From: Arden Town (1913; Unpublished MS)
Author: Scott Nearing
Published:
“Chilluns,” said Will Evans, as the crowd rose from supper, “I move we sit down and watch the sunset.”
Supper had started late, and already the sun was resting on the treetops to the west. The sky was almost clear, save that at intervals thin bands of high cirrus clouds lay faintly along the horizon.
“I have been in the Canadian Rockies,” said Will Evans, “and in the Swiss Alps, and beside the English lakes, but I never saw finer sunsets than we get through that gap in the trees.”
The sun sank slowly. The thin bands of cloud expanded and changed from pale yellow to pink, orange, and scarlet. The treetop, illuminated, stood out raggedly against the lurid sky. Far above, almost in the zenith of the heavens, a bevy of fleecy clouds took over the colors of the west, reflecting in softer shades the glories of the sun clouds. For an instant the sky was all ablaze; then the sun disappeared and the colors gradually died; but still the clouds in the zenith reflected the light which they alone could catch. The west faded; the zenith glowed gently. The crimson gave place to purple, and then to gray. The twilight had fallen.
“I told you so,” said Will Evans, drawing a long breath. “Did you ever see anything more perfect?”
“Never,” said Fred Allen.
There was a pause.
“Any Shakespeare to-night, Will?”
“I’m sorry, Doctor, but two of our principals were detained in town.”
“Shakespeare!” exclaimed Fred Allen. “Oh, those are the open-air performances about which Ruth Wade told me.”
“Yes, and if my precious Ruth had chosen to stay here, we should be at it to-night. Well, well, variety, you know. We’ll dance none the less heartily.” A bugle sounded shrilly. “There’s the call for the dance, now. If you’ll stop down at the Homestead for a moment, I’ll go over with you.”
“Where do you dance?” asked Fred Allen, as they walked off, arm in arm.
“In the Club House—haven’t you seen it?”
“No, but Ruth Wade—that is, Miss Wade—told me about it. It’s a remodeled barn, isn’t it? “
Will Evans held his hand kindly—on Fred Allen’s shoulder, and said, with a half-whimsical smile,—”After that three-base hit this afternoon, don’t you think you could afford to drop the Miss and Mister? Your dignity won’t suffer a bit, and it would be so much more convenient.”
“And Ardenish.”
“The very same. If you weren’t the right sort, the children wouldn’t stop and speak when you pass them. I plead guilty to gross ignorance regarding people’s characters, but I have the most profound admiration for the capacity which some of these youngsters seem to have of reaching accurate decisions about people. ‘Except ye become as little children,’ you know. Man alive, imagine the glory of it all if we only could!”
“So you think I’ll be acceptable to the brotherhood, do you?” Fred Allen asked, gratefully. He felt the worth of the compliment.
“Wake up, you’re already in. We’re very scriptural here,” Will Evans laughed. “If the children vote you in, in you come; but if you offend one of these little ones, the millstones get to work on you. -Odd, isn’t it? I’ll be out in an instant,” he added, as he turned into the house.
While Fred Allen waited, he pondered on the children. He had been received. Only that morning, one of them had petitioned for a lend of his pocket-knife, and another had solicited aid for a decrepit doll’s carriage. He had helped both times, and evidently the news of his public-spirited acts had spread abroad. Nor was this his only reward, for the owner of the doll carriage had sidled up to him somewhat bashfully, and whispered,-
“I’m doin’ to tell Ruff about you.”
Fred Allen gathered from this remark that Ruth Wade was to be informed of his generosity. How clearly children saw!
As Will Evans emerged from the house, Al Wilson came up the road, whistling blithely.
“Well, Mr. Allen, you can come again,” he laughed.
“Thank you, I hope to do so.”
“Going over to the dance, Will?”
“Aye, aye, sir. You? “
“Not on this turn of the wheel. I have three letters to write, and a book to read before Sunday. Pleasant dreams,” and he walked on down the road.
“You were asking about the Club House. Well, it is a renovated barn, and we renovated it.”
“You?”
“Yes, the ‘bunch,’ as we call it.”
“Oh, it’s a cooperative venture.”
