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“He must live; he shall, and come home to be nursed as soon as he can stir, if I go and bring him myself! I always knew he’d do something fine and brave, if he didn’t get shot or hung for some wild prank instead,” cried Mrs Jo, much excited.
“Do go, and take me with you, Mum. I ought to be the one, Dan’s so fond of me and I of him,” began Ted, feeling that this would be an expedition after his own heart.
Before his mother could reply, Mr Laurie came in, with almost as much noise and flurry as Teddy the second, exclaiming as he waved the evening paper:
“Seen the news, Jo? What do you think? Shall I go off at once, and see after that brave boy?”
“I wish you would. But the thing may not be all true—rumour lies so. Perhaps a few hours will bring an entirely new version of the story.”
“I’ve telephoned to Demi for all he can find out; and if it’s true, I’ll go at once. Should like the trip. If he’s able, I’ll bring him home; if not, I’ll stay and see to him. He’ll pull through. Dan will never die of a fall on his head. He’s got nine lives, and not lost half of them yet.”
“If you go, uncle, mayn’t I go with you? I’m just spoiling for a journey; and it would be such larks to go out there with you, and see the mines and Dan, and hear all about it, and help. I can nurse. Can’t I, Rob?” cried Teddy, in his most wheedlesome tones.
“Pretty well. But if mother can’t spare you, I’m ready if uncle needs anyone,” answered Rob, in his quiet way, looking much fitter for the trip than excitable Ted.
“I can’t spare either of you. My boys get into trouble, unless I keep them close at home. I’ve no right to hold the others; but I won’t let you out of my sight, or something will happen. Never saw such a year, with wrecks and weddings and floods and engagements, and every sort of catastrophe!” exclaimed Mrs Jo.
“If you deal in girls and boys, you must expect this sort of thing, ma’am. The worst is over, I hope, till these lads begin to go off. Then I’ll stand by you; for you’ll need every kind of support and comfort, specially if Ted bolts early,” laughed Mr Laurie, enjoying her lamentations.
“I don’t think anything can surprise me now; but I am anxious about Dan, and feel that someone had better go to him. It’s a rough place out there, and he may need careful nursing. Poor lad, he seems to get a good many hard knocks! But perhaps he needs them as ‘a mellerin’ process’, as Hannah used to say.”
“We shall hear from Demi before long, and then I’ll be off.” With which cheerful promise Mr Laurie departed; and Ted, finding his mother firm, soon followed, to coax his uncle to take him.
Further inquiry confirmed and added interest to the news. Mr Laurie was off at once; and Ted went into town with him, still vainly imploring to be taken to his Dan. He was absent all day; but his mother said, calmly:
“Only a fit of the sulks because he is thwarted. He’s safe with Tom or Demi, and will come home hungry and meek at night. I know him.”
But she soon found that she could still be surprised; for evening brought no Ted, and no one had seen him. Mr Bhaer was just setting off to find his lost son, when a telegram arrived, dated at one of the way-stations on Mr Laurie’s route:
FOUND TED IN THE CARS. TAKE HIM ALONG.
WRITE TOMORROW.
T. LAURENCE
“Ted bolted sooner than you expected, mother. Never mind—uncle will take good care of him, and Dan be very glad to see him,” said Rob, as Mrs Jo sat, trying to realize that her youngest was actually on his way to the wild West.
“Disobedient boy! He shall be severely punished, if I ever get him again. Laurie winked at this prank; I know he did. Just like him. Won’t the two rascals have a splendid time? Wish I was with them! Don’t believe that crazy boy took even a night-gown with him, or an overcoat. Well, there will be two patients for us to nurse when they get back, if they ever do. Those reckless express trains always go down precipices, and burn up, or telescope. Oh! my Ted, my precious boy, how can I let him go so far away from me?”
And mother-like, Mrs Jo forgot the threatened chastisement in tender lamentations over the happy scapegrace, now whizzing across the continent in high feather at the success of his first revolt. Mr Laurie was much amused at his insisting that those words, “when Ted bolts”, put the idea into his head; and therefore the responsibility rested upon his shoulders. He assumed it kindly from the moment he came upon the runaway asleep in a car, with no visible luggage but a bottle of wine for Dan and a blacking-brush for himself; and as Mrs Jo suspected, the “two rascals” did have a splendid time. Penitent letters arrived in due season, and the irate parents soon forgot to chide in their anxiety about Dan, who was very ill, and did not know his friends for several days. Then he began to mend; and everyone forgave the bad boy when he proudly reported that the first conscious words Dan said were: “Hallo, Ted!” with a smile of pleasure at seeing a familiar face bent over him.
