Chapter 3

Dry Bench farm had undergone a change. A neat frame house stood in front of the log hut, which had been boarded and painted to match the newer part. A barn filled with hay and containing horses and cows stood at a proper distance back. A granary and a corn-crib were near. The new county road now extended along the fronting of the Ames place, and a neat fence separated the garden from the public highway. On the left was the orchard, a beautiful sight. Standing in long, symmetrical rows were peaches, apples, pears, and a dozen other varieties of fruit, now just beginning to bear. At the rear, stretching nearly to the mountains, were the grain and alfalfa fields. Neighboring farms also were greatly improved by the advent of water, but none showed such labor and care as the Ames farm. Rupert grew with the growth of his labors, until he was now a tall, muscular fellow, browned and calloused. Nina was fast outgrowing childish things and entering the young-lady period. A beautiful girl she was, and a favorite among her schoolmates. She had attended school in town for the past three winters, and her brother was talking of sending her to the high school.

Practically, Rupert was the head of the family. Always respectful to his mother, and generally consulting with her on any important matter, he nevertheless could not help seeing that everything depended on him, and that he was the master mind of Ames farm. And then the neighbors came to him for advice, and older and presumably wiser men counseled with him, and so it suggested itself to Rupert that he was the master mind of all Dry Bench besides. Everybody called him a "rustler." When he had leisure for school, he was beyond school age; so, nothing daunted, he set out to study by himself. He procured the necessary books, and went to them with an energy that made up for the lack of a teacher. Nina kept pace with him for a time, but the ungraded village school curriculum was too slow for Rupert; and when one spring the young reservoir projector appeared at the county teachers' examination and passed creditably, all, as he said "just for fun and practice," the people talked again--and elected him to the board of trustees.

A beautiful spring morning dawned on Dry Bench. A cool breeze came from the mountains and played with the young leaves of the orchard. The apricots were white with blossoms, and the plums and peaches were just bursting into masses of pink and white. The alfalfa and wheat fields were beautifully green. Blessed Morning, what a life promoter, what a dispeller of fears and bringer of hopes, thou art!

Rupert was out early. After tossing some hay to the horses and cows, he shouldered his shovel and strode up the ditch, whistling as he went. His straw hat set well back on his head. His blue "jumper" met the blue overalls which were tucked into a pair of heavy boots. His tune was a merry one and rang out over the still fields and up to the hills.

Rupert's thoughts were a mixture that morning, and flew from one thing to another: the ditch which he was to clean and repair; the condition of the reservoir; the meeting of the school board; the planting of the garden; the dance at the hall in town; the wonderful spreading properties of weeds--so on from one subject to another, until he came to a standstill, leaning on his shovel and looking over his farm and down to the town, fast growing into a city. From a hundred chimneys smoke was beginning to come, befouling the clear air of the valley.

"It is a beautiful sight," said he to himself. "Six years ago and what was it? Under whose hand has this change grown? Mine. I have done most of the work, and I can lawfully claim most of the credit. Then it was worthless, and just the other day I was offered five thousand dollars for the place. That's pretty good. Father couldn't have done any better."

Rupert was not given to boasting, but it did seem lately that everything he set his hand to prospered exceedingly. This had brought some self-exalting thoughts into his mind; not that he talked of them to others, but he communed with them to himself, nevertheless.

That morning, as he rested his chin on his hands that clasped the end of his shovel, such thoughts swelled the pride in his heart, and his work was left undone. The sun came suddenly from behind the peak and flooded the valley with light; still Rupert stood looking over the fields. In the distance towards the left he caught sight of a horse and buggy coming at a good pace along the new country road. He watched it drawing nearer. A lady was driving. Her horse was on its mettle this morning and the reins were tight. They were at that ugly place where the road crosses the canal--he was to repair it that morning--He awoke from his dreaming with a start, but too late; the horse shied, a wheel went into the ugly hole, and the occupant was pitched into the dry bottom of the canal. Rupert ran down the road shouting "whoa" to the horse which galloped past him. The lady scrambled up before Rupert reached her.

