With that she presented me to her daughter.
And, then, shortly, for it could no longer be concealed, I learned that Mr. and Mrs. Vedder were not the caretakers but the owners of the estate and of the great house I had seen on the hill. That evening, with an air almost of apology, they explained to me how it all came about.
"We first came out here," said Mrs. Vedder, "nearly twenty years ago, and built the big house on the hill. But the more we came to know of country life the more we wanted to get down into it. We found it impossible up there--so many unnecessary things to see to and care for--and we couldn"t--we didn"t see--"
"The fact is," Mr. Vedder put in, "we were losing touch with each other."
"There is nothing like a big house," said Mrs. Vedder, "to separate a man and his wife."
"So we came down here," said Mr. Vedder, "built this little cottage, and developed this garden mostly with our own hands. We would have sold the big house long ago if it hadn"t been for our friends. They like it."
"I have never heard a more truly romantic story," said I.
And it WAS romantic: these fine people escaping from too many possessions, too much property, to the peace and quietude of a garden where they could be lovers again.
"It seems, sometimes," said Mrs. Vedder, "that I never really believed in G.o.d until we came down here--"
"I saw the verse on the table in the arbour," said I.
"And it is true," said Mr. Vedder. "We got a long, long way from G.o.d for many years: here we seem to get back to Him."
I had fully intended to take the road again that afternoon, but how could any one leave such people as those? We talked again late that night, but the next morning, at the leisurely Sunday breakfast, I set my hour of departure with all the firmness I could command. I left them, indeed, before ten o"clock that forenoon. I shall never forget the parting. They walked with me to the top of the hill, and there we stopped and looked back. We could see the cottage half hidden among the trees, and the little opening that the precious garden made. For a time we stood there quite silent.
"Do you remember," I said presently, "that character in Homer who was a friend of men and lived in a house by the side of the road? I shall always think of you as friends of men--you took in a dusty traveller.
And I shall never forget your house by the side of the road."
"The House by the Side of the Road--you have christened it anew, David Grayson," exclaimed Mrs. Vedder.
And so we parted like old friends, and I left them to return to their garden, where ""tis very sure G.o.d walks."
CHAPTER IV. I AM THE SPECTATOR OF A MIGHTY BATTLE, IN WHICH CHRISTIAN MEETS APPOLLYON
It is one of the prime joys of the long road that no two days are ever remotely alike--no two hours even; and sometimes a day that begins calmly will end with the most stirring events.
It was thus, indeed, with that perfect spring Sunday, when I left my friends, the Vedders, and turned my face again to the open country. It began as quietly as any Sabbath morning of my life, but what an end it had! I would have travelled a thousand miles for the adventures which a bounteous road that day spilled carelessly into my willing hands.
I can give no adequate reason why it should be so, but there are Sunday mornings in the spring--at least in our country--which seem to put on, like a Sabbath garment, an atmosphere of divine quietude. Warm, soft, clear, but, above all, immeasurably serene.
Such was that Sunday morning; and I was no sooner well afoot than I yielded to the ingratiating mood of the day. Usually I am an active walker, loving the sense of quick motion and the stir it imparts to both body and mind, but that morning I found myself loitering, looking widely about me, and enjoying the lesser and quieter aspects of nature. It was a fine wooded country in which I found myself, and I soon struck off the beaten road and took to the forest and the fields. In places the ground was almost covered with meadow-rue, like green shadows on the hillsides, not yet in seed, but richly umbrageous. In the long green gra.s.s of the meadows shone the yellow star-flowers, and the sweet-flags were blooming along the marshy edges of the ponds. The violets had disappeared, but they were succeeded by wild geraniums and rank-growing vetches.
I remember that I kept thinking from time to time, all the forenoon, as my mind went back swiftly and warmly to the two fine friends from whom I had so recently parted:
How the Vedders would enjoy this! Or, I must tell the Vedders that. And two or three times I found myself in animated conversations with them in which I generously supplied all three parts. It may be true for some natures, as Leonardo said, that "if you are alone you belong wholly to yourself; if you have a companion, you belong only half to yourself"; but it is certainly not so with me. With me friendship never divides: it multiplies. A friend always makes me more than I am, better than I am, bigger than I am. We two make four, or fifteen, or forty.
Well, I loitered through the fields and woods for a long time that Sunday forenoon, not knowing in the least that Chance held me close by the hand and was leading me onward to great events. I knew, of course, that I had yet to find a place for the night, and that this might be difficult on Sunday, and yet I spent that forenoon as a man spends his immortal youth--with a glorious disregard for the future.
Some time after noon--for the sun was high and the day was growing much warmer--I turned from the road, climbed an inviting little hill, and chose a spot in an old meadow in the shade of an apple tree and there I lay down on the gra.s.s, and looked up into the dusky shadows of the branches above me. I could feel the soft airs on my face; I could hear the buzzing of bees in the meadow flowers, and by turning my head just a little I could see the slow fleecy clouds, high up, drifting across the perfect blue of the sky. And the scent of the fields in spring!--he who has known it, even once, may indeed die happy.
