He wheeled about and – what was that? In the dimness of the angle where it lay, away out toward that closed office with its unsuspecting occupant, a tiny spark was making its steady, creeping progress. For an instant Hallam gazed at it astonished, the next he realized its full meaning and horror. Could he reach it? Was there time?
With a shriek of warning he rushed forward, – stumbling against, leaping over obstacles, – gaining upon that menacing point of fire and fume, which now seemed to race him like a living thing.
The miracle was wrought – two miracles! A few more seconds, and it would have been too late; but now the lame walked and, as it were, the dead came back to life.
Hallam's shriek, the uproar of overturned obstructions, reverberated through the empty building and brought Archibald Wingate, Amy, and poor Fayette face to face with the panting, excited rescuer. All comprehended at once what had been attempted and how prevented. The mill owner laid an iron grip upon the half-wit's shoulder, who made no effort to escape; for at last, at last, there had penetrated to his dim intelligence the wide, the awful difference between good and evil. When he saw the once crippled lad, whom his own hands had restored to health, thus fling away his life with unstinted hand, that he might save the life of another, – once his enemy also, – there had roused within the dormant brain of the foundling a sudden perception of Hallam's nobility and his own baseness. Therefore, stunned by this new knowledge, he stood humble and unresisting.
Amy's great heart comprehended just what and how her poor protégé was suffering. With her, to think was to act. She sprang to him and laid her small hand on his other shoulder, and the tender sympathy of this touch thrilled him more than the hard grasp of his master.
"Oh! but Hallam – Hallam – you walked! walked! you ran! You – you – who never – "
Her voice choked, ceased, and she turned from Fayette to fling herself headlong into her brother's arms. For the first time in their lives he could receive her and support her firmly. Then she stepped back and shook him. Gently at first, then violently. His crutches were – nobody cared where, though certainly not at hand; yet he stood fixedly, resisting her attacks, and again catching her to him with that overflowing joy that only such as he could guess.
"But I don't understand. Tell – tell; not here, though. Is all safe? No danger any more?"
"No," said Fayette to her demand, "there ain't no danger. Not 'less the fuse had burned out to the end. It's under the desk. He'll find it. I – I – but it's put out. I – "
"You didn't mean it, did you, boy? You could not. You didn't understand."
"No, I didn't, I didn't," whimpered the stricken fellow.
Mr. Wingate relaxed his hold. How could he retain his fury against such an enemy? It was too unequal. The lad was dangerous, he must be punished, he —
Hallam read these unspoken thoughts.
"For my sake, Cousin Archibald, forgive him. It is he who has made me able to save you this day, even though it was he who put you in such peril. Months ago, Amy read in a paper how a lad was cured whose case was just like mine. There was only will power on the cripple's part, and the daily, sometimes hourly massage by one of those persons whose physical magnetism, or whatever it is, was strong. 'Bony' was such a person, and I just such a cripple. We began. For weeks I couldn't move my legs without using my hands to help. Then one day I found, just after the rubbing was over, that I could push one foot along the floor a tiny way. That gave us both courage. He has been untiring. We were soon on the road to what I believed, though with lots of set-backs, would be a cure. Uncle Fred knew; that's why he wouldn't let Fayette be arrested or punished for assaulting you. He took the blame himself, if the boy would stick to me. Cleena knew, too – "
"And not us, father nor me!" exclaimed Amy, in a hurt tone.
"No; that was to be my blessed surprise for you two. It was to your own suggestion, which I suppose you forgot soon after, with the newspaper scrap you brought, that I owe the beginning. It was Cleena kept us at it. She wouldn't let us give it up, – no, not if she had the whole crowd under lock and key on a bread and water diet; eh, Fayette?"
The shamefaced fellow looked up, with a slight gleam in his eye, then dropped his gaze again.
Hallam went on: "To-morrow, the First Day that mother loved, I was going to make an experiment before you all – my surprise. I have practised in private continually, and uncle, as well as Cleena, has urged me to tell you before; but I kept it till the anniversary – you know."
"Ah," said Archibald Wingate, with a sudden recollection, "so it is. She was my best friend, my best beloved. You are her children. All my hard middle life seems to have slipped out of my memory, like a bad dream, and I am back in our youth-time again, with Salome and Cuthbert and Fred, – all gay and glad together. I wonder, I wonder what she would bid me do to you, poor fellow," he finished, regarding the abject natural with a pitying air.
"I know! Forgive him, else thy Salome and my mother were not one."
"Amy, thee is right. Come into the office, all of you."
"Is it safe?" she asked, hanging back.
"We'll make it safe. 'Bony,' or Fayette, take that stuff you put under the desk and step out there to the Ardsley. Behind that rock is a deep hole. I used to fish there as a lad. I can see if you obey. Drop that death powder into the stream and come back."
Fayette obeyed, and they watched him, shivering. But when the water flowed on after an instant, undisturbed and merrily singing its deathless song, they breathed deeply and with complete relief.
"Look here, Fayette; you think I've been a hard man. So I have – so I have. You've been a bad boy too, eh?"
"Yes; I won't never – "
"Of course you won't. Look here, I say. What's this – this heap of stuff I took out of the safe? Did you ever see it before?"
