The City of Fire

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"Why Billy! What are you doing here?" The stern loving voice of his
favorite doctor hung over him like a knife that was going to cut him
off forever from life and light and forgiveness and all that he counted
dear.

But Billy stopped crying.

"Nothin," he said, "I just come out fer a walk!"

The doctor smiled.

"But I didn't tell you you might, Billy boy!"

"Had to," said Billy.

"Well, you'll find you'll have to go back again, Billy. Come!" and the
doctor stooped his broad strong shoulders to pick up the boy. But Billy
beat him off weakly:

"Say, now, Doc, wait a minute," he pleaded, "It's jus' this way. I
simply _gotta_ get back home t'day. I'm a very 'mportant witness
in a murder case, See? My bes' friend in the world is bein' tried fer
life, an' he ain't guilty, an' I'm the only one that knows it fer sure,
an' can prove it, an' I gotta be there. Why, Doc, the trial's _going
on now_ an' I ain't there! It ud drive me crazy to go back an' lay
in that soft bed like a reg'lar sissy, an' know he's going to be
condemned. I put it to you, Doc, as man to man, would you stand fer a
thing like that?"

"But Billy, suppose it should be the end of you!"

"I sh'd worry, Doc! Ef I c'n get there in time an' say what I want I
ain't carin' fer anythin' more in life I tell ye. Say, Doc, you
wouldn't stop me, would ya? Ef you did I'd get thar anyhow
_someway!_"

The earnestness of the eager young face, wan in its illness, the light
of love in the big gray eyes, went to the doctor's heart. He gave the
boy a troubled look.

"Where is it you want to go, Billy?"

"Economy, Doc. It ain't far, only two or three hours' ride. I c'n get a
jitney somewheres I guess ta take me. I'll pay up ez soon as I get
home. I got thirty dollars in the bank my own self."

"Economy!" said the Doctor. "Impossible, Billy, it would kill you--!"

"Then I'm goin' anyhow. Good-by Doc!" and he darted away from the
astonished doctor and ran a rod or so before the doctor caught up with
him and seized him firmly by his well shoulder:

"Billy, look here!" said the Doctor, "If it's as bad as that I'll take
you!"

"Oh, would ya, Doc? Would ya? I'll never forget it Doc--!"

"There now, Billy, never mind, son, you save your strength and let me
manage this thing the right way. Couldn't I telephone and have them
hold up things a few days? That can be done you know."

"Nothin' doing Doc, there's them that would hurry it up all the more if
they thought I was comin' back. You get in Doc and start her up. I c'n
drive myself if you'll lend me the m'chine. P'raps you ain't got time
to go off 'ith me like this."

"That's all right, Billy. You and I are going on a little excursion.
'But first I've got to tell the nurse, or there'll be all kinds of a
time. Here, you sit in the machine." The doctor picked him up and put
him in and ran up the steps. Billy sat dizzily watching and wondering
if he hadn't better make his escape. Perhaps the Doc was just fooling
him, but in a moment back he came again, with a nurse trailing behind
with blankets and a bottle.

"We're going to get another car, son, this one's no good for such a
trip. We'll fix it so you can lie down and save your strength for when
you get there. No,--son--I don't mean the ambulance," as he saw the
alarm in Billy's face, "just a nice big car. That's all right, here she
comes!"

The big touring car came round from the back almost immediately, and
the back seat was heaped with pillows and blankets and Billy tenderly
placed among them where he was glad enough to lie down--and close his
eyes. It had been rather strenuous. The nurse went back for his shoes,
bringing a bottle of milk and his medicine. The Doctor got in the front
seat and started.

"Now, son," he said, "You rest. You'll need every, bit of strength when
you get there if we're going to carry this thing through. You just
leave this thing to me and I'll get you there in plenty of time. Don't
you worry."

Billy with a smile of heavenly bliss over his newly bleached freckles
settled back with dreamy eyes and watched the sea as they were passing
swiftly by it, his lashes drooping lower and lower over his thin young
cheeks. The doctor glancing back anxiously caught that look the mothers
see in the young imps when they are asleep, and a tenderness came into
his heart for the staunch loyal little sinner.

Doctor Norris was a good scout. If he had got a soft snap of a job in
that Shafton hospital, it was good practice of course, and a step to
really big things where he wouldn't be dependent upon rich people's
whims, but still he was a good scout. He had not forgotten the days of
the grasshopper, and Billy had made a great appeal to his heart. He
looked at his watch, chose his roads, and put his machine at high
speed. The sea receded, the Jersey pines whirled monotonously by, and
by and by the hills began to crop up. Off against the horizon Stark
mountain loomed, veiled, with a purple haze, and around another curve
Economy appeared, startlingly out of place with its smug red brick
walks and its gingerbread porches and plastered tile bungalows. Then
without warning Billy sat up. How long had that young scamp been awake?
Had he slept at all? He was like a man, grave and stern with business
before him. The doctor almost felt shy about giving him his medicine.

