It is I, Homer; I entreat you to pause!"
The figure wavered, halted; finally turned round, and stood with folded arms till Mr. Homer hurried up, anxious and breathless.
"Are you ill, Pindar?" cried the little gentleman. "Some sudden seizure, my dear brother? I am truly distressed: let me support you!"
But Mr. Pindar waved him aside with a lofty gesture. "I require no support, Brother!" he said. "My corporal envelope is robust, I am obliged to you."
"Then why--why this sudden appearance and disappearance?" asked Mr.
Homer, bewildered. "Miss Wax was expecting you; we were both expecting you, sir!"
"Were you?" said Mr. Pindar, bitterly. "I should hardly have thought it.
I judged that I intruded, sir. It appeared to me that tender pa.s.sages were in progress. I inferred that the advent of the Wanderer was unwelcome, sir, unwelcome."
Mr. Homer attempted to speak, but Mr. Pindar waved him off, and hurried on, a real feeling struggling through the pompous structure of his sentences. "It would appear that I was in error, sir, when I requested you to compose an ode. I should have demanded an epithalamium; flute and clarionet, sir:
"Tweedle, tweedle, toodle turn, Clash the cymbal, bang the drum!
Cupid and his antic choir Sing for Homer and Bethia!
But you might have told me, Homer; you might have told me, sir!"
Mr. Homer Hollopeter blushed very red all over; if it is discreet even to allude to Mr. Homer"s toes, I am quite sure that even they must have grown rosy. He looked gravely at his brother, who was waving his cloak in great excitement.
"My dear brother," he said, slowly, "it--I--I fail to find words in which to express the--the--_enormousness_ of your misconception. I regard Miss Wax, sir, as a sister, an esteemed and valued sister."
At the place where Mr. Homer had overtaken his brother, stood a watering-trough, a hollowed section of a huge oak-tree, through which ran a tiny crystal stream. The companion oak, still vigorous, overshadowed the trough, making a pleasant circle of shade, and around this oak ran a rustic seat. It was a favorite gathering-place of the village boys, but now the boys were in bed, and all was still save for the gurgle of the little rill as it babbled along the trough.
To Mr. Homer"s utter amazement and discomfiture, Mr. Pindar now flung himself down upon this seat, and, pulling out a large blue cotton handkerchief, buried his face in it and burst into tears.
"n.o.body is glad to see me!" cried Mr. Pindar, sobbing violently.
"Everybody thinks I am mad. Prudence Pardon called me a--a gonoph, and refused to make tunics for the Village Elders. A horrible fat woman--rightly named Weight--_horresco referens!_--wished to be G.o.ddess of Liberty, and, when I shrank appalled, she robbed me of the pretty child who should have been my Psyche. I am--unappreciated, sir. I am mocked at and derided. The little dogs and all, Tray, Blanche, and Sweetheart--I returned to benefit my native heath: to cause--blossoms of histrionic art to spring up in the--arid pathways--oyster sh.e.l.ls!"--he indicated by a wave the white and glittering paths which led to one and another silent house, and which are indeed the pride of the village. "I have piped to everybody, and n.o.body will dance, except--hideous persons who squint. I came for comfort and sympathy to Bethia Wax, the playmate of my early days; I found--" He waved his arms with a gesture of despair. "And I am so tired of playing the kettledrum!" said the poor gentleman; and he wept afresh.
Mr. Homer sat down by his brother"s side, and laid his hand on his shoulder. "Don"t cry!" he said. "Don"t cry, Pindy! Mother wouldn"t like to have you cry."
His voice, faltered on the long-unspoken diminutive; but, at the sound of it, Mr. Pindar, still holding the handkerchief to his eyes with his right hand, held out his left; Mr. Homer grasped it, and the two sat silent, hand in hand, while the little stream trickled cheerfully along, and the black leaf-shadows flickered on the white road.
Mr. Homer opened and shut his mouth several times, and patted his brother"s hand, before he spoke again. At length he said, very gently:
"My dear boy, my dear fellow, you are unnerved. Compose yourself, compose yourself! I also have been sadly unnerved, Pindy. An hour ago I could have mingled my tears with yours freely, sir, freely. But music hath charms, as you are aware, to soothe the--Savagery is far from my breast at the present time, sir, but the quotation is too familiar to require elucidation. Our friend Miss Wax has been performing upon the instrument, and an hour spent in her society, when thus employed, is invariably soothing to the wounded spirit. I wish, my dear brother, that you had come earlier in the evening."
