The Age of Miracles

by Melville Davisson Post

　　THE GIRL was standing apart from the crowd in the great avenue ofpoplars that led up to the house. She seemed embarrassed and uncertainwhat to do, a thing of April emerging into Summer.

　　Abner and Randolph marked her as they entered along the gravel road.

　　They had left their horses at the gate, but she had brought hers inside,as though after some habit unconsciously upon her.

　　But half-way to the house she had remembered and got down. And she stoodnow against the horse's shoulder. It was a black hunter, big and old,but age marred no beauty of his lines. He was like a horse of ebony,enchanted out of the earth by some Arabian magic, but not yet by thatmagic awakened into life.

　　The girl wore a long, dark riding-skirt, after the fashion of the time,and a coat of hunter's pink. Her dark hair was in a great wrist-thickplait. Her eyes, too, were big and dark, and her body firm and lithefrom the out-of-doors.

　　"Ah!" cried Randolph, making his characteristic gesture, "Prospero hasbeen piping in this grove. Here is a daughter of the immortal morning!We grow old, Abner, and it is youth that the gods love."

　　My uncle, his hands behind him, his eyes on the gravel road, looked upat the bewitching picture.

　　"Poor child," he said; "the gods that love her must be gods of thevalleys and not gods of the hills."

　　"Ruth amid the alien corn! Is it a better figure, Abner? Well, she has afiner inheritance than these lands; she has youth!"

　　"She ought to have both," replied my uncle. "It was sheer robbery totake her inheritance."

　　"It was a proceeding at law," replied the Justice. "It was the law thatdid the thing, and we can not hold the law in disrespect."

　　"But the man who uses the law to accomplish a wrong, we can so hold,"said Abner. "He is an outlaw, as the highwayman and the pirate are."

　　He extended his arm toward the great house sitting at the end of theavenue.

　　"In spite of the sanction of the law, I hold this dead man for a robber.And I would have wrested these lands from him, if I could. But your law,Randolph, stood before him."

　　"Well," replied the Justice, "he takes no gain from it; he lies yonderwaiting for the grave."

　　"But his brother takes," said Abner, "and this child loses."

　　The Justice, elegant in the costume of the time, turned his ebony stickin his fingers.

　　"One should forgive the dead," he commented in a facetious note; "it isa mandate of the Scripture."

　　"I am not concerned about the dead," replied Abner. "The dead are inGod's hands. It is the living who concern me."

　　"Then," cried the Justice, "you should forgive the brother who takes."

　　"And I shall forgive him," replied Abner, "when he returns what he hastaken."

　　"Returns what he has taken!" Randolph laughed. "Why, Abner, the devilcould not filch a coin out of the clutches of old Benton Wolf."

　　"The devil," said my uncle, "is not the authority that I depend on."

　　"A miracle of Heaven, then," said the Justice. "But, alas, it is not theage of miracles."

　　"Perhaps," replied Abner, his voice descending into a deeper tone, "butI am not so certain."

　　They had come now to where the girl stood, her back against the blackshoulder of the horse. The morning air moved the yellow leaves about herfeet. She darted out to meet them, her face aglow.

　　"Damme!" cried Randolph. "William of Avon knew only witches of thesecond order! How do you do, Julia? I have hardly seen you since youwere no taller than my stick, and told me that your name was'Pete-George,' and that you were a circus-horse, and offered to dotricks for me."

　　A shadow crossed the girl's face.

　　"I remember," she said, "it was up there on the porch!"

　　"Egad!" cried Randolph, embarrassed. "And so it was!"

　　He kissed the tips of the girl's fingers and the shadow in her facefled.

　　For the man's heart was good, and he had the manner of a gentleman. Butit was Abner that she turned to in her dilemma.

　　"I forgot," she said, "and almost rode into the house. Do you think Icould leave the horse here? He will stand if I drop the rein."

　　Then she went on to make her explanation. She wanted to see the oldhouse that had been so long her home. This was the only opportunity,today, when all the countryside came to the dead man's burial. Shethought she might come, too, although her motive was no tribute ofrespect.

