XV
Archibald’s walk had taken him Witch Hill way. Golden rod and wild asters were making merry along the roadside; and, in the wood’s heart, gleams of crimson and gold were glinting through the green. Summer was gone; but magic lingered; and the old enchantment worked in the man’s brain and heart. He had never followed that climbing road without the Smiling Lady at his side and his heart was sick for her, for the eyes with the sea waves in them, for the sun-kissed hair, and the smiling lips, and the singing voice, and all the warm gladness of her. He had known it would be like that; and yet he had come. There were days when wisdom did not wear the look of a virtue; and this afternoon, when Pegeen was busy with housework and even Wiggles had wandered away on important business of his own, the man who had been trying to be contented gave up trying and set out to keep tryst with memory, beside a hilltop well, where on a summer day a witch had sat, smiling and weaving spells.
He was in no hurry. There were mile-stones to count along the way. Here she had leaned to look into the brook; there she had stooped to mock a bird’s call. All the little green leaves whispered of her and the red and gold leaves flamed more warmly, remembering her. Archibald wondered whether he was sorry he had come—or glad. Glad, he thought; but it was a sorry gladness.
As he neared the top of the hill, he paused, half inclined to go back, without facing the empty seat under the old oak tree; but running away was a habit he had put aside. With a queer smile that was not gay, he quickened his steps, pushed aside the branches that had grown across the path, and came out into the open. There was the well. There was the great tree. And there, on the mossy bank, in the shadow, sat the witch, smiling and weaving spells!
She sprang to her feet, at sight of him. The smiles fled; but the spells worked on. The two looked into each other’s eyes, questioning, avowing. Without telling, other than the glad surrender in her face, the man knew that the world was changed for them, that the walls were down. All wonder, and great desire, he opened his arms; and, there in the enchanted wood, where “anything might happen,” they met “the Wonderful Thing.”
Pegeen was alone in her garden, when Archibald and the Smiling Lady went to her. As she saw them coming, the soberness that had hung about her since Richard Meredith had left her a half hour earlier melted away, and she ran to meet them with a joyful little cry. It was hard that the two she loved best must have their happiness at the cost of some one else; but, after all, it was glorious that they were happy.
“We’ve been talking about you, Peg,” Archibald said, when they three and Wiggles were comfortably seated on the doorstep—which was quite wide enough for four, if nobody minded crowding—and nobody did—“How would you like to go to boarding school this fall?”
Peg’s face clouded.
“It wouldn’t be far away, dear,” the Smiling Lady interposed hastily, “and we’ll be living in town after Thanksgiving; so you could spend all your Sundays and holidays with us; and then we’d all be up here together next summer.”
“It’s awfully sweet of you,” Peg was polite but unconvinced. “I’m ever so much obliged; but I guess I’ll stay right here and see to Mrs. Benderby.”
“Oh, I’ll fix Mrs. Benderby up all right,” Archibald promised. “She can board with the Neals. They want a boarder and I’ll give her an allowance that will make her comfortable. Then she won’t have to work except when she feels just like it.”
Pegeen abandoned Mrs. Benderby to a life of idle luxury, but still thought she would stay in the Valley.
“You won’t need me.” Her voice was wistful as she made the admission. “Miss Moran will see to you—and I’m not jealous, not really, you know, only I’m sort of lonesomey. There’s sure to be somebody here in the Valley that’ll need me and I feel as if I’ve just got to have somebody to see to.”
“We’ll always need you, Peg—always.” Archibald’s arm went round her and drew her close. “Even Miss Moran can’t see to me so that I won’t need you. And there are plenty of people here in the Valley who’d be the better for having you with them; but there’s something you haven’t realized yet, dear. The whole world needs seeing to; and there aren’t many people like you who have a genius for doing it. You mustn’t be wasted on two or three neighbors, here in the Valley, when outside, beyond the hills, there are thousands and thousands needing what you could give them. Don’t you see, Peg? You’ve got to reach those poor unhappy thousands and help them. Other women are doing it—doing it wonderfully. Out in Chicago there’s a woman who must have been a girl with a heart like yours; and now she’s seeing to a whole city and to men and women and children out beyond that city, all over the world. She’s only one of the many; and there’s nothing they are doing that you can’t do, if you’ll work your way to it.
“That’s what Nora and I want to help you to; and school’s the first step toward it. What do you say, Pegeen?”
The child’s face was rapt, illumined. The great blue eyes were seeing visions.
“Oh, my stars!” she murmured longingly. “If I could—if I only could! Wouldn’t it be wonderful?—better than Jizo. Of course I’ll go to school, I’d love to.”
A flash of recollection swept across the future-searching eyes.
“But I’ve got to have time enough in between to see to Mr. Meredith,” she stipulated. “He needs me.”
THE END
ZANE GREY’S NOVELS
May be had wherever books are sold. Ask for Grossett & Dunlap’s list
THE LIGHT OF WESTERN STARS
Colored frontispiece by W. Herbert Dunton.
Most of the action of this story takes place near the turbulent Mexican border of the present day. A New York society girl buys a ranch which becomes the center of frontier warfare. Her loyal cowboys defend her property from bandits, and her superintendent rescues her when she is captured by them. A surprising climax brings the story to a delightful close.
DESERT GOLD
Illustrated by Douglas Duer.
Another fascinating story of the Mexican border. Two men, lost in the desert, discover gold when, overcome by weakness, they can go no farther. The rest of the story describes the recent uprising along the border, and ends with the finding of the gold which the two prospectors had willed to the girl who is the story’s heroine.
RIDERS OF THE PURPLE SAGE
Illustrated by Douglas Duer.
A picturesque romance of Utah of some forty years ago when Mormon authority ruled. In the persecution of Jane Withersteen, a rich ranch owner, we are permitted to see the methods employed by the invisible hand of the Mormon Church to break her will.
THE LAST OF THE PLAINSMEN
Illustrated with photograph reproductions.
This is the record of a trip which the author took with Buffalo Jones, known as the preserver of the American bison, across the Arizona desert and of a hunt in “that wonderful country of yellow crags, deep canons and giant pines.” It is a fascinating story.
THE HERITAGE OF THE DESERT
Jacket in color. Frontispiece.
This big human drama is played in the Painted Desert. A lovely girl, who has been reared among Mormons, learns to love a young New Englander. The Mormon religion, however, demands that the girl shall become the second wife of one of the Mormons—
Well, that’s the problem of this sensational, big selling story.
BETTY ZANE
Illustrated by Louis F. Grant.
This story tells of the bravery and heroism of Betty, the beautiful young sister of old Colonel Zane, one of the bravest pioneers. Life along the frontier, attacks by Indians, Betty’s heroic defense of the beleaguered garrison at Wheeling, the burning of the Fort, and Betty’s final race for life, make up this never-to-be-forgotten story.
Grosset & Dunlap, Publishers, New York