For many weeks, after the breaking of her long resistance against the outward signs of grief, Virgie lay passive. Too weak to be moved, too broken in physical and mental strength to admit of vigorous treatment, she hovered between days of lucidity and dreamland. In the days just succeeding the outburst occasioned by Kent's rigorous invectives she wept unrestrainedly. No words of kindness, no consoling reached her—not even the great care that "Doc" gave her modified in the least her lamenting. The flood that had so long been checked by her unusual strength, once freed, needed to run itself out, and the kind ministering of her friends could no more help her check its torrent than she could help herself. But, after this outburst had spent itself in the days and nights of constant weeping, she was in the greatest need of their tender care. Her strength was gone, together with all her recuperative energy, and she sank rapidly into a state of passive invalidity.
Ashville mourned her condition with tenderest awe, never quite sure of its own mind—whether or not to condemn the parson, and withal, too occupied at the beginning with the bulletins of her condition to decide the question by discussion. However, in the time that dragged along by weary days until the days had become weeks, they became more used to her sad condition. Startling rumors had found a beginning from time to time, saying that the worst had come, but the frequency of these had taught them incredulity; and after long waiting they began to accept her condition as a temporary fixture, and in the interval they took up more attentively Kent's part in it, giving his actions a more thorough airing.
Winter was breaking. The frost coming out of the ground in the few hours of midday left a sticky clay that clung to boots and wagon-wheels with ugly persistency until night came again and froze it over with a thin crust. It was the ugliest part of all the year. The warmth that penetrated to the earth at short intervals was but the taste of the good things to come; then the poor, tired humanity of the little community were sent back into the cold again, of which they were already so weary. It was the period of inactivity—too early to begin any of the coming season's work, yet late enough to barely cover them with the fringe of sweet promise, which, when withdrawn, left a feeling of impatient, sullen unrest. Ashville was in no humor to be charitable now. Tired by their long, enforced rest, her people were moved with an unusual activity, and entered into a discussion of the parson in ill-humored diversion.
Orrig was very busy one evening with some articles of merchandise just teamed over from the city and left on the platform that ran along the back of all four stores. He did not see anyone enter from the front. As he put his head through the doorway, to call to the apprentice that he might carry in the smaller packages, he discovered Lem Henderson, and was much surprised.
"Hello, Lem! Anythin' y' want?" he asked.
"No, not's I know of," the old man answered.
"Then y' better have a look around," Orrig laughed. "Say, Lem! Tell th' boy t' come out here."
"Ain't in hyurr,' Lem said, laconically, as he turned his head and looked about him slowly, as if the apprentice might be in hiding somewhere near at hand.
"Dern thet—Say, Lem! Th' bucket o' Golden Twist's come 'at you wuz a-lookin' fer."
"Well, fetch her in," the old man responded, his face lighted with delicious anticipation.
"You jest wait," Orrig replied, smiling to himself as he continued checking over the few newly-arrived parcels with a carefulness that added much importance to himself.
"Th' Golden Twist's come," Lem repeated to Doles, when that gentleman later stepped in for a plaster for his wife, although he seemed in no particular hurry to have his wants filled, and gladly accepted Henderson's news, permitting it to divert him entirely for the time being.
"No?" he replied, in questioning undertone.
"Yep; Orrig jest told me. Out back there now," he said, motioning toward the back with his head importantly.
Doles cared nothing for the arrival of Lem's favorite, though he stepped back to the rear platform with much expectancy, showing thereby his anticipation of something as much desired as had been the Golden Twist. Orrig looked up at him, with an annoyance expressed in his face and gestures, and asked:
"Anythin' y' want, 'Si'?"
"Hev they come?" Doles asked in turn, ignoring the first question.
"What? Hev what come?" Orrig asked impatiently, in assumed ignorance.
"Th' seeds," "Si" answered disturbed, looking about over the goods, though discreetly venturing no further than the door.
"Ain't seen 'em yet," Orrig replied. "But can't y' wait till I get through checkin'?"
"Certain'," "Si" replied good-naturedly. Then half in apology: "Faribee's in a sight of a hurry. Pestered me nigh t' death."