"Son, you must drink that milk," he said firmly. "Nothing doing unless
you drink that!" Billy drank it.

"Now where?" asked the doctor as they entered the straggling dirty
little town.

"That red brick building down the next block," pointed Billy, his face
white with excitement, his eyes burning like two dark blue coals.

The big car drew up at the curb, and no one there to notice, for every
body was inside. The place was jammed to the door.

Cherry had come back late after lunch, her hat awry and signs of tears
on her painted face. Her eyes were more obviously frightened and she
whispered a message which was taken up to Mark. Mark lifted a haggard
face to hear it, asked a question, bowed his head, and continued
listening to the cross-examination of a man who said he had heard him
threaten to kill Dolph the week before the murder down at Hagg's Mills.
When the witness was dismissed Mark whispered a word to his lawyer, the
lawyer spoke to the judge and the judge announced that the prisoner
wished to speak. Every eye was turned toward Mark as he rose and gave a
sweeping glance around the room, his eyes lingering for just a shadow
of an instant wistfully on the faces of the minister and his wife, then
on again as if they had seen no one, and round to the judge's face.

It was just at this instant that Billy burst into the room and wedged
his way fiercely between elbows, using his old football methods, head
down and elbows out, and stood a moment breathless, taking it all in.

Then Mark spoke:

"Your Honor, I wish to plead guilty to the charge!"

A great sigh like a sob broke over the hush in the court room and many
people half rose to their feet as if in protest, but Billy made a dive
up the aisle, self and sickness forgotten, regardless of courts or law
or anything, and stood between the Judge and Mark:

"It ain't so, an' I can prove it!" he shouted at the top of his lungs.

The prosecuting attorney rose to a point of order like a bull dog
snapping at his prey, the sergeant-at-arms rushed around like corn
popping off in a corn popper, but Anthony Drew whispered a word to the
Judge, and after order was restored Billy was called to the witness
stand to tell his story.

Doctor Norris standing squeezed at the back of the room looking for his
quondam patient, recognized with a thrill the new Billy standing
unafraid before all these people and speaking out his story in a clear
direct way. Billy had etherealized during his illness. If Aunt Saxon
had been there--she was washing for Gibsons that day and having her
troubles with Mrs. Frost--she would scarcely have known him. His
features had grown delicate and there was something strong and sweet
about his mouth that surely never had been there before. But the same
old forceful boy speech wherewith he had subdued enemies on the
athletic fields, bullied Aunt Saxon, and put one over on Pat at the
station, was still his own. He told the truth briefly and to the point,
not omitting his own wrong doing in every particular, and he swayed
that crowd as a great orator might have been proud to sway a
congregation. They laughed till they cried and cried till they laughed
again at Billy's quaint phrases, and they enjoyed the detour--Oh how
they enjoyed that detour! Even the Judge had twinkles in his eyes.

For the first time since the trial began Mark was sitting up proudly, a
warm look of vivid interest in his face, the cold mask gone. His eyes
dwelt upon Billy with a look almost fatherly, at least brotherly. It
was a startling contrast to what he had been all day. This was a
different man.

Suddenly from the corner of the prosecution the low growl which had
been gradually rising like a young storm, broke, and the prosecuting
attorney arose and lifted his voice above all others:

"I protest your Honor, against this witness. He has mentioned no less
than five different lies which he has told, and has narrated a number
of episodes in which he deliberately broke the law. Is it or is it not
a misdemeanor for anyone to meddle with our Highroads in the manner
that has just been described? By his own confession this young man is
disqualified for a witness! By his own confession he is a law breaker
and a liar!"

"Aw Gee!" broke forth Billy furiously, "Didn't I tell ya I come here to
tell the truth n' get it off'n my chest?"

Someone put a strong hand on Billy and silenced him, and some one else
rose to protest against the protestor, and the air grew tense with
excitement once more.

The prosecution declared that Billy was in league with Mark, that
everybody knew he trailed him everywhere, therefore his testimony was
worthless. He was probably bribed; there was nothing, absolutely
nothing in the story the boy had told to prove anything.

