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Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..809940f --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #53120 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/53120) diff --git a/old/53120-0.txt b/old/53120-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index 3011583..0000000 --- a/old/53120-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,14335 +0,0 @@ -Project Gutenberg's When All the Woods are Green, by S. Weir Mitchell - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: When All the Woods are Green - A Novel - -Author: S. Weir Mitchell - -Release Date: September 22, 2016 [EBook #53120] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHEN ALL THE WOODS ARE GREEN *** - - - - -Produced by KD Weeks, Charlene Taylor and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - - Transcriber’s Note: - -This version of the text cannot represent certain typographical effects. -Italics are delimited with the ‘_’ character as _italic_. A bold font is -delimited with the ‘=’ character. Blackletter font in the front matter -are delimited with ‘~’. - -The few footnotes have been positioned following the paragraph in which -they are referenced. - -Please consult the note at the end of this text for a discussion of any -textual issues encountered in its preparation. - - - - - WHEN ALL THE WOODS ARE GREEN - - - - - ~Other Books by - Dr. S. Weir Mitchell.~ - -[Illustration] - - ~Novels.~ - -HEPHZIBAH GUINNESS. -IN WAR TIME. -ROLAND BLAKE. -FAR IN THE FOREST. -CHARACTERISTICS. - - ~Essays.~ - -DOCTOR AND PATIENT. -WEAR AND TEAR—HINTS FOR THE OVERWORKED. - - ~Poems.~ - -THE HILL OF STONES. -THE MASQUE. -THE CUP OF YOUTH. -A PSALM OF DEATHS. - -[Illustration: S. WEIR MITCHELL.] - - - - - WHEN ALL THE WOODS - ARE GREEN - - - A NOVEL - - BY - - S. WEIR MITCHELL - - M.D., LL.D., HARVARD - -[Illustration] - - NEW YORK - - THE CENTURY CO. - - 1894 - - - Copyright, 1894, by - THE CENTURY CO. - - THE DE VINNE PRESS. - - - TO - - JOHN L. CADWALADER - - THE FRIEND OF MANY YEARS,—THE - COMPANION OF MANY SUMMERS - - - - - WHEN ALL THE WOODS ARE GREEN - - - - - WHEN ALL THE WOODS ARE GREEN - - - - - CHAPTER I - - -The night of summer comes late in this north land. Although it was -nearly nine o’clock, the shadows, long gathering in the valleys and the -woods, had but just now overflowed onto the broad levels of the river. -Above was hurry of low-lying clouds, through which swift star-gleams -seemed to flit, like the momentary beacons of the rare fireflies along -the shore. Far away the shriek of a departing train broke the general -stillness and rang fainter and more faint in wild variety of tones among -the farther hills. - -On the bank of this wide Canadian river, a little above the margin, -stood under the yet dripping trees a group of diverse people, but all of -one household. Travel-weary and silent, for a time they looked down on -the dimly lit stream, and heard, as they waited, the murmur and hum of -its waters, or, with eyes as yet unused to the gloom, strove to see the -group of men about the boats on the beach below them. - -“This way, Margaret,” said a man’s cheerful voice; “take care; there is -my arm, dear. How delightful to see the old river!” - -The night was so dark that Lyndsay hesitated as he stood on the verge. - -“What is it?” said his wife. - -“I do not quite like to go up to-night in this depth of darkness. Do you -think it quite safe, Polycarp? Can you see?” - -“Not very well,” said the guide, “but soon break and have heap moon.” - -“I think we must risk it, my dear. You will go with me.” Then he said a -word of caution to the guides, and called to the boys, “Come, Dicky, and -you, Jackums.” They ran down the slope in haste and stood a little, made -quiet for once in their noisy lives, but interested, alert, and peering -through the darkness. - -“Is that you, Tom and Ambrose? How are you all? and Pierre—have you kept -me a big salmon?” - -He shook hands with each of the guides, having a gay word of kindly -remembrance for all in turn. Meanwhile the sister of the boys came down -to the canoes, made silent, like the children, by the night, the -pervasive stillness, and the novelty of the situation. - -“Baggage gone up, Pierre?” - -“Yes, Mr. Lyndsay; everything is right,—and the salmon thick as -pine-needles. The small traps are all in. We might be getting away.” - -“Shall the women need their waterproofs, Tom?”—this to a huge form which -loomed large as it moved among the other men, who were busy adjusting -the small freight of hand baggage. The voice, when it broke out in -reply, was, even for a fellow of six feet two, of unproportioned -loudness. - -“They won’t want none; it ’s a-goin’ to bust out clear.” - -Miss Anne Lyndsay, the maiden aunt of the children, came down the bank -as Thunder Tom replied. Her steps, too feeble for health, were -thoughtfully aided by Edward, the youngest boy. To her turned Rose, the -niece, a woman of twenty years. - -“Did you ever hear the like?” - -She felt the queer impropriety of this terrible voice in the solemn -stillness which, somehow, adequately suggested the tribute of the bated -breath. - -“Won’t need no wraps, Miss Lyndsay. Rain’s done. There fell a power of -water.” - -“What a voice, Aunt Anne!” said Rose. “It ’s like the boom of the sea.” - -“He explodes,—he doesn’t speak; a conversational cannonade.” - -“Hush,” said Mrs. Lyndsay, the mother; “he is quite sensitive about it. -He was with us last year, and a very good man, too, as I know.” - -“Canoe is ready, sir.” - -“It is like a parting salute,” said Rose. - -“Well, my dear,” whispered Miss Anne, “it will be a fine reminder for a -certain person; all things have their uses.” - -“Thanks, Aunt Anne. A certain person has a not uncertain consciousness -that she doesn’t need it. Folks complain that we women speak too loud. I -am sure our men have lost their voices. As for the English women you -admire so much, I could hardly understand them at all, with their timid, -thin voices, and fat a’s.” - -“Stuff!” said Miss Anne. “That is English.” - -“I prefer Shakspere’s English,” said Rose. “I advise them to read -‘Love’s Labor’s Lost.’” - -“That is our old battle-field, Rose. But you would have to be -consistent, and I do assure you, if you talked as Shakspere talked, you -would make a sensation.” - -“Come, adjourn that skirmish,” said Archibald Lyndsay, who had been -rearranging the canoeloads. - -Then the voice, to which others were as whispers, roared: - -“Who’s for where, Mr. Lyndsay?” - -“All right. Tom, your voice is really getting broken. Come, -Margaret,--this way dear.” - -“It’s so,” said Tom. “I kin speak bigger if I try,”—this to Miss -Lyndsay, apologetically, as he aided her into the boat. “Fact is, Miss, -I was twins, like them boys, and Bill he died. He hadn’t no voice to -count on. It’s main useful when you’re drivin’ logs.” - -“What a baby he must have been in a quiet family!” whispered Anne to -Rose and Ned. “Imagine it!” - -“I didn’t understand what he said, Aunt Anne,” remarked the boy. - -“I do not think he quite understood himself. Perhaps he had a vague -notion that he had to talk so as to represent the dead brother, ‘who -hadn’t no voice to count on.’” - -“I like it,” remarked Rose. “Yes, papa.” - -“This way,” said Lyndsay; “here, Margaret, in my canoe.” - -“Could I have Ned with me, brother?” asked Miss Anne. - -“Certainly. Here, in this canoe, not the birch. This one,—now, so, with -your face up the river, and you, Ned,—yes, on the cushion on the -bottom.” - -“How comfortable!” said Anne, as she leaned back on a board set at a -slope against the seat. - -“And now, Margaret,—you and I, together with Pierre and—Halloa there, -Gemini! Oh, you are in the birch already. No nonsense, now! No larking! -These birches turn over like tumbler-pigeons.” - -“You, dear,”—to Rose,—“you are to go with Polycarp and Ambrose. By -yourself, my child? Yes.” - -There was a special note of tenderness in his voice as he spoke. - -“How is that, Rosy Posy?” - -“Delightful! How well you know! And I did want to be alone,—just -to-night,—for a little while.” - -“Yes.” As he released her hand he kissed her. “Now, away with you.” In a -few moments the little fleet was off, and the paddles were splashing -jets of white out of the deep blackness of the stream. By degrees the -canoes fell apart. Despite the parental warning, the twins had secured -paddles, and were more or less competently aiding their men, so that -soon they were far ahead. - -Lyndsay chatted with his guides of the salmon, and of his luggage and -stores, sent up the day before. Aunt Anne and her favorite Ned were -silent for a time; but the boy’s glance roamed restlessly from sky to -stream, and up over the great dim hills. At last he said: - -“Hark, Aunt Anne; how loud things sound at night!” - -“Them’s the rapids,” said Tom, in tones that made Miss Lyndsay start. -“Them’s a mile away.” - -“I suppose, Ned, that when all one’s other senses are more or less -unused, the ear may hear more distinctly; at all events, what you say is -true, I think. If I want to hear very plainly, I am apt to shut my -eyes—good music always makes me do that.” - -“That’s so,” said John. He considered himself quite free to have his -share in the talk. “When I’m callin’ moose, I most allus shuts my eyes -to listen to them trumpetin’ back. Dory Maybrook was a-sayin’ that same -thing las’ Toosday a week. We was a-settin’ out by her wood-pile. An’ -she sat there a-thinkin’. An’ says she, ‘It’s cur’ous how you can hear -things at night.’ Jus’ like you said. Hiram he was a-choppin’.” - -“Who is Dory Maybrook?” said Ned. - -“Well, she’s Dory Maybrook; she’s Hiram’s wife. Hiram’s her husband,” -and he laughed,—laughed as he talked, so that the noise of it boomed -across the wide waters. - -Again for a while they were silent, asking no more questions. The aunt -was wondering what could have given big Tom his overpowering voice, and -how it would affect one to live with such an organ. She turned it over -in her mind in all its droller aspects, imagining Tom making love, or at -his sonorous devotions, for to Anne Lyndsay there were few things in -life remote from the possibility of humorous relation. - -Twice the boy asked if she were comfortable, or warm enough, and, -reassured, fell back into the possession of the deepening night and the -black water, whence, suddenly, here and there, flashed something white -through the blackness, like, as the lad thought, the snowy wings of the -turning sea-gulls he had seen over the St. Lawrence at break of day. - -In the other canoe, far behind and out of sight, Rose Lyndsay lay, -propped against the baggage, in delicious contentment of mind and body. -It was a vast and satisfying change from the completed civilizations of -the world of Europe, where for a year she had wandered with Anne -Lyndsay. Three weeks before the evening on which begins my tale, she was -in London, and now she was greeted with a sudden sense of emancipation -from the world of conventionalities. Neither father nor mother was -exclusively represented in this happily fashioned womanhood. And thus it -was that her inherited qualities so modified one another that people -missed the resemblances, and said only that she was like none of her -people. - -Nevertheless, she had her father’s taste and capacity for seeing -accurately and enjoying the simple uses of observation, with also, in a -measure, what he somewhat lacked—the aunt’s unending joy in all humor; -sharing with her the privilege of finding a smile or a laugh where -others, who lack this magic, can only conjure sadness. She saw with -mental directness, and, where her affections were not concerned, acted -without the hesitations which perplex the inadequate thinker. - -Her aunt, to whom she bore some resemblance in face, had learned much in -a life of nearly constant sickness, but never the power to restrain her -fatal incisiveness of speech. She could hurt herself with it as well as -annoy others, as she well knew. But in her niece, keenness of perception -and large sense of the ridiculous were put to no critical uses. The -simple kindliness of her mother was also hers. - -At times in life permanent qualities of mind vary in the importance of -the use we make of them. Rose was now in the day of questions. -Everything interested her: an immense curiosity sharpened her naturally -acute mental vision; an eloquently imaginative nature kept her supplied -with endless queries. The hour of recognized limitations had not yet -struck for her. Now she set the broad sails of a willing mood, and gave -herself up to the influences of the time and place. Deep darkness was -about her. The sky seemed to be low above her. The dusky hills appeared -to be close at hand on each side. The water looked, as it rose to left -and right, as though the sky, the waves, the hills were crowding in upon -her, and she, sped by rhythmic paddles, was flitting through a lane of -narrowing gloom. - -The impression I describe, of being walled in at night by water, hill, -and sky, is familiar to the more sensitive of those who are wise enough -to find their holiday by wood and stream. The newness of the sensation -charmed the girl. Then in turn came to her the noise of the greater -rapids, as, after two hours, the river became more swift. - -Twice she had spoken; but twice the dark guide had made clear to her -that he needed all his wits about him, and once he had altogether failed -to answer her or, perhaps, to hear at all. But now the clouds began to -break, and the night became clear, so that all objects were more easily -discernible. “Is your name Polycarp?” she said, at last, turning as she -sat to look back at the impassive figure in the stern. - -“I’m Polycarp,” said the Indian. - -“What is that I hear? Of course I hear the rapids, but—it is like voices -and—and—laughter. Is it only the rapids? How strange! Could you—just -stop paddling a moment?” - -The paddles were silent, and she listened. The sounds came and went, -mysteriously rising, falling, or changing, despite the absence of wind, -as they drifted downward when the paddles no longer moved. Mr. Lyndsay’s -canoe overtook them. “What is it?” he called. “Anything wrong?” - -“No, no! I wanted to hear the rapids. They seem like voices.” - -“Ask me about that to-morrow,” said her father, “but push on now. We -shall be late enough.” - -Again the paddles fell, and her canoe slid away into the ever-deepening -night. Of a sudden her trance of thought was broken, and over the waters -from the twins came snatches of song, bits of Scotch ballads, familiar -in this household. At last she smiled and murmured, “The scamps!” They -were caroling the song with which they had been fond of mocking her in -her girlhood. - - “There are seven fair flowers in yon green wood, - In a bush in the woods o’ Lyndsaye; - There are seven braw flowers an’ ae bonny bud, - Oh! the bonniest flower in Lyndsaye. - An’ weel love I the bonny, bonny rose— - The bonny, bonny Rose-a-Lyndsaye; - An’ I’ll big my bower o’ the forest boughs, - An’ I’ll dee in the green woods o’ Lyndsaye. - - “Her face is like the evenin’ lake, - That the birk or the willow fringes, - Whose peace the wild wind canna break, - Or but its beauty changes. - An’ she is aye my bonny, bonny rose, - She’s the bonny young Rose-a-Lyndsaye; - An’ ae blink of hor e’e wad be dearer to me - Than the wale o’ the lands o’ Lyndsaye.” - -The voices rang clear a moment, and then were lost, and heard anew, -without seeming cause for the break. Then came a fresh snatch of song: - - “Come o’er the stream, Charlie, - Braw Charlie, brave Charlie; - Come o’er the stream, Charlie, - And dine with McClain.” - -As she listened and caught the wilder notes of Burnieboozle, they fell -into the orchestral oppositions of the rapids, and died to the car amid -the cry and crash and hoarse noises of the broken waters. - -Rose saw the men rise and take their poles, and felt amidst the -beautiful dim vision of white wave-crests how the frail canoe quivered -as it was driven up the watery way. - -Then they kept to the shore under the trees, the poles monotonously -ringing, with ever around her, coming and going, that delicious odor of -the spruce, richest after rain, which to smell in the winter, amid the -roar of the city, brings to the wood-farer the homesickness of the -distant forest. Her dreamy mood once broken was again disturbed by that -rare speaker, the silent Polycarp. - -“I smell camp.” - -“What!” she said. - -“Yes—very good smell—when bacon fry—smell him long away—two mile.” - -“I smell it,” she said. “How strange!” - -“Smell fry long way—smell baccy not so far. Smell Mr. Lyndsay pipe -little while back.” - -And now far ahead she saw lights, and started as the Indian smote the -water with the flat of his paddle, making a loud sound, which came back -in altered notes from the hills about them. - -“Make ’em hear at camp.” - -Presently she was at the foot of a little cliff, where the twins were -already noisily busy. - -“Halloa, Rose! Can you see?” - -“Yes, Jack.” - -“Isn’t it jolly? Give me a hand.” - -“No, me.” - -“This beats Columbus,” said the elder lad. “Take care, Spices”—this to -the younger twin, who, by reason of many freckles, was known in the -household, to his disgust, as the Cinnamon Bear, Cinnamon, Spices, or -Bruin, as caprice dictated. - -“I’ll punch your red head, Rufus,” cried the lad. “You just wait, Ruby.” - -“Boys! boys!” said Rose. “Now each of you give me a hand. Don’t begin -with a quarrel.” - -“It isn’t a quarrel; it’s a row,” said Jack. - -“A distinction not without a difference,” laughed Rose. “Oh, here is -everybody.” And with jest and laughter they climbed the steps cut in the -cliff, and gaily entered the cabin which was to be their home for some -weeks. - -There was a large, low-raftered room, covered with birch-bark of many -tints. On each side were two chambers, for the elders. The boys, to -their joy, were to sleep in tents on the bluff, near to where the tents -of the guides were pitched, a little away from the cabin, and back of a -roaring camp-fire. Behind the house a smaller cabin sufficed for a -kitchen, and in the log-house, where also a fire blazed in ruddy -welcome, not ungrateful after the coolness of the river, the -supper-table was already set. As Rose got up from table, after the meal, -she missed her mother, and, taking a shawl, went out onto the porch -which surrounded the house on all sides. - -For a moment, she saw only the upward flare of the northern lights, and -then, presently, Mrs. Lyndsay, standing silent on the bluff, with a hand -on Ned’s shoulder, looking across the river. Rose quietly laid the shawl -over her mother’s shoulders, and caught her hand. Mrs. Lyndsay said, -“Thank you, dear Rose, but I want to be alone a little. I shall come in -very soon.” They went without a word, meeting their father just within -the door. “Mother sent us in,” said Rose. - -“I understand,” and he also turned back. “It is Harry! It is about -Harry.” - -“Yes, it is Harry,” repeated Rose; for the year before Mrs. Lyndsay had -left a little weakly fellow, her youngest, in the rude burial-ground of -the small Methodist church, some miles away, up the stream. She had been -alone with Mr. Lyndsay and the child, and it had been her first summer -on the river. When, the next spring, she had proposed to take thither -the whole family, her husband had gladly consented. - - - - - CHAPTER II - - -Mrs. Lyndsay—comely, rosy, in the vigor of young middle-life—was the -first to welcome the sun, as it came over the hills beyond the river. In -the camps was stir of breakfast, and silent, inverted cones of smoke -from the fires. Soon Rose, on the edge of the cliff, cried “Good -morning!” and the mother saw the strong, well-built girl come toward -her, and had pride in her vigor and sweetness. They kissed, and the -mother went in, and Rose back to her maiden meditations. - -She sat down on a camp-stool, and felt that for the first time she had -leisure to think. She and her aunt had been met by her father when their -steamer came, and amidst incessant questions they had been hurried off -into the wilds of New Brunswick. A year away had made for her new -possibilities of observation, and now, with surprised interest, she -found herself in the center of a household which, assuredly, even to the -more experienced, would have seemed peculiar. It was, in fact, more -peculiar than odd. There was no eccentricity, but much positive -character. This Rose Lyndsay saw as she had never seen it before. The -growth of definitely marked natures in the boys struck her, the fresh -air of a kind of family freedom rare elsewhere; the audacity of the -lads’ comments, and their easy relations with the father, were things -which now she saw anew with more thoughtfully observant eyes. - -It were well to say, however, that it was a republic with sudden -probabilities of dictatorship, and that a stranger coming within its -circle rarely beheld much of the outspoken fashions and droll appearance -of equality which, at times, seemed to disregard the deference -ordinarily yielded to parental opinion. In fact, there was a comfortable -sense of comradeship all around, which had its values, and with it an -affection so strong that the wounds of all intellectual differences, and -of the somewhat rare physical contests of the boys, were easily healed -by its constancy, and by the father’s power to make each see in all the -rest their specifically valuable traits. Some things which in other -households are looked upon as serious were in this little -noticed,—while, as to certain lapses, punishment was apt to be severe -enough. - -By and by Ned came out and sat down by Rose. He was the most silent of -them all. - -“Well,” said Rose, as he kissed her, “isn’t it beautiful, Ned? Look at -the low meadows down below the elms, and the cliffs opposite, and the -wild water! Don’t you love it?” - -“I think I—I like it,” he replied. “How black the water looks—how wilful -it looks—that was what I wanted to say. I _think_ I like it, Rose. -Sometimes I don’t like things other people like,—I mean grown-up people. -I suppose that’s very stupid.” - -“No,—oh, no!” She was struck with the oddness of some aspects of his -mind. “Was that what troubled you yesterday, when we were all looking at -that great flare of red sunset light,—you wouldn’t speak?” - -“It was beautiful, but—you won’t tell, Rose?—the Bear and Rufus would -laugh at me,—it was terrible!” - -She looked aside at him, curious and interested. “I think I understand, -and I shall never, never laugh at you, Ned. You must tell me -everything.” - -“Sometimes I can’t,” he said. “It is queer, but sometimes I don’t want -to.” He was truthful to a fault, and was of no mind to make -unconditional treaties. - -“I understand that, too”; and then they fell into lighter chat of -friends and cousins, until Mr. Lyndsay called “breakfast,” from the -cabin-door, and they went in. - -The twins were scarcely more than wide-awake enough to settle down to -serious work at bread and butter and porridge. The canned milk they -pronounced abominable, but soon learned that Mrs. Maybrook’s cows would -furnish a fair supply of their essential diet. Miss Anne came in a -little wearily, glad as she moved of the stay of a chair-back and the -boys’ help, for they all rose at once. - -“Did you sleep well?” said Lyndsay. - -“No; worse than usual.” - -“I thought by your smiling you would have had a good night, but your -dear old face is a dreadful purveyor of fibs. Are you feeling badly -to-day?” - -“Sh—sh—!” she cried, “don’t dose me with myself, Archy; as that -delightful Mrs. Maybrook said to Margaret, ‘I do hate to be babied.’ Is -that your tenth corncake, Jack?” - -“Ninth, aunty,—I have to eat for you and me. I’m like Thunder Tom’s -voice.” - -“That’s the good of being twins,—you can eat for two!” cried Ned. - -“It’s my seventh,” said Dick, complacently. “I wouldn’t be such a G. I. -P. as Jack.” - -“Sudden death is what he will get,” returned Dick. - -“Your seventh,” said Anne. “But how can one die better than facing -fearful odds?” And then there was a little moment of laughter, and the -gay chatter went on. At last Mr. Lyndsay said: - -“When you are through, boys, with this astounding breakfast, we will -talk of our plans. Your mother wants to go up the river. She shall have -the two Gaspé men. Rose, you will go with me for a first lesson in -salmon-fishing, and you three boys shall go with Polycarp after trout. -Lunch at one; and remember, boys, no nonsense in the canoe, mind. This -water is too cold and too swift to trifle with. You are a pretty bad -lot, but I should not like to have to choose which I would part with. As -Marcus Aurelius said, ‘Girls make existence difficult, but boys make it -impossible.’” - -“Who? What?” cried Rose. - -“That was because of Master Commodus,” said Ned. - -“I’d like to have licked him,” remarked Jack, whose remedial measures -were always combative. - -“He was not a nice boy, like me,” said Dick with a grin. - -“Like who? I hope he spoke Latin with decent correctness. Out with you!” - -“I had almost forgotten about Marc. Aurelius, aunt,” said Rose, aside. -“I was really taken in for a moment.” - -It was a family fiction, and still a half belief, that Archibald Lyndsay -would some day publish a great commentary on the famous emperor’s -philosophy; meanwhile it served a variety of humorous purposes. - -“_I_ shall provide myself with a book and sunshine,” said Miss Anne, -“and then with a good field-glass, I shall own the world,—mental and -physical.” - -“But are the books unpacked?” said Rose. - -“No, but I have all I want. I must go and see.” - -Rose set out a lounging-chair on the porch, put beside it a foot-stool -and a rude little table, made by a guide, and following her aunt to her -room, came back laughing with an arm-load of books. Archibald Lyndsay -smiled. - -“No wonder that man at St. Lambert’s groaned over Anne’s trunk.” - -“That delightful man!” cried Rose, “who checked baggage, switched the -trains off and on, sold tickets, answered questions, and did the work of -three and laughed for six. He told papa ‘he guessed he wasn’t no -Canadian. Not much! Had to go down to York State once a year to eat -pumpkin-pie and get sot up—kind of.’” - -“He was of the best type of our people,” said Lyndsay. “Come, Rose; Anne -appears to be reasonably supplied.” - -“I should think so, papa. But I must see,—wait a bit.” - -“Oh!” he exclaimed, picking the books up in turn, “‘Massillon,’ -‘Feuchtersleben,’ what a name! ‘Dietetics of the Soul,’ what a droll -business! ‘The Mystery of Pain,’ my poor Anne! ‘History of the Council -of Trent,’ good gracious!” - -At this moment his sister reappeared. “Are you supplied for the morning, -Anne? Past risk of famine, eh!” - -“Not, too heavily,” she said. “You know what Marcus Aurelius says about -books. ‘There is nothing as economical as a bad memory, because then -there ariseth no need to buy many books.’ That is my case.” - -“Then this is all,” laughed Lyndsay, pointing with his pipe-stem to the -table. “Hum! Well, well! Come, Rose.” - -“Yes, go!” cried Anne, seating herself, “and take with you Epictetus. -‘If that which is of another’s life perplex thy judgment, go -a-fishing,—for there thou shall find more innocent uncertainties, and -will capture the whale wisdom, if thou takest nothing else.’ You may -recall the passage. Carp might have been the fish. Eh, Archie?” - -“Stuff and nonsense!” cried her brother, as they turned away. “Anne gets -worse day by day, Rose. Come. Marcus Aurelius, Epictetus, indeed!” - -As they went down the steps to the bluff, Anne Lyndsay, her thin white -hands in her lap, looked after them. Her face was rarely without a -smile; but, as Rose said truly, “Aunt Anne wears her smiles with a -difference.” Just now her smile was delicately flavored with a look of -satisfied affection. As she looked over river and sun-lit hills, a sharp -twinge of pain crossed her face, and her hands shut tight a moment, -while the sweat of a brief but overpowering pang wrung from her lips an -exclamation. Her life had been physically narrowing for years. As she -became less and less able to go here and there, to do this or that, she -more and more resolutely broadened the horizon of her mental activities, -but, no matter what happened, she continued to smile at or with -everything, herself included. Now she wiped her forehead, and fell to -smiling again, looking sharply about her, for this woman immensely -disliked to be seen in the rare moments when pain was too emphatic for -absolute silence. “I wonder why I hate to be seen,” she said aloud, -being unusually given to soliloquizing; for, as she liked to explain, “I -have more respect for my own opinion if I say it out. It is easier to -disregard the unspoken. I like to think I have the good manners to -listen to myself. It does so trouble Archie, and that girl, for a day -when I break up. I wonder if that small Spartan had had the perpetual -company of his fox, how long he would have gone on without squealing. I -know he wriggled,” she said, and so fell to laughing, after which she -lay back in her chair, waved her handkerchief to Rose, and began to -read. - -While the Gaspé canoe went away up the stream, urged by skilful arms, -Archibald Lyndsay and Rose talked merrily. - -“I told those boys to keep their eyes open, and not to come back and -tell me they had seen nothing in particular. As for Ned, he is sure to -see certain things and not others. He is a dreamer,—oh, worse than ever, -my dear,—it grows on him.” - -“But his dreams—” - -“Yes, I know. There is always something in them. He seems to me, Rose, -too absent-minded for this world’s uses. At times he puzzles me. He is -the duck in my henbrood.” - -“He is pure gold.” - -“Yes, but when he comes to be put into current coin,—really, I don’t -know. As to Rufus,—Dick, I mean, I hate nicknames, and this family has -enough for a directory; you will have six a week,—as to Red-head—” - -Rose laughed. - -“I get no more respect in this household than—” - -“Oh, was that a salmon?” A fish, some three feet long, leaped high in -air, dripping silver in the sun, and fell with a mighty swash into the -glowing waters. - -“Yes; there’s another! As to Dick, he sees everything, and for -questions—you are nothing to him. I wanted to talk to you about them, -Rose.” - -“And Jack?” - -“Oh, Jack! Jack will do. He hates books, but he also hates defeat,—a -first-rate quality, Rose. He is one of the three people I have seen in -my life who honestly enjoy peril. That comes from his Uncle Robert. My -poor Robin used to laugh when he rode into the hottest fight!” - -Rose, remembering how the major died at Antietam, was silent. Her father -was also quiet for a few moments. - -“That boy must always be fighting somebody. Just now, he and Ned have a -standing difficulty about the Roundheads and Jacobites. I believe it has -cost two black eyes already.” - -“How funny! What do you do about it?” - -“I? Nothing. Ned is like a cat for activity, small as he is, and as to -an occasional black eye,—well, I don’t ask too many questions.” - -“But doesn’t it distress mother?” - -“Yes, yes, of course; but so long as they love one another, I find it -wise to say little. By and by, dear, when you are married, and have a -lot of boys of your own, you will understand the wisdom of knowing when -not to see,—when not to ask questions.” - -This astounding improbability, of a sudden, struck Rose dumb. Then she -said, abruptly, “Who is that away up the river?” - -“Two young Boston men. Are they from the island camp, Tom?” - -“Yes, sir,” said Tom, in his great voice. “Mr. Ellett, and Mr.—I don’t -rightly mind me of the other man’s name. Think it’s Carington.” - -“Rather a pretty name,” said Rose,—“Carington.” - -“Not a New England name, I suspect. Probably Southern. How easily one -tells where most of our family names belong,—the older ones, I mean. Oh, -there is their camp. See how neat everything is about their tents. Above -this point, Rose, there are a few clearings, and the graveyard lies back -from the shore, where our Harry is buried. Poor little man! He was well -out of it, Rose, well out of it. We rarely talk of him. Your mother -dislikes it. For myself, I like better to speak of my dead—and they are -many—in a wholesome way, without the strange reserve which even the best -of folks have about their lost ones. However!” - -“Shall we anchor to the head of the pool, sir?” said Tom. - -“Yes, yes. And now, Rose, I want first to have you watch me -closely,—hand, rod, and line,—and to try to follow the fly on the water. -I promise you to talk enough about the trees and the waters next Sunday. -There are some dead forests above us, on the river, from which I want -sketches made; but now it is the more serious business of the salmon; -ask what you like.” - -“Well, then, isn’t it late to fish? It is eight o’clock.” - -“No; the salmon is an aristocrat, and rises late. If you want striped -bass, the break of day is none too early.” - -“But will that thin line—what you call the casting-line—hold a great -thing like the fish I saw leap?” - -“Yes, with the bend and give of this sixteen-foot rod, and the certainty -with which these matchless Vom Hoff reels work. Look, now, the day is -pleasantly cloudy, the water a little thick, riled,—roily, if you like. -I think a silver doctor—that’s a fly, see, Rose—will do. There, you can -look over my fly-book.” - -“Well,” said Rose, “I am compelled to sympathize with the salmon. Are -not our Anglo-Saxon ideas of sport a little hard on birds and fish?” - -“We will adjourn that discussion,” said her father, “until you see a -salmon. Then we shall know whether your store of pity will hold out.” - -The canoe was now anchored in some four feet of strong, broken water. -The bowman, with his anchor-rope ready, the sternman, on the bottom of -the boat, with his face to the pool, his eye on every cast of the fly. -Mr. Lyndsay stood a little back from the center, a fine figure, Rose -thought, tall, strong, ruddy, with a face clean-shaven, except for -side-whiskers. At first he cast his fly near to the canoe, left and -right in succession, and giving the rod a slight motion, kept the fly -moving down-stream until directly astern of the boat. Then with a new -cast, adding two or more feet of line from the reel, he again let the -swift water run it out. Thus, casting each time a little farther, he -covered by degrees an increasing triangular area of water, of which the -stern of the boat was the apex. As he went on fishing, he chatted with -Rose, who sat in front of him, so that he cast over both the girl and -the burly figure of Tom. - -“I am now casting about forty-five feet of line,” he said. “I _can_ cast -about sixty-five, from reel to fly. There are men who can cast one -hundred feet and more, but here it is needless. I could not do it if it -were needed.” - -Rose began to think all this a little slow, for a pastime. At last -Lyndsay, saying, “Drop, Tom,” reeled up his line within a few feet from -the long silk leader. As he gave the word, the lump of lead used as an -anchor was lightly lifted and held well in hand, the sternman used his -paddle, and the boat dropped some forty feet farther down the pool, and -was gently anchored. The stream at this place was more broken, and was -what Tom called “strong water.” - -The casting business began again, with no better result, so that Rose, -to whom it all looked easy enough, began to find it more pleasant to -watch the shadows of the hills and the heavy clouds moving overhead. Mr. -Lyndsay was now casting some fifty feet of line, and, as Rose turned, -trying to analyze for her own use the succession of movements, she was -struck with the grace and ease with which the line was recovered at the -end of the cast,—sent apparently without effort directly behind the -fisherman, and then without crack or snap impelled in a straight line to -right or left at an angle from the boat, so that the casting-line and -fly dropped or settled lightly on the water; the fly always maintaining -its place at the end of the cast. Then she heard, “You riz him!” “We -have tickled his fancy, Rose, or tempted his curiosity. Now we have a -little game to play. Sometimes we wait a few minutes. I rarely do so -unless the fish are scarce. Look sharp. Did you see him rise?” - -“No.” - -“That fish lies in a line with yonder dead pine. In this quick water the -fly buries itself, but as I follow it with the rod, you can guess its -place. Most commonly a salmon remains in one spot, with his nose -up-stream, and—” - -“Oh!” cried Rose, as the fly reached the indicated spot and a swirl in -the water and a broad back caught her eye. “Oh! oh!” - -“It has all the charm of gambling,” said Mr. Lyndsay, “without the -badness.” - -“Will he rise again?” - -“Perhaps. Ah, not this time”; and after a couple of casts, he said, “Put -on a black dose.” - -“A what?” - -“Our flies have all manner of queer names. This is a ‘dark fly,’ quite -unlike the bright doctor. It may tempt him.” And at the first cast, with -the same length of line, the peaceful scene was turned into one of -intense excitement. - -“There!” cried Rose. “Oh!” for as the new fly reached the fated spot, -there was a sudden flash of white a dozen yards away. The reel ran out a -few feet, the rod was lifted and turned over to bring the winch to the -right hand, and the pressure on the entire length of the bending rod. -The angler sat down. - -Tom meanwhile had called to the bowman as the fish struck, and the -anchor was instantly drawn up. For this brief interval of time the great -salmon stayed, pausing. “Thinking what’s wrong,” said Lyndsay. The next -instant the reel sang, and some two hundred feet of line ran out with -incredible swiftness. Far away across the stream a great white thing -leaped high out of the water, as Lyndsay dropped the tip of his rod to -relax the tension of the line. - -“How exciting it is!” cried Rose, as the fish leaped again. “I don’t -sympathize with the salmon at all; I am intent on murdering him.” - -“Fresh run and clean,” said Tom,—“a beauty!” - -The canoe, urged by deft paddles, moved across the river. The tension -relaxing, Lindsay reeled up line. Then again there was a wild rush up -river. - -“Tom, quick! After him!” - -The next moment the line came back, slack. - -“Oh!” cried Rose, “he is gone!” - -“No! no!” shouted Tom. “Reel! reel, sir!” and presently the long, loose -line grew tight, for the salmon had turned and made straight for the -boat. Now, once more, he broke water, thirty feet away. - -“Them long runs tires ’em,” said Tom, “and the jumps tires ’em more. -Showed his belly, sir.” - -Lyndsay now slowly lifted his rod-tip, throwing it back of him, and then -lowering it as he recovered the line. - -“Take care, sir!” cried Tom, for once more there was a fierce, short -dash across, and again a leap. This time the fish came in slowly, but -surely, and Tom took his gaff. - -“Can you do it?” - -“Yes, sir.” The gaff was in, and the great, flapping fish in the boat, -and Rose pretty well splashed with water as Tom cleverly lifted his prey -on the gaff-hook. - -“A twenty-pounder, Mr. Lyndsay, sure!” - -“Well, Rose, how do you like it?” - -“Oh, papa, it is splendid! - -“Where are we going?” she added, as the canoe was run ashore. - -“The men will put the fish under a bush, to be out of the sun; and now, -what were you about to ask? I saw a question ready in your eyes.” - -“I wish, papa—I wish I did not think the fish had a dreadful time. I -have to think of pleasure holding the rod and tragedy at the end of the -line.” - -“Upon my word, Rose, you are emphatic. I can assure you, my dear, that -you may safely keep your emotional statements for another occasion. - -“Let me tell you something. Once when fishing on the Nipigon, I saw an -odd-looking, very large trout. He rose every time I cast, and at last -took the fly. Now, why the salmon takes the fly, not Solomon could say, -because he eats nothing while in the rivers; but trout are pigs for -greediness. When I looked this hungry trout over, he was still bleeding -from a fish-hawk’s claws, and his intestines and liver were hanging in -the water. Such pain, or injury if you like, as this, does in man -utterly destroy appetite and cause inaction. The inference is plain -enough: fish cannot be said to suffer what we call pain. I once took a -striped bass which had been terribly torn by a gaff. On the whole, Rose, -I conclude that, as we go down the scale of life, there is less and less -of what we call pain, and at last, probably, only something nearer to -discomfort or inconvenience.” - -“Is that so? Then we hold our higher place at the cost of suffering, -which must increase as we go on rising through the ages to come?” - -“Yes,” said Lyndsay, looking aside with freshened curiosity at this -young logician. “Yes, the rule must work both ways. But man alone has -the power to limit, lessen, even annihilate pain. The amount of pain in -the civilized world must have been vastly diminished within forty years, -since we got ether and the like.” - -“And will not that in time lessen our power to endure? But then,” she -added quickly, “that might be of less moment if we are always -increasingly able to diminish or stop pain.” - -Lyndsay smiled. This alert grasp of a subject was a novel acquisition. -As he was adjusting a fly, and the boat was dropping to a new station, -she said: - -“I hate pain. I don’t believe in its usefulness. Not for Rose Lyndsay, -at least. It only makes me cross.” - -“Yet you would hesitate to make a world without it?” - -“Yes. One can see the difficulties.” - -“The more you think of them the more they multiply. It is, of course, -commonplace to say pain is protective, and in a sense educative. That -one may admit; and yet there will still be such a lot of torment which -is natural that one does keep on wondering why.” - -“Do you remember, Pardy,”—this was her nursery name for her -father,—“when Mr. Caramel preached about the uses of pain, and said the -man who suffered was ignorantly rich: he had only to learn to use his -wealth?” - -“Oh, very well I remember. As we came out Anne said she would be glad to -be generous with her over-competence, and wanted to send Mr. Caramel a -few of the crumbs to relieve his too comfortable poverty!” - -“Yes, only one can’t repeat her bits of grim fun, Pardy; and when she -tells Dick a green-apple stomach-ache is only a joke which he don’t -understand, you must see her face and Dick’s grimace.