| Mary sat musing on the lamp-flame at the table, |
|
| Waiting for Warren. When she heard his step, |
|
| She ran on tip-toe down the darkened passage |
|
| To meet him in the doorway with the news |
|
| And put him on his guard. "Silas is back." |
5 |
| She pushed him outward with her through the door |
|
| And shut it after her. "Be kind." she said. |
|
| She took the market things from Warren's arms |
|
| And set them on the porch, then drew him down |
|
| To sit beside her on the wooden steps. |
10 |
| |
| "When was I ever anything but kind to him? |
|
| But I'll not have the fellow back," he said. |
|
| "I told him so last haying, didn't I? |
|
| If he left then, I said, that ended it. |
|
| What good is he? Who else will harbour him |
15 |
| At his age for the little he can do? |
|
| What help he is there's no depending on. |
|
| Off he goes always when I need him most. |
|
| He thinks he ought to earn a little pay, |
|
| Enough at least to buy tobacco with, |
20 |
| So he won't have to beg and be beholden. |
|
| 'All right,' I say, 'I can't afford to pay |
|
| Any fixed wages, though I wish I could.' |
|
| 'Someone else can.' 'Then someone else will have to.' |
|
| I shouldn't mind his bettering himself |
25 |
| If that was what it was. You can be certain, |
|
| When he begins like that, there's someone at him |
|
| Trying to coax him off with pocket-money--- |
|
| In haying time, when any help is scarce. |
|
| In winter he comes back to us. I'm done." |
30 |
| |
| "Sh! not so loud: he'll hear you," Mary said. |
|
| |
| "I want him to: he'll have to soon or late." |
|
| |
| "He's worn out. He's asleep beside the stove. |
|
| When I came up from Rowe's I found him here, |
|
| Huddled against the barn-door fast asleep, |
35 |
| A miserable sight, and frightening, too--- |
|
| You needn't smile--- I didn't recognise him--- |
|
| I wasn't looking for him---and he's changed. |
|
| Wait till you see." |
|
| |
| "Where did you say he'd been?" |
|
| |
| "He didn't say. I dragged him to the house, |
|
| And gave him tea and tried to make him smoke. |
|
| I tried to make him talk about his travels. |
|
| Nothing would do: he just kept nodding off." |
|
| |
| "What did he say? Did he say anything?" |
|
| |
| "But little." |
|
| |
| "Anything? Mary, confess |
|
| He said he'd come to ditch the meadow for me." |
|
| |
| "Warren!" |
|
| |
| "But did he? I just want to know." |
|
| |
| "Of course he did. What would you have him say? |
|
| Surely you wouldn't grudge the poor old man |
|
| Some humble way to save his self-respect. |
|
| He added, if you really care to know, |
|
| He meant to clear the upper pasture, too. |
|
| That sounds like something you have heard before? |
|
| Warren, I wish you could have heard the way |
|
| He jumbled everything. I stopped to look |
|
| Two or three times---he made me feel so queer--- |
|
| To see if he was talking in his sleep. |
|
| He ran on Harold Wilson---you remember--- |
|
| The boy you had in haying four years since. |
|
| He's finished school, and teaching in his college. |
|
| Silas declares you'll have to get him back. |
|
| He says they two will make a team for work: |
|
| Between them they will lay this farm as smooth! |
|
| The way he mixed that in with other things. |
|
| He thinks young Wilson a likely lad, though daft |
|
| On education---you know how they fought |
|
| All through July under the blazing sun, |
|
| Silas up on the cart to build the load, |
|
| Harold along beside to pitch it on. |
|
| |
| "Yes, I took care to keep well out of earshot." |
|
| |
| "Well, those days trouble Silas like a dream. |
|
| You wouldn't think they would. How some things linger! |
|
| Harold's young college boy's assurance piqued him. |
|
| After so many years he still keeps finding |
|
| Good arguments he sees he might have used. |
|
| I sympathise. I know just how it feels |
|
| To think of the right thing to say too late. |
|
| Harold's associated in his mind with Latin. |
|
| He asked me what I thought of Harold's saying |
|
| He studied Latin like the violin, |
|
| Because he liked it---that an argument! |
|
| He said he couldn't make the boy believe |
|
| He could find water with a hazel prong--- |
|
