Purple Springs - Nellie L. McClung
"The people at Purple Springs adopted the name she had put upon her
gate--but ostracized her. The fact that she did not tell them anything
of her part, was proof to them she was not a good woman, and a man
from Ontario, who knew something about the case, fed the curiosity of
her neighbors with gossip which confirmed their suspicions."
"For three years she has lived alone, not a neighbor has come to her
door--and she has kept herself and little Jim; has worked the
farm, educated her boy, for the trustees would not let him come to
school--kept sweet and sane in spite of it all.
"When I went to see her, she cried with joy to see a human being of
kindly intention in her house. But the neighbors cut me dead, and kept
the children home from school because I went to live with her."
A groan broke from him. "Poor girl!" he said brokenly, "Poor girl, she
didn't deserve that."
Pearl's heart was softening, so she hurried on.
"The little fellow got into a fight at school, because a boy said
things about his mother. He is the sweetest tempered child I ever
knew, but he knew when to fight, and thrashed a boy a head taller than
himself; and the trustees turned him out."
"What kind of people are they?" he stormed. "It was a brave thing for
the boy to defend his mother--a brave thing I tell you. The other boy
should have been expelled--you are the teacher--why did you let them?"
Pearl let him rage, then very quietly she said, "It happened three
years before I knew them--but you should not blame the boy, Mr.
Graham, or even the trustees. They were under no obligation to protect
the woman or her boy. The boy's own grandfather had said much worse
things about her than the boy at the school. He not only insulted
her, but his own son as well--when the rage was on him. So why should
strangers spare her?"
"Go on," he said hoarsely, "let me hear it all."
She was standing in front of him now, and her eyes were driving the
truth deep into his soul. Something about her eyes, or her voice with
its rich mellowness, caused him to start and exclaim.
"Who are you, girl--tell me, who you are--I have heard your voice
somewhere! My God! was it you? was it you?"
"Yes," said Pearl, "it was me; and when the women of the city here,
who had come to you and tried to break down your stubborn prejudices,
tried to reason with you, but found it all in vain; when they told me
that first night to think of some sad case that I had known of women
who had suffered from the injustice of the law and men's prejudice,
and strike without mercy, I thought of your daughter-in-law and all
that she had suffered. I saw again the hungry look in her sweet face,
when I went to see her. I saw the gray hairs and the lines of sorrow;
I saw again the heroic efforts she makes to give her boy everything
that the world is bent on denying him--I thought of these things--and
the rest was easy. There was no other way, sir; you would not listen;
you would not move an inch--you had to be broken!"
Speechless, almost breathless, he looked at her--all the fight had
gone out of him.
"I am going now, sir," she said. "I have delivered her message. She
only wanted to clear your son's memory. She will tell the people now
who she is, and prove her marriage, for little Jim's sake.
"Don't go, girl," he cried, "sit down--tell me more. Tell me what the
boy is like--how big is he?" "The boy is like you," said Pearl, "a
tall lad for ten; clever far beyond his years."
"Does he know about me--does he hate me--has she told him?" His voice
was pitiful in its eagerness.
"Not a word--the boy has a heart of love, and as sunny a disposition
as any child could have. She has made his life a dream of happiness,
in spite of all."
The old man's face began to quiver, and a sob tore its way upward from
his heart. His face was hidden in his hands.
"Would she ever forgive me?" he said, at last, lifting his head.
"Would she believe me if I said I was sorry--would she have pity on a
broken old man, who sees the evil he has done--would the boy let
me love him--and try to make it up to him and his mother? You know
her--why don't you answer me girl? Is there no hope that she might
forgive me?"
Pearl stepped back without a word, as Annie Gray came quickly across
the lawn. She had been standing in the shade of a maple tree, waiting
for Pearl's signal.
A cry broke from Mrs. Graham, Jim's mother, a welcoming cry of joy.
The old man rose to his feet, uncertainly holding out both his hands.
"My girl," he cried "I don't deserve it--but can you forgive me?"
And Annie Gray, who had suffered so bravely, so tearlessly, found her
heart swept clean of resentment or bitter memory as she looked at him,
for it was Jim's father, old, sad and broken, who called to her, and
to Jim's father's arms she went with a glad cry.
"Dad!" she said, "Oh Dad! Little Jim and I are very tired of being
orphans!"
And on the back veranda behind them, where she had been crouching with
her ear to the paling, Rosie came out of hiding and burst out like a
whole hallelujah chorus, and with the empty scrub pail in one hand,
and the brush in the other, beat the cymbals as she sang:
"O that will be glory for me,
Glory for you and glory for me,
When by His grace I shall look on His face,
That will be glory for me!"
CHAPTER XXIV
HOME AGAIN
Quit your whistlin' Jimmy, and hold your whist--all of you--don't you
know your poor sister is dead for sleep. Hasn't she been up hill and
down dale this last six weeks. I never saw the like of it, and it's a
God's mercy she ever lived through it--and then last night when she
drove over from her school nothing would do your pa but she must talk
half the night, when she should have been in bed. So now clear out you
lads, and let's keep the house quiet, for Pearl is a light sleeper and
always was."
"And a light stepper too, ma, for here I am--up and dressed, and
hungry as a bear." It was Pearl herself who opened the stairs' door.
A shout of joy arose from the assembly in the kitchen, dearer to Pearl
than any burst of hand-clapping she had ever heard in a theatre, and
there was a rush for the first kiss, which Danny landed neatly, though
we must admit it was done by racing over his brother Patsey, who sat
on the floor tying his boot, and Patsey's ruffled feelings did not
subside until Pearl opened her valise, which stood inside the "room"
door, and brought out jack-knives for the youngest four boys. Patsey
declared, still smarting over the indignity of being run over, and
stood upon, that Danny should not get a knife at all, but Mrs. Watson
interposed for her latest born by saying:
"O Patsey, dear, don't be hard on him. He was just that overjoyed at
seein' Pearl, he never noticed what he was standin' on; anything would
ha' done him just as well as you."
"I'll overjoy him, you bet," grumbled Patsey--tenderly feeling the
back of his neck, "when I get him outside. I'll show him what it feels
like to have some one stand on your neck, with heavy boots."
Danny made no defence, but gazed rapturously on his sister, and
expectantly at the valise, whose bulging sides gave forth promise of
greater treasures yet to come.
"I have some things here for broken hearts and rainy days," said
Pearl, "that Ma and Mary will be placed in charge of. I believe a
skinned neck should qualify, so if Patsey Watson will dry his tears
and iron out his face and step back against the wall, close his
eyes--and smile--he will get a pleasant surprise."
Patsey complied with all the conditions. Indeed, he not only smiled,
he grinned, showing a gaping expanse in the front of his mouth from
which the middle tooth had gone, like a missing gate in a neat white
fence.
When Pearl placed a box in his hands, which contained the makings and
full directions for setting up a red and black box-kite, a picture of
which in full flight adorned the cover, a war-whoop of joy rent the
air.
"Ain't you the luckiest kid!" cried Tommy enviously, as he crowded to
get another look. "If there's anything goin', you get it."
"Now clear out, all you boys, and let Pearl get her breakfast," said
Mary. "I haven't had a chance to speak to her yet, and I want to know
how the girls are wearing their hair and how long a girl of sixteen
should wear her skirts, and lots of things."
The boys departed to make whistles with the new knives, Pearl offering
a prize for the shrillest and fartherest reaching; to be tried at
twelve o'clock noon, and silence settled once more on the kitchen.
"It's sort of too bad you came home on Saturday, Pearl," said her
mother anxiously, as she toasted a slice of bread over the
glowing wood coals. "The boys will pester you to death today and
tomorrow--though of course I know you have no other time."
"I like to be pestered, ma," said Pearl, as she began on a generous
helping of bacon and eggs. "Home is the best place, ma, and I never
knew just how good it was to have home and folks of my own, as the day
I went to school and found no children there. Isn't it queer, ma,
how hard people can be on each other. It makes me afraid God must be
disappointed lots of times, and feel like pulling down another flood
and getting away to a fresh start again.
"But I am not going to talk about anything--until I get back to
feeling the way I did when I went away. I want to see the hens and
the cows and the new pigs. I want to get out in the honest, freckly
sunshine. Do the potatoes need hoeing, ma? All right, pa and I will
go at them. I like people, and all that, but I have to mix in lots of
blue sky and plants, and a few good, honest horses, cows, dogs and
cats--who have no underlying motives and are never suspicious or
jealous, and have no regrets over anything they've done."
"But don't you like the city, Pearl?" Mary asked. "Don't you wish we
all lived there? I do, you bet."