—Oh, see how that -fish jumped!” - -“North has a curious notion that pain, except for early protective -education, is, in a measure, useless. He declares that long bouts of it -make men bad.” - -“Not Aunt Anne, Pardy.” - -“Oh, a woman! That is different.” - -“Nor that splendid fellow, Dr. Hall, now—” - -“Bother, Rose! Don’t interrupt me. North says he has seen certain -hysterical women get well as to everything except loss of sense of pain. -He knows of two who are ignorant, at present, of the feeling of pain. -You cannot hurt them. One of them declares that she would on no account -resume the normal state.” - -“I cannot imagine any one wanting to be so unnatural, and she must lose -all warnings as to burns and knocks.” - -“No, she substitutes intelligent watchfulness for the sentinel pain.” - -“I shall never get rid of pain by having hysterics,” said Rose, -confidently. “I can’t imagine that.” - -“Occasion may assist imagination. Take care!” - -“There is a scornful masculine note in that remark, sir! Why do not men -have hysterics?” - -“Ask North; he will refer you to _Hamlet’s_ condition. Isn’t it in Act -I, Scene IV, where he gets what Jack calls ‘rattled’ about the ghost? -North says he was hysterical. Dr. Shakspere knew his business. But I -meant to add that North says there is one case on record of a man who, -in all his life, never knew what pain was,—had no pain; could not be -hurt in any way!” - -“How strange!” - -“Yes, but we are losing the shining hours. The busiest bee could not -improve them here.” - -“No, indeed!” - -“Oh, one word more, and then let us pitch the horrid thing overboard. I -was so puzzled once—I still am—about this passage in my Aurelius.” - -“Real or fictitious, Pardy? You are not always above following Aunt -Anne’s wicked ways!” - -“Oh, real. He says, ‘There is no dishonor in pain.’ I have remarked in -my commentary that this passage is not clear.” - -“But is it not, papa? He must mean that dishonor is the worst anguish, -and that pain is only an evil to the body, and that an ache of the soul -is worst of all, and therefore—” - -“Only an ill to our grossest part, if we so determine to limit its -effects. Is that it, my dear?” - -“I suppose so,” said Rose, with some hesitation. “Yes, that is it.” - -“But now you shall argue with a fish. You will be awkward at first. Here -is a lighter rod; we call it a grilse-rod. Tom shall coach you, and I -will grin at your failures!” - -“I hate failure!” - -“And I loathe it. But, as the Persian poet says, ‘Failure is the child -of doubt, and the grandfather of success.’” - -“Pardy! Pardy!” Rose smiled. Those Oriental quotations were family -properties, and a source of some bewilderment to the educated stranger. - -“Now, dear, see how I hold the rod—lightly. Yes, so, without tension. -Don’t make too much physical effort. Let the rod do its share. Don’t -insist on doing all, and too much yourself.” - -Rose took the rod, and Tom began his lesson. But the gods were good, -and, after a few awkward casts, a salmon, more eager than his kind, made -a mad bolt for the fly, and was off like a crazy thing, across the -stream. - -“Turn your rod! Down! Sit down! Tip up! Up! That is rare,” said Lyndsay. -“If that salmon were to keep on running, there would be no salmon for -you. Quick, boys!” for before the anchor was up, the wild fish had run -off two thirds of the reel. Now they were away after him at fullest -speed. - -“Reel! reel!” cried Tom. “Reel up!” - -“But I am tired! Oh, I shall lose him!” - -However, after he had made another run, Rose began to get in the line, -then the fish stopped a moment, and again was away. - -Meanwhile, the canoe, in crossing and recrossing, had come close to the -swift water below the pool. - -“We have got to go down the rapids, sir.” - -“Let her go, then. Steady, Rose, keep a strain on him.” - -“But I am nearly dead!” - -“You will come to. Quick! Drop the tip!” for as they fled down-stream, -the boat dancing, the water splashing in, the poles, now pushing, now -snubbing the canoe, the salmon made a leap high in air, and fell across -the taut line, which came back free, while Rose looked around in -disgusted amazement. - -“He is gone!” she said. - -“Yes. You should have lowered the tip when he jumped. But think how -pleased he is, my dear!” - -“I hate him!” - -“He has got half a leader and a good silver doctor,” said her father. -“You can quote Browning, dear, ‘The Last Leader.’” - -“For shame! I knew those things must be weak. I would have a good, thick -rope.” - -“You wouldn’t take many fish, miss,” said Tom, grinning. - -“What are these wretched leaders made of?” said Rose. - -“Silk. They drown the silkworm in vinegar, and then, cutting out the -silk sac, take the two ends, and pull them apart. The silk, for a whole -cocoon, is in a state of thick solution, and is thus pulled out into one -of the many lengths which we tie to make a nine-foot leader.” - -“How curious!” - -Meanwhile, another leader was well soaked and adjusted, and Rose began -anew. But, although she cast better, no more salmon rose, and, tired -out, she gave up the rod. Mr. Lyndsay had no better luck, and, as it was -close to lunch-time, they ran ashore to pick up their salmon, which Tom -laid in the canoe and covered with ferns. Soon again the little vessel -was in the strong current. - -“There is no hurry, Tom,” said Lyndsay; and so the canoe, held straight -by a guiding paddle, glided swiftly onward. - -“It is perfect motion, Pardy,—at most, it has the ease and grace of -flight.” - -“It makes one envy the fish.” - -“Ah, the dear things. I am so glad to be able to think it really does -not hurt them.” - -“Hurt ’em?” said Tom. “They likes it, else why’d they want it. They -needn’t ’less they’re a mind to.” - - - - - CHAPTER III - - -As they floated quietly down the river, close to shore, under birch and -beech and pine and silky tamarack, the delight of open air, the -pleasantness of the shifting pictures, the delicate, changeful odors, -even the charm of the motion, were keenly felt by Rose. She was falling -under the subtle magic of this woodland life, and lazily accepting the -unobservant, half-languid joy it brought. At last she said: - -“Papa, does it take you long to—well, to get away from your work, so -that you can fully enjoy all this?” - -“Three or four days; not more. I like at once the feeling that I have -nothing I must do. After awhile the habit of using the mind in some way -reasserts its sway. At home I watch men. It is part of my stock in the -business of the law. Here I readjust my mind, and it is nature I have -learned to watch. I was not a born observer; I have made myself one. -After a day or two on the water, I begin to notice the life of the -woods; the birds, the insects. This grows on me day by day, and, I -think, year by year. It is a very mild form of mental industry, but it -suffices to fill the intervals of time when salmon will not rise.” - -“It is so pleasant to drift!” - -“Yes; that is the charm of the life. Nobody elbows you here; no rude -world jostles your moods. You may entertain the gentle melancholy of -Penseroso or the entire idleness of Adam before the apple tempted him. -You may be gay and noisy,—no one is shocked; and then, the noble freedom -of a flannel shirt and knickerbockers! Why do we ever go back?” - -“There is a queer indefiniteness about it all to me,” said Rose. “I -cannot get into any full—I mean interested—relation with the life and -all there is in it. I don’t say just what I mean.” - -“I see, Rose: from Rome to this is a long way,—‘a far cry,’ we say in -Scotland. Let yourself go. Drift, as you said.” - -“Ah,” said Rose, - - “‘’Tis pleasant drifting, drifting, - Where the shores are shifting, shifting, - And the Dream God has the tiller, - And Fancy plies the oar.’ - -It is not always easy to drift, and I am not yet enough at ease to -drift. I find, Pardy, that the changes at home are very great. I am -getting slowly used to them. The boys seem new creatures. You are just -the same. But mama! I am so sorry for her.” - -“That will come right, dear. The mother-wounds heal slowly. As for me, I -own to no discontent about my boy’s death. Most people hold foolish -notions as to death. In my third chapter on Marcus Aurelius, I have -given a history of opinion about death. It has had strange variations. -Really, we are very stupid as to the matter. The old heathen is fine -about it: ‘Thou hast embarked. Thou hast made the voyage. Thou art come -to shore; leave the ship. There is no want of Gods even there.’” - -“Yes, but—I did not embark,” said Rose. “I was put on as freight. I—” - -“How horribly exact you are for a summer day! I won’t argue with you; -you love it. How quiet it is! Not a leaf stirs. How completely peaceful! -The drowsiness of noon.” - -“Yes, it is like ‘the peace that is past understanding.’ I never think -of that phrase,” she added, after a pause, “without a little puzzle of -mind about it. Aunt Anne says it is so altogether nice after a mournful -length of sermon; but Aunt Anne is terrible at times. I often wonder -what people who do not know her well must think of her. What I mean -is—Well, it is hard to state, Pardy. Is the peace so great that we have -no earthly possibility of apprehending its relief from the unrest of -this life?—or that—Don’t you dislike to stumble in thinking? I—it does -not seem to me as if I wanted peace. Is that dreadful?” - -“No, dear. But some day you may, and there are many kinds. I sometimes -crave relief from mere intellectual turmoil. Another yearns after the -day when his endless battle with the sensual shall cease. One could go -on. Perhaps for you, and for all, the indefiniteness of the promise is -part of the value of its mystery. That is widely true. You may one day -come to love some man, and to entirely believe in his promise of love. -Yet you will not fully know what that means,—you cannot; and yet you -trust it, for the inner life after all rests on a system of credits, as -business does. Do you follow me?” - -“Yes,” she said, with a little doubt. “Yes, I think I do; and yet it is -not peace I want, if that means just merely rest.” - -“Oh, no; surely not finality of action. Remember that with that promise -of peace is to come increase of knowledge of God, which means all -knowledge. We see and hear now the beautiful in nature, and are troubled -by its apparent discords. There the true harmonies of it all shall be -ours to know. It is like learning the reasons for the music we hear now -with only joy and wonder.” - -“That may be so. To like or love a person, a friend, is pleasant; but to -love and also fully to understand a friend is better. Then one is at -ease, one has true peace, because we have then knowledge with love.” - -“That was nicely put, my child, but one can’t talk out in full such -subjects as this. One can only sow seed and trust to the fertilization -of time. Where did you get your quotation about drifting?” - -“I do not know; Aunt Anne would.” - -“Oh, that, of course,” said Lyndsay; “she told us once that not to know -the name of the man you quote is a form of ingratitude: to take the gift -and forget the giver.” - -“That is so like her: to label want of memory as intellectual -ingratitude.” - -“When we laughed,” said Lyndsay, “she added that quotations were mean -admissions of our own incapacity of statement. Claiborne was dining with -us,—you should have heard his comments. You know how perplexingly droll -she is at times, and when she is in what the boys call a ‘gale’ of merry -mind-play.” - -“It sounds familiar. Aunt Anne is not above repeating her jests. I -recall it now. She insisted gaily that it is bad manners to call up the -spirit of a man, and accept his contribution to your needs, and then to -say, ‘Sorry I forgot your name,’ and just show him to the door of your -mind. She is great fun, sometimes.” - -“Yes, sometimes. The fun is not always honeyed, or—if it looks so—of a -sudden the bees crawl out of it and sting folks; but who can wonder? If -it helps Anne to clap an occasional mustard-plaster on me, dear lady, -she is welcome.” - -“Once, Pardy, in Venice, she was in dreadful pain, and some women got in -by mistake. She was perfectly delightful to those people. When they went -away, I said, ‘Aunty, how much better you are!’ And what do you think -she replied? ‘You will never know, dear, whether you have good manners -or not until you have pain for one of your visitors,’ and then she -fainted. I never knew her to faint, and I was dreadfully scared.” - -“She ought to have excused herself,” said Lyndsay. “It was heroic -foolishness.” - -“I suppose it was.” - -“You need not suppose,—it was! I hate to think of how she suffers. Look -at yonder lot of firs and spruce with the gray, green, drooping mosses -on them. After a rain that hillside looks like a great cascade. You see -the moss hangs in arrow-head shapes, like those of falling water. It is -so hard to set these simple things in words—you can describe them with -half a dozen pencil-marks. I envy you the power. I have to stick to my -old habit of word-sketches, about which our friend, the doctor, once -wrote, as you know. On Sunday we will have a run up-stream, and a big -wood-and-water chat.” - -As he spoke the canoe slipped around a little headland, and was at once -close to the cliff camp. - -“That doesn’t look very peaceful,” cried Rose. “Oh, they will be -killed!” and she started up. - -“Keep still,” said her father; “you will upset us.” What she saw looked -grim enough: a tangle of three boys, rolling down some fifteen feet of -graveled slope; then the three afoot; two or three savage blows, fierce -cries, and a sudden pause, as Lyndsay called out: - -“Hullo there!—quit that, Jack! Stop, Ned!” - -Their faces were very red, their clothes covered with dirt. There was -silence and instant obedience. Mrs. Lyndsay stood imploring at the top -of the cliff, and Anne was standing by with a queer smile on her face, -and her fingers in a book. - -“Who began it, boys? What is it all about?” - -Jack spoke first: “Dick hit Ned, and he’s too small for him, and so I -hit Dick.” - -“He might have let us alone. I’m as good as Dick any time,” said the -slightest of the lads, with no show of gratitude. - -“He said I was a fool,” explained Dick. “Ned’s quite a match, but Jack -can’t keep out of a row.” - -“And so it was two to one, was it? I can’t stand that: no more fishing -to-day or to-morrow, Master Jack.” - -“Yes, sir.” - -“And now, what was this war about?” - -“Well, Ned he said Claverhouse was a bloody villain, and I said he was a -gallant gentleman, and Ned said I was a fool.” - -“That was a difference of sentiment which has cost blood before,” -laughed Anne, from the bluff. Ned grinned as he wiped a bloody nose. - -“Oh, do keep quiet, Anne,” said her brother; “this is my affair. How is -it, Ned, and you, Dick? Is it settled? If not, there is room back of the -house. This fighting before women is not to my taste. But is all this -just as Dick says, Ned?” - -“Why, father, I—I said it.” And Dick’s face flushed. - -“You are right, sir; I beg pardon. As you seem indisposed to have it -out, shake hands; but an honest shake. It must be peace or war; no -sullenness.” - -“All right, sir. I’m sorry, Dick.” - -“I’m not—very,” said Dick; but he put his hand on Ned’s shoulder, and -kindly offered a second handkerchief. - -“Now, you mad Indians, go and make yourselves decent. It is time for -luncheon.” - -Rose went up the cliff to where Miss Anne still stood. “I think it is -dreadful, most dreadful.” - -“I used to, my dear, but on the whole it clears the air, and the boys -seem none the worse for it. Jack is usually the ferment; Dick is hot of -temper; and Ned, my dear Ned, would die on the rack for a sentiment.” - -When the family sat down to the luncheon, a stranger would have detected -no evidence of the recent warfare. The mother, once or twice, cast an -anxious look at the slight enlargement of Ned’s nose, but, to the -surprise of Rose, what had seemed to her an angry contest made no kind -of alteration in the good humor of the lads. Ned was as usual silent; -but Dick and Jack were busily discussing the color of the trout they had -taken: some were dark, some brighter in tint. - -It was the good habit of this old-fashioned household to invite the talk -and questions of the children. - -“You got the blacker ones at Grime’s run, near the mouth,” said Mr. -Lyndsay; “the others in the river below. Well, what do you make of it?” - -“Isn’t the bottom dark in the places where the fish are dark?” said -Dick. - -“Put it backward,” replied his father, “and you will have a part of the -truth.” - -“But how could that act?” said Dick. - -“It must act somehow,” said Jack. - -“Is it the light?” said Ned. - -“But light blackens the skin, or heat does,” reasoned Dick. - -“The true cause is curious. It is an action of light through the eyes, -and thence, by the brain pathways, on to the numberless little -pigment-cells of the skin, which are able to shrink or enlarge, and thus -change the hue of the whole outside of the fish. Blind fish do not -change their hue.” - -“But that is not the way we get brown,” said Rose. - -“No, not at all. Sun-tan is not caused by the sun’s heat; it is an -effect of the chemical rays.” - -“A kind of photography, Pardy?” - -“Yes, more complete than you can fancy; the sunlight falls nowhere -without leaving a record, only we cannot recover it as we can the -photograph of the camera. In fact, it is probable that every reflection -from everything and onto everything leaves positive records. It was -Professor Draper, I think, who played with this pretty idea, that, if we -had the means of development, we might thus win back pictures of every -event since the world was made.” - -“I like that,” said Anne. “What would one desire to see if we could -recover these lost memorials?” - -There was a little pause at this. - -“Come, Ned.” - -“Oh, I’d want to see old Cromwell when he was looking at Charles, just -lying there dead.” - -“But he never did see him then,” said Jack. “You wouldn’t have wanted -to, Ned, if you had been that scoundrel.” - -“Yes, I should,” cried Ned; “I’d have known then if I was right.” - -Anne looked at him aside, with brief curiosity. He often puzzled her. - -“Cromwell a scoundrel!” he murmured to himself. - -“And you, Jack?” - -“Oh, the cemetery hill at Gettysburg, just when the rebel line broke; -but”—and his face flushed—“just to have been there. That would have been -better.” - -“And what would you like to see, Anne?” said Lyndsay. - -“Oh, a hundred things!” and her eyes lit up. At last she said, “Yes; I -think if it were only one thing, I would say, St. Paul on Mars’ Hill.” - -“I think I shall rest content with Anne’s choice,” said Mrs. Lyndsay. -“But, ah me, there might be many, many things.” - -“Dick, it is your turn,” said Lyndsay. - -“I—I—don’t know. Yes, yes. The days of the great lizards—and things,” he -added, comprehensively; “and that beast with a brain in his head and one -in his tail. And, father, may I see the insides of that salmon? He has a -lot of what the men call sea-lice on him.” - -“Certainly. He loses them very soon in fresh water. It is a sign of a -clean run fish. Yes, of course. Do as you like, my boy.” - -“Mrs. Maybrook was here this morning,” said Mrs. Lyndsay. “I was away. -You and Anne must see her, Rose. She is really a personage. I, at least, -have never seen any one like her. She left word that the little boy was -sick at Joe Colkett’s,—the upper clearing, you know, Archie; and could -we do something to help them? There is no doctor for fifty miles. I -thought, Rose, you might take some things, and go over after lunch, and -see what it is.” - -Now, Rose was salmon-bitten, but it was characteristic that she said at -once she would go. A glance at the mother’s face decided her. Anne, who -understood everybody with strange readiness, nodded to her gently, and -Rose had her reward. It is pleasant to be clearly read by those we love. -Then the chat went on, gay or grave, but plenty of it, and with ample -sauce of folly. - -As the girl went out onto the porch, Lyndsay said to his sister, “I was -sorry for Rose. Her first day of salmon-fishing. Sometimes my good -Margaret is—well, a little too positive about these confounded duties. -She might—” - -“No, Archie. Rose understood her mother. Of course, she did not like it, -but she was right, and was perfectly sweet about it.” - -“I shall take her up myself, and wait for her,” he went on. “If we start -early, she will be in time for a late cast. Hang the black flies!—get a -smudge, Tom,” he called. “I suppose Margaret is right. Even the -simulation of goodness is valuable. Of course, Anne, as Marcus Aurelius -said, ‘Affect a virtue—’ No, confound it! he says, ‘If you have not a -virtue, make believe to have it, and by and by you will have it.’” - -Anne smiled. “I think there is a statute of limitations for some of us.” - -“Come into my room,” he added. “I want to read you my last chapter. It -is on the value of habits. You can sew if you like.” - -“Archie! You never saw me sew in your life. It is Margaret’s resource, -not mine. I never could comprehend its interest for women. M. A. was a -bit of a prig in my opinion; but, as to the commentary, look -out,—previous experience should have warned you,—there will be two -commentaries,” and she went in after him, laughing. - -As he passed Rose, he said, “By the way, and to put your conscience at -ease before you fish again, here is a note-book of mine in which you may -see that while hunting is forbidden to the clergy, fishing is allowed. -The reasons are amusing. Ned or Dick will help you, but the Latin is -easy.” - -“Walton quotes it,” added Lyndsay. - -“No, only in part,” said Anne. - -“You are intolerable. Your literary conscience is like Margaret’s moral -exactness. There is no living with either of you.” - -“Don’t believe him, Rose; but keep for me the quotation.” - -She devoured books, and digested them also, with the aid of a rather too -habitual acidity of criticism; but what was in them she never forgot. - -“Come, now, Archie.” - -Rose took the note-book and sat down. This was what she read, from the -Decretals of Lyons, 1671: “Sed quare prohibetur venari, et non piscari? -Quia forte piscatio sine clamore, venatio non; vel quia major est -delectatio in venatione; dum enim quis et in venatione nihil potest de -divinis cogitare.”[1] - ------ - -Footnote 1: - - Until within two years, it was lawful to fish on Sunday in New York, - but unlawful to shoot. - ------ - -“Ambrose speaks of it in like manner in his third homily,—the old -humbug!” said Miss Rose, over whose shoulder Dick had been looking. - -“I guess they took a sly shot, now and then, at the king’s deer, Rosy -Posy.” - - - - - CHAPTER IV - - -About three o’clock, as Rose stood by the canoe in a pretty hot sun, she -saw Ned and Dick making ready for another trip to the brook. - -“Pardy,” she said, “do let Jack go with them.” - -“It won’t be half the fun without Jack,” urged Ned. Lyndsay hesitated. -“Well, yes, Rose.” - -She was away up the steps in a moment, and found Jack deep in an Arctic -voyage. - -“You are to go, Jack,” she cried. - -“I don’t want to.” - -“That’s a first-class fib.” - -“Well, I don’t want to go.” - -“Come, Jack; you hurt me; and I asked—” - -“By George!” he cried, “I’ll go.” - -“You must want to go.” - -“I do.” - -“Go and thank Pardy.” - -Jack stood a moment, and then Rose kissed him. - -“Drat you women!” said the youngster, and walked away and down to the -canoes. He went straight to his father. - -“I am very much obliged to you, sir.” - -“All right, old man. Off with you.” - -“By George, Dick, but M. A. is a gentleman,” said Jack, as the canoe -left the beach. “He might have rubbed it in, and he just didn’t.” - -“How’s your nose, you small poet cuss?” said Dick. “I cut my knuckles on -those sharp teeth of yours.” - -“That’s what they’re for, Ruby”; and so they were away, singing as they -went: - - “The king shall enjoy his own again,”— - -to the amusement of the two Indians. - -“I should have sent the Gaspé men,” said Lyndsay to Rose, as he stood -following the canoe with his eyes. “If anything happens, they would -think first of the boys, and next of themselves. In Mr. Lo I have less -faith.” - -“But why?” - -“Experience, prejudice, color—distrust. Once I was on Lake Superior, -Rose, in a boat in a storm. Our two Indian guides simply lay down and -wilted. We could get no help from either. And a curious thing happened -that night. We landed on a beach at the river of the Evil Manitou. When -the Indians learned that I meant to camp there, they tried to steal a -canoe and run away, explaining that to sleep there would cause the death -of some one of their people. I could not stand this, because we needed -the third canoe. It ended by our keeping watch, revolver in hand, all -night. When we reached Duluth, an old Indian—a Chippeway, of course—was -waiting to tell one of my guides that his sister had died that morning.” - -“What did he say to you, papa?” - -“Only, ’Me telly you so.’” - -“And didn’t you feel very, very badly? You know, dear M. A., you are -quite a bit superstitious yourself.” - -“As to the first question, No. I was sorry, but—Get into the -canoe—so—facing the bow. I sha’n’t see your face when you talk, and I -can fib without those nice eyes of yours making righteous comments.” - -“A _tête-à-tête_ back to back might have its advantages,” she returned, -laughing, “for a _cœur-à-cœur_ at least, papa.” - -“I trust that is in the dim distance, my child.” - -“How serious you are, Pardy!” - -He was troubled at times lest this best of his dear comrades should find -another man whom she would love more than she loved the father-friend. - -“And,” she went on, “would you have shot the Indian if he had taken or -tried to take the boat, Pardy?” - -“Oh, no! The revolver was not loaded. Our Anglo-Saxon fists would have -answered, as we were four to two.” - -“But aren’t these Indians Catholics?” - -“If you mean that religion puts an end to these little or large -superstitions, No. Kismet, the Fates, our Angle ancestors’ Wyrda—the -goddess who decreed deaths in battle and spared the brave awhile—she -became God for the Christian Angles: then the will of God, and now the -law of God, and for some the laws of nature. It is only a transmutation -of phrase. We remain fatalists, and change the label.” - -“But it seems to me,” said Rose, “a long way from Wyrda, who was rather -indecisive, I remember, to changeless law.” - -“Rose, you are dreadful! If ever I begin to talk loosely, down comes -Anne or you with your confounded rigidity of statement. Don’t marry a -fool, Rose, or he and you will have a dreadful time.” - -“No, papa, never! Heaven forbid! But isn’t it helpful at least to know—” - -“You can’t drag me any further into these deep waters to-day. - - ‘To-day we give to trifles, - And if to-morrow rifles - The honey thefts we won, - At least the pleasant hours - Head down among the flowers, - Swinging jolly in the sun—’ - -nobody can quite take away. I forget the rest of it.” - -“I am happy enough, dear Marcus Aurelius, to dare to be grave. I have a -pocketful of moods at your order. - - ‘Eat, drink, and be merry, - Dance, sing, and rejoice, - With claret and sherry, - Theorbo and voice.’ - -For we all shall be past it a hundred years hence.” - -“I don’t know that, Rose. I like to think, with Anne, that in a world to -come - - ‘The angel Laughter spreads her broadest wings.’ - -We may laugh at other things, but laugh we shall.” - -“Dear Aunt Anne! The angel of laughter! I think I can hear him.” - -“Just to go back a moment, Rose. You can’t talk out these deeper things. -I, at least, must use the pen if I am at all able to discuss them. There -never was truth in text or brief sayings that for me could stand alone. -Even a proverb needs limbs of comment to get about usefully among -mankind. Books of mere maxims I detest. Don’t! I see you mean to reply. -Good-by to common sense to-day.” - -“Aunt Anne was talking last night,” said Rose, “about the value of -nonsense. I think it was apropos of just the very worst conundrum you -ever heard,—you know what a lot of them the boys have. This one I have -made a solemn vow never to repeat. She was wondering why the novelists -never make people talk refreshing nonsense the way all really reasonable -folks do sometimes.” - -“I wonder more, Rose, why they so rarely get really good talk into their -conversations, talk such as we do hear, gay and grave by turns. Of -course they say of their characters things clever enough.” - -“That is terribly true,—one tires of the endless essays about their -people. Why not let them say of one another what is to be said. Aunt -Anne says she hates to have a critical providence forever hovering about -a story.” - -“A good deal of the personal talk in novels is needed to carry on the -tale. Still, there ought to be room for doing this in a way to make the -talk in itself amusing at times, and not merely coldly developmental of -character.” - -“Wait till I write my novel,” cried Rose. “Every one in it shall be -clever,—English clever. It hurts my sense of the reality of the people -in books to be told they are able, or this and that, and have sense of -humor, and then not to find these qualities in what they say.” - -“You may have too much of it,” he returned. “The mass of readers are -unaccustomed to a selected world where to want to amuse and interest, -and to be amused, is part, at least, of the social education. Your book -would lack readers, just as George Meredith’s books do, where, surely, -the people talk enough, both of brilliant wisdom and as shining wit.” - -“But they keep me in a state of mental tension; I don’t like that.” - -“No. I said there could be too much in a book, in a novel. These books -keep one on a strain. That may suit some people, some moods, but it -isn’t what I read novels for. Now, Cranford is my ideal.” - -“I knew you would say Cranford, papa. But isn’t it a little too—too -photographic? I met in the Tyrol, papa, a lady who knew many of the -people in Cranford. Did you know it was called Knutsford?” - -“Ah, Canute’s ford.” - -“Yes. She told me such an odd thing about Knutsford. When a bride is on -her way to the church the bridesmaids scatter sand before her, and this -is because when Canute crossed the ford he was seated on the bank, and -getting the sand out of his shoe,—and just then a bride came over the -stepping-stones; the king cast the sand after her, and said, ‘May your -offspring be as many as the sands in my shoe.’ Now, isn’t that a pretty -story?” - -“A _very_ pretty story. I shall write it on the blank page of my -Cranford.” - -“Hullo, Tom; are those bear-tracks?” - -They were close now to a sandy beach. - -“Yes, and fresh, too.” - -“If Jack saw this he would go wild,” said Rose. “And the little marks?” - -“Them’s cubs. They’ve been roun’ here a sight.” - -As they went on, the hills became higher and more steep. At their bases -lay the wreckage of countless years, the work of ice and heat and storms -piled high along the shores. It was covered with dense greenery of beech -and birch and poplar. Out of this, in darker masses, broad columns of -tamarack, pine, and spruce seemed to be climbing the long upper slopes -of the hills which, still higher, lifted gray granite summits, free of -growths. - -“How fast do we go?” said Rose. - -“It is good poling on this stream to make three miles an hour. On the -St. Anne there is one ten-mile stretch which takes all day. Watch the -movement of using the poles. See how graceful it is,—the strong push, -the change of hands, the recovery. Ah!