"Yes; it's the money I blasted out."
"Well, if it were yours, would you promise never again to blast anything or anybody or anywhere? Your very own to keep forever, if you liked."
"Huckleberries! Do you mean it?"
"If you promise, I mean it."
"Oh, I do – I do. I'll keep my word. I meant to try and I did. But it's over. I'm glad; I wasn't happy, never. I promise, whether or no, money or not."
"I believe you'll keep that promise: Hallam and Amy, here, are witnesses. Now, listen: I, too, promise. I'll not only give you this old hoard, but this besides." He swept into view a pile of golden eagles, larger than any there save himself had ever seen, and placed it beside that time-worn lot of similar material. In bestowing his gift he had provided to have it in such shape as he knew the half-wit would best comprehend. "This is for you, also. It is just as much more as you found. I give it to you because my little cousin here has taught me it is better to give than to receive. You must take both piles, in this new hand-bag, and ask Mr. Metcalf to take care of it for you. You trust him, don't you?"
"Yes – yes," answered Fayette, in breathless eagerness.
"Now, the condition: if you ever again, by word or deed, do any sort of injury to any human being or to any helpless animal, I will have you punished, punished in full for all you have done wrong in the past. Do you understand?"
"Yes," sobbed the grateful and greatly excited youth. Somewhere he had heard, maybe from Cleena's lips, something about heaping coals. He felt at that moment as if the living coals were lying upon his own poor head.
"Then go; and if it will give you any pleasure to know it, I believe that you are now about the richest of the mill operatives living in Ardsley village."
Stumbling, through his tears, and truly far more grateful for the prevention of his crime than even for his unexpected good fortune and full forgiveness, Cleena's Fayetty went.
As his footsteps died away, Amy, who seemed given to outbursts to relieve her full heart, threw her arms about the old man's neck and kissed him over and over.
"That's better, child, that's better. The first time thee planted it on my nose, I seemed to have a dim perception that this was not the regulation feature for such gifts, but it answered; though I like them better on my cheek, child. Thee's improving. Now let's go home. Yes; it's the carryall. There's room for us all. On the way I'll tell thee – "
"No, no; wait till we get home. Don't let's leave anybody out any more. By thy face I can see it's something delightful thee is going to tell. Oh, make the old horse travel, travel – fast, fast!"
CHAPTER XXIX.
CONCLUSION
On half-holidays Cleena had always the best dinner of the week. To its enjoyment were usually brought the best appetites of the week as well; for there was leisure and talk and laughter, and that interchange of experiences which kept their family life so united.
Archibald Wingate joined the party at this present half-holiday dinner; yet even with such cheerfulness about him could not but shiver now and then, as he recalled his narrow escape of the afternoon. To have taken his meal alone, on that day, would have been to suffer greatly.
But Amy had brought him in and placed him in the seat of honor, and amid the general rejoicing over Hallam's wonderful recovery and surprise, they had made him feel that he was a sharer. They had just drawn back from the table, and were going into the sitting room, when there came a tap at the door that Cleena answered. It was a small tap, very low down on the panel, but it was given due importance; for wasn't the visitor Master "Willyum Gladstone Jones," and wasn't Cleena just making fine progress in teaching him his "manners"?
So they all paused to wait the child's important entrance, and to smile over Goodsoul's greeting: —
"The top o' the evenin' to you, Mister Jones. An' what may be givin' us the pleasure of a visit from your lordship the now? A what? Speak up; a box is it? Miss Amy's box. Never a doubt I doubt you've made messes of its insides, by the way. No? Then your improvin', to that extent I must even be givin' ye a bite o' this fine apple pie. Hmm; exactly. Well, give the young lady her bit property, again' I slips on a plate an' teaches ye how to eat decent, as ye should."
So the little fellow, who had just been promoted to his first trousers and felt as all boys do in such a case, walked proudly across the room and offered Amy a japanned casket.
"Why, Sir William, how came you by that? I haven't seen it for ever so long. I used to keep my few letters in it. I wonder if they're here now."
"Ev'y one. My mamma seen 'em all. She said the top one – I don't know. Somefin."
"Arrah musha! but I remember one day, long syne, he was aye botherin' an' I set him to orderin' the box neat an' nice. He must ha' took it away with him an' me not payin' no attention. Well, a box o' such truck's neither here no more there, I forecast."
Amy had stopped to admire the new garment, fashioned from an old one of Hallam's, and having thus satisfied the little one's innocent pride, now opened her recovered keepsake. She lifted the letters idly, dropped them, and again catching one that had, indeed, lain upon the top, sprang up and waved it overhead.
"The letter! the letter! The lost one of Adam!"
"No; is it really? To come in such a way – "
"On such a day – oh, Hal!"
She caught her brother's hands and wrung them in delight, then ran to her father and placed the letter before him.
He looked at it critically.
"Yes; that is Adam Burn's handwriting. His own familiar seal. These people who have had it in keeping – "
"I hided it. Zen I dugged it out. Same like Fayetty," explained Sir William, between mouthfuls.
"The blessed baby! that explains."