"Are you hurt?" he inquired.

"No--no, sir," she managed to say. She was pale and trembling. "Can you catch my horse? I think he will stop at that barn."

"I'll get your horse, never fear; just so you're not hurt. Let me help you out of the ditch."

She held out a gloved hand and he assisted her up the bank. She was just a girl, and he could have carried her home, had it been necessary.

"Thank you, sir, but could you get my horse, please? There, he is stopping at that house."

"That is where I live. I'll bring him to you, if you will wait."

"Oh, thanks; but I can walk that far. The fall has just shaken me up a little. I shall soon get over it."

They walked down the road to the gate.

"You must come in and rest," said he, "and I'll take care of your horse." She remonstrated, but he insisted, and brought her into the kitchen where his mother was busy with breakfast. Rupert explained, and his mother instantly became solicitous. She drew a rocking chair up to the fire and with gentle force seated the stranger, continuously asking questions and exclaiming, "Too bad, too bad."

Rupert readily caught the runaway animal, and, leading him into the yard, fastened and fed him.

"Take off your hat, Miss," said Mrs. Ames, "your head'll feel easier. I know it must ache with such a knock as that. I believe you're cold, too. Put your feet on the hearth--or here, I'll open the oven door--there! You must take a cup of coffee with us. It'll warm you. You haven't had breakfast yet, I dare say."

The stranger thanked her and leaned back in the chair quite content. The fall had really shaken her severely and a pain shot, now and then, into her head. Rupert foolishly fidgeted about outside before he could make up his mind to come in. Nina now made her appearance. The coffee was poured out and the stranger was invited to sit up. Once, twice, Mrs. Ames spoke to her, but she sat perfectly still. Her face was pale, her eyes half closed.

"What's the matter, Miss?" asked the mother, looking into the girl's face.

"Mother, I believe she has fainted," said Nina.

The three bent over the still form. Mrs. Ames rubbed the cold hands, Nina became nervous, and Rupert looked down into the pale, beautiful face.

"Yes, she has fainted. It is too warm in here. We must get her in the sitting-room on the sofa. Rupert, help us."

Rupert stood at a distance. The mother and Nina tried to lift her, but they failed.

"You'll have to carry her in, Rupert. Come, don't stand there as if you couldn't move. It's too close in this kitchen."

But the young fellow still hesitated. To take a strange, fair girl in his arms--such a thing he had never done--but he must do so now. He put his strong arms under her and lifted her as he would a child, and carried her into the next room, where he laid his burden on the sofa. The cool air had its effect, and she opened her eyes and smiled into the faces that were bent over her.

"Lie still, my dear," said Mrs. Ames. "You have been hurt more than you think."

"Did I faint?--yes, I must have--but I'm not hurt." She tried to rise, but with a moan she sank back on the pillow which Nina had brought.

"I'll go for the doctor," said Rupert, and off he went. When he and Doctor Chase came in an hour later, the girl was again sitting at the table with Mrs. Ames and Nina.

"I met with a slight accident down the road," she explained to the doctor. "I wasn't quite killed, you see, but these good people are trying to finish me with their kindness;" and she laughed merrily.

Her name was Miss Wilton. She was a school teacher, and was on her way to answer an advertisement of the Dry Bench trustees for a teacher. She hoped the doctor would pronounce her all right that she might continue her journey, as she understood it was not far.

"You have had a severe shaking up, Miss Wilton, but I don't think you need to postpone your journey more than a few hours," was the doctor's decision.

About noon, Rupert drove Miss Wilton's horse around to the front door and delivered it to her. With a profusion of thanks, she drove away in the direction of the chairman of the school trustees. Neither Nina nor her mother had said anything about Rupert's being on the board. Mrs. Ames had once seemed to broach the subject, but a look from Rupert was enough to check her. When the school teacher disappeared down the road, Rupert again shouldered his shovel, and this time the ugly hole where the road crossed the canal was mended. That done, he returned home, hitched a horse to his cart and drove to town.

III.

