A Galahad of the Creeks; The Widow Lamport

by S. Levett Yeats

"Are you feeling very tired?"

How the worn look passed from the man's face at his wife's question! "No, Ruys; tired--not a bit of it." Peregrine cut in here and asked if it was not an off day with the mission schools. "Yes, and that's the worst of it. It means that on Monday one has to start fresh again. Satan takes a long pull on Saturday and Sunday, and these Burmans seem to have a natural affinity for him."

"I suppose I should hardly say it to you, but it seems to me we are beginning at the wrong end. We are giving these people the Gospel before they have been put in a state to understand it. How can they understand the greatest of all mysteries, which even we--I say it with all deference--do not understand?"

"'Knock, and it shall be opened,'" quoted Habakkuk. "Mr. Jackson, I was once as you are, searching for a light, groping about in darkness and----"

The flutelike voice of Mrs. Smalley intervened. "Come, and finish your speech in the garden. I have had my tea-table set out there, and it looks as if it were expecting us. Come along, Mr. Jackson, and come, husband."

She put her hand slightly on Habakkuk's shoulder as she said these words, and the face of the priest shone with a great joy; but underneath the long lashes of her eyes she glanced softly on Peregrine. Jackson's honest heart rebelled against this; he felt that there was a double game being played, felt it indistinctly, but still that perception gave him a little extra strength, as if there was a flaw in the chain that bound him. Yet the thought was horribly disloyal to this peerless woman, to impute to her the motives of a common flirt, and it was with a conflict within a conflict in his heart that he took his seat on the rustic bench near the tea-table and watched the white hands of his hostess as she busied herself over the delicate teacups. Habakkuk declined to sit down. He helped himself to a huge slice of cake, and, holding this in one hand and his tea in the other, paced up and down ready to carry on the discussion. He cut a half-moon out of the cake with an enormous, bite, and, waving the remnants in the air, resumed his speech. "Wal, as I was saying, I was searching for a light. I had not then received my call to the ministry, and while hunting for food for the soul was compelled to shift round considerable for food for the body. I had taken my medical degrees, but the Lord was good to the folk of Derringerville, and they flourished and were strong. Hence I concluded to betake me down south, and near the Sierra Blanca found an ideal spot for a doctor. There were thousands of typhoid microbes in every square inch of air--in fact, it was where typhoid had its office--but the inhabitants were spry. At first they died rather than call me in, but Elder Bullin, a real smart man he was, convoked the estates one day, and then a deputation waited on me--there was Calvin Snipe, Dacotah Dick, and the elder himself. They drank the half bottle of whisky I had left, and then put the matter squarely to me. I was to be paid a thumping good salary as doctor to the town. If any one was ill, however, the salary should cease until he was well again or died; the committee was to decide in the latter event if I had done my best, and, if the decision was favourable, arrears would be paid me on the first clean bill of health. I was, however, bound down for five years, and, seeing I was on the hard pan, they offered to pay down an advance. I rose to the situation, papers were signed then and there, and Dacotah Dick paid me my advance on the nail. Next day the whole place was down with fever, and I went to work--had to take off my coat to it. There was, of course, no pay for me, but I had the advance, and rubbed along on that. By-and-bye the money dwindled away, and I was once more stranded. I applied for more, but was sternly refused. I then suggested resigning, and Calvin Snipe pulled out his six-shooter and asked if I could read the maker's name on it for him. Wal, things were looking very blue, so one fine night I----"

"Good gracious! Here is Mr. Hawkshawe, and half a dozen men with him. I wonder what the matter can be? He is coming straight up to us." And, sure enough, there was Hawkshawe riding into the gate with a tail of policemen behind him. He halted the men with a quick order, and, dismounting, walked rapidly across the lawn toward the tea drinkers, accompanied by one who appeared from his dress to be a subaltern police officer. The man was travel-stained and bespattered with mud, and he held one arm tightly to his side as he leaned heavily on a long curved sword as if to support himself.

"How are you, Mrs. Smalley? Very sorry to interrupt your tea party, but this is pressing business.--Good afternoon, doctor.--Look here, Jackson, they've looted the treasury at Yeo. Here is Serferez Ali, my inspector, who will tell you all about it--and great news, too, with the bad. I think we have that scoundrel Bah Hmoay redhanded at last. I heard you were here, and stopped on my way to tell you. I have, of course, made an official report; you will find that the garrison was weakened on the strength of a forged order from me--the order is with my report."

Jackson was struck dumb for a moment by the enormity of the disaster; he found voice, however, to ask if the whole of the money had been stolen, and if Bah Hmoay had been arrested.

"The money's all gone," said Hawkshawe, "and Bah Hmoay isn't arrested, but he will be, I hope, in twenty-four hours. In the meantime I've placed a watch on the pagoda, and now there is not a moment to lose. Stay"--he bent and whispered a few words in Jackson's ear, and then with a hasty good-bye turned and went off. When Hawkshawe had gone Jackson turned to the inspector and asked him to briefly detail what had happened. Dr. Smalley's knowledge of the language was of great help at this moment, and Serferez Ali, presenting the hilt of his sword for Jackson to touch, began: