THE Preacher And The Listener

Chapter 3

He stepped to the very edge of the cliff and looked straight down, towhere, two hundred feet below, the perpendicular was first broken by aslope of titanic bowlders, among which the trunks of dwarfed pinestwisted here and there into the light, from the deep-buried soil.

"How easy," he thought, "to make an end!"

A dozen feet away old Jessica fussed and fumed, like a hen over aduckling.

"Come back! Come back!" she said.

But the Little kid put on his teasing face, and danced a double shuffle,on the very edge of the big drop. Then, as suddenly, the fun went out ofhis eyes, and he came back.

"Oh, Jessica," he said, his hand on her shoulder, "I am so tired."

Upon the great leather lounge in front of the living-room fire, he laydown. His ankles crossed, his hands crossed, his eyes on the ceiling, helooked like those effigies of knights which you have seen on tombs.

His eyes closed. He could hear her, dimly, putting wood on the fire.

"Yes," he said, "you must have help. I see that," the handsome mouthsmiled; "'only I don't really see it, said Alice,'" he went on,"'because my eyes are closed, and I am falling so fast into a deep darkwell that the white rabbit will never, never catch up with me.' Bet youa box of candy, Jessica, you can't pry my eyes open with a crowbar."

For a long time the old woman dared not move, for fear her boots mightcreak. She continually wiped her eyes with the back of her hand, andrather than snuffle, heroically endured a running nose.

He had grown up in her care. Between herself and nature it was always aclose race as to which should be the first to know his needs. But evento a stranger it must now have been obvious that he had not slept wellfor a long time. His face, having passed from under the control of hisintellect, was haggard and harassed, the muscles of expression twitchedand jumped. The hands upon his breast, their fingers interlocked,strained, and twisted.

A shoe creaked, a strong, cool hand lay lightly on the Little kid'sforehead. He became quiet, one by one his muscles went into a state ofcomplete relaxation; he breathed now with long, slow breaths. An hourpassed.

The hand was lifted from his forehead, two shoes creaked a number oftimes, there was a rustling of heavy curtains, four times repeated; ateach rustling the room grew darker. A door closing sounded faintly. TheLittle kid slept on. But for his breathing you might have thought himdead, flat on his back, ankles crossed, hands peacefully folded.

It was the middle of the night when he waked.

"Jessica."

The old woman was there, crouched between the lounge and the fire. Godknew how her poor bones ached. The Little kid would never know.

"Yes, dearie."

"Put your arms around me like old times and tell me you _know_ I didn'tdo it."

There arose in the room, like sad music, the sound of the old woman'ssobbing.

"I'm so tired," said the Little kid, "and so glad."

This time he slept till morning.

For many times it appeared as if the Little kid's entire efforts weredirected into an attempt to sleep off his troubles. Experience was likea d**g of which he could not rid himself; he waked, tried to read, triedto walk, tried to enjoy looking out over the valley, and soon gave itup, and threw himself on his bed, or on the big lounge in theliving-room. And these times, of course, so the pendulum swings, werefollowed by times and nights in which he could not sleep at all.

But old Jessica was not worried, though she pretended to be. It wasnatural that having slept too much he should now sleep too little. Sheprescribed exercise and usefulness. One day she made him wash all thedishes, and prune all the rose-vines, and tie them in readiness forstraw jackets when winter should set in, and she made him split wood inthe cellar, and after dinner she made him go to the piano and play Irishmusic for her until the sweat stood out on his forehead. Then sheordered him under a cold shower, and when he was in bed she pulled up achair, and told him the longest and dullest story she knew--"The Bansheeof Kilmanogg." And behold he slept, and was wakened by birds in the ivywho were talking over their plans for going south for the winter.

The Little kid opened his rested eyes and listened to the birds. Therewere some who intended to travel by the seaboard air-line, others by themidland air-line; for the most part they were going to Florida and theGulf States for the cold months; but a certain robin and his wife,tempted by the memory of crumbs and suet which a wise and wonderful oldlady always put out for them, had determined to winter at Aiken in theholly-tree that stood by the old lady's window. There were comparisonsof resorts and disputes about them.

In the party were young birds who had never been south at all. And acertain old bachelor bird amused himself very heartily at the expense ofthese. He did not dwell upon the beauty of the journey that was beforethem, but upon its inconveniences, its dangers, and its horrors.

"The midland route would be all right," he said, "if it weren't for thefarmers' boys with their long guns and the--ever see a cat, Bub?"

"No," twittered Bub nervously. "Don't expect to. _I'm_ for theseaboard."

"That would be sense," said the old bachelor, "if it weren't for theStatue of Liberty."

"The what?"

"It's a big light--you never know just what it is, because when you flyinto it to see, it breaks your neck and all the other worthless bones inyour body."

"I'm not agoing to fly into any light."

"You _think_ you won't," said the bachelor ominously. "But first yourbrains will scatter figuratively, and then--literally. Too bad!--toobad!"

All the young birds shuddered.

"Those big snakes in the South are rather nasty things, too," continuedthe bachelor bird. "I'm used to them, of course, and I've proved dozensof times that there's no such thing as hypnotism; but the effect of asnake's eye on very young and inexperienced birds is inconceivable, andnot to be reconciled to the Darwinian theory or Mendel's law. Whatbetween snakes, hawks, and women's hats, the life of a bird--"