A Forest Hearth. Charles Major
to support a wife. The Chief Justice knew but one cause for tenderness—Tom. When Rita was passing into womanhood, and developing a beauty that could not be matched on all the River Blue, she began to assume a commercial value in her mother's eyes that might, Madam B. thought in a dimly conscious fashion, be turned to Tom's account. Should Rita marry a rich man, there would be no injustice—justice, you know, was the watchword—in leaving all the Bays estate to the issue male. Therefore, although Mrs. Bays was not at all ready for her young daughter to receive attention from any man, when the proper time should come, Dic might be available if no one better offered, and Tom, dear, sweet, Sir Thomas de Triflin', should then have all that his father and mother possessed, as soon as they could with decent self-respect die and get out of his way.
As time passed, and Rita's beauty grew apace, Mrs. Bays began to feel that Dic with his four "eighties" was not a price commensurate with the winsome girl. But having no one else in mind, she permitted his visits with a full knowledge of their purpose, and hoped that chance or her confidential friend, Providence, might bring a nobler prize within range of the truly great attractiveness of Tom's sister.
Mrs. Bays knew that the life she and her neighbors were leading was poor and crude. She also knew that men of wealth and position were eagerly seeking rare girls of Rita's type. By brooding over better things than Dic could offer, her hope grew into a strong desire, and with Rita's increasing beauty this motherly desire took the form of faith. Still, Dic's visits were permitted to continue, and doubtless would be permitted so long as they should be made ostensibly to the family.
Tom's remarks upon Sukey and Sukey's observations concerning Dic had opened Rita's eyes to certain methods prevalent among laddies and lasses, and as a result Sukey, for the time, became persona non grata to her old-time friend. Rita was not at the time capable of active jealousy. She knew Sukey was pretty enough, and, she feared, bold enough to be dangerous in the matter of Dic, but she trusted him. Sukey certainly was prettily bedecked with the pinkest and whitest of cheeks, twinkling dimples, and sparkling eyes; but for real beauty she was not in Rita's class, and few men would think of her fleshly charms twice when they might be thinking of our little heroine.
Thus Tom and Sukey became fountain-heads of unhallowed knowledge upon subjects concerning which every young girl, however pure, has a consuming curiosity.
Rita had heard of the "kissing games" played by the youngsters, and a few of the oldsters, too, at country frolics, corn-huskings, and church socials; but as I have told you, the level-headed old Chief Justice had wisely kept her daughter away from such gatherings, and Rita knew little of the kissing, and never telling what was going on about her. Tom and Sukey had thrown light upon the subject for her, and she soon understood, feared, and abhorred. Would she ever pity and embrace?
THE DEBUTANTE
CHAPTER IV
The Debutante
A year after the small happenings I have just related, great events began to cluster about Dic. They were truly great for him and of course were great for Rita.
Through Billy Little's aid Dic received an offer from an eastern horse buyer to lead a drove of horses to New York. The task was difficult, and required a man of health, strength, judgment, and nerve. The trip going would require two months, and the horses must be kept together, fed, cared for, and, above all, protected night and day from horse thieves, until after the Alleghanies were crossed. The horses were driven loose in herds of one hundred or more. Three men constituted a crew. In this instance Dic was to be in charge, and two rough horse-boys would be his assistants. It would have been impossible to drive the horses over the fenceless roads and through the leagues of trackless forest; therefore, they were led. The men would take turns about riding in advance, and the man leading would continually whistle a single shrill note which the horses soon learned to follow. Should the whistling cease for a moment, the horses would stop and perhaps stampede. This might mean forty-eight hours of constant work in gathering the drove, with perhaps the loss of one or more. If you will, for one hour, whistle a shrill note loud enough to reach the ears of a herd of trampling, neighing horses, you will discover that even that task, which is the smallest part of horse "leading," is an exhausting operation.
The work was hard, but the pay was good, and Dic was delighted with the opportunity. One of its greatest attractions to him was the fact that he would see something of the world. Billy Little urged him to accept the offer.
"A man," said he, "estimates his own stature by comparing it with those about him, and the most fatal mistake he can make is to underestimate his size. Self-conceit is ugly, but it never injured any one. Modesty would have ruined Napoleon himself. The measure of a man, like the length of a cloth-yard, depends upon the standard. Go away from here, Dic. Find your true standard. Measure yourself and return, if you wish. This place is as good as another, if a man knows himself; if he doesn't, he is apt to be deceived by the littleness of things about him. Yet there are great things here, too—greater, in some respects, than any to be found in New York; but the great things here are possibilities. Of course, possibilities are but the raw material. They must be manufactured—achieved. But achievement, my boy, achievement! that's the whole thing, after all. What would Cæsar Germanicus and Napoleon have been without possibilities? A ready-made opportunity is a good thing in its way, but it is the creation of opportunity out of crude possibilities that really marks and makes the man and stamps the deed. Any hungry fool would seize the opportunity to eat who might starve if he had to make his bread. Go out into the world. You have good eyes. It will not take long to open them. When they are opened, come back and you will see opportunities here that will make you glad you are alive."
"But, Billy Little," replied Dic, who was sitting with Rita on the sycamore divan, while their small elderly friend sat upon the grass facing them, "you certainly have seen the world. Your eyes were opened before you came here, and it seems to me your learning and culture are buried here among the possibilities you speak of."
"No, Dic," answered Billy, "you see, I—well, I ran away from—from many things. You see, you and I are cast in different moulds. You are six feet tall, physically and temperamentally." Rita thought Billy was the most acute observer in Christendom, but she did not speak, save with her eyes. Those eyes nowadays were always talking.
"Six feet don't amount to much," responded Dic. "There is Doug Hill, who is six feet three, with no more brains than a catfish. It is what's at the top of the six feet that counts. You have more at the top of your five feet four than the tallest man on Blue, and as I said, you seem to be buried here. Where are the possibilities for you, Billy Little? And if you can't achieve something great—poor me!"
"There are different possibilities for different men. I think, for example, I have achieved something in you. What say you, Rita?"
The girl was taken unawares. "Indeed you have, glorious—splendid—that is, I mean you have achieved something great in all of us whom you have tried to influence. I see your possibilities, Billy Little. I see them stamped upon the entire Blue River settlement. La Salle and Marquette, of whom Dic read to me from your book, had the same sort of opportunities. Their field was broader, but I doubt if their influence will be more lasting than yours."
"Rather more conspicuous," laughed Billy.
"Yes," answered Rita, "your achievements will not be recorded. Their effect will probably be felt by all of us, and the achievement must be your only reward."
"It is all I ask," returned Billy. Then, after a pause, he spoke in mock reproof to Dic, "Now, hang your head in shame."
"I suppose it's my turn," Dic replied.
"The achievements of picturesque men only should be placarded to the world," said Billy. "The less said about a little old knot like