"Get in," said Oliver curtly3 to Anthony Crawford, while Janet opened the door of the second motor and slipped to the far side to give him room. None of the three spoke4 as they went down the drive behind Cousin Tom. As they came through the gate they could hear, faintly, the wild clanging of the bell in the valley below.
Oliver was too much occupied with his driving to have any other thought, Janet was awed5 into silence by the alien presence at her side, but Anthony Crawford, in that same husky, broken voice, suddenly began to speak as though he were following his thoughts out loud.
"I don't know why I came back to Medford Valley," he said. "I had lived through every sort of thing since I went away, but I was making good at last. Martha—that's the girl I married, she was a miner's daughter—had helped me to go straight. I was working in a mine, harder work than I had ever dreamed of in my life. It was good for me, yet I kept telling myself that it was being in prison. Perhaps it was, but I had forgotten that prison was the place where I ought to be."
Oliver tilted6 back his head that he might hear better, but his only answer was an inarticulate sound like a mutter of agreement. To reach the valley as soon as possible and without mishap7, was more important to him, at that moment, than explanations. But Janet looked up with round, wondering eyes, eager to hear the rest.
"I kept thinking how it was here at home, so green and clean and peaceful, not like that stark8, bare mountain country where I seemed to be working my whole life away. I told myself that a certain portion of Medford Valley belonged to me, that I could come back and live a life of dignified9 idleness, if only I had my rights, if only Jasper would give me what was my own."
"But it wasn't true. You knew that he wouldn't keep what belonged to you," burst out Janet.
"I knew it wasn't true, but people love to deceive themselves, and I had to explain to Martha. She would never have come if she had known how things really stood; she was unwilling10, even as it was. But I was so sure, I thought I knew Jasper so well, exactly how I could threaten him, just where I could hurt him most. Had I not learned, when I was a boy, how proud and sensitive and generous he could be? I was as successful as I had hoped to be, but I wanted more and more, and see where it has brought me in the end!"
It seemed a relief to him to confess the very whole of his wrong-doing, to leave hidden no single meanness or small-souled thought. It was as though, in the clean night air, in the face of two just and clear-seeing companions, he wished to cast aside all the wrong of the past before making a new beginning.
"I am going away," he said. "It isn't because I found that my plan didn't pay as I had hoped it would. It is because I was happier back there in the West, serving out a sentence at hard labor11, learning to live by the work of my hands rather than by my dishonorable wits. I can look back over my life and see just where my honesty began to waver, just when I first compromised with my own conscience and persuaded myself that something was fair and honest when I knew it was not. We had all the same chance, Jasper and Tom and I; look at them and look at me. You may wonder why I say all this to you. Perhaps it is because you alone saw through me, dared to tell me that I had no confidence even in my own claims, called me a man of straw and a bogy. Well, after to-night I am going back, to be a real man again."
For the first time Oliver slackened the speed of the car and nearly stopped in the road.
"Do you want to go now?" he inquired shortly. "We can take you to the station if you do. They don't need us down there, as they do the others."
"No, not now. I must know what my criminal bungling12 has amounted to, first. When I have seen the flood go down, then it will be time to go. I want to see this thing through."
They had straightened out into the level road and were forced to drive more slowly, for the highway was no longer empty. A big tractor was lumbering13 ahead, farm wagons15 turned out for them to pass, and hastily dressed men were thronging16 alongside. Two of them jumped upon the running board, but, seeing who sat in the car, muttered some imprecation and dropped off again. Anthony Crawford stood up and opened the door.
Janet climbed over to the place beside her brother, and the tonneau filled up with men, who crowded the seats, clung to the step and the fenders, and sat in a row across the back of the car. They came to the end of the road at last where, in that place that had been so empty and quiet half an hour ago, there was now gathered a surging crowd of men, of horses, tractors, automobiles, and wagons. Oliver could see, on a knoll18 above the others, Polly standing19 with two farmers' wives, the only women there.