"I am glad my people live right here, Mary, out in the open, where
there's room to breathe and time to think. O, I like the city, with
its street cars weaving the streets together like shuttles; I love
their flashing blue and red and green lights, as they slide past the
streets, clanging their bells, and with faces looking out of the
windows, and every one of the people knowing where they are going. I
like the crowds that surge along the streets at night, and the good
times they are having. I like it--for a visit. It's a great place to
go to--if you have your own folks with you--I think I'd like it--on a
wedding trip--or the like of that.
"But I want to see everything 'round home," said Pearl quickly. "Is
the garden all up, and what did you sow, and where are the hens set,
and did the cabbage plants catch?"
"You bet they did," said Mary proudly. "I transplanted them, and I put
them in close. Pa said I would need to take out every second one, but
I said we'd try them this way for once. You know the way cabbages
sprawl and straggle all over the place--all gone to leaves. Well, mine
won't, you bet, they'll heart up, because there's nothing else for
them to do. Pa admits now its the best way. They've got no room to
grow spraddly and they're just a fine sight already. Cabbages are just
like any one else; it doesn't do to give them too much of their own
way, and let them think they own the earth."
When breakfast was over, Pearl, Mary and Mrs. Watson went out into
the hazy blue sunshine. The ravine below the house was musical with
thrushes and meadow-larks. The blossoms had gone, and already the wild
cherries and plums were forming their fruit. Cattle fed peacefully on
the river banks, and some were cropping the volunteer growth of oats
that had come on the summer fallow. The grain was just high enough to
run ripples of light, as the gentlest of breezes lazily passed.
Pearl remembered the hopes and visions that had come to her the first
day she and her father had come to the farm, and through all its
dilapidation and neglect, she had seen that it could be made into a
home of comfort and prosperity, and now the dream had come true. The
Watson family were thriving; their farm had not failed them; comforts,
and even a few luxuries were theirs, and Pearl's heart grew very soft
and tender with a sense of gratitude.
It was not too good to be true, she thought, as she looked at the
comfortable home, the new barn and the populous farmyard spread out
under the quivering sunshine.
"It was not too good to be true," thought Pearl. "I can't complain,
even if some of my dreams have failed me--and maybe--who knows?"
"It's got to come right," she thought it so hard, she looked up to see
if Mary or her mother noticed. But they were busy with a hidden-away
nest, just found in the willow windbreak.
The news of the neighborhood was given to her by Mary.
"The Paines are putting up a new house, Pearl, and Mrs. Paine has some
real nice clothes, and they seem to be getting on far better."
"That's good," said Pearl, and then added, with such deep conviction,
as if she were trying to convince some one, she said:
"There's nothing too good to be true."
At noon, when all the family had been fed, and the horses were resting
in the well-bedded stalls--John Watson gave himself and his horses a
two hours' rest in the heat of the day--when every one was present,
Pearl told them something of her adventures on the six weeks of her
absence. Especially did she tell the young brothers of the lonesome
little boy who had no playmates, but who loved his mother so much he
would not let her know that he was lonely.
Patsey had a solution of the difficulty:
"Take me back, when you go, Pearl, and I'll play with him, and let him
fly my kite n' everything."
"O, he isn't lonely now," Pearl said, "thank you all the same--but I'm
going to bring him over in the holidays, for he needs to play with
boys of his own age."
"Danny better not run over him, and stand on his neck, though--he
ain't used to it--the way we are," Patsy said, but was promptly
advised to forget it, and let Pearl go on with the story, by Danny
himself, to whom the subject was growing painful.
"His grandfather and grandmother came out when we did," Pearl said,
"and they're staying at Purple Springs, and Jim and his grandfather
are together all the time. Mrs. Gray--her real name is Mrs. Graham
now--doesn't want her boy brought up in the city, and his grandfather
is tired of the city too, so they're all living in the brown house,
and every day's a picnic day."
"But oh! say we did have one of the grandest picnics a week after we
got home from the city. On Mrs. Graham's farm there's a little stream
which runs down to the river, and we got it cleaned out, and a big,
long table made, and seats and all. Jim and his grandfather did the
work--he was brought up on a farm, and can do anything. And the two
women cooked for days, and I went round and asked every one to come to
the picnic--and I told them who Mrs. Gray was, and all about it."
"Told each one in a secret, I suppose, and told them not to tell,"
said her father, smiling.
