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Show m valiants mm ia Mm HALLE ERMINE ' A 111 ILLUSTRATIONS LAUREN STOUT J , ,-rrrrm ratnlaU j SVNOPSIS. -I'lltn Vali.'jnt, fi rleh .sorl.-ry C;ivnrlte. suM'-r:ly .li.v-cvers ih:i! the Valium cr-pi, cr-pi, ration, wdt'ii Ins talhtr founded am v-hlrh wns- thf prinrliial sniirci- of his w.-allli. has tailed, lie voluntarily turns -J.'er his private famine to the nc.iver for tile i orporation. ills r-niire r.Mnat n I III Xiohs.rssions eoriKist of an ft 1 ri motor car. a white hall dox and iJa.nairy court, a ni'K-l-'eted estate In Virginia. On the way to Jnimory court ho rn-ets Shirley !):tnil-rld'e, !):tnil-rld'e, an auburn-haired br-nulv. ami de-.-Idea that ho Is xoiiiK to like Virginia immensely. im-mensely. Shirley's mother. Mrs. Dand-ri-lxe. VnM" jor Hristow exchange rem-f rem-f nlneend-.-s during whlih It is revealed t f.hftt tle major. Valiant's fathep, and a man named fiasson were rivals for the hand of Mrs. Uandrldtte In her youth. Sasson anil Valiant fouKht a duel on her account In which Ihe former was killed. Valiant finds liamory court overgrown with weeds and creepers and the build-Insrs build-Insrs In a very much neglected condition. Tie ditr-ldes to rehabilitate tile dace and ryaUe the land produce a living for him. Valiant saves Shirley from the hite of a onake. which hitcs hitn. Knowing the 4eadliness of the hlte. Shirley sucks the poison from the wound and saves his life. CHAPTER XIV Continued. "Listen, Shirley. What's that Ric-!tey Ric-!tey is telling Ranston?" "Don' yo' come heah wid yo' no-count no-count play-actin'. Cyan' fool Ranston wid no sleh snek-story, neirlah. Ain' no moc'sin at Dam'ry Co'ot, en neb-bah neb-bah was!" "There was, too!" insisted Rickey.' "One bit him and Miss Shirley found him and sent Uncle Jefferson for Doctor Doc-tor Southall and it saved his life! So there! Doctor Southall told Mrs. Mason. Ma-son. And he Isn't a man who's just come to fix it up, either; he's the r-ally truly man that owns it!" "Who on earth is that child talking about?" Shirley put her arm around her mother and kissed her. Her heart was beating quickly. "The owner has come to Damory Court. He " The small book Mrs. Dandridge held fell to the floor. "The owner! What owner?" "Mr. Valiant Mr. John Valiant. The son of the man who abandoned It so long ago." As she picked up the fallen volume and put it into her mother's hands, Shirley was startled by the whiteness of her face. "Dearest!" she oried. "You are ill. You shouldn't have come down." "No. It's nothing. I've been shut up all day. Go and open the other window." Shirley threw it wide. "Can I get your salts?" she asked anxiously. Her mother shook her head. "No," Bhe said, almost sharply. "There's nothing whatever the matter with me. Only my nerves aren't what they used to be, I suppose and snakes always did get on them. Now, give me the gist of it first. I can wait for the rest. There's a tenant at Damory Court. And his name's John Valiant. And he was bitten by a moccasin. When?" "This afternoon." Mrs. Dandridge's voice shook. "Will he will he recover?" "Oh, yes." "Beyond .any question?" "The doctor says so." "And you found him, Shirley you?" "I was there when it happened." She had crouched iown on the rug in her favorite posture, her coppery hair against her mother's knee, catching strange reddish over-tones like molten metal, from the shaded lamp. Mrs. .Dandridge fingered her cane nervous- But More Thar, Once Shirley Saw Her Hands Clasp Themselves Together. ly. Then she dropped her hand on the rirl's head. "Now," she said, "tell me all about t." CHAPTER XV. The Anniversary. The ' story was not a long one, though it omitted nothing: the morn-Ins morn-Ins fox-hunt and the identification of the now arrival at Damory Court as the owner o: yesterday's stalled motor; mo-tor; t he afternoon raid on the jessamine, jessa-mine, the conversation with John Valiant Va-liant in the woods. Mrs. Dandridge, gazing into the fire, listened without comment, but more than once Shirley saw her hands clasp themselves together and thought, too. that she seemed strangely pale. The swift and tragic sequel to that meeting meet-ing was the harde.it to tell, and as she enled she put up her hand to her bhoulder, holding it hard. "It was horrible!" she said. Vet now she did not. shude'er. Strangely enough, the uetise of loathing which hail been toeing over her at recurrent Inter vals ever since that hour in the wood, had vanished utterly! She read the newspaper article aloud and her mother listened with an expression that puzzled her. When .she finished, both were silent for a moment, then she asked, "You must liav-a known his father, dearest; didn't you?" "Yes." said Mrs. Dandridge after a pause. "I knew his father." Shirley said no more, and facing each other in the candle-glow, across the spotless damask, they talked, as with common consent, of other things. She