At first he could not see the water, but, as they pressed into the crowd, he caught sight of the broad pool, dark even in the moonlight. It was over the road, now, through the fence, and had crept halfway20 across the stretch of grass before John Massey's door. Tom Brighton's white-clad figure was going back and forth21 among the men, but it was Cousin Jasper, standing high above the others on the seat of a wagon14, who was directing operations and getting this confused army of workers into rapid organization.
"Tom, take half the men to shovel22 dirt and pile up the sand sacks, and send the other half back to the sand pits to fill them. Clear the road so that the wagons can go back and forth. Henry Brook23, take out your horses and join your team with Johnson's, the tractor can pull two wagons and we need four horses to each of the others. Now, go to it and bring the sandbags as fast as they can be filled. We can't save John Massey's house, but we will build a dam to hold the water a hundred yards back, where the ground begins to rise. And remember, you can't be too quick if you want to save the valley."
Oliver took off his coat and jumped out of the car.
"Go over where Polly is," he told Janet "I am going into this game with the others."
He was in every portion of it, as the night wore by, never quite knowing how he passed from one task to another, but following orders blindly, hour after hour. He helped to dig, but was not quite so quick as the others; he carried the sacks of sand that were brought up, loaded high upon the wagons, but he had not the quick swing of the more sturdy farmers. He found himself at last on the high, vibrating seat of the heavy tractor, rumbling24 down the road with a line of wagons behind him, stopping at the sand pits to have them filled, then turning laboriously25 to haul them back again. The owner sat beside him on the first trip, directing him how to manage the unfamiliar26 machine, but as they made ready for a second he ejaculated, "You'll do," and jumped down to labor with the diggers. Oliver was left to drive his clumsy, powerful steed alone.
He saw the broad, semicircular wall of piled sandbags, banked with earth, rise slowly as the men worked with feverish27 haste, he saw the water come up to the foot of it, seem to hesitate, and then creep up the side. He saw, suddenly, just as they had all stopped to breathe, a long portion of the dike28 begin to tremble, then cave in with a hideous29, sucking crash that shook the ground under them, he saw the flood of muddy water come roaring in and sweep against the painfully built rampart which swayed and crumbled31 to its fall.
In a wild turmoil32 of running, shouting men, backing wagons and rearing horses, he managed to extricate33 the clumsy monster that had been put under his care, brought it laboring34 and snorting out on higher ground and fell to work again. The barrier they had set up with so much toil35 was tumbling and collapsing36 in great gaps where the hungry current flung against it, but it held just long enough for them to raise another wall, longer, higher, firmer than the other and built with the frantic37 haste of desperate men.
The hours went by, it was long after midnight, with the sky growing pale for the morning. Once or twice Oliver had seen Anthony Crawford working among the rest, carrying sacks of sand, jostled and cursed by the men about him, but in spite of their abuse, toiling38 steadily39 onward40. When the dike collapsed41 and the men ran for their lives, one wagon lurched off the road; its driver was flung from the seat and caught under the wheel, while the horses, having jammed the tongue against the bank, reared and plunged42 helplessly. Oliver saw Anthony Crawford run out, with the swift, muddy water flowing knee-deep around him, watched him extricate the man, drag him to the seat, and back the frantic horses away from the bank to bring them struggling through the water to safety. There was no time for words of commendation. Both men at once went back to their task of carrying sacks as the slow building of another wall began.
Some one had built a fire on the knoll, and here the farmers' wives, with Janet and Polly among them, were boiling coffee, frying bacon, and serving out food to the hungry, worn-out men. Oliver had munched43 a generous sandwich as he drove down the road. As he came back again he noticed a strange lull44 and observed that the men were leaning on their shovels45 and that the work had ceased. Tom Brighton, wet and muddy from head to foot, motioned him to come near.
"We've done all we can," the big farmer beside them was saying, "the sacks are nearly gone and the men are dead beat. If she breaks through now, the whole valley will have to go under."
The water was halfway up the side of the earth-banked wall and was still rising. Here and there a muddy trickle46 came oozing47 through, to be stopped by a clod of earth, but otherwise there was nothing to do. To Oliver it seemed that they stood for hours, staring, waiting as the water lifted slowly, rose half an inch, paused and rose again. It was three-fourths of the way up; it was a foot below the lip of the wall. The space of a foot dwindled48 to six inches.