—” Suddenly the bowman let go his -pole, which Tom seized as it came to the stern. - -“Now, that’s a good thing to see, Rose. He caught it in the rocks, and -let it go. If he held it, it would break, or he go over, and possibly -upset us,—no trifle in these wild waters. It requires instant decision.” - -“I see. Aren’t these the clearings?” - -“Yes.” - -And now, on the farther side, the hills fell away, and the stream grew -broad and less swift. A wide alluvial space, dotted with elms, lay to -the left, with here and there the half-hidden smoke of a log-house. - -“Beyond this is a hopeless wilderness, my dear; and to-morrow, Sunday, -we shall go up and look at it. And you shall draw a little, if you are -wicked enough, and I will make some word sketches.” They were now poling -along close to the farther shore. - -“Who is that fishing across the river?” - -“It must be the island camp men.” - -Rose set her opera-glass and looked. In a moment she put it down, -conscious that the man in the boat was doing as to her precisely the -thing she had done. She had a queer feeling that she did not like it; -why, she would have been puzzled to say. - -“Who are they? Oh, yes, I remember; you spoke of them before.” - -“One is Mr. Oliver Ellett. I think he must be Oliver Ellett’s son. We -were at Harvard. The other is a Mr. Carington.” - -“He’s an old hand up here. Fished here a heap these years. Casts an -awful nice line. Seed him yesterday. Shot a seal last week, they was -a-tellin’ me.” - -“I should hate a man that could shoot a seal,” said Rose. “They look so -human, and, then, they can be taught to talk. He can’t be a nice man.” - -“Them seals spiles the fishin’, Miss Rose. They ain’t got no business to -spile the fishin’. As for them seals a-talkin’, that’s a pretty large -story, miss; whatever, I don’t go to doubt you heerd ’em.” - -“But it is true.” - -“I’d like to _con_verse with one,” said Tom, in his most liberal voice. -“He’d git my opinion.” - -And now the canoe was ashore, and Rose and her father set out through -the woods, and by and by came upon a rude clearing and a rough-looking -log-cabin, surrounded with fire-scarred and decaying stumps. The huge -wood-pile, as high as the eaves, struck Rose. - -“How that makes one think of the terrible cold and the loneliness of -winter here,—no books, no company; what can they do?” - -“It recalls to me,” said Lyndsay, “the curious use of the word ‘stove’ -in Labrador, where, even more than here, it is important. You ask how -many people there are, say, at Mingan? The reply is sure to be, ‘Oh, -there are twenty-seven stoves.’ But how many people? ‘I don’t know; -there are twenty-seven stoves.’” - -At the open door Lyndsay knocked, and in a moment came through the gloom -within a tall, sallow woman. A soiled and much-mended brown gingham gown -hung down from broad but lean shoulders over hips as lean and large. As -she came to the door, she hastily buttoned her dress awry across the -fleshless meagerness of her figure. - -“How do you do, Mrs. Colkett?” said Lyndsay. - -“Now, ain’t it Mr. Lyndsay? I’m that wore out I didn’t know you. Set -down”; and she wiped a chair and a rickety stool with the skirt of her -gown. “I didn’t know you, sir, till you came to speak. Was you wantin’ -Joe?” - -“No; we came over because Dorothy Maybrook left word your boy was sick. -This is my daughter Rose. We brought some lemons and other trifles. The -little man might like them.” - -As she turned, Rose took note of the unkempt hair, the slight stoop of -the woman’s unusually tall figure, and the shoeless, uncovered, and -distorted feet. Not less the desolate, comfortless cabin caught her -eye,—the rude wooden furniture, and the bed, whence came the hoarse -breathing of the sick child. To her surprise, Mrs. Colkett said: - -“Dory Maybrook’s always a-fussin’ over other folks’ concerns, ’stead of -mindin’ her own affairs.” - -Lyndsay, who was standing beside Rose, looked up at the woman. - -“I think,” he said, “Dorothy is incapable of wanting to be other than -kind.” - -“S’pose so. She might of let on she was goin’ a-beggin’.” - -“Oh, it was not that,” cried Rose, bewildered by the woman’s mode of -receiving a kindness. - -“Dare say: maybe not. All the same, me and Joe ain’t never asked no -favors. Set down, miss.” - -“No, thank you,” returned Rose, and began to empty her basket of fruit -and other luxuries. - -“We came over,” said Lyndsay, “because my wife thought you might need -help.” - -“It ain’t no use. It wasn’t never no use. That boy’s a-goin’ like the -rest.” - -“I trust not so bad as that.” - -“Yes; he’s a-goin’ like them others.” - -“You have lost other children?” said Rose, gently, looking up as she -cleared the basket. - -“Yes; two, and he’s the last. They hadn’t no great time while they was -alive, and now they’re lyin’ out in the wood, and no more mark over ’em -than if they was dead dogs. There won’t no one care.” - -“Yes, I shall care; I do care, Mrs. Colkett. Oh, isn’t it hard to say -why such things do happen?” - -“Happen!” said the woman. “Dorothy, she says God took them children. I’d -like to know why? Preachin’ ’s easy business. God! What do I know about -God, except that he’s done nothin’ for me? And I’m to be thankful,—what -for?” As she spoke a hoarse sound came from the bed. “For that poor -little man a-croakin’ there, I suppose!” - -As Rose was about to reply, her father touched her arm, and, -understanding that argument was thus hinted to be unwise, she said: - -“Let me see the little fellow?” - -“You may, if you’ve a mind. ’Tain’t no good. When it isn’t any good, it -isn’t any good, and that’s all there is to it.” - -Rose went up to the bed. A sickening odor filled the close air. She saw -beneath her a stout little boy of ten, hot and dusky red with fever, his -lips purple, two small hands tightly locked, with the thumbs in the -palms, the head, soaked with the death-sweat, rolling rhythmically from -side to side. The woman followed her. - -“Has he had any one to see him?” said Lyndsay. - -“Yes. We had a doctor from down river. He came twice. He wasn’t no use. -He took ’most all the money we had left.” - -“We shall be glad to help you.” - -“Much obliged, sir. It’s only to bury him now. There’s one mercy -anyways,—it don’t cost much for funerals up here. It’s just get a -preacher and dig a hole and my man to make a box. Thank you, all the -same.” - -Here was poverty so brutal in its results that even the pretense of -sentiment was absent. Rose was troubled. Before her was death, and it -was new to her. She turned to her father. “Oh, can’t something be done?” - -He tried a moment with unprofessional awkwardness to find the pulse. -There was none he could feel. “What did the doctor say? What is the -matter with the boy, Mrs. Colkett?” - -“He left some medicine stuff; but laws! the child couldn’t take it. The -doctor he says it’s diphthery, or something like that. I don’t rightly -know. It don’t matter none.” - -All this was said in a slow monotone, as if, Rose thought,—almost as if -the woman, the mother, had been an uninterested spectator. After a pause -she added, in the same slow voice: - -“If he’s goin’ he’ll go, and that’s all there is of it.” - -At the word diphtheria, Lyndsay recoiled, pushing Rose back from the -bed. “Harry!” he exclaimed. “It was that! Go out, Rose! Go at once!” - -“Lord, is it ketchin’?” said the woman, shrinking back from the bed. -“That fool never said so. If I’m to git it, I guess the mischief’s done. -If Joe he gits it, Hiram’ll have to make the box.” - -“Come away, Rose.” - -The girl was divided between horror and pity. At the door she turned. - -“I am not afraid. Let me stay, father,—I must stay!” - -“No; it is useless, and might be worse than useless.” As she obeyed him, -a short, squat figure of a man coming into the doorway darkened the -dimly lit room. He moved aside as Rose went out into the sun. Lyndsay -went by him also, and the man, turning back, said, “It’s about all over, -I guess. We’ve got more’n we can handle, sir. Seems there’s no end of -troubles.” - -“Come this way,” returned Lyndsay. “And you, Rose, wait by the fence.” - -He saw but too clearly that the stout, ruddy little man had been taking -whisky. Joe Colkett followed him. - -“Good Lord, my man, that child is dying,—will be dead, I am sure, before -night; and here you are in liquor just when that poor woman most wants -help.” - -“I ain’t that drunk I can’t do chores. Fact is, Mr. Lyndsay, I went down -to ask Dory Maybrook jus’ to lend me a little money. That doctor he took -most all my wood wage.”[2] - ------ - -Footnote 2: - - Money earned by lumbering in the winter woods. - ------ - -“Well?” - -“She wouldn’t do it.” - -“Well?” - -“She said she’d come up and help, an’ if my old woman wanted any she -might have it. That ain’t no way to treat a man.” - -“No,” said Lyndsay, with such emphasis as satisfied his own conscience, -and also the duller sense of the lumberman. “No,—that is not the way to -treat a _man_. Listen to me, Joe: Don’t drink any more.” - -“I ain’t any,” said Joe. - -“Really?” - -“Not a drop. It was just a bit I had left.” - -“Come to me when it is all over, and I will pay the doctor’s bill, and -you can help clear off the brush back of my cabin.” - -“Thank you, sir.” - -“You don’t drink often, I think. Why should you now? Was it -trouble—about your child?” - -“He wasn’t my child.” - -“What!” exclaimed Lyndsay, puzzled; “how is that?” - -“My wife was a widder, you see, and them was all her first man’s; I -never had no child. ’T ain’t like it was my own child. He was awful -spiled, that boy. I licked him two weeks this Sunday comin’ for makin’ -fire by the wood-pile. Gosh, what a row Susie did make!” - -“My God!” exclaimed Lyndsay. - -The man understood him well enough. - -“Oh, I don’t go to say I didn’t like him none. Lord, I’d done most -anything to git that boy well. I wanted that money to help put him -underground. It don’t cost much buryin’ up here, but it ain’t to be done -for nothin’, and you’ve got to look ahead. There’s the minister’s got to -be fetched, and—and—” - -Here the man sat down on a stump, and putting a palm on each temple and -an elbow on each knee, looked silently down at his mother earth. - -Respect for the moods of men is one of the delicacies of the best -manners. Lyndsay was still a minute. Then he put a hand on Joe’s -shoulder. - -“How else can we help you?” - -“It’s my woman I’m a-thinkin’ of.” He spoke without looking up. “This -thing’s the last and the wust,—it’s goin’ to down her awful. And there -ain’t nothin’ I can do,—nothin’!” Here he passed his sleeve across his -eyes, and then glanced at the unaccustomed moisture, and had a dulled -remembrance of having cried long years before; he failed to recall why -or just when. - -“You’re a-thinkin’ I’m a mean man to be a-drinkin’ and that child -a-dyin’ in yon; and that woman! That’s where it gits a man. I ain’t been -a bad man to her; I’ve took care of them children right along, Mr. -Lyndsay, and I never beat her none, and I don’t mind me I ever used no -bad words to her, not when I was wore out, and—and—hadn’t a shillin’, -and was busted up with blackleg.[3] I don’t git it clear, sir; I don’t -care most none for that child, but she might kill me if it would git it -well. I don’t see nothin’ to do but drink, and that’s the fact.” - ------ - -Footnote 3: - - The scurvy of the lumberman,—more rare nowadays. - ------ - -Lyndsay stood silent in thought. He had seen enough of life not to -wonder that drink could be distinctly regarded as, under stress of -circumstances, an available resource. He had also seen men or women -capable of a single affection, and of only one. What there was to know -of this man’s relations to his wife and her offspring had been uncovered -with frank brutality. He had said there was nothing for him except to -drink. - -“But if you love your wife, my man, you want to help her, and if you -drink you are useless,—and, in fact, you add to her troubles.” - -“It ain’t that, sir. Fact is, she don’t care a’most none for me,—and -there’s the truth. You wouldn’t think, sir, what a pretty woman she was. -She took me to get them children a home and feed. Dory, she knows. I -ain’t given to tellin’ it round, but you’re different. Somehow it helps -a man to say things out.” - -Here was the strange hurt of a limited tenderness, with all this -rudeness of self-disclosure, and, too, some of the stupid, careless -immodesty of drink. - -“I take it kindly,” said Lyndsay, “that you have told me the whole of -your troubles. Come over and see me. I left some tobacco on the table -for you.” - -“Much obliged, sir,” and, rising, Joe took Mr. Lyndsay’s offered hand. -“I’ll come,” he said, and walked back toward the cabin, while Lyndsay, -beckoning to Rose, turned into the ox-road which led to the shore. - -For a while they were silent. Then he said, “This child is dying of a -fever; no word of the diphtheria to your mother or even to Anne.” - -“One can escape mama easily, but Aunt Anne is a relentless questioner.” - -“I will speak to her.” - -“That would be better, I think. How horrible it all was! And that woman! -Do you think she really did not care?” - -“No, no, dear. Imagine a life of constant poverty, utter want of -means,—to-day’s wages meaning to-morrow’s bread; a cruel soil; a -mortgaged farm at that; then one child after another dying; the -helplessness of want of money; the utter lack of all resources; the -lonely, meager life. This woman has the moral disease of one long, -unchanging monotony of despair.” - -“I see—I see—you know more, and that makes you forgive more.” - -“Some one has said, Rose, that to be able to explain all is to be able -to forgive all, and that only One can truly explain all.” - -“It seems to me, Pardy, that poverty has more temptations in it than -wealth, and more explanations of sin, too. Isn’t the man a brute, Pardy? -He had been drinking, and to drink at such a time!” - -“No; he is coarse, but not a bad fellow. You or I would have much we -could turn to if trouble came upon us. This man has nothing. It does not -surprise me that he drank. It is not his habit. But let us drop it all -now. I am sorry I took you.” He was not unwise enough to speak of the -anguish of dread which had possessed him as he stood by the bedside, and -now made haste to add, “And yet the lesson was a good one. You won’t -want to fish, I fear?” He had in some ways appreciative touch of his -kind, and knew the daughter well. - -“No, no; not to-day. Let us go home.” - -“As you please, dear”; and they slid away swiftly down the gleaming -water as the evening shadows crept across the stream. - -After awhile Rose said, looking up, “You must have seen, oh, so many -people die, Pardy.” - -“Yes; Death was for four years a constant comrade. I had always a firm -belief I would not be killed. Some men were always predicting their own -deaths; others carefully avoided the question. I know one very gallant -fellow who was always a gay comrade in camp, and almost abnormally merry -in battle unless the fight took place on a day of the month which was an -odd number. Then he was sure to think he would be killed. Men in war are -like gamblers, and have queer notions as to luck. You knew that child -was dying?” - -“Yes.” - -“How did you know it?” - -“I cannot tell. What troubled me, Pardy, was—I think what troubled -me—was the loneliness of death; that little fellow going away and away, -all by himself.” - -“Yes, dear. - - ‘Once, once only, love must drop the hand of love!’” - -“But what a horrible woman! I can’t help thinking that.” - -“Was she? Perhaps; I don’t know.” His charity was older than hers. - -“Did you notice, Rose, her sad fatalism: if the child was to die, it -would die?” - -“Yes; it was a strange illustration of our talk.” - - - - - CHAPTER V - - -We have so far heard little of Mrs. Lyndsay; but, in fact, she was -usually more felt than heard in the every-day life of the household. -Archibald Lyndsay said, “She had but one defect, and that was not a -fault. She was so entirely good that she lacked all human opportunity -for the exercise of repentance.” - -“There is no credit to be had in this world, my dear, for monotony of -virtue,” said Anne Lyndsay. “When you do some of your sweet, nice -things, that cost you no end of trouble, people merely say, ‘Oh, yes, -Margaret Lyndsay! but she likes to do that kind of thing.’ For my part I -prefer that wise mixture of vice and virtue which gives variety of -flavor to life, and now and then adds the unexpected.” - -This was said at breakfast on Sunday morning, the day after Rose had -seen the dying lad, who now lay quiet in the dismal cabin where the -mother sat angrily brooding over her loss. - -Lyndsay had spoken of some pleasant act of thoughtful kindness on the -part of his wife; and as Anne, laughing, made her comment, Margaret had -shaken a menacing finger at her kindly critic, saying quietly: - -“Oh, I think we are very much alike, Anne”; at which there was a general -outbreak of mirth, for these people were much given to laughter. - -Lyndsay declared that he had observed the resemblance. - -“And the boys inherit our goodness,” added Anne, demurely. “At least, it -seemed to me I had evidence of it pretty early to-day; but then the hymn -says, ‘_Let_ boys delight to bark and bite.’ I disremember the rest, as -Peter, our cook, says.” At this Ned gave his aunt’s gown a gentle pull, -by way of respectfully intimating that she was getting them into -difficulties. - -“‘Let’ is permissive,” she went on. “I was not really disturbed, -Archie”; for her brother was now curiously regarding a rather distinct -scratch on Dick’s ruddy cheek. - -“Raspberry thorns, Dicky?” he said, maliciously. - -“No, sir.” - -“Sleep-cats,” said Anne. “That was always our nursery explanation.” - -“What then? Another row? I thought we had had enough for a week.” - -“And on Sunday morning, Dick!” said the mother. “I wouldn’t.” - -Anne looked up, amused at this latter declaration. - -“Never mind, Margaret,” said her husband. “What was it about, boys?” - -“Oh, it wasn’t much of a row. It was only a scrimmage,” said Dick. “Ned -said King James cut off Raleigh’s head because he would smoke tobacco. -Did you ever hear such nonsense?” - -“But Aunt Anne told me King James wrote a book against smoking,—didn’t -you, aunt?” urged the smaller lad. - -“And I said it was ridiculous,” cried Dick. - -“And Jack he up and said it wasn’t, because if he was a king, and people -didn’t do as he wanted, he would cut off their heads, like that,” said -Ned, knocking off the end of an egg, by way of illustration. - -“And so we had a melley,” remarked Jack. “It wasn’t much, and that’s all -there was of it. _I_ don’t see why people make such a fuss.” - -“Suppose you let this suffice for the day, you rascals,” said Mr. -Lyndsay. - -“Yes, sir.” - -“And it wasn’t Raleigh who brought tobacco to England, was it, Aunt -Anne?” said Ned. “I told Dick it was Hawkins, and he wouldn’t believe -me. I saw it in—” - -“Where?” - -Ned hesitated. His habit of lying on his stomach on the floor in the -long winter afternoons, with some monstrous quarto, was matter for -unending chaff on the part of the twins. - -“Where was it, old Book Gobbler?” cried Dick. “Where was it?” - -“It was in Hollinshead’s Chronicles,” returned the lad, coloring. - -“You are right,” said Aunt Anne. “You would do better to read a little -more yourself, Jack, than to laugh at Ned.” - -“What’s the use, if I am going to West Point?” said Jack. - -“You will find out, I fancy, when you get there,” remarked Rose. “I am -told it is dreadful.” - -“Well, there’s time enough to think about it,” returned Jack, with his -usual philosophical calm. “I wish it wasn’t Sunday. Oh, dear!” and he -groaned in anticipation of the dullness of the day. - -“Jack!” exclaimed the mother. “Oh, Jack!” - -“Well, you can’t go to church, and there’s no fishing; and, mother, you -know you don’t like us to read novels on Sunday, and I’ve read voyages -until I know all there are up here,—and I don’t see what a fellow is to -do.” - -“I shall read the service before you all scatter.” - -“Well, that doesn’t take long.” - -As a means of passing the time, this device of her sister-in-law -enormously delighted Anne. “I confess to a certain amount of sympathy -with the unemployed. It is a Sabbath lockout.” - -Margaret turned on her with abruptness; but Lyndsay said, quickly: - -“My dear Anne, this is Margaret’s business. Keep out of other folks’ -small wars. You are as bad as Jack.” - -“That is true, Archie. I am a conversational free lance. I beg pardon, -Margaret, I will never, never do it again.” - -“Not until the next time,” returned Mrs. Lyndsay, with unusual -ascerbity. “It is really of no moment,” she added, “but I like to manage -the boys myself.” - -“You are right. I was wrong to meddle.” - -“I propose,” said Lyndsay, “that the two Gaspé men shall take you -fellows up the Arrapedia. You will find it hard work if they let you -pole, and you can’t drown there if you try; and the black flies, -mosquitos, and midges will make you miserable. And, Jack, come -here,—nearer. This in your ear: at the second bend there is an old -clearing, and under the eaves of the cabin—now, don’t let it out—there -is a mighty nest of hornets. I recommend it to your attention. I owe -them a grudge.” - -Jack’s face flushed with joy. - -“Thank you, sir.” - -Mrs. Lyndsay said, “What is it, Archie?” - -“Oh, nothing; a little secret between Jack the Giant Killer and his pa.” -Lyndsay had a pretty distinct notion that fighting hornets as a Sunday -distraction would not be altogether to his wife’s taste. - -“Don’t tell, Jack.” - -“No, sir.” - -“Honor bright!” - -“All right, sir.” - -“Won’t you tell us?” asked Ned of his father. - -“No.” - -“But I have an irresistible curiosity,” said the boy. - -“And I have an impenetrable resolution to hold my tongue. You are to -sail under sealed orders.” One of his delights was to offer problems to -this sturdy young intellect. “Suppose, sir,”—and he put the old -scholiast question,—“If the impenetrable were to meet the irresistible, -what would happen?” - -“That would be a row,” said Jack. - -Ned had a deep dislike to being beaten by these absurd questions. His -detestation of intellectual defeat was as deep as his brother’s disgust -at physical discomfiture. He hesitated, flushed, and replied: - -“It couldn’t be at all, father, because it says in the Bible that the -world will be destroyed, and, if there was an impenetrable, that -couldn’t be at all,—I say it _couldn’t_ be.” - -“Shade of Confucius!” exclaimed Anne. - -“But suppose.” - -“I can’t.” He had a sense of wrath at the question. At last he said, -“You might as well ask a fellow what would happen if the impossible met -the incomprehensible.” - -“Glory! what dictionary words!” cried Dick. - -“Pretty well, old fellow,” said Lyndsay, laughing as they rose. - -“Oh, I hate things like that.” - -“Rose, Rose, put some lunch in a basket. We shall make a day of it. We -will take the skiff and Tom. Put my note-book and pencils in the basket, -and your sketch-book; and don’t forget my field-glass. Won’t you come, -Margaret?” - -“No; I am going to Mrs. Maybrook’s this morning, and, Archie, I want -Hiram to attend to something at the church where Harry is. Don’t trouble -about me.” - -“Anne, won’t you come with us?” - -“No; I am not good for all day. I shall go and have a talk with Mrs. -Maybrook this afternoon. If I lie down until then, I may manage it. -Margaret says it sweetens one for a week to see that woman. I mean to -try the recipe.” - -“I am getting very curious about her,” said Rose; “and there is so much -to do, and I must catch a salmon to-morrow.” - -“We kill salmon,” said Lyndsay. - -“But you catch them with a pole and a line.” - -“No; they catch themselves; and we call it a rod, miss, please.” - -“Yes, Marcus Aurelius.” - -“At ten o’clock, sauce-box; and get your wits in order.” - -“Ay, ay, sir!” and she touched her forehead and went to secure their -lunch. - -Anne took a book, as usual, and went out to lie under the porch in a -hammock. The boats got away, and still she lay quiet. Delicate of -features, the mouth and large gray eyes her only beauties; her nose -fine, but large for the rest of her face, and aquiline; her forehead -square, with a mass of brown hair set too high above its pallor for good -looks, perhaps justified the common notion that Anne Lyndsay never had -been even pretty. Years of pain and endurance had lessened, not -increased, her natural irritability, and given to her face an expression -of singular force. It may be added that she was a trifle vain of the -small hands and feet which she, like all of her people, possessed. - -As she lay at more than usual ease, dreamily happy as she noticed the -sun, the shadows, and the far-stretching curves of the river, she saw a -dugout, what in the North is called a pirogue,[4] put out from the -farther bank. A woman stood in the stern and urged it across the swift -current with notable strength and dexterity. Presently it ran onto the -beach, and Dorothy Maybrook came up the steps, a basket in her hand. - ------ - -Footnote 4: - - Spanish, _piriagua_. - ------ - -As to most things, all books, and people in general, Anne Lyndsay had a -highly vitalized curiosity; but, as to this woman, it was more eager -than usual. She was mildly skeptical as to the fact that the wife of a -small Quaker farmer, illy educated, and, of course, without the tact -which makes sympathy acceptable, could have been what Margaret Lyndsay -said this woman had been to her in the last summer’s trial. Anne was apt -to distrust Mrs. Lyndsay’s unwonted enthusiasms. Also, this invalid lady -was very democratic in theory, but by nature’s decree an aristocrat, -whether she would or not. Thus, Anne Lyndsay was now a little on her -guard, and more curious than she would have liked to have been thought. - -But when, as Dorothy Maybrook advanced, a pair of large gray eyes came -into the horizon of another pair almost as luminous, Anne, as she -afterward explained, felt something akin to fascination. She made up her -mind as Mrs. Maybrook approached that her facial expression was one of -strange purity of repose. The next moment Miss Anne cast a foot over the -hammock’s edge, and made an effort to rise, in order to greet the -new-comer. But to get out of a hammock with ease is not given to mortals -to achieve without much practice, and as all rapid movements were sure -to summon at once her unrelenting enemy, pain, she fell back with a low -exclamation, wrung from her by pain so extreme that she was quite -unprepared. Sudden anger stirred within her, because she had so plainly -betrayed her feelings to one who had been described to her as full of -sympathy and almost incredibly competent to notice the peculiarities of -men and things. If this woman should dare to pity her, in words or with -looks! - -“Good morning. Mrs. Maybrook, I am sure. I am Miss Lyndsay,” said Miss -Anne, in her most tranquil voice, and it was capable of many tones. - -Said Dorothy to herself, “That woman isn’t long for this world.” What -she said aloud was: - -“Yes, I’m Dorothy Maybrook. I brought over some wild strawberries for -Mrs. Lyndsay. They’re very early, but there’s a sort of little nest -right back of our clearing, and the sun gets in there constant,—seems as -if it couldn’t ever get out,—and it hatches the berries two weeks before -they’re done blooming anywhere else.” - -“Thank you,” said Anne, who was making a difficult effort to catch with -the foot outside of the hammock a slipper lost in the foiled attempt to -rise. - -Mrs. Maybrook set down the berries, and without a word went on her -knees, took the dainty slipper, lifted the foot, bestowed a glance of -swift curiosity upon it as she put on the slipper, and gently replaced -the foot in the hammock. - -“Sakes alive! If I was a man, I’d just say it’s beautiful. Being a -woman, I’d like to know how you walk on them?” - -“Oh, I don’t very much; not nowadays,” returned Anne, smiling. “Thank -you.” - -It was a neat little shot, although quite unconscious of aim. Miss Anne -tried to think she disliked both the help and the outspoken admiration. -She made a feeble effort to generalize the compliment, and so to get -away from its personal application: - -“It’s a family failing, Mrs. Maybrook. Even our men have absurdly small -hands and feet. I should have offered you a camp-chair. Get one, please, -out of the house. I am quite incapable of helping any one,—even myself.” -Mrs. Maybrook did as Anne desired, and sat down. - -“My sister-in-law was going to see you to-day. Shall I call her! She -must be in her room.” - -“Oh, there’s time enough. That’s the only thing we have a plenty of up -here. We ain’t time-starved, I can tell you.” Anne began to be -interested. Quaintness of phrase was a thing so rare. For a few minutes -she had been struggling with one of her few weaknesses. At last she gave -way: - -“Excuse me, but would you be so kind as to put the basket of -strawberries in the house? The sun will spoil them.” - -“Oh, but the sun is good for them. They won’t take any hurt.” - -“But I shall. The fact is, when I was a girl I was picking strawberries -in the White Hills, and a snake—oh, a rattlesnake—struck at me. I have -been ever since unable to endure the odor of strawberries. I think it -becomes worse as I grow more feeble. It is very absurd.” She was -absolutely pleading her weakness to this simple woman, and had ceased -for the time to be self-critical. - -Mrs. Maybrook rose, and without more words, after carrying the basket to -the cook’s house, returned around the cabin to her seat facing Miss -Anne. The smile she wore as she came back would usually have been taken -by Anne for vulgar comment on her own display of what might, with -reason, have been taken for pure affectation. Now it struck Anne as -being like her own habit of smiling large, or smiling small, as she -said, at some humorous aspect of the passing hour. - -“What amuses you?” she queried pleasantly. - -“Oh, I was just a-thinking you might feel about those berries like Mrs. -Eve might of felt when she was coming on in years and one of her -grandchildren fetched her a nice, red apple. Guess he got warmed for it. -Sandals might have come handy in big families, those days!” - -Anne looked up, laughing gaily, and noting by the exception how rarely -Mrs. Maybrook failed in her grammar. - -“Delightful! Now I feel historically justified. Are there any snakes -here?” - -“Oh, no; none to hurt. But, bless me, I never can hear about snakes -without thinking of Sairy Kitchins.” - -“And what was that?” said Miss Lyndsay, enjoying talk with a mind as -fresh and unconventional as her guest’s. - -“Oh, it ain’t much. You see, I’ve had asthma so bad that Hiram and me, -since the children are gone, we have traveled here and there, trying to -find a place where I wouldn’t have it.” - -“Have you suffered much?” said Anne. - -“Yes,—quite my share. But there are worse things.” - -“That is so.” - -“Hiram and me get along most anywhere. We have a bit of money,—not -overmuch. We are both pretty handy, and once we tried it two years down -South, at Marysville, in Alabama. That was a right nice place for -snakes.” - -“Gracious Heavens! You talk as if you liked them.” - -“Well, they’re handsome, and brave, and don’t want to hurt you; and how -many men can you say that about?” - -“A fair defense,” said Anne; “but what of Sairy Kitchins? I love a -story; I am like a child.” - -“Well, Sairy she had just come that spring. She was the wife of one of -them Methodist preachers that don’t be let to bide long anywhere,—the -kind that goes about the land seeking whom they may devour. As I came -along the road with her there was a six-foot rattler lying right across -in the sun. Down went Sairy on her knees. ‘Good lands!’ said I, ‘what’s -the good prayin’ to that reptile? A whole camp-meeting couldn’t convert -him.’ Well, we couldn’t get by him, and so I got a good, big stick of -live oak, and fetched him a crack on the head, and one or two more to -make sure. Then I said, ‘Come along, Sairy; he won’t sin any more; if -that fool of a woman, Eve, had had any sense, and a live-oak stick -handy, there wouldn’t have been no need of you and me going to meeting -this hot day.’” - -“I should think not,” cried Anne, laughing. “And what did Sairy say? I -am quite on her side.” - -“Oh, she told her husband, and I got prayed over a heap. It’s amazing -how clear those preachers see the sins of other people.” - -“I think it a delightful story. I shall tell the boys to-night. I -haven’t laughed as much in a month.” - -“Dear me! It must be ten o’clock,” said Mrs. Maybrook, looking up at the -sun, “and I must see Mrs. Lyndsay, and go home to cook Hiram’s dinner. -But I would like to see the house. You know last year they tented. When -I was here yesterday no one was about, and so I did not go in to look. I -was dying to see it.” - -Anne smiled. “Help me a little.” - -The hand she met with hers was strong, well-modeled, and—if tanned by -sun, and showing signs of toil in the broken nails—was, like the gown, -scrupulously clean. Dorothy wore no head-cover, and her hair, which was -fine and abundant, lay in flat, old-fashioned style on her temples, and -was caught back in an ample and perfectly neat coil. Again, as Anne -rose, the look of repose on Dorothy’s face, and also the absence of -lines of care, struck her no less than the regularity of features. There -was none of the slouch of labor; Dorothy sat erect, without touching the -back of the chair; a woman of fifty or over, and still keeping many of -the gracious curves of feminine maturity. - -But what interested Anne most in Mrs. Maybrook as they moved about the -room—which was hall, dining-room, and sitting-room—was her simple -pleasure in the white curtains Mrs. Lyndsay had tied up with gay -ribbons, the cane seats, and the covers of light Eastern stuffs, not -very remarkable or costly, but, as it seemed, pleasing to the visitor. -Anne thought she would have noticed the books, but of these she made no -mention, albeit the collection was odd enough, because every one had -brought what they liked, and the cleverly built book-shelves Pierre had -made were full to overflow. - -Very soon Mrs. Lyndsay appeared, gave the visitor a more than usually -warm welcome, and at last asked about the Colketts and the child. - -“It died last night,” said Mrs. Maybrook. “I was up there pretty early -to-day. They’re awful hard folks to help any; it’s like setting up -ten-pins, and down they go, in a minute. Hiram says they haven’t any -‘gitalongativeness.’ That’s a great word with Hiram.” - -“Do they want help? What is there we can do?” said Mrs. Lyndsay. - -“I wouldn’t know to tell you. Oh, dear, if I was that man, I’d drink, -too.” - -“No! No!” - -“Yes, I’d drink! He did, some, yesterday; but I judge he’s taken none -since Mr. Lyndsay was there. The fact is, Mrs. Lyndsay, Susan Colkett -cared more for those children of hers than for her first man or Colkett, -or anybody else, except herself. She’s just savage now, like a bear that -has had its cubs taken away. And the worst of it is, she hasn’t got the -means of wisdom in her, and never had, or else she’d have seen you can’t -live in a pigsty and bring up live children. Oh! You were asking if they -want anything?” - -“Yes, Dorothy.” - -“Well, Mr. Carington he went over yesterday afternoon. I guess he took -the short cut or he would have met Mr. Lyndsay coming out. Mr. Carington -must be a pretty nice man. There’s not many as young would give up -Saturday afternoon fishing, even a bit of it, to go and see about a sick -brat. Fishermen’s generally right selfish. He left them twenty dollars. -But he had the high-up sense to give it to Susie. He’s a well set-up -young man; I saw him poling a pirogue across. It takes a lot of judgment -in a man’s legs to handle a dugout.” - -“But you do it well, I fancy,” said Anne. - -“Yes, but I’m a woman.” - -“Good,” said Miss Lyndsay, and went out, leaving the others to talk -alone. - -Then Dorothy said, “What troubles that woman the most you couldn’t -think, not if you lived as long as Noah.” - -“And what is it?” - -“It’s because there won’t be any tombstone. They’re all buried in the -wood back of the cabin. Poor little kittens, just dead drownded in -filth. She had better have thought more for them when they were alive.” - -“I will speak to Mr. Lyndsay about it.” - -“It would be just that much wasted.” - -“Money is well wasted sometimes. You might think of the box of ointment, -Dorothy.” - -“It’s a long way between them two wastings.” - -“Perhaps. I don’t know. We shall see.” - -“Well, I must go and cook Hiram’s dinner. Good-by.” And she went out and -down to her dugout. - -“What do you think of her, Anne?” said Mrs. Lyndsay, as the maiden lady -came out of her own room. - -“I think her most interesting, and altogether a remarkable person.” - -“A heart of gold!” said Mrs. Lyndsay. “You cannot imagine, Anne, what -that woman was to me last summer.” - -“I can,—I think I can now.” Mrs. Lyndsay went back to some household -occupation, and Anne, returning to her hammock, lay thoughtfully -watching the retreating pirogue and its capable guide, and smiling ever -as was her habit. - -Then she spoke aloud: - -“That beats Marcus Aurelius. To have lost all her children, to have had -sickness,—poverty, and not a wrinkle to record it all. That woman must -have the self-contentment of a first-class angel. Ah, me!” And she -turned again to the “Life of John, Lord Lawrence,” and was soon smiling -over it, for in her heroic lives found glad and ready recognition. - - - - - CHAPTER VI - - -The light Gaspé canoe sped away up stream close to the shores, with -Archibald Lyndsay and Rose. They were contentedly quiet for an hour or -more, and at last left behind them the island camp and its white tents, -and then the last of the clearings and the lower alluvial meadows with -their richly feathered elms. As they went on, the hills were more abrupt -and closer to the river, or precipitous past the power of the hardiest -pines to find more than here and there a foothold. - -And now Lyndsay laughed, and Rose, curious, inquired why. - -“I was thinking of the boys”; and he told her of the hornets’ nest. - -“I don’t think the dear mother will like it,” said Rose. - -“Perhaps,—oh, assuredly not; but what on earth can one do with three -young steam-engines?” - -“It’s very, very dreadful, papa, and do not tell; but I would like to be -present at the siege of the hornets’ nest. It must be awfully good fun.” - -“What was that you said?” - -“I said awfully good fun. And also I desire to add that this is my day, -and I shall say what I please, do what I please, talk slang and bad -grammar by the yard if I want to.” - -“As you like,—I make but one condition: there is to be none of that -wading into deep waters of which you and Anne are so fond. I get enough -of that at home, in my work. This is to be a tree-and-water day. I want -to push on first up to the burnt lands. Some twenty years ago the upper -country was burned off, so that, between the hills and the river are -long abrupt slopes with low underbrush and millions of dead trees. The -tops of the hills are also covered with the same mighty stubble.” - -“But that cannot be beautiful.” - -“No and yes. I fished above there one year, and for some days I found -the desolation most oppressive. Then, one evening, I saw something in -these gray dead trees, and ever since I have seen in them more and more -that is strange or even beautiful.” - -“I think I have felt like that at times,—as if of a sudden I had become -another person, and saw with strange eyes. Once we were looking at -Ruysdael’s pictures; it was at Amsterdam, and Aunt Anne said how -delightful it would be just in a moment to see the world of things as a -great master does, or the world of men as a poet may.” - -“What spirit made me his own I do not know, my dear,” said Lyndsay; -“but, if he fled, he left me some permanent property. There is a bit of -St. Clair’s verse which puts it fairly.” - -“And it is—Pardy?” - -“I think I can repeat it, but I am never sure about my quotations: - - ‘If from the vantage of thy wiser heart - I could look out on nature through thine eyes, - I think that I should learn a novel art, - And joyful capture some divine surprise. - - The tiny morrow of the opening rose, - With kindred comment of thy genius viewed, - Might to love’s wisdom eagerly disclose - The mystery of some new beatitude.’ - -Perhaps you will like my dead trees at first sight.” - -“I can hardly fancy that.” - -“Oh, you may. The afternoon is the time for the water. The black flies -are pretty thick, Rose, eh?” - -“They don’t trouble me,” she returned. “I can’t say why. They bite, and -that is all.” - -“I never could account for the exceptions,” he said. “Ned is tormented -by them, and they hardly touch Jack.” - -“How curious!” - -“Yes. My own foes are the sand-flies, what are called by the Indians -‘no-see-ums,’ and in Pennsylvania pungies. I brought a little smudge-pot -and a small A-tent, just to give you shelter at need.” Meanwhile the -poles rang ceaselessly, and the talk went on. - -“I think, Pardy, the landscape under the water is almost as attractive -as that above it. The stones seem to be all colors, and, I suppose, all -shapes, because they play such queer tricks with the water. I never -noticed until yesterday that when a wave rolls over a large, smooth rock -it takes perfectly the form of a shell,—I think I mean a scallop-shell.” - -“That is so, Rose. There, over there, is an example. I think it a very -pretty idea,—one might be ingeniously poetical about it, but one won’t.” - -By and by the stream stretched out shallow and broad, and the men took -their paddles. Then they turned a sharp angle of the river and came -among the burnt lands. Here and there a few great trees had strangely -survived the fire, and towered high, green cones among the ruin. - -“I can see no beauty in it,” said Rose. - -“I said it was strange, interesting, and had certain beauties. Wait a -little. Land us on the island, Tom,—at the upper end. There will be more -air. There is a good bit of grass and a spring near by.” - -Pretty soon the tent was up, and the smudge-pot, full of cedar bark, -lighted. There was some wind, however, and the flies were not annoying. - -“But what am I to sketch?” - -“Let us sit in the opening of the tent. And now, my pipe. Let us first -consider, Rosy, the eccentricities of these burnt trees. I want a sketch -of some of them.” - -“Why are they not black? I see very few that are charred.” - -“Ask Tom,—it will amuse you.” She did so. - -“Them trees, when there’s a fire, and there ain’t too many pines and -firs, the fire it just eats up their leaves and scorches their hides.” - -“Bark?” - -“Yes; and the winds and the frost and the sun, they peels off the dead -hides. After that them trees lasts powerful long. But if the bark be on, -they rots.” - -“What I want just now, Rose, is to get you to look at those few isolated -skeletons of dead trees on the point. There are many as odd in the -wood-tangle below, but these above you can more readily sketch for me, -because they stand by themselves. We will come back to the rest by and -by.” - -“Oh, my dear, dear M. A., what a fine master you are! I used to long for -you, and that book we were to write, on the ‘Art of Seeing.’” - -“Yes, I have taught myself to see. While you are sketching I will -lecture a little.” - -“And just what do you wish me to draw?” - -“Take your field-glass and look at the trees on the point. Now, the one -at the edge,—look at it; I do not want to tell you about it, I want you -to see.” - -“Well,” said Rose, talking as she sat in the tent-shadow, the glass at -her eyes, “I see a tall dead tree,—a fir? No, a dead spruce,—probably a -spruce, I am not sure. It is gray, and has only two great limbs left, -and a tuft of dead twigs above—and—the trunk is oddly twisted to the -left.” - -“Now you are getting warm, as the children say. Hey, Rose?” - -“I see,” she cried, with a real joy in her mind; and, taking her pencil, -swiftly drew the desolate dead thing, while Lyndsay looked on. - -“Good!” he said; “very good. You have it precisely. I will make a -word-sketch, and we will compare work. I can’t draw a straight line, as -you know. I conceive of the other world, not entirely as a place to -develop our own qualities, but where there will be a pleasant -interchange of capacities. There, my dear, I shall sing like Nilsson and -paint like Velasquez.” - -“I think I could myself make some pleasant exchanges,” said Rose. “Those -stiff lines of the dead branchless firs and pines, set against that dark -cloud,—they remind me of the lances in that great picture by Velasquez -at Madrid,—the Surrender of Breda. I loved the two men in that picture. -Requesens is taking the keys of the town from Don John of Nassau, and he -is just saying, ‘Might have happened to any fellow,—so sorry for you!’ -You know, papa?” - -“No, I do not. But I recall Macbeth’s etching of the picture. Go on with -your sketch. Mine will be done in a few minutes.” - -Then he wrote in his note-book again, glancing now and then at the tree. - -“Listen, Rose. How is this? ‘Tree sketch: dead tree; no bark; cool gray -all over; stands alone on point of land. Trunk twisted; only two limbs; -bunched end-twigs. Limbs raised like arms.’ Now, if—mind, if it says to -you—I mean if it has for you a distinct expression—I hate affectation -here and everywhere: but if this distorted thing really expresses for -you—something—label it!” - -Rose was still a moment, and then said, “It is rooted there, still, -alone. It seems to be turning back toward its fellows. It suggests to me -utter dreariness. What have you found to say about it, Pardy?” - -“See, dear, I have written, as I often do at the end of a word-sketch: -‘Loneliness, suffering; isolated anguish, if you like.’” - -“I see. How very, very interesting! It seems to remember the fire, -father.” It was sometimes this, and sometimes Pardy, or Marcus Aurelius, -or any queer pet-name of nursery origin. - -“You begin to see what one may get out of a dead tree?” - -“Yes. There is another, below,—just below.” - -“Yes; I sketched it last year. Here it is: ‘Dead tree; poplar; split by -lightning; black and gray. The lower half thrown out like a leg. Above, -one limb has fallen against the trunk; top of tree tufted and thrown -back. Queer expression of jollity.’ Sketch it, dear. - -“How ready you are!” he said, over her shoulder. “Look at the one -farther away,—bent back with two great limbs high in air. It is prayer, -deprecation—dread: I am not sure,—and again, before you draw it, look -across to the other side. This is my sketch. ‘Late twilight; a huge, -gray rock in the water. Deep cleft in it; out of this rises a dead pine. -It leans toward me. Two vast limbs extended right and left. Top tufted -as usual, and bent to one side. All set against a bleak mass of -boulders.’” - -“I see, even in this light; but at dusk! at dusk it must be terrible,—a -crucifixion!” - -“Yes, that is it. It recalls to me an odd thing. A few years ago I was -fishing as late as ten o’clock at night on the Metapedia, and, looking -up, saw on the hill above me a cross set against the blood-red, newly -risen moon. Next morning I perceived that it was only a telegraph-pole -with its cross-bar.” - -“What a theme for Heine!” said Rose. - -“Yes, indeed. Now sketch me this, and the other trees. I want only just -mere hints of form. There are no end of strange things among dead trees. -I could not exhaust them in hours of description. There was last year a -fallen tree on an island near our camp. I suppose the mass of stuff sent -down by freshets protected it below, and the ice and so on swept away -the branches which lay uppermost. At last the wreckage was washed off. -When I came on it at evening it looked like one of those prehistoric -lizards Dicky delights in. There were many legs on each side as it lay -and—” - -“Do let me see, Pardy. You drew it?” and she laughed. “I don’t think it -would go into the _Salon_. There ought to be a place for embryo art like -this.” - -“Like ‘Rejected Addresses’?” - -“Yes; the real ones.” - -“Do you frame yours, Rose?” - -“Oh, for shame!” - -“Who rose to that fly?” - -“But you coldly planned it. It was base.” - -“Poor thing!” he laughed— - - “The wail of the salmon - A man tried to gammon. - -Alas, poor Rose!” - -“Wait a bit. As Jack says, ‘That drawing is unique.’” - -“I am quite proud of it. I wanted to give you the lesson. Now I will -smoke and talk and take mine ease, while you draw.” - -“I can talk and sketch, too.” - -“No doubt. On the Nipigon River there is a long carry once burned over. -After the fire must have come a windfall. The whole blasted forest went -down before it. It lies to-day a grim tangle of gray or black trunks, -with huge agonized arms extended upward. At dusk it is very striking. -Years went by, and then I saw the dead Confederates lying below Round -Top the day after the fight, with arms and legs in rigid extension,—a -most horrible memory. As I looked, it recalled that wrecked forest.” - -“How dreadful, Pardy! I think I could draw those trees as you describe -them. I will try to-morrow.” - -Meanwhile, as she sketched, he went on: - -“The growth of power to see is a curiously interesting thing. There is a -disease or disorder called ‘mind-blindness,’ about which the doctor was -telling me a few weeks ago. People who have it see things only as a -mirror sees, and cannot give them names; but if they touch or handle -them, are able to say what they are, or to tell their uses. Think, now, -of a baby. It merely sees things as a mirror sees. Later, it learns the -qualities of things seen, remembers them, learns to group them, and so -to say at last what the thing is, or is for. Some people seem to stop in -their education a little way beyond their baby gains, and at least never -learn to get out of mere observation any pleasure.” - -“But one may make many uses of this power to see. Now, the poets—” - -“Stop a moment. The poets get an absurd amount of credit for being able -to see as other men do not; but, really, the pleasantest people for a -woodland walk are those naturalists who see far more than the poet, and -combine with their science, or have with it, the love of things for the -mere beauty in them. I never did walk with a poet in a wood. I think I -should see all he saw.” - -“But not the same way.” - -“I would dispute that, if you mean to say I get less pleasure, Rose. And -there is some nonsense in the notion that poets are very close observers -of nature. They vary, of course. Take Wordsworth, he was a mere child in -minute observation compared to Shakspere. Tennyson is better, too,—oh, -by far; and any clever naturalist sees far more than any one of them.” - -“And now, I know, Pardy, you are going to advise me to read Ruskin, -because that is the way you always used to wind up our talks.” - -“I was, dear.” - -“I must try him again. Aunt Anne says we grow up to the stature of -certain books as we get older, and at last can look them in the eyes and -say, ‘We understand one another.’ As to what you say of Wordsworth, I -shall ask her what she thinks.” - -“We shall not differ,” said Lyndsay. “I see you have done your sketch. -Let us have lunch. Afterward, if there is time, we can take a look at -these trees when the evening shadows are falling. We have by no means -done with them.” - -Meanwhile Tom and his bowman had made the fire. The salmon was -deliciously broiled, for these woodmen are nearly all good cooks; the -potatoes roasted in the hot ashes; the bacon, broiled with the salmon, -in thin slices, brown and crisp. Rose thought there could be no meal -like this. It was set out on a flat rock, with birch-bark for plates. -The spring was a little way back of them. - -“Let us go for the water ourselves,” said Lyndsay. - -They walked down the island a hundred yards, and there, in deep woods, -found two rocks fallen together, and under them a pretty little rise of -water, bubbling up out of the earth. - -“That is really a spring,” said Rose. “One uses words until one forgets -to think of their meaning. How cold it is!” - -“Yes 38°,—and delicious.” He twisted a bit of red birch-bark into a cup, -and put a split twig at each end to keep it together. Then he filled it, -and she drank, throwing her hair back with one hand, and flashing -laughter over the brim of the cup from eyes the color of which has never -been rightly settled to this day. - -“More lunch, Rose?” - -“A little jam and a biscuit.” - -Archibald Lyndsay lit a pipe and lay upon his back on the meager -grasses, with hands clasped behind his head. His eyes wandered from the -clouds overhead to Rose, and thence to wood or stream. - -“The court has dined, M. A.,” she said. “What now?” - -“I am afraid,” he returned, “it is too late for you to sketch in colors -the trees, or even a bit of them. I wanted to get your notion of the -tints; but look at this—I am not quite sure I myself see colors at their -true values. There is no standard in which to try our sense of color. I -am sure some men see a tint bright, and some see it darker, and then -some artists are sensational in their statement of colors on canvas.” - -“I should like to try.” - -“We are a little too late; but the sun is back of us yet. That is -essential. Now, keep in shadow, and tell me the color of those sun-lit -myriads of dead pine and fir and spruce and poplar.” - -“How they shine!” - -“Yes; they are very hard, and polished by storm and sun. They are about -a hundred yards distant. Near by they are silvery-gray. At their feet is -a mass of young birch and beech, and feathered ferns below, along the -margin.” - -“They are purple,—clear, distinct purple,” said Rose. “Of course, they -are purple.” - -“Yes. Now look at the river.” All between the two observers and the -trees was a swift flow of hastening water, faintly fretted all over by -the underlying brown and gray and white stones of the bottom,—a -tremulous brown mirror. - -“Oh, the beautiful things!” cried Rose. “Purple reflections,—deeper -purple than the trees. How they wriggle!” - -“Put me the two purples on paper.” - -“There!” she said, “that is as I see them.” - -“And I,” he returned,—“for me they should be a much deeper, purer tint. -That is the difference between your color sense and mine.” - -“Is it true, Pardy, that there may be colors no man has seen?” - -“Yes.” - -“And sounds no man has heard?” - -“Yes.” - -“‘Heard sounds are sweet, but sounds unheard are sweeter.’” - -“Your quotation sets one’s imagination free to rove. Think of extending -the gamut of human thought. I cannot imagine that; and, as to your poet, -he did not mean, I suppose, the sounds man never heard are sweeter; but -then one has his freedom of interpreting the words of genius. They -always build better than they know.” - -“Aunt Anne says that is so beautifully illustrated by the view a man of -science would take to-day of St. Paul’s words: ‘The eye cannot say to -the hand, I have no need of thee.’” - -“The point is well taken, as we lawyers say. But that must do for -to-day. Come, Tom, you and Bill can smoke your pipes in the middle of -the skiff. Put Miss Rose in the bow, I will take the stern.” - -“And am I to paddle? What fun!” - -“Yes. In with you.” And the boat fled away down the swift waters, with -here and there, where the billows rolled high over a deeply hidden rock, -a wild roller which swept them on as with the rush of a bird through -space, while Rose laughed out the joy of a great delight, for of all -modes of motion this is the most satisfying. - -“It isn’t difficult,” she said. - -“No, and it is a noble exercise. Look! Look, Rose! See that hawk,—no, it -is an eagle. Don’t you envy him? What are those lines Anne loves to -quote about the hawk and the lark? They are called ‘True Captivity.’” - -“I forget all but the last two lines. It contrasts the two prisoners, -and says of the lark: - - ‘He has the heaven which he sings, - But my poor hawk has only wings.’” - -“Thank you. There used to be an imprisoned hawk in a cage at the lower -clearing. The melancholy of his great yellow eyes so troubled me that I -bought him, and, to Churchman’s amazement, opened his cage. The poor old -warrior walked out, looked around him, and then walked back again into -voluntary captivity.” - -“Like the man of the Bastille.” - -“Yes. I shut the cage and took it down to the river. There I left it, -open. Next day I saw him perched above it on a dead tamarack, swinging -in a wild wind. The day after he was gone.” - -“I wonder if he regrets the cage and the certainty of full diet.” - -“Ah! liberty is very sweet. I sometimes wonder whether, when this -earthly cage is opened, we shall linger about it like my hawk.” - -For a time they speed onward, silent, as the shadows grew across the -waters. Said Lyndsay, at length: “One more thing to note: the sun is -down, but see how that huge array of gleaming, seried tree-trunks, away -up on the hilltops, takes the light we have lost.” - -Rose looked, and saw on the far summits that the multitudinous -tree-stems were of a lovely lemon yellow, and below, where their lines -crossed at the intercepting angles of two slopes, of a pallid lilac. - -“I think we have learned to use our eyes to-day. No need to paddle here. -Take a rest. We are going at the rate of five miles an hour.” - -In the gathering dusk they flitted past the camp-fires on the island, -and soon were at their cabin door. - -“Shall I ever have another day like this?” said Rose, as she ran up the -steps. “Thank you, Pardy.” - - - - - CHAPTER VII - - -When they entered the cabin, Dick was diligently counting a beetle’s -legs,—a process the animal seemed to resent. Ned, at a window, was -staring at the falling shadows on the farther hills, and Jack, at the -door, was deep in a gruesome book of adventures by sea and land. - -The boys rose as Lyndsay entered. - -“Gracious!” exclaimed Rose, observing their swollen faces. “You have not -gotten off without honorable wounds.” Jack’s face was a testimonial of -valor. “You seem to have found it lively.” - -“It was galumptious.” - -“What?” cried Rose. - -“Oh, I wasn’t going to run. Those fellows, they ran. I think they’re—” - -“What?” broke in Dick. - -“None of that,” said Lyndsay. “I suppose the hornets did not have a very -pleasing time.” - -“They licked us,” said Ned. - -“That’s because—” - -“Hush,” said Lyndsay, laughing. “I presume there are enough left for -another time?” - -“Archie, how could you?” said Mrs. Lyndsay. “I shall be glad to get -these boys home alive.” - -“Oh, we are all right,” cried the twins; and they went gaily to supper, -and before long to bed. - -When Rose got up next day it was raining; the sky gray, and the waters -inky black. She was reassured at breakfast by her father, and told to -get her waterproof and high boots, and be ready for a salmon after -breakfast. Again Miss Anne was on hand, declaring that she had not felt -as well for a year, and they fell to planning their day’s amusements. -The squirrels tempted Jack and his gun. Dick and Ned were to fish the -upper pool, and Anne and the mother, as they desired, were to be left to -their own devices. - -“But, Rose,” said the latter, “you must see Mrs. Maybrook.” - -“If we get any salmon, I might take her one, or one of the men might -carry it this afternoon. I am very curious about this paragon. I don’t -believe much in perfection, mama.” - -“I did not say she was that, Rose. Dorothy Maybrook is my friend.” - -“Isn’t that putting it rather strongly, mama? A woman in her class of -life can scarcely—” - -“Nevertheless, she is my friend.” - -“That answers all questions,” said Lyndsay. - -“No,” said Anne, “not until one knows your definition of friend. What is -a friend?” - -“A fellow that will fight for you,” said Jack. - -“Then Sullivan or the ‘Tipton Slasher’ would be the best friend,” -remarked Ned. - -“A fellow you like,” said Dick. - -“How is it, Ned?” said Lyndsay. “What is a friend?” - -“I don’t know,” replied Ned, coloring as usual. “I would want a lot of -them.” - -“There is something in that,” said Anne. “I never found any one human -being who, at all times and under all stress of needs, was able to give -me everything I want of man or woman.” - -“I think with you, Anne,” returned Lyndsay. “I never could quite -comprehend those all-satisfying alliances one reads about, those -friend-love affairs, such as Shakspere had with Herbert, or whoever it -was. Certainly some men, and not always those who have most to give, -intellectually, at least, have, as was said of a dead friend of mine, a -genius for friendship. Wherever he went, men became attached to -him,—they could hardly say why.” - -“How do you explain it?” said Rose. - -“He was quick of temper, cultivated, but not a profound man,—unselfish. -I think it must have been chiefly because he took a large and unfailing -interest in other men’s pursuits, and was not troubled if they made no -return in kind. He gave interest and affection, being easily pleased, -and exacted no return. But it always came.” - -“I should have said he had a talent for friendship. Genius is a large -word,” said Anne. - -“Yes; it was only an unusual capacity,—not genius.” - -“But what is genius?” said Rose. - -“You are getting out of my depth!” cried Mrs. Lyndsay, laughing. “I -shall want a life-preserver pretty soon, Archie.” - -“I can only quote Marcus Aurelius,” said Lyndsay. - -“He remarks—what is it he says about genius, Anne?” - -“No, no. We want something fresh, Pardy.” - -“A fine way to clap an extinguisher on wisdom.” - -“But I want—I do want an answer.” - -“Shall we say that genius is crude creative power? How will that do?” - -“That is better than usual, Aurelius,” cried Anne. “It needs talent to -come to anything. It would be easy to illustrate. There is Blake at one -end, and—well—Shakspere at the other.” - -“May we go?” said Jack, yawning fearfully. - -“Yes, of course. What a sight you are!” - -“They must have been good shots.” - -“Oh, they did well,” said Ned, “and it was worse than bullets. They -don’t get inside your pantaloons and skirmish around. I’m very -uncomfortable when I sit down.” - -“How can one die better, etc.?” cried Dick, and, riotously laughing, -they ran out of doors. Margaret looked after them affectionately. - -“Do you remember, Archie, how you used to have an unending tale for -those boys when they were little, of Tommy Turnip, and how he ran away, -and went to Russia, and was made Count Turnipsky?” - -“I do, indeed, my dear. It went on for years. Come, Rose, I sha’n’t rest -until you have killed a salmon. If it rains hard all day the water will -rise, and then good-by salmon until it begins to fall.” - -“Is that so?” - -“Yes. The salmon is a mysterious creature. We know little about him; but -we do know that with rising water, or rapidly rising warmth of water, he -seems to lose curiosity as to flies. Come along.” - -“I think my own curiosity collapses in hot weather,” said Anne. - -There was now a steady fall of rain, but, well protected, they reached -the pool. - -“How black the water is!” said Rose. Tom sat quiet without the least -cover, and took the ducking as if it were a matter of course. Now he -adjusted a rather large Jock Scott. Then Rose began to cast, while -Lyndsay sat behind her and smoked. - -“Couldn’t I stand?” she said. - -“Yes. You will cast better, and take care you don’t catch the handle of -the reel in your wraps. Give the back cast a little more time. Count -one, two, three quickly. You do very well. You will soon get the trick -of it.” - -“You riz him!” roared Tom, for there was a mighty swash, and half a -salmon came into view. - -“Sit down. Wait a little.” - -“_Will_ he—_do_ you think he will rise again?” - -“If I knew, dear, it would save much needless casting. Will a young man -propose twice, thrice? Who can say?” - -“I fail, sir, to perceive the analogy.” - -“My dear Rose, the too logical mind is destructive of the very -foundations of social gaiety. Young man rises to a fly; salmon rises to -a fly.” - -“But no right-minded woman casts a fly over. Oh, they just—you know.” - -“No, I don’t. Both the fish and the man have the right of choice; but -there is some responsibility as to the attractiveness of a Jock Scott, -or a Durham fanger. So, after all, the young man’s anguish may be the -fault of the wicked milliner. As a question of morals one likes to -know.” - -“But will he—will he come back?” - -“Really, Rose, that was worthy of Sarah Siddons. It might have been said -of the most attractive of my sex.” - -“Bother the men, papa; I want _my_ fish. What is a man to a salmon!” - -“I recognize that assertion of personal ownership as distinctively -feminine.” - -“You are too bad. How it pours!” - -“Try him again. Cast out to right, and let the fly come down, around the -tail of the boat, with not too much movement, just as if you were quite -indifferent; an ordinary, every-day promenade, my dear. The application -is, you see, of skill acquired in one branch of industry to the -cultivation of another.” - -Of a sudden the reel ran out a little. - -“Poor young man! Sit down. Keep the tip up, so.” - -The fly had been tranquilly taken under water, this time with no show of -indecision. Rose obeyed the advice, and for a moment sat expectant, the -rod well bent. The delay on the part of the salmon was so great that she -could not understand it. - -“It must be fast on something. It doesn’t move.” - -“No, the young man isn’t quite sure as to what is the matter. He is -reflecting. Are Cupid’s arrows barbed, my dear? There!” - -“Oh!”—for the reel ran out so fast as to make a distinct musical note, -and, in a moment, Rose saw the salmon flash high in the air near the -farther bank. - -“That can’t be my young man.” - -“Yes. Reel, reel quick.” - -Meanwhile it was up anchor and away, the instant the fish struck. The -men shared Rose’s excitement, and watched the quick movements of the -fish with admirable understanding of when to wait or to follow. The -rapid reeling in Rose found hard work. - -“I do think you must take the rod,” she said. - -“No,” he cried, laughing. “I prefer not to have the responsibility of -other folks’ flirtations. He won’t carry on this way very long.” - -But again he was off, and this time not so far. Then he leaped twice, -with mighty splashings of the water. Meanwhile Tom was carefully getting -his canoe out of the heavy current, and Rose found that the salmon was -slowly yielding to the steady strain of the rod. They were now near the -bank, and in an eddy. - -“Look sharp, Rose,” said Mr. Lyndsay. “Give him the butt.” - -“What?” - -“Yes. Keep the tip back and the butt forward. As the fish yields reel in -a little, dropping the tip. That’s right. Now, you can lift him, as it -were, by throwing the butt forward again, so. Reel! reel! Well handled.” - -“He’s a-comin’,” said Tom. “He are a buster.” - -She could but just perceive her fish,—a dark, shadowy thing,—a few feet -away. Now he sees the man with his gaff, and is off on a short run; and -again is slowly reeled in. - -“Something must break,” said Rose. - -“No, you can’t pull more than two pounds, my dear, do as you may. It -seems to you a vast strain. There, keep his head up-stream. Well done. -Let him drop back a little.” - -As he spoke, Tom made a quick movement and gaffed his fish. In a moment -it was in the boat, and Rose sank back delighted. - -“Here is the scale, Tom.” - -Tom held up the fish, with the scale-hook in the gill-cover. - -“Thir—ty—two—pounds, miss.” - -“Do let me see,” she said, and examined her captive with curiosity. - -“A fine young man, by the neb of his lower jaw,” said her father. “You -don’t like the gaffing: I saw that. Be assured that lingering hours of -slow exhaustion in the nets at the mouth of the river are far worse. You -could let the fish go; you could refrain from fishing; you need not eat -salmon; several ways are open to the sensitive.” - -“I am very foolish, I dare say.” - -“There is some folly that is nearer heaven than some wisdom, my child. -If this folly is incapable of reasoning defense, it is still not one to -be ashamed of. We may over-cultivate our sensibilities so as, at last, -to become Brahminical in our abhorrence of any destruction of life. The -argument as to need for animal flesh is hardly a help. Men, in fact, -nations, live without it; and it is quite possible that we have in time -more or less manufactured both the appetite and the need for this diet. -Our nearest anatomical kinsmen, the monkeys, are all vegetarians, and as -for any necessity to kill salmon or deer, there is nowadays none. Both -are mere luxuries of the rich. Not a soul on these rivers ever gets a -salmon, unless he poaches or we give it to him.” - -“Isn’t that hard?” - -“Yes and no. Throw it all open, and in five years there would be no -salmon. They would go as the buffalo have gone.” - -“And still I am sorry for the people who cannot fish; the eating is -another matter.” - -“Their fishing, dear, would be the mere use of a net. But there is -another point of view. We leave more money on these rivers, are of more -real use to these boatmen and farmers, than all the salmon they might -take could possibly be.” - -“How difficult all life seems! There are so many questions.” - -“Fish, my dear, in peace of soul. By Thor, you have a grilse!” he cried. -For now she was fast to a fish of some six pounds, which was in and out -of water every minute, and, being too small to gaff, was beached by a -quick run up a sandy shore of the well-drenched fisherwoman. While Tom -was weighing the fish, Rose learned that a grilse was a young salmon, -and what a parr was, and a smolt, and a kelt, and how a grilse was known -by the forked tail and the small scales. - -“A good un to smoke,” said Tom. “We split ’em, miss, and salt ’em pretty -well, and then hold ’em open like with two sticks, and hangs ’em over a -right smoky fire for a matter of four or five days. Some makes a wigwam -of bark and smokes ’em in that, but it ain’t needed unless you want ’em -to keep long. Them they sells is all dried stiff and hard. These here, -just dried gentle, why they’re as fine-flavored as—as—angels, or a -chicken porkenpine.” - -“A smoked angel!” laughed Rose. “I am horribly wet, but I must kill -another salmon.” Her hope was realized, and, after an hour of hard -casting, a twenty-pound fish was brought to gaff in some twelve minutes. - -“Very good time, Rosy. I used to think no man ought to be over a -half-hour in killing the strongest salmon. But the charm of the game -lies in the amazing individuality of the fish. No one of them ever does -just what any other does. Once I was two hours with a salmon, and you -may have the like luck.” - -“I should perish of fatigue.” - -“What would you think of killing ninety-two and six grilse in five days? -I once killed forty-two striped bass in twenty-four hours, but these are -bonanzas. Run the boat up and empty her,” he added to Tom. As they -stood, the rain continued falling more and more heavily through a -perfectly still atmosphere. - -“Kind of falls,” said Tom. - -“Did it ever rain harder?” said Rose. - -“Yes, miss; there are a spot up nigh back of Thunder Bay—that’s to north -of Lake Superior—and there it do rain in July—solid.” - -“Solid?” said Lyndsay. - -“I said solid. Folks moves out for a month, otherwise they is drownded -standin’.” - -“That is a trapper’s tale, Rose. I have heard it before.” - -“It is near enough here to being solid to enable me to believe the rest. -How the boughs leap every now and then as they drop their loads of rain, -and how slate-blue and opaque the water is!” - -“Notice these great drops: each rebounds from the surface in a little -column, so as to seem like black spikes in the water. See, too, how the -circles they make cross one another without breaking. Smoke rings do -that,” and he blew successive circlets of his pipe-smoke, as he spoke, -so that they passed across one another, breaking and remaking their -rolling rings. - -“Why is that?” she said. - -“I do not know. I hardly care to ask. I am in the mood of mere -acceptance. Oh, there is the sun, Rose! See how between the finger-like -needles of the pine the drops are held, and what splendid jewelry the -sun is making. It needs a still hour for this. You have seen a thing in -its perfection quite rare.” - -“Must we go, Pardy? It has done raining.” - -“Yes, we must go. I forgot to ask you to listen to the different noises -a heavy rain makes according as you stand under pine or spruce, or hear -it patter on the flat-lying, deciduous leaves, or hum on the water. -Come, you must take the twenty-pounder to Dorothy Maybrook. If it is not -too wet, she will perhaps walk up to Colkett’s with you. But don’t go -into the cabin. You might take for those poor people two or three cans -of corned beef. Meats are scarce luxuries with them. They will need no -money just at present. Mr. Carington gave them some help.” - -“Did he?” - -“Yes. The child is to be buried to-morrow, I hear.” - -“Is Mr. Carington the young man who shot the seal?” - -“I suppose so,—yes. Why do you ask?” - -“Oh, nothing. Idlest curiosity. Pure curiosity unstained by the -coarseness of a motive.” - -“I am answered,” he said, laughing. - -They were soon at home. - - - - - CHAPTER VIII - - -After Rose and her father had made their brief toilets, they found the -family at luncheon. - -“I was wet to the skin, and through it, I believe,” said Rose. “No, I -sha’n’t take cold, mama. Nobody takes cold here. Tom must be wet through -to his bones—absolutely water-logged.” - -“The boys were a-drip like water-rats,” said Mrs. Lyndsay. “I am sure -some of you will have pneumonia.” - -“But I got an eighteen-and-a-half-pound salmon,” cried Jack. - -“He’s had him in his lap for an hour, like a baby,” said Dick. - -“That is capable of olfactory demonstration,” remarked Anne. - -“He’ll get that salmon framed,” cried Dick. “Such a fuss—” - -“Did you get any, sir?” asked his father. - -“No.” - -“Are you sorry Jack did?” - -“No, I am not that mean,” returned the boy, flushing. “Ned he caught it, -and he let Jack bring it in. Jack wanted it so very bad.” - -“Badly, sir?” - -“Badly.” - -“And it was Ned’s fish, after all.” - -As he spoke, Lyndsay nodded gently, smiling at the youngest son, and no -more was said; but the boys understood well enough that neither the -selfishness nor the self-denial had gone unnoticed. This was made more -plain when Mr. Lyndsay said: - -“I shall fish the upper pool to-morrow morning—or, rather, you may, Ned, -for I have letters to write.” - -“And Jack and Dick?” said