"Favor is deceitful and beauty is vain."--_Psalms 31:30._

Miss Virginia Wilton was engaged to teach the spring term of school at the Dry Bench schoolhouse. Why that upland strip bordering the mountains should be called "Dry Bench," Miss Wilton, at first, did not understand. If there was a garden spot in this big, ofttimes barren Western country, more beautiful than Dry Bench, she had in all her rambles failed to find it. But when the secret of the big reservoir up in the hills came to her knowledge, she wondered the more; and one member of the school board from that moment rose to a higher place in her estimation; yes, went past a long row of friends, up, shall it be said to the seat of honor?

Miss Wilton gave general satisfaction, and she was engaged for the next school year.

For one whole year, the school teacher had passed the Ames farm twice each day. She called often on Mrs. Ames, and Nina became her fast friend. During those cool May mornings and afternoons, when the sky was cloudless and the breeze came from the mountains, the young school teacher passed up and down the road and fell to looking with pleasure on the beautiful fields and orchards around her, and especially at the Ames farm the central and most flourishing of them all. Perhaps it would not be fair to analyze her thoughts too closely. She was yet young, only twenty-two--Rupert's own age; yet Miss Wilton's experiences in this world's school were greater than that of the simple young farmer's.

Had she designs on the Ames farm and its master? She had been in the place a year only. How could such thoughts arise within such a little head? How could such serious schemes brood behind such laughing lips and sparkling eyes? Strange that such should be the case, but truth is ofttimes strange.

Since the railroad had been extended through the valley, the town of Willowby had grown wonderfully. Its long, straight streets enclosing the rectangular squares, had not crept, but had sped swiftly out into the country on all sides, and especially towards the mountains, until now the Ames place was within the corporated city limits. Willowby soon became a shipping point for grain and fruits to the markets which the mining towns to the north afforded. The Ames orchard consisted of the finest fruits which commanded a high price. Yes, the property was fast making its owners rich.

Rupert Ames was a "rising young man," lacking the finished polish of a higher education, no doubt, but still, he was no "green-horn." Even Miss Wilton had to acknowledge that, when she became acquainted so that she could speak freely with him. He was a shrewd business man and knew how to invest his growing bank account. It was no secret that city lots and business property were continually being added to his possessions.

As to home life at the farm, Miss Wilton was always charmed with the kind hearted mother, the bright, cheerful Nina, and the handsome, sober head of the family. Such a beautiful spirit of harmony brooded over the place! Even within the year, the observant young woman could see signs of culture and coming wealth. The repairing of old buildings, and the erecting of the new ones; the repainting and decorating of rooms; the addition of costly pictures and furniture; the beautifying of the outside surroundings--all this was observed, and a mental note taken.

For a time Rupert Ames was quite reserved in the presence of the young school teacher. Naturally reticent, he was more than ever shy in the company of an educated lady from the East. Rupert never saw her but he thought of the day of her arrival on Dry Bench and the time when he held her in his arms. Never had he referred to the latter part of the episode, though she often talked of her peculiar introduction to them.

At the end of the first year, Miss Wilton had so far shown that she was but common flesh and blood that Rupert had been in her company to a number of socials, and they had walked from church a few times together. Dame gossip at once mated the two, and pronounced it a fine match.

Early in September they had a peach party at the Ames farm. Willowby's young folks were there, and having a good time. When the sun sank behind the hills on the other side of the valley, and the cool air came from the eastern mountains, Chinese lanterns were hung on the trees, and chairs and tables were placed on the lawn. There were cake and ice-cream and peaches--peaches of all kinds, large and small, white and yellow, juicy and dry; for this was a peach party, and everybody was supposed to eat, at least, half a dozen.

The band, with Volmer Holm as leader, furnished the music; and beautiful it was, as it echoed from the porch out over the assembly on the lawn. When the strains of a waltz floated out, a dozen couples glided softly over the velvety grass.

"That's fine music, Volmer," Rupert was saying to the bandmaster, as the music ceased.

"Do you think so? We've practiced very much since our new organization was effected. Will it do for a concert?"