　　She put her hand through Abner's arm and he looked down upon her, graveand troubled.

　　"My child," he said, "leave the horse where he stands and come with me,for my motive, also, is no tribute of respect; and you go with a betterright than I do."

　　"I suppose," the girl hesitated, "that one ought to respect the dead,but this man-these men-I can not."

　　"Nor can I," replied my uncle. "If I do not respect a man when he isliving, I shall not pretend to when he is dead. One does not make aclaim upon my honor by going out of life."

　　They went up the avenue among the yellow poplar leaves and the ragweedand fennel springing up along the unkempt gravel.

　　It was a crisp and glorious morning. The frost lay on the rail fence.The spider-webs stretched here and there across the high grasses of themeadows in intricate and bewildering lace-work. The sun was clear andbright, but it carried no oppressive heat as it drew on in its coursetoward noon.

　　The countryside had gathered to see Adam Wolf buried. It was a companyof tenants, the idle and worthless mostly, drawn by curiosity. For inlife the two old men who had seized upon this property by virtue of adefective acknowledgment to a deed, permitted no invasion of theirboundary.

　　Everywhere the lands were posted; no urchin fished and no schoolboyhunted. The green perch, fattened in the deep creek that threaded therich bottom lands, no man disturbed. But the quail, the pheasant, therobin and the meadow-lark, Old Adam pursued with his fowling-piece. Hetramped about with it at all seasons. One would have believed that allthe birds of heaven had done the creature some unending harm and inrevenge he had declared a war. And so the accident by which he met hisdeath was a jeopardy of the old man's habits, and to be looked for whenone lived with a fowling-piece in one's hands and grew careless in itsuse.

　　The two men lived alone and thus all sorts of mystery sprang up aroundthem, elaborated by the Negro fancy and gaining in grim detail at everystory-teller's hand. It had the charm and thrilling interest of anadventure, then, for the countryside to get this entry.

　　The brothers lived in striking contrast. Adam was violent, and his criesand curses, his hard and brutal manner were the terror of the Negro whopassed at night that way, or the urchin overtaken by darkness on hisroad home. But Benton got about his affairs in silence, with a certainhumility of manner, and a mild concern for the opinion of his fellows.Still, somehow, the Negro and the urchin held him in a greater terror.Perhaps because he had got his coffin made and kept it in his house,together with his clothes for burial. It seemed uncanny thus to prepareagainst his dissolution and to bargain for the outfit, with anxiety tohave his shilling's worth.

　　And yet, with this gruesome furniture at hand, the old man, it wouldseem, was in no contemplation of his death. He spoke sometimes with amarked savor and an unctuous kneading of the hands of that time when heshould own the land, for he was the younger and by rule should have theexpectancy of life.

　　There was a crowd about the door and filling the hall inside, a crowdthat elbowed and jostled, taken with a quivering interest, and there tofeed its maw of curiosity with every item.

　　The girl wished to remain on the portico, where she could see theancient garden and the orchard and all the paths and byways that hadbeen her wonderland of youth, but Abner asked her to go in.

　　Randolph turned away, but my uncle and the girl remained some time bythe coffin. The rim of the dead man's forehead and his jaw were riddledwith bird-shot, but his eyes and an area of his face below them, wherethe thin nose came down and with its lines and furrows made up the mainidentity of features, were not disfigured. And these preserved the hardstamp of his violent nature, untouched by the accident that haddispossessed him of his life.

　　He lay in the burial clothes and the coffin that Benton Wolf hadprovided for himself, all except the gloves upon his hands. These theold man had forgot. And now when he came to prepare his brother for apublic burial, for no other had touched the man, he must needs take whathe could find about the house, a pair of old, knit gloves with everyrent and moth-hole carefully darned, as though the man had sat downthere with pains to give his brother the best appearance that he could.

