The Gentleman from Indiana - Page 193/212

And when the coughing engine drew them to the borders of this wood, they

rolled out into another rich plain of green and rust-colored corn; and far

to the south John Harkless marked a winding procession of sycamores,

which, he knew, followed the course of a slender stream; and the waters of

the stream flowed by a bank where wild thyme might have grown, and where,

beyond an orchard and a rose-garden, a rustic bench was placed in the

shade of the trees; and the name of the stream was Hibbard's Creek. Here

the land lay flatter than elsewhere; the sky came closer, with a gentler

benediction; the breeze blew in, laden with keener spices; there was the

flavor of apples and the smell of the walnut and a hint of coming frost;

the immeasurable earth lay more patiently to await the husbandman; and the

whole world seemed to extend flat in line with the eye--for this was

Carlow County.

All at once the anger ran out of John Harkless; he was a hard man for

anger to tarry with. And in place of it a strong sense of home-coming

began to take possession of him. He was going home. "Back to Plattville,

where I belong," he had said; and he said it again without bitterness, for

it was the truth. "Every man cometh to his own place in the end."

Yes, as one leaves a gay acquaintance of the playhouse lobby for some

hard-handed, tried old friend, so he would wave the outer world God-speed

and come back to the old ways of Carlow. What though the years were dusty,

he had his friends and his memories and his old black brier pipe. He had a

girl's picture that he should carry in his heart till his last day; and if

his life was sadder, it was infinitely richer for it. His winter fireside

should be not so lonely for her sake; and losing her, he lost not

everything, for he had the rare blessing of having known her. And what man

could wish to be healed of such a hurt? Far better to have had it than to

trot a smug pace unscathed.

He had been a dullard; he had lain prostrate in the wretchedness of his

loss. "A girl you could put in your hat--and there you have a strong man

prone." He had been a sluggard, weary of himself, unfit to fight, a

failure in life and a failure in love. That was ended; he was tired of

failing, and it was time to succeed for a while. To accept the worst that

Fate can deal, and to wring courage from it instead of despair, that is

success; and it was the success that he would have. He would take Fate by

the neck. But had it done him unkindness? He looked out over the

beautiful, "monotonous" landscape, and he answered heartily, "No!" There

was ignorance in man, but no unkindness; were man utterly wise he were

utterly kind. The Cross-Roaders had not known better; that was all.