ cannot take it," said Patty, trembling.

"You saved his life, and now you are unwilling to save him from a worse evil. You ought not to refuse."

"You ought not to ask it. The circumstances of the case are peculiar. I will not take it."

"Will you take a note to Goodwin?"

"Not on this business."

Pinkey was startled at the emotion she showed, and looked at her inquiringly: "You were a schoolmate of Morton's--of Goodwin's, I mean--and a body would think that you might be the identical sweetheart that sent him adrift for joining the Methodists--and then joined the Methodists herself, eh?"

Patty said nothing, but turned away.

"By the holy Moses," said Pinkey, in a half-soliloquy, "if that's the case, I'll break the net of that fisherwoman this time or drown myself a-trying."

Patty had intended to read the Bible to her patient, but her mind was so disturbed that she thought best to say good-morning. Pinkey roused himself from a reverie to call her back.

"Will you answer me one question?" he asked. "Does Goodwin want to marry this girl? Is he happy about it, do you think?"

"I am sure he isn't," said Patty, reproaching herself in a moment that she had said so much.

Patty made some kindly remark to Mrs. Barkins as she went out, walked briskly to the fence, halted, looked off over the field a moment, turned round and came back. When she re-entered Pinkey's room he had put on his great false-whiskers and wolf-skin cap, and she trembled at the transformation. He started, but said: "Don't be afraid, Miss Lumsden, I am not meditating mischief. I will not hurt you, certainly, and you must not betray me. Now, what is it?"

"Don't do anything wrong in this matter," said Patty. "Don't do anything that'll lie heavy on your soul when you come to die.--I'm afraid you'll do something wrong for Mr. Goodwin's sake, or--mine."

"No. But if I was able to ride I'd do one thunderin' good thing. But I am too weak to do anything, plague on it!"

"I wish you would put these deceits in the fire and do right," she said, indicating his disguises. "I am disappointed to see that you are going back to your old ways."

He made no reply, but laid off his disguises and lay down on the bed, exhausted. And Patty departed, grieved that all her labors were in vain, while Pinkey only muttered to himself, "I'm too weak, confound it!"

_CHAPTER XXXIII._

THE ALABASTER BOX BROKEN.

Not until Dr. Morgan came in at noon did any one venture to open the door of Kike's room. He found the patient much better. But the improvement could not be permanent, the sedative of mental rest and the tonic of joy had come too late.

"Morton," said Kike, "I want Dolly to do me one more service. Nettie will explain to you what it is."

After a talk with Nettie, Morton rode Dolly away, leading Kike's horse with him. The doctor thought he could guess what Morton went for, but, even in melancholy circumstances, lovers, like children, are fond of having secrets, and he did not try to penetrate that which it gave Kike and Nettie pleasure to keep to themselves. At ten o'clock that night Morton came back without Kike's horse.

"Did you get it?" whispered Kike, who had grown visibly weaker.

Morton nodded.

"And you sent the message?"

"Yes."

Kike gave Nettie a look of pleasure, and then sank into a satisfied sleep, while Morton proceeded to relate to Doctor Morgan and Patty that he had seen in the moonlight a notorious highwayman. "His nickname is Pinkey; nobody knows who he is or where he comes from or goes to. He got a hard blow in a fight with the police force of the camp meeting. It's a wonder it didn't break his head. I searched for him everywhere, but he had effectually disappeared. If I had been armed to-night I should have tried to arrest him, for he was alone."

Patty and the doctor exchanged looks.

"Our patient, Patty."

But Patty did not say a word.

"You must have got that information through him!" said Morton, with surprise.

But Patty only kept still.

"I won't ask you any questions, but what if I had killed my deliverer! Strange that he should be the bearer of a message to me, though. I should rather expect him to kill me than to save me."

Patty wondered that Pinkey had ventured away while yet so weak, and found in herself the flutterings of a hope for which she knew there was no satisfactory ground.

When Saturday morning came, Kike was sinking. "Doctor Morgan," he said, "do not leave me long. Nettie and I want to be married before I die."

"But the license?" said the doctor, affecting not to suspect Kike's secret.

"Morton got it the other day. And I am looking for my mother to-day. I don't want to be married till she comes. Morton took my horse and sent for her."

Saturday passed and Kike's mother had not arrived. On Sunday morning he was almost past speaking. Nettie had gone out of the room, and Kike was apparently asleep.

"Splendid life wasted," said the doctor, sadly, to Morton, pointing to the dying man.

"Yes, indeed. What a pity he had no care for himself," answered Morton.

"Patty," said Kike, opening his eyes, "the Bible."

Patty got the Bible.

"Read in the twenty-sixth of Matthew, from the seventh verse to the thirteenth, inclusive," Kike spoke as if he were announcing a text.