thought she had never seen her mother more brilliant. An odd excitement excite-ment was flooding her cheek with red and she chatted and laughed as she had not done for years. But after dinner the gaiety and effervescence ef-fervescence faded quickly and Mrs. Dandridge went early to her room. She mounted the stair with her arm thrown about Shirley's pliant waist. At her door she kissed her, looking at her with a strange smile. "How curious," cu-rious," she said, as if to herself, "that it should have happened today!''' The reading-lamp had been lighted on her table. She drew a slim gold chain from the bosom of her dress and held to the light a little locket-brooch locket-brooch it carried. It was of black enamel, en-amel, with a tiny laurel-wreath of pearls on one side encircling a single diamond. The other side was of crystal crys-tal and covered a baby's russet-colored curl. In her fingers it opened and disclosed a miniature at which she looked closely for a moment. Her eyes turned restlessly about the room. It had been hers as a girl, for Rosewood had been the old Garland homestead. It seemed now all at once to be full of calling memories qf her youth. "How strange that It should have been today !V It had been on Shirley's lips to question, but the door had closed, and she went slowly downstairs. down-stairs. She sat a while thinking, but at length grew restless and began to walk to and fro across the floor, her hands, clasped behind her head so that the cool air filled her flowing sleeves. In the hall she could hear the leisurely leisure-ly kon-kon kon-kon of the tall clock. The evening outside was exquisitely still and the metallic monotone was threaded with the airy fiddle-fiddle of crickets in the grass and punctuated with the rain-glad cloap of a frog. Shirley stepped lightly down to the wet grass. Looking back, she could see her mother's lighted blind. All around the ground was splotched with rose-petals, looking in the squares of light like bloody rain. She skimmed the lawn and ran a little way down the lane. A shuffling sound presently fell on her ear. "Is that you, Unc' Jefferson?" she called softly. "Yas'm!" The footsteps came nearer. near-er. "Et's me, Miss Shirley." He tittered tit-tered noiselessly, and she could see his bent form vibrating in the gloom. "Yo' reck'n Ah done fergit?" "No, indeed. I knew you wouldn't do that. How is he?" "He right much bettah," he replied in the same guarded tone. "Doctah he say he be all right in er few days, on'y he gotter lay up er while. Dat was er ugly nip he got f'om dat 'spis-able 'spis-able reptyle." "Do you think there can be any others about the grounds?" "No'm. Dey mos'ly keeps ter de ma'sh-lan' en on'y runs whah de un-dah-bresh ez thick. I gwtaeter fix dat ter-morrow. Mars' Valiant he tell me ter grub et all out en make er bon-fiah bon-fiah ob it." "That's right. Unc' Jefferson. Good night, and thank you for coming." She started back to the bouse, when his voice stopped her. "Mis' Shirley, yo' don' keer ef de ole man geddahs two er three ob dem roses? Seems lak yonng mars' moughty fon' ob dem. He got one in er glass but et's mos' daid now." "Wait a minute," she said, and disappeared dis-appeared in the darkness, returning quickly with a handful which she put in his grasp. "There!" she whispered, and slipped back through the perfumed dark. An hour later she stood in the cozy stillness of her bedroom. She threw off her gown, slipped into a soft loose robe of maize-colored sill; ami stood before the small glass. She pulled out the amber pins and drew her wonderful hair on either side of her face, looking out at her reflection like a mermaid from between the rippling rip-pling waves of a moon-golden sea. At last she turned, anil seating herself her-self at the desk, took from it a diary She scanned the pages at random, her eyes catching lines here and there. "A good run today. Betty and Judge Chalmers and the Pendleton boys. My fourth brush this season." A frown drew itself across her brows, and she turned the page. "One of the hounds broke his leg, and I gave him to Rickey." "Chilly Lusk to dinner today, after swimming the Lor-ing Lor-ing Rapid." She bit her lip, turned abruptly to the new page and took up her pen. "This morning a twelve-mile run to Damory Court," she wrote. "This afternoon went for cape jessamines." There she paused. The happenings and sensations of that day would not be recorded. They were unwritable. She laid down her pen and put her forehead on her clasped hands. How empty and inane these entries seemed beside this rich and eventful twenty-four twenty-four hours just passed! What had she been doing a year ago today? she wondered. The lower drawer of the desk held a number of slim diaries like the one before her. She pulled it out, took up the last-year's volume and opened it. "Why," she said in surprise, "I got jessamine for mother this very same day last year!" she pondered