Mr. Pindar groaned, and dried his eyes, but made no reply. Mr. Homer, pausing, looked carefully about him, as if struck by a sudden thought.
"Pindar," he said, in an altered tone, "do you know where we are sitting? Look about you!"
Mr. Pindar looked around, then up at the tree which bent friendly over them. "It is the oak-seat!" he exclaimed. "The oak-seat and the watering-trough. m.u.f.fled drums! Enter Homeless Wanderer, weeping."
"Do you remember the day when Silas Candy ducked Ephraim Weight?" said Mr. Homer, disregarding the last remark. "We were sitting here, Pindar, and we did not interfere. I have sometimes reflected that it was a--an error, sir; a--a faltering in the way; a--a dereliction from the--a--star-y-pointing path; but we were young, sir, and Ephraim was--shall I say unattractive? But--Pindy, when Silas came along--I remember it as if it were yesterday--I had just been cutting some initials in the tree. Upon my word, they are here still!" With a trembling finger he pointed out some half-obliterated letters. "B. H., sir; do you see them? Bethia Hollopeter!"
Mr. Pindar nodded gloomily, and, putting away the blue handkerchief, crossed his arms on his breast. "I see them, sir," he said. "Why turn the dagger in the wound? I see them!"
"What was my thought, Brother," Mr. Homer went on, growing more and more animated, "when I made those letters; when I--a--wounded the oaken breast which--which--not precisely nourished, but certainly cheered and comforted me? Brother, I fancied Bethia as your bride. Stay! hear me!"
as Mr. Pindar made a hasty gesture of dissent. "I knew later that--that your affections, like my own, were placed elsewhere; but--but Fate, sir, planted an arrow, of a highly barbed description, in our twin b.r.e.a.s.t.s.
No more of that. Miss Bethia Wax, sir, has been the friend, the elegant and valued friend, of my entire life. Since the lamented death of our cousins, Phoebe and Vesta, and recently the irreparable loss I have sustained in the death of Cousin Marcia, we--Miss Bethia and I--have been brought into yet closer and more sympathetic companionship. Aside from the devoted tenderness of Thomas and William, and the--the faithful, if occasionally violent ministrations of Direxia Hawkes, Miss Bethia has been my chief stay and comfort in these troublous days. But I a.s.sure you, sir, with my hand on my heart,"--Mr. Homer suited the action to the word,--"that nothing of a tender nature has ever pa.s.sed, or will ever pa.s.s, between me and my elegant and valued friend. Yet once more hear me, Brother! It is my firm belief, Pindar, that one image, and one only, has remained since youth implanted in--in that bosom, sir, to which I allude with the highest respect; that image, sir, I believe to be yours!"
Mr. Homer paused, much moved. Mr. Pindar waved his cloak in protest, but his countenance brightened perceptibly.
"Not so!" he murmured. "Not so! Thunder. Exit Homeless Wanderer, pursued by furies. Brother, I will return to my hated task. Enough! I thank you, but I go."
"Brother, I implore you not so to do!" cried Mr. Homer, earnestly. "I believe that other and happier things are in store for you. I have a vision, sir, of a home replete with elegant comfort. Miss Bethia, though not opulent, is possessed of a comfortable competence--though Mammon is far from my thoughts!" cried Mr. Homer, blushing again. "A home, I say, sir, brightened by the society of--of Woman, and by every evidence of a refined and cultivated taste. My dear brother, return with me now to the--the bower, if I may so express myself, of our esteemed and valued friend. Miss Bethia urged, I may say, implored, me to bring you back."
"Not so!" murmured Mr. Pindar. "Alarums and excursions. Exit--"
But Mr. Homer interrupted him, a sudden fire shining in his mild eyes.
