"Well,then,I'm goin'to,"declared the other,with gleeful emphasis."An',say,I don't believe even YOU can explain this--Idon't!Well,you know Streeter--ev'ry one does,so I ain't sayin'nothin'sland'rous.He was cut on a bias,an'that bias runs ter money every time.You know as well as I do that he won't lift his finger unless there's a dollar stickin'to it,an'that he hain't no use fur anythin'nor anybody unless there's money in it for him.I'm blamed if I don't think that if he ever gits ter heaven,he'll pluck his own wings an'sell the feathers fur what they'll bring.""Oh,Perry!"remonstrated Mr.Jack,in a half-stifled voice.
Perry Larson only grinned and went on imperturbably.
"Well,seein'as we both understand what he is,I'll tell ye what he DONE.He called me up ter his fence one day,big as life,an'says he,'How's the boy?'An'you could 'a'knocked me down with a feather.Streeter--a-askin'how a boy was that was sick!An'he seemed ter care,too.I hain't seen him look so longfaced since--since he was paid up on a sartin note I knows of,jest as he was smackin'his lips over a nice fat farm that was comin'to him!"
"Well,I was that plum puzzled that I meant ter find out why Streeter was takin'sech notice,if I hung fur it.So I set to on a little detective work of my own,knowin',of course,that 't wa'n't no use askin'of him himself.Well,an'what do you s'pose I found out?If that little scamp of a boy hadn't even got round him--Streeter,the skinflint!He had--an'he went there often,the neighbors said;an'Streeter doted on him.They declared that actually he give him a cent once--though THAT part I ain't swallerin'yet."
"They said--the neighbors did--that it all started from the pear tree--that big one ter the left of his house.Maybe you remember it.Well,anyhow,it seems that it's old,an'through bearin'any fruit,though it still blossoms fit ter kill,every year,only a little late 'most always,an'the blossoms stay on longer'n common,as if they knew there wa'n't nothin'doin'later.Well,old Streeter said it had got ter come down.I reckon he suspected it of swipin'some of the sunshine,or maybe a little rain that belonged ter the tree t'other side of the road what did bear fruit an'was worth somethin'!Anyhow,he got his man an'his axe,an'was plum ready ter start in when he sees David an'David sees him."
"'T was when the boy first come.He'd gone ter walk an'had struck this pear tree,all in bloom,--an''course,YOU know how the boy would act--a pear tree,bloomin',is a likely sight,I'll own.He danced and laughed and clapped his hands,--he didn't have his fiddle with him,--an'carried on like all possessed."
"Then he sees the man with the axe,an'Streeter an'Streeter sees him."
"They said it was rich then--Bill Warner heard it all from t'other side of the fence.He said that David,when he found out what was goin'ter happen,went clean crazy,an'rampaged on at such a rate that old Streeter couldn't do nothin'but stand an'stare,until he finally managed ter growl out:'But I tell ye,boy,the tree ain't no use no more!'"
"Bill says the boy flew all to pieces then.'No use--no use!'he cries;'such a perfectly beautiful thing as that no use!Why,it don't have ter be any use when it's so pretty.It's jest ter look at an'love,an'be happy with!'Fancy sayin'that ter old Streeter!I'd like ter seen his face.But Bill says that wa'n't half what the boy said.He declared that 't was God's present,anyhow,that trees was;an'that the things He give us ter look at was jest as much use as the things He give us ter eat;an'that the stars an'the sunsets an'the snowflakes an'the little white cloud-boats,an'I don't know what-all,was jest as important in the Orchestra of Life as turnips an'squashes.An'then,Billy says,he ended by jest flingin'himself on ter Streeter an'beggin'him ter wait till he could go back an'git his fiddle so he could tell him what a beautiful thing that tree was."
"Well,if you'll believe it,old Streeter was so plum befuzzled he sent the man an'the axe away--an'that tree's a-livin'ter-day--'t is!"he finished;then,with a sudden gloom on his face,Larson added,huskily:"An'I only hope I'll be sayin'the same thing of that boy--come next month at this time!""We'll hope you will,"sighed the other fervently."
And so one by one the days passed,while the whole town waited and while in the great airy "parlor bedroom"of the Holly farmhouse one small boy fought his battle for life.Then came the blackest day and night of all when the town could only wait and watch--it had lost its hope;when the doctors shook their heads and refused to meet Mrs.Holly's eyes;when the pulse in the slim wrist outside the coverlet played hide-and-seek with the cool,persistent fingers that sought so earnestly for it;when Perry Larson sat for uncounted sleepless hours by the kitchen stove,and fearfully listened for a step crossing the hallway;when Mr.
Jack on his porch,and Miss Holbrook in her tower widow,went with David down into the dark valley,and came so near the rushing river that life,with its petty prides and prejudices,could never seem quite the same to them again.
Then,after that blackest day and night,came the dawn--as the dawns do come after the blackest of days and nights.In the slender wrist outside the coverlet the pulse gained and steadied.
On the forehead beneath the nurse's fingers,a moisture came.The doctors nodded their heads now,and looked every one straight in the eye."He will live,"they said."The crisis is passed."Out by the kitchen stove Perry Larson heard the step cross the hall and sprang upright;but at the first glimpse of Mrs.Holly's tear-wet,yet radiant face,he collapsed limply.
"Gosh!"he muttered."Say,do you know,I didn't s'pose I did care so much!I reckon I'll go an'tell Mr.Jack.He'll want ter hear."
