The Southerner | Page 3

here in this cabin by the woods ef you'd jest be happy with me. Can't ye quit hankerin' after them things, Honey?"
She shook her dark head firmly.
"You know, Nancy, we wuz neighbors to Dan'l Boone. We thought he wuz about the biggest man that ever lived. Somehow the love o' the woods an' fields is always singin' in my heart. Them still shinin' stars up in the sky out thar to-night keep a callin' me. I could hear the music o' my hounds in my soul ez I stood by the spring a while ago. Ye know what scares me most ter death sometimes, gal?" He paused and looked into her eyes intently.
"No, what?" she asked.
"That you'll make a carpenter outen me yit ef I don't mind."
Again a smile broke through the cloud in her eyes: "I don't think there's much danger of that, Tom----"
"Yes ther is, too," he laughed. "Ye see, I love you so and try ter make ye happy, an' ef there wuz ter come er time that there wuz plenty o' work an' real money in it, I'd stick to it jist ter please you, an' be a lost an' ruined soul! Yessir, they'd carve on my headstone jest one line:
"BORN A MAN--AND DIED A JACKLEG CARPENTER.
"Wouldn't that be awful?"
The momentary smile on the woman's sensitive face faded into a look of pain. She tried to make a good-natured reply, but her lips refused to move.
The man pressed on eagerly:
"O Nancy, why can't ye be happy here? We've a snug little cabin nest, we've enough to eat and enough to wear. The baby's laughin' at yer heels all day and snugglin' in her little bed at night. The birds make music fur ye in the trees. The creek down thar's laughin' an' singing' winter an' summer. The world's too purty an' life's too short ter throw hit away fightin' an' scramblin' fur nothin'."
"For something--Tom--something big----"
"Don't keer how big 'tis--what of it? All turns ter ashes in yer hands bye an' bye an' yer life's gone. We can't live these young days over again, can we? Ye know the preacher says: 'What shall hit profit a man ef he gain the whole world an' lose his life?' Let me off'n these lessons, Honey? I'm too old; ye can't larn me new tricks now. Let me off fer good an' all, won't ye?"
"No," was the firm answer. "It means too much. I won't give up and let the man I love sign his name forever with a cross mark."
"I ain't goin' ter sign no more papers nohow!" Tom broke in.
"I signed our marriage bond with a mark, Tom," she went on evenly, "just because you couldn't write your name. You've got to learn, I won't give up!"
"Well, it's too late to-night fur any more lessons, now ain't it?"
"Yes, we'll make up for it next time."
The tired hunter was soon sound asleep dreaming of the life that was the breath of his nostrils.
Through the still winter's night the young wife lay with wide staring eyes. Over and over again she weighed her chances in the grim struggle begun for the mastery of his mind. The longer she asked herself the question of success or failure the more doubtful seemed the outcome. How still the world!
The new life within her strong young body suddenly stirred, and a feeling of awe thrilled her heart. God had suddenly signalled from the shores of Eternity.
When her husband waked at dawn he stared at her smiling face in surprise.
"What ye laughin' about, Nancy?" he cried.
She turned toward him with a startled look:
"I had a vision, Tom!"
"A dream, I reckon."
"God had answered the prayer of my heart," she went on breathlessly, "and sent me a son. I saw him a strong, brave, patient, wise, gentle man. Thousands hung on his words and great men came to do him homage. With bowed head he led me into a beautiful home that had shining white pillars. He bowed low and whispered in my ear: 'This is yours, my angel mother. I bought it for you with my life. All that I am I owe to you.'"
She paused a moment and whispered:
"O Tom, man, a new song is singing in my soul!"
II
The woman rose quietly and went the rounds of her daily work. She made her bed to-day in trance-like silence. It was no gilded couch, but it had been built by the hand of her lover and was sacred. It filled the space in one corner of the cabin farthest from the fire. A single post of straight cedar securely fixed in the ground held the poles in place which formed the side and foot rail. The walls of the cabin formed the other side and head. Across from the pole were fixed the slender hickory sticks