"Well, she has," he reiterated smiling, as Orrig turned and looked at him doubtingly.
"What's th' matter with that Twist?" Lem called in a cracked voice.
"What Twist? What y' talkin' about?" asked Weller, as he and "Milt" Craig came in, just in time to hear Lem's impatient query.
"Th' Golden Twist's come," Lem replied happily.
"That's good; I wuz about out," Weller said, adding as "Si" approached: "Hullo, Si! What y' got?"
"Flower seed," Doles replied beamingly.
"Well, open 'er up an' we'll see what's new this year?" said Craig.
"Better wait till Orrig comes in; he won't be long. Ef th' boy wuz on'y here he'd be done sooner. Wonder where the boy is? He's mad ez blazes out thur," "Si" said, motioning in the direction of the back door, meantime looking about for the boy.
"Bark's wuss'n his bite," Lem observed.
"Wonder ef they's anythin' new in garden stuff?" mused Weller, as he moved the long flat box on the floor with his foot so that he could read the label right side up. "Right smart o' big-named flowers, but don't 'pear t' be nothin' else," he said finally.
"There. Tag!" screamed the apprentice, coming through the front door just back of "Doc," and "Doc," much out of breath, sank onto a sack of soft stuff tagged "Timethy," laughing between catches in his breathing.
"Hyurr, boy!" yelled Orrig from the rear. "Whur y' b'n?" And, without waiting for an answer, "Ef yer done foolishin' y' kin get some o' this stuff inside afore it freezes."
"Bring yer hatchet in an' open ther seed box?" said "Si," impatiently.
"What's all th' hurry?" asked Orrig, coming in with that tool, but making the most of the occasion by complying reluctantly. Prying the lid up carefully he withdrew each nail with painful slowness and placed them, heads together, in a little pile on the floor beside him. The men all stood or sat close by and watched his progress eagerly. When the nails had all been extracted Orrig raised the lid slowly, disclosing a variegated lithograph on its reverse side. The important manner in which he did this heightened the effect, and he was rewarded with admiring "Ohs!" from all about him. Then from the top he removed a large colored poster, covered with faithful copies of each flower in full bloom. An impossibly smooth young lady was smiling meekly from their bower. Orrig was obliged to rise to his feet to open the picture its full length, "Doc" taking hold of one edge gingerly to aid him.
"Better ever' year, ain't it?" "Si" observed, but was met with no response. "Thur's thet what-y'-call-it?" he resumed. "Thet's what Faribee tried t' raise last year an' got on'y that," and, with both hands, he indicated first a gorgeous cluster of roses, then a century plant in bloom on a Southern lawn.
"But them kind on'y bloom once in a hundred year," Lem said quickly.
"That's all right," "Si" responded, choking with his joke. "Hern ain't come outen th' seed yet!" After which he burst forth unrestrainedly, and "Doc" Murray laughed himself into a fit of coughing.
"You kin gimme a sack o' them rose seeds," "Si" said to Orrig, when he had regained his power of speech. "We'll see what we kin do this year again."
"Not tel I've counted th' box," Orrig replied; then, for fear he might be persuaded out of this stand, said quickly: "I'm a-goin' t' open th' pail o' 'Flake' fer Lem now, ef thet boy ever gits it in hyurr."
"Wife at prayer-meetin'?" asked "Doc" of Weller.
"Yep," Weller replied shortly. "Say, Lem! How's th' exzemy gettin' on?"
"Middlein'—Middlein'," Henderson replied, hitching himself around from watching the door, with a new interest, and that interest an opportunity to voice his suffering.
"I git a mite o' warmth into me these days around noon time now, so it ain't sech a botherence."
"I wouldn't get too het up," "Doc" advised gratis.
"Oh, I ain't! It's more likely weather now, so I'm particlar."
"'Doc'—'Doc' Murray!" came an excited female voice from the door. All of the men turned quickly. "Doc" responded to the call at once, and, closing the door after him, followed the young lady up the street.
"Your girl, wan't it, 'Milt'?" asked Weller.