Men worship G.o.d in various ways: it seemed to me that Sabbath morning, as I lay quietly there in the warm silence of midday, that I was truly worshipping G.o.d. That Sunday morning everything about me seemed somehow to be a miracle--a miracle gratefully accepted and explainable only by the presence of G.o.d. There was another strange, deep feeling which I had that morning, which I have had a few other times in my life at the rare heights of experience--I hesitate always when I try to put down the deep, deep things of the human heart--a feeling immeasurably real, that if I should turn my head quickly I should indeed SEE that Immanent Presence....
One of the few birds I know that sings through the long midday is the vireo. The vireo sings when otherwise the woods are still. You do not see him; you cannot find him; but you know he is there. And his singing is wild, and shy, and mystical. Often it haunts you like the memory of some former happiness. That day I heard the vireo singing....
I don"t know how long I lay there under the tree in the meadow, but presently I heard, from no great distance, the sound of a church-bell.
It was ringing for the afternoon service which among the farmers of this part of the country often takes the place, in summer, of both morning and evening services.
"I believe I"ll go," I said, thinking first of all, I confess, of the interesting people I might meet there.
But when I sat up and looked about me the desire faded, and rummaging in my bag I came across my tin whistle. Immediately I began practising a tune called "Sweet Afton," which I had learned when a boy; and, as I played, my mood changed swiftly, and I began to smile at myself as a tragically serious person, and to think of pat phrases with which to characterize the execrableness of my attempts upon the tin whistle. I should have liked some one near to joke with.
Long ago I made a motto about boys: Look for a boy anywhere. Never be surprised when you shake a cherry tree if a boy drops out of it; never be disturbed when you think yourself in complete solitude if you discover a boy peering out at you from a fence corner.
I had not been playing long before I saw two boys looking at me from out of a thicket by the roadside; and a moment later two others appeared.
Instantly I switched into "Marching Through Georgia," and began to nod my head and tap my toe in the liveliest fashion. Presently one boy climbed up on the fence, then another, then a third. I continued to play. The fourth boy, a little chap, ventured to climb up on the fence.
They were bright-faced, tow-headed lads, all in Sunday clothes.
"It"s hard luck," said I, taking my whistle from my lips, "to have to wear shoes and stockings on a warm Sunday like this."
"You bet it is!" said the bold leader.
"In that case," said I, "I will play "Yankee Doodle.""
I played. All the boys, including the little chap, came up around me, and two of them sat down quite familiarly on the gra.s.s. I never had a more devoted audience. I don"t know what interesting event might have happened next, for the bold leader, who stood nearest, was becoming dangerously inflated with questions--I don"t know what might have happened had we not been interrupted by the appearance of a Spectre in Black. It appeared before us there in the broad daylight in the middle of a sunny afternoon while we were playing "Yankee Doodle." First I saw the top of a black hat rising over the rim of the hill. This was followed quickly by a black tie, a long black coat, black trousers, and, finally, black shoes. I admit I was shaken, but being a person of iron nerve in facing such phenomena, I continued to play "Yankee Doodle."
In spite of this counter-attraction, toward which all four boys turned uneasy glances, I held my audience. The Black Spectre, with a black book under its arm, drew nearer. Still I continued to play and nod my head and tap my toe. I felt like some modern Pied Piper piping away the children of these modern hills--piping them away from older people who could not understand them.
I could see an accusing look on the Spectre"s face. I don"t know what put it into my head, and I had no sooner said it than I was sorry for my levity, but the figure with the sad garments there in the matchless and triumphant spring day affected me with a curious, sharp impatience. Had any one the right to look out so dolefully upon such a day and such a scene of simple happiness as this? So I took my whistle from my lips and asked:
"Is G.o.d dead?"
I shall never forget the indescribable look of horror and astonishment that swept over the young man"s face.
"What do you mean, sir?" he asked with an air of stern authority which surprised me. His calling for the moment lifted him above himself: it was the Church which spoke.
I was on my feet in an instant, regretting the pain I had given him; and yet it seemed worth while now, having made my inadvertent remark, to show him frankly what lay in my mind. Such things sometimes help men.
"I meant no offence, sir," I said, "and I apologize for my flummery, but when I saw you coming up the hill, looking so gloomy and disconsolate on this bright day, as though you disapproved of G.o.d"s world, the question slipped out before I knew it."
My words evidently struck deep down into some disturbed inner consciousness, for he asked--and his words seemed to slip out before he thought:
"Is THAT the way I impressed you?"
I found my heart going out strongly toward him. "Here," I thought to myself, "is a man in trouble."
I took a good long look at him. He still a young man, though worn-looking--and sad as I now saw it, rather than gloomy--with the sensitive lips and the unworldly look one sees sometimes in the faces of saints. His black coat was immaculately neat, but the worn b.u.t.ton-covers and the shiny lapels told their own eloquent story. Oh, it seemed to me I knew him as well as if every incident of his life were written plainly upon his high, pale forehead! I have lived long in a country neighbourhood, and I knew him--poor flagellant of the rural church--I knew how he groaned under the sins of a Community too comfortably willing to cast all its burdens on the Lord, or on the Lord"s accredited local representative. I inferred also the usual large family and the low salary (scandalously unpaid) and the frequent moves from place to place.