A Pagan of the Hills | Page 8

turned out to
pasture without halter or hobble; the wildness of one who scorns
respectability; for primitive morality is pathetically narrow. It may sing
piously about the pyre of a burning witch, but it can hardly grasp the
pagan chastity of a Diana.
And it was a Diana both chaste and vital who stood in this wide-flung
door. Behind her far radiant background was the full light of a young
day. For an instant the scowl of storm-laden skies broke into a smile of
sunlight as though she had brought the brightness with her. But she
stood poised in an attitude of arrested action--halted by the curb of
anxiety. The whole vitality and clean vigor of her seemed breathless
and questioning. Fear had spurred her into fleetness as she had crossed
the hills, yet now she hesitated on the threshold. At first her eyes could
make little of the inner murk, where both lamp and fire had guttered
low and gray shadows held dominance.
But she herself stood illumined by that transitory flash of morning sun.
It played in an aura about the coppery coils of her hair and kindled into
vivid color the lips parted in suspense.
After a moment her eyes had reaccommodated themselves to the
dispiriting darkness and her bosom heaved to a sigh of relief; of
thanksgiving. Under the heaped coverlets of the bed she had seen the
movement of feeble hand stirred in a gesture of welcome.
The neighbor women, bent on a mission of charity, yet unable to lay
aside their hard convictions, gazed non-committally on, as though they
would draw aside their skirts from contamination, yet sought to do so
with the least possible measure of ostentation or offense.
That attitude Alexander did not fail to comprehend but she ignored it,
giving back to the smouldering eyes of disapproval level look for look.
Then she said quietly: "Brother Sanders, kin I hev speech with him--or
must he lay plum quiet?"

The man of healing passed a bewildered hand across his tousled
forehead, and with thin fingers combed his long beard.
"He ought, properly speakin', ter stay quiet--but yit--he's frettin' fer ye
so thet hit mought harm him wuss ter deny him."
"I'll aim ter keep him es placid es I kin," said the girl, and in obedience
to her gesture the others left the room.
Then Alexander dropped to her knees and her hands closed tightly over
the thin one that the wounded man thrust weakly up to her. Even now
there was no woman-surrender to tears; only wide eyes agonized with
apprehension while her shoulders shook as a man's may shake with
inward sobs that leave the eyes dry.
In a low voice she made her report. "Ther dam's finished. Without ther
flood overtops ther highest mark on record, them logs is saved."
Old Aaron nodded gratefully and gazed in silence at the rafters
overhead, realizing that he must conserve his slender strength and that
there was much to say. The girl, too, waited until at length he made a
fresh beginning.
"Afore ye came, Alexander, me an' yore maw hed done prayed mighty
fervent fer a man child."
"I knows thet," she interrupted. "I knows hit full well, an' I've sought
deespite how I was borned ter be a man."
"Ye hain't only tried--ye've done succeeded," he assured her, then after
a long drawn breath he went on. "Most folks 'lowed hit was like faultin'
ther Almighty ter feel thet-a-way. They said hit war plum rebellious."
The girl whose cheeks had gone pallid and whose lips were tight drawn
spoke defiantly. "I reckon we hain't keerin' overly much what other
folks thinks."
"An' yit," the father made slow answer, "what folks agrees ter think

makes ther laws of life whether hit be right or wrong--I'd hev been
willin' ter raise ye up like a gal ef hit hadn't been thet Joe----"
He faltered there with Love's unwillingness to criticise his son and the
girl only nodded, saying nothing.
"Joe's a good boy, with a sweet nature," went on the father at last. "He
favors his maw--an' she was always gentle. Yes, he's a good boy--an' in
a country whar a feller kin live without fightin', I reckon he'd be
accounted smart beyond ther commonality."
Again the mountaineer's face was contorted into a spasm of pain and
his labored breathing demanded a respite of silence. Then slowly he
declared with the unvarnished candor of the backwoods: "Joe's got all a
man needs--but--jest--guts!"
The kneeling figure reluctantly nodded her assent. These admissions as
to one's nearest and dearest must at times be made between men who
face facts.
"Ef I passes out, I wants ye ter kinderly look atter him like he ought ter
look atter you."
A stray lock of heavy hair had fallen