Oliver looked back along the valley at the arch of sky showing blue instead of gray, at the trees moving gently in a morning breeze that touched the hilltop, but that did not stir the still air below. He heard Tom Brighton suddenly draw a sharp breath and he looked back quickly. Was that space above the water a little wider, was there a wet black line that stretched all along the rough wall where the flood had touched and fallen again? He was not dreaming; it was true. The level of the muddy tide was dropping, the crest50 of the flood had passed.
It was broad daylight now, with the morning sunlight moving slowly down the slope into the valley. For the first time Oliver could see clearly the sullen51, yellow pool of water, the crevasse52 in the dike, and John Massey's little house, submerged to its very eaves. He watched the shining streak53 of wet earth that marked the drop in the water, he saw it broaden into a ribbon and from a ribbon turn into a wide, glistening54 zone of safety that proved to all the danger had gone by.
"We can go now," said Cousin Tom at last. "There is work enough still to do, but it is time for us all to rest a little. We are certainly a wet and weary-looking crew."
They had breakfast, all of the cousins together, at Cousin Jasper's house, where Mrs. Brown, having spent half the night wringing55 her hands in helpless anxiety, had seemed to spend the other half superintending the preparation of a feast that should be truly worthy56 of the occasion. The guests were all cheerful and were still so keyed up by the struggle of the night that they did not yet feel weariness. Anthony Crawford sat on one side of Cousin Jasper, Tom Brighton on the other, while the three younger members of the party watched them wonderingly from the other end of the table. Everything, for the moment, seemed forgotten except the old comradeship of their boyhood. The only reminder57 of the unhappy days just passed lay in the atmosphere of relief and peacefulness that seemed to pervade58 the whole house.
The windows stood wide open and the morning wind came in to lift the long curtains and to stir the great bowl of flowers on the table. Oliver, hungrily devouring59 chicken and rolls and bacon and sausages and hot waffles with maple60 sirup, was saying little but was listening earnestly to the jokes and laughter of Cousin Jasper. After a day and night of anxiety, depression, struggle, and victory, he seemed suddenly to have become a new man. They were talking, the three elders, of their early adventures together, but Oliver noticed that the reminiscences never traveled beyond a certain year, that their stories would go forward to the time when they were nearly grown, and then would slip back to their younger days again. Some black memory was laid across the happy recollection of their friendship, cutting off all that came after; yet they talked and laughed easily of the bright, remote happiness that was common to them all. The boy noticed, also, as they sat together, that Anthony was like the others in certain ways, that his eyes could light with the same merriment as Cousin Jasper's, and that his chin was cut in the same determined61 line as Tom Brighton's. Yet—no—there was something about his face that never could be quite like theirs.
They had finished at last, and Anthony Crawford, pushing back his chair, came abruptly62 out of the past into the present. He thrust his hand into the inner pocket of his coat and brought out some legal-looking papers like those that Cousin Tom had locked away in the tin box.
"Here is the deed that you made out, Jasper, for the house and the land that you gave up to me. I put it in my pocket yesterday morning; it seems a year ago. The purpose I had then is something that I would rather forget, if I ever can. But this is what I do with it now."
He tore the heavy paper into pieces, smaller and smaller, as though he could not demolish63 completely enough the record of what he had demanded. The breeze from the garden sent the scraps64 fluttering over the table and across the rug, it carried the round, red seal along the tablecloth65 and dropped it into Janet's lap.
"Tom will have to make out some official papers," he said, "but I want you to understand this fully30, that there among those fragments lies the end of this whole affair."
Cousin Jasper was about to speak, but Tom Brighton broke in ahead of him.
"It has turned out better than we could have hoped, Anthony," he began, "so that we can all agree to let bygones be bygones."
Anthony Crawford turned very slowly and looked, with those penetrating66 gray eyes, at Oliver.