　　This little touch affected the girl to tears, so strange is a woman'sheart. "Poor thing!" she said. And for this triviality she would forgetthe injury that the dead man and his brother had done to her, the lossthey had inflicted, and her long distress.

　　She took a closer hold upon Abner's arm, and dabbed her eyes with a tinykerchief.

　　"I am sorry for him," she said, "for the living brother. It is sopathetic."

　　And she indicated the old, coarse gloves so crudely darned and patchedtogether.

　　But my uncle looked down at her, strangely, and with a cold, inexorableface.

　　"My child," he said, "there is a curious virtue in this thing that movesyou. Perhaps it will also move the man whose handiwork it is. Let us goup and see him."

　　Then he called the Justice.

　　"Randolph," he said, "come with us."

　　The Justice turned about. "Where do you go?" he asked.

　　"Why, sir," Abner answered, "this child is weeping at the sight of thedead man's gloves, and I thought, perhaps, that old Benton might weep atthem too, and in the softened mood return what he has stolen."

　　The Justice looked upon Abner as upon one gone mad.

　　"And be sorry for his sins! And pluck out his eye and give it to you fora bauble! Why, Abner, where is your common sense. This thing would takea miracle of God."

　　My uncle was undisturbed.

　　"Well," he said, "come with me, Randolph, and help me to perform thatmiracle."

　　He went out into the hall, and up the wide old stairway, with the girl,in tears, upon his arm. And the Justice followed, like one who goes upona patent and ridiculous fool's errand.

　　They came into an upper chamber, where a great bulk of a man sat in apadded chair looking down upon his avenue of trees. He looked withsatisfaction. He turned his head about when the three came in and thenhis eyes widened in among the folds of fat.

　　"Abner and Mr. Randolph and Miss Julia Clayborne!" he gurgled. "You cometo do honor to the dead!"

　　"No, Wolf," replied my uncle, "we come to do justice to the living."

　　The room was big, and empty but for chairs and an open secretary of someEnglish make. The pictures on the wall had been turned about as thoughfrom a lack of interest in the tenant. But there hung in a frame abovethe secretary-with its sheets of foolscap, its iron ink-pot and quillpens-a map in detail, and the written deed for the estate that these menhad taken in their lawsuit. It was not the skill of any painter thatgave pleasure to this mountain of a man; not fields or groves imaginedor copied for their charm, but the fields and groves that he possessedand mastered. And he would be reminded at his ease of them and of noother.

　　The old man's eyelids fluttered an instant as with some indecision, thenhe replied, "It was kind to have this thought of me. I have been longneglected. A little justice of recognition, even now, does much tosoften the sorrow at my brother's death." Randolph caught at his jaw tokeep in the laughter. And the huge old man, his head crouched into hisbillowy shoulders, his little reptilian eye shining like a crum ofglass, went on with his speech.

　　"I am the greater moved," he said, "because you have been aloof anddistant with me. You, Abner, have not visited my house, nor you,Randolph, although you live at no great distance. It is not thus thatone gentleman should treat another. And especially when I and my deadbrother, Adam, were from distant parts and came among you without afriend to take us by the hand and bring us to your door."

　　He sighed and put the fingers of his hands together.

　　"Ah, Abner," he went on, "it was a cruel negligence, and one from whichI and my brother Adam suffered. You, who have a hand and a word at everyturning, can feel no longing for this human comfort. But to thestranger, alone, and without the land of his nativity, it is a bitterlack."

　　He indicated the chairs about him.

　　"I beg you to be seated, gentlemen and Miss Clayborne. And overlook thatI do not rise. I am shaken at Adam's death."

　　Randolph remained planted on his feet, his face now under control. ButAbner put the child into a chair and stood behind it, as though he weresome close and masterful familiar.

　　"Wolf," he said, "I am glad that your heart is softened."

　　"My heart-softened!" cried the man. "Why, Abner, I have the tenderestheart of any of God's creatures. I can not endure to kill a sparrow. Mybrother Adam was not like that. He would be for hunting the wildcreatures to their death with firearms. But I took no pleasure in it."

　　"Well," said Randolph, "the creatures of the air got their revenge ofhim. It was a foolish accident to die by."

　　"Randolph," replied the man, "it was the very end and extreme ofcarelessness. To look into a fowling-piece, a finger on the hammer, aleft hand holding the barrel half-way up, to see if it was empty. It wasa foolish and simple habit of my brother, and one that I abhorred andbegged him to forego, again and again, when I have seen him do it.

　　"But he had no fear of any firearms, as though by use and habit he hadgot their spirit tamed-as trainers, I am told, grow careless of wildbeasts, and jugglers of the fangs and poison of their reptiles. He wasgrowing old and would forget if they were loaded."

　　He spoke to Randolph, but he looked at Julia Clayborne and Abner behindher chair.

　　The girl sat straight and composed, in silence. The body of my uncle wasto her a great protecting presence. He stood with his broad shouldersabove her, his hands on the back of the chair, his face lifted. And hewas big and dominant, as painters are accustomed to draw Michael inSatan's wars.

　　The pose held the old man's eye, and he moved in his chair; then he wenton, speaking to the girl.

　　"It was kind of you, Abner, and you, Randolph, to come in to see me inmy distress, but it was fine and noble in Miss Julia Clayborne. Men willunderstand the justice of the law and by what right it gives and takes.But a child will hardly understand that. It would be in nature for MissClayborne in her youth, to hold the issue of this lawsuit against me andmy brother Adam, to feel that we had wronged her; had by some unfairnesstaken what her father bequeathed to her at his death, and alwaysregarded as his own. A child would not see how the title had nevervested, as our judges do. How possession is one thing, and the title infee simple another and distinct. And so I am touched by thisconsideration."

　　Abner spoke then.

　　"Wolf," he said, "I am glad to find you in this mood, for now Randolphcan write his deed, with consideration of love and affection, instead ofthe real one I came with."

　　The old man's beady eye glimmered and slipped about.

　　"I do not understand, Abner. What deed?"

　　"The one Randolph came to write," replied my uncle.

　　"But, Abner," interrupted the Justice, "I did not come to write a deed."And he looked at my uncle in amazement.

　　"Oh, yes," returned Abner, "that is precisely what you came to do."

　　He indicated the open secretary with his hand.

　　"And the grantor, as it happens, has got everything ready for you. Hereare foolscap and quill pens and ink. And here, exhibited for yourconvenience, is a map of the lands with all the metes and bounds. Andhere," he pointed to the wall, "in a frame, as though it were a work ofart with charm, is the court's deed. Sit down, Randolph, and write." Andsuch virtue is there in a dominant command, that the Justice sat downbefore the secretary and began to select a goose quill.

　　Then he realized the absurdity of the direction and turned about.

　　"What do you mean, Abner?" he cried.

　　"I mean precisely what I say," replied my uncle. "I want you to write adeed."

　　"But what sort of deed," cried the astonished Justice, "and by whatgrantor, and to whom, and for what lands?"

　　"You will draw a conveyance," replied Abner, "in form, with covenants ofgeneral warranty for the manor and lands set out in the deed before youand given in the plat. The grantor will be Benton Wolf, esquire, and thegrantee Julia Clayborne, infant, and mark you, Randolph, theconsideration will be love and affection, with a dollar added for theform."

　　The old man was amazed. His head, bedded into his huge shoulders, swungabout; his pudgy features worked; his expression and his manner changed;his reptilian eyes hardened; he puffed with his breath in gusts.

　　"Not so fast, my fine gentleman!" he gurgled. "There will be no suchdeed."

　　"Go on, Randolph," said my uncle, as though there had been nointerruption, "let us get this business over."

　　"But, Abner," returned the Justice, "it is fool work, the grantor willnot sign."

　　"He will sign," said my uncle, "when you have finished, and seal andacknowledge-go on!"

　　"But, Abner, Abner!" the amazed Justice protested.

　　"Randolph," cried my uncle, "will you write, and leave this thing tome?"

　　And such authority was in the man to impose his will that the bewilderedJustice spread out his sheet of foolscap, dipped his quill into the inkand began to draw the instrument, in form and of the parties, as myuncle said. And while he wrote, Abner turned back to the gross old man.

　　"Wolf," he said, "must I persuade you to sign the deed?"

　　"Abner," cried the man, "do you take me for a fool?" He had got hisunwieldy body up and defiant in the chair.

　　"I do not," replied my uncle, "and therefore I think that you willsign."

　　The obese old man spat violently on the floor, his face a horror ofgreat folds.

　　"Sign!" he sputtered. "Fool, idiot, madman! Why should I sign away mylands?"

　　"There are many reasons," replied Abner calmly. "The property is notyours. You got it by a legal trick, the judge who heard you was bound bythe technicalities of language. But you are old, Wolf, and the nextJudge will go behind the record. He will be hard to face. He hasexpressed Himself on these affairs. 'If the widow and the orphan cry tome, I will surely hear their cry.' Sinister words, Wolf, for one whocomes with a case like yours into the court of Final Equity."

　　"Abner," cried the old man, "begone with your little sermons!"

　　My uncle's big fingers tightened on the back of the chair. "Then, Wolf,"he said, "if this thing does not move you, let me urge the esteem of menand this child's sorrow, and our high regard."

　　The old man's jaw chattered and he snapped his fingers. "I would notgive that for the things you name," he cried, and he set off a tinymeasure on his index-finger with the thumb.

　　"Why, sir, my whim, idle and ridiculous, is a greater power to move methan this drivel."

　　Abner did not move, but his voice took on depth and volume. "Wolf," hesaid, "a whim is sometimes a great lever to move a man. Now, I am takenwith a whim myself. I have a fancy, Wolf, that your brother Adam oughtto go out of the world barehanded as he came into it."

　　The old man twisted his great head, as though he would get Abner whollywithin the sweep of his reptilian eye. "What?" he gurgled. "What isthat?"

　　"Why, this," replied my uncle. "I have a whim-'idle and ridiculous,' didyou say, Wolf? Well, then, idle and ridiculous, if you like, that yourbrother ought not to be buried in his gloves."

　　Abner looked hard at the man and, although he did not move, the threatand menace of his presence seemed somehow to advance him. And the effectupon the huge old man was like some work of sorcery. The whole mountainof him began to quiver and the folds of his face seemed spread over withthin oil. He sat piled up in the chair and the oily sweat gathered andthickened on him. His jaw jerked and fell into a baggy gaping and thegreat expanse of him worked as with an ague.

　　Finally, out of the pudgy, undulating mass, a voice issued, thin andshaken.

　　"Abner," it said, "has any other man this fancy?"

　　"No," replied my uncle, "but I hold it, Wolf, at your decision."

　　"And, Abner," his thin voice trebled, "you will let my brother be buriedas he is?"

　　"If you sign!" said my uncle.

　　The man reeked and grew wet in the terror on him, and one thought thathis billowy body would never be again at peace. "Randolph," he quavered,"bring me the deed."

　　Outside, the girl sobbed in Abner's arms. She asked for no explanation.She wished to believe her fortune a miracle of God, forever-to the endof all things. But Randolph turned on my uncle when she was gone.

　　"Abner! Abner!" he cried. "Why in the name of the Eternal Was the oldcreature so shaken at the gloves?"

　　"Because he saw the hangman behind them," replied my uncle "Did younotice how the rim of the dead man's face was riddled by the bird-shotand the center of it clean? How could that happen, Randolph?"

　　"It was a curious accident of gun-fire," replied the Justice.

　　"It was no accident at all," said Abner. "That area of the man's face isclean because it was protected. Because the dead man put up his hands tocover his face when he saw that his brother was about to shoot him.

　　"The backs of old Adam's hands, hidden by the gloves, will be riddledwith bird-shot like the rim of his face."