Chapter Chapter 22 · POSITIVELY LAST APPEARANCE

Chapter 22. POSITIVELY LAST APPEARANCE

'Upon my word, I feel as if I lived in a powder-magazine, and don't

know which barrel will explode next, and send me flying,' said Mrs Jo

to herself next day, as she trudged up to Parnassus to suggest to her

sister that perhaps the most charming of the young nurses had better

return to her marble gods before she unconsciously added another wound

to those already won by the human hero. She told no secrets; but a hint

was sufficient; for Mrs Amy guarded her daughter as a pearl of great

price, and at once devised a very simple means of escape from danger.

Mr Laurie was going to Washington on Dan's behalf, and was delighted to

take his family with him when the idea was carelessly suggested. So the

conspiracy succeeded finely; and Mrs Jo went home, feeling more like a

traitor than ever. She expected an explosion; but Dan took the news so

quietly, it was plain that he cherished no hope; and Mrs Amy was sure

her romantic sister had been mistaken. If she had seen Dan's face when

Bess went to say good-bye, her maternal eye would have discovered far

more than the unconscious girl did. Mrs Jo trembled lest he should

betray himself; but he had learned self-control in a stern school, and

would have got through the hard moment bravely, only, when he took both

hands, saying heartily:

'Good-bye, Princess. If we don't meet again, remember your old friend

Dan sometimes,' she, touched by his late danger and the wistful look he

wore, answered with unusual warmth: 'How can I help it, when you make us

all so proud of you? God bless your mission, and bring you safely home

to us again!'

As she looked up at him with a face full of frank affection and sweet

regret, all that he was losing rose so vividly before him that Dan could

not resist the impulse to take the 'dear goldy head' between his hands

and kiss it, with a broken 'Good-bye'; then hurried back to his room,

feeling as if it were the prison-cell again, with no glimpse of heaven's

blue to comfort him.

This abrupt caress and departure rather startled Bess; for she felt with

a girl's quick instinct that there was something in that kiss unknown

before, and looked after him with sudden colour in her cheeks and new

trouble in her eyes. Mrs Jo saw it, and fearing a very natural question

answered it before it was put.

'Forgive him, Bess. He has had a great trouble, and it makes him tender

at parting with old friends; for you know he may never come back from

the wild world he is going to.'

'You mean the fall and danger of death?' asked Bess, innocently.

'No, dear; a greater trouble than that. But I cannot tell you any

more--except that he has come through it bravely; so you may trust and

respect him, as I do.'

'He has lost someone he loved. Poor Dan! We must be very kind to him.'

Bess did not ask the question, but seemed content with her solution of

the mystery--which was so true that Mrs Jo confirmed it by a nod, and

let her go away believing that some tender loss and sorrow wrought the

great change all saw in Dan, and made him so slow to speak concerning

the past year.

But Ted was less easily satisfied, and this unusual reticence goaded

him to desperation. His mother had warned him not to trouble Dan with

questions till he was quite well; but this prospect of approaching

departure made him resolve to have a full, clear, and satisfactory

account of the adventures which he felt sure must have been thrilling,

from stray words Dan let fall in his fever. So one day when the coast

was clear, Master Ted volunteered to amuse the invalid, and did so in

the following manner:

'Look here, old boy, if you don't want me to read, you've got to talk,

and tell me all about Kansas, and the farms, and that part. The Montana

business I know, but you seem to forget what went before. Brace up, and

let's have it,' he began, with an abruptness which roused Dan from a

brown study most effectually.

'No, I don't forget; it isn't interesting to anyone but myself. I didn't

see any farms--gave it up,' he said slowly.

'Why?'

'Other things to do.'

'What?'

'Well, brush-making for one thing.'

'Don't chaff a fellow. Tell true.'

'I truly did.'

'What for?'

'To keep out of mischief, as much as anything.'

'Well, of all the queer things--and you've done a lot--that's the

queerest,' cried Ted, taken aback at this disappointing discovery. But

he didn't mean to give up yet, and began again.

'What mischief, Dan?'

'Never you mind. Boys shouldn't bother.'

'But I do want to know, awfully, because I'm your pal, and care for you

no end. Always did. Come, now, tell me a good yarn. I love scrapes. I'll

be mum as an oyster if you don't want it known.'

'Will you?' and Dan looked at him, wondering how the boyish face would

change if the truth were suddenly told him.

'I'll swear it on locked fists, if you like. I know it was jolly, and

I'm aching to hear.'

'You are as curious as a girl. More than some--Josie and--and Bess never

asked a question.'

'They don't care about rows and things; they liked the mine business,

heroes, and that sort. So do I, and I'm as proud as Punch over it; but

I see by your eyes that there was something else before that, and I'm

bound to find out who Blair and Mason are, and who was hit and who ran

away, and all the rest of it.'

'What!' cried Dan, in a tone that made Ted jump.