“Glad he went, and I won’t scold any more. Now, what shall we put in the box for Dan?” And Mrs Jo worked off her impatience to get hold of the invalid by sending comforts enough for a hospital.
Cheering accounts soon began to come, and at length Dan was pronounced able to travel, but seemed in no haste to go home, though never tired of hearing his nurses talk of it.
“Dan is strangely altered,” wrote Laurie to Jo; “not by this illness alone, but by something which has evidently gone before. I don’t know what, and leave you to ask; but from his ravings when delirious I fear he has been in some serious trouble the past year. He seems ten years older, but improved, quieter, and so grateful to us. It is pathetic to see the hunger in his eyes as they rest on Ted, as if he couldn’t see enough of him. He says Kansas was a failure, but can’t talk much; so I bide my time. The people here love him very much, and he cares for that sort of thing now; used to scorn any show of emotion, you know; now he wants everyone to think well of him, and can’t do enough to win affection and respect. I may be all wrong. You will soon find out. Ted is in clover, and the trip has done him a world of good. Let me take him to Europe when we go? Apron-strings don’t agree with him any better than they did with me when I proposed to run away to Washington with you some century ago. Aren’t you sorry you didn’t?”
This private letter set Mrs Jo’s lively fancy in a ferment, and she imagined every known crime, affliction, and complication which could possibly have befallen Dan. He was too feeble to be worried with questions now, but she promised herself most interesting revelations when she got him safe at home; for the “firebrand” was her most interesting boy. She begged him to come, and spent more time in composing a letter that should bring him, than she did over the most thrilling episodes in her “works”.
No one but Dan saw the letter; but it did bring him, and one November day Mr Laurie helped a feeble man out of a carriage at the door of Plumfield, and Mother Bhaer received the wanderer like a recovered son; while Ted, in a disreputable-looking hat and an astonishing pair of boots, performed a sort of war-dance round the interesting group.
“Right upstairs and rest; I’m nurse now, and this ghost must eat before he talks to anyone,” commanded Mrs Jo, trying not to show how shocked she was at this shorn and shaven, gaunt and pallid shadow of the stalwart man she parted with.
He was quite content to obey, and lay on the long lounge in the room prepared for him, looking about as tranquilly as a sick child restored to its own nursery and mother’s arms, while his new nurse fed and refreshed him, bravely controlling the questions that burned upon her tongue. Being weak and weary, he soon fell asleep; and then she stole away to enjoy the society of the “rascals”, whom she scolded and petted, pumped and praised, to her heart’s content.
“Jo, I think Dan has committed some crime and suffered for it,” said Mr Laurie, when Ted had departed to show his boots and tell glowing tales of the dangers and delights of the miners’ life to his mates. “Some terrible experience has come to the lad, and broken his spirit. He was quite out of his head when we arrived
, and I took the watching, so I heard more of those sad wanderings than anyone else. He talked of the ‘warden’, some trial, a dead man, and Blair and Mason, and would keep offering me his hand, asking me if I would take it and forgive him. Once, when he was very wild, I held his arms, and he quieted in a moment, imploring me not to ‘put the handcuffs on’. I declare, it was quite awful sometimes to hear him in the night talk of old Plum and you, and beg to be let out and go home to die.”
“He isn’t going to die, but live to repent of anything he may have done; so don’t harrow me up with these dark hints, Teddy. I don’t care if he’s broken the Ten Commandments, I’ll stand by him, and so will you, and we’ll get him on his feet and make a good man of him yet. I know he’s not spoilt, by the look in his poor face. Don’t say a word to anyone, and I’ll have the truth before long,” answered Mrs Jo, still loyal to her bad boy, though much afflicted by what she had heard.
For some days Dan rested, and saw few people; then good care, cheerful surroundings, and the comfort of being at home began to tell, and he seemed more like himself, though still very silent as to his late experiences, pleading the doctor’s orders not to talk much. Everyone wanted to see him; but he shrank from any but old friends, and “wouldn’t lionize worth a cent”, Ted said, much disappointed that he could not show off his brave Dan.
