Lo Michael! (28 page)

“All I could never be,

All men ignored in me,

This, I was worth to God, whose wheel the pitcher shaped.”

Somehow, Starr, with her smile and her eyes, and her gentle manner, unknowingly conveyed that thought to Buck! Poor, neglected, sinful Buck! And Michael, looking on, knew what she had done, and blessed her in his heart.

Buck sat down in the chimney corner, half in shadow with the lights from the great log flaring over his face. The shades were all drawn down, the doors were closed. He was surrounded by friendly faces. For a few minutes the hunted eyes ceased their roving round the room, and rested on Starr's sweet face as she sat quietly, holding her father's hand. It was a sight such as poor Buck's eyes had never rested upon in the whole of his checkered existence, and for the moment he let the sweet wonder of it filter into his dark, scarred soul, with blessed healing. Then he looked from Starr to Michael's fine face near by, tender with the joy of Buck's coming, anxious with what might be the outcome; and for a moment the heavy lines in forehead and brow that Buck had worn since babyhood softened with a tender look. Perhaps 'tis given, once to even the dullest soul to see, no matter how low fallen, just what he might have been.

They had been sitting thus for about fifteen minutes, quietly talking. Michael intended to take Buck upstairs soon and question him, but, first he wanted time to think what he must do. Then suddenly a loud knock startled them all, and as Michael rose to go to the door there followed him the resounding clatter of the tongs falling on the hearth.

A voice with a knife edge to it cut through the room and made them all shiver.

“Good evening, Mr. Endicott!” it said. “I'm sorry to trouble you, but I've come on a most unpleasant errand. We're after an escaped criminal, and he was seen to enter your door a few minutes ago. Of course I know your goodness of heart. You take 'em all in, but this one is a jail bird! You'll excuse me if I take him off your hands. I'll try to do it as quietly and neatly as possible.”

The big, blustery voice ceased and Michael, looking at the sinister gleam of dull metal in the hands of the men who accompanied the county sheriff, knew that the crisis was upon him. The man, impatient, was already pushing past him into the room. It was of no sort of use to resist. He flung the door wide and turned with the saddest look Starr thought she ever had seen on the face of a man:

“I know,” he said, and his voice was filled with sorrow, “I know—but—he was one whom I loved!”

“Wasted love! Mr. Endicott. Wasted love. Not one of 'em worth it!” blustered the big man walking in.

Then Michael turned and faced the group around the fireplace and looking from one to another turned white with amazement, for Buck was not among them!

Starr sat beside her father in just the same attitude she had held throughout the last fifteen minutes, his hand in hers, her face turned, startled, toward the door, and something inscrutable in her eyes. Sam stood close beside the fireplace, the tongs which he had just picked up in his hands, and a look of sullen rage upon his face. Nowhere in the whole wide room was there a sign of Buck, and there seemed no spot where he could hide. The door into the dining-room was on the opposite wall, and behind it the cheerful clatter of the clearing off of the table could be plainly heard. If Buck had escaped that way there would have been an outcry from Morton or the maid. Every window had its shade closely drawn.

The sheriff looked suspiciously at Michael whose blank face plainly showed he had no part in making way with the outlaw. The men behind him looked sharply round and finished with a curious gaze at Starr. Starr, rightly interpreting the scene, rose to the occasion.

“Would they like to look behind this couch?” she said moving quickly to the other side of the fireplace over toward the window, with a warning glance toward Sam.

Then while the men began a fruitless search around the room, looking in the chimney closet, and behind the furniture, she took up her stand beside the corner window.

It had been Michael's thoughtfulness that had arranged that all the windows should have springs worked by the pressing of a button like some car windows, so that a touch would send them up at will.

Only Sam saw Starr's hand slide under the curtain a second, and unfasten the catch at the top; then quickly down and touch the button in the window sill. The window went up without a noise, and in a moment more the curtain was moving out gently puffed by the soft spring breeze, and Starr had gone back to her father's side. “I cannot understand it,” said Michael, “he was here a moment ago!”

