Little Mortals

I.

THE ETERNAL MASCULINE.

THEODORE BLINKS sat swinging his legs from the cornice of the new house, — or rather, from what was destined to be the cornice of the new house. At present, it consisted of but a few boards lightly nailed together, and projecting beyond the framework of the second floor. His position, to an impartial observer, must have seemed somewhat precarious.

The sun was gone, and a solemn moon was slowly rising in the sky, peeping between the rafters and boards of this skeleton dwelling, and finally casting its glance, with grave disapproval, full upon the boy. He felt the moon’s disapproval, and promptly became more reckless. Besides, two figures in petticoats stood below, and the awed admiration he felt sure their faces expressed urged him on.

“ I bet I can get up on the ridgepole ! ” he called down to these two little beings, whose feet were on terra firma, but whose hearts were in their mouths. For they both loved the brave boy who essayed such valiant deeds.

“ Oh, please don’t! ” pleaded Lucy, clasping her hands. Her head was thrown so far back that her pigtails reached her waist; her round blue eyes were raised beseechingly.

But Marcia danced about in an ecstasy of terror and pride and delight. “ Yes ! Yes ! Do ! ” she cried.

The boy regarded them both for a moment with lordly benignity, though the expression of his face was not revealed to the maidens below. Then, swinging around, he balanced himself delicately on the crosspiece, made his way from beam to rafter, and began the ticklish ascent.

The figures in petticoats stood motionless, tense, the light head and the dark both thrown back now, the blue eyes and the brown both uplifted to that manly form silhouetted in black against the moonlit sky; crawling up the thin ribs of the skeleton house, squirming against them, clinging to them, evading by scarce a foothold those inky interludes of nothingness which waited to swallow him.

The moon also was looking at him : its gaze was fixed in sinister meaning ; its light danced uncertainly from rafter to rafter, slipping from the edge of the substance to the edge of the void and uniting the two, as though to deceive the boy.

Infinite terror, unbearable suspense, clutched at the hearts of the maidens below, — clutched them so that they could not stir, even to beat.

Suddenly the clutch relaxed, and with a great bound the two hearts, all swollen with pride and delight, leaped up right into the throats of the girls, strangling them until they gasped for breath.

“ He’s up,” breathed Lucy.

“ I knew he could ! I knew he could ! ” Marcia shouted, dancing again.

But the boy did not rest long at the end of the ridgepole, nor did he deign to swing himself, riding it safely as one might a barebacked horse, along its length. He rose upright, and, balancing himself with outstretched arms, his figure swaying a little from side to side, began to walk to the rooftree at its centre.

“ Oh, don’t! Oh, don’t! ” Lucy murmured. She fell to praying for the boy ; inarticulately, and with a passionate earnestness which may have atoned for her utter lack of faith. For to the Deity she said : “ Please don’t let him fall! Oh, please don’t let him fall! ” And to herself she said : “ I know he will fall! Oh, I know he will fall! ”

Marcia neither murmured nor prayed. An image of stone she stood, with lips set hard and eyes unswerving from the boy ; and as she looked, a tiny flame of ambition came creeping, creeping into her mind. It dropped little sparks through every vein of her body, and grew until it was a great fire, setting her brain ablaze, and lighting her thoughts into lurid boldness.

To think and to do was all one with Marcia. And Lucy did not miss her. That small person was still alternately praying and impiously declaring her unbelief in prayer ; still alternately screwing her eyes up tight and opening them wide ; still enduring that renewed clutch on her heart which would not let her breatlie.

Marcia had reached the second floor. Oh, the terror of the slipping light and the black, black darkness ; the awful eye of the moon transfixing her ; the whitish shine of the skeleton beams inviting her, luring her — to destruction !

But stronger than fear of all these horrors was the power which invited and lured her to the ridgepole, — to the middle of the ridgepole, where the boy sat, lordly and safe, swinging his legs, and wondering why only one figure regarded him from below. Not that he cared, — not he !

For against the lurid background made by her flaming mind Marcia saw herself sitting beside him : his equal in courage and achievement, his comrade in danger and exaltation ; above all, the blessed recipient of his praise. This vision enticed her on, stayed her slipping foot, nerved her palsied hand, steadied her swimming senses. And at last Lucy saw a figure in petticoats lying along the ribs of the roof, slowly wriggling upwards, sitting across the end of the ridgepole ! Ah, the bitter self-abasement of Lucy ! She could never, never do that, — never! And the boy would despise her : she must live on to see the exaltation of Marcia. Even if Marcia got killed, she would have died for him. And toward so happy an end as this Lucy’s thought fluttered fearfully. If she only could — but she knew she could n’t.