“Wasn’t a man there who wouldn’t have done the same, so why make a row over me?” asked the hero, feeling more ashamed than proud of the broken arm, which looked so interesting in a sling.
“But isn’t it pleasant to think that you saved twenty lives, Dan, and gave husbands, sons, and fathers back to the women who loved them?” asked Mrs Jo one evening as they were alone together after several callers had been sent away.
“Pleasant! it’s all that kept me alive, I do believe; yes, I’d rather have done it than be made president or any other big bug in the world. No one knows what a comfort it is to think I’ve saved twenty men to more than pay for—” There Dan stopped short, having evidently spoken out of some strong emotion to which his hearer had no key.
“I thought you’d feel so. It is a splendid thing to save life at the risk of one’s own, as you did, and nearly lose it,” began Mrs Jo, wishing he had gone on with that impulsive speech which was so like his old manner.
“‘He that loseth his life shall gain it’,” muttered Dan, staring at the cheerful fire which lighted the room, and shone on his thin face with a ruddy glow.
Mrs Jo was so startled at hearing such words from his lips that she exclaimed joyfully:
“Then you did read the little book I gave you, and kept your promise?”
“I read it a good deal after a while. I don’t know much yet, but I’m ready to learn; and that’s something.”
“It’s everything. Oh, my dear, tell me about it! I know something lies heavy on your heart; let me help you bear it, and so make the burden lighter.”
“I know it would; I want to tell; but some things even you couldn’t forgive; and if you let go of me, I’m afraid I can’t keep afloat.”
“Mothers can forgive anything! Tell me all, and be sure that I will never let you go, though the whole world should turn from you.”
Mrs Jo took one of the big wasted hands in both of hers and held it fast, waiting silently till that sustaining touch warmed poor Dan’s heart, and gave him courage to speak. Sitting in his old attitude, with his head in his hands, he slowly told it all, never once looking up till the last words left his lips.
“Now you know; can you forgive a murderer, and keep a jail-bird in your house?”
Her only answer was to put her arms about him, and lay the shorn head on her breast, with eyes so full of tears they could but dimly see the hope and fear that made his own so tragical.
That was better than any words; and poor Dan clung to her in speechless gratitude, feeling the blessedness of mother love—that divine gift which comforts, purifies, and strengthens all who seek it. Two or three great, bitter drops were hidden in the little woollen shawl where Dan’s cheek rested, and no one ever knew how soft and comfortable it felt to him after the hard pillows he had known so long. Suffering of both mind and body had broken will and pride, and the lifted burden brought such a sense of relief that he paused a moment to enjoy it in dumb delight.
“My poor boy, how you have suffered all this year, when we thought you free as air! Why didn’t you tell us, Dan, and let us help you? Did you doubt your friends?” asked Mrs Jo, forgetting all other emotions in sympathy, as she lifted up the hidden face, and looked reproachfully into the great hollow eyes that met her own frankly now.
“I was ashamed. I tried to bear it alone rather than shock and disappoint you, as I know I have, though you try not to show it. Don’t mind; I must get used to it” and Dan’s eyes dropped again as if they could not bear to see the trouble and dismay his confession painted on his best friend’s face.
“I am shocked and disappointed by the sin, but I am also very glad and proud and grateful that my sinner has repented, atoned, and is ready to profit by the bitter lesson. No one but Fritz and Laurie need ever know the truth; we owe it to them, and they will feel as I do,” answered Mrs Jo, wisely thinking that entire frankness would be a better tonic than too much sympathy.
“No, they won’t; men never forgive like women. But it’s right. Please tell ’em for me, and get it over. Mr Laurence knows it, I guess. I blabbed when my wits were gone; but he was very kind all the same. I can bear their knowing; but oh, not Ted and the girls!” Dan clutched her arm with such an imploring face that she hastened to assure him no one should know except the two old friends, and he calmed down as if ashamed of his sudden panic.
“It wasn’t murder, mind you, it was in self-defence; he drew first, and I had to hit him. Didn’t mean to kill him; but it doesn’t worry me as much as it ought, I’m afraid. I’ve more than paid for it, and such a rascal is better out of the world than in it, showing boys the way to hell. Yes, I know you think that’s awful in me; but I can’t help it. I hate a scamp as I do a skulking coyote, and always want to get a shot at ’em. Perhaps it would have been better if he had killed me; my life is spoilt.”
