CHAPTER XII.

WANTED TO DREAM.

Lyman walked slowly down the tree-darkened lane that led to the main street of the village. Beneath a forest oak, where the desolate town cow and the stray sheep had come to seek freedom from the annoyances of the day, he halted and looked back. The few remaining lanterns were like fire-flies in a growth of giant grass. The members of the "string-band" were singing a negro melody. The notes came floating with the mirth-shriek of a maiden, and the hoarse laugh of the boy who aspired to be a man. Far away on a hillside a dog was barking at the mystery of night. Near by a mocking-bird, in a cage, was singing out of the melodious fullness of his heart. The muser felt two distinct senses, one that a sweet voice had touched the quick of his nature, the other that he had been grandiloquent in his talk while looking at the stars. She had threatened to destroy herself. No, she would not do that. She could but shrink from it if the time should come. But to resolve upon it, driven by a father who could not understand her, was so girlishly natural, so complete a bit of romantic despair, that she must have found it a source of great consolation.

Warren was waiting. "I'll bet you didn't bring a cigar," he said, tossing a cob pipe on the table.

"You've lost," Lyman replied, rolling out a handful of cigars upon a pile of newspapers.

Warren reached over, his eyes snapping. "Gold bands," he said. "Oh, I knew you would bring them if they were to be had. You are all right, Samuel," he added, striking a match. "Yes, sir, but I have been sitting up here, almost envious of the good time you were having. However, I was not sorry that I had not faced the Hon. S. Boyd. He frowned at me the last time we met. I can stand to be dunned once in awhile, but I don't like to be frowned at. Did he say anything about the money I owe him?"

"Well," said Lyman, leaning back in his chair, "the subject was mentioned."

"What, the old skinflint! Did he blurt it out before everybody?"

"No. He talked to me privately."

"Well, I am glad he had that much consideration. But why did he want to speak of it at all? I suppose you told him I'd pay it as soon as I could, didn't you?"

"Yes, I told him so."

"Well, then, what more does he want? No man can pay a debt before he can. There are in this town some of the queerest people I ever saw. They expect a man to pay a debt whether he's got the money or not. I'll pay that fellow and tire him to death with meeting him afterward. I'll cross the street a dozen times a day to shake hands with him. Yes, sir, I'll make him wish that I owed him."

"He sent you this," said Lyman, handing over the five dollars.

Warren's eyes flew wide open with astonishment. "Sent it to me?"

"Yes, he wants two hundred copies of our next edition. One hundred to discharge the old debt, and the five dollars is to pay for the other hundred."

"Lyman, you rubbed the lamp. Don't rub it again right away. Let me hold this thing a minute."

"You may hold it until the express company takes it away from you."

"Hush, don't make a noise. You'll wake me up. Let me dream."

"She was there," said Lyman, after a brief silence.

"A dreamer listening to a dream," Warren vacantly replied.

"I had quite a talk with her. She is not a doll. She's a woman with a soul and a mind."

"You are gone," said Warren, wrapping the bank note about his finger.

"No, I'm not gone. I am decidedly here, and I am going to stay here to protect her."

He related the talk that had passed between the young woman and himself. He told even of his gaze at the stars and his theatric declaration to stand as her protector. But he did not tell that she had caught his hand. In that act there was something sacred to him.

"As I said before, you're all right," declared Warren. "No one but a great man could have done what you have done tonight. Why, that old fellow was a jewel, and was not revealed until you brushed the dust off him. Two hundred copies? He shall have them, together with a write-up that will make this town's hair stand on end. And, by the way, don't you think you had better get at it while it's fresh?"

"Don't you fear. It will never fade, my boy. It is in my mind to stay."

"Look here, don't let that joke turn on you," said Warren. "It would be serious if you should fall in love with her."

"Yes, but I won't."

"Were you ever caught by a woman?"

"Not very hard; were you?"

"Rather," Warren answered; "I loved a girl several years ago, while I was running a paper over at Beech Knob. Yes, sir, and I reckon I loved her as hard as a woman was ever loved. I thought about her every day. And I believe she cared for me."