"You know I'm no judge of music. I like yours, though, Volmer. What do you say about it, Miss Wilton? Mr. Holm wishes to know if his music is fit for a concert?"

"Most certainly it is," answered the young lady addressed, as she stepped up with an empty peach basket. "Mr. Holm, I understand that last piece is your own composition? If so, I must congratulate you; it is most beautiful."

"Thank you," and he bowed as he gave the signal to begin again.

"Mr. Ames, more peaches are wanted--the big yellow ones. Where shall I find them?"

"I'll get some--or, I'll go with you." He was getting quite bold. Perhaps the music had something to do with that.

He did not take the basket, but led the way out into the orchard. It was quite a distance to the right tree.

"That is beautiful music," said she. "Mr. Holm is a genius. He'll make his mark if he keeps on."

"Yes, I understand that he is going East to study. That will bring him out if there is anything in him."

There was a pause in the conversation; then Rupert remarked carefully, as if feeling his way:

"Yes, there's talent in Volmer, but he makes music his god, which I think is wrong."

"Do you think so?" she asked.

What that expression meant, it was hard to say.

"Yes, I think that no man should so drown himself in one thing that he is absolutely dead to everything else. Mr. Holm does that. Volmer worships nothing but music."

Rupert filled the basket and they sauntered back.

"A more beautiful god I cannot imagine," she said, half aloud.

Rupert turned with an inquiring look on his face, but he got nothing more from her, as she was busy with a peach. Her straw hat was tilted back on her head, and the wavy brown hair was somewhat in confusion. School teaching had not, as yet, driven the roses from her cheeks, nor the smiles from her lips. There was just enough of daylight left so that Rupert could see Miss Wilton's big eye looking into his own. How beautiful she was!

"Mr. Ames, before we get back to the company, I wish to ask you a question. Mr. Holm has asked me to sing at his concert, and I should like to help him, if the school trustees do not object."

"Why should they, Miss Wilton?"

"Well, some people, you know, are so peculiar."

"I assure you they will not care--that is, if it will not interfere with your school duties."

"As to that, not a moment. I need no rehearsals as I am used to--that is I--you see, I will sing some old song."

Miss Wilton's speech became unusually confused, and Rupert noticed it; but just then Nina and her escort joined them, and they all went back to the lawn.

"Miss Wilton's going to sing at the concert," Volmer told Rupert later in the evening. "'Twill be a big help. She's a regular opera singer, you know. She's been in the business. I heard her sing in Denver two years ago, and she was with a troupe that passed through here some time since. I remember her well, but of course I wouldn't say anything to her about it. No doubt she wishes to forget it all."

"What do you mean?" asked Rupert, quite fiercely.

"I mean that her company then was not of the choicest, but I believe she's all right and a good enough girl. Rupe, don't bother about that. Perhaps I shouldn't have said anything to you."

"Oh, that's all right. I'm glad you mentioned it."

Still a dull, miserable pain fastened itself in Rupert Ames' heart the rest of the evening; and even when the company had gone, and Miss Wilton had lingered and sweetly said "Good-night," and the lights were out, strange thoughts and feelings drove from his eyes the sleep that usually came peacefully to him.

Rupert Ames was in love. The fact became the central idea of his existence.

During Rupert's busy life, love affairs had not occupied much of his attention. Of course, he, in common with the rest of young mankind, thought that some day he would love some girl and make her his wife; but it was always as a far-away dream to him, connected with an angelic perfection which he always found missing in the workaday world. His wife must be a pure, perfect creature. Marriage was a sacred thing--one of the great events in a person's life. Not that these views had now changed altogether, for Miss Virginia Wilton came nearer his ideal than anyone he had yet met. Still, there was considerable of the tangible present about her. She was educated, businesslike, and a leader, and he, ambitious of attaining to something in the world, would need such a woman for his wife. But that sting which Volmer Holm had given him! His wife must be beyond suspicion. He could not afford to make a mistake, for if he did, it would be the mistake of his life. But was it a sin for a girl to sing in an opera? Certainly not. Anyway, he would not condemn her unheard--and then, he was sure he loved her. It had come to him unbidden. It was no fault of his that this girl should have come into his common life, and, seemingly, completely change it.

