The Place Beyond the Winds | Page 7

could see, was bursting with importance
and a sense of the dramatic.
"What did your father do, Jerry-Jo?"
"It was like this: Uncle Michael died and the wake we had for him was
the most splendid you ever saw. Bottles and kegs from the White Fish
and money to pay for all, too! Every one welcome and free to say his
say and drink his fill. I got drunk myself! Long about midnight Big
Hornby he said as how he once licked Uncle Michael, and Dad he cried
back that to blacken a man's name when he was too dead to stand up
for it was a dirty trick, and so it was! Then it was forth and back for a

time, with compliments and what not, and if you please just as Dad sent
a bit of a stool at Big Hornby, who should come in at the door but Mr.
Schoolmaster, him as had no invite and was not wanted! The stool took
him full on the arm and broke it--the arm--and folks took sides, and
some one, after a bit, got Dad from under the pile and tried to make
him beg pardon! Beg pardon at his own wake in his own home, and
Schoolmaster taking chances coming when he was not invited! Umph!"
Jerry-Jo's eyes flashed superbly.
"'I'll go to jail first and be damned,' said Dad, and that put it in the mind
of Big Hornby, and he up and says, 'To jail with him!' And so they
takes Dad, thinking to scare him, and claps him into jail, not even
mending the lock or nailing up the boards. That's three days since, and
yesterday Hornby he comes to Dad and says as how a steamer was in
with mail and freight and who was to carry it around? And Dad says as
how I was a man now and could hold up the honour of the family, says
he, and moreover, says Dad, 'I'll neither eat nor come out till you come
to your senses and beg pardon for mistaking a joke for an insult!'"
Jerry-Jo paused to laugh. Then:
"So here am I with the boatload--there's a box of seeds for your
father--and then I'm off to the Hill Place, for them as stays there has
come, and there are boxes and packages for them as usual."
Jerry-Jo proceeded to extract Mr. Glenn's box from the boat, and
Priscilla, her clear skin flushed with excitement, drew near to examine
the cargo.
"More books!" she gasped. "Oh, Jerry-Jo, do you remember the first
book?"
"Do I?" Jerry-Jo had shouldered the box of seeds and now bent upon
the girl a glad, softened look.
"Do I? You was a wild thing then, Priscilla. And I told him about the
slob of a tear and he laughed in his big, queer way, and he said, I

remember well, that by that token the book was more yours than his,
and he wanted me to carry it back, but I knew what was good for you,
and I would not! See here, Priscilla, would you like to have a peek at
this?" And then Jerry-Jo put his burden down, and, returning to the boat,
drew from under the seat a book in a clean separate wrapper and held it
out toward her.
"Oh!" The hands were as eager as of old.
"What will you give for it?" A deep red mounted to the young fellow's
cheeks.
"Anything, Jerry-Jo."
"A--kiss?"
"Yes"--doubtfully; "yes."
The book was in the outstretched hands, the hot kiss lay upon the
smooth, girlish neck, and then they looked at each other.
"It--is his book?"
"No. Yours--I sent for it, myself."
"Oh! Jerry-Jo. And how did you know?"
"I copied it from that one of his."
Priscilla tore the wrappings asunder and saw that the book was a
duplicate of the one over which, long ago, she had loved and wept.
"Thank you, Jerry-Jo," the voice faltered; "but I wish it--had the tear
spot."
"That was his book; this is yours." An angry light flashed in Jerry-Jo's
eyes. He had arranged this surprise with great pains and had used all his
savings.

"But it cannot be the same, Jerry-Jo. Thank you--but----"
"Give us another kiss?" The young fellow begged.
Priscilla drew back and held out the book.
"No." She was ready to relinquish the poems, but she would not buy
them.
"Keep the book--it's yours."
Jerry-Jo scowled. And then he shouldered the box and ran up the path.
When he came back Priscilla was gone, and the spring day seemed
commonplace and dull to Jerry-Jo; the adventure was over. Priscilla
had filled her pails and had carried them and the book to the house.
Something had happened to her, also. She was out of tune with the
sunlight