"I hope you rubbed it in, good and plenty," said Mary, "about them
bein' so mean and full of bad thoughts."
"I did my best," said Pearl, "especially with some of them who had had
so much to say, and they were keen to come, I tell you, to meet the
Premier. That's what he'll always be called, too, and he sure looked
that day when he sat at the head of the table, with the sunshine
dappling the long table, with its salads and jellies and plates of
sliced ham, and all the people sitting around kind of humble and
sheepish. He wore his Prince Albert coat and his silk hat. He didn't
want to--he thought it wasn't the thing for a picnic, but I held him
up to it, for I didn't want the people to see him in his corduroy
hunting suit. I know how impressed they would be with the fine
clothes, and I was determined they should have every thrill.
"So he put on all his good clothes, even to his gray spats. I had to
argue a long time to get them on him. He said they looked foppish, but
I just got the button-hook and put them on him while he was arguing,
and asked him who thought of this picnic anyway! and he just laughed
and said he guessed he had to pass under the rod.
"And after all the people had been introduced, and the men were
standing back, pretty hot and uncomfortable in their white shirts, he
got up and asked every one to have a seat at the table, for he wanted
to say a few words before we began to eat.
"You could have heard a leaf fall, it was so still, and then he told
them all about his son, and how he didn't understand him, and never
made a chum of him, and how he was so taken up with politics he forgot
to be a father to his own boy. And he told about his son's marriage,
and the whole story, right up to the time I went to see him in the
city."
"'It's not easy telling this,' he said, 'but I put my daughter-in-law
in wrong in this neighborhood, and I am going to make it right if I
can. She is a noble, brave woman,' he said, 'and I am proud of her. I
lost the election,' he continued, 'but I am glad of it, for in losing
it, I found a daughter and a grandson,' and then he put his hand on my
shoulder and said, 'and here's the deepest conspirator in the country,
who managed the whole thing. This is the girl who made fun of me, and
lambasted me, but who brought my daughter-in-law and me together,
and when she runs for the Legislature, I promise I will get out and
campaign for her.'
"Every one laughed then, and the people crowded up around him, and
Annie, and you never saw so many people laughing and crying at the one
time in your life.
"We had a big boiler of coffee on the little tin stove in the trees,
and I grabbed off the white pitchers, and the biggest girls from the
school helped serve, and we got the people all started in to eat, for
it doesn't do to let people's feelings go too far.
"When they had quieted down a little, and were nearly through eating,
the minister, who was at the other end of the table, got up and said
he had an idea he wanted to pass on.
"'I'm ashamed,' he said--and I know he was--'of the way this community
has treated Mrs. Gray and Jimmy,'--he didn't seem able to call her
anything else either. 'On behalf of the district of Purple Springs, I
apologize. We'll show our apology in something better than words, too,
I hope,' he said, kind of swallowing his Adam's apple. 'We denied her
child the right to play with our children, through our stupid and
cruel thoughtlessness, now let us apologize by doing something for all
the children of this neighborhood. This is a beautiful spot, a natural
park; let us make it the Jim Gray Playgrounds, with swings, and
sand-pile and acting bars and swimming pool, with a baseball ground up
on the hill; where all our children, young people and old people too,
can gather and be young and human and sociable together.'
"The people broke out into cheers and cries of 'We'll do it!' It
seemed to relieve them.
"'And let us hold our church service here on Sundays, too, when the
weather is fine. Our religion has been too stuffy, too mouldy, too
damp, too narrow. It needs the sunshine and the clear air of heaven to
sweeten it and revive it. I feel it today, that God is in the sunshine
more than in the narrow limits we have tried to set upon Him.'
"'We sometimes deplore the tendency of our young people to go to the
city,' he continued, 'but I don't know as I blame them. We've been
living dull, drab lives for sure. Let us liven things up a bit, and
give our people something to look forward to during the week, and
something pleasant to remember. It's the utter dreariness of life that
kills people--not hard work.'
"And then," said Pearl, "I could see the people wanted to sing or cry,
or dance, or something, to work off their emotions; so I signalled to
Bessie Cowan, who is one of our best singers, to start a hymn that the
children sing every morning. They knew it well, and the people had
learned it from them. I never heard anything like it. It flashed up
through the highest branches of the trees, into the blue air. I am
sure God heard it, and was pleased:
"God is in His temple
Let the earth keep silent."
