A picket frozen on duty--
A mother starved for her brood--
Socrates drinking the hemlock,And Jesus on the rood.
And millions who,humble and nameless,The straight hard pathway trod--Some call it Consecration,And others call it God.
--WILLIAM HERBERT CARRUTH
"DR.FENNEBEN,I should like much to dismiss my classes for the afternoon,"Professor Burgess said to the Dean in his study the next day.
"Very well,Professor,I am afraid you are overworked with all my duties added to yours here.But you don't look it,"Fenneben said,smiling.
Burgess was growing almost stalwart in this gracious climate.
"I am very well,Doctor.What a beautiful view this is."He was looking intently now at the Empire that had failed to interest him once.
"Yes;it is my inspiration.`Each man's chimney is his golden milestone,'
"Fenneben quoted."I've watched the smoke from many chimneys up and down the Walnut Valley during my years here,and later I've hunted out the people of each hearthstone and made friends with them.
So when I look away from my work here I see friendly tokens of those Iknow out there."He waved his hand toward the whole valley.
"And maybe,when they look up here and see the dome by day,or catch our beacon light by night,they think of `Funnybone,'too.
It is well to live close to the folks of your valley always.""You are a wonderful man,Doctor,"Burgess said.
"There are two `milestones'I've never reached,"the Doctor went on.
"One is that place by the bend in the river.See the pigeons rising above it now.I wonder if that strange white-haired woman ever came back again.
Elinor said she left Lagonda Ledge last summer.""Where's the other place?"Burgess would change the subject.
"It i's a little shaft of blue smoke from a wood fire rising above those rocky places across the river.
I've seen it so often,at irregular times,that I've grown interested in it,but I have missed it since I came back.
It's like losing a friend.Every man has his vagaries.
One of mine is this friendship with the symbols of human homes."Burgess offered no comment in response.He could not see that the time had come to tell Fenneben what Bond Saxon had confided to him about the man below the smoke.So he left the hilltop and went down to the Saxon House.He wanted to see Dennie,but found her father instead.
"That woman's left Pigeon Place again,"Saxon said."Went early this morning.It's ******* for me when I don't have to think of them two.
Thinking of myself is slavery enough."
Burgess loitered aimlessly about the doorway for a while.
It was a mild afternoon,with no hint of winter,nor Christmas glitter of ice and snow about it.Just a glorious finishing of an idyllic Kansas autumn rounding out in the beauty of a sunshiny mid-December day.But to the man who stood there,waiting for nothing at all,the day was a mockery.
Behind the fine scholarly face a storm was raging and there was only one friend whom he could trust--Dennie.
"Let's go walking,you and me!"
Bug Buler put up one hand to Burgess,while he clutched a little red ball in the other.Bug had an irresistible child voice and child touch,and Burgess yielded to their leading.
He had not realized until now how lonely he was,and Bug was companionable by intuition and a stanch little stroller.
North of town the river lay glistening between its vine-draped banks.
The two paused at the bend where Fenneben had been hurled almost to his doom,and Burgess remembered the darkness,and the rain,and the limp body he had held.He thought Fenneben was dead then,and even in that moment he had felt a sense of disloyalty to Dennie as he realized that he must think of Elinor entirely now.
But why not?He had come to Kansas for this very thinking.
It must be his life purpose now.
Today Burgess began to wonder why Elinor must have a life of ease provided for her and Dennie Saxon ask for nothing.
Why should Joshua Wream's conscience be his burden,too?
Then he hated himself a little more than ever,and duty and manly honor began their wrestle within him again.
"Let's we go see the pigeons,"Bug suggested,tossing his ball in his hands.
Burgess remembered what Bond had said of the woman's leaving.
There could be no harm in going inside,he thought.The leafless trees and shrubbery revealed the neat little home that the summer foliage concealed.
Bug ran forward with childish curiosity and tiptoed up to a low window,dropping his little red ball in his eagerness.
"Oh,tum!tum!"he cried."Such a pretty picture frame and vase on the table."He was nearly five years old now,but in his excitement he still used baby language,as he pulled eagerly at Vincent Burgess'coat.
"It isn't nice to peep,Bug,"Burgess insisted,but he shaded his eyes and glanced in to please the boy.He did not note the pretty gilt frame nor the vase beside it on the table.
But the face looking out of that frame made him turn almost as cold and limp as Fenneben had been when he was dragged from the river.
Catching the little one by the hand he hurried away.
At the gateway he lifted Bug in his arms.
He was not yet at ease with children.
"I dropped my ball,"Bug said."Let me det it.""Oh,no;I'll get you another one.Don't go back,"Burgess urged.
"Do you know it is very rude to look into windows.
Let's never tell anybody we did it;nor ever,ever do it again.
Will you remember?"
"Umph humph!I mean,yes,sir!I won't fornever do it again,nor tell nobody."Bug buttoned up his lips for a sphinx-like secrecy.
"Nobody but Dennie.And I may fordet it for her.""Yes,forget it,and we'll go away up the river and see other things.
Bug,what do you say when you want to keep from doing wrong?"Bug looked up confidingly.
"I ist say,`Dod,be merciless to me,a sinner'.""Why not merciful,Bug?"
"Tause!If He's merciful it's too easy and I'm no dooder,"Bug said,wisely.
"Who told you the difference?"Burgess asked.
"Vic.He knows a lot.I wish I had my ball,but let's go up the river.""Out of the mouths of babes,"Burgess murmured and hugged the little one close to him.