The Mystery of the Locks

by E. W. Howe

Thus he argued to himself as he walked along; but when he remembered how dull his life would be should her smile never come into it again, he could not help shuddering.

"But I have been so considerate of others," he said aloud, as he pursued his way, "that even the worms in my path impudently expected me to go round them, and seemed to honestly believe me unworthy of living at all if I did not. Let me not show a lack of consideration now that my heart is concerned."

Above his house, and so near the river that the water rippled at its base, was a rugged bluff, separated from the town by a deep and almost impassable ravine, and for this reason it was seldom visited; Allan Dorris had found it during his first month in the town, and he resolved to visit it now, and get the full benefit of the sunshine and delightful air of the perfect summer day.

It occurred to him as he sat down to rest, after making the difficult ascent, that he would like to build a house there, and live in it, where he would never be disturbed. But did he want solitude? There seemed to be some question of this, judging from the look of doubt on his downcast face. When he first came to Davy's Bend, he believed that the rewards of life were so unsatisfactory that all within his reach that he desired was his own company; but an experience of a month had satisfied him that solitude would not do, and he confessed that he did not know what he wanted. If he knew what it was his heart craved, he believed that it was beyond him, and unobtainable; and so his old habit of thinking was resumed, though he could never tell what it was all about. Everything he desired was impossible; that within his reach was distasteful—he could make no more of the jumble in his brain, and finally sat with a vacant stare on his face, thoroughly ashamed of the vagrant thoughts which gave him a headache but no conclusions.

Even the pure air and the bright sunshine, that he thought he wanted while coming along the road, were not satisfactory now; and as he started to walk furiously up the hill, to tire himself, he met Annie Benton in the path he was following.

She had been gathering wild flowers, and, as he came upon her, she was so intent on arranging them after some sort of a plan, that she was startled when he stood beside her.

"I was thinking of you," she said hurriedly, instead of returning his greeting. "I intended sending you these."

Dorris could not help being amused that he had encountered the girl in a place where he had gone to avoid her, but there was evidence in his light laugh that he was glad of it; so he seated himself on a boulder beside the path, and asked what she had been thinking of him.

"That you were a very odd man," she answered frankly.

"That has always been a complaint against me," he said, with a tone of impatience. "I think I have never known any one who has not said, during the course of our acquaintance, that I was 'odd;' whatever is natural in me has been called 'odd' before. If I wanted bread, and was not satisfied with a stone, they called me 'odd.' The wishes of the horse that has a prejudice for being bridled on the left side are respected, but there is no consideration for a man who cannot be contented simply because it is his duty. I remember that we had a horse of this description in our family when I was a boy, and if he injured any one who failed to respect his wishes, the man was blamed, not the horse. But the people do not have equal charity for a man who is not content when circumstances seem to demand it of him, no difference what the circumstances are, or how repugnant they may be to his taste. So you were finding fault with me? I am not surprised at it, though; most people do."