Part 9 (1/2)

”Y-e-s, seeing you seem to think it was wrong.”

”Well, you'll know better from now on,” said Mary Virginia, comfortingly. She looked at him searchingly for a minute, and he met her look without flinching. That had been the one hopeful sign, from the first--that he never refused to meet your glance, but gave you back one just as steady, if more suspicious.

”Mr. Flint,” said Mary Virginia, ”you've about made up your mind to stay on here with the Padre, haven't you? For a good long while, at any rate? You wouldn't like to leave the Padre, would you?”

He stiffened. One could see the struggle within him.

”Well, miss, I can't see but that I've just got to stay on--for awhile. Until he's tired of me and my ways, anyhow,” he said gloomily.

Mary Virginia dismissed my tiredness with an airy wave of her hand.

She smiled.

”Do you know,” said she earnestly, ”I've had the funniest idea about you, from the very first time I saw you? Well, I have. I've somehow got the notion that you and the Padre _belong_. I think that's why you came. I think you belong right here, in that darling little house, studying b.u.t.terflies and mounting them so beautifully they look alive.

I think you're never going to go away anywhere any more, but that you're going to stay right here as long as you live!”

His face turned an ugly white, and his mouth fell open. He looked at Mary Virginia almost with horror--Saul might have looked thus at the Witch of Endor when she summoned the shade of Samuel to tell him that the kingdom had been rent from his hand and his fate was upon him.

Mary Virginia nodded, thoughtfully.

”I feel so sure of it,” said she, confidently, ”that I'm going to ask you to do me a favor. I want you to take care of Kerry for me. You know I'm going away to school next week, and--he can't stay at home when I'm not there. My father's away frequently, and he couldn't take Kerry about with him, of course. And he couldn't be left with the servants--somehow he doesn't like the colored people. He always growls at them, and they're afraid of him. And my mother dislikes dogs intensely--she's afraid of them, except those horrible little toy-things that aren't _dogs_ any more.” The scorn of the real dog-lover was in her voice. ”Kerry's used to the Parish House. He loves the Padre, he'll soon love you, and he likes to play with Pitache, so Madame wouldn't mind his being here. And--I'd be more satisfied in my mind if he were with somebody that--that needed him--and would like him a whole lot--somebody like you,” she finished.

Now, Mary Virginia regarded Kerry even as the apple of her eye. The dog was a n.o.ble and beautiful specimen of his race, thoroughbred to the bone, a fine field dog, and the pride of the child's heart. He was what only that most delightful of dogs, a thoroughbred Irish setter, can be. John Flint gasped. Something perplexed, incredulous, painful, dazzled, crept into his face and looked out of his eyes.

”_Me_?” he gasped. ”You mean you're willing to let me keep your dog for you? Yours?”

”I want to _give_ him to you,” said Mary Virginia bravely enough, though her voice trembled. ”I am perfectly sure you'll love him--better than any one else in the world would, except me myself. I don't know why I know that, but I do know it. If you wanted to go away, later on, why, you could turn him over to the Padre, because of course you wouldn't want to have a dog following you about everywhere.

They're a lot of bother. But--somehow, I think you'll keep him. I think you'll love him. He--he's a darling dog.” She was too proud to turn her head aside, but two large tears rolled down her cheeks, like dew upon a rose.

John Flint stood stock-still, looking from her to the dog, and back again. Kerry, sensing that something was wrong with his little mistress, pawed her skirts and whined.

”Now I come to think of it,” said John Flint slowly, ”I never had anything--anything alive, I mean--belong to me before.”

Mary Virginia glanced up at him shrewdly, and smiled through her tears. Her smile makes a funny delicious red V of her lower lip, and is altogether adorable and seductive.

”That's just exactly why you thought n.o.body was worth anything,” she said. Then she bent over her dog and kissed him between his beautiful hazel eyes.

”Kerry, dear,” said she, ”Kerry, dear Kerry, you don't belong to me any more. I--I've got to go away to school--and you know you wouldn't be happy at home without me. You belong to Mr. Flint now, and I'm sure he needs you, and I know he'll love you almost as much as I do, and he'll be very, very good to you. So you're to stay with him, and--stand by him and be his dog, like you were mine. You'll remember, Kerry? Good-by, my dear, dear, darling dog!” She kissed him again, patted him, and thrust his collar into his new owner's hand.

”Go--good-by, everybody!” said she, in a m.u.f.fled voice, and ran. I think she would have cried childishly in another moment; and she was trying hard to remember that she was growing up!

John Flint stood staring after her, his hand on the dog's collar, holding him in. His face was still without a vestige of color, and his eyes glittered. Then his other hand crept out to touch the dog's head.

”It's wet--where she dropped tears on it! Parson ... she's given me her dog ... that she loves enough to cry over!”

”He's a very fine dog, and she has had him and loved him from his puppyhood,” I reminded him. And I added, with a wily tongue: ”You can always turn him over to me, you know--if you decide to take to the road and wish to get rid of a troublesome companion. A dog is bad company for a man who wishes to dodge the police.”

But he only shook his head. His eyes were troubled, and his forehead wrinkled.

”Parson,” said he, hesitatingly, ”did you ever feel like you'd been caught by--by Something reaching down out of the dark? Something big that you couldn't see and couldn't ever hope to get away from, because it's always on the job? Ain't it a h.e.l.l of a feeling?”