The autumn days passed. With the work of harvesting and marketing there was no time for social gatherings. The school teacher had changed her boarding place, and her path lay no longer past the Ames farm. So Rupert mingled his thoughts with his labors, and in time there emerged from that fusion a fixed purpose.

That fall Rupert's time as school trustee expired. At the first meeting of the new board, Miss Wilton's position was given to a male teacher. The reason given for the change was that "It takes a man to govern boys." Other reasons, however, could be heard in the undercurrent of talk.

The first Sunday after he heard of it, Rupert found Miss Wilton, and together they walked up the canyon road. It was a dull, cloudy day, and not a breath moved the odorous choke-cherry bushes which lined the dusty road. Never mind what was said and done that afternoon. 'Tis an old, old story. Between woman's smiles and tears, the man gained hope and courage, and when that evening they came down the back way through the fields and orchards, Virginia Wilton was Rupert Ames' promised wife.

IV.

"O Lord, lead me in a plain path."--_Isaiah 27:11._

The scene shifts to a land afar off toward the north, Norway--away up into one of its mountain meadows. The landscape is a mixture of grandeur and beauty. Hills upon hills, covered with pine and fir, stretch away from the lowlands to the distant glacier-clad mountains, and patches of green meadow gleam through the dark pine depths.

The clear blue sky changes to a faint haze in the hilly distance. The gentle air is perfumed with the odor of the forest. A Sabbath stillness broods over all. The sun has swung around to the northwest, and skims along the horizon as if loth to leave such a sweet scene.

Evening was settling down on the Norwegian _saeter_, or summer herd ground. Riding along the trail through the pines appeared a young man. He was evidently not at home in the forest, as he peered anxiously through every opening. His dress and bearing indicated that he was not a woodsman nor a herder of cattle. Pausing on a knoll, he surveyed the scene around him, and took off his hat that the evening breeze might cool his face. Suddenly, there came echoing through the forest, from hill to hill, the deep notes of the _lur_. The traveler listened, and then urged his horse forward. Again and again the blast reverberated, the notes dying in low echoes on the distant hills. From another rise, the rider saw the girl who was making all this wild music. She was standing on a high knoll. Peering down into the forest, she recognized the traveler and welcomed him with an attempt at a tune on her long, wooden trumpet.

"Good evening, Hansine," said he, as his horse scrambled up the path close by, "your _lur_ made welcome music this evening."

"Good evening, Hr. Bogstad," said she, "are you not lost?"

"I was, nearly, until I heard you calling your cows. It is a long way up here--but the air and the scenery are grand."

"Yes, do you think so? I don't know anything about what they call grand scenery. I've always lived up here, and it's work, work all the time--but those cows are slow coming home." She lifted her _lur_ to her lips and once more made the woods ring.

Down at the foot of the hills, where the pines gave place to small, grassy openings, stood a group of log huts, towards which the cows were now seen wending.

"Come, Hr. Bogstad, I see the cows are coming. I must go down to meet them."

They went down the hill together. The lowing cows came up to the stables, and as the herd grew larger there was a deafening din. A girl was standing in the doorway of one of the cabins, timidly watching the noisy herd.

"Come, give the cows their salt," laughingly shouted Hansine to her.

"And get hooked all to pieces? Not much."

"You little coward. What good would you be on a _saeter_? What do you think, Hr. Bogstad?"

As the girl caught sight of the new arrival she started and the color came to her face. He went up to her. "How are you, Signe?" he said. "How do you like life on a _saeter_?"

"Well, I hardly know," she said, seemingly quite embarrassed.

"Oh, I'll tell you," broke in the busy Hansine, as she came with a pail full of salt. "She just goes around and looks at and talks about what she calls the beauties of nature. That she likes; but as for milking, or churning, or making cheese, well--"

Then they all laughed good naturedly.