"Little Jim knew it too, and his voice was sweeter than all the rest.
It seemed easy for every one to talk or sing or laugh--or do whatever
they wanted to do. It was wonderful to see people come out of their
hard brown husks and be natural and neighborly."
"Sure, and it was more like a revival meetin' than a picnic, Pearlie,"
said her father, laughing.
"It was that, pa," she answered, "and like a term in a reform school
for some of them. There had been a big quarrel among them about a
road-scraper, and the next day every one was offering to wait, instead
of grabbing at it the way they had been; and the women who had fallen
out over a sleeve pattern and fought rings round, and called each
other everything they could name, made it up right there.
"Before they parted, they agreed to have the services there on
Sunday--that's tomorrow, and the ex-Premier is going to speak after
the service on 'How to Build a Community.' All the women are baking,
and everybody will bring their visitors, instead of staying home from
church the way they've been doing, and the children can play in the
sand-pile, and sail their boats on the little creek, and it looks as
if Purple Springs has experienced a change of heart."
"Don't you think there's a danger of leadin' them to thinkin' too
light of the Lord's day, Pearlie, picknicking that way," asked her
mother anxiously, "and maybe makin' them lose their religion?"
"O, I'm not worried about that neighborhood losing its religion, ma,"
said Pearl. "Any neighborhood that could treat a stranger the way
they did! But I do believe the sunshine and blue sky, the flowers and
birds, and the getting together, along with the words of the sermon
and the hymns they'll sing, will make them a lot more human. I never
can think it would hurt God's feelings a bit to see children playing,
and neighbors happy together on His day.
"They want us all to come; if you don't think it's too far to drive
with the whole family, and I've been training the children all week to
sing--it looks like a good time."
"We'll go!" cried Danny and Patsey, with one voice, and with brotherly
unity prevailing--for once.
CHAPTER XXV
"THERE IS NOTHING TOO GOOD TO BE TRUE"
"O don't touch it--it hurts," Danny wailed, when Pearl examined his
grimy little foot, from which a trickle of blood was showing through
the murk of prairie soil.
"Just let me wash it, dear," said Pearl soothingly. "We cannot tell
how badly you are hurt until we get the dirt off. It may not be so bad
at all."
This was the afternoon of the same day.
Danny's tears came in torrents. "It is bad," he sobbed. "It's the
worst sliver there's ever been in this family--or maybe in these
parts."
"Well now, maybe it is. I wouldn't wonder if we'll have to send for
the doctor," said Pearl, "and that will be one on Patsey--he never
had a doctor in his life--and maybe never will. Just let me see how
serious it is--and I'll promise you if I can't pull it out with my
fingers--the doctor will be phoned for at once, and told to hurry."
With this promise to sustain him, Danny bravely submitted to a
thoroughly good washing of the afflicted member, and even the
cleansing of the other, for Pearl explained to him that feet came in
pairs, and had to be treated alike in matters of washing.
But the sliver refused to move, though Pearl appeared to try to pull
it out.
"Send for the doctor, Pearl," Danny gasped. "I'm getting weaker
every minute, and everything is goin' from me--and now its gettin'
dark--can't some of yez light a lamp?"
Danny had heard his mother tell so many times the story of his
grandfather's last moments--it came easily to him now, and he revelled
in the sensation he was making.
"Rouse yourself, Danny dear," his mother cried tearfully, "speak to
us, darlin' and don't let yourself go to sleep--I'm feart it's gone to
his heart."
"It couldn't, ma," said Pearl, "it's only a sliver--it's not a
telephone pole--a dash of cold water in the face will bring him back."
Danny suddenly returned to the earth, that his young soul seemed about
to spurn, and the look he gave his sister was at once an appeal and a
reproach.
"Haven't you anything in your rainy-day box that's good for slivers?"
he asked.
"Sure there is," said Pearl, "I think in a case of this kind, an
accident that calls for medical treatment entitles its owner to a very
substantial donation from the emergency chest. Mary, will you please
make a selection, while I go and phone, and remember, your youngest
brother is grievously wounded; do your best for him."
Pearl went to the phone, with a curiously lightened heart. At least
she would hear him speak--she would see him. Not once had she seen him
since the day she had been in his office. Not once--and that was three
months ago. Three months, which seemed like three years!
"Give me twenty-one, please Central," she said steadily.
She knew the way he took off the receiver.