The Place Beyond the Winds | Page 7

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 and warmth; she wanted to get close to life again and feel, as she had earlier, the kinship and joy, but the mood had passed.
It was after the dishes of the midday meal were washed that she bethought her of the old shrine back near the woods. It was many a day since she had been there--not since the autumn before--and she felt old and different, but still she had a sudden desire to return to it and try again the mystic rite she had practised when she was a little girl. It was like going back to play, to be sure; all the sacredness was gone, but the interest remained, and her yearning spurred her to her only resource.
At two o'clock Nathaniel was off to a distant field, and Theodora announced that she must walk to the village for a bit of