“I knew I should get it; can’t deceive me long,” began Ted, with such an air of pride Dan could not help a short laugh.
“It’s a relief, isn’t it, to have it off your mind? Now, just confide in me and it’s all safe, unless you’ve sworn not to tell.”
“I have.”
“Oh, well, then don’t” and Ted’s face fell, but he was himself again in a moment and said, with the air of a man of the world: “It’s all right—I understand—honour binds—silence to death, etc. Glad you stood by your mate in the hospital. How many did you kill?”
“Only one.”
“Bad lot, of course?”
“A damned rascal.”
“Well, don’t look so fierce; I’ve no objection. Wouldn’t mind popping at some of those bloodthirsty blackguards myself. Had to dodge and keep quiet after it, I suppose.”
“Pretty quiet for a long spell.”
“Got off all right in the end, and headed for your mines and did that jolly brave thing. Now, I call that decidedly interesting and capital. I’m glad to know it; but I won’t blab.”
“Mind you don’t. Look here. Ted, if you’d killed a man, would it trouble you—a bad one, I mean?
The lad opened his mouth to say, “Not a bit,” but checked that answer as if something in Dan’s face made him change his mind. “Well, if it was my duty in war or self-defence, I suppose I shouldn’t; but if I’d pitched into him in a rage, I guess I should be very sorry. Shouldn’t wonder if he sort of haunted me, and remorse gnawed me as it did Aram and those fellows. You don’t mind, do you? It was a fair fight, wasn’t it?”
“Yes, I was in the right; but I wish I’d been out of it. Women don’t see it that way, and look horrified at such things. Makes it hard; but it don’t matter.”
“Don’t tell ’em; then they can’t worry,” said Ted, with the nod of one versed in the management of the sex.
“Don’t intend to. Mind you keep your notions to yourself, for some of ’em are wide of the mark. Now you may read if you like” and there the talk ended; but Ted took great comfort in it, and looked as wise as an owl afterwards.
A few quiet weeks followed, during which Dan chafed at the delay; and when at length word came that his credentials were ready, he was eager to be off, to forget a vain love in hard work, and live for others, since he might not for himself.
So one wild March morning our Sintram rode away, with horse and hound, to face again the enemies who would have conquered him, but for Heaven’s help and human pity.
“Ah, me! it does seem as if life was made of partings, and they get harder as we go on,” sighed Mrs Jo, a week later, as she sat in the long parlour at Parnassus one evening, whither the family had gone to welcome the travellers back.
“And meetings too, dear; for here we are, and Nat is on his way at last. Look for the silver lining, as Marmee used to say, and be comforted,” answered Mrs Amy, glad to be at home and find no wolves prowling near her sheepfold.
“I’ve been so worried lately, I can’t help croaking. I wonder what Dan thought at not seeing you again? It was wise; but he would have enjoyed another look at home faces before he went into the wilderness,” said Mrs Jo regretfully.
“Much better so. We left notes and all we could think of that he might need, and slipped away before he came. Bess really seemed relieved; I’m sure I was” and Mrs Amy smoothed an anxious line out of her white forehead, as she smiled at her daughter, laughing happily among her cousins.
Mrs Jo shook her head as if the silver lining of that cloud was hard to find; but she had no time to croak again, for just then Mr Laurie came in looking well pleased at something.
“A new picture has arrived; face towards the music-room, good people, and tell me how you like it. I call it ‘Only a fiddler’, after Andersen’s story. What name will you give it?”
As he spoke he threw open the wide doors, and just beyond they saw a young man standing, with a beaming face, and a violin in his hand. There was no doubt about the name to this picture, and with the cry “Nat! Nat!” there was a general uprising. But Daisy reached him first, and seemed to have lost her usual composure somewhere on the way, for she clung to him, sobbing with the shock of a surprise and joy too great for her to bear quietly. Everything was settled by that tearful and tender embrace, for, though Mrs Meg speedily detached her daughter, it was only to take her place; while Demi shook Nat’s hand with brotherly warmth, and Josie danced round them like Macbeth’s three witches in one, chanting in her most tragic tones:
“Chirper thou wast; second violin thou art; first thou shalt be. Hail, all hail!”
This caused a laugh, and made things gay and comfortable at once. Then the usual fire of questions and answers began, to be kept up briskly while the boys admired Nat’s blond beard and foreign clothes, the girls his improved appearance—for he was ruddy with good English beef and beer, and fresh with the sea-breezes which had blown him swiftly home—and the older folk rejoiced over his prospects. Of course all wanted to hear him play; and when tongues tired, he gladly did his best for them, surprising the most critical by his progress in music even more than by the energy and self-possession which made a new man of bashful Nat. By and by when the violin—that most human of all instruments—had sung to them the loveliest songs without words, he said, looking about him at these old friends with what Mr Bhaer called a “feeling-full” expression of happiness and content:
“Now let me play something that you will all remember though you won’t love it as I do” and standing in the attitude which Ole Bull has immortalized, he played the street melody he gave them the first night he came to Plumfield. They remembered it, and joined in the plaintive chorus, which fitly expressed his own emotions:
“Oh my heart is sad and weary
Everywhere I roam,
Longing for the old plantation
And for the old folks at home.”
“Now I feel better,” said Mrs Jo, as they all trooped down the hill soon after. “Some of our boys are failures, but I think this one is going to be a success, and patient Daisy a happy girl at last. Nat is your work, Fritz, and I congratulate you heartily.”
“Ach, we can but sow the seed and trust that it falls on good ground. I planted, perhaps, but you watched that the fowls of the air did not devour it, and brother Laurie watered generously; so we will share the harvest among us, and be glad even for a small one, heart’s-dearest.”
“I thought the seed had fallen on very stony ground with my poor Dan; but I shall not be surprised if he surpasses all the rest in the real success of life, since there is more rejoicing over one repentant sinner than many saints,” answered Mrs Jo, still clinging fast to her black sheep although a whole flock of white ones trotted happily before her.
It is a strong temptation to the weary historian to close the present tale with an earthquake which should engulf Plumfield and its environs so deeply in the bowels of the earth that no youthful Schliemann could ever find a vestige of it. But as that somewhat melodramatic conclusion might shock my gentle readers, I will refrain, and forestall the usual question, “How did they end?” by briefly stating that all the marriages turned out well. The boys prospered in their various callings; so did the girls, for Bess and Josie won hono
urs in their artistic careers, and in the course of time found worthy mates. Nan remained a busy, cheerful, independent spinster, and dedicated her life to her suffering sisters and their children, in which true woman’s work she found abiding happiness. Dan never married, but lived, bravely and usefully, among his chosen people till he was shot defending them, and at last lay quietly asleep in the green wilderness he loved so well, with a lock of golden hair upon his breast, and a smile on his face which seemed to say that Aslauga’s Knight had fought his last fight and was at peace. Stuffy became an alderman, and died suddenly of apoplexy after a public dinner. Dolly was a society man of mark till he lost his money, when he found congenial employment in a fashionable tailoring establishment. Demi became a partner, and lived to see his name above the door, and Rob was a professor at Laurence College; but Teddy eclipsed them all by becoming an eloquent and famous clergyman, to the great delight of his astonished mother. And now, having endeavoured to suit everyone by many weddings, few deaths, and as much prosperity as the eternal fitness of things will permit, let the music stop, the lights die out, and the curtain fall for ever on the March family.
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