"He didn't have time to paint it, teacher," she began joyfully; "but it'll be jest as comf'table to set in. He's been explainin' of it to me—Lute has—ye see, it's a cheer. He made it for ye, himself. And all you've got to do is to turn this 'ere crank, here—" Grandma's countenance was radiant with wonder and approval—"and up it'll go—so—as high as ye want it! and this 'ere can be shoved in and out for ye to put yer feet on, and this 'ere back can be let anyways ye want it. He seen a picture o' one in a paper, once, and he went and made this by his own eye, and all the hinges and cranks, and everythin' as slick as a pin! He didn't say anythin'," Grandma continued, in a slightly lowered, insinuating tone of voice; "about likin' to come up and see ye, when ye was able to set up, and you know, teacher, as I don't believe in meddlin' in young folks' affairs; but it appeared to me, havin' had so much experience with the men folks as I have, that may be he was kind o' hangin' around waitin' for an invitation—for ye see, they're goin' to sail now in a vary few days."
So, a little later, I sat up in my new chair and received the Cradlebow, in a loose, trailing gown of rich material, daintily embroidered. In the midst of my narrow and humble surroundings I had an exiled-princess sort of consciousness, and recognized with a new pleasure the Cradlebow's lordly face and bearing, as he stooped on entering the little red door.
Living in a reverie, still,—a fancy, a day-dream, strangely vivid and life-like, but not real,—not real, I was so far softened by my illness that, with the delicious sense of returning health and strength, I was content, for a time, to live simply in the present, to dismiss the stern warden, Duty, from my thoughts, and that ever-grave necessity for maintaining a mental and moral superiority which had so oppressed me.
"It had been weary work living on the heights, and what had it all amounted to?" I asked myself, with a recklessness too tranquil, now, to be converted into bitterness. "It was so much easier and safer, lower down." But while I doubted and almost gave up the struggle, the Cradlebow aspired ever to greater faith and hope in life, and enthusiasm for life's work.
And with all this, it was evident that there had been with him an inward struggle and preparation, a silent conquering of self. With a vain discontent for my own failure, I marvelled at the glory which had crowned his humble efforts. "This, too," I thought, "is a sort of heroism:" and my spirit of condescension towards the youth took on something new, like reverence.
It was even with pride that I reflected, "Here is a strength I may rely upon by and by;" and I was proud that my lover's kiss was so pure upon my lips, his breath on my cheek—ah, foolish sleeping heart! It was well that the dream should grow passionate, even intense, for the awakening was near.
In the bewildered and feverish condition of mind in which I had last left the Wallencamp school-house, I had been consciously impressed, at least, with the idea that I should probably never enter those familiar walls again, never again as the teacher. And now, I had no intention of resuming my labors there.
But I did not wish to flaunt my boasted independence before the family circle at Newtown, until my eyes should have assumed a little more nearly their usual proportions, and my manner of going up and down stairs should have become less strikingly feeble.
I decided to remain in Wallencamp a few days to recuperate. I was not impatient nor especially chagrined on account of this necessity. Secretly willing to await the departure of the Cradlebow's ship, to have a brief season of rest from all care and responsibility among the scenes of my past labors—a little breathing space in which to study these people quietly, to exchange unhurried kindly words with them before I should go away from them forever—I was glad to have it so.
Such welcomings and congratulations as I received from the Wallencampers when I was able to get down the stairs once more! I felt very happy, almost humble, sitting where the sunlight poured in at the open door of Grandma's living-room.