Marcia, on the end of the ridgepole, felt she had reached her limit. She could get no nearer to the boy than that; even sitting across the pole, she dared not wriggle herself over to his side ; she knew she would fall. But surely she had done enough to win the boy’s lasting admiration.

Theodore, in order to demonstrate his complete indifference to the invisible incense of praise and adoration rising from below, had turned himself about, and so sat with his back to Marcia. How surprised he would be when she called to him ! — very gently, of course, lest, being startled, he should fall.

He would scarcely be able to believe it; then he would be filled with a tender admiration ; then he would help her down, so carefully and so gently. With him to guide her she would feel quite safe. But she was really sorry for Lucy. Poor Lucy ! She had no spirit, though, and could n’t expect to be the boy’s companion in high exploit.

“ Teddy! ”

Her voice was very low, but it frightened her. The boy did not hear it.

“ Teddy, — oh, Teddy ! ”

“ Hello ! Where are you ? Hiding down there in the house ? ”

He knew it was Marcia’s voice. He would n’t be surprised if she was up to some mischief. He tightened his legs about the pole and peered down into the cavernous inside of the house. If she threw a chip to him, he would catch it; if she shouted “ Boo ! ” he would n’t budge.

“ No, Teddy. I’m up here, — at the end of the ridgepole.” She too tightened her hold. That tremor of delight at the thought of his seeing her there threatened to shake her off.

“ Aw ! come off ! ” Theodore Blinks swung himself around cautiously ; and then he beheld Marcia, — yes, a figure in petticoats, straddling the ridgepole !

That was a sight for masculine eyes. But wrath must be kept down for the moment by caution. The figure in petticoats, unduly startled, might descend too precipitously from its wholly unsuitable altitude. When he got her down, he’d show her!

The boy stared hard a moment without speaking. Then he said, “ Sit still and hold on tight till I come.”

Perhaps the voice froze her; perhaps the sinking weight of her heart held her. She sat very still.

Theodore did not walk on the pole toward her ; he worked himself along quietly, and did not speak again until he could lay his hand on her arm. Then he said : " Now I ’ll try to get you down. Do just as I tell you, and don’t stir unless I say so.”

Although still so high in body, Marcia’s spirits were lying low. She had no thought but obedience, no hope but safety. The cold authority of the boy’s voice steadied her nerves, but it paralyzed her hopes. They fell down like shot birds.

Slowly, very slowly, the two descended. Lucy would have liked to run away ; she felt as though she could not bear it. Yet she was riveted to her post of observation ; fear and suspense and curiosity held her fast. But she was going away — somewhere. She would tell them she was glad they were safe, and then they would never see her again. Her fate was so pitiful that tears filled her eyes at thought of it.

Suddenly Lucy screamed ; then stood rigid in strained listening. To that crash of something falling through the house had succeeded a terrible silence. She hardly dared lift her eyes again to where the figures had been. She did lift them, though, and the figures were still there.

“ Hold fast; it’s only a plank falling.” But Marcia herself had come very near falling. It was lucky the boy’s nerves were steady, and his hand was strong.

On they came, nearer and nearer the earth, nearer and nearer Lucy. Proud little words of greeting walked in and out of her head. None were sufficiently distant and yet indifferent enough. They should not know that she cared ; perhaps they would miss her a little when she was gone.

“ There! and it’s lucky for you you ain’t smashed to pieces ! ”

Marcia’s feet were on the ground, but she trembled so she could hardly keep them there ; and the boy was wrestling with an almost irresistible impulse to shake this intolerable creature by the arm he still grasped, — shake her hard and long, until his outraged feelings were jostled out of him, and her abominable pride and impudence were jostled out of her.

However, he released her arm with a jerk, and, stepping back a pace, burst out scornfully : “ I s’pose you think you ’re awful smart; but you could n’t walk on the ridgepole, anyway, and you could n’t 'a’ got to me if you’d ’a’ died for it. You ain’t anything but a girl, anyway, and girls have n’t got any business trying to do things boys do. Now you go home to your ma, and ask her to keep you there! ”

Lucy could scarcely believe her ears. With wide eyes she watched the retreating figure of Marcia, — Marcia, whom she had thought exalted above all girlkind, now fallen lower than any. To the outraged lord before her she dared not speak, but waited meekly, with eyes downcast. And she felt unspeakably thankful that she had been afraid.