Ned. - -“Those other fellows may slay trout.” He disliked even the approach to -tale-telling by his boys, and when Mrs. Lyndsay made an appeal, in her -mild way, he said, laughing: - -“The laws of the Medes and Persians were never changed. Let it rest -there. My barbarians understand me, I fancy.” - -There was a little silence, which Rose broke. - -“What is that in the glass, Dick, on the window-ledge?” - -“What Pierre calls a lamprey. It is the very lowest of vertebrates. It -has only a cartilaginous skeleton.” - -“Must be an awful learned beast,” said Ned. - -“It holds on to the side of the salmon, Rosy.” - -“Just like a fellow outside of an omnibus,” said Dick. - -“What a queer thing!” and Rose got up to look at it. “I wonder if the -salmon likes it. A parasite!” - -“Which proves,” laughed Anne, “that even a parasite is capable of -attachment. The obligation is all on one side.” - -“Literally,” said Lyndsay. - -“Archie, you are worse than Mr. B.,” said Anne. “If you say anything -clever, he begins to dissect it for the benefit of all concerned. The -application of anatomy to humor is one of the lowest of social pursuits. -I loathe that man.” - -“You don’t really loathe any one, aunty.” - -“If you do not,” said Margaret, “it is a pity to say that sort of -thing.” - -“But I do loathe the man—I do; I do. I am honest. He has every quality -of what Dick tenderly calls a G. I. P., except the probability of -ultimate usefulness.” - -“Reasonably complete that,” said Lyndsay, while Jack grinned his -appreciation. - -“He is a clergyman, Anne,” remarked Margaret, with emphasis. - -“That only makes it worse. I have heard him preach. Don’t you think a -man who has no humor must be a bad man?” - -“Anne!” - -“One moment, dear. Let me finish him. I was going to say, Archie, that -if a mule was to kick that man just for fun, he would never know he was -kicked.” - -“That covers the ground. You should have edited a newspaper, Anne. Such -vituperative qualities are wasted here.” - -“Indeed, I think so,” said Mrs. Lyndsay, rising at the end of her -luncheon. “It may amuse you, Archie, but for the boys it is bad, dear, -bad.” - -Upon this the twins, enchanted to hear of wickedness, became critically -attentive to the matter, and for a moment refrained from their diet. -Anne, a little vexed, smiled as her sister-in-law stood opposite, but -made no other reply. - -“I dare say it amuses you, my dear Anne.” - -“It does.” - -“But should it, dear, and at the cost of temptation to others? Go out, -boys.” The twins went forth merry. “And—and, dear, don’t you think—?” - -Between question and answer Lyndsay made swift retreat, with an -explanatory cigar-case in his hand. - -“Yes, I think, Margaret”; and then, the gray eyes lighting up, “I think, -Margaret, that you do not always think. If you did, you would criticize -that wicked Archie.” - -“Archie! Archie! What do you mean?” - -“I admit your premise. Homicide applied to character is bad enough; but -don’t you think that Archie ought to give up killing salmon?” - -“What?” - -“You see it teaches the boys to be cruel. It is the sad beginning of -murder. There is only a difference of degree in it. Suppose, now, a man -kills a monkey, and then—you follow me, dear—and then—oh, do come here, -Rose—and then he gets a shot somewhere in Africa at the missing link. -You see where killing salmon lands you at last. Where shall we draw the -line?” - -Rose laughed, despite her mother’s face of puzzled yet obstinate -gravity. - -“What do you mean, Anne?” - -Anne rarely argued seriously with this sister-in-law, who, despite their -differences, was very dear to her. Her delight was, like the -cuttle-fish, so to obscure the whole atmosphere of a discussion with -mistiness of vague analogy as to enable her to retreat with honor. - -“Good gracious!” Margaret went on, fanning herself violently, as she did -in all weather, and amuseingly indicating by her use of the fan her own -moods, “what did I say to bring out all this nonsense? I think -I—yes—what was it, Rose?” - -Any one’s irritation, of which she herself seemed to be the cause, -troubled the little lady, especially if Anne were the person involved. -Nevertheless, no experience sufficed quite to keep Mrs. Lyndsay out of -these risks when her motherly instincts were in action. - -Rose smiled, as she replied: - -“Dear little mother, Aunt Anne objects to your criticism of her form of -sport, and the naughty aunty is raising a dust of words, in which she -will scuttle away.” As she spoke she cast a loving arm around her -mother, and one on her aunt’s thin shoulders. But Margaret Lyndsay had -the persistency of all instinctive beings. - -“I think it bad for the boys. I always shall think it bad. Dick is now -too fond of ridiculing serious things, and they think whatever you do is -right, and whatever you say they think delightful. As for Ned—” - -“Ned! my Ned! That boy is an angel. I won’t have a word—” - -“As if I did not know it!” said Margaret, with the nearest approach to -wrath of which she was capable. “Really, Anne Lyndsay, may I not even -praise my own boys?” - -“I think, my dear Margaret, you lack imagination,” said Anne. Like a -great algebraist, who is apt to skip in his statements a long series of -equations, she was given to omitting the logical steps by which her -swift reason passed to a conclusion satisfactorily true for her, but -obscure enough to her hearers. - -“I don’t understand,” said Mrs. Lyndsay. - -“Nor I,” echoed Rose. - -“My dears,” said Anne, smiling, “the prosperity of life lies largely in -the true use of imagination.” - -“You are incorrigible, Anne. But I know I am right.” - -“Knowledge and wisdom, far from being one, are ofttimes different,” -quoted Anne, rising, and not over well pleased. “I think I shall go and -lie down.” - -“I think I would,” said Mrs. Lyndsay, simply. “You are not looking well -to-day.” - -“I am well enough,” said Miss Anne. - -“All ready!—and the fish and Polycarp!” cried Lyndsay. - -Rose was soon in the canoe, and the men began poling across the river. -As they moved, she sat, reflecting upon the little scene she had -witnessed. It troubled her that two people so dear to her should not -always understand each other. The mother had already ceased to think of -it, and the aunt’s irritability was a matter of minutes. Only Anne -Lyndsay knew how sternly a remarkable intellect had by degrees dictated -terms of reasonable life to a quick temper and a tongue too perilously -skilful. This endless warfare was now rarely visible, but its -difficulties were terribly increased at times when weakness and pain -grew hard to endure and fought on the side of her foes. There were, -indeed, times during the weariness of travel when Rose Lyndsay was -startled by what she saw; times when Anne was striving with constantly -increasing pain. Then it would end with a laugh and a jest, and some -quaint defense of pain as a form of moral education, until Rose, despite -herself, would be reassured, and she - - Who would have given a caliph’s gold - For consolation, was herself consoled. - -These things troubled her as she crossed the stream. Once ashore she -ceased to think of them. Polycarp, with few words, slung the salmon on -his back, and, leaving Ambrose to pious meditations and the canoe, -indicated the ox-road to Rose, who went on in front. - -After twenty minutes of swift walking, Rose came out of the wood-path -into a clearing of some fifty acres, and at last to a cabin set in an -inclosure. Here were a few beds of the commoner flowers and a -squared-log house. The windows were open, the clean white muslin -curtains pulled back, and on the ledges tomato-cans and a broken jug or -two filled with that flower which grows best for the poor, the red -geranium. On the south end of the cabin a Japanese ivy, given by Mrs. -Lyndsay, had made a fair fight with the rigor of a Canadian winter and -was part way up to the gable. Noticing the absence of dirt and of the -litter of chips, rags, egg-shells, and bits of paper, so common where -labor has all it can do to attend to the essential, Rose tapped on the -open door, and then, turning, saw Mrs. Maybrook standing at the well. -She came forward at once to meet her visitor. - -“Why, I guess you must be Margaret Lyndsay’s daughter.” - -Rose, a little taken aback by the familiar manner of this -identification, perhaps showed it to this shrewd observer in something -about her bearing as she said, “A pleasant evening after the rain,” and -took the proffered hand. “Yes, I am Rose Lyndsay.” - -“I’m never quite rid of my Quaker fashion of naming folks without their -handles. Seems to get you nearer to people. Now, don’t you think so? -Come in.” - -Rose, as her host stepped aside, entered the cabin. It was bedroom, -kitchen, and sitting-room all in one, like most of these rude homes, but -it was absolutely clean, and just now, as the cooking was done out of -doors, was cool and airy. Mrs. Maybrook was in a much-mended gown, and -bore signs enough of contact with pots and pans. Still the great coils -of hair were fairly neat, and the gray eyes shone clear and smiling. She -made none of the apologies for her house or its furniture such as the -poor are apt to make, nor yet for herself or her dress. - -“Come in and sit down. I’m that glad to see you. Oh, Polycarp, is that -you? And your father has sent me a salmon? My old man will like that. -Put it in the brook, Polycarp.” - -“But it is my fish,” said Rose. “I killed it and I wanted you to have -it; my father had nothing to do with it, I am glad of a chance to thank -you, Mrs. Maybrook, for—for all you were to my mother—all you did last -summer when our dear Harry died.” - -And this fine young woman, in her tailor-made London walking-gown, -thereupon having got to the end of words, and having had this thing in -mind for ten minutes, fell an easy victim to nature, so that her eyes -filled as she spoke. When this came about, Dorothy became as easy a prey -to the despotism of sympathetic emotion, and her tears, too, fell like -ripe apples on a windy November day. Also, upon this, these two “fools -of nature” looked at each other and smiled through their tears, which is -a mysteriously explanatory and apologetic habit among rightly made -women. After this they were in a way friends. The elder woman took the -hand of the younger and said: - -“When my last boy died, there was a woman I just hated, and she came and -she cried. It makes a heap of matter who cries,—don’t it, now?” - -“Oh, it does—it does,” said Rose, with still a little sob in her voice. - -“I didn’t want that woman to cry. But you don’t mind _my_ crying, now, -do you? That was the sweetest little fellow.” - -“Please don’t,” said Rose. - -“No, no; I won’t, I know. Isn’t it awful lucky men can’t cry? That’s -just the only way we can get even with ’em. How’s mother? And Miss Anne? -Now, that is a woman. Never saw a woman like her in all my born life. -Ain’t she got a way of saying things? Oh, here’s Hiram. Hiram, this is -Miss Rose Lyndsay. I reckon”—Mrs. Maybrook reckoned, calculated, or -guessed with the entire indifference of a woman who had lived south, -north, and east—“I reckon they knew what they was about when they called -you Rose. ’T ain’t easy naming children. They ain’t all like flowers, -that just grow up, according to their kind. If you’d have been called -Becky, there wouldn’t have been no kind of reason in it.“ - -“I trust not,” laughed Rose. - -“How do you do, miss?” said Hiram. He was tall, a little bent, clad in -sober gray, and had a shock of stiff, grizzly hair and a full gray -beard. His eyes, which were pale blue and meaningless, wandered as he -stood. - -“Miss Rose has fetched a fish,” said Dorothy. “You might clean it, -Hiram.” - -“I’ll do it,” he said, stolidly, and turned to go like a dull boy sent -on an errand. - -“And don’t forget to fetch the cows in at sundown.” - -“I’ll do it,” and he went out. - -“He’s a bit touched in his head,” said his wife. “You see, when we were -at Marysville the war kind o’ upset him. They wanted him to go into the -rebel army, and he wasn’t minded to do it. I got him a place on a -railroad, so he didn’t have to; but he was awful worried, and took to -thinking about it, and his brothers that were in our army,—on the other -side,—and then he got off his head. He ain’t been the same man -since,—and twice he ran away. But I fetched him both times, and then the -fevers took the children. He ain’t been the same man since. I’ve got to -p’int him a good bit,—that’s what he calls it; but if he’s p’inted -right, he goes sure. To my thinking, it is a queer world, Miss Rose. I -wish I was certain there is a better.” - -“But there is,” said Rose. - -“Well, well. Maybe. Anyhow, I never felt no call to doubt what I was to -do in this one. Old Kitchins used to pray over me. He was an awful -certain man about other folks’ sins; never missed fire. At last, one -day, when he was a-consoling me, and thinking he’d just only got to be a -kind of centurion for a woman’s troubles, and say go and they’d go, I -asked him if he’d any knowledge of the gospel of grinning,—and that -ended him. Come out and see my flowers.” - -Rose got up, laughing. “I want you to walk to Colkett’s with me. I told -the men to go up the river, so as to bring us back. You see, I made sure -you would go.” - -“Go!—of course I’ll go,” said Dorothy. “No, I won’t want a bonnet. I’ve -got one somewhere, under the bed, I guess,” and, so saying, they set -off. It required little skill to draw from this frank and fearless -nature, as they walked, the history of a wandering life, of the children -dead, of the half-witted husband, of her own long-continued asthma, now -gone, as she hoped. It was told with curious vivacity,—with some sense -of the humorous quality of complete disaster, and when she spoke of her -dead it was with brief gravity, which seemed to deny sympathy or hasten -away from it. As they moved along and her companion talked, Rose glanced -with curiosity at the Quaker-born woman, who had lost nearly every trace -of her origin. She walked well, and there was a certain distinctiveness, -if not distinction, in her erect carriage and refinement of feature, -still visible after years of toil and troubles. - -At last, after a pause, Rose spoke for herself. - -“It seems to me wonderful that you, who have gone through so much, could -have stood it as you seem to have done.” She herself was at the opening -age of doubts and questions. At times the discontentment of a life -without the definite aims of a man’s career distressed her. Yet she had -surely all that one could ask of existence; and here was this -poverty-haunted woman supremely cheerful under circumstances such as -would have ruined all capacity for happiness in most of her sex. Rose -went on, half surprised at her own frankness: - -“I have everything in the world, and sometimes I am not happy. I ought -to be ashamed.” - -“Well, Miss Rose, I did use to bother, but I gave it up. As long as -you’re here, you’re here. I’m like a pig Hiram used to have out West. He -was a very enterprising pig, and was always a-trying to get into the -pea-patch and out of his own field. One day I was watching that pig,—I -used to think that pig could laugh,—well, he spied an angle of a great -big, dead cottonwood-tree Hiram had set to stop the gap in a fence. You -see, the two ends of it were in the field, and it was hollow right -through trunk and limb, and the point of it stuck out into my pea-patch. -So, Mr. Pig, in he goes, and after much scratching he got through the -trunk, and then through the big branch, and then out he came, and there -he was in the same field again. Well, he tried it three times and then -he gave it up; looked like he’d have liked to scratch his head; and -after that he was the contentedest pig you ever saw. And when -sticking-time came, at Christmas, he didn’t squeal any morsel louder -than the rest. I guess I’m a good deal like that pig. I’ve quit trying -to get out of my field, and so I just stay here and grin, and take what -comes.” - -“Thank you,” said Rose, smiling. “That is a delightful parable, Mrs. -Maybrook.” And with it Rose ceased awhile to hear what her companion -said, and took stern measures with herself, because of the thoughts this -woman’s life and words had brought to her. - -Dorothy was at times, when her audience suited her, a person who talked -herself out in liberal amount, finding in self-utterance one of her few -and most distinct pleasures. Yet she was never so full of herself as -entirely to cease to think of others. She saw in a few minutes that Rose -had lost hold of the talk, and was at intervals saying, “Yes, yes,” in -an absent way, so as to keep up a decent appearance of being still -interested in her companion’s words. Dorothy had by no means fine -manners, but she had the automatically active instincts of a woman to -whom tact was a natural gift. She too became silent, and they walked on -for a time without more exchange of words. - -Rose, like some young women of her age, was at times the easy prey of -moods of absence, which carried her far enough from the hour or its -company. She had preached herself a severe sermon, and now came back to -the outer world again as they passed a marshy spot where, of a sudden, -the wholesome wood odors rose around her, that delightful commingling of -the scent of moldering trunks, resinous weepings of the pine, and the -sweetness of the breath of the young spruces. Nature said, in her most -tender tones, “Come back to me out of your tangle of self-discussion, -and I will give you rest.” It was a delicately responsive organization -to which this mute appeal was made, and the fine instrument answered to -the call with no more consciousness of the gentle influence than has the -swaying pine stirred to healthful exercise by the northland breeze. - -“Don’t you like the wood-smells?” she said. - -“Me? I guess I do. That’s queer about Susan Colkett; asked her one day -if she didn’t love the spruce-smells, and she just said they hadn’t -none.” - -“That was odd. I could never like that woman, but I am very, very sorry -for her.” - -“Like her! Miss Rose, I saw her once killing chickens,—I never _can_ do -that,—and the woman was laughing all the while. I don’t love her, -but—There’s the house; you wait here in the woods; I’ll get her out, and -then you can talk. Sit down on this log. I’ll fetch her.” - -“But are you not afraid, Mrs. Maybrook?” - -“I? No; I’m old and tough, and it wouldn’t matter much—except for Hiram. -There’d be nobody to p’int him,” and she laughed. - -Then Rose took up her sermon again, and Dorothy walked to the back of -the crumbling cabin, through the vileness of the cow-shed, which was -connected with the house to save wintry exposures in caring for the -cattle, now reduced in number to one lank, milkless cow. - -Two decrepit chickens fled as she came by, and a long-legged, -high-roofed pig lifted his snout above his empty trough and grunted a -famine-born appeal. Her feet were noiseless in the slough of muck -through which she picked her way with a grimace of disgust. At the open -back door she paused, hearing high voices within. About to enter, she -halted abruptly, and a look of intense attention came upon her face. The -speakers were hidden, but in the dimness at the far end of the room, she -saw the half of the bed,—one broken leg of it tied up to a splint of -wood,—and above, the white sheet upon the figure of the dead child. She -stayed motionless a moment, at first merely shocked at the rude noises -in the chamber of death, but, when about to knock, stopped short again -at the hearing of her own name. - -“Dory Maybrook’s a fool; don’t tell me about her!” - -“Well, I won’t. Ain’t I goin’ to have no more of that money?” It was Joe -Colkett who spoke. - -“You took five dollars last night,” said the woman. Her voice, strident -and high-pitched, sent a shiver of discomfort through Dorothy. “Didn’t -think no man would be mean enough to steal from under a dead child’s -pillow!” - -“I might ov took it all,—I’m that miserable. Don’t go to say I’m drunk. -I’m not. What did you do with the rest of it, anyway?” - -“I got Bill Churchman’s wife to buy me a white gown down the river, to -put on my child, and a white sheet, and then there’s the money to fetch -the preacher. I couldn’t get no sheet until I paid your reckonin’ for -whisky. There ain’t much left.” - -“I’m dreadful sorry,” said the man. - -“Oh, don’t go a-whinin’ round me! Just let me alone! I was a fool to -have took a man like you, that ain’t got no sense and no work in him!” - -“I wouldn’t ov sayed that, Susie.” - -“No? Well, I say it. What did that lawyer man tell you about the -mortgage? When has we got to go?” - -“Oh, he says we may bide till next winter; but he’s to have the cow and -the pig.” - -“And you said you’d give ’em up?” - -“Yes. What could I ov done? Susie, don’t you set there a-cryin’. I can -git a lumber job, and we’ll look about, and Mr. Lyndsay he’ll give us a -bit of money.” - -“No, he won’t. Dory Maybrook she’ll tell him Mr. Carington gave you some -money, and Dory she’ll tell him, too, it’s no use helpin’ a drunken -brute.” - -“I said I wouldn’t drink no more, and I won’t. You might believe me, -Susie. Ain’t I allus loved you, and slaved for you and them dead -children, and not mine neither? I’m not a bad man, if I do take a drop -now and again.” - -“If you was a worse man, I’d ov liked you better. A great strong man -like you, and all these rich folks round here.” - -“What!” he exclaimed. - -Dorothy started. She would have liked to see those two faces. - -“If you was to care for me a little, Susie, I’d do most anything you -wanted.” - -“Ain’t that Carington comin’ up in September, and didn’t he ask you to -go into the woods after caribou with him? There ain’t no better hunter -than you in these parts.” As she spoke, her voice became low and softer, -so that the listener scarcely heard it. “Them city folks carries a lot -of money about with ’em, and watches and things. We’ve got to get away, -and we’ve got to live, Joe Colkett,—to live, I say!” - -“Do you want me to steal the man’s money?” - -“Oh, stealin’ gits found out. Ain’t we been robbed? Who stole our house -and all my man’s earnin’s?” - -“What is it you want, Susie?” He spoke timidly. - -“I want a man as is a man, and ain’t afeard,—you ain’t him!” - -“Didn’t I say I’d do ’most anything for you?” - -“’Most anything!” - -“Well, anything.” Then there was a moment of utter silence. “You -wouldn’t go to want me to do nothin’ wrong.” - -“Well, you are a fool! Ain’t folks lost in them woods sometimes, and -never found?” - -“I can’t do it,” said the man, hoarsely. “I said I couldn’t, and I -can’t. I—I can’t,” and he was heard moving to and fro in the agitated -indecision of a great temptation. Dorothy began to fear that she would -come into view. - -“I can’t,” he repeated. - -“But he will,” murmured Dorothy, falling back noiselessly. Then, -stepping through a break in the rotten boards of the shed, she bent low -among the alders and fled. When away in the woods, she walked until she -came again to Rose. “They’re in,” she said. “Mind, we’ve just come. -Don’t let on I left you—hush—not now. There’s a reason. I can’t explain -now. Come.” - -Rose, rather bewildered, followed her. A few paces from the closed door -she stood still, while Dorothy, going on, called gently, “Susie -Colkett,” and knocked as she spoke. - -“Oh, it’s you!” said the mistress of the house, as she came forward to -the doorway. - -“Yes; Miss Lyndsay came up with me. Dear me! I’m that tired!” - -Mrs. Colkett, from her grim height of leanness, looked sharply at the -speaker. “That ain’t common with you.” Then she came out and went up to -Rose. “Won’t you come in?” she said. “It ain’t much of a house, but poor -folks has got to put up with what they can git.” The stooping carriage, -the high, red cheek-bones, and the large, yellow teeth struck the young -woman unpleasantly. That the mother said nothing of the dead child -within seemed strange. - -“I—I couldn’t now,—not now,” said Rose, gently. “I wanted to say we were -all so—so very sorry for you. It’s only just a year last week that my -own little brother died, you know.” - -“And, Susie, it was the same thing, oh, just the same,” said Dorothy, -softly. - -“My father would like to know if there is anything you want; -anything—really anything we can do?” - -“No,” she said. At one moment she was filled with eager greed to get all -that was to be had out of these fine people; at the next she was shaken -by a storm of anger at the contrast between these deaths. She had a -crude remembrance of the decencies and order of the funeral of Harry -Lyndsay, and then of Joe coming in with the rough coffin, of the place -back in the woods where her two children lay in unmarked graves. On such -recollections the mere brutalness of love of her offspring dwelt with -savagery of comment. She had seen the small stone which had been set -over the little Lyndsay, in the late spring, just before the family had -come upon the river. These things had been in her mind for days, and now -it was hard to conceal her feelings She would have liked to take an ax -and break the modest memorial of their dead. She said, merely, “No, no!” -to Rose, and then, shortly, “Joe and me are much obliged, miss.” - -“You will let us know if we can help you?” Her visible emotion Rose, -very naturally, misinterpreted. Dorothy stood by, grave, silent, and -watchful. - -“Where’s your man?” she said, as Rose bade good-by and turned away. Joe, -stunned, half afraid of his masterful temptress, had remained in the -cabin. “Oh, Susie,” added Dorothy, in lower tones, “I hope he hasn’t -been drinking again?” - -“What’s that your business?” returned the other woman. “Guess I can take -care of my man.” - -“I am not so sure of that; but I didn’t mean to offend you.” - -“Then you hadn’t ought to have meddled.” - -“All right,” said Dorothy; “good-by”; and, turning, she left Mrs. -Colkett and rejoined Rose. - -“What a woman!” she said, and then for a time neither spoke. - -When they were well on their way to the shore, Rose said: “I am -troubled, Mrs. Maybrook, that I so dislike any one as unfortunate as -that woman. But I don’t like her. I never, never want to go there again, -and I am sorry for her, too. Oh, I am as sorry as I can be; but—” - -Dorothy simply said, “I do not wonder.” And then, with a laugh, “The -fact is, Miss Rose, that Colkett woman’s bad; and, for my part, I’m a -right lopsided Christian. I can’t put on mourning for rattlesnakes just -the same as for doves. It’s a kind of comfort to find you aren’t much -better than I am.” - -“I,—indeed not!” - -Meanwhile Dorothy was debating in her mind how much she should tell her -companion. A side glance at the fresh young maiden face decided her. “I -said along back I would explain what kept me so long. I cannot. They -were talking about me. It wasn’t very pleasant. I overheard something -disagreeable. I reckon I’ll come over and see about it with Mr. Lyndsay. -Do you chance to know Mr. Carington that fishes up to Island Camp?” - -“No.” Rose felt that whatever was withheld concerned—must concern—this -gentleman. “But I am immensely curious,” she said. - -“Are you?” cried Dorothy, laughing. “I am going to keep my mouth shut -for twenty-four hours, and that’s real, rity-dity penance, I can tell -you! Did you never see Mr. Carington? Why, he’s right up river, just two -or three miles.” - -“No,—or yes, with my glass a moment, ever so far away. What is he like?” - -“Oh, there’s two.” - -“Not twins?” - -“No. There’s a Mr. Ellett. He’s a man walks about and—well, he walks -about.” - -Rose laughed. She felt the description to be somewhat indistinct, and -said so. - -“Kind of man says ‘Oh!’ when you talk to him. Awful neat man,—wears -glasses?” - -“And the other?” - -“He’s a well-set-up man. Stands up strong on his hind legs.” - -“His what?” - -“His hind legs. He’s pretty smart with a boat, and a gun, too. He’s got -a way of putting his head back, and sort of looking you over, as if he -was taking stock of you. It’s not as if he was stuck up or saucy. It’s -just a way your father has, too, Miss Rose.” - -“Indeed!” Miss Lyndsay was not quite sure she desired any one to -resemble her father. “Here we are at the landing.” - -“You won’t mind if I ask you, Miss Rose, not to say—there -was—anything—anything wrong?” - -“No, of course not, if you wish it; but I do want to know,” and then -they went away homeward, down the highway of the waters. In fact, as to -this matter of which she was not to speak, Rose was vastly curious, and -lay long awake that night, smiling at times over the description of the -dwellers at the Island Camp. - -Dorothy slipped away up the ox-road, from the river-bank opposite the -Cliff Camp, and went with slow and unusually thoughtful steps through -the wood. At the gate of their clearing she found Hiram, as usual, -waiting for her like a patient dog for the master. - -“You’ve been a long time,” he said. - -“Yes,—I could not help it. Are the cows milked!” - -“No. I kind of forgot.” - -“Better go and milk them now,” she said; “and don’t forget to feed the -hogs, and put the bars up,—one, two, three things,” and she smiled; -“mind, three things.” - -“Oh, now I’m p’inted right. I’ll go. The bars, you said?” - -“Yes, the bars.” And he went away, saying, “One, two, three, one, two, -three. I might forget them bars!” And meanwhile the wife moved homeward, -still deep in thought. - - - - - CHAPTER IX - - -At breakfast next day, Rose came in late. - -“What, overslept yourself?” said her father, as she went the round of -the table with her morning kisses. - -“Yes; I couldn’t get to sleep.” - -“And what kept you awake?” said Miss Anne, who still, to the surprise of -all, appeared almost daily at the morning meal. “A penny for your -thoughts.” - -“I was guessing a riddle; but I took it into my sleep unanswered.” - -“A good many riddles have been answered in sleep,” said Miss Anne. “Was -yours?” - -“No. Oh, no, Master Ned; I shall not tell it.” - -“That’s the hardest riddle ever was,” cried the boy. “I have to guess -what the riddle is, and then what the answer is.” - -“You will never, never know.” - -“May we ask twenty questions about it?” said Dick. “Animal, vegetable, -or mineral?” - -“I should be puzzled. To what kingdom do morals belong?” - -“Why, who ever heard of mineral or vegetable morals?” - -“The last might admit of illustration,” said Miss Anne; and she began to -consider within herself the people she knew who had what she called -vegetable morals. - -“Is there a man in your riddle?” cried Jack. - -“A Boss-town man,” said Dick, with a grin. - -“Pinch him, Jack,” said Rose. - -“Oh!” cried Dick, responsive to the promptly applied punishment, and -making a wry face. “You would be awfully good at a Jersey courtship, -Rose, especially if you got Jack to help.” - -“A good friend at a pinch,” said Jack. And so these foolish people -rattled on, and by and by Mrs. Lyndsay said: - -“Rose, you have not told us anything about Mrs. Maybrook and those poor -Colketts. I did not ask you last night, you were so sleepy.” - -“Don’t ask me now,” said Rose. “I never saw such a horrible creature as -that woman.” - -“But her child is dead!” said Mrs. Lyndsay, with gentle inconsequence. - -“I think her altogether hateful,” insisted Rose. - -“Altogether hateful?” cried Anne. “I like these complete natures. It -must simplify things in life so satisfactorily. Amiability would become -so useless an effort. To be altogether and hopelessly aside from the -possibilities of affection or respect might save a deal of moral -exertion.” - -“I don’t think I understand,” said Mrs. Lyndsay; “or, if I do, I am very -sure that it isn’t a nice thing to say. “Wouldn’t it be as simple and -better to be altogether lovable?” - -“No, no,” cried Anne; “you have tried that, and does it really pay, -dear?” Margaret was a trifle uncertain as to the compliment, and Anne, -much delighted at her game of what she called mental cat’s-cradle, was -about to go on, when Pierre came in. - -“Ah, here is the mail,” said Lyndsay, and emptied out the bag on a -side-table. - -“I have been yearning for a newspaper,” said Anne. - -“Not I,” cried her brother, as he walked around the table distributing -the letters. “Ah,” he said, “my friend North. He was to have joined us -with his wife next week, Anne; but Clayborne is dead. You will all be -sorry to hear that. North says—it is, as usual, interesting. Shall I -read it?” - -“Oh, certainly, Archie,—all of it. I am very sorry. It will be a great -loss to Dr. North.” - -“And to our too small world of letters,” added Lyndsay. - -“He says, ‘We—that is, Vincent and I—had spent two hours with our old -friend in that great book-clad room we all know. We came away talking of -his vast knowledge of medieval men and things. I had chanced to say I -wondered how a gentleman in the fifteenth century spent a day, and he -had at once told it all in curious detail—as to hours, dress, diet, and -occupations. I left Vincent and went back for a book I had meant to -borrow. When I entered, Clayborne was seated as usual with a little book -in his hand. As he did not stir, I went up to him. The book was kept -open by his palm. I stooped over him and saw that the book was Fulke -Greville’s on Democracy. He was dead. He had noiselessly gone out, -without stir of a finger. He must have been receiving ideas, dealing -with them, and then—’ See, Margaret, this is his symbol of death. ‘I -suppose, dear Lyndsay, you will think it strange that I sat still a -half-hour beside my dead friend. I never felt the other world so close; -it seemed within touch. At last—as the great frame began to stiffen—the -book fell. I took it, marked the place, and put it in my pocket.’ - -“The rest,” said Lyndsay, “is of less interest.” - -“A happy exit,” said Anne. - -“I cannot think that,” returned Margaret. “I should want to know that I -was dying.” - -“One rarely does,” said her husband. “You get muddled, and say and do -foolish and ill-bred things. I sympathize with a friend of mine who gave -orders that he was to be left to die alone.” - -“How horrible! How unnatural!” - -“No, no,” cried Anne; “it is you who are ‘un-natured.’ But imagine dying -with such a dull book in hand! I was wondering what book I should want -to have last seen on earth.” - -“I can think of but one, Anne.” - -“Oh, that is not one book. Why call it a book? It is the books of many -men. Besides,—and this is terrible, Margaret,—I should like it to have -been some very earthsome book,—I had to coin an adjective,—and I should -like it to be like Ned’s friend—several.” - -Margaret was critically silent. All this was in a way unpleasant to her, -as the unusual is always to some people. - -“I do not think,” said Lyndsay, “I know with what thoughts I should like -to go hand in hand out of life. He was a fine, irritable old fellow. The -critics won’t bother him now.” - -“Who can tell? There may be archangelic critics, for all we know,” -returned Anne. “However, perhaps one won’t mind it. You know what Hafiz -says: ‘Happy are the dead, for they shall inherit the kingdom of -indifference.’” - -“Anne! Anne!” exclaimed Mrs. Lyndsay. - -“Between papa’s Aurelius and Aunt Anne’s Persian poets,” said Rose, in -haste to intervene, “the fairy-land of bewilderment is never far away.” - -“I have the wicked worldliness, brother, to want to know how Mr. -Clayborne left his money. Wasn’t he rich?” - -“Yes. Wait a moment. He divided it, North says, between him—that is -North, dear; I am glad of that; it will be in wise hands—and, really, -that queer creature, St. Clair; but he was clever enough to put his -share in trust.” - -“I am very glad. That too delightful man!” exclaimed Rose. “Do you -remember, Aunt Anne, the morning we spent with him at the Louvre? It was -like walking about with some Greek sculptor. He seemed to be away in -Athens while he talked.” - -“It was certainly interesting,” said her aunt. “A trifle naturalistic at -times, I thought.” - -“Was he? I don’t know. We used to wonder, mama, if he ever really cared -for Alice Leigh. After that morning I made up my mind he never did. He -spent ten minutes comparing her head and neck to that of the Diana.” - -“What a feminine test!” said Lyndsay. “If a man were to tell you that -you looked like the Venus of Melos, Rose, would you say, ‘No, sir; you -can’t care for me. It is impossible. I shall always,’ etc., etc.—the -usual formula?” - -“You are too bad, Pardy! My convictions are unshaken. Mr. St. Clair told -me; he did not tell her. If he had told her, I know he would have said -it in that soft, convinced way. She would have liked it.” - -“I see,” said Lyndsay; “it becomes clearer.” - -“Why do men sneer at him? I think him—well, I think him indescribably -attractive. The word ‘fascinating’ would answer. And I am sorry for poor -Mrs. North; oh, I am! Fascinating—yes, that is what _I_ should call him, -and oddly unconventional.” - -“I think you young folks are too apt to use that word ‘fascinating,’” -said her mother. “I have no liking for these men who can fascinate, and -can’t hold fast to the affections of any one.” - -At this Anne burst into inextinguishable laughter, and, with one hand -pressed on the aching side which was so apt to check her wilder mirth, -she held out the other to the astonished Mrs. Lyndsay, exclaiming: - -“A forfeit—a pun from Margaret. Five cents—ten cents; a forfeit!” - -“And what did I say?” - -“Oh!” cried Rose.