The sheriff who had been nosing about the fireplace turned and came over to the window, sliding up the shade with a motion and looking out into the dark orchard.

“H'm! That's where he went, boys,” he said. “After him quick! We ought to have had a watch at each window as well as at the back. Thank you, Mr. Endicott! Sorry to have troubled you. Good night!” and the sheriff clattered after his men.

Sam quickly pulled down the window, fastening it, and turned a look of almost worshipful understanding on Starr.

“Isn't that fire getting pretty hot for such a warm night?” said Starr pushing back the hair from her forehead and bright cheeks. “Sam, suppose you get a little water and pour over that log. I think we will not need any more fire to-night anyway.”

And Sam, quickly hastened to obey, his mouth stretching in a broad grin as he went out the door.

“She'd make a peach of a burglar,” he remarked to himself as he filled a bucket with water and hurried back with it to the fire.

Michael, in his strait betwixt law and love, was deeply troubled and had followed the men out into the dark orchard.

“Daddy, I think you'd better get up to your room. This excitement has been too much for you,” said Starr decidedly.

But Mr. Endicott demurred. He had been interested in the little drama that had been enacted before him, and he wanted to sit up and see the end of it. He was inclined to blame Michael for bringing such a fellow into Starr's presence.

But Starr laughingly bundled him off to bed and sat for an hour reading to him, her heart all the time in a flutter to know how things came out, wondering if Sam surely understood, and put out the fire; and if it would be safe for her to give him any broader hint.

At midnight, Michael lay broad awake with troubled spirit, wondering over and over if there was anything he might have done for Buck if he had only done it in time—anything that would have been right to do.

Softly, cautiously a man stole out of the darkness of the orchard until he came and stood close to the old chimney, and then, softly stealing on the midnight summer air there came a peculiar sibilant sound, clear, piercing, yet blending with the night, and leaving no trace behind of its origin. One couldn't tell from whence it came. But Michael, keeping vigil, heard, and rose upon his elbow, alert, listening. Was that Buck calling him? It came again, softer this time, but distinct. Michael sprang from his bed and began hastily throwing on his garments. That call should never go unanswered!

Stealthily, in the light of the low, late moon, a dark figure stole forth from the old chimney top, climbed down on the ladder that had been silently tilted against it, helped to lay the ladder back innocently in the deep grass again, and joining the figure on the ground crept away toward the river where waited a boat.

Buck lay down, in the bottom of the boat, covered with a piece of sacking, and Sam took up the oars, when a long, sibilant whistle like a night bird floated keenly through the air. Buck started up and turned suspicious eyes on Sam:

“What's that?”

“It's Mikky, I reckon,” said Sam softly, reverently. “He couldn't sleep. He's huntin' yer!”

Buck lay down with a sound that was almost a moan and the boat took up its silent glide toward safety.

“It's fierce ter leave him this 'a'way!” muttered Buck, “Yous tell him, won't yer, an' her—she's a ly-dy, she is. She's all white! Tell her Buck'll do ez much fer her some day ef he ever gits the chanct.”

“In doin' fer her you'd be doin' fer him, I spekullate,” said Sam after a long pause.

“So?” said Buck.

“So,” answered Sam. And that was the way Sam told Buck of the identity of Starr.

Now Starr, from her darkened window beside the great chimney, had watched the whole thing. She waited until she saw Michael come slowly, sadly back from his fruitless search through the mist before the dawning, alone, with bowed head; and her heart ached for the problem that was filling him with sorrow.

CHAPTER XXVIII

Starr was coming up to the city for a little shopping on the early-morning train with Michael. The summer was almost upon her and she had not prepared her apparel. Besides, she was going away in a few days to be bridesmaid at the wedding of an old school friend who lived away out West; and secretly she told herself she wanted the pleasure of this little trip to town with Michael.

