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Page 36
And then, quite illogically, the years were bridged and the whole leaden
weight of East Falls descended upon him like a damp sea fog. He fought
it from him, thrusting it off and aside by sentimental thoughts on the
"honest snow," the "fine elms," the "sturdy New England spirit," and the
"great homecoming." But at sight of Agatha's house he wilted. Before he
knew it, with a recrudescent guilty pang, he had tossed the half-smoked
cigar away and slackened his pace until his feet dragged in the old
lifeless, East Falls manner. He tried to remember that he was the owner
of Childs' Cash Store, accustomed to command, whose words were listened
to with respect in the Employers' Association, and who wielded the gavel
at the meetings of the Chamber of Commerce. He strove to conjure visions
of the letters in black and gold, and of the string of delivery wagons
backed up to the sidewalk. But Agatha's New England spirit was as sharp
as the frost, and it travelled to him through solid house-walls and
across the intervening hundred yards.
Then he became aware that despite his will he had thrown the cigar away.
This brought him an awful vision. He saw himself going out in the frost
to the woodshed to smoke. His memory of Agatha he found less softened by
the lapse of years than it had been when three thousand miles
intervened. It was unthinkable. No; he couldn't do it. He was too old,
too used to smoking all over the house, to do the woodshed stunt now.
And everything depended on how he began. He would put his foot down. He
would smoke in the house that very night ... in the kitchen, he feebly
amended. No, by George, he would smoke now. He would arrive smoking.
Mentally imprecating the cold, he exposed his bare hands and lighted
another cigar. His manhood seemed to flare up with the match. He would
show her who was boss. Right from the drop of the hat he would show her.
Josiah Childs had been born in this house. And it was long before he
was born that his father had built it. Across the low stone fence,
Josiah could see the kitchen porch and door, the connected woodshed, and
the several outbuildings. Fresh from the West, where everything was new
and in constant flux, he was astonished at the lack of change.
Everything was as it had always been. He could almost see himself, a
boy, doing the chores. There, in the woodshed, how many cords of wood
had he bucksawed and split! Well, thank the Lord, that was past.
The walk to the kitchen showed signs of recent snow-shovelling. That had
been one of his tasks. He wondered who did it now, and suddenly
remembered that his own son must be twelve. In another moment he would
have knocked at the kitchen door, but the _skreek_ of a bucksaw from the
woodshed led him aside. He looked in and saw a boy hard at work.
Evidently, this was his son. Impelled by the wave of warm emotion that
swept over him, he all but rushed in upon the lad. He controlled himself
with an effort.
"Father here?" he asked curtly, though from under the stiff brim of his
John B. Stetson he studied the boy closely.
Sizable for his age, he thought. A mite spare in the ribs maybe, and
that possibly due to rapid growth. But the face strong and pleasing and
the eyes like Uncle Isaac's. When all was said, a darn good sample.
"No, sir," the boy answered, resting on the saw-buck.
"Where is he?"
"At sea," was the answer.
Josiah Childs felt a something very akin to relief and joy tingle
through him. Agatha had married again--evidently a seafaring man. Next,
came an ominous, creepy sensation. Agatha had committed bigamy. He
remembered Enoch Arden, read aloud to the class by the teacher in the
old schoolhouse, and began to think of himself as a hero. He would do
the heroic. By George, he would. He would sneak away and get the first
train for California. She would never know.
But there was Agatha's New England morality, and her New England
conscience. She received a regular remittance. She knew he was alive. It
was impossible that she could have done this thing. He groped wildly for
a solution. Perhaps she had sold the old home, and this boy was somebody
else's boy.
"What is your name?" Josiah asked.
"Johnnie," came the reply.
"Last name I mean?"
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