frowning, frown-ing, then reached for a third and a fourth. From these she looked up, startled. That date in her mother's calendar called for cape jessamines. What was the fourteenth of May to her? ' She bent a slow troubled gaze about her. The room had been hers as a child. She seemed suddenly back in that childhood, with her mother bending bend-ing over her pillow and fondling her rebellious hair. When the wind cried for loneliness out in the dark she had "I'm Tempted to Stay Sick and Do Nothing but Eat." sung old songs to her. Sad songs! Even in those pinafore years Shirley had vaguely realized that pain lay behind be-hind the brave gay mask. Was there something some event that had caused that dull-colored life and un-fulfilment? un-fulfilment? And was today, perhaps, its anniversary? John Valiant sat propped up on the library couch, an open magazine unheeded un-heeded on his knee. The reading-stand reading-stand beside him was a litter of letters let-ters z.-d papers. The bow-window was open and the honeysuckle breeze blew about him, lifting his hair and ruffling the leaves of the papers. In the garden three darkies were laboring, labor-ing, under the supervision of Uncle Jefferson. The unsightly weeds and lichen were gone from the graveled paths, and from the fountain pool, whose shaft now spouted a blender spray shivered by the breeze into a million diamonds, which fell back into the pool with a tintinabulant trickle and-drip. The master of Damory Court closed the magazine with a sigh. "If I could only do it all at once!" he muttered. 'It takes such a confounded time. Four days they've been working now, and they haven't done much more than clean up." He laughed, and threw the magazine at the dog who dodged it with injured alacrity. "After all, Chum," he remarked, "it's been thirty years getting in this condition. I guess we're doing pretty well." He stretched luxuriously. "I'll take a hand at it myself tomorrow. I'm as right as rain again pow. thanks to Aunt Daph and the doctor. Some thing of a crusty citizen, the doctor but he's all to the good." A heavy step came along the porch and Uncle Jefferson appeared with a tray holding a covered dish with a plate of biscuit and a round jam-pot. "Look here." said John Valiant. "I had my luncheon three hours ago, I'm being stuffed like a milk-fed turkey." The old man smiled widely. "Et's jes' er li'l snack er broth," he said. "Reck'n et'll kinder Moat eroun' de yuddah things. Dis' yeah pot's dat apple-buttah whut Miss Mattie Sue sen' yo' by Rickey Snyder." Valiant sniffed with satisfaction. "I'm getting so confoundedly spoiled." he said, "that I'm tempted to slay sick and do nothing but eat. By the way. Uncle Jefferson, where did Rickey come from? Does she belong here?" "No. suh. She come f'om Hell's-Half-Acre." "What's that'" "Dat's dat ornery passle o' folk's yondah on do Dome." explained Uncle Un-cle Jefferson. "Dey's been dah long's Ah kin rerommcmbah jes' er ramshackle ram-shackle lot o' shif'les po'-white trash whut git erlong anyways 't all." "That's interesting," said Valiant. "So Rickey belonged there?" "Yas, suh; nebbah 'd a-come down heah 'cep'in' fo' Mis' Shirley. She de one whut fotch de li'l gal outen dat place, en put huh wid Mis' Mattie Sue, three yeah ergo." A sudden color came into John Valiant's Va-liant's cheeks. "Tell rr.e about it." His voice vibrated eagerly. "Well, sub," continued Uncle Jefferson, Jeffer-son, "dey was one o' dem low-dow i Hell's-Half-Acrers, name' Greef King, whut call hese'f de mayah ob de Dome, cn he went on de rampage one day, en took ahtah his wife. She was er po' sickly 'ooman. wid er li'l gal five yeah ol' by er fust husban'. He done beat huh heap o' times befo', but dis time he boun' ter finish huh. Ah reck'n he was too drunk fo' dat, en she got erway en run down heah. Et was wintah time en dab's snow on de groun'. Dah's er road f'om de Dome dat hits de Red Road closf ter Rosewood Rose-wood dat ar's de Dandridge place en she come dah. Reck'n she wuz er pitirul-lookin' obstacle. 'Peahs lak she done put de li'l gal up In de cabin lof en hid de laddah. en she mos' crazy fo' feah Greef git huh. She lef he huntin fo' de young Y.n when she ran erway. Dey was on'y Mis' Judith en Mis' Shirley en de gal Em' lino at Rosewood. Well, suh. dey wa'nt no time ter sen' fo' men. Whut yo' reck'n Mis' Shirley do? She ain' afeahd o' nuffin on dis yerf. en she on'y sebenteen yeah ol' den, too. She don' tell Mis' Judith no, suh! She run out ter de stable en saddle huh hoss, en she gallop up dat road ter Hell's-Half-Acre lak er shot outen er shovel." Valiant brought his hands together sharply. "Yes, yes," he said. "And then?"' "Wben she come ter Greet King's cabin, he done foun' de laddah, en one er he foots was on de rung. He had er ax in he han'. De po' li'l gal was peepin' down thoo' de cracks o' de flo', en prayin' de bestes' she know how. She say arterwuhds dat she