She was treasuring every one of these beautiful days filled with precious experiences, like jewels to be strung on memory's chain, with a vague unrest lest some close-drawing future was to snatch them from her forever. She wished with all her heart that she had given a decided refusal to her friend's pleading, but the friend had put off the wedding on her account to wait until she could leave her father; and her father had joined his insistence that she should go away and have the rest and change after the ordeal of the winter. So Starr seemed to have to go, much as she would rather have remained. She had made a secret vow to herself that she would return at once after the wedding in spite of all urgings to remain with the family who had invited her to stay all summer with them. Starr had a feeling that the days of her companionship with Michael might be short. She must make the most of them. It might never be the same again after her going away. She was not sure even that her father would consent to remain all summer at the farm as Michael urged.

And on this lovely morning she was very happy at the thought of going with Michael. The sea seemed sparkling with a thousand gems as the train swept along its shore, and Michael told her of his first coming down to see the farm, called her attention to the flowers along the way: and she assured him Old Orchard was far prettier than any of them, now that the roses were all beginning to bud. It would soon be Rose Cottage indeed!

Then the talk fell on Buck and his brief passing.

“I wonder where he can be and what he is doing,” sighed Michael. “If he only could have stayed long enough for me to have a talk with him. I believe I could have persuaded him to a better way. It is the greatest mystery in the world how he got away with those men watching the house. I cannot understand it.”

Starr, her cheeks rosy, her eyes shining mischievously, looked up at him.

“Haven't you the least suspicion where he was hiding?” she asked.

Michael looked down at her with a sudden start, and smiled into her lovely eyes.

“Why, no. Have you?” he said, and could not keep the worship from his gaze.

“Of course. I knew all the time. Do you think it was very dreadful for me not to tell? I couldn't bear to have him caught that way before you'd had a chance to help him; and when he used to be so good to you as a little boy; besides, I saw his face, that terrible, hunted look; there wasn't anything really wrong in my opening that window and throwing them off the track, was there?”

“Did you open the window?”

Starr nodded saucily. “Yes, and Sam saw me do it. Sam knew all about it. Buck went up the chimney right through that hot fire. Didn't you hear the tongs fall down? He went like a flash before you opened the door, and one foot was still in sight when that sheriff came in. I was so afraid he'd see it. Was it wrong?”

“I suppose it was,” he said sadly. “The law must be maintained. It can't be set aside for one fellow who has touched one's heart by some childhood's action. But right or wrong I can't help being glad that you cared to do something for poor Buck.”

“I think I did it mostly for—you?” she said softly, her eyes still down.

For answer, Michael reached out his hand and took her little gloved one that lay in her lap in a close pressure for just an instant. Then, as if a mighty power were forcing him, he laid it gently down again and drew his hand away.

Starr felt the pressure of that strong hand and the message that it gave through long days afterward, and more than once it gave her strength and courage and good cheer. Come what might, she had a friend—a friend strong and true as an angel.

They spoke no more till the train swept into the station and they had hurried through the crowd and were standing on the front of the ferryboat, with the water sparkling before their onward gliding and the whole, great, wicked, stirring city spread before their gaze, the light from the cross on Trinity Church steeple flinging its glory in their faces.

“Look!” said Michael pointing. “Do you remember the poem we were reading the other night: Wordsworth's 'Upon Westminster Bridge.' Doesn't it fit this scene perfectly? I've often thought of it when I was coming across in the mornings. To look over there at the beauty one would never dream of all the horror and wickedness and suffering that lies within those streets. It is beautiful now. Listen! Do you remember it?

“'Earth has not anything to show more fair:

Dull would he be of soul who could pass by

A sight so touching in its majesty:

This City now doth like a garment wear

“'The beauty of the morning: silent, bare,

Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie

Open unto the fields, and to the sky,

All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.

“'Never did sun more beautifully steep

In his first splendour valley, rock, or hill;

Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!

“'The river glideth at its own sweet will:

Dear God! The very houses seem asleep;

And all that mighty heart is lying still!'”