Then, when Patty was about to read, he said: "Stop. Call Nettie."

When Nettie came he nodded to Patty, and she read all about the alabaster box of ointment, very precious, that was broken over the head of Jesus, and the complaint that it was wasted, with the Lord's reply.

"You are right, my dear boy," said Doctor Morgan, with effusion, "what is spent for love is never wasted. It is a very precious box of ointment that you have broken upon Christ's head, my son. The Lord will not forget it."

When Kike's mother and Brady rode up to the door on Sunday morning, the people had already begun to gather in crowds, drawn by the expectation that Morton would preach in the Hickory Ridge church. Hearing that Kike, whose piety was famous all the country over, was dying, they filled Doctor Morgan's house and yard, sitting in sad, silent groups on the fences and door-steps, and standing in the shade of the yard trees. As the dying preacher's mother passed through, the crowd of country people fell back and looked reverently at her.

Kike was already far gone. He was barely able to greet his mother and the good-hearted Brady, whose demonstrative Irish grief knew no bounds. Then Kike and Nettie were married, amidst the tears of all. This sort of a wedding is more hopelessly melancholy than a funeral. After the marriage Nettie knelt by Kike's side, and he rallied for a moment and solemnly pronounced a benediction on her. Then he lifted up his hands, crying faintly, "O Lord! I have kept back nothing. Amen."

His hands dropped upon the head of Nettie. The people had crowded into the hall and stood at the windows. For awhile all thought him dead.

A white pigeon flew in at one of the windows and lighted upon the bed of the dying man. The early Western people believed in marvels, and Kike was to them a saint. At sight of the snow-white dove pluming itself upon his breast they all started back. Was it a heavenly visitant? Kike opened his eyes and gazed upon the dove a moment. Then he looked significantly at Nettie, then at the people. The dove plumed itself a moment longer, looked round on the people out of its mute and gentle eyes, then flitted out of the window again and disappeared in the sunlight. A smile overspread the dying man's face, he clasped his hands upon his bosom, and it was a full minute before anybody discovered that the pure, heroic spirit of Hezekiah Lumsden had gone to its rest.

He had requested that no name should be placed over his grave. "Let God have any glory that may come from my labors, and let everybody but Nettie forget me," he said. But Doctor Morgan had a slab of the common blue limestone of the hills--marble was not to be had--cut out for a headstone. The device upon it was a dove, the only inscription: "An alabaster box of very precious ointment."

Death is not always matter for grief. If you have ever beheld a rich sunset from the summit of a lofty mountain, you will remember how the world was transfigured before you in the glory of resplendent light, and how, long after the light had faded from the cloud-drapery, and long after the hills had begun to lose themselves in the abyss of darkness, there lingered a glory in the western horizon--a joyous memory of the splendid pomp of the evening. Even so the glory of Kike's dying made all who saw it feel like those who have witnessed a sublime spectacle, which they may never see again. The memory of it lingered with them like the long-lingering glow behind the western mountains. Sorry that the suffering life had ended in peace, one could not be; and never did stormy day find more placid sunset than his. Even Nettie had never felt that he belonged to her. When he was gone she was as one whom an angel of God had embraced. She regretted his absence, but rejoiced in the memory of his love; and she had not entertained any hopes that could be disappointed.

The only commemoration his name received was in the conference minutes, where, like other such heroes, he was curtly embalmed in the usual four lines:

"Hezekiah Lumsden was a man of God, who freely gave up his life for his work. He was tireless in labor, patient in suffering, bold in rebuking sin, holy in life and conversation, and triumphant in death."

The early Methodists had no time for eulogies. A handful of earth, a few hurried words of tribute, and the bugle called to the battle. The man who died was at rest, the men who staid had the more work to do.

NOTE. In the striking incident of the dove lighting upon Kike's bed, I have followed strictly the statement of eye-witnesses.--E.E.

_CHAPTER XXXIV._

THE BROTHERS.

Patty had received, by the hand of Brady, a letter from her father, asking her to come home. Do not think that Captain Lumsden wrote penitently and asked Patty's forgiveness. Captain Lumsden never did anything otherwise than meanly. He wrote that he was now bedridden with rheumatism, and it seemed hard that he should be forsaken by his oldest daughter, who ought to be the stay of his declining years. He did not understand how Patty could pretend to be so religious and yet leave him to suffer without the comfort of her presence. The other children were young, and the house was in hopeless confusion. If the Methodists had not quite turned her heart away from her poor afflicted father, she would come at once and help him in his troubles. He was ready to forgive the past, and as for her religion, if she did not trouble him with it, she could do as she pleased. He did not think much of a religion that set a daughter against her father, though.