'Well, you used to mutter about 'em in your sleep, and Uncle Laurie

wondered. So did I; but don't mind, if you can't remember, or would

rather not.'

'What else did I say? Queer, what stuff a man will talk when his wits

are gone.'

'That's all I heard; but it seemed interesting, and I just mentioned it,

thinking it might refresh your memory a bit,' said Teddy, very politely;

for Dan's frown was heavy at that moment.

It cleared off at this reply, and after a look at the boy squirming with

suppressed impatience in his chair, Dan made up his mind to amuse him

with a game of cross-purposes and half-truths, hoping to quench his

curiosity, and so get peace.

'Let me see; Blair was a lad I met in the cars, and Mason a poor fellow

who was in a--well, a sort of hospital where I happened to be. Blair ran

off to his brothers, and I suppose I might say Mason was hit, because he

died there. Does that suit you?'

'No, it doesn't. Why did Blair run? and who hit the other fellow? I'm

sure there was a fight somewhere, wasn't there?'

'Yes!

'I guess I know what it was about.'

'The devil, you do! Let's hear you guess. Must be amusing,' said Dan,

affecting an ease he did not feel.

Charmed to be allowed to free his mind, Ted at once unfolded the boyish

solution of the mystery which he had been cherishing, for he felt that

there was one somewhere.

'You needn't say yes, if I guess right and you are under oath to keep

silent. I shall know by your face, and never tell. Now see if I'm not

right. Out there they have wild doings, and it's my belief you were in

some of 'em. I don't mean robbing mails, and KluKluxing, and that sort

of thing; but defending the settlers, or hanging some scamp, or even

shooting a few, as a fellow must sometimes, in self-defence. Ah, ha!

I've hit it, I see. Needn't speak; I know the flash of your old eye, and

the clench of your big fist.' And Ted pranced with satisfaction.

'Drive on, smart boy, and don't lose the trail,' said Dan, finding a

curious sense of comfort in some of these random words, and longing, but

not daring, to confirm the true ones. He might have confessed the crime,

but not the punishment that followed, the sense of its disgrace was

still so strong upon him.

'I knew I should get it; can't deceive me long,' began Ted, with such an

air of pride Dan could not help a short laugh.

'It's a relief, isn't it, to have it off your mind? Now, just confide in

me and it's all safe, unless you've sworn not to tell.'

'I have.'

'Oh, well, then don't'; and Ted's face fell, but he was himself again

in a moment and said, with the air of a man of the world: 'It's all

right--I understand--honour binds--silence to death, etc. Glad you stood

by your mate in the hospital. How many did you kill?'

'Only one.'

'Bad lot, of course?'

'A damned rascal.'

'Well, don't look so fierce; I've no objection. Wouldn't mind popping

at some of those bloodthirsty blackguards myself. Had to dodge and keep

quiet after it, I suppose.'

'Pretty quiet for a long spell.'

'Got off all right in the end, and headed for your mines and did that

jolly brave thing. Now, I call that decidedly interesting and capital.

I'm glad to know it; but I won't blab.'

'Mind you don't. Look here. Ted, if you'd killed a man, would it trouble

you--a bad one, I mean?'

The lad opened his mouth to say, 'Not a bit,' but checked that answer as

if something in Dan's face made him change his mind. 'Well, if it was my

duty in war or self-defence, I suppose I shouldn't; but if I'd pitched

into him in a rage, I guess I should be very sorry. Shouldn't wonder if

he sort of haunted me, and remorse gnawed me as it did Aram and those

fellows. You don't mind, do you? It was a fair fight, wasn't it?'

'Yes, I was in the right; but I wish I'd been out of it. Women don't see

it that way, and look horrified at such things. Makes it hard; but it

don't matter.'

'Don't tell 'em; then they can't worry,' said Ted, with the nod of one

versed in the management of the sex.

'Don't intend to. Mind you keep your notions to yourself, for some of

'em are wide of the mark. Now you may read if you like'; and there the

talk ended; but Ted took great comfort in it, and looked as wise as an

owl afterwards.

A few quiet weeks followed, during which Dan chafed at the delay; and

when at length word came that his credentials were ready, he was eager

to be off, to forget a vain love in hard work, and live for others,

since he might not for himself.

So one wild March morning our Sintram rode away, with horse and hound,

to face again the enemies who would have conquered him, but for Heaven's

help and human pity.

'Ah, me! it does seem as if life was made of partings, and they get

harder as we go on,' sighed Mrs Jo, a week later, as she sat in the long

parlour at Parnassus one evening, whither the family had gone to welcome

the travellers back.

'And meetings too, dear; for here we are, and Nat is on his way at last.

Look for the silver lining, as Marmee used to say, and be comforted,'

answered Mrs Amy, glad to be at home and find no wolves prowling near

her sheepfold.