Billy was growing whiter and angrier, his eyes flashing, his fists
clenched. His testimony was not going to be accepted after all! It had
been vain to bear the shame himself. Nothing, _nothing_ that he
could do would blot out the trouble because he had unfitted himself to
blot it out. It had to be a witness who told the truth who would be
believed. It had to be one with a good record to take away the shame!
That was something like what Miss Marilyn said in Sunday School once,
that only Jesus Christ could take the place of a sinner and make it
right about our sinning because He had never sinned. It had sounded
like rot when she said it, but he began to understand what she meant
now. Yes, that was it. Only God's Son could do that and he, Billy
Gaston, had tried to do it himself!

The court room seemed to be very dark now. His head was whirling away
and getting beyond his control. When he looked up he seemed to see it
on the other side of the room. He did not recognize the two men in
handcuffs that the Chief was bringing into the room. He did not hear
what the Judge was saying. He had slumped in a little heap on the
witness stand with his eyes closed, and his hands groping together. He
thought that he was praying to God's Son to come and help Mark because
he had failed. _He_ wasn't good enough and he _had failed!_

The doctor had come with a bound up the aisle and was kneeling with
Billy in his arms. Mark was leaning over the rail with a white anxious
face. The minister was trying to make a way through the crowd, and the
sergeant-at-arms was pushing the crowd back, and making a space about
the unconscious boy. Some-one opened a window. The Chief and one of his
men brought a cot. There was a pillow from the car, and there was that
medicine again--bringing him back--just as he thought he had made God
hear--! Oh, _why_ did they bother him?

Suddenly down by the door a diversion occurred. Someone had entered
with wild burning eyes dressed in a curious assortment of garments.
They were trying to put him out, but he persisted.

The word was brought up: "Someone has a very important piece of
evidence which he wishes to present."

Billy's gray eyes opened as the man mounted to the witness stand. He
was lying on the cot at one side and his gaze rested on the new
witness, dazedly at first, and then with growing comprehension. Old Ike
Fenner, the tailor, Cherry Fenner's father!

Mark was looking at Billy and had not noticed:

But the man began to speak in a high shrill voice:

"I came to say that I'm the man that killed Dolph Haskins! Mark Carter
had nothin' to do with it. I done it! I _meant_ to kill him
because he ruined the life of my little girl! _My baby!_"

There was a sudden catch in his voice like a great sob, and he clutched
at the rail as if he were going to fall, but he went on, his eyes
burning like coals:

"I shot him with Tom Petrie's gun that I found atop o' the door, an' I
put it back where I found it. You take my finger prints and compare 'em
with the marks on the gun an' the winder sill. You ask Sandy Robison!
He seen me do it. You ask Cherry! She seen me too. She was facin' the
winder eatin' her supper with that devil, and I shot him and she seen
me! _I_ did it--"

His voice trailed off. He swayed and got down from the stand, groping
his way as if he could not see. The crowd gave way with a curious
shudder looking into his wild burning eyes as he passed. A girl's
scream back by the door rang through the court. The man moaned, put out
his hands and fell forward. Kindly hands reached to catch him. The
doctor left Billy and came to help.

They carried him outside and laid him on the grass in front of the
court house. The doctor used every restorative he had with him. Men
hurried to the drug store. They tried everything, but all to no avail.
Ike Fenner the tailor was dead! He had gone to stand before a higher
court!

When it was all over, the finger prints and the red tape, and the case
had been dismissed, Mark came to Billy where he was lying in the big
car waiting, with his eyes closed to keep back weak tears that would
slip out now and then. He knelt beside the boy and touched his hand,
the hand that looked so thin and weak and so little like Billy's:

"Kid," he said gently, "Kid, you've been a wonder! It was really you
that saved me, Buddy! _My Buddy!"_

Billy's tears welled over at the tone, the words, the proud intimate
name, but he shook his head slowly, sadly.

"No," he said, "No, it wasn't me. I tried, but I wasn't fit! It had to
be _Him_. I didn't understand! They wouldn't believe me. But
_He_ came as soon as I ast!"

Mark looked at the doctor.

"Is he wandering a little?" he asked in a low tone:

"I shouldn't wonder. He's been through enough to make anyone wander.
Here, son, take this."

Billy smiled and obediently accepted his medicine. Mark held his hand
all the way home. He knew that Mark didn't understand but he was too
tired to tell him now. Sometime he would explain. Or perhaps Miss Lynn
would explain it for him. He was going home, home to Saxy and Sabbath
Valley and the bells, and Mark was free! He hadn't saved him, but Mark
was free!