"We owe a great deal to these children here," he said, "and as for one of them——"
Convinced that something was about to be said of him, Oliver got up quickly, pretending that it was merely because he had finished his breakfast and wished to be excused, hurried across the room, and slipped out through one of the long windows that opened on the terrace. He could still hear Anthony Crawford's voice, however, in the room behind him saying:
"It was these children who found the leak in the dike; it was Oliver who thought of going to look for it. It was Oliver who saw through me, saw that I had not a shred67 of honor or honesty behind my claim and told me what I was."
The boy moved farther away from the window so that he could not hear and stood, his hands clenched68 on the terrace rail, looking out over the garden, across the pools of color and stretches of green lawn, over the wall and down the white road that led away the length of the valley. No matter what words they might speak of him they could never make him forget how he had walked away down that road, meaning to leave all this vaguely69 understood trouble behind him. Only a chance meeting, the Beeman's friendly smile, the interest of a story that had caught him for a moment, and all would have been changed. No, there should be no words of praise for him.
The voices were louder behind him, for the three men were passing through the library, and Cousin Jasper was speaking just within.
"We still have to talk over this matter of rebuilding the dike," he said. "We must have your advice in that, Anthony."
"Go into the study," Anthony Crawford replied. "I must speak to Oliver for a moment."
He came out through the window while the others walked on together. Oliver turned to face him.
"I am going now," Anthony said quietly. "I thought you would be ready to help me when it was time."
Oliver reddened when he remembered the promptness of his offer the evening before.
"Do you need to go," he said awkwardly, "when you are friends again with every one here? Even the men in the valley don't hate you," he added bluntly, "after what you did last night. I believe Cousin Jasper will want you to stay."
"If I let him tell me so, I will not go," the other replied quickly. "It must be this minute, while my mind is still made up, or never. I will write to Martha to follow, I cannot even trust myself to wait for her. It is better that I should go, better for them, in the study there, better for the community, for myself, even better for you, Oliver, I know. Come," he insisted, as the boy still hesitated, "my confidence in you will be less great if you do not tell me that you know it also."
"Yes," returned Oliver grudgingly70 at last. "Yes, I know it too."
They drove away down the rain-washed, empty road with the early morning wind rushing about their ears. As they climbed to the highest ridge71, Anthony Crawford stood up to look back down the sun-filled, green length of Medford Valley. Yet he did not speak until they had reached the station, with the train thundering in just as they drew up beside the platform.
"Good-by, Oliver," he said briefly.
The boy knew that the word of farewell was not for him but for all that the man was leaving—friends, memories, the place that he had loved in his strange, crooked72 way, all that he was putting behind him forever. A bell rang, a voice shouted the unintelligible73 something that stands for "All aboard," the train ground into motion, and he was gone.
Almost every one in Medford Valley must have slept that morning through the long hours until far past noon. But by four o'clock Oliver had slumbered74 all his weariness away, and so had Janet. They were restless after their excitement of the night before, and they found the house very still and with Cousin Jasper nowhere visible. They went out to the garage, got into the car, and set off along the familiar way toward the Windy Hill.
"Just to see if they are there," as Oliver said to Janet.
They came up the slope through the grass and saw the blue wood smoke rising lazily above them, unmistakable signal that the Beeman was at work. Polly greeted them gayly, for she, like them, was quite refreshed by the hours of slumber75 that had passed. Her father still looked weary, as though he had spent the interval76 in troubled thought rather than sleep, but he hailed them cheerily. All up and down the hill was a subdued77 and busy humming, for the day after rain is the best of all seasons for bees to gather honey.
"We thought we must find out what the storm had done to our hives," the Beeman said. "Only three were blown over, but there must have been a great commotion78. Now we have everything set to rights and we are not in the mood, to tell the truth, for a great deal more work to-day."
"Are you too tired," Janet asked, "for—for a story?"
"No," he answered, "stories come easily for a man who has had training as Polly's father. I thought there was no one like her for demanding stories, but you are just such another."