'I've been so worried lately, I can't help croaking. I wonder what Dan

thought at not seeing you again? It was wise; but he would have enjoyed

another look at home faces before he went into the wilderness,' said Mrs

Jo regretfully.

'Much better so. We left notes and all we could think of that he might

need, and slipped away before he came. Bess really seemed relieved;

I'm sure I was'; and Mrs Amy smoothed an anxious line out of her white

forehead, as she smiled at her daughter, laughing happily among her

cousins.

Mrs Jo shook her head as if the silver lining of that cloud was hard to

find; but she had no time to croak again, for just then Mr Laurie came

in looking well pleased at something.

'A new picture has arrived; face towards the music-room, good people,

and tell me how you like it. I call it “Only a fiddler”, after

Andersen's story. What name will you give it?'

As he spoke he threw open the wide doors, and just beyond they saw a

young man standing, with a beaming face, and a violin in his hand. There

was no doubt about the name to this picture, and with the cry 'Nat!

Nat!' there was a general uprising. But Daisy reached him first, and

seemed to have lost her usual composure somewhere on the way, for she

clung to him, sobbing with the shock of a surprise and joy too great for

her to bear quietly. Everything was settled by that tearful and tender

embrace, for, though Mrs Meg speedily detached her daughter, it was only

to take her place; while Demi shook Nat's hand with brotherly warmth,

and Josie danced round them like Macbeth's three witches in one,

chanting in her most tragic tones:

'Chirper thou wast; second violin thou art; first thou shalt be. Hail,

all hail!'

This caused a laugh, and made things gay and comfortable at once. Then

the usual fire of questions and answers began, to be kept up briskly

while the boys admired Nat's blond beard and foreign clothes, the girls

his improved appearance--for he was ruddy with good English beef

and beer, and fresh with the sea-breezes which had blown him swiftly

home--and the older folk rejoiced over his prospects. Of course all

wanted to hear him play; and when tongues tired, he gladly did his best

for them, surprising the most critical by his progress in music even

more than by the energy and self-possession which made a new man

of bashful Nat. By and by when the violin--that most human of all

instruments--had sung to them the loveliest songs without words, he

said, looking about him at these old friends with what Mr Bhaer called a

'feeling-full' expression of happiness and content:

'Now let me play something that you will all remember though you won't

love it as I do'; and standing in the attitude which Ole Bull has

immortalized, he played the street melody he gave them the first night

he came to Plumfield. They remembered it, and joined in the plaintive

chorus, which fitly expressed his own emotions:

'Oh my heart is sad and weary

Everywhere I roam,

Longing for the old plantation

And for the old folks at home.'

'Now I feel better,' said Mrs Jo, as they all trooped down the hill soon

after. 'Some of our boys are failures, but I think this one is going to

be a success, and patient Daisy a happy girl at last. Nat is your work,

Fritz, and I congratulate you heartily.'

'Ach, we can but sow the seed and trust that it falls on good ground.

I planted, perhaps, but you watched that the fowls of the air did not

devour it, and brother Laurie watered generously; so we will share the

harvest among us, and be glad even for a small one, heart's-dearest.'

'I thought the seed had fallen on very stony ground with my poor Dan;

but I shall not be surprised if he surpasses all the rest in the real

success of life, since there is more rejoicing over one repentant sinner

than many saints,' answered Mrs Jo, still clinging fast to her black

sheep although a whole flock of white ones trotted happily before her.

It is a strong temptation to the weary historian to close the present

tale with an earthquake which should engulf Plumfield and its environs

so deeply in the bowels of the earth that no youthful Schliemann could

ever find a vestige of it. But as that somewhat melodramatic conclusion

might shock my gentle readers, I will refrain, and forestall the usual

question, 'How did they end?' by briefly stating that all the marriages

turned out well. The boys prospered in their various callings; so did

the girls, for Bess and Josie won honours in their artistic careers, and

in the course of time found worthy mates. Nan remained a busy, cheerful,

independent spinster, and dedicated her life to her suffering sisters

and their children, in which true woman's work she found abiding

happiness. Dan never married, but lived, bravely and usefully, among his

chosen people till he was shot defending them, and at last lay quietly

asleep in the green wilderness he loved so well, with a lock of golden

hair upon his breast, and a smile on his face which seemed to say that

Aslauga's Knight had fought his last fight and was at peace. Stuffy

became an alderman, and died suddenly of apoplexy after a public dinner.

Dolly was a society man of mark till he lost his money, when he found

congenial employment in a fashionable tailoring establishment. Demi

became a partner, and lived to see his name above the door, and Rob was

a professor at Laurence College; but Teddy eclipsed them all by becoming

an eloquent and famous clergyman, to the great delight of his astonished

mother. And now, having endeavoured to suit everyone by many weddings,

few deaths, and as much prosperity as the eternal fitness of things will

permit, let the music stop, the lights die out, and the curtain fall for

ever on the March family.