Patty was too much rejoiced at the open door that it set before her to feel the sting very keenly. There was another pain that had grown worse with every day she had spent with Morton. Beside her own sorrow she felt for him. There was a strange restlessness in his eyes, an eager and vacillating activity in what he was doing, that indicated how fearfully the tempest raged within. For Morton's old desperation was upon him, and Patty was in terror for the result. About the time of Kike's death the dove settled upon his soul also. He had mastered himself, and the restless wildness had given place to a look of constraint and suffering that was less alarming but hardly less distressing to Patty, who had also the agony of hiding her own agony. But the disappearance of Pinkey had awakened some hope in her. Not one jot of this trembling hopefulness did she dare impart to Morton, who for his part had but one consolation--he would throw away his life in the battle, as Kike had done before him.

So eager was Patty to leave her school now and hasten to her father, that she could not endure to stay the weeks that were necessary to complete her term. She had canvassed with Doctor Morgan the possibility of getting some one to take her place, and both had concluded that there was no one available, Miss Jane Morgan being too much out of health. But to their surprise Nettie offered her services. She had not been of much more use in the world than a humming-bird, she said, and now it seemed to her that Kike would be better pleased that she should make herself useful.

Thus released, Patty started home immediately, and Morton, who could not reach the distant part of his circuit, upon which his supply was now preaching, in time to resume his work at once, concluded to set out for Hissawachee also, that he might see how his parents fared. But he concealed his purpose from Patty, who departed in company with Brady and his wife. Morton would not trust himself in her society longer. He therefore rode round by a circuitous way, and, thanks to Dolly, reached Hissawachee before them.

I may not describe the enthusiasm with which Morton was received at home. Scarcely had he kissed his mother and shaken hands with his father, who was surprised that none of his dolorous predictions had been fulfilled, and greeted young Henry, now shooting up into manhood, when his mother whispered to him that his brother Lewis was alive and had come home.

"What! Lewis alive?" exclaimed Morton, "I thought he was killed in Pittsburg ten years ago."

"That was a false report. He had been doing badly, and he did not want to return, and so he let us believe him dead. But now he has come back and he is afraid you will not receive him kindly. I suppose he thinks because you are a preacher you will be hard on his evil ways. But you won't be too hard, will you?"

"I? God knows I have been too great a sinner myself for that. Where is Lew? I can just remember how he used to whittle boats for me when I was a little boy. I remember the morning he ran off, and how after that you always wanted to move West. Poor Lew! Where has he gone?"

His mother opened the door of the little bed-room and led out the brother.

"What! Burchard?" cried Morton. "What does this mean? Are you Lewis Goodwin?"

[Illustration: THE BROTHERS.]

"I am!"

"That's why you gave me back my horse and gun when you found out who I was. That's how you saved me that day at Brewer's Hole. And that's why you warned me at Salt Fork and sent me that other warning. Well, Lewis, I would be glad to see you anyhow, but I ought to be not only glad as a brother, but glad that I can thank you for saving my life."

"But I've been a worse man than you think, Mort."

"What of that? God forgives, and I am sure that it is not for such a sinner as I am to condemn you. If you knew what desperate thoughts have tempted me in the last week you would know how much I am your brother."

Just here Brady knocked at the door and pushed it open, with a "Howdy, Misses Goodwin? Howdy, Mr. Goodwin? and, Moirton, howdy do?"

"This is my brother Lewis, Mr. Brady. We thought he was dead."

"Heigh-ho! The prodigal's come back agin, eh? Mrs. Goodwin, I congratilate ye."

And then Mrs. Brady was introduced to Lewis. Patty, who stood behind, came forward, and Morton said: "Miss Lumsden, my brother Lewis."

"You needn't introduce her," said Lewis. "She knows me already. If it hadn't been for her I might have been dead, and in perdition, I suppose.

"Why, how's that?" asked Morton, bewildered.

"She nursed me in sickness, and read the parable of the Prodigal Son, and told me that it was my mother's favorite chapter."

"So it is," said Mrs. Goodwin; "I've read it every day for years. But how did you know that, Patty?"

"Why," said Lewis, "she said that one woman knew how another woman felt. But you don't know how good Miss Lumsden is. She did not know me as Lewis Goodwin or Burchard, but in quite a different character. I suppose I'd as well make a clean breast of it, Mort, at once. Then there'll be no surprises afterward. And if you hate me when you know it all, I can't help it." With that he stepped into the bedroom and came forth with long beard and wolf-skin cap.

"What! Pinkey?" said Morton, with horror.

"The Pinkey that you told that big preacher to knock down, and then hunted all over the country to find."

Seeing Morton's pained expression at this discovery of his brother's bad character, Patty added adroitly: "The Pinkey that saved your life, Morton."

Morton got up and stood before his brother. "Give me your hand again, Lewis. I am so glad you came home at last. God bless you."