The Fires of Spring Read Free Page B

recrimination that was not heard: the blind railing against fate as such.
    Uncle Daniel, for example, found no one to blame. The wispy little old man had been a brilliant scholar in his youth. But the evil thing had happened. One day along the canal he had watched a loaded barge drifting down to Bristol, and like a magnet the barge had dragged him away,to Bristol, to Philadelphia, and on to Rome and Cyprus, and strange cities and to the Pyramids themselves. He had seen the world, even the Southern Cross. And now he was in the poorhouse.
    Toothless Tom accepted his lot without complaint. He was at peace with the world and did not even blame his nephew for stealing the farm. “He’s a better farmer than I am,” the toothless fellow admitted.
    Even crazy Luther Detwiler gave no one any trouble. He, like the rest, conjured up a fable that he was in the poorhouse because Mr. Crouthamel had stolen a cigar factory from him, but the mad Dutchman wouldn’t have known Mr. Crouthamel from a butcher boy.
    Very occasionally some strange man, shadowy and terrible, would be forced into the poorhouse for a few days. Having lost position and wealth suddenly, he would be unprepared for poverty, and he would skulk along the corridor, stare into his food, and shiver. Young as he was, David learned that such men always followed the same pattern. Either relatives came to rescue these men, or the men sat apart in the poorhouse and shook as if the cold winds of death were upon them. Within a few days they hung themselves.
    The two suicides that David found hanging in the barn were such men, and Old Daniel was much afraid of the effect their violent deaths might have upon the boy. “They were so miserable,” Daniel explained, “that they preferred death. That leaves the hall to the rest of us who are happy.” This explanation seemed so simple and correct that David never realized the truth. He did not see that the unhappiness of one lonely old man might bespeak the vast unhappiness of a village, or a city, or a world.
    So, insulated by men who loved him, he grew up happy and untouched. He especially liked summer at the poorhouse. Corn grew in the lovely fields of Bucks County, and lima beans climbed on poles. Horses smelled strong and sweaty. Wagons creaked in the early morning and groaned their protests at night. Birds sang, and at every meal green things were served. In summer David went swimming at Edison. There were woods to explore, animals to track, and ripeness riot through all the land.
    Autumn was golden and exciting. Then wagons worked overtime bringing in corn and pumpkins. After the first frost, apples were picked. Pears were wrapped in paper andstored in dark bins. Cider was made at the press, and celery was buried beneath the earth. Hundreds of heads of cabbage were sliced up for sauerkraut, and David helped Toothless Tom wire down the lids of the fermenting barrels. After the baling wire was drawn taut Tom would tap the barrels of kraut approvingly and cry, “Now let ’er fizz!”
    But winter was best of all! A pleasing warmth settled over the poorhouse. For one thing, there wasn’t so much work to do. The stars were brighter, and Orion dominated the frozen skies. Like that vast warrior, David too went out to hunt. Day after day he rose at four and went with Toothless Tom along the creeks to see if their traps had snared any muskrats. Night came earlier, too, and on the long hall there was much good talking.
    So for three seasons of the year, life was not at all bad in the poorhouse.
    On the last Friday in February, David received a shocking jolt. Miss Clapp opened her blue book and continued the story about Achilles and the Trojans. David sat back and smiled. This time he knew that Achilles was not going to meet the second team. Hector was in the field for the Trojans!
    As the great story of battle unfolded, David Harper sat transfixed, his mouth open a little, his tousled head tilted to one side. When the inevitability of