"Brother Pindar," he cried, "you have many times alluded, since your return, to the Dramatic Moment; you have commented upon the absence of the dramatic element in my composition. But, sir, it is borne in upon me strongly at this instant that a Dramatic Moment is now striking in--in your life and that of our esteemed and valued friend. As you yourself would observe, hark to it, sir! it strikes;--a--resounds;--a--larums, sir, larums."
The two brothers had risen, and stood facing each other in the moonlight. They waved their arms with an identical gesture; never had they looked so alike. "It larums!" repeated Mr. Pindar, solemnly.
Suddenly he seized his brother"s hand, and motioned him forward.
"Flourish and a sennet!" he cried. "Possible joy-bells! Brother, set on!"
CHAPTER XV.
AFTER ALL!
And after all, as every one said, everything went off so beautifully that people need not have been disturbed. The Processional Festival Jubilee was given up (really, I think, to Mr. Pindar"s relief as well as that of every one else,--except Miss Luella Sloc.u.m), and a reception subst.i.tuted for it; not a Pink Tea, but a dignified and really charming occasion. Mrs. Bliss and Will Jaquith planned it, and the whole village helped to carry it out. The day was perfection, the very crown jewel of the summer: the house was thrown open, and the guests were met in the hall by a Reception Committee, consisting of the Messrs. Hollopeter, Mr. and Mrs. Bliss, Miss Wax and Mrs. Ware, and Dr. Geoffrey Strong.
First, Doctor Strong made a brief address of welcome, which put every one into a holiday humor of twinkling antic.i.p.ation; and then there were tableaux, framed in the wide low arch of the dining-room door, ill.u.s.trating the history of the village since the first Darracott, Timothy Philo, settled here in 1680. The First Service, the Indian Ma.s.sacre (Mr. Pindar superb as King Philip, in full war-paint and feathers, flourishing a real tomahawk from the Collection over the prostrate form of Tommy Candy), the departure of the Quahaug Company of Patriot Militia for Lexington, the women of Quahaug praying for the success of Washington"s arms, and so on down to the last, when the Guardian Spirit of the village was represented as mourning for the death of Mrs. Tree. This was dear Miss Wax"s idea, and she besought the Committee so earnestly to carry it out, "as a token of respect for Her we honor," that they had not the heart to refuse. Mrs. Bliss was secretly afraid that it might make people smile; and so it might have done if Annie Lizzie had not looked so sweet, in her white dress and drooping wings (she got them, after all!), that everybody cried instead.
Between the scenes the band, stationed in the garden, "discoursed acceptable strains," as the paper said next day; and, after the final scene, Mr. Homer made a little speech. He had been most unwilling to speak, but everybody insisted that he, and no one else, must actually open the Museum. So the dear gentleman got up, very pink and fluttering, and said that joy and sorrow had woven a mingled wreath to crown this day, but that it was the proudest one of his life, and that the proudest action of that life was to open the Captain and Mrs. Ethan Tree Museum of Quahaug.
And then--then every one sang the Ode. Mr. Homer had written the words, and Mr. Pindar set them to music, and words and music were printed on white silk and distributed as souvenirs. The two brothers did not know that, when the music began, they took hold of hands, and stood so all through, waving their free arms and bowing their heads in time to the melody, and opening and shutting their mouths; but the rest of the company knew it, and cried so that they could hardly sing.
These are the words:
ODE
FOR THE OPENING OF THE CAPTAIN AND MRS.
ETHAN TREE MUSEUM OF QUAHAUG
As smooth the bivalve opes its jaws, Admitting crystal flood, So opes our own Museum its doors To all of native blood.
On honored bier we drop the tear, And then, with joy agog, Our village proud doth cry aloud, Quahaug! (bang!) Quahaug! (bang!) Quahaug!
Our patroness we fondly bless, And likewise honor him Who filled so free this treasury, Then sought the cherubim.
Of objects fair, so rich and rare, Description would but clog; So let us sing till welkin ring, Quahaug! (bang!) Quahaug! (bang!) Quahaug!
Captain and Mrs. Ethan Tree We honor so this day, As Muses nine, with fire divine, Alone could fitly say.
Yet still each heart would bear its part, With this for epilogue: While life remains we"ll praise thy plains, Quahaug! (bang!) Quahaug! (bang!) Quahaug!