“Just exactly. We go on the principle that if everybody takes a hand, everybody will be interested; so we all turn to and work. By the by, there will be a floor-laying bee on Friday next, and you will be cordially invited to devote a day’s energy to the service of the club.”
“Is your club exclusive?”
“Well, we have a three-dollar fence around it. It costs quite a penny to provide lights and such, and three dollars per will just about do it. Any one who has three dollars may join. If you have three dollars, I’ll introduce you to the treasurer to-night.”
“Of course I’ll join.”
“Good. Here we are.”
They stepped into a large barn, perhaps forty by fifty feet. The floor was cleaned and waxed for dancing. At one side a fire crackled in a rough stone fireplace; the walls were decorated with field daisies and green leaves. The rafters showed dimly in the half darkness above.
The young lady who had threatened to tell “Ruff,” sidled up.
“Oh, Mr. Allen, have you seen the owl?”
“Owl, no, what owl?”
“Over here,” and she seized his hand and dragged him away to a corner, where, sure enough, a small barn-owl was perched on the end of a rafter.
“Could you get him for me?” demanded the young lady.
“I’m afraid not, my dear, he’s too high.”
“Aint he thweet? cried the child, as the owl fluttered across the darkness above to a new perch.
Meanwhile, Will Evans had come up.
“You dance, don’t you?”
“Of course.”
“Well, let me introduce you to some of the young ladies.”
“I’ve one on hand just now,” said Fred Allen, looking down at his little companion, “but I’m afraid I wasn’t introduced.”
“That is Elizabeth,” said Will Evans gravely. “She dances very well.”
“May I have the first dance with you?” asked Fred Allen, stooping to the child at his side.
“Of course,” and she smiled up joyously.
People were coming in fast—there were perhaps a hundred in the room already. One of the boys had brought in a blackboard and had begun to make out the program in ornate letters that showed real artistic ability. Meanwhile, Will Evans began introducing Fred Allen to the younger women, who, dressed for the most part in white wash dresses, were standing chatting in small groups. In all of their faces Fred Allen thought he observe d a strength that surprised him.
“Let me ask you,” he turned to Will Evans, “Why these girls all look so animated.”
“I suppose it is because they are always at something. They hold several responsible offices in the club, and several of them earn their living.”
“It’s odd,” continued Fred Allen, “but they all remind me just a little of—of—”
“Of Ruth—exactly,” smiled Will Evans. “She earns her living too.”
“I never met that kind of a woman before, “mused Fred Allen. “I suppose,” he added, “that is why they impress me so.”
“Hello,” exclaimed Will Evans, “Way for the Music!”
Two men entered, one tall and angular, the other short and stockily built. After greeting a few friends, they went to the piano.
“Are they paid talent?” Fred Allen asked.
“Bless you, no. One of them is a manufacturer and the other is an insurance man. The tall fellow plays the flute like a professional. There he goes.”
The music began and the dancers were off for a two-step. Fred Allen danced with Elizabeth, taking her around the room until his back was well-nigh broken from the stooping posture which he was forced to assume.
“Let’s stop,” he said at last. “I’m tired.”
“I’m not,” said Elizabeth stoutly, but she stopped, gratefully enough, and climbed to his knee when he sat down. They talked and watched the dance.
“How many older people are dancing,” Fred Allen commented.
“Yes, my mamma always dances,” said Elizabeth.
The music for the next dance was furnished by two violins in addition to the flute and the piano. Both of the violinists were girls. Even at that, as Fred Allen observed to himself, they played excellent music. So the evening passed quickly, with a rollicking Paul Jones every fourth dance, and a jolly Virginia Reel in the middle. After Fred Allen had danced his twelfth dance and eaten his fifth ice cream cone, he hied him toward the homestead with his last partner, who lived half way. “I haven’t danced like that for ten years,” he said. “We had a glorious time.”
“Good-night,” she said at her door. “You dance as well as you play base ball.”
“Thank you,” he laughed. “Good-night.”
Slowly he walked toward his destination. The stars were bright and clear, the moon had not yet risen; but the night was beautiful with a soft white light.
“I was almost a child to-night,” he mused. “Elizabeth took me with her. That is the second time to-day that I forgot myself. What a strange place is Arden!”
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