"She come from over t' th' hotel, where she's he'pin' nurse Virgie," Craig replied quietly. "It ain't nothin' up t' my house."
"I'd go over ef it'd do any good," "Si" soliloquized. Then, in explanation, he said: "They won't let me near her; I ain't seen her fer two weeks."
"I hear'n 'at she wuz bad again," Weller added, to strengthen "Si's" apology.
"An' most nobody but 'Doc' knows how bad either," said "Si."
Lem shook his head sadly.
"Faribee t' prayer-meetin'?" Weller asked of "Si."
"Si" nodded his head affirmatively, as he appeared unusually serious. He knew that he could be of no assistance at the hotel. In fact, he was at all times more in the way than helpful, yet he felt somewhat guilty not to return there when there was some chance of his being needed.
Weller seemed moved to an equal seriousness by his silent answer, but continued bluntly:
"Wife wanted me to go, but I wan't minded thet way."
"What's ketched you so suddint? Thought it wuz you ez wuz fer th' new church here a month back," said Orrig, with apparent innocence, as he continued his work.
"Well, ef nobody'll say it I will, though they's plenty thet's been thinkin' like I hev here of late: Passifyin' is more in a preacher's line, it strikes me, than brow-beatin' is. Thet's why I won't go!" Weller replied sullenly, turning and looking at Lem, who kept his eyes glued to the stove-pipe damper, though he crossed his legs, thereby indicating his uneasiness.
"They's no need o' putting it so strong," "Si" said quietly, a lack of positive defence being evident in his tone.
"Puttin' it strong? Y' can't put it too strong!" Weller retorted.
"Mebbe y' can't an' mebbe y' can," "Si" replied. "Fac's gits twisted sometimes, y' know, an' I think that's what they air in this case. Now I know."
"What do y' know?" Weller broke in heatedly. "That's the question. Mebbe ef you'd tell us all you know things 'd be wuss 'an they air? Ef there's airy a thing 'at you can say why don't you say it? Nobody's hinderin' y' as I can see. That's jest it," he said, turning toward the group, "nobody'll say a word; all jest sit around an' think. I know what y' think all right, an' I know what I think too an' it's the same thing as you—that's what it is, on'y you won't none o' you up an' say it!"
"They ain't no use gettin' too riled," said Orrig venturesomely.
"I ain't riled, leastwise no rileder than I hev been," Weller replied explainingly, and turning his remarks upon the storekeeper. "What ef it was your daughter, er Craig's here—think you wouldn't have nothin' t' say? You'd be riled, too, I'm a-thinkin', an' ef you wan't here y'd want ever'body else to be fer y'."
"But mebbe he ain't done no harm," "Si" ventured pacifyingly.
"I don't 'low he hev now," Weller answered sarcastically. "What d' y' call harm? Drivin' her near crazy with grief, an' that ain't harm? Puttin' her to bed so she needs "Doc" and all the women ever' minute! That ain't no harm neither, is it?" he asked explosively. Then, at the height of his anger, he put another awful question to "Si," which made him blanch with horror, and caused Lem to tremble in fear.
"What ef he'd a-killed her—would y' a-called that harm?"
"Si" paused for an instant to reply, but for an instant only, his face darkening as he looked steadily into that of Weller's. Lem moved still more uneasily, and Craig, rising precipitately, caused Orrig to move quickly toward the group. "Si" remained seated, with an undisturbed gaze that Weller returned sullenly.
"You're wrong, Weller!" he said, when the spell of their looks had been weakened by "Milt" regaining his seat, and Weller let his eyes move slowly to the floor, back to "Si's," then to the floor again, as he awkwardly turned his hand over on his knee.
"Mebbe I did say it too strong," he replied, and "Si," too amiable to retain his own anger, spoke up at once.
"I know," he said, "You wan't satisfied with the way things wuz goin', and y' thought mebbe the rest of us didn't see all thet you see; but we hev, an' we've thought about it ez much ez you, on'y we wan't minded t' talk about it 'cause we might be wrong. I 'low I know ez much about this thing ez anybody, an' that's nothin'; so thet's what's held me to the idee thet th' time t' arg'y about it ain't come yit."
