She spoke dreamily and with the same look of seeing things beyond, except that now she fixed her eyes, not on the mountain top, but on his own.

"Is it in my eyes you see the long path of light? Are we together in it?

I see you always with the light about you. I saw you so first in your own home before the blazing fire--such a hearth fire as I had never seen before. You have appeared to me in my dreams with light about you ever since, and in my visions when I have been riding over these hills alone.

What are you seeing now?"

"You, as you helped me that first time, there in the snow. You looked so ill, but your way was strong, and I thought--all at once, in a flash--like it came from--"

"Go on."

"Like it came from my father: 'One will come for you.'" She hid her face in his bosom, and her words came smothered and brokenly, "All the ride home I put them away, but they would come back, his words: 'On the mountain top, one will come for you'; but we were in such trouble--I thought it was just the thought of my father. It's always strongest when trouble comes, like he would comfort me."

"Don't you have it also when happiness comes to you, as on this morning while we waited together?"

"No great happiness like this ever came before. I have been glad, like when mother said I might go to Farington to school; and when I knelt and was confirmed, I was glad then. The first gladness I can remember was when my father used to carry me in his arms up and down his path and repeat strange poetry to me. When you are well, we will go there, won't we?"

"Yes, dearest; but didn't the remembrance come to you just now, when you saw the long path of light before us?"

"I think no, David. I'm afraid I forgot every one but you then, when you asked would I like to bide here with you; and the long path of light was our love--for it reaches up to heaven, doesn't it, David?"

"It reaches to heaven, Ca.s.sandra."

Then they were silent, for there was no more to say.

CHAPTER XXI

IN WHICH THE SUMMER Pa.s.sES

Midsummer arrived, and David, healed of his wounds, p.r.o.nounced himself as "strong as a cricketer." What he meant by that Hoyle could only conjecture, and, after much pondering, decided that his strength was now so great that should he desire to do so, he could leap into the air or jump long distances after the manner of crickets.

"You reckon you could jump as fer in one jump now as from here to t'other side the water trough yandah?" he asked one day, as they sat on the porch steps together.

"No, I don't reckon so," said David, laughing.

"Well, could you jump ovah this here house and the loom shed in one jump?"

"I don't reckon so."

"Be sensible, honey son. You mustn't 'low him to ax ye fool questions, Doctah. You knows they hain't n.o.body kin do such as that, Hoyle," called his mother from within.

"He has some idea in his head. What is it, brother Hoyle?"

"I heered you tellin' Ca.s.s 'at you was gettin' strong as one o' these here cricket bugs, an' I had one t'other day; he could jump as fer as cl'ar acrost the po'ch--and he was only 'bout a inch long--er less 'n a inch. I thought if brothah David was that strong, he could jump a heap."

David had comforted Hoyle for the loss of Ca.s.sandra from the home by explaining that they were now become brothers for the rest of their lives, and in order to give this a.s.surance appreciable significance, he had taken the small chap to the circus and had treated him to pink lemonade and a toy balloon.

They had remained over until the next day, and Doctor Bartlett and David had examined him all over at the old physician's office and then had gone into a little room by themselves and stayed a long time, leaving him outside. Then, to compensate for such gross neglect, David had taken him to a clothing store and bought him a complete suit of store clothing, very neat and pretty. Hoyle would have been in the seventh heaven over all this, were it not, alas! that there the child for the first time in his life looked into a mirror that revealed him to himself from head to foot, little wry neck, hunched back and all.

David, not realizing this was a revelation to the little man, wondered, as they walked away, that all his enthusiasm and exuberance of spirits had left him, and that he walked at his side wearily and sadly silent.

His pathetic little legs spindled down from the smart new trousers, and his hands dangled weakly from his thin wrists, albeit his fingers clung tightly to his toy balloon.

"We're going back to the bishop's now, and we'll have a good dinner, and then you'll have a whole hour to play with Dorothy before we leave for home," said David, cheeringly. The child made no response other than to slip his hand into David's. "What are you thinking about, brother Hoyle?"

"Jest nothin'. I war a-wonderin'."

"Oh, there is a difference? What were you wondering?"

"Maw told me if you war that good to take me to a circus, I mustn't bothah you with a heap o' questions 'at wa'n't no good."

"That's all right. I'm questioning you now."

"What war you an' that old man feelin' me all ovah for? War you tryin'

to make out hu' come my hade is sot like this-a-way? Reckon you r'aly could set hit straight an' get this 'er lump off'n my back?"

"Don't worry about your head and your back. You have a very good head.

That's more than some can say."

"I nevah see nary othah boy like I be. You reckon that li'l' girl, she thought I war quare?"

"What little girl?"

"Mrs. Towahs's li'l' girl. She said 'turn roun',' an' when I done hit, she said 'turn roun' agin.' Then she said, 'Whyn't you hol' your hade like I do?'"

"What did you say?"

"Didn't say nothin.' Jes' axed her whyn't she hol' her head like I did?

an' she said, 'Don't want to.' So I said, 'Don't want to.'" He twisted his head about to look up in David's face, and his lips smiled, but in his eyes was a suspicion of tears. His heart heavy for the child, David praised him for a brave little chap, comforting him as best he could.

"You reckon she'd like me if I war to give her this here balloon?"

"No, you take that home to sister. The little girl can get one when the circus comes again." But after dinner, David did not send Hoyle off to play the hour with Dorothy. He took her on his knee and entertained them both with tales and mimicry until he had them in gales of laughter, and for the time being Hoyle forgot his troubles.

As the days pa.s.sed, David became more and more interested in his patch of ground and the growing things in his garden. Never had he labored with his hands in this fashion, and each night he lay down to sleep physically weary, in contentment of spirit. Steadily he progressed toward the desired goal of health. In his young wife, also, he found a rich satisfaction, watching her unfold and blossom into the gracious wifehood and ladyhood he had dreamed of for her.

Together they used to stroll to the little farm, where she told him all she knew about the crops--what was best for the animals, and what would be needed for themselves. Long before David was able to oversee the work himself, she had set Elwine Timms to sowing cow-peas and planting corn.

"Behold your heritage!" David said to her one morning, as they strolled thus among the thrifty greenness and patches of vetch where the cow was contentedly feeding. He laughed joyously and drew his wife's arm through his. She looked up at him wistfully. He thought she sighed, and bent his head to listen. "What was that little sound?"

"I was only thinking."

"We'll sit here where we sat that morning when we both put our hands to the plough, and you tell me what you were thinking."

"I ought not to stop now, David. I've left all for mother to do. I was that busy at the cabin I didn't get down to her this morning."

"You can't keep two homes going with only your own two dear hands, Ca.s.sandra. It must be stopped. We'll find some one to live with your mother and take your place." She gave a little gasp, then sat silently, her hands dropped pa.s.sively in her lap, and he thought she seemed sad.

He took her face between his hands and made her look into his eyes.