| Which showed how much good school had ever done him. |
|
| He wanted to go over that. But most of all |
|
| He thinks if he could have another chance |
|
| To teach him how to build a load of hay---" |
|
| |
| "I know, that's Silas' one accomplishment. |
|
| He bundles every forkful in its place, |
|
| And tags and numbers it for future reference, |
|
| So he can find and easily dislodge it |
|
| In the unloading. Silas does that well. |
|
| He takes it out in bunches like big birds’ nests. |
|
| You never see him standing on the hay |
|
| He's trying to lift, straining to lift himself." |
|
| |
| "He thinks if he could teach him that, he'd be |
|
| Some good perhaps to someone in the world. |
|
| He hates to see a boy the fool of books. |
|
| Poor Silas, so concerned for other folk, |
|
| And nothing to look backward to with pride, |
|
| And nothing to look forward to with hope, |
|
| So now and never any different." |
|
| |
| Part of a moon was falling down the west, |
|
| Dragging the whole sky with it to the hills. |
|
| Its light poured softly in her lap. She saw it |
|
| And spread her apron to it. She put out her hand |
|
| Among the harp-like morning-glory strings, |
|
| Taut with the dew from garden bed to eaves, |
|
| As if she played unheard the tenderness |
|
| That wrought on him beside her in the night. |
|
| "Warren," she said, "he has come home to die: |
|
| You needn't be afraid he'll leave you this time." |
|
| |
| "Home," he mocked gently. |
|
| |
| "Yes, what else but home?" |
|
| It all depends on what you mean by home. |
|
| Of course he's nothing to us, any more |
|
| Than was the hound that came a stranger to us |
|
| Out of the woods, worn out upon the trail." |
|
| |
| "Home is the place where, when you have to go there, |
|
| They have to take you in." |
|
| |
| "I should have called it |
|
| Something you somehow haven't to deserve." |
|
| |
| Warren leaned out and took a step or two, |
|
| Picked up a little stick, and brought it back |
|
| And broke it in his hand and tossed it by. |
|
| "Silas has better claim on us you think |
|
| Than on his brother? Thirteen little miles |
|
| As the road winds would bring him to his door. |
|
| Silas has walked that far no doubt to-day. |
|
| Why doesn't he go there? His brother's rich, |
|
| A somebody---director in the bank." |
|
| |
| "He never told us that." |
|
| |
| "We know it though." |
|
| |
| "I think his brother ought to help, of course. |
|
| I'll see to that if there is need. He ought of right |
|
| To take him in, and might be willing to--- |
|
| He may be better than appearances. |
|
| But have some pity on Silas. Do you think |
|
| If he had any pride in claiming kin |
|
| Or anything he looked for from his brother, |
|
| He'd keep so still about him all this time?" |
|
| |
| "I wonder what's between them." |
|
| |
| "I can tell you. |
|
| Silas is what he is---we wouldn't mind him--- |
|
| But just the kind that kinsfolk can't abide. |
|
| He never did a thing so very bad. |
|
| He don't know why he isn't quite as good |
|
| As anybody. Worthless though he is, |
|
| He won't be made ashamed to please his brother." |
|
| |
| "I can't think Si ever hurt anyone." |
|
| |
| "No, but he hurt my heart the way he lay |
|
| And rolled his old head on that sharp-edged chair-back. |
|
| He wouldn't let me put him on the lounge. |
|
| You must go in and see what you can do. |
|
| I made the bed up for him there to-night. |
|
| You'll be surprised at him---how much he's broken. |
|
| His working days are done; I'm sure of it." |
|
| |
| "I'd not be in a hurry to say that." |
|
| |
| "I haven't been. Go, look, see for yourself. |
|
| But, Warren, please remember how it is: |
|
| He's come to help you ditch the meadow. |
|
| He has a plan. You mustn't laugh at him. |
|
| He may not speak of it, and then he may. |
|
| I'll sit and see if that small sailing cloud |
|
| Will hit or miss the moon." |
|
| |
| It hit the moon. |
|
| Then there were three there, making a dim row, |
|
| The moon, the little silver cloud, and she. |
|
| |
| Warren returned---too soon, it seemed to her, |
|
| Slipped to her side, caught up her hand and waited. |
|
| |
| "Warren?" she questioned. |
|
| |
| "Dead," was all he answered. |
|
| |
