Dawn by Eleanor Porter (best finance books of all time TXT) 📕

"There, there, Susan, I know just what you're going to say, and it'sall very true, of course," cried Keith, stirring still morerestlessly. "But you see T don't happen to feel like hearing it justnow. Oh, yes, I know I've got lots to be thankful for. I can hear, andfeel, and taste, and walk; and I should be glad for all of them. And Iam, of course. I should declare that all's well with the world, andthat both sides of the street are sunny, and that there isn't anyshadow anywhere. There, you see! I know all that you would say, Susan,and I've said it, so as to save you the trouble."

"Humph!" commented Susan, bridling a little; then suddenly, she gave asly chuckle. "That's all very well an' good, Master Keith Burton, butthere's one more thing I would have said if I was doin' the sayin'!"

"Well?"

"About that both sides of the street bein' sunny—it seems to me thatthe man what says, yes, he knows one side is shady an' troublous, butthat he thinks it'll be healthier an' happier for him an' everybodyelse 'round him if he walks on the sunny side, an' then WALKS THERE—it seems to me he's got the spots all knocked off that feller whatsays there AIN'T no shady side!"

Keith gave a low laugh—a laugh more nearly normal than Susan hadheard him give for several days.

"All right, Susan, I'll accept your amendment and—we'll let it gothat one side is shady, and that I'm supposed to determinedly pick thesunny side. Anything more?"

"M-more?"

"That you came up to say to me—yes. You know I have just saved youthe trouble of saying part of it."

"Oh!" Susan laughed light-heartedly. (This was Keith—her Keith thatshe knew.) "No that's all I—" She stopped short in dismay! All thecolor and lightness disappeared from her face, leaving it suddenlywhite and drawn. "That is," she faltered, "there was somethin' else—Iwas goin' to say, about—about John McGuire. He—"

"I don't care to hear it." Keith had frozen instantly into frigidaloofness. Stern lines had come to his boyish mouth.

"But—but, Keith, Mrs. McGuire came over to-"

"To read another of those precious letters, of course," cut in Keithangrily, "but I tell you I don't want to hear it. Do you suppose acaged bird likes to hear of the woods and fields and tree-tops whilehe's tied to a three-inch swing between two gilt bars? Well, hardly!There's lots that I do have to stand, Susan, but I don't have to standthat."

Susan caught her breath with a half sob.

"But, Keith, I wasn't going to tell you of—of woods an' fields an'tree-tops this time. You see—now he's in a cage himself."

"What do you mean?"

"He's coming home. He's—blind."

Keith leaped from his chair.

"BLIND? JOHN McGUIRE?"

"Yes."

"Oh-h-h!" Long years of past suffering and of future woe filled theshort little word to bursting, as Keith dropped back into his chair.For a moment he sat silent, his whole self held rigid. Then,unsteadily he asked the question:

"What—happened?"

"They don't know. It was a dispatch that came this mornin'. He wasblinded, an' is on his way home. That's all."

"That's—enough."

"Yes, I knew you'd—understand."

"Yes, I do—understand."

Susan hesitated. Keith still sat, with his unseeing gaze straightahead, his body tense and motionless. On the desk within reach lay therevolver. Cautiously Susan half extended her hand toward it, then drewit back. She glanced again at Keith's absorbed face, then turned andmade her way quietly down the stairs.

At the bottom of the attic flight she glanced back. "He won't touch itnow, I'm sure," she breathed. "An', anyhow, we only take knives an'pizen away from children—not grown men!"

CHAPTER XXIV

AS SUSAN SAW IT

It was the town talk, of course—the home-coming of John McGuire. Mengathered on street corners and women clustered about back-yard fencesand church doorways. Children besieged their parents with breathlessquestions, and repeated to each other in awe-struck whispers what theyhad heard. Everywhere was horror, sympathy, and interested speculationas to "how he'd take it."

Where explicit information was so lacking, imagination and surmiseeagerly supplied the details; and Mrs. McGuire's news of the blindingof John McGuire was not three days old before a full account of thetragedy from beginning to end was flying from tongue to tongue—anaccount that would have surprised no one so greatly as it would havesurprised John McGuire himself.

To Susan, Dorothy Parkman came one day with this story.

"Well, 't ain't true," disavowed Susan succinctly when the luriddetails had been breathlessly repeated to her.

"You mean—he isn't blind?" demanded the young girl.

"Oh, yes, he's blind, all right, poor boy! But it's the rest I mean—about his killin' twenty-eight Germans single-handed, an' bein' allshot to pieces hisself, an' benighted for bravery."

"But what did happen?"

"We don't know. We just know he's blind an' comin' home. Mis' McGuirehad two letters yesterday from John, but—"

"From John—himself?"

"Yes; but they was both writ long before the apostrophe, an' 'coursethey didn't say nothin' about it. He was well an' happy, he said. Shehad had only one letter before these for a long time. An' now to have—this!"

"Yes, I know. It's terrible. How does—Mr. Keith take it?"

Susan opened wide her eyes.

"Why, you've seen him—you see him yesterday yourself, Miss Dorothy."

"Oh, I saw him—in a way, but not the real him, Susan. He's miles awaynow, always."

"You mean he ain't civil an' polite?" demanded Susan.

"Oh, he's very civil—too civil, Susan. Every time I go I say I won'tgo again. Then, when I get to thinking of him sitting there alone allday, and of how he used to like to have me read to him and play withhim, I—I just have to go and see if he won't be the same as he usedto be. But he never is."

"I know." Susan shook her head mournfully. "An' he ain't the same,Miss Dorothy. He don't ever whistle nor sing now, nor play solitary,nor any of them things he used to do. Oh, when folks comes in hebraces back an' talks an' laughs. YOU know that. But in the exclusionof his own home here he jest sits an' thinks an' thinks an' thinks.An', Miss Dorothy, I've found out now what he's thinkin' of."

"Yes?"

"It's John McGuire