—“the dear mama! She said—she said a man who could -fascinate and not hold on to one. Oh, mama, how could you?” - -“But I didn’t. I never meant such a thing.” - -“Yes! yes!” they cried; and, laughing, got up from table amidst -continued protests from the innocent punster. - -Rose followed her father on to the porch. - -“Mrs. Maybrook will be over at ten. She wants to see you. I told her you -would not fish to-day.” - -“What is it she wants?” - -“I do not know. Something serious, I fancy.” - -“No new trouble for her, I hope. By the way, old Polycarp’s bowman is -sick to-day and cannot go with you. Anne, for a wonder, wishes to go on -the water. Ned shall take Pierre. Not to disappoint you, I sent Polycarp -early up to the clearings to get a bowman. He will be back shortly. Good -luck to you!” And he went in to his letters, while Rose arranged her -fishing-basket, put in it a couple of books, and sat down to look over -the bright assortment of feathered lures in her father’s fly-book. Now -and then she glanced up the river, but no boat appeared. - -Meanwhile Mrs. Maybrook came, and went. Rose heard her father say to -her, as she went out: - -“No; it must not be left in doubt.” He was of opinion that it might mean -little; but it might, on the other hand, mean much. Many are tempted, -and few fall. The idea of crime on this quiet river seemed almost absurd -to him. He added, “I shall mention it, you may feel sure of that, Mrs. -Maybrook. A Lady Macbeth in business up here is queer enough.” - -“I certainly do think he ought to be told,” said Dorothy. - -These bits of talk much puzzled Rose. As to Dorothy, she lingered a -while to chat with Anne, who sat with her hands in her lap in that -entire idleness which more than any other thing on earth exasperated -Margaret Lyndsay. Below, on the beach, Ned was preparing, a little -troubled because the other boys were not to go with him, while they, -quite reconciled to the decree of parental fate, were gaily launching -their canoe, and singing, as they poled up-stream: - - “I would not gi’e my bonny Rose, - My bonny Rose-a-Lyndsaye, - For all the wealth the ocean knows, - Or the wale of the lands of Lyndsaye.” - -Then Rose waved her handkerchief, and, much disappointed, again took her -field-glass and still saw no canoe. At last Mrs. Lyndsay came out, and -they sat in the pleasant sunshine, the mother sewing with even -constancy, which as seriously annoyed Anne as her own absence of all -manual employ did the little mother. - -Very soon Anne became engaged in her usual amusement of recklessly -tangling some one in the toils of statements, arguments, and opinions in -which she herself had no serious belief; since, I should add, this -bright, humorous, and strangely learned creature was, under all, a woman -of strong views and deliberately won religious beliefs. - -When Rose, distracted from her regrets at the loss of the forenoon -fishing, began to hear the talk, Anne had just said: - -“I don’t see how the world could go on at all without fibs.” - -Upon which Mrs. Lyndsay, despite years of acquaintance with her -sister-in-law, pricked her finger and dropped her thimble, and took to -her fan. - -“You see, there is no commandment against it, Margaret.” - -“But, Anne, ‘Thou shalt not hear false witness,’” said Mrs. Lyndsay. - -“But suppose I tell a harmless fib about myself, or praise some one I -should like to—to slap?” - -“It’s all false witness, I reckon,” said Dorothy. “If I ain’t my own -neighbor, I’d like to know who is?” - -Anne smiled. That this fly was not easily meshed in her sophistical web -only excited the spider. - -“It would be a horrid addition to one’s responsibilities to be one’s own -neighbor. I should move away. After all, Margaret, isn’t the chief use -of habitual truthfulness to enable one at need to lie with useful -probability of being believed?” - -By this time Mrs. Lyndsay was nearly past the possibility of -remonstrance. She let fall the work she had resumed, and, rocking -steadily, began to fan herself with deliberate slowness. A little she -suspected this baited snare; but not to seize it was beyond her power of -self-control. - -“I am thankful my boys are not here. You will say it is a jest. Whether -it is a jest or not, it is equally the kind of thing which should not be -said—ever,” and here she shut the fan with decision, as if that also -closed the argument. - -“I was thinking I’m rather on Miss Anne’s side,” said Dorothy. “There’s -a heap of righteousness in some lies. Now, if I hadn’t been a dreadful -truth-speaking woman a good many years, my Hiram wouldn’t believe me -now; and the fact is I just stuff that man full of lies nowadays. I just -chuck them around like you feed chickens. I tell him he looks better -every day, and how he is getting stronger. Miss Anne, I shouldn’t wonder -a bit if the Lord loved a right cheerful liar.” - -“Good gracious!” said Margaret Lyndsay. “Dorothy, how can a good woman -like you say such things?” - -“I can. And he’s a-failing before my very eyes,” she added, upon which -she became silent. A tear or two dropped down her cheeks. “Now, wouldn’t -you lie, Mrs. Lyndsay, if you was me?” - -Anne looked up with interest as to what the answer might be. - -“I might; I would,” said Margaret. “I am afraid I should.” Then she put -a sympathetic hand on her friend’s knee, while Anne looked grave, and -Rose watched Dorothy, with instant pity in her heart. - -But this was not Dorothy’s common way. - -“My lands! I’ve been making a fool of myself!” She had the aversion of -the strong to the alms of sympathy. As she spoke she rose. “Come over -and see me when you feel right good, Miss Anne. I do love a talk—and my -roses! I’ve got a lot of them to blooming this year, and if that isn’t -enough to make a woman happy, what is?” - -With this she said good-by and went down to the beach. Anne watched with -envy, in which was no unkindliness, the vigor with which the dugout shot -forth from the shore. “A fine nature, that. It does one good to talk to -her. Example is a strange medicine. It is hard to analyze its value. -Because she endures with patience, I may. Yes; my helps are larger.” - -As Mrs. Maybrook walked up to her house she thought over, as was the -habit of her lonely life, the talk she had had with Mr. Lyndsay and its -occasion. In her younger days of wandering, Hiram and she had lived long -amidst rough people in the West, among miners and loose ruffians of all -degrees of wickedness. Thus the idea of crime was not so unfamiliar as -to strike her as it did Lyndsay. She had seen men shot, and had been -where murder and plunder were common. She had overheard a half-evolved -scheme of villainy, one to be easily thwarted; nor, knowing, as she did, -Colkett and his wife, did it greatly amaze her. Still, it was rare to -hear of crime on the river. She had found more or less explanation of -this wickedness in what she remembered of the Colketts, and had said in -explanation to Mr. Lyndsay: - -“She was a right fine-looking woman when she married Joe Colkett; but -she never was less than bad. She’s about the only one I ever came across -that would give her man—that is, her first man—drink, and buy it for -him, too, till she poisoned him. When the children came, and two were -idiots, like drunkards’ brats are, as every one knows, she put it all on -her first man—Fairlamb was his name. At last she was left with them, and -nothing to do but get another man. She’d have married ’most any one to -keep those children. That’s the only good about her; but the funny thing -is the way that stump of a fellow does love her. He does, though!” - -“A queer story!” said Lyndsay. - -Now, as she walked homeward, she said to herself, “But who on earth was -that Lady Macbeth Mr. Lyndsay talked about? It must be a book. I forgot -to ask. Think I’d like to read it. I’ll ask Miss Anne. The way a woman -p’ints a man is the thing. Guess I’ve always p’inted Hiram straight, -thank the Lord! I wonder if he’s seen about mending that scythe?” - -Meanwhile, by noon, came lazily back Polycarp and the canoe, without a -bowman. Lyndsay was vexed. There had been no one at the clearings who -could be had. Pierre, when he came in, must go down with the mail. Said -Lyndsay: - -“Go back at once. Stop at the Island Camp. There seems to be a lot of -men about there. I saw four canoes on the shore. The lumbermen are -driving on that reach. Some one said a photographer was camped there. He -can’t want both of his men. Don’t ask the gentlemen for a man; I don’t -know them. Now, mind what I say. Find somebody; I’ll pay him a dollar -for his half-day, but don’t come back without a bowman.” - -“It’s a great thing the way you p’int a man, papa,” said Rose. “Mrs. -Maybrook has the trick of it.” - -“He’ll find some one now. You had better fish the rock stretch, a mile -above the Island Camp. The Indian knows, and no one has cast a fly there -yet. Be careful not to get on Mr. Carington’s water. Watch Polycarp, or -he’ll let you fish down to the bay. They are all born poachers, these -fellows.” - -Polycarp said “Yes,” and no more, and poled doggedly away up the river, -not over well pleased. At the camp he beached his canoe. The -photographer had gone. The lumbermen could none of them get leave; and -the Indian, pleased at the prospect of a lazy half-day with his pipe, -was on his way back to his canoe, when the tent-fly of the larger canvas -home was parted, and he heard: - -“Halloa! Want anything?” - -“Want man for bow to pole down at Cliff Camp. Mr. Lyndsay he goin’ -a-fishin’, and my man sick—hurt leg. No much good.” - -“Well, ask the lumbermen.” - -“No make any use.” At this appeared a second man, also, like the first, -in knickerbockers. He wore a glass on one eye, and looked Polycarp over -curiously. Then he went back, and lay down with a novel and a pipe. - -“Hold on!” said Carington. “Take one of our men; Mr. Ellett isn’t going -to fish to-day.” Then his face lit up with a quick look of merriment. -“What fun! I’ll go myself!” - -“You wouldn’t do that? I wouldn’t do that!” said a voice from the tent. -Now, opposition was to this young man like fuel to fire. - -“Why not?” he said. - -“Might be awkward.” - -“Oh, you be hanged! Look here, my man, what’s your name?” - -“Polycarp.” - -“Well, you antique saint, I mean to go down with you and pole for your -Mr.—what’s his name? oh, Lyndsay, is it? I can pole. Don’t be afraid. -Here’s a dollar if you don’t let on,—tell, I mean.” - -The Indian grinned. - -“This is a spree, Polyglot—Poly-carp—Poly-salmon, or whatever your -multitudinous fishy name is. Do you know what a spree is?” - -“Plenty heap whisky,” said the Indian. - -“Well, there are varieties. Can you hold your tongue?” - -“Yes—can hold tongue.” - -“You can fib a bit?” - -“Heap much.” - -“Then remember I am one of the men up here, no matter who.” - -“Well, of all the absurd things!” said the mentor within the tent. - -“By St. Botolph, as they say in Boston, I need a little absurdity to -make a decent average after a fortnight with you, you confounded old -conventional _et cætera_.” And, talking or laughing, he presently -emerged in pretty well soiled velveteens, a dingy jacket, slouched felt -hat, and his trousers stuffed in his long boots. - -“Are you really going?” said Ellett. - -“I am. Come along, Polycarp. I fancy I’m dressed in character. What fun! -He will want to pay me,” and he whistled as he pushed the bow out into -the stream and sat down to paddle. - -Meanwhile Mr. Oliver Ellett considered his vanishing friend from afar -with mingled feelings of dismay and admiration. “That is a very -remarkable man. I couldn’t possibly have done that. I think there are -several brief insanities besides anger.” Then, as if surprised at his -own cleverness, he added, “I wish Carington had heard that. Confound -it!” and he smote an army of unseen midges who had taken advantage of -his abstraction to prey on the ruddy cheeks, which, with a slight -tendency to stoutness of girth, gave him a look of youthfulness he much -detested. - -“What was it Fred said last night about remorse and midges? Confound it, -I forget. Blank the things! Get a smudge, Steve,—two smudges!” And he -retired again to the tent and his novel. - -He had been drowsily considering the fates of a despairing young woman -for a half-hour or more, when he was aware of an unfamiliar voice -outside of the tent. Steve, the guide, an honest, good-tempered Gaspé -man, was heard to say: - -“Mr. Carington—he went away a bit back. I didn’t see him, sir. I was -getting cedar bark for smudges.” - -“Where did he go?” - -“Michelle, where is Mr. Carington? Where did he go?” - -‘The bowman, fully prepared, replied at once: - -“I don’t rightly know.” - -At this Mr. Ellett bounded from his mattress, and appeared without. The -voice he heard first was unmistakably that of a man of his own world. - -“Beg pardon,” he said; “I was dozing. I am Mr. Oliver Ellett. Won’t you -come in?” - -“No, thank you. I have but a few minutes. I am Mr. Lyndsay, from the -Cliff Camp. I came to see Mr. Carington. Is he here?” - -“No. He has gone off somewhere.” - -“On the river?” - -“I don’t think he is fishing. Perhaps, if you were to come in and wait a -little, he might turn up.” - -But this Lyndsay declined. He had run up with Pierre’s canoe, and must -return to get rid of some yet unanswered letters and be in time to fish -the lower pool. - -At last, after a little chat about the salmon, he said: “Are you not -Oliver Ellett’s son, of Boston? I think it must be so: the resemblance -is strong. We were classmates at Harvard.” - -“Yes,” said Ellett; “he was my father.” - -“He was stroke-oar in my boat. If you are as good a fellow—oh, if you -are half as good a fellow—we shall be glad to see you and your friend at -the Cliff Camp.” - -“It will give us great pleasure; and what shall I say to Carington?” - -“That can wait. By the way, I sent that Indian of mine to the lumbermen -to get a bowman for half a day. I trust he did not trouble you. I gave -him strict orders. I saw he had been successful. We passed him as I came -up.” - -“Yes, he got some one,” said Ellett. “It was not one of our men.” And -so, with further talk of flies and fish, he carefully conducted Mr. -Lyndsay to his canoe, and was relieved to hear him tell Pierre to land -him on the far shore. - -“One feels the need to use one’s legs here. Meet me at the timber brow,” -he said to Pierre. “I shall walk fast. Good-by, Mr. Ellett, and come -soon to see us.” - -Ellett stood a moment, and then went back to his tent. “I wonder whom he -is to pole for? It isn’t Mr. Lyndsay. Christopher Columbus! What a lot -of mischief you are responsible for! No wonder Fred says you have pretty -near as much sin to your count as that fair explorer who discovered the -new world of wickedness. By George! If it should be the woman! He stared -at her, Sunday, through his glass as they went by, until I told him it -wasn’t decent. He said it did bring her pretty close. Well, I never -heard of falling in love through a telescope. Now, that wasn’t a bad -idea at all.” He had no high estimate of himself, and was occasionally -overcome at his own cleverness. “This beats my novel all to bits. More -smudge, Michelle!” - -Meanwhile the canoe ran down-stream, Fred Carington in the bow, and -Polycarp, with his changeless, coppery visage, astern. - -As the Indian had by no means hurried himself, the morning was past and -luncheon long over when Rose saw the canoe returning. Lyndsay had not -come back. At all events, she would have the afternoon fishing. - - - - - CHAPTER X - - -When Mr. Lyndsay reached home, Rose had gone, and he had no chance to -take a look at the new bowman: he hoped he was competent. The man in the -bow especially has to judge with decision as to the watery way before -him, to avoid shallows, to look out for rocks, and instantly to obey -every order from the stern. - -When Polycarp’s birch, for the Indians always use the bark canoe, ran -close to the beach, the bowman stepped out, as the way is, into the -water and drew the bark to the shore. Polycarp, silent as a monk of La -Trappe, went up the steps. The boys were absent, Miss Anne was off with -big-voiced Tom, and Mr. Lyndsay had not returned. Carington began to be -curious. “Great Scott!” he exclaimed, for here was a young woman coming -gaily down the steps. She wore a boy’s cap and carried a basket. Behind -her came Polycarp with her rods. - -It is the business of the bowman to use his eyes and not his tongue. The -former were now discreetly busy. I scarcely ever knew a talkative -bowman. Talk is the privilege of the man at the stern, who rarely -hesitates to advise as to the handling of a fish, or to converse with -easy freedom. - -“I scarcely bargained for this,” said Fred to himself. “It’s high -comedy, rather. I am in for it. Here goes!” And he drew the side of the -birch close to the shore, readjusted a stone or two of those placed for -landing and then steadied the canoe. Miss Lyndsay put a hand on his -shoulder, stepped lightly in, and sat down. As usual in this watery -travel the low seat for the fisherman is set to face in the direction in -which the boat moves, so as to give the view ahead. When about to fish -the canoe is run ashore,—beached, they say,—and the seat is turned so as -to look to the stern. - -“We are to fish the upper—the rock pool, Polycarp; above the Island -Camp—a mile or so, I believe.” - -“Me know.” - -“And you are to be careful not to go beyond a certain dead pine, or to -get onto the water of the Island Camp. We don’t know those people, and I -wish to be careful.” - -“Me know. Last drop best. Have to cast a little over. No help it.” - -“No, not a foot! These are a couple of Boston gentlemen, and very likely -to be disagreeable as to boundaries.” Rose was thinking aloud. - -Thereupon the bowman was tempted—“I did hear tell they was awful nice -men.“ - -“Indeed!” said Rose, not fancying this reply. - -“There won’t nobody know,” muttered Polycarp, with a chuckle. - -“You bad old poacher,” she returned, laughing. “Here is some tobacco for -you; you may smoke, but I can’t have you chewing. As to poaching, I hope -it won’t be necessary.” - -As she spoke, the poles clinked as one on the rocks and pebbles, and, -keeping close to shore, they gradually forged up-stream, Rose lying back -at lazy ease, and hardly hearing the rare words of order or warning from -stern to bow. By and by, being, as I have said, an observant young -person, she fell to noticing the symmetry and strong lines of her -bowman’s figure, and then the thick, brown half-curl of hair under the -felt hat. The action, as it repeated itself over and over, struck her -fancy. She took at last to analyzing the movement, which beautifully -brings out the curves of the tense muscles. She saw that poling on the -right side begins with the left hand above, the right below; and that, -in the recover and forward lift for a new hold on the bottom, the right -hand is shifted above the left, and the pole is carried forward through -the relaxed grip of the left hand, and the push begins again. At last -she took out her sketch-book, and pretty soon caught a neat likeness of -the man in the last moment of the forward shove, when the balancing -power of the man in these unsteady vessels is the most severely tried. -Her unconscious model, now warming to the work, had half forgotten the -awkwardness of the position in the pleasure of this manly use of -well-trained muscles. A little later and he saw Ellett, as they sat down -to take their paddles to cross the quieter water before the camp, in -order to win the farther shore. “Confound his impudence!” said Carington -to himself, as he became aware of his friend coolly inspecting them with -a field-glass from a bank on the margin. - -“Who is that man?” said Miss Lyndsay, turning toward Polycarp. - -“Not know name.” - -“Aren’t there two gentlemen fishing this reach? How much water have -they?” - -An Indian usually answers the last question, taking no notice of the -first. “They got Mr. George—his water. From bogan up to big tree.” - -“Bogan? What is that?” - -“Just bogan,” said Polycarp. His descriptive powers, as well as his -English, were limited. The word which puzzled her is probably an old -English term. Still unsatisfied, Rose addressed the tall bowman. “What -is your name, bowman?” - -“Frederick, ma’am.” - -“But your whole name?” - -“Fairfield.” In fact, it was his middle name. - -“What is a bogan, Fairfield?” - -“A kind of a little bay like.” He was about to say a _cul-de-sac_, but -stayed his tongue in time. - -“And what is that yellow stuff all along the shore? It looks like -sulphur.” - -“It’s the pollen of the alders.” - -“Pollen!” said Rose. - -“Yes; that’s what the gentlemen calls it. Drops off them bushes, ma’am. -Pullen or pollen—I don’t rightly mind.” - -“Where is our pool, Polycarp?” - -“’Most to it now.” - -“Oh, there are the burnt lands,” said Rose. “What a dreadfully -sad-looking place!” This was a mere personal reflection, unaddressed; -but the bowman was now in the spirit of his part, and made a shy cast -for a rise of interest in his human freight. - -“It’s right mournsome-like.” - -The fish rose. “What a beautiful word! Mournsome! Fearsome is another -good word up here.” - -“Hadn’t we best anchor?” said Carington. “I say, Polycarp, how is it? I -don’t know this upper water.” - -Rose took a look at the back of this curly head. The voice had not the -intonations of Gaspé, but rang out clear over the noise of the rapids. -Also the “a’s” were broad, and there was a decided south-land note in -it, with which Rose was too unfamiliar to cause suspicion. Polycarp -silently turned the canoe, and in a moment beached it. Rose stood; the -chair was shifted, and now in a few moments they were at the top of the -pool, a swift flow of dark water all around them. - -“Anchor—drop,” said Polycarp, as they swung to the current. “Keepee hold -short.” - -The stream was a hundred yards wide. The hills rose high to right, and -already a favoring shadow was on the pool. Rose had lost much time by -reason of this trouble about the bowman. It was well on toward evening. -A fish leaped below and then another. It was of a truth most beautiful, -and the man in the bow, who was now behind Rose, was longing to say as -much, but Rose was intent on other matters. A moderate-sized Jock Scott -was adjusted, and she began to cast,—still awkwardly enough. - -“I must stand,” said Rose. Then she cast better, but still in vain. An -hour went by. Two people were beginning to consider it a little dull. At -last once more Polycarp said, “Drop!” Rose laid her rod on the thwarts, -as they slid down some thirty feet, the fly and leader hanging in the -water, and the butt behind her. Of a sudden there was a mad splash, the -reel ran out, and the bowman, catching the butt, raised the rod, and, -leaning over her, put it in her hands. “Take care!” he said, “he’s off,” -and away he went across the water. - -“How splendid!” cried Rose, as she lowered the tip, when the fish made a -mighty leap, eighty feet away, and his silvery arched form fell amidst -foam onto the dark waves. - -“Look out! More jump!” cried the Indian; and again the reel clicked -busily. - -“Reel! Reel!” said the bowman. “Well done, miss! Reel! Logs coming, -Polycarp!” It was true. A half-dozen dark logs were coming down on them. - -“Darn logs!” said the Indian, much excited. “You hold hard now. Tip up!” - -“Yes. Tip up! tip up!” cried Carington. “There, can you hold him? If you -can’t, he will get the line among the logs.” They were now out of the -current in a side eddy. “So—so! Hold there, Polycarp! If he waits a -half-minute before he runs, we shall have him. Good! He’s coming! Now -lift him, miss! Well done! Reel! Reel! These running fish don’t last.” - -“See belly,—much dead. Yah,” said the Indian; and the gaff was in, and, -amidst laughter and wild splashing, which covered her with water, a fine -salmon was in the boat. - -“Admirably done, miss!” said Carington. “That was well handled.” Then he -added, “Them fresh-run fish is tough uns.” - -Rose began, even amid her tire and excitement, to be a little puzzled. -However, they went back to the same drop, and the casting went on as -before. A half-hour passed. It was now long after six o’clock. - -“See him rise, ma’am?” said Polycarp. “Best fish—heap late, heap best -fish.” - -She cast again, and this time saw the swirl in the water and a glance of -white. - -“Much hungry!” - -After a little while the fly was changed, and then again, until at last -the first fly was tried anew. - -“No good! He no come!” - -“Hold on a moment,” said Carington. “Try this”; and he took from his -head his soft felt hat and threw it over to Polycarp. “There’s a fly in -the band: try that. It is a white miller.” - -“No good!” said Polycarp; but he put it on. The next moment Rose saw a -fish dart sideways through the water, and with open mouth take the fly. -Then the anchor was up, and the fish away for a wild run down-stream, -the reel whizzing, pausing, and whizzing again. For a half-hour of -running and reeling this went on. At length the fish hung out steadily -in the strong water, his head to the current, while Rose with all her -power held him. - -“These runs down-stream are rare,” said Carington; “How strong he is!” - -For an hour the sky had been overcast, and the river-bed in the nest of -hills was fast growing dim. - -“Are you tired?” said the bowman. “Shall I take the rod? It might spell -you.” - -“Oh, no! Thank you! No.” - -“Give him a little line—so, slowly; but be careful. Drop the tip a -little. It may tempt him to run again. No! How he holds on! Might I -suggest, Miss Lyndsay,”—he had quite forgotten his part in the -excitement of the contest,—“may I suggest that we drop below him?” - -This was tried. The fish came duly down-stream. The canoe was again -brought to the bank, and again there was the salmon out in the heavy -water. Each motion of his tail revealed itself by a single “click, -click” of the reel. It was now dusk. - -“It is that limp rod: it has no power,” said Carington, and, reaching -over, he caught a few small stones from the bank, and threw them at the -point where at the end of a perilously tense line the fish still held -his place. - -“No much good!” - -At last she got in a little line. The salmon was now not over twenty -feet from her rod-tip; but she could no longer see, and it was near to -eight o’clock, and, by reason of the coming storm, far more dark than -usual at that hour. - -“I shall be eaten by the sand-flies,” said Rose. “How they bite!” It was -now too dark to see line or rod-tip. - -“Hold her, Polycarp,” said the bowman. “I will make a smudge.” And in a -moment a thick smoke was whirling from the beach, and cast around her by -the rising wind. Then, of a sudden, the smudge, blown into ruddy flame, -sent a long flare of light across the water. In an instant the line came -home. - -“He is gone!” cried Rose, in accents of despair. - -“No! no!” cried Carington, from the beach: “reel!” - -The fish, caught by the light, had rushed wildly toward it, and run his -nose onto the shore. The bowman, catching first a handful of gravel, -seized it by the tail, and threw it high up onto the shore, the rod-tip -snapping as Rose threw it back of her. - -“Did any one ever see the like?” said Carington. - -“Me see—twice—two time,” said the Indian, as he took the spring balance -from the fishing-basket. - -“Oh, this is fishing!” cried Rose. “It must be quite two hours! I know -what papa will say. He will say, ‘Bad fishing!’” - -“But I assure you,” said Carington, from the darkened shore, eight or -ten feet away, “I can assure you no one could have handled that fish -better!” - -At this Rose was struck silent, and now she wanted to get a good look at -this eccentric bowman. - -“No see,” said Polycarp; “’bout twenty-nine pound; got match?” - -“Ah!” she exclaimed, for now in an instant there fell a fury of driving -rain, which struck her on the face and hands like spent shot. - -“Let me help you,” said Carington. “Here. How dark it is! Take my hand. -This spruce will hold off the rain a while.” Rose leaped out in haste. - -“It won’t last,” added the bowman. - -“But what does my fish weigh? Couldn’t you strike a match and see? I -want to know.” - -“Certainly, ma’am!” he said, urgently sensible of the need to get back -into character. “Best get it weighed soon. Them fish drops weight a -lot.” So saying, he took out a silver match-box, and, taking three -matches together, struck them on his corduroys, and hastily covered them -with the cavern every smoker knows how to make with his hands. The wind -put them out at once. - -“No good!” said Polycarp. - -“But I must know what my fish weighs,” urged this persistent young -woman. - -“Of course, ma’am!” said the much-amused Carington. - -It had become suddenly still darker. Above them the storm roared, as it -tossed the plumes of the unseen tree-tops, and the spruce was no longer -a cover. Miss Lyndsay squirmed, and gave a little laugh, as more and -more insolent drops crawled down her back. - -“Do hurry,” she said, “my good man.” - -Meanwhile, Carington again lit a match, this time in the shelter of his -hat, and kindled the resinous tips of a pine-branch he had torn away. - -“Thirty-one pounds and over—say thirty-two.” As he spoke he held up the -fiercely blazing branch, so that its red-and-orange light flared over -the water, and, seen in a million drops, cast for a moment dancing -shadows through the dense woodlands back of them. In this wild light the -Indian’s visage stood out like some antique bronze, and she saw for the -first time clearly a smiling brown face, clean shaven except for a -slight mustache. The bowman threw the branch on the water, where it -sparkled a moment, and said, cheerfully, “Will the canoe live in this -wind, Polycarp?” - -“Not know! Big much blow!” - -“Confound it!” said the bowman. “I think we had better wait a bit, -ma’am. Kind of rains like them clouds was buckets turned upside down. It -can’t last. Are you gettin’ wet, ma’am?” - -“No, I am wet,” said Rose. “Mama will be so uneasy. Couldn’t we go? We -must go! How long will it last?” - -Polycarp was silent, and the deluge went on pattering on the maples, -humming softly on the water when the wind ceased, and the intervals of -quiet let into the ear the myriad noises of the falling drops. Rose set -her soul to be patient. She was now too cold for comfort, and very -hopelessly soaked. But it was like her to say, “It is nobody’s fault, -and, after all, it is great fun.” Then Carington, liking the courage and -good sense of the woman, forgot himself again. - -“Don’t you think it is a little difficult sometimes to say just where -amusement ends, and—the other thing begins?” - -“What other thing?” said Rose, too wet and shivering to be acutely -critical. - -“Oh—discomfort!” - -“But I think one may be both amused and uncomfortable.” - -“Guess that’s so, miss,” said the actor. “It is holding up a little. The -clouds are breaking. By George! we have a moon—a bit of one!” - -“Go now,” said the sternman, as he tilted the canoe to rid it of water. - -“Can we risk it? Are you sure?” said Rose. - -Carington smiled. He was about to add, gaily, “Miss Lyndsay’s carriage -stops the way.” He did say, “All right, ma’am. It rains a mawsel, but -the wind’s nigh done. We’d have risked it alone. All ready?” - -In a moment they were away, in the power of the great river’s night -march to the sea. Never had Rose felt as full a sense of this vast -energy of resistless water. Again, as once before, she realized the -feeling of being walled in by darkness. Then there came the fierce rush -through white water, and things like gray hands tossed up to right and -left. - -“Look sharp for salmon pillow,” said the Indian. - -“Yes, yes!” cried Carington, intent on the stream before him, silent, a -little anxious. “Left! left!” he cried. And Rose saw close by, as they -fled on, a huge lift of waves, and then again they were away in a more -quiet current, and the moon was out and the torn clouds were racing -across its steady silver. - -“Here’s a paddle, ma’am,” said the bowman. “Try to use it; it will keep -you warm.” - -“Thanks,” she returned. “What a good idea, Fairfield!” And now in a few -moments she was more and more comfortable, and in proportion inclined to -talk and reflect. She concluded that the bowman must have been thrown -much with gentlemen in the fishing-season. She wondered if, on the -whole, it was good for a man in his position to see the easy comfort of -camps, the free use of money, and then to fall back into the hardships -and exposures of the winter lumbering. The man puzzled her a little as -she tried to reconcile him as he at times had appeared with what she -knew must be his common existence. - -“Is lumbering hard work, Fairfield?” She was now seated so as again to -face his back. - -“The woods, ma’am, is it, or the drive?” He was safe here. No man knew -better this wood-life. - -“Oh!