Theodore Blinks also watched Marcia’s retreating figure.

“ There, she’s gone, an’ good riddance ! That kind of girl ain’t no good. Come along, Lucy.”

Happy Lucy, slipping her hand into his, trotted at his side until they reached her gate. There the boy said good-night, turned away, and then turned back again.

“ Say, Lucy, did n’t I look pretty high, up there ? ”

Lucy shivered. “Yes, awful high.”

“ Did you think I was going to fall ? ”

“ I was awful afraid.”

The boy laughed scornfully. “ Aw ! that ain’t nothing.” He hesitated a moment. “ I s’pose yon would n’t have durst, would you ? ”

“ Oh my, no ! ”

Theodore stood reflectively on one foot, kicking against the gate with the other.

“ Want ter go berryin’ to-morrer ? ”

“ Yes, Teddy.”

“ All right,” and with a “ Whoop ! ” he sped down the road.

II.

WITCHCRAFT.

When one is engaged in the intricacies of theological discussion, the cows may linger as they will over the sweets of the roadside. And the July twilight lingers also, transforming hitherto unseen cloud-bits into spirits floating through ether, the beauty and the joy of them translated for mortal eyes into ineffable, heavenly tints and lights.

Could the thought of God be translated into mortal symbols, might not the light - crowned summits of purple hills seem fit resting places for the feet of a Deity passing through such a world as this, —a world enwrapped in July twilight ?

It was this question, considered literally rather than symbolically, which engrossed the attention of two small boys who should have been absorbed, rather, in getting the hotel cows under cover for the night.

The older of them — and even he was yet very young — held to the affirmative with a zeal which lent to his whole ragged little figure an odd air of nervous energy.

“ Of course God could walk on top o’ those hills. He could reach between any two o’ them easy as not ; an’ if He could n’t, He ’d make it so He could, — an’ so He could, anyway! ”

Hieronymus Tubbs waved his stick, as he spoke, toward the hills which rose beyond the meadow levels where he walked. His uplifted face wore the evening light, and his eyes shone with the excitement of debate. He had quite forgotten the cows.

“ No, He could n’t, either.”

This disputant was even smaller than Hieronymus, but he spoke in a matterof-fact way which gave his words great weight, and his quiet blue eyes seemed to measure, as though with reference to some actual basis of comparison, the distance between the glowing summits before him. Timothy Parsons was carried away by no flight of fancy from the actual business in hand, and the cow which ventured nearest received an energetic thwack from his stick.

Hieronymus jerked excitedly at the string which, with precarious clutch, held his trousers in place.

“ Not those hills ! Why, they ain’t anything to Him ! You take those mountains back of the hotel, and maybe He could n’t, — lest He wanted to make them different, or Himself, or something. But those hills there He could reach between, just as easy. Look at those two little fellows, now : ’t ain’t any way between them at all, —not for God.”

Timothy regarded them critically, squinting his eyes up to measure with greater exactitude.

“ No, I tell you, He could n’t, — not even between them two little ones.”

The blood flew to Hieronymus’s head. He spoke in utter scorn: “ I s’pose you think He can’t do anything He wants ? ” “ I s’pose He’s made things the way He wants,” was the calm rejoinder.

“ Well, anyway, you don’t know. You ain’t ever seen Him.”

“ Yes, I have too, — often.”

Hieronymus stared. It was possible, of course, — anything is possible. And Timothy had talked all along as if he really knew, somehow. Now his calm assurance was explained. But one must not be too credulous.

“ When did you see Him ? ”

“ Oh, lots of times.”

“ Where did you see Him ? ”

“ He’s staying up at the hotel.”

Although this statement might seem quite credibleto adult minds, Hieronymus whistled in surprise. For a time he walked on in silence. The majestic conception of Deity stepping from radiant hilltop to radiant hilltop was fading reluctantly from the mind of the boy. His eyes were clouded, and he gazed before him somewhat wistfully. Still, fallen as were his ideals, great interest attached to the gleaning of information.

“ How high is He, then, Timothy ? ”

“ Oh,” — Timothy looked about him for some just means of comparison, and finally hit upon a great elm which in solitary grandeur crowned a knoll ahead, — “ ’bout as high as that tree.”

Hieronymus looked earnestly at the tree, and then back to his hilltops again.

“ He could n’t, then,” the boy admitted.

The light was gone from the hilltops ; it was time the cows were home. But the twilight still lingered, and over the knoll where the elm tree grew appeared the figure of a young girl. She was dressed all in purest white, and her hair was like the deepest shadows which nestled among the hills. Timothy recognized her at once, and nudged Hieronymus.