reck'iv de Good' Lawd sen' er angel, fo' Mis' Shirley were all in white she didn' stop ter change huh close. She didn' say nuffin. Mis' Shirley didh'. She on'y lay huh ban' on Greef King's ahm, en he look at huh face, en he drop he ax en go. Den she dumb de laddah en fotch de chile down in huh ahms en take huh on de hoss en come back. Dat de way et happen, suh." "And' Rickey was that little child!" "Yas, suh, she sho' was. In de mawnin' er posse done ride up ter Hell's-Half-Acre en take Greef King in. De majah he argyfy de case fo' de State, en when he done git thoo', dey mos' put de tow eroun' King's nek in de co'ot room. He done got six yeah, en et mos' broke de majah's ha'at dat dey couldn' give him no mo'. He wuz cert'n'y er bad aig, dat Greef wuz. Dey say he done sw'ah he gwineter do up de majah- when he git out." Such was the story which Uncle Jefferson told, standing in the doorway. door-way. When his shuffling step had retreated, re-treated, Valiant went to the table and picked up a slim tooled volume that lay there. It was "Lucile," which he had found In the hall the night of his arrival. He opened it to a page where, pressed and wrinkled but Btill retaining retain-ing its bright red pigment, lay what had been a rose. He stood looking at it abstractedly, his nostrils widening to its crushed spicy scent, then closed it and slipped it into his pocket. CHAPTER XVI. In Devil-John's Day, He was still sitting motionless when there came a knock at the door and it opened to admit the gruff voice of Doctor Southall. A big form was close behind him. "Hell. Up, I see. I took the liberty of bringing Major Bristow." The master of Damory Court came forward limping the least trifle and shook hands. "Glad to know you, sah." said the major. "Allow me .o )t. you; it's not every one v. ho get. .Ml en by one of those infernal mocca sis that lives to talk about t lo must be a pet of P''ovldence'tuHon you have a cast-iron constitution Valiant waved his hand toward the man of medicine, who said. ' reckon Miss Shirley was the Providence in the case. She had sense enough to send for me quick and speed did it. "Well, sah," the major said, i reckon under the circumstances, your first impressions of the section aren t anvthing for us to brag about. "I'm delighted; it's hard for me t tell how much." , "Wait till you know the fool place growled the doctor testily. 'ouL change your tune." The major smiled genially. "Don t be taken in by the doctor's pessimism You'd have to get a yoke of three-year three-year oxen to drag him out of this state." , "It would take as many for me. Valiant laughed a little. "You who have always lived here, can scarcely understand what I am feeling, I imagine. imag-ine. You see, I never knew till quite recently my childhood was largely spent abroad, and I have no near relativesthat rela-tivesthat my father was a Virginian and that my ancestors always lived here. Why, there's a room upstairs with the very toys they played with when they were children! To learn that I belong to it all; that I myself am the last link In such a chain!" "The ancestral instinct," said the doctor. "I'm glad to see that it means something still, in these rotten days." "Of course," John Valiant continued, "every one knows that he has ancestors. ances-tors. But I'm beginning to see that what you call the ancestral instinct needs a locality and a place. In a way it seems .to me that an old estate like this has a soul too a sort of clan or family soul that reacts on the descendant." "Rather a Japanesy idea, isn't It?" observed the major. "But I know what you mean. Maybe that's why old Virginian families hang on to their land in spite of hell and high-water. They count their forebears real llv people, quite capable of turning over in their graves." "Mine are beginning to seem very real io me. Though I don't even know their Christian names yet, I can judge them by their handiwork. The men who built Damory Court had a sense of beauty and of art." "And their share of deviltry, too," put in the doctor. "I suppose so," admitted his host "At this distance I ?an bear even that. But good or bad, I'm deeply thankful that they chose Virginia. Since I've been laid up, I've been browsing in the library here " "A bit out of date now, I reckon," said the major, "but it used to pass muster. Your grandfather was something some-thing of a book-worm. He wrote a history of the family, didn't he?" "Yes. I've found it. 'The Valiants of Virginia.' I'm reading the Revolutionary Revolu-tionary chapters now. It never seemed real before it's been only a slice of impersonal and rather dull history. But the book has made it conio alive. I'm having the thrill of the globe trotter tin first time he sees the Tower Tow-er of London or the field of Waterloo I see more than that stubble-fieU: out yonder; I see a big wooden stockade with soldiers in ragged buff and blue guarding it." . fTO BR COXTINT-Kn i |