It was like a royal passage through the village as they came into
Sabbath Valley, for everybody came out to wave at Mark and Billy. Even
Mrs. Harricutt watched grimly from behind her Holland shades. But Billy
was too weak to notice much, except to sense it distantly, and Mark
would only lift his hat and bow, gravely, quietly as if it didn't
matter, just as he used to do when they carried him round on their
shoulders after a football game, and he tried to get down and hide. Why
did Mark still have that sad look in his eyes? Billy was too tired to
think it out. He was glad when they reached Aunt Saxon's door and Mark
picked him up as he used to do when he was just a little kid, and
carried him up to his room. Carried him up and undressed him, while
Saxy heard the story from the doctor's lips, and laughed and cried and
laughed again. The nervy little kid! He would always be a "little kid"
to Saxy, no matter what he did.

He turned over in his own bed, _his bed_, and smelt the sweet
breath of the honeysuckle coming in at the window, heard the thrushes
singing their evening song up the street. The sea had been great, but
Oh, you Sabbath Valley! Out there was the water spout, and some day he
would be strong enough to shin down it, and up it again. He would play
football this Fall, and run Mark's car! Mark, grave, gentle, quiet,
sitting beside him till he got asleep, and his mother not knowing, down
the street, and Miss Lynn--!

"Mark--you'll tell Miss Marilyn about it all?" He opened his eyes to
murmur lazily, and Mark promised still gravely.

He shut his eyes and drifted away. What was that the Chief had told him
down at Economy in the car? Something about three strange detectives
stepping off the train one day and nabbing Pat? And Pat was up at Sing
Sing finishing his term after A.W.O.L. Was that straight or only a
dream? And anyhow he didn't care. He was home again, Home--_and
forgiven!_

Night settled sweetly down upon Sabbath Valley, hiding the brilliant
autumn tinting of the street. Lynn had made a maple nut cake and set
the table for two before she left the Carters, for her mother had
slipped out of the court room and telephoned her, and a fire was
blazing in the little parlor with the lace curtains and asters in every
vase all gala for the returning son. The mother and son sat long before
the fire, talking, pleasant converse, about the time when Mark would
send for her to come and live with him, but not a word was said about
the day. He saw that his friends had helped to save his mother this one
great sorrow that she could not have borne, and he was grateful.

Marilyn, up at the parsonage, with a great thankfulness upon her, went
about with smiling face. The burden seemed to have lifted and she was
glad.

But that night at midnight there came the doctor from Economy driving
hard and stopping at the parsonage. Cherry Fenner was dying and wanted
to see Miss Marilyn. Would she come?

XXVII

Cherry's little bedroom under the roof was bright with the confusion of
cheap finery scattered everywhere and swept aside at the sudden
entrance of the death angel. A neighbor had done her best to push away
the crude implements of complexion that were littering the cheap oak
bureau top, and the doctor's case and bottles and glasses crowded out
the giddy little accessories of beauty that Cherry had collected. Two
chairs piled high with draggled finery, soiled work aprons and dresses
made a forlorn and miscellaneous disorder in one corner, and the closet
door sagged open with visions of more clothing hung many deep upon the
few hooks.

Mrs. Fenner stood at the head of the bed wringing her hands and moaning
uncontrolledly, and Cherry, little Cherry, lay whitely against the
pillow, the color all gone from her ghastly pretty little face, that
had lately hid its ravished health and beauty behind a camouflage of
paint. There were deep dark circles under the limpid eyes that now were
full of mortal pain, and pitiful lines around the cherry mouth that had
been wont to laugh so saucily.

The doctor stood by the window with the attitude of grave waiting. The
helpful neighbor lingered in the doorway, holding her elbows and taking
minute note of Marilyn's dress. This might be a sad time, but one had
to live afterward, and it wasn't every day you got to see a simple
little frock with an air like the one the minister's daughter wore. She
studied it from neck to hem and couldn't see what in the world there
was about it anyway to make her look so dressed up. Not a scratch of
trimming, not even a collar, and yet she could look like that!

Mercy! Was that what education and going to college did for folks?

The light of a single unshaded electric bulb shone startlingly down to
the bed, making plain the shadow of death even to an inexperienced eye.

Marilyn knelt beside the bed and took Cherry's cold little hand in her
own warm one. The waxen eyelids fluttered open, and a dart of something
between fright and pain went over her weird little face.

"Can I do anything for you Cherry?" Marilyn's voice was tender,
pitiful.