"But there's th' evidence before y', ain't it?" Weller asked, with a lingering persistence.
"Evidence ain't all in yit," "Si" replied sagely.
"You fellers better go t' law," said Orrig jocularly, hoping to inject new humor into the breach as he moved away.
"It ain't between me an' 'Si,'" Weller replied, in an appeal to Orrig, that evidenced his friendly feeling toward his former antagonist.
"No it 'tain't 'tween us nor nobody else," "Si" said, with a positiveness that completely subdued Weller.
"How about th' Golden Twist?" Lem asked diplomatically, and all accepted the diversion gladly, Orrig displaying greater alacrity in opening the pail than had graced his previous movements.
"Say, Mr. Orrig!" the boy began, when voices were heard outside the front door, and Orrig raised his hand warningly. There were a few muffled words, then a woman's voice broke in upon them as the door opened, and Mrs. Weller entered, while the parson held it ajar for her to pass.
"Thank you!" she was saying. "If Sam's here I'm all right. But come on in. You can walk our way a piece soon's I get some things."
Weller held his breath and his heart stopped in alarm as they awaited the reply.
"I will just come in and see if he is here; but I must hurry up to the hotel then!"
She agreed half-happily, half-sadly.
"Sam here?" Mrs. Weller began, when she discovered the group about the store. "Oh, yes; there you are!" and, turning to the parson, she concluded, "All right now; much a-bliged."
"Hello, boy!" Kent said, placing his hand on the grinning apprentice's shoulder. "Hello, 'Si' and Lem!" And, stepping so that he could see all the others, he saluted them by a wave of his disengaged hand.
"Si" arose and came hurriedly to where he stood, though covering his action by a careless motion.
"Harr y'?" he asked, grasping Kent's hand and giving it an unusual sqeeze that immediately attracted his more close attention. Then, under his breath, with startling inflection, "Si" said, "Th' hotel!" and nodded in its direction.
Kent's face contracted slightly in alarm, but, quickly recovering, he bade them all good-night and hastened away.
Mrs. Weller "visited" with "Milt" and "Si." Her husband was silent. Orrig busied himself with her small commissions.
"How's your exzemy, Lem?" she asked considerately, finally turning her attention to the old man.
"Middelin' since the weather warmed up; it's eased a bit now, so I'm feelin' better!" he replied in great pleasure.
"Hear you've got a inkebator—never see one. How's it work?" "Milt" asked all in a breath.
"I've jest set it. Don't know yet," Mrs. Weller replied proudly; "but ef we get all th' circilar says we will me an' Sam'll be chicken-rich afore summer!" she laughed, and Weller smiled in doubtful amiability.
They had talked thus socially for about an hour when "Doc" Murray entered, his face radiant, and his benevolent eyes sparkling with a happy light.
"Fill that!" he said triumphantly, as he handed Orrig a small phial from his case. His voice quivered with suppressed emotion. Turning to the hushed group, who were smiling in sympathy, their faces eager in silent questioning, he spoke slowly with suppressed emotion. "The change has come," he said. "Our darling is resting now. The nervous spell is broken. She will recover!"
"Bless God!" responded Mrs. Weller, who was a Methodist, fervently, and each of the men breathed an "amen."
"It was the parson who did it!" "Doc" added exultantly. "He broke the spell weeks ago—that's what saved her, and I am free to say now that it wuz him that did it."
"Don't y' 'low she'd a-been all right without that?" Weller asked in repentant surprise.
"It wuz him thet did it," "Doc" reiterated firmly, as he placed his phial within his grip again and started to leave.
Weller turned to "Si." As their eyes met a quick flash of understanding passed between them. "Si" conveyed complete forgiveness; Weller, absolute repentance.
"Si" linked his arm in "Doc's" as they moved up the street, and when they reached the hotel volunteered his services.
"Not now, 'Si;' I wouldn't go up now. She's sleepin', an' he's there, all broke up. Better wait till morning," "Doc" said.