“Well,” said Creed, carrying the hand he held to his lips, “I reckon I’ll be a member of a big tribe now; maybe I can take up the work yet, and do some good.”
The old man looked at him. Here was the son of his heart—of his mind and nature—the congenial spirit; the welcome companion, interested like himself in abstractions, willing to stake all on an idea. Days of good comradeship stretched before these two. He reached down a brown right hand, and Creed’s thin white one went out to meet it in a quick, nervous clasp.
“Son,” spoke out Jephthah in that deep, sonorous voice of his, “Creed, boy, what you set out to do was a work for a man’s lifetime; but God made you for jest what you aimed then to do and be. Yo’ mighty young yet, but you air formed for a leader of men. To the last day of its life an oak will be an oak and a willer a willer; and yo’ head won’t be grey when you find yo’ work and find yo’self a-doin’ it right.”
“Pap Turrentine!” called Huldah from the kitchen, “Maw wants ye out here.”
The door swung wide; it showed a vision of Nancy Turrentine, flushed, bustling, capable, the crinkled grey hair pushed back above those bright eyes of hers with a prideful hand, entering upon the administration of her new realm. Oh, it had not been easy for one of her spirit to be a poor little widow, living out on the Edge, with nobody but slack Doss Provine to do for her, hardly dishes enough to set the table, often not much to put in them, eking out a scanty living by weaving baskets of white-oak splits. When Judith rode up to the cabin on the Edge that evening of late March, it was the hardest time of the year; now was the mountaineer’s season of cheer and abundance—his richest month. Outside, nuts were gathering, hunting was good, and she had for her provider of wild meat the mightiest hunter in the Turkey Tracks. Jephthah Turrentine’s home was ample and well plenished. There was good store of root crops laid up for winter. Judith had neglected such matters to tend on Creed, but Nancy was already putting in hand the cutting and drying of pumpkins, the threshing out of beans. Here were milk vessels a-plenty to scald and sun—and filling for them afterward. Oh, enough to do with!—the will to do had always been Nancy’s—and for yokefellow in the home, one who would carry his share and pull true—a real man—the only one there had ever been for Nancy.
“Pap,” called Huldah’s insistent voice again.
“All right—I’m a-comin’,” declared Jephthah, then, with the door in his hand, turned back, meaning to finish what had been in his mind to say to Creed.
Jephthah Turrentine was himself that day a bridegroom, wedded to the one love of his life; he appreciated to the full that which had come to Creed. He had thought to say to the boy that now was the opening of great things, to remind him that one must first live man’s natural life, must prove himself as son, brother, husband, father, and neighbour, before he will be accepted or efficient in the larger calling. He would have said that life must teach the man before the man could teach his fellows.
But the words of homely wisdom in which he would have clothed this truth remained unspoken. He glanced back and saw the dark head bent close above the yellow one, as Judith performed some little service for Creed. The girl’s rich brown beauty glowed and bloomed before the steady, blue fire of her lover’s eyes. She set down her tumbler and knelt beside him. Their lips were murmuring, they had forgotten all the world save themselves and their love. Jephthah looked at the rapt young faces; these two were on the mount of transfiguration; the light ineffable was all about them.
“Lord, what’s the use of a old fool like me sayin’ I, ay, yes or no to sech a pair as that?” he whispered as he went out softly and closed the door.