“ That’s the witch,” he said.

“ Who — that ? How d’ you know ? ”

“ The hotel folks says so.”

The girl came nearer, and spying the cows paused doubtfully, gathering up her skirts as though for flight. But when her eyes lighted upon the keepers of the beasts, the fright in them gave way to amusement. If the keepers were so very small the danger could not be so very great, or thus she seemed to argue. So the girl came forward smilingly toward the lads, the sight of whom had partly driven from her mind a certain perplexing problem which she had walked out alone to consider.

She must decide sometime. But how could she decide until — until she knew ? Men are so impatient. If he would only wait till she had time to make up her mind ! So, knowing he would join her on the piazza and suggest a stroll, the girl had slipped away alone into the twilight, and now wished he would follow and find her. If he wanted to, he could. This was a way they often came together; and when at his side she was not afraid of the cows. She was not walking quite as fast as a runaway should.

Hieronymus, never having seen a witch before, stared hard at the girl. He did not feel afraid. He had never dreamed witches looked like that. In the picture books they were old and scrawny and ugly. He thought he liked witches. Timothy, though he had already readjusted his ideas upon the subject, was scarcely less interested. In truth, he adored the witch, and found reality at once stranger and sweeter than fiction.

“ Don’t let your cows hurt me, will you, boys ? ”

“ No, ma’am, they won’t hurt you.”

The boys stood still as she passed, and then looked after her. She made a luminous spot in the great stretch of dusk. Her voice lingered in the still air like the silvery ringing of fairy bells.

Down the path through the fields came another figure, very different from that which had vanished. It was clad in black, and it stooped, as though with weariness.

Timothy nudged Hieronymus again.

“ That’s the angel,” he said. “ I heard the witch say she was an angel.”

The old woman drew slowly nearer. She was not afraid of the cows. Upon the boys she smiled very gently. And though she was not beautiful nor clad in white, when she smiled they recognized her right to angelic identity. Still, the picture books were sadly astray in this matter of witches and angels. Hieronymus felt a sense as of something lost and something gained. If angels could go with wrinkled faces and clad in black, witches could be very, very beautiful, and could lead captive the fancy of any small boy who chanced to pass one by. For the witch he would do anything. Ah, if one of the cows had but been fierce, that he might have saved her from it! Perhaps, if he had been in trouble himself, he might have thought of the angel, but of course this did not occur to him. And as he stood there, just where the path branched, he would have followed the witch into the luminous west, rather than have gone after the angel as she walked toward the darkening north.

They had not gone far beyond that split in the path before Timothy’s powers of identification were again called into play. Across the field came a very tall being, stalking rapidly. He walked with the mien of one who has some end in view other than the pleasure of a lonely evening stroll ; and he was looking eagerly about, as though this end were something movable, which might escape him.

Timothy stood still, and spoke low.

“ That’s God,” said he, and felt called upon to make no explanation. Was he not the tallest of beings ? It was sufficient.

Perhaps the deepening twilight lent an almost superhuman loftiness and dignity to the very tall figure approaching, for Hieronymus reflected that it was just about as tall as the great elm tree. And — no, tall as it was, it couldn’t walk on the tops of the hills. He gazed steadily, and though the dusk was gathering closer, and though that face was so far above his, its look of eager watchfulness and seeking did not escape him.

“ He’s going after one of ’em,” he whispered to Timothy.

“ I guess it ’s the witch,” Timothy whispered back.

And straightway fear came upon the hearts of both. For what destruction might not fall upon a wicked (though beautiful) witch, if thus sought and captured ! Within the mind of Hieronymus was born the desire to save her; even though she merited destruction, he would save her! The sound of her silvery voice, the vision of her beautiful face and luminous garments, were with him yet. What though she was wicked and a witch ? He loved her! And of course the angel could suffer no harm.

The tall figure paused before the lads, as though wishing to ask some question, yet hesitating to do so. In the deepening dusk it towered mightily. Hieronymus felt his heart in his mouth, but he dared not risk delay. A valiant lover he, courting instant annihilation for the sake of his lady; for if He were seeking the witch, and found Himself misdirected —

Hieronymus jerked his thumb over his shoulder, pointing down the path the angel had taken. “ She went that way,” he said, and then he took to his heels. Timothy could mind the cows; he, Hieronymus, must seek to escape the wrath to come. For the figure had followed the angel, and the boy felt sure — quite sure — that it desired to follow the witch!

V. Yeaman Remnitz.