"Let us go into the parlor and read it. It is yours, daughter; you must yourself break the seal."
"Oh, I'll break it fast enough."
"Hmm. Young lady, I thought you were the girl who didn't want to be an heiress," commented Uncle Fred, teasingly.
Amy's face sobered.
"You are right. I didn't so wish then, when the shock and sorrow were fresh; but now I do. Just think of all the comfort for all you folks in that lovely home."
"Then I must lose my tenants, eh?" asked Mr. Wingate, smiling.
"Thee'll lose nothing! Wait. If thee has plans to tell, so have I."
The letter was a simple one, plain, and leaving no room for any sort of legal difficulty. Amy could enter upon her heritage that day, if she wished. The place where the will was stored was designated, and they knew it would there be found. But after the reading a little silence fell upon them all.
The old mill owner was the first to break this. He did it almost reverently.
"Speaking of wills, and after the events of the day, I've been thinking of mine. By the way, Amy, I suppose thee'll cease to work for me now."
"I don't see why I should, unless my father needs me at home. We will see about that afterward. Tell us thy plans, please. I'd like to hear them."
"And I'd like to have thee make them for me."
"Make them? I?"
"Yes; in truth and deed. If thee were me and had as much money as I have, and were just such a lonely, childless, forlorn old man, what would thee do, that would accomplish the most good? according to thy judgment, which I have found a fairly sound one."
The elder Kayes listened in astonishment. They had been prepared by various matters for a great change in their kinsman, though not for one so radical. But the father began to perceive how this change had been wrought, and his heart gave thanks for the devoted, sunshiny daughter who seemed to shed an influence for happiness and goodness on all whom she knew. It was due to her, he believed, that this new Archibald had replaced the old.
"Does thee mean it, truly?"
"Yes; I mean it. Let me hear. If it is possible, I will carry out the wishes thee expresses, knowing they will be all for the benefit of somebody deserving."
"Well, then, I'd help the unpractical Kaye family to get settled at Burnside Farm, on the condition that for my services I was given a big, delightful room in the old farmhouse, to live in and with them, forever and ever and ever, so long as the dear Lord permitted – that's if I were thee, Cousin Archibald."
"But would that ne'er-do-well Kaye family take in an old curmudgeon, does thee think?"
"Never. A curmudgeon is a thing they detest. They'd take in a nice, fat, old fellow, whose heart was so big it made his body grow to hold it, and who meant to do all the good with his money that his money would do, and not leave it for anybody to squabble over after he died."
"Excellent, Miss Wisdom; proceed."
"After I'd got a niche at Burnside, I'd take 'Charity House' and remodel it into a Modern Industrial School. I'd have 'designing' taught, in regular classes, by a well-known artist, named Cuthbert Kaye. I'd have agriculture under the instruction of another expert, Frederic Kaye. I'd have a school of scientific cookery – not by you, my Cleena, but by somebody who hates pies and adores oatmeal and et cetera. No, really, I do think the mill folks should understand more about foods and their uses. They'd save so much money and – dyspepsia."
"Hurry up. Where do I come in?"
"At the mercantile college end of the establishment, learned brother. There should be a splendid library, a gymnasium, a swimming pool – "
"A swimming pool on the top of Bareacre knoll!"
"Please don't interrupt, Hal. It's impolite. I'd have it – somewhere. I'd have a paddock full of burros – "
"They're already ordered," cried Archibald, forgetting everything in his enjoyment of her happy face.
"Am I to continue? May I let my fancy riot?"
"Yes, indeed; give thyself full freedom for once."
"Then I'd take beautiful Fairacres, that has been a happy home for generations, and I'd make it a Happy Home, with capital letters. I'd call to it all the tired and ailing mill folks in the country. I'd make its disused studio and book rooms into a hospital, and where father painted his picture of pain, that he destroyed, let all pain be soothed; and all the other big chambers into havens of rest for other girls who, unlike me, have no fathers, nor Uncle Freds, nor Hallams, nor Cousin Archibalds, nor anybody. I'd have Mary Reese trained to be its Little Mother; and Archibald Wingate should be full manager of all, beloved and venerated, reaping the happiness he has himself bestowed; and oh, cousin, if it might be true! and if I were not out of breath! There! have I 'rioted' enough?"
Mr. Wingate turned his head sidewise and looked admiringly upon the unselfish girl who had planned so much for others, and had not, apparently, remembered to plan anything for herself.
"Yes; thee has rioted enough. But, little one, if thee pleases, if my other kinsfolk here so please; if the dead past is indeed the dead past, and the future may be our happy own, there is no reason under the blue heaven why thee has not prophesied aright. What say, my friends? Shall Amy's word be that which the Spirit has moved her to say? Shall we make it real and tangible, this beautiful, helpful dream of hers? You are all interested alike. You are my next of kin. After me you will inherit – or these others whom she has named. Was Amy's word the true Word, Cuthbert? The word Salome would have spoken?"
"It was the true Word, Archibald. Let it be as Salome's child has spoken," said Cuthbert Kaye, grasping his kinsman's hand.
And all Ardsley now knows that as it was then agreed, so it is, and will remain.