—both.” - -“The spring drive is pretty stiff work; beats a circus, ma’am, jumpin’ -from log to log in quick water. Ever see a circus?” he added, with -ingenuous innocence. - -“Of course, often.” - -“I’d like to see a circus. I did hear tell of one once. There’s the -lights. Best let them know”—and he smote the waters with the flat of his -paddle. “Guess they’ll hear that.” - -The next moment they ran on to the beach, where Mr. Lyndsay was -standing. He had been somewhat anxious, but had laughed at the women’s -fears. - -“All right, Rosy?” he said. “Go up at once and change your clothes. You -must be wet through.” - -“I am all right, papa, and two such salmon; one took nearly two hours!” - -“Up with you.” - -“Yes, Pardy. Don’t forget to pay the man. He has been most capable and -very thoughtful. I should like to keep him always.” - -“What fun!” thought the bowman. - -“Needn’t mind, sir. I can come down for it ’most any time.” - -“I have no change, Rose,” said her father. “How much is it? Oh, a -dollar, I think I said. Come down to-morrow, and ask the cook now to -give you some tobacco.” - -“Thank you, sir, I doesn’t smoke—at present,” he added to himself. - -“Stop, papa!” cried Rose. “It is absurd to bring this poor fellow all -the way back for a dollar. I have my portemonnaie.” So saying, she -searched it in the dark. - -“Have you got it? Hurry, Rose. You will take cold. Bother the child. How -persistent you are!” - -Her fingers encountered only a bundle of notes of amounts not to be -known in the gloom, and then, in a pocket apart, a little gold dollar—a -luck-penny, kept for its rarity. She hesitated, but, being chilly and in -haste, said, “Here is a dollar, my man. It is one of our old-fashioned -gold dollars; but it is all right. I am very much obliged to you. If I -want you again, can you come?” - -“Maybe, ma’am. Depends on the lumber-boss.” - -“Well, good night.” - -“Good night, ma’am.” - -“Do come, Rose.” - -“That’s an odd sort of a man, Pardy,” said the young woman, while the -canoe sped away, and the odd sort of a man said: - -“Set me ashore at the ox-path; no, at the brow above. I’ll walk up. I am -soaked. I shall take Colkett’s dugout and cross at my camp. Here’s -another dollar, you old saint, and if ever you tell, I will scalp you!” - -“All right, Mr. Carington.” - -“Well,” exclaimed that gentleman, as he strode away, “if that wasn’t -fun, there isn’t decent cause left for a laugh in the universe.” Then he -lit a pipe, inspected by its dim light the gold dollar, and, smiling, -carefully put it away in a safe pocket. - - - - - CHAPTER XI - - -The transmutation of the emotions or the passions into one another is -among the mysteries of the sphere of morals. In some natures, even the -most sacred grief, the outcome of a child’s death, I have seen capable -of change into anger at a world in which such things are possible. - -Susan had loved her sturdy little boy with unreasoning ardor, and -indulged him to the utmost limit their scant means allowed. He had been -like her in face, and this pleased her. He had, too, her masculine -vigor, and seemed more bone of her bone than the two idiots who had gone -early to the grave. - -She sat just within the doorway, rocking. The chair creaked at each -strong impulse of her foot. An oblong of sunshine lay at her feet, and -in it a faded crape bonnet, last relic of a day when prosperity could -afford to grief a uniform. It had turned up in her vain search after a -decent garment for the dead. As she continued to rock with violence, the -loose planks of the floor moving, a toy ark, the gift of Dorothy to the -boy, fell from a shelf. Noah and his maimed beasts tumbled out, and lay -on their sides in the sun. She took no note of the scattered menagerie. - -The room was in no worse than its usual disarray, with no sign of that -terrible precision which we associate with the death-chamber. At last -she rose quickly, and, pushing the toys and bonnet aside with an -impatient foot, left the rocking-chair in motion, and trod heavily up -and down the room, opening and shutting her hands as she walked. She fed -her rage with each look she cast on her dead boy. - -A far gentler woman once said to me that there was for her in her -child’s death the brutality of insult. Some such feeling was now at work -with Susan Colkett. - -In her younger life she had lived on a farm in upper Canada, a tall, -pretty, slim girl, quick of tongue, unruly, and with an undeveloped and -sensual liking for luxury and ease. Then she married a man well enough -off to have given her a comfortable life. A certain incapacity to see -consequences, with that form of fearlessness which is without fear until -the results of action or inaction are too evident, led her to be -careless of debts. Then her husband drank, and grew weary of her -tornadoes of unreasoning anger; the idiot children came, and she began -to think of what even yet she might realize for herself if he were dead. -Making no effort to stop him, she let him go his way, seeing without one -restraining word the growth of a deadly habit. Dorothy had said that she -helped his downward course even more actively. His death left her -penniless, but free. Men were unwilling, however, to face her wild -temper, and when, at last, her looks were fast fading, to help the only -things in the world she cared for, she took the stout little man who had -for her from his youth an unchanging affection. Misfortune taught her no -good lessons. Even now she hated work, loved ease, and lacked -imagination to picture consequences. Amidst the animal distress her -child’s death occasioned, she was still capable of entertaining the -thought of crime; in fact, her loss contributed a new impulse in the -storm of fury it evoked. They were close to the end of their resources. -There is in Paris a Place St. Opportune. Who this saint was, I know not. -His biography might be of interest. There is probably a fallen angel of -the same name who makes the paths of virtue slippery. Crime had been -near to this woman for years, and ever nearer since disaster had been a -steady companion. She had lacked opportunity, and that alone. Nor was -this the only time she had cast temptation in the way of her -simple-minded husband. - -At last, as, striding to and fro, she went by the doorway, she saw -Dorothy, and with her a thin man in shining, much-worn, black alpaca -clothing. - -She knew at once that he was the preacher who had been brought up from -Mackenzie to bury her child. - -Upon this she turned back into the room, and stood a moment by the two -chairs on which lay the pine box which Joe had made. The little fellow -within it had been hardly changed by his brief illness. He was fair to -see; white, and strongly modeled; and now he was beautiful with the -double refinements of youth and death. She touched his cheek as if to -test the reality of death, and then kissed him, and, laying over him the -rude cover, turned away. - -At the door she met Dorothy and the minister. Dorothy said, “Good -morning, Susan.” - -“You’ve been a heap of time comin’.” - -Dorothy, glancing at Mrs. Colkett, did not enter, but stepped to one -side and, leaning against the log wall, waited. The little man in the -worn alpaca suit was stopped as he turned to go in by the gaunt form of -his hostess. - -“There ain’t no need to go in or to preach,” she said. - -Upon this Dorothy plucked at his coat-skirt, and, much embarrassed, he -fell back, saying, “That’s as friends please.” - -Then Joe came from the cow-shed and went in past his wife. As he went -by, he nodded cheerfully to Dorothy and to the preacher. “’Most ready; -won’t be long.” - -Mrs. Colkett stood looking across the clearing. The preacher, uneasily -moving to and fro, at last approached her again. “My sister,” he said, -“the hand of the Lord has been heavy on this household of his people.” -From her great height Susan Colkett cast her eyes down on the wan little -person below her. “It is fit,” he went on, “that while—” - -“Look here,” said Susan; “you’ve come to bury that child, and that’s all -you’re here for. Just set down and wait”; and so saying, she brought out -two crippled chairs. - -Dorothy said, “No, I will stand.” - -The preacher sat down without a word, and found occupation in keeping -his place, as the chair-legs bored unequally into the soft soil. At -last, greatly troubled, he looked toward Dorothy for consolation, and, -receiving none, at last fell on his knees in deep despair. “Oh, Lord!” -he cried, “move the heart of this woman that she may receive the message -of thy grace!” and on this Dory too knelt in the sunshine, while Susan -turned and went into the house. - -Then there arose within the rude noise of loud hammering, and, utterly -confused, the unhappy preacher looked up, and saw that he was alone with -Dorothy. - -“What manner of people are these?” he said, as they both arose. “I must -speak to her,” and he moved toward the door. - -“I wouldn’t,” said Dorothy, touching his coat. “Not now. Another time.” - -He said no more, and the pair stayed without, waiting with no further -words, while the hammering went on. At last it ceased. Joe came out, -wringing a finger. “I kind of mashed it,” he said, in an explanatory -voice. “Susie’s ready.” He went back, and soon came out again with the -white box held in front of him on his two outstretched arms. - -The mother followed, looking straight before her—a strange, -high-colored, set face, the tightly shut jaw making hard lines in the -lower cheek-curves. The meager preacher came after with a book in his -hand, and Dorothy followed. - -In the woods Joe stumbled once, and a moment after set down his strange -burden and wrung his hurt finger. Then he went on again into the deeper -woodland, and about two hundred yards from the house stopped and set the -box on a level stump. Before them were two crumbled mounds of earth, and -beyond a small open grave, not over-deep. - -The clergyman came forward. - -“I might put it in?” said Joe, interrogatively. - -“Yes,” said Dorothy. “Let me help.” And, taking the coffin at each end, -they let it down, for the grave was shallow. - -“Them roots is in the way; they bothered me when I was a-diggin’,” said -Joe. - -“Hush!” exclaimed Dorothy. “Hush!” - -As they stood up, the minister went on to read his simple burial -service. Susan Colkett paid, or seemed to pay, intense attention. At -last he ceased, and all stood still a moment in the deep wood-shadows, -for the twilight was near at hand. There was a little stir as Dorothy -took from her handkerchief a handful of roses and let them fall into the -open grave. Susan looked at her a moment, and then, turning to the -preacher, said, coldly: - -“Is that all of it? I don’t want none left out.” - -“Yes.” - -“Don’t rich people have no more said than that?” - -“No; that is all,” he replied, much astonished. “Wouldn’t you like me to -talk to you at the house!” - -“No, I wouldn’t. My man he’ll pay you.” And she walked away. The -minister wiped his brow, and sat down on a stump, while Dorothy waited, -and Joe calmly began to fill up the little grave. - -He paused once to give the minister the cost of his journey, and then -went on. - -“Come,” said Mrs. Maybrook. “No; don’t go in,” she added, as they passed -the cabin. “Let her alone.” - -“The Lord has made my errand hard,” he said. - -“No; he hasn’t took a hand in the matter at all,” she said. “It’s the -devil! Come!” And they disappeared in the darkening wood-spaces. - -Before Joe had quite done, he was aware of his wife again standing -beside him. - -“What’s wrong?” he said. “Best wait in the house. I’ll come. And don’t -bother none for the supper. I’ll cook it.” - -“Couldn’t you set a board over the boy?” she said. - -“Yes.” - -“They’re just buried like dead dogs!” - -“I’ll git somethin’.” - -“What’s the use, anyhow? If you were any good of a man, there’d be a -decent white stone like them Lyndsays has set.” - -“Oh, I’ll find somethin’, Susie! I’ll think about it.” He was anxious to -get through with it all, and somewhere deep in his mind was moved by her -want. - -“It ain’t no use thinking,” she said, “when you’ve got no money.” And -so, at last, she went away once more to the wretchedness they called -home, leaving him to complete his task. - -It was now dusk. He sat down on a log, and wiped his brow with his -sleeve. There was a little tobacco left in his pouch. He lit a pipe, and -sat awhile in dull rumination, like some slow ox, recalling her words. -At last he took the pipe out of his mouth, and stood up, as one set on -the clear track of an idea. A difficulty occurred to him. - -“I’ll do it. No one won’t know. There don’t nobody come here.” A moment -later a new obstacle arose is his mind, and he resumed his pipe and his -seat. - -“That’ll do,” he said. “I’ll get Dory to help. She won’t think for to -suspect none.” And so, much cheered by the prospect of pleasing his -wife, he went away to the cow-shed. - -His had been a poor, loveless life. An orphan boy, he had never -possessed ability or power to win affection or respect for anything -except his muscles. Yet a canine capacity to love without question was -in him, and the tall, gaunt woman who alone had put out a hand of -apparent trust to him had all of his simple attachment. - -Now he extinguished his pipe, knocked it on a tree to shake out the live -ashes, put it in his pocket decisively, and went back to the house. - -He had a sense of satisfaction in the notion that he would surprise his -wife with fulfilment of her desires: also he felt surprise, and as much -elation as he was capable of, at his own skill in seeing his way through -this enterprise. What she, the poor hurt mother, wanted was now in -single possession of a mind little able to transact mental business with -more than one importunate creditor at a time. - -To take what is not your own is common enough. The higher criminal mind -disposes of the matter with some sophistry as to the right to have a -share in the unjust excess of another’s property. The utterly immoral -nature gives it no thought, save how to act with safety. The lowest type -of man is untroubled as to the ethics of thieving, and as little as to -personal results. The idea that another might suffer in proportion to -what his own wife would gain never passed the threshold of this poor -fellow’s consciousness. What he was about to do seemed to him easy and -safe. He was certain that Susie would like it, and would think him more -of a man. And that was all. - - - - - CHAPTER XII - - -Mr. Lyndsay, as we now know, came back without having seen Mr. -Carington. His purpose was, however, unchanged. Yet, as there was no -immediate need to act, and no present danger, he concluded to wait, -quite sure that the two gentlemen on whom he had called must, when they -returned his courtesy, give him an easy chance to say to Carington what -he had heard. Thus having decided what to do, and that delay involved no -possibility of mischief, he put it all aside for the time. - -Meanwhile, the Island Camp was the scene of amusing debate. The next -morning, as they lay on their tent mattresses and smoked that most -blissful first love of the day, the after-breakfast pipe, Ellett took up -the talk of the night before. - -“I told you that you would get in a scrape.” - -“It wasn’t that. ‘My lands!’ as Mrs. Maybrook says, what a noble -adventure! If I only could do it again! No, I don’t repent. Far from it; -I would like to do it again. It was just too altogether delicious, as -the girls say.” - -“But you will have to call. Mr. Lyndsay has been to see you, and go to -see him you must, if I have to carry you!” - -“But I can’t and I won’t! I am a bad boy. Just now it is all a beautiful -and adventurous dream. I don’t want to see that woman again—ever. It -would spoil the romance of it. Go yourself. You can drop down in -mid-morning. No one will be in. Leave my card on the table.” - -“What stuff, Fred! You can’t get out of it. Mr. Lyndsay wants to see -you. He called on you, not on me.” - -“But I don’t want to see him. Imagine my having to explain and -apologize, and fetch the whole thing down to the dreary level of prose. -I am ill; I am dead; I shall go home—anything!” - -He was at his high level of reckless enjoyment of a delightful -indiscretion, and a part of his delight lay in the distress it -occasioned his soberly conventional friend. He was himself, in truth, a -graver man than Ellett, but took into his work as a successful engineer -the same gaiety which ran riot in his holiday hours. It had its value -with the men who did work under his eyes, and helped him and them over -some hard places. At need he became instantly a cool, watchful, cautious -man, with the bearing and reserve of middle life. To those who saw him -only in his utter abandonment of glee, ready as a boy for any merry -enterprise, and by no means disliking it the more if it brought physical -risks, it was hardly conceivable that he should be, back of all this, a -man of strong opinions, political and religious, of definite views, and -of an almost fantastic sense of honor. - -“Can’t you be decently quiet a moment, and think a little?” - -“Don’t want to,” returned Carington. “Git away wid ye! You are like Eve: -you want to introduce a knowledge of good and evil into this Eden of -mine. Go, fish and let me alone. I want to dream it over: that scene in -the wood, the rain, the wild orange, light for a minute, that -copper-head saint. It was really great, Oliver! Beats the Bowery -Theater! And, oh!—I forgot to tell you. She told her pa I was such a -good bowman!—so thoughtful! and couldn’t she have me always? Always, -Oliver! The bliss of that!” - -“I don’t see how you can see anything amusing in it, Fred. It isn’t as -if this was some common New York girl, with a boarding-school -civilization. Now that’s a rather neat phrase, ‘a boarding-school -civilization.’” - -“Is it? What else?” - -“Nothing. I only meant to say these Lyndsays are gentlefolk, and won’t -be very well pleased.” - -“You old idiot! Do you suppose I don’t know that? Put your brains to -work. Here am I at the end of the first volume of a lovely romance; -situation entirely novel. I wish to stop there; the second and third -volumes are sure to fall off dismally. The problem is, how not to go on; -or, if I must, how to drop from poetry to prose.” - -“I should think you must have dropped pretty distinctly when Mr. Lyndsay -paid you; I suppose he did.” - -“Sir, I was paid in gold of the Bank of Spain—in coin no longer -current—by the woman herself.” - -“Would you kindly interpret?” - -“I will”; and he told the scene on the beach. - -“Let me see that gold dollar.” - -“See it! Not I. No profane eyes shall—” - -“Stuff and nonsense! She will very likely want it back. Probably it was -a luck-penny.” - -“Very like. I shall keep it for luck. You are an iconoclast of dreams. -Let’s go and kill fish. I have been trying to divide my enchanted mood -with you. It has been a dismal failure. The fact is, I know as well as -you—and a blank sight better—that this is a lady, that these are nice -people, and that I am in a scrape. But to-day they may all go to the -deuce and the bow-wows. ‘Let the great world spin forever, down the -ringing grooves of change.’ He must have meant a railway. I never -thought of that before. Don’t bother. I’ll go and call some day. Come, -let’s kill salmon.” And they went to their canoes. - -While this dreadful thing was agitating Mr. Ellett’s mind, it was also -receiving due consideration at the breakfast-table of the Cliff Camp. - -Rose Lyndsay, despite remonstrance, had been sent at once to bed on her -return, and supplied with hot tea and more substantial diet, and ordered -to go to sleep. Next to being wicked through and through, to be wet -through and through was, to Mrs. Lyndsay’s mind, one of the most serious -of human catastrophes. She was gently positive, and so Rose lay very -wide-awake, and considered at ease the events of a most agreeable day, -until, thinking with a little regret of her luck-penny, she fell asleep, -only to wake up with the sunlight streaming in as her mother opened the -curtains, and to hear the pervasive voices of the boys singing under her -window: - - Up in the mornin’ ’s nae for me! - -“Overslept yourself, Rose!” - -“Are you dry yet?” - -“That salmon is only thirty pounds. You awful fraud!” - -“All right, dear, to-day?” were the salutations of the noisy table, as -she distributed her morning kisses, and at last sat down. - -“One at a time,” she replied. “Fair play, boys. First, I am nearly dry. -Second, salmon always loses weight.” - -“I have noticed that,” laughed her father. “Tell us all about it, my -dear.” And upon this she related the adventures of the previous day. - -“I must have my luck-penny,” she added. “I was a goose to give it away, -but I was so cold and wet, and I was in such a hurry. I hated to send -the man away without a cent.” - -“It is odd that he took it,” said Anne. - -“Yes,” returned her brother. “These fellows are sharp enough about their -pay and about money; and he couldn’t have known what he was taking. -These coins circulate no longer, even in the States. He never said a -word, but merely put it in his pocket. What sort of a fellow is he, -Rose?” - -“It is so hard to describe people.” - -“It is impossible,” said Anne, “even on a passport.” - -“Not quite. Tall, and curly hair—very curly hair.” - -“That’s satisfactory, Rose,” remarked Jack. - -“I had not done. Oh, what I thought strange was the man’s manner. Now -and then he spoke as if he was talking to an equal, and really he has a -voice quite full of pleasant tones. The next minute he talked like -Thunder Tom, or worse.” - -“I must ask Carington about him. By the way, I was right as to Ellett. -He is a son of my old companion. I fancy they will be here to-day or -to-morrow. If this present Oliver is like his father, he will be solid, -stolid,—a rock of good sense.” - -“I don’t want him, Marcus Aurelius, nor the other. For a first-class B. -O. I prefer my young man of the gold dollar. But I must have it again. I -am not at all sure now that honesty is the best policy. When you see Mr. -Carington, Pardy, do ask about the man. He seemed quite above his class. -Ned, I cannot wait for you to finish your interminable meal.” - -“I think he just chews for exercise,” said Dick. “Might arrange, if the -meat was tough enough, to keep his appetite up all the time. Wouldn’t -that be fine, Ned?” - -“I don’t think any of my boys require artificial aid,” said Mrs. -Lyndsay. “Dugald Dalgetty was a trifler to you.” - -“I haven’t got to the fish yet, and it’s my own salmon,” said the boy, -helping himself. - -“We want to have Rose to-day,” said Dick, between mouthfuls. “I want her -to go up to the brook. There’s a marsh there, and Drosera—oh, lots! It’s -far north for it, too.” - -“What is Drosera, Dicky?” - -“Fly-trap; and there are some purple orchids.” - -“For this once I will compromise,” said Anne. “I want to see Archie kill -a salmon. If you will assure me of Rose to-morrow afternoon, you may -have her to-day.” - -“And I am to take care of myself,” said her brother. “I never hear of -compromises without thinking of Dr. North’s illustration. I must have -told you, Margaret.” - -“If you ever did, I have forgotten.” - -Stories were pretty often retold in this household, and it was the way -to consider them as guests to be made welcome, no matter how often they -came. - -Lyndsay smiled. “Two Germans, who were North’s patients, built houses -together and adjoining. Then each of them bought paint enough to paint -both houses; one chose green and one a fine brick-red. This ended in a -quarrel. Dr. North advised them to consult their priest, and this they -did. He said, ‘Shust you make a gompromise, and migs de baints.’ So this -was done, and neither got what he wanted. This is of the essence of all -compromise.” - -“But I shall get what I want,” said Anne. - -“And we, too!” cried the boys. “We will take Rose and lunch and Big Tom, -and Pierre and you can have the Indian, father.” - -“And his lame bowman, if he be well enough,” added Lyndsay. “Thanks.” - -“And I shall take my rifle,” said Dick. - -“No, unless you go alone,” said Lyndsay. - -“All right; we’ll fish for trout, Rose,” cried Jack. “Red Head can hunt -beasts in the swamp, and Ned shall sit on a stump and make poetry.” - -“Be sure not to be late again, Rose. I was a good deal troubled last -night.” - -“Yes, Pardy; but my watch has stopped. It got wet through, last night, -poor thing! I fear it is utterly ruined. It was not worth much.” - -“Never mind, dear,” said Anne. “I will give you one when we get home.” -To give was Anne’s great joy. - -“For a drowned watch intemperance is the cure,” said Lyndsay: “total -immersion in alcohol or whisky is the sole remedy. I never carry one -here; it reminds me too much of the minor oppressions of civilization.” - -“And, after all,” said Anne, “punctuality is a quite modern virtue.” - -“Yes. I think a Quaker in the reign of Anne has the terrible -responsibility of the invention of the minute hand. In another century -we shall say, ‘You are late six seconds; is this the way you keep -engagements?’” - -“It makes one shiver to think of it; and, by the way, Jack, I promised -you a watch at Christmas. Be sure to remind me.” - -“I’d rather have something else, Aunt Anne.” - -“Why, Jack?” - -“Oh, I know lots of fellows carry watches. They have an awful time.” - -“The watches?” - -“No; those boys. If you have a watch, you have to wind it up, and the -fellows ask what time it is; and if you play, it gets smashed; and if -you have a fight, you have to get another fellow to hold it, and he -forgets—” - -“Gracious! The simplicity of the mind of youth! You would prefer—a new -bat?” - -“Yes, indeed, and a good foot-ball.” - -“I am a female Kriss Kringle,—presents to order.” - -“Thank you, Aunt Anne. And I say, Rosy Posy, get lunch ready. Oh, quit -eating and come along, Dick!” - -Upon this Dick secured a biscuit and followed him, while Anne and the -rest went out onto the porch. - -“I trust, Margaret, those young men will not regale you and me with -their society at lunch. What a wholesome thing it would be to have a -man-smudge! I get no time to read. But you said Dorothy would be over to -lunch. That is better. What fun it would be if the stolid, solid Boston -man should turn up. I could enjoy the combination, I think.” Then she -walked to the cliff-edge, smiling, for there was a battle imminent -between the boys. - -“I mean to paddle,” said Jack. - -“No, I’ll pole.” - -“Not with me in the canoe,” said Rose. - -“I’m to paddle,” cried Dick. - -“May I sit by you?” said Ned. - -“You sha’n’t, if I can’t pole,” cried Dick. “You always want Rose.” - -“You’re hard to please, boys.” - -“I’m not; I’m soft to please,” said Ned. - -“Get in!” And so, with some coaxing from Rose, the peacemaker, they got -away. - -“And I should like a boy-smudge, Anne,” said Lyndsay, who had quietly -watched the proceedings on the shore. - -“They are delightful.” - -“You have no responsibility for them, my dear sister. You know what -Marcus Aurelius says: ‘Irresponsibility arises from an unphilosophical -indifference to—to—’” - -“Consequences,” cried Anne, laughing. “You worry too much over the boys, -Archie. I mean it. You take them too seriously. Permit me to say you are -too consequentitious.” - -“What a word! Did you make it? I can’t help worrying. I am always -thinking of what their future will be. One should give some thought to -the morrow, and other people’s morrows are the real difficulty.” - -“See Marcus Aurelius, chapter third,” said Anne, maliciously. -“‘To-morrow is only a stranger; when he is to-day consider how thou -shalt entertain him.’” - -“That is not my way, Anne.” And he left her, saying, “Jack is the one I -fear for most.” - -“I least,” said Anne to herself. “I shall not be here to see, whatever, -as Tom says.” Then she sat down to her book about the Council of Trent, -and by and by varied it with a little tough work on Cædmon’s Anglo-Saxon -riddles, smiling as she read,—a good, half-dozen kind of smiles, of -which she alone had the secret. - -By and by came Margaret Lyndsay and sat down, her knitting-needles -clicking, until Anne’s unlucky nervousness, kept in hand with -difficulty, was viciously alive. At last Mrs. Lyndsay laid aside her -work with a certain deliberation, for those who knew her best a signal -of serious moment. She said, “You won’t mind, dear, if I say something I -have had on my mind?” - -“I? Oh, no! What is it?” - -“I sometimes think, dear, that the endless trivialities into which you -and Archibald lead those boys are not, dear, a good thing. I have spoken -to Archibald about it, and he quite agrees with me. I sometimes think -Archibald agrees with me too easily. I would rather he argued the -matter; but he is so apt to say, ‘Certainly, Margaret!’ and then to go -and smoke. I do wish you would consider it seriously. And you are so -capable of wiser and more instructive talk. You won’t mind what I say, -dear?” - -“My dear Margaret,” replied Anne, with some irritation, “shall we -converse about the Council of Trent? Also the enigmas of Cædmon are -instructive; the manners and customs of the Angles are stated there in a -manner to combine interest with amusement, instruction with perplexity.” - -“Why do you answer me in that way? You always do. Anne, you are too bad! -You know well enough what I mean.” - -“Yes, I know,” she said, a little wearily. “I think you are hardly just. -You see only one side of things. At all events, the whole logic of the -situation is this: When you have a headache, you go to bed and dose -yourself, and put stuff on your temples; when I am in pain from head to -foot,—I was at breakfast,—I go merry mad and say things. You will have -to stand it, unless I go away.” - -“Oh, Anne! How can you hurt me so? Go away?” - -“I spoke hastily: I don’t mean that. But sometimes, Margaret, you so -completely fail to comprehend me that I feel I had better be away. You -can never change me.” - -“But you—you could change yourself.” - -“Could I, indeed? And trust me, Margaret, I shall go on as gay, as -inconsequent, as merry; but if I can teach, if anything in my life -teaches these boys to laugh when they might cry, I shall not have lived -in vain. I am sure we are all grave enough at times. When I go wild, and -say absurd things, pity me. A jest is my smelling-salts; a joke is my -medicine. Believe me—oh, it is true: the custom of laughter is good.” - -“But this constant amusement at everything—yes, everything!” - -“There is quite enough that is serious, even now, in these young lives. -The laugh of a fool is as the crackling of thorns, and heats no water in -the pot; but the grin of the wise boils the kettle of wisdom. There!” - -The illustration was unhappy. - -“I think, dear, you might put Scripture to wiser use than to twist it -into a defense of this perpetual levity. It seems strange to me that you -cannot see these things as I see them.” - -“Better to give me up as a hopeless case. I shall laugh till I die, and -if afterward the supply gives out I shall feel glad that I neglected no -reasonable chance on earth.” - -“There is a time for all things, Anne, and sometimes—” - -“Yes, I know. Only we differ as to the times. I think, now, I must go in -and rest a little.” - -This was the usual end of their discussions. Anne was mentally victor, -but physically defeated. “Yes, I am sure that will be best.” Upon this -Anne went away with a smile that was not quite pleasant. In her room she -stood a moment and then said, “D. A. M! I think that is good French. The -Lord deliver us from the gentle!” and so fell in a heap on the bed, with -set teeth and very white. - - - - - CHAPTER XIII - - -Meanwhile the overladen canoe went away up the river. “And now, boys,” -said Rose, “this is my day, and there must be no quarrels. We are pretty -well packed in one canoe, and I will have only sunshine and good temper. -And do sit still. Remember what the wise man said: - - Three Irishmen of Timbuctoo, - They went to sea in a birch canoe. - They kicked up such a hullabaloo - That they never got back to Timbuctoo. - -Remember that, boys.” - -“Oh!” said Ned. “I know a better one— - - There was a young man of Siam, - As occasionally murmured a damn! - Monotonous virtue - Is certain to hurt you; - So he swallowed a taciturn clam.” - -“What nonsense!” cried Rose. - -“That’s good about monotonous virtue,” said Jack. “A whole day and no -row!” - -“Not one,” said Rose. - -“Why, Rose, if a fellow don’t fight somebody, what’s to become of him?” - -“I guess we aren’t any less brave than the Romans,” remarked Ned, -sententiously. “If you gemini had a hornets’ nest to fight every day, -you would let me alone. I hate to fight.” - -“Oh! There’s a nice fat fib.” - -“I do. I had to eat dinner standing up for two days after that -scrimmage.” - -“Yes, little peaceful man!” said Jack. “Tell us a story, Rose. It’s an -hour to the brook.” - -“Very well. Once on a time there was a princess. She was terribly rich, -and as pretty—” - -“As you,” said Ned. - -“No interruptions, sir! She was very beautiful, and very, very hard to -satisfy. A great many lovers came to ask her to marry them. None of them -pleased her, but so many came that to save trouble she wrote a big ‘No!’ -on her visiting cards, and gave every man one as he came in, and this -saved a great deal of trouble. When there were no more lovers left in -the world but only three, she began to be afraid she would never get -married at all. So she tore up her cards, and was polite to these three. -Their names were Hurdy-Gurdy and Trombone and Mandolin. At length her -father said she must make up her mind. At first she thought she would -draw lots, but by and by she resolved to marry the most courageous of -the three.” - -“Oh!” exclaimed Jack, “I like that.” - -“One day they were all four walking by the river, and, as if by -accident, she fell in. ‘Oh, dear!’ she cried, ‘I shall drown.’ Then -Hurdy-Gurdy sat down and began to whittle a shingle; but Trombone jumped -in, and, as she flopped about a great deal, he was like to drown -himself. Then in jumped Mandolin, and pulled them both out by the hair. - -“Then all three spread themselves in the sun, to dry. And the princess -said, ‘Now, which _is_ the most courageous?’ - -“Trombone cried, ‘I! Because I dashed in to save you, without -hesitation.’ - -“‘But,’ said Mandolin, ‘you did not save her. I pulled you both out.’ - -“‘I was first,’ said Trombone. - -“‘Certainly!’ said the princess, which her name was Henrietta, and she -was so called because she was fond of algebra, and preferred even an -improper fraction to the most virtuous of men. Said she, ‘What good was -your courage, if it only served to drown us both? You are neither of you -as brave as me.’” - -“Oh!” cried Ned. - -“They always speak bad grammar in fairy-land, because it is romantic, -and because then the young princesses can be sure that the princes are -thinking more of them than of the mere choice of words.” - -“Guess Jack would have a fine chance!” said Ned. - -“Don’t interrupt me. Where was I? Oh! - -“‘You are neither of you as brave as me, because I have to marry one of -you, and that is an act of courage of which a man is incapable. Also, I -can’t swim, but I fell in so as to see which of you is the bravest. I -fell in! Trombone jumped in! Mandolin leaped in!’ - -“‘But I saved you!’ said Mandolin. - -“‘A mere question of brute skill,’ urged Trombone. ‘It is braver to jump -in when you can’t swim than when you can.’ - -“‘It is very puzzling,’ cried Henrietta. ‘The personal equation—’” - -“I know what that is,” cried Ned. - -“Shut up, old wisdom! Go ahead, Rosy Posy.” - -“‘It is a question in the rule of three. As Trombone is to Mandolin, so -is me to the answer.’ - -“‘That leaves me out,’ said Hurdy-Gurdy. - -“‘You stayed out!’ cried Mandolin, with scorn. - -“‘I don’t see my way,’ said the princess. ‘Let Mandolin be B, and -Hurdy-Gurdy C, and I am—’ - -“‘B, C puts them both out of the question,’ said Trombone. ‘They are -dead.’” - -“Sancho Panza!” cried Ned. “What fine nonsense!” - -“Do keep quiet,” said Jack. - -“‘And me—I—oh, bother!’ said Henrietta. ‘It comes out even.’ - -“‘But,’ said Hurdy-Gurdy, ‘it is heart-rending what I suffered. I alone -had the courage not to jump in. I had the courage of my opinion, which -was that I should be drowned, and so break your heart. I really -couldn’t. There are three hundred and twenty-one kinds of courage.’ - -“‘Gracious! How numerically interesting!’ said Henrietta. ‘Dry -yourselves, and I will reflect.’ - -“So she left the three seated on the bank, in the sun, and went away. -But once a year she sent her maid to see if they were dry, and to say -she was working it out. The second year Hurdy-Gurdy went away, because -he was a person who had a good deal of decision of character. - -“There!” cried Rose, laughing. “It’s a little too old for you.” - -“Well, of all the stuff!” said Dick. - -“I call it bully,” said Jack. - -“And whom did she marry?” cried Ned. “Never any one?” - -“Never! Like Rose Lyndsay. I am going to live with you all my life at -home, and never, never marry.” - -Upon this the twins intimated their satisfaction by pulling Ned’s back -hair. He howled loudly. - -“Seems to answer the bell,” said Jack. - -“Oh, stop that—it hurts!” - -“Look out there!” cried the sternman. “You’ll upset the birch. There are -too many of you, anyways.” - -Again Rose called them to order, and they were silent a while. In the -mean time she sat gazing up the changing waterway. This home-coming, -this abrupt transition, this privilege of abandonment to every light, -innocent folly, even to enjoying the mad fun of three clever boys, made -for her an immense change, and one which she felt to be both wholesome -and pleasant. In Europe she had come fully to understand the sacrifice -Anne had made in order to be with her, and at last to see but too -clearly that Anne Lyndsay was failing. To none was this so clear as to -the sufferer; to none less clear than to her brother. As to Margaret, -she was by nature conservative. The word hardly describes what I mean. -She had an inherent belief in the unchangeableness of things and people. -The death of Harry had been the first calamity in a prosperous life. She -had so long seen Anne Lyndsay to her mind full of levity that she found -it impossible to accept the idea that for this woman, who lowered her -crest to no adverse hour, the time could not be very far away when she -would cease to smile at pain. - -Miss Anne, of her own will, cut short by three months their intended -length of stay abroad. She had seen how heavy was the burden of -responsibility which this fatal descent placed upon Rose. In fact, to be -alone with a woman like Anne was good only if the younger person had -intervals of other companionship. Anne made a too strong call upon the -apprehending intellect to be as a constancy good for a growing girl, and -her matchless cynicism in talk, which found no representation in her -acts, was tempting as an example and easily capable of misapprehension. - -This long stay with Anne had been for Rose a severe test of character -and even of physical power. Without altogether realizing the true cause -of her rebound into unusual joyousness, she distinctly felt the relief -of her new surroundings. - -“There is the brook, Rose,” said Ned. “We’ll fish, and build a big fire, -and cook our own fish.” - -They were now above the clearings, and on the far side of the river. - -“What canoe is that up the stream, near the far shore?” she asked. - -“It’s Mr. Carington’s. He’s took a bit of water ’bove Mr. Lyndsay’s -upper pool. It ain’t much good.” - -“You are sure it is Mr. Carington?” - -“I don’t rightly know. It’s too far.” - -After this they went ashore on a broad beach, through which a quick run -of brown water from the swamps inland found its way out to the main -river. - -Rose took a book and sat down, while the boys cast for trout at the -mouth of the brook. After a while the twins tired of this and set to -work to build a fire on the higher rise of the shore, while Tom cleaned -the fish they had captured. By and by came Ned and sat down with his -sister. Now and then he called her attention to a salmon, or, at -intervals, asked Rose questions not always easy of answer. At last he -said, “There is a spring back in the woods,—comes out of the hollow of a -big, old balm of Gilead. I found it.” - -“Oh, we must go and see it after lunch. I know few things I like better -than a spring,—and out of a tree.” - -“Yes; mustn’t it be comfortable for the old tree?” - -“Rather,” she said, and fell silent. - -It was now quiet and warm—no leaf astir—a noonday dreaminess on wood and -water. “That canoe’s dropping down,” Ned said. “Is it Mr. Ellett or Mr. -Carington, Rose? He doesn’t get any fish.” - -“I don’t know. I was half asleep. How nice to be where all the noises -are sounds one likes!” - -“Do you hear the rapids, Rose? I thought yesterday they were exactly -like children laughing—I mean their noise.” - -“I said that very thing to Pardy, the night we came up.” - -“I guess when the Indians called a fall ‘The Laughing Water’ they might -have meant that.” - -“Perhaps,—or only that, in a way, it did sound cheerful.” - -“I don’t think the sea always makes pleasant noises, Rosy.” - -“No,” said Rose, abstractedly. She was watching the canoe, as in -successive drops it came toward them around the curve. - -“What set that great boulder on this beach, I wonder!” said Ned. “Rufus -he says, it’s what he calls conglomerate, and that there is none near -by.” - -“The ice, I suppose,” said Rose. “Ask papa.” - -The rock was some eight feet high, rounded and smooth, except toward the -waterside, where it was broken and splintered. - -“Where are the men? That fire is too large.” - -“They are in the wood after birch bark. I’ll see to the fire.” - -“By Jove!” he cried, and bounded to his feet. “Look sharp, Rose!” And, -giving her a hand, he helped her to rise. She looked about in dismay, -for this thing had happened: Jack had suddenly spied a small bear cub, -an awkward, black little bruin, sprawling over the round stones at one -end of the beach, between him and the water. It was not much bigger than -a well-grown kitten. He had it by one hind leg in an instant, and was -roaring with the fun of his capture, the capture grunting dolorously. As -Ned spoke, Jack saw the troubled mother-bear come out of the wood, and, -a moment in doubt, hesitate among the bushes. Ned dragged his sister -toward the water, as the bear, fiercely growling, began to move toward -them. As for Jack, he was away around the boulder, and in an instant -upon top, the young bear giving him a smart nip, as he stood on the -summit, flushed, resolute, and laughing. - -“Fling it down!” cried Ned, with good sense. But Jack was otherwise -minded, hardly taking in the peril for Rose and Ned. Dick had dashed -into the wood, calling wildly to the men. - -“Let it go!” cried Rose. Then there was a loud cry from the river: - -“Drop it, you fool!” - -“Not I!” cried Jack. “Run, Rose; he’ll go for me. Run! run!” - -As he spoke, the savage bruin reared herself up in a vain effort to -climb the smooth stone. Jack, on the boulder, laughed, as he balanced -himself with difficulty, owing to the struggles of the cub. Seeing that -to climb was impossible, the bear proceeded to make a flank movement, -which would have enabled her to follow Jack up the back of the rock. The -boy was in no way alarmed. But now he saw that Rose was in the path of -the bear, and that Ned, white as death, was standing between Rose and -the enraged mother, a canoe-pole in one hand, and the other motioning -back at Rose, as he called to her to “Run! run!” - -Just as Jack, appalled at these unlooked-for consequences, was about to -part with his precious captive, a voice rang out again from the river: -“Run! run! Quick!” - -Ned cast a glance behind him, and, catching Rose’s hand, pulled at her -so violently, as he threw the pole aside, that she lost her balance and -fell, striking heavily on a corner of rock. Ned cast himself down beside -her. Instantly a rifle rang out from the river behind them. As they lay, -he heard the shrill “ping” of a rifle-ball above him, and the bear -rolled dead on her side, clean shot through the head. - -Jack leaped from the boulder, still holding on to the cub, and made -toward Rose, as the men and Dick came out in haste from the wood onto -the beach. Carington sprang into the water before his canoe touched the -land, crying to Jack: - -“Back there, you infernal young idiot!” With his rifle ready, he pushed -the boy aside and advanced cautiously but swiftly, until he saw that the -beast was dead. Next he turned to Rose, who lay motionless on the beach. -As the group of faces, still wild with scare or excitement, gathered -around him, he knelt, lifted the girl, and, seeing a thin thread of -blood leaping in little jets from her temple, he set her head against -his knee and put a finger on the wound, saying: - -“Get me water. It is not so bad. Good Lord! It might have been worse!” - -“Is she dead?” said Ned. - -“Dead? No, my boy—not she.” - -He wet his handkerchief and washed the blood off her face, still keeping -a finger above the cut on the artery, as he gave directions to Tom to -make a pad from Ned’s handkerchief. With this and his own tied tightly -around her head, he was able easily to check the bleeding. Meanwhile the -rest stood still, recognizing the competence of the improvised surgeon. - -“That will do,” he said, looking at her as he knelt, and letting her -head rest on a cushion from the canoe. “I think she has only fainted.” - -“Oh!” cried Jack, “I was afraid— Be still, you beast!” to the writhing -cub. Carington gave him a look, and again considered the fair, young -face beneath his gaze, the blood on neck and dress, and the red splashes -on his own attire. - -“That is better,” he exclaimed, for Rose opened her eyes, looked about, -confused for a moment; then rallied her faculties, and said, feebly: - -“What is it? Where am I? What has happened?” - -“It is all right. You fell down.” - -“Oh, Fairfield! Is that you? Where is Ned?” - -“I’m here.” - -“And Jack?” - -“Oh, I’m all right! And the bear’s dead.” - -“The bear? Yes, I know now. Dead?” - -“Mr. Carington shot him,” said Ned. - -“Mr. Carington? Where is he?” cried Rose, sitting up, and still a little -dazed. - -“Keep quiet, boys,” said the young man. “Back a little. Take that cub -away, sir. Can you stand, Miss Lyndsay? Here, take a little brandy from -my flask. The explanations can wait. Why, you are quite strong. Now, -then. Don’t look at the bear; come.” And he supported her to the canoe, -talking as he went, to keep her from questioning. - -“Now, then,”—turning to Jack,—“you must wait here, sir. You can go in -Tom’s boat with Miss Lyndsay”—this to Ned. “I will go ahead and explain -at the camp. Don’t let Miss Lyndsay talk.” - -“But, Fairfield,” said Rose, “I must—” - -“You are better, I think. There, that will do,” as she was laid in the -canoe. “If you talk, you will start the bleeding. Not a word now.” - -This was a somewhat masterful person, and Rose, as she lay back against -the cushions, was satisfied to shut her eyes and obey, weak, and still -tingling with past excitement. - -“You shall know everything by and by, Miss Lyndsay.” - -“Thanks!” she murmured, and her canoe put off. - -“I will overtake you,” he said, and then walked back and took a look at -the bear, which Jack, now reassured, was attentively regarding. - -“A first-rate shot that was!” said the boy. - -Carington made no reply. Then, glancing at the bear: “Poor old mother!” -he said. “A sucking bear! I am sorry I had to kill you.” - -“You’ll send for me soon?” said Jack. - -Carington again failed to reply. - -“Isn’t there room in your boat?” - -“Not for you.” He was very angry. Jack sat down with his troublesome -captive, feeling that he had been sharply snubbed; and the canoe fled -away in the track of Rose’s boat. As he passed her, Carington cried out: - -“Are you all right?” - -“Yes, thank you!” - -“Well, don’t talk.” And his birch went by at speed, he himself taking a -third paddle to gain time. - -“By George! My little comedy came near to a tragic ending. How Ellett -will rate me! What a mess!” And he considered a moment his bloody -knickerbockers and stained stockings. - -“Your face is all over blood,” said Michelle. “Best wash, sir. Might -scare ’em worse than a bear.” - -“That is so.” Ceasing to paddle, he took the boat sponge, and made a -hasty toilet. - -“Am I clean, Michelle?” - -“Well—pretty fair, sir. You are right well painted. It was awful lucky -you took a mind to try for a shot at that other seal.” - -“Yes. Shove her along!” He took the paddle again, and fell to thinking, -until they came to the beach. There was no one in sight. He ran up the -steps, noticing that there was one canoe on the shore. Then he paused, -and, returning, called Tom. - -“Go up and tell Mr. Lyndsay I want to see him.” - -Presently Mr. Lyndsay came down the steps. - -“Mr. Carington!” And he stayed a moment, surprised at the appearance of -the blood-stained man. “What is it?” he said. “Anything wrong?” - -“Miss Lyndsay has had a slight accident. She is all right now. I came on -ahead to tell you. It is really—really not serious. They were scared by -a bear on the beach. I was lucky enough to kill it, but, in trying to -escape, your daughter fell and struck her head, and—oh, it bled a bit. -Oh, here is the canoe.” - -Rose, freshened by the air and motion, got up, laughing, and ran to her -father. - -“Rose, my dear! Rose!” he cried. - -“Where is mother? Does she know? It isn’t anything, Pardy.” Then she -looked at his companion, who presented a sufficiently soiled and untidy -appearance to still perplex her. - -“Fairfield,” she exclaimed, “where is—” - -“I am Mr. Carington,” he returned, smiling, and a little embarrassed. -Lyndsay looked on bewildered. - -“But—” - -“Never mind, Miss Lyndsay. I owe you an apology for playing bowman for a -half-day.” - -“Indeed!” cried Rose, flushing, and, turning away, went up the steps. -She hesitated half-way, remembering the bear, and then went on and -entered the house. - -“One moment, Mr. Carington!” exclaimed her father. “Wait for me.” And he -hurried after her. In a few minutes the scared mother was made to -understand the matter, and, reassured, busied herself in seeing Rose -safely to bed. - - - - - CHAPTER XIV - - -Archibald Lyndsay went down to the beach again, where Carington, not -very happy, sat waiting on the stern of his canoe. He rose as his host -came near. - -“This way,” said Lyndsay. “And now”—as they walked to and fro on the -upper shingles—“may I ask you to let me understand it all?” - -Carington quietly related the scene on the shore, omitting nothing. When -he had ended, Lyndsay said: - -“I have probably to thank you for a life which is very dear to me. I -have no words in which to say what I feel. We are very deep in your -debt.” - -“Oh, any one would—” - -“No—I understand. You are a little like myself, I fancy. To have too -much obliged another has its embarrassments. I won’t ask you now to let -my wife say her own thankfulness; but come and breakfast to-morrow, and -bring Mr. Ellett.” - -“With pleasure.” - -“By the way—and you will pardon me—what was all that about Fairfield and -a bowman?” - -“Simply, Mr. Lyndsay, that I am still, in my holiday \.pn +1 times, a -bit of a foolish boy, and when Polycarp came up for a man and could get -none, I supposed it was for you, and just as a frolic induced him to let -me play bowman. I had, of course, not the remotest idea that it was for -Miss Lyndsay. May I ask you to accept for her my most humble apologies?” - -“I see,” said Lyndsay, laughing. “It has its amusing side.” - -“Yes, but— Well, it ceased to be amusing when I realized the annoyance -it might bring to Miss Lyndsay.” - -“I dare say you will be able to make your peace,” said his host, as -Carington took his hand. At the boat, to which he walked with the elder -man, he paused: - -“May I say a word to that boy of yours?” - -“To Ned? Yes, certainly.” He called, “Ned! Halloa! Come here!” for the -lad had gone up to the cabin with Rose. - -“Coming,” cried Ned, from the porch, where, with Anne, he was trying to -make a good case for Jack. - -Meanwhile, as Lyndsay was ordering a boat up to Jack, Ned came down to -the strand. - -“Mr. Carington wished to see you,” said Lyndsay. “Good-by, and breakfast -at half-past eight to-morrow”; and so, with ready tact, he went up the -cliff, leaving Ned with Carington. - -“I wanted to see you a moment, Ned, while the matter is fresh. I want to -say that I saw the whole affair on the shore. I was but thirty yards -away. Perhaps you won’t think it a liberty, my lad, if I say you behaved -admirably, and kept your wits, too. You showed both good sense and -courage.” He spoke as if he were addressing an equal. - -Ned flushed with pleasure. “Oh, thank you!” - -“That’s all. I think you and I shall be friends after this. You must -come up and see me; we might kill a salmon. Good-by.” And he pushed off. - -Ned stood a moment, in his thoughtful way, and then went back up the -steps to Miss Anne, who was now at ease as to Rose, and well pleased -with her dearest nephew. - -“What was it?” she inquired. - -“Oh, not much—nothing.” - -“I think I know.” - -“No!” - -“Yes; he wanted to say you had behaved well.” - -“Oh, bother, Aunt Anne! What’s the use of your asking, if you know? You -always do know.” - -Then Ned went away, and Archibald Lyndsay came out and strode uneasily -up and down the porch. - -“Archie,” said Anne. “Brother.” - -“Well, what is it?” - -“Are you troubled?” - -“Yes, of course. How should I be other than troubled?” - -“But why?” - -“Why? Jack has behaved like a selfish, thoughtless—” - -“No; he is not at bottom selfish. Thoughtless—yes; and he has the vices -of his virtues. He is so bold, and so resolute in action—so enjoys the -peril he creates. Can’t you see what such a character wants? You may -rest assured, my dear Archie, that he is quite enough punished.” - -“He is incidentally punished.” - -“But—” - -“I don’t want to hear any more, Anne. He has behaved like a blackguard.” - -“No.” - -“Confound the women!” he said, and walked away; but in an hour was at -the shore to meet Jack, who landed a little dismayed, his grunting cub -still expostulating in the only language known to juvenile bears. - -“Well, sir! I have heard this agreeable story!” - -“But, father—” - -“I should think you might be fatigued!” - -Now, a good kicking would have been preferred by any of these boys to -the father’s sarcasm. - -“Go up to the house, undress, and go to bed. I don’t want to see you for -a day. No words, sir, or I shall lose my temper. Off with you—you are -not fit to associate with gentlemen.” - -Without a word more, Jack went up the steps and did as he was told; in -consequence of which Margaret wept a little, and Anne, who thought on -the whole that Jack had gotten off better than she expected, betook -herself to her books, with a full determination to have it out with the -boy in her own way, and at a later date. - -It was well into the afternoon when Carington reached his camp, and -found Ellett still away on the river. - -“I shall catch it!” said Fred, with a grin at the prospect. He made use -of the interval to change his clothes and get rid of the stained -garments, after which he ordered a smudge, pulled open the tent-flaps, -and cast himself on the camp mattress, for the first time realizing that -he was tired, or, at least, had that sense of languor which follows upon -intense excitement. The tent-fly was up—the triangular space thus open -to view framed prettily the beach, the men and canoes, the river, and -the hills beyond. The smoke of the cedar-smudge at times dimmed the -picture. At last, being absolutely comfortable, the cushions just right, -the midge and black fly routed, he carefully filled and lit his pipe, -reflecting, as he did so, on the varied value of tobacco, which he had -never misused. Next he sought in one pocket after another, until he came -upon a worn note-book. Among its scraps of verse and memoranda he found -the well-known apostrophe of El Din Attar to the pipe. He read it with a -smile. - -“‘O wife of the soul, thou art wiser than any who bide in the harem. A -maker of peace thou art and a builder of prudence between temptation and -the hour of decision. Can anger abide with the pipe, or a gnat in the -smoke of the tent-fire? Lo, wine is but wine for the simple, and a pipe -but a pipe for the foolish; and what is a song to the dumb, or a rose to -the eye that is blind? A bud of the rose findeth June on the breast of -the dark-eyed; a song must be sung by the heart of the hearer. And thus -are the pipe and the smoker. Also of it the king hath no more joy than -the beggar, saith El Din Attar.’” “A pipe is a pipe, and a rose is a -rose, be it prim or not,” said the happy young fellow, laughing. “There -is no new wisdom. To think what Wordsworth would have said to that? If -Hamlet could have played upon this pipe, would he have been nicer to -Ophelia?” His own meerschaum had been a friendly counselor at times. -“Gracious!” he laughed outright—a good sign of a man that he can -soliloquize laughter—“if I should fall in love, and the woman hate -tobacco!” He let his fancy wander, and began to reflect, lazily, and yet -with some curiosity, on the person he had saved from a serious, if not -fatal, calamity. “I got out of that comedy pretty well,” he said to -himself. “But, by George! it is rather more awkward to put a person—a -woman—under such an obligation as this. How I should hate it! I wonder, -does she? I suppose she won’t be at breakfast. That, at least, is a -comfort.” Then he reflected that, with people such as these, he would -not be too absurdly overwhelmed with gratitude. At last he turned to a -book, fully satisfied that, on the whole, he had the best of it, and -that there was no need to growl at Fate. - -In a minute or two he exclaimed, “In-door poetry, that”; and dropped the -volume of too dainty verse. The substance beneath was not worth the -polish on top. He was not in a book mood, or disposed to anchor. The -hours slipped by without freight of urgent question or answer. He was in -a dreamy state, and, liking the hazy indistinctness of its demands, -invented for his use, with a smile of approval, the word, “Vaguearies.” - -Smiling, he made note of this verbal find, as Ellett came up the beach. - -“What pleases you, Fred? And what is all this row the men are talking -about?” - -“One at a time. I was hoping that the woman I shall love will take -generously to my pipe.” - -“She will be a fool if she don’t. I always advise the women never to -marry a man who doesn’t smoke. You see, if they fall out a bit, she can -always say, ‘Well, just take a cigar, Fred, and think it over.’ I am -sure the proportion of divorces must be smaller among the couples that -include a smoker. Good notion, that!” - -“It is on the heights of wisdom!” - -“Isn’t it? And you haven’t been fishing?” - -“Yes; I did fish, but I got no fish. I caught a mild little adventure.” - -“Michelle began to tell me—” - -“Michelle be hanged! These guides are always dramatic!” - -“Well, and what was it happened? Tell me.” - -“Talk to you about that by and by.” He was indisposed to have too much -made of the incidents of the morning. Why, he could hardly have -explained. He did not want Miss Lyndsay discussed. Perhaps this was what -the doctors call a prodrome—of a malady known to man and maid. Love may, -like other forces in life, assume many forms before it unmasks and we -know it as love. The correlation of forces obtains in the world of the -emotions as well as in that of matter. - -“How confoundedly queer you are sometimes, Fred! I can wait, I suppose; -but I don’t see why.” - -“Oh, because my mind is an absolute vacuum. That is a rather interesting -thought, Oliver, quite worthy of Boston! Fancy an entire mental vacuum! -Is it any more possible than a physical one? Don’t you think there may -be a zero of thought, as of cold—or of heat, I should say?” - -“Nonsense!” cried Ellett. - -“Want to know? Do you? Well, I was seriously thinking that when we can -get photographs in colors, it will be a delightful thing to collect -sunsets.” - -“I don’t care a continental malediction for sunsets, or thought-zeroes, -either. What’s the matter with you? Michelle says you shot a bear, or a -young woman—I am not sure which. He was a little mixed about it. But why -you should—” - -“I was only chaffing you, old man.” He was really, and like a child, -putting off an inevitable annoyance. He knew he must talk of it all to -his friend, and felt himself ridiculously unwilling either to make it -seem grave or to treat it as a matter for jesting comment. Not to -understand the cause of your own states of indecision is, for the -habitually decisive, most unpleasant, and yet silence may make a thing -seem important which is not. - -“What happened, Oliver, was this.” And he quietly narrated the incidents -of the morning. - -“I congratulate you, Fred.” - -“And why?” - -“Well, if you are idiot enough to ask that in sober earnest, I am not -fool enough to reply in kind. And so Miss Lyndsay knows who her bowman -was?” - -“Yes.” - -“Did she like it?” - -“How the deuce do I know?” - -“But I should think you could tell. I hope that girl lost her temper. -Girls who can’t lose their tempers can’t lose their hearts. That’s -pretty good, Fred!” - -“Nonsense! Who wants her to lose her heart? You can judge for yourself, -if you are curious—we are to breakfast with them to-morrow. Get any -fish?” - -“One—only ten pounds. The new run is up, Pierre says. Saw plenty of -small fish leaping. But about these Lyndsays?” - -“Let’s have supper. Hang the Lyndsays!” - -“Both, with all my heart; and I will also suspend my opinions, if it -suits you better. Wasn’t bad, that!” And then, as Fred walked away to -stir up the cook, Ellett muttered, “What the mischief’s gone wrong with -the man?” And so, being a kindly fellow and considerate, as far as he -knew how to evolve in action this form of social wisdom, he dropped the -subject for the evening, and, as Miss Anne used to say, “left time to -pull the chestnuts out of the fire, when they were cool enough to be -useful as diet.” - - - - - CHAPTER XV - - -Carington had slept off his brief ill-humor, and the friends were in a -happier mood as they flitted downstream next day to breakfast with the -Lyndsays. - -At the Cliff Camp things were not so entirely joyful. Mrs. Lyndsay, -after a talk about the simple bill of fare with the black cook they had -brought with them, paid a furtive visit to Jack, who was condemned to -such tranquillity as was possible, even in bed, for a human machine as -restless. She administered a tender scolding, and left him with a book -or two. Next she softly opened Rose’s door, and, finding her comfortable -and smiling, said, “No, dear, you are to keep still to-day,” and left -her to reflect that, on the whole, she was as well satisfied not to meet -the “two single gentlemen rolled into one” before the entire family. -However clearly the matter had been explained, there remained, and she -colored as she thought of it, the remembrance of certain things she had -said to her bowman. Nor was it quite pleasing to imagine herself -discussed by these two strangers over their evening meal. The scene in -the boat—“She would like to have him always as her bowman!” The scene on -the beach! And then the obligation! The debt to an unknown man! In what -currency should such debts be paid? She smiled, as she quoted to -herself: - - What need - Good turns be counted as a servile bond - To bind their doers to receive their meed? - -Then, having no other more consoling thought on hand, she began to -recall how the novelists had dealt with these situations. A man saves -your life! What then? As far as she remembered, it always ended in the -woman giving the man what he saved—a life!—her life! She would have -liked to have certain books to see precisely what they did say, or Aunt -Anne, who was herself and generally all books beside. As she played with -these questions, a little amused or a trifle annoyed, Miss Anne knocked, -and was welcomed. - -“Aunt Anne,” she cried merrily, “what would you do for a man who saves -you from a horrible mauling by a bear, or possibly from death?” - -“The novelists marry them. That cancels the debt, or makes the woman in -the end regret the man’s skill and strength.” - -“Aunty, that is very cheap cynicism for you, and at eight A. M.! What -will you be at dinner?” - -“I repent, dear. I hate the sneer—easy and obvious. I am always penitent -over verbal wickednesses that are mere children of habit, and have no -wit to excuse them. Is the question, dear, worth considering?” - -“Oh, but seriously—” - -“I mean seriously. Would it not depend on the moral make of the people -concerned? Clearly, when those involved are of one world, likely to -meet,—to have continuous relations of some sort,—it must lead to close -friendship when the debt of life is merely between man and man.” - -“Yes; but when a woman owes an unknown person—a man in her own class—an -obligation like this? She must feel it—really feel it, as I do.” - -“My dear, you are a little absurd. Many debts remain unpaid, and should -so remain. How do you pay your debts to Shakspere? And, after all, this -is a small affair—Mr. Carington was in no peril.” - -“No, it wasn’t that. The thing involved courage and decision. Papa has -told me all of it—all. And the ball went only a couple of feet over dear -Ned and myself. Any one but a brave and positive man would have -hesitated—and, just a moment more! It is dreadful to think of it! -Dreadful!” - -“Your gratitude is quite too analytical for me, dear.” - -“But do you believe, aunty, with mama, that there cannot be true, simple -friendships between man and woman?” - -“Man and woman? A large question.” - -“Yes.” - -“Certainly, I believe there can be—more likely, more easy, more possible -with us than in Europe. I know of many such, where what was in youth a -friendship, limited by conventions, became, as years went on, a larger, -deeper, more valuable relation, and yet only and always a friendship.” - -“Thank you!” - -“I think myself that when women—married women—grow wise, they will want -their husbands to have women friends. Margaret would say, ‘That is an -old maid’s opinion.’ Nevertheless, it is mine, and, as I have chosen -never to marry, it is valuable. The old maid is a sort of neutral, with -the wisdom of both sexes.” - -“I should like to choose my husband’s female friends.” - -“Should you? I have not talked it out yet, but now I must go. I want to -see how your creditor behaves. He may be a true Shylock and want—how -many pounds do you weigh, dear?” - -“You are horrid, aunty! I certainly do not think you have settled my -questions.” - -“How can I? or you? or he, for that matter? Time, dear, not only answers -letters, but also doubts and difficulties. As a consulting physician, I -am told, he is unsurpassed. You are, naturally, in a state of unease -to-day, and had better wait until you see what kind of a draft on the -bank of gratitude you are called on to pay, or honor, if you like the -word better. I don’t know whether, nowadays, commercial men use the -word, or the thing. You might send him a silver pitcher, the inscription -to be, ‘To my preserver, from the preserved,’ or else—” - -“Go away, bad aunty!” cried Rose, laughing. Once alone, she began upon -her coffee and rolls, and wished it was next month, and thus, like -Carington, turned over her hot chestnuts to pussy-cat time. They were -too hot for her. - -Miss Anne went out on the porch, and began watching, with the interest -she took in almost all earthly pursuits, Ned’s efforts to tie a -salmon-fly, while Dick, beside him, was feeding the drosera’s hairy -leaves with minute black gnats, and considering, through a lens, the -ferocious certainty with which the vegetable monster closed upon the -captives cast among its sensitive limbs. Presently Dick said to her: - -“Aunt Anne, is father very angry with Jack?” - -“Yes.” - -“I’m sorry, because—because he really didn’t have time to think—and it -wasn’t cowardly.” - -“No, it wasn’t that.” - -“But I ran away.” He had a vague feeling that to prove himself to have -gone amiss would be to lessen the enormity of Jack’s conduct. - -“You went into the wood to call the men, and were the first back on the -beach, my Prince Rosy-locks. You are a first-rate liar; but, as you are -a Lyndsay, you are not a coward, and you had better kick yourself well -for insulting Dick Lyndsay! - - I may not turn, I may not flee, - Though many be the spears; - I should not face with better grace - The army of my fears. - -I do not blame Jacky as much as your father does. I understand him, I -think.” - -“He feels awfully, Aunt Anne.” - -“That will do no harm, Dick.” The boy turned again to the drosera and -his lens. - -Anne was herself so entirely brave that not even the prospect of the -coming of added pain had ever been able to make her timid. All forms of -courage were to her intelligibly beautiful, knowing as she did that if -its mere instinctive form be meaningless, it is, in its higher -developments, the knightly defense of all the virtues. She pulled Dick’s -ear, playfully, and said, finally: - -“Jack will be out at noon. The less you say about it, the better.” - -“I guess so,” remarked Dick. - -“Ah, here comes Mr. Carington. Now, boys, behave yourselves at -breakfast. No nonsense, mind! This is to be a very pretty-behaved -family; we will make up for it at lunch.” - -The two gentlemen were in turn presented. There were the ordinary -greetings, and no word of allusion to the day before, except that Mrs. -Lyndsay, in a quiet aside, said to Carington: - -“I shall not be quite comfortable until I say how much I thank you—for -all of us—all.” - -“That is more than enough,” he returned. “How is Miss Lyndsay?” - -“Wonderfully well!” And presently they went in to breakfast. - -“Here by me, please, Mr. Carington. Anne, sit next to Mr. Carington. -This seat, Mr. Ellett—on the left.” - -The boys, a little subdued, contented themselves with quiet inspection -of the new guests, and the talk slipped readily, in skilful hands, from -the subjects of fish and the weather, and flies and rods, to other less -trivial matters. Anne was unusually silent. She was studying the -unconscious Carington, who soon noted the absence of Jack, and as -quickly understood its meaning. - -“Yes,” said Lyndsay, “these Gaspé men are most interesting. They are -clever, competent, and inherently kindly, really good fellows; but their -trouble is, and it does not trouble them, that they have no persistent -energy. I confess that, being myself, at least while here, without -energy, I like its absence.” - -“Isn’t it a vast relief, after the endless restlessness of our people,” -said Anne, “to fall among folks who are contented, and home-loving, and -so uncomplicated?” - -“I certainly think so,” said Carington. “And what a surprise it is to -meet the stray descendants of loyalists hereabouts and on the 'St. -John’s’—I ought to say the ‘Aroostook,’ there are so many ‘St. John’s.’ -Some of the best of the Canadians are descendants of those people; but, -for the most part, those who settled in certain quarters of Lower Canada -are down again to the level of mere laborers or fishermen.” - -“And no better off,” said Ellett. “I mean no more energetic than—well, -than I am. I hate the very word energy. I quite share your opinions, -Miss Lyndsay. There is a nice little conundrum about that word—sounds -better in French. But, pardon me, I never repeat conundrums, or make -puns.” - -“I am so sorry. Are you past persuasion?” - -“Entirely.” - -“Even as a personal confidence?” - -“That is another matter. It will keep. I think, Mr. Lyndsay, you were -about to say—” - -“I forget. But no matter. One may talk about, and about things, at -breakfast especially. It is pleasant to feel that you may kick—that any -one concerned may kick—the foot-ball of talk without reference to a -goal.” - -“I don’t think my friend Carington would agree to that,” said Ellett. -“He likes talk to be well feathered, and go straight home—” - -“And I like it,” cried Anne, “to be well feathered, and go zigzag home, -or not, like a bird.” - -“And, for my part, aside from Ellett’s calumnious nonsense,” laughed -Carington, “I have no social creed as to good talk. If it bears sharp -analysis, it is probably poor talk.” - -“But,” said Anne, “there are some essentials. One must reverse the great -maxim that it is more blessed to give than to receive.” - -Mrs. Lyndsay regarded the maiden lady with a look of reprobation, in -which were trial, judgment, and execution. She reserved her verbal -attack for a better occasion, while Anne, unconscious of offense, went -on, “Wasn’t it Mr. Lowell, Archie, who said at our table, when you -questioned him as to the best talkers he had met, ‘Oh, the best are -those who meet you’? I thought that delicately put.” - -“But then he added,” said Lyndsay, “when you mentioned G. M. as on the -whole the most remarkable of dinner talkers, that he had not the -essential conversational art of punctuation. That his sentences were -like those of Judge Jeffries, eternal How one spoils such a thing in the -telling! We all smiled at it a little. Our friend himself liked an -audience, and to have, at times, the royal freedom of unbroken talk. -North, a friend of ours, Mr. Carington, has a theory that breakfast -talks are the best.” - -“I should think so,” said Ellett, and then began to think he had been -rather critical, and added, “I mean—well, I usually breakfast alone, and -a fellow can’t talk to himself.” - -“This fellow can,” cried Anne. - -“He meant,” said Lyndsay, “that breakfast talk is apt to be general and -gay; but that at dinner you have the cares of the day on your back. It -takes a little effort, or a little champagne, to get up steam.” - -“But I have no cares,” said Ellett. - -“Then,” cried Miss Lyndsay, “we will all dine with you, and you shall do -all the talking.” - -“That would suit my sister admirably,” laughed her brother. “Did you -ever notice how silent many of these woodmen are?” - -“Yes,” said Carington, “that is true. The woodland life has the same -effect upon me.” - -“That’s curious,” remarked Miss Lyndsay. “Certain people blast me with -utter dumbness. It might be useful if it were kept up long enough to -form a habit. I mention that to anticipate my brother. One does -sometimes say what one doesn’t want to say—but, oh, I do think one much -more often wants dreadfully to say what one had better not say.” - -“I think that is true,” said Mrs. Lyndsay, with reminiscent gravity. - -“Which? or both?” said Anne, in an aside. - -“By the way,” said Lyndsay, “talking of these unlucky relics of the -royalists, and, in fact, of too many on these coasts, the most energetic -of us would succumb to their environment.” - -“Yes; there is that poor devil, Colkett,” said Carington, “a good -hunter, a hard worker—I am told, a first-rate lumberman—and yet always -in want.” - -“To judge from my daughter’s account,” said Mrs. Lyndsay, “the wife is -his difficulty.” - -By this time the boys were at ease. - -“What is an ‘environment,’ Aunt Anne?” said Ned. “Is a wife an -environment?” - -Ellett laughed. “Sometimes she is.” - -“Environments are surroundings—a man’s surroundings.” She always -answered the boys seriously. - -“But does a wife surround a man?” urged Ned, oblivious of his place as a -boy among elders in his keen pursuit of a meaning. - -“I should think so!” said Carington. “Wait till your turn comes! You -will see!” - -“I am quite sure Dorothy Maybrook is a fair illustration,” said Anne. -“It is a good sermon on the conduct of the matrimonial life to see that -woman what she calls ‘p’int’ poor old Hiram.” - -“An interesting person,” returned Carington. “Don’t you think so?” - -“It hurts a fellow to see a woman as placid as that,” remarked Ellett. -Whereupon Miss Anne adjusted her glasses, and took a look at the small, -rotund man. - -“Why?” she said. “Why does it hurt you?” - -He hesitated a trifle, and then replied, “Well, it sort of knocks all -the excuses out of a fellow’s life.” - -“Certainly,” laughed Anne. “She doesn’t pet her moods,” and she -concluded that there was something in the ruddy gentleman, who looked so -pleased at what he had said. - -“I have known her under many circumstances,” said Mrs. Lyndsay, “and I -doubt if she has any moods.” - -“I rather suspect,” said Lyndsay, “that Mrs. Maybrook’s equality of -temper is partly natural, and partly a singularly intelligent acquired -capacity to make the best of her surroundings.” - -“Environment,” said Ned, under his breath, and now satisfied. - -“Really, Rose knows more about her than even my wife, who has known her -longer; but Rose has a curious way of getting at people, and I have -seldom seen Rose so carried away by any one.” - -“I envy people the power of understanding people on short acquaintance. -I like everybody at first, and then, by and by, I have to change my -mind. Now, Carington—” - -“Nonsense!” cried his friend. - -“Indeed!” exclaimed Anne. She thought Mr. Ellett oddly frank. - -“From all I can hear,” said Carington, “Mrs. Maybrook must be a kind of -female Marcus Aurelius.” This was quite too much for the boys, who began -to laugh; and then, as Lyndsay and his wife followed their example, Miss -Anne felt obliged to explain, in her amusing way, why this remark had so -unaccountably disturbed the nerves of the household. Lyndsay defended -himself with seriousness. As they rose to have their cigars outside, Ned -said: - -“We are going up to the beach, father. Rose lost a pin there. May we -take lunch, mama? There is plenty of brass knocker from breakfast.” - -“Pardon me,” said Carington, “my dear fellow; but what on earth is -‘brass knocker’?” - -Lyndsay laughed. “That is a family bit of my Scotch education. The -lowland Scotchman calls the relics of a meal the ‘brass knocker,’ -because once, I suppose, the poor relations, who came to get the remains -of a feast, were expected to knock, and not to ring.” - -“How curious. Yes, thank you, I will smoke. Mrs. Lyndsay?” - -“Oh, my women are angelic about that!” - -