They sat down on the grass with the broad shadow of the oak tree lying all about them and stretching farther and farther as the afternoon sun moved down the sky. They had chosen the steeper slope of the hill so that they could look down upon the whole length of the winding79 stream, the scattered80 house-tops, and the wide green of those gardenlike stretches that still lay, safe and serene81, ripening82 their grain beside the river. The Beeman's eyes moved up and down the valley, resting longest upon the slope opposite, where the yellow farmhouse83 stood at the edge of its grove84 of trees and showed its wide gray roof, its white thread of pathway leading up to the door, its row of broad windows that were beginning to flash and shine under the touch of the level rays of the sun.
"Poor Anthony," he said slowly at last, "to be banished85 from a place he loved so much. And yet a person thinks it a little thing when he first confuses right with wrong!"
He drew a long breath and then turned to the girls with his old cheery smile.
"A story?" he repeated. "It will not be like the others, a tale from old dusty chronicles of Medford Valley, to tell you things that you should know. We have lived the last chapter of that tale and now we will go on to something new."
Oliver leaned back luxuriously86 in the grass, to stare up at the clear sky and the dark outline of the oak tree, clear-cut against the blue. Its heavy branches were just stirring in the unfailing breeze that blew in from the sea, and its rustling mingled sleepily with the Beeman's voice as he began:
"Once upon a time——"
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1
automobiles
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| n.汽车( automobile的名词复数 ) | |
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grumbled
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| 抱怨( grumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 发牢骚； 咕哝； 发哼声 | |
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curtly
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| adv.简短地 | |
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spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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5
awed
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| adj.充满敬畏的，表示敬畏的v.使敬畏，使惊惧( awe的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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tilted
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| v. 倾斜的 | |
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mishap
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| n.不幸的事，不幸；灾祸 | |
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stark
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| adj.荒凉的；严酷的；完全的；adv.完全地 | |
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dignified
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| a.可敬的，高贵的 | |
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unwilling
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| adj.不情愿的 | |
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labor
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| n.劳动，努力，工作，劳工；分娩；vi.劳动，努力，苦干；vt.详细分析；麻烦 | |
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12
bungling
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| adj.笨拙的，粗劣的v.搞糟，完不成( bungle的现在分词 )；笨手笨脚地做；失败；完不成 | |
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lumbering
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| n.采伐林木 | |
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wagon
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| n.四轮马车，手推车，面包车；无盖运货列车 | |
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wagons
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| n.四轮的运货马车( wagon的名词复数 )；铁路货车；小手推车 | |
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thronging
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| v.成群，挤满( throng的现在分词 ) | |
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briefly
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| adv.简单地，简短地 | |
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knoll
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| n.小山，小丘 | |
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standing
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| n.持续，地位；adj.永久的，不动的，直立的，不流动的 | |
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halfway
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| adj.中途的，不彻底的，部分的；adv.半路地，在中途，在半途 | |
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forth
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| adv.向前；向外，往外 | |
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shovel
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| n.铁锨，铲子，一铲之量；v.铲，铲出 | |
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brook
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| n.小河，溪；v.忍受，容让 | |
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rumbling
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| n. 隆隆声, 辘辘声 adj. 隆隆响的 动词rumble的现在分词 | |
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laboriously
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| adv.艰苦地；费力地；辛勤地；（文体等）佶屈聱牙地 | |
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unfamiliar
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| adj.陌生的，不熟悉的 | |
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feverish
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| adj.发烧的，狂热的，兴奋的 | |
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dike
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| n.堤，沟；v.开沟排水 | |
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hideous
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| adj.丑陋的，可憎的，可怕的，恐怖的 | |
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fully
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| adv.完全地，全部地，彻底地；充分地 | |
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crumbled
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| （把…）弄碎， （使）碎成细屑( crumble的过去式和过去分词 )； 衰落； 坍塌； 损坏 | |
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turmoil
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| n.骚乱，混乱，动乱 | |
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extricate
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| v.拯救，救出；解脱 | |
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laboring
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| n.劳动，操劳v.努力争取(for)( labor的现在分词 )；苦干；详细分析；（指引擎）缓慢而困难地运转 | |
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toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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collapsing
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| 压扁[平]，毁坏，断裂 | |
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frantic
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| adj.狂乱的，错乱的，激昂的 | |
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toiling