"It's of no use to ask you why you didn't marry her. Money, I suppose."

"That's it, Lyman; money. You see, her old man was rather well fixed, and one day when he was in the office I borrowed ten dollars of him. Then I couldn't go to the house, you see, and before I could pay it back the girl was married. Lost one of the best girls this country ever produced just because I couldn't raise ten dollars to pay her father. I guess Brother McElwin wishes now that he had let you have the hundred. It would have given him a hold on you."

"It would have given him a club," said Lyman. "A man could snatch out a hundred dollar debt and run me off the bluff. 'Lover's Leap,'" he added to himself, smiling. Warren looked up and saw the smile, but he had not caught the words.

"It's too serious a matter to grin over," he remarked, sadly, but with a bright eye turned toward the cigars that lay upon the pile of newspapers. "It's a curse to be poor," he said, with solemnity, though his eye was delighted.

"A crime," Lyman replied. "It gives no opportunity to be generous, sneers at truth and calls virtue a foolish little thing. It is the philosopher, with money out at interest, that smiles upon the contentment and blessedness of the poor man."

"Helloa, you are more of a grumbler than I ever saw you before."

Lyman leaned back with his arms spread out, and laughed. "It would seem that the rich man's coach wheel has raked off a part of my hide, but it hasn't, my boy." He got up and walked about the room; he went to the window. Damp air was stirring and an old map was flapping slowly against the dingy wall. He gazed over the housetops in the direction of the grove where the paper lanterns had hung, but all was dark and rain was fast falling.

"It's raining," he said. "I'm glad it held up until after the picnic."

"Yes," Warren replied, "for we might have been cheated out of the cigars and the five dollars."

"And I might have been robbed of a pleasant few moments."

"You are gone," said Warren, yawning.

"No, not yet, but I am going." He reached for his hat.

"In the rain?" Warren asked. "I'm going to smoke another cigar before I turn in. Stay here tonight; you can have my cot. I'd as soon sleep on the floor."

"No, I won't rob you."

"Rob me? Your work tonight would make a stone slab a soft place for me to rest."

"And my mind might turn a bed, formed of the breast feathers of a goose, into a stone slab. Good night."

The hour was late, but a light was burning in old Jasper's house. As Lyman stepped upon the veranda Henry Bostic came out of the sitting room.

"Ah, Mr. Lyman, but you are dripping wet."

"I hadn't noticed it, but it is raining rather hard. You are not going out in it, are you?"

"I have but a short distance to go. I found Miss Annie so entertaining that I didn't know it was so late. I came to invite her to hear me preach the third Sunday of next month, at Mt. Zion, on the Fox Grove road, five miles from town. I should like you to be present."

"Yes, as I was present at your first—"

"Don't mention that, Mr. Lyman," he said, hoisting his umbrella. "That was not wholly free from a spirit of revenge, and I have prayed for pardon. My mother has called on the McElwins to beseech them to forgive me, and I went to the bank today on the same errand."

"Wait a moment," said Lyman, as the young minister moved toward the steps leading to the dooryard. "Did the banker forgive you?"

The young man stood with his umbrella under the edge of the roof, and the rain rumbled upon it. "No, sir. He said I had done his family a vital injury. I told him I might have been an instrument in the hands of a higher power, and he sneered at me. I hope you forgive me, Mr. Lyman."

"To be frank, I am secretly glad that it happened," Lyman replied.

"But not maliciously or even mischievously glad, I hope," said the preacher.

"No, I am glad for other reasons, but I cannot explain them."

The rain rumbled upon the umbrella and the preacher was silent for a moment. "Mr. McElwin said that if I could induce you to sign the petition he would forgive me. And I told him I would. Will you sign it?"

"I cannot, Mr. Bostic."

"May I ask why?"

"Because I stand as the young woman's protector. She despises Sawyer, and her father was determined that she should be his wife."

"Did she tell you, sir?"

"Yes, and I have promised; but this is confidential."

"Then, sir, the petition must not be signed. The ceremony, after all, was a blessing, and I shall not again crave the banker's forgiveness. Good night."