All the old prison gloom seemed to settle like a black cloud on Dan’s face as he spoke, and Mrs Jo was frightened at the glimpse it gave her of the fire through which he had passed to come out alive, but scarred for life. Hoping to turn his mind to happier things, she said cheerfully:
“No, it isn’t; you have learned to value it more and use it better for this trial. It is not a lost year, but one that may prove the most helpful of any you ever know. Try to think so, and begin again; we will help, and have all the more confidence in you for this failure. We all do the same and struggle on.”
“I never can be what I was. I feel about sixty, and don’t care for anything now I’ve got here. Let me stay till I’m on my legs, then I’ll clear out and never trouble you any more,” said Dan despondently.
“You are weak and low in your mind; that will pass, and by and by you will go to your missionary work among the Indians with all the old energy and the new patience, self-control, and knowledge you have gained. Tell me more about that good chaplain and Mary Mason and the lady whose chance word helped you so much. I want to know all about the trials of my poor boy.”
Won by her tender interest, Dan brightened up and talked on till he had poured out all the story of that bitter year, and felt better for the load he lifted off.
If he had known how it weighed upon his hearer’s heart, he would have held his peace; but she hid her sorrow till she had sent him to bed, comforted and calm; then she cried her heart out, to the great dismay of Fritz and Laurie, till they heard the tale and could mourn with her; after which they all cheered up and took counsel together how best to help this worst of all the “catastrophes” the year had brought them.
CHAPTER 21
ASLAUGA’S KNIGHT
IT WAS curious to see the change which came over Dan after that talk. A weight seemed
off his mind; and though the old impetuous spirit flashed out at times, he seemed intent on trying to show his gratitude and love and honour to these true friends by a new humility and confidence very sweet to them, very helpful to him. After hearing the story from Mrs Jo, the Professor and Mr Laurie made no allusion to it beyond the hearty handgrasp, the look of compassion, the brief word of good cheer in which men convey sympathy, and a redoubled kindness which left no doubt of pardon. Mr Laurie began at once to interest influential persons in Dan’s mission, and set in motion the machinery which needs so much oiling before anything can be done where Government is concerned. Mr Bhaer, with the skill of a true teacher, gave Dan’s hungry mind something to do, and helped him understand himself by carrying on the good chaplain’s task so paternally that the poor fellow often said he felt as if he had found a father. The boys took him to drive, and amused him with their pranks and plans; while the women, old and young, nursed and petted him till he felt like a sultan with a crowd of devoted slaves, obedient to his lightest wish.
A very little of this was enough for Dan, who had a masculine horror of “molly-coddling”, and so brief an acquaintance with illness that he rebelled against the doctor’s orders to keep quiet; and it took all Mrs Jo’s authority and the girls’ ingenuity to keep him from leaving his sofa long before strained back and wounded head were well. Daisy cooked for him; Nan attended to his medicines; Josie read aloud to while away the long hours of inaction that hung so heavily on his hands; while Bess brought all her pictures and casts to amuse him, and, at his special desire, set up a modelling-stand in his parlour and began to mould the buffalo head he gave her. Those afternoons seemed the pleasantest part of his day; and Mrs Jo, busy in her study close by, could see the friendly trio and enjoy the pretty pictures they made. The girls were much flattered by the success of their efforts, and exerted themselves to be very entertaining, consulting Dan’s moods with the feminine tact most women creatures learn before they are out of pinafores. When he was gay, the room rang with laughter; when gloomy, they read or worked in respectful silence till their sweet patience cheered him up again; and when in pain they hovered over him like “a couple of angels”, as he said. He often called Josie “little mother”, but Bess was always “Princess” and his manner to the two cousins was quite different. Josie sometimes fretted him with her fussy ways, the long plays she liked to read, and the maternal scoldings she administered when he broke the rules; for having a lord of creation in her power was so delightful to her that she would have ruled him with a rod of iron if he had submitted. To Bess, in her gentler ministrations, he never showed either impatience or weariness, but obeyed her least word, exerted himself to seem well in her presence, and took such interest in her work that he lay looking at her with unwearied eyes; while Josie read to him in her best style unheeded.