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| 长时间或辛苦地工作( toil的现在分词 )； 艰难缓慢地移动，跋涉 | |
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steadily
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| adv.稳定地；不变地；持续地 | |
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onward
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| adj.向前的，前进的；adv.向前，前进，在先 | |
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collapsed
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| adj.倒塌的 | |
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42
plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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43
munched
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| v.用力咀嚼（某物），大嚼( munch的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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44
lull
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| v.使安静，使入睡，缓和，哄骗；n.暂停，间歇 | |
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45
shovels
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| n.铲子( shovel的名词复数 )；锹；推土机、挖土机等的)铲；铲形部份v.铲子( shovel的第三人称单数 )；锹；推土机、挖土机等的)铲；铲形部份 | |
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46
trickle
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| vi.淌，滴，流出，慢慢移动，逐渐消散 | |
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oozing
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| v.（浓液等）慢慢地冒出，渗出( ooze的现在分词 )；使（液体）缓缓流出；（浓液）渗出，慢慢流出 | |
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dwindled
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| v.逐渐变少或变小( dwindle的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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hoarsely
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| adv.嘶哑地 | |
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crest
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| n.顶点；饰章；羽冠；vt.达到顶点；vi.形成浪尖 | |
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sullen
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| adj.愠怒的，闷闷不乐的，(天气等)阴沉的 | |
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52
crevasse
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| n. 裂缝，破口；v.使有裂缝 | |
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streak
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| n.条理，斑纹，倾向，少许，痕迹；v.加条纹，变成条纹，奔驰，快速移动 | |
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54
glistening
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| adj.闪耀的，反光的v.湿物闪耀，闪亮( glisten的现在分词 ) | |
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wringing
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| 淋湿的，湿透的 | |
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worthy
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| adj.(of)值得的，配得上的；有价值的 | |
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reminder
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| n.提醒物，纪念品；暗示，提示 | |
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pervade
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| v.弥漫，遍及，充满，渗透，漫延 | |
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devouring
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| 吞没( devour的现在分词 )； 耗尽； 津津有味地看； 狼吞虎咽地吃光 | |
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maple
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| n.槭树，枫树，槭木 | |
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determined
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| adj.坚定的；有决心的 | |
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abruptly
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| adv.突然地，出其不意地 | |
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demolish
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| v.拆毁(建筑物等)，推翻(计划、制度等) | |
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scraps
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| 油渣 | |
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tablecloth
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| n.桌布，台布 | |
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66
penetrating
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| adj.（声音）响亮的，尖锐的adj.（气味）刺激的adj.（思想）敏锐的，有洞察力的 | |
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67
shred
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| v.撕成碎片，变成碎片；n.碎布条，细片，些少 | |
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68
clenched
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| v.紧握，抓紧，咬紧( clench的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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vaguely
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| adv.含糊地，暖昧地 | |
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grudgingly
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ridge
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| n.山脊；鼻梁；分水岭 | |
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72
crooked
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| adj.弯曲的；不诚实的，狡猾的，不正当的 | |
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unintelligible
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| adj.无法了解的，难解的，莫明其妙的 | |
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slumbered
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| 微睡，睡眠（slumber的过去式与过去分词形式） | |
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slumber
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| n.睡眠，沉睡状态 | |
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interval
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| n.间隔，间距；幕间休息，中场休息 | |
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subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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78
commotion
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| n.骚动，动乱 | |
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79
winding
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| n.绕，缠，绕组，线圈 | |
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80
scattered
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| adj.分散的，稀疏的；散步的；疏疏落落的 | |
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serene
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| adj. 安详的，宁静的，平静的 | |
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82
ripening
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| v.成熟，使熟( ripen的现在分词 )；熟化；熟成 | |
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83
farmhouse
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| n.农场住宅（尤指主要住房） | |
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84
grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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85
banished
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| v.放逐，驱逐( banish的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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luxuriously
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| adv.奢侈地，豪华地 | |
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