"It's _too late_," whispered the girl in a fierce little whisper,
"Send 'em out--I--wantta--tell--you--someth--!" The voice trailed away
weakly. The doctor stepped over and gave her a spoonful of something,
motioned her mother and the neighbor away, tiptoeing out himself and
closing the door. The mother was sobbing wildly. The doctor's voice
could be heard quieting her coldly:

The girl on the bed frowned and gathered effort to speak:

"Mark Carter--didn't mean no harm--goin'--with me--!" she broke out,
her breath coming in gasps, "He was tryin'--to stop me--goin'--with--
_Dolph--!_" The eyes closed wearily. The lips were white as chalk.
She seemed to have stopped breathing!

"It's all right--Cherry--" Marilyn breathed softly, "It's all right--I
understand! Don't think any more about it!"

The eyes opened fiercely again, a faint determination shadowed round
the little mouth:

"You gotta know--!" she broke forth again with effort. "He was good to
me--when I was a little kid, and when he found I was in trouble--" the
breath came pitifully in gasps--"he--offered--to--_marry me!_"

Marilyn's fingers trembled but she held the little cold hand warmly and
tried to keep back the tears that trembled in her eyes.

"He--didn't--_want to_--! He--just--_done it to be kind!_ But
I--couldn't--see--it--! That's--what--we--_argued--!_" Her voice
grew fainter again. Marilyn with gentle controlled voice pressed the
little cold hand again:

"Never mind, Cherry dear--it's all right!"

Cherry's eyes opened with renewed effort, anxiously:

"You won't--blame--Mark--? He never--did--nothin'--wrong--!" He's--
_your_--friend!"

"No, Cherry! It's all right!"

The girl seemed to have lost consciousness again, and Marilyn wondered
if she ought not to call the doctor, but suddenly Cherry screamed out:

"There he is again! He's _come for me!_ Oh--I'm--a--gon' ta--
_die!_ An' I'm _afrrrr-aid!"_

Cherry clutched at Marilyn's arm, and looked up with far off gaze in
which terror seemed frozen.

The minister's daughter leaned farther over and gathered the fragile
form of the sick girl in her arms tenderly, speaking in a soothing
voice:

"Listen Cherry. Don't be afraid. Jesus is here. He'll go with you!"

"But I'm afraid of Jesus!" the sharp little voice pierced out with a
shudder, "I haven't been--_good!"_

"Then tell Him you are sorry. You _are_ sorry, aren't you?"

"Oh, _yes!"_ the weak voice moaned. "I--never--_meant_--no--
harm! I only--wanted--a little--good time--!"

The eyes had closed again and she was almost gone. The doctor had come
in and he now gave her another spoonful of medicine. Marilyn knew the
time was short.

"Listen, Cherry, say these words after me!" Cherry's eyes opened again
and fastened on her face, eagerly:

"Jesus, I'm sorry--!"

"Jesus--I'm--sor-ry--!" repeated the weak voice in almost a whisper.

"Please forgive me," said Marilyn slowly, distinctly.

"Please--for--give--!" the slow voice repeated.

"And save me."

"--save--!" the voice was scarcely audible.

The doctor came and stood close by the bed, looking down keenly, but
Cherry roused once more and looked at them, her sharp little voice
stabbing out into the silence piercingly,

"Is that--_all?_"

"That is all," said Marilyn with a ring in her voice, "Jesus died to
take care of all the rest! You can just rest on Him!"

"_Oh-h!_" The agony went out of the pinched little face, a half
smile dawned and she sank into rest.

As Marilyn went home in the dawn with the morning star beginning to
pale, and the birds at their early worship, something in her own heart
was singing too. Above the feeling of awe over standing at the brink of
the river and seeing a little soul go wavering out, above even the
wonder that she had been called to point the way, there sang in her
soul a song of jubilation that Mark was exonerated from shame and
disgrace. Whatever others thought, whatever she personally would always
have believed, it still was great that God had given her this to make
her know that her inner vision about it had been right. Perhaps,
sometime, in the days that were to come, Mark would tell her about it,
but there was time enough for that. Mark would perhaps come to see her
this morning. She somehow felt sure that at least he would come to say
he was glad she had stayed with his mother. It was like Mark to do
that. He never let any little thing that was done for him or his pass
unnoticed.

But the morning passed and Mark did not come. The only place that Mark
went was to see Billy.

"Billy, old man," he said, sitting down by the edge of the bed where
Billy was drowsing the early morning away, just feeling the bed, and
sensing Saxy down there making chicken broth, and knowing that the
young robins in the apple tree under the window were grown up and flown
away. "Billy, I can't keep my promise to you after all. I've got to go
away. Sorry, kid, but she'll come to see you and I want you to tell her
for me all about it. I'm not forgetting it, Kid, either, and you'll
know, all the rest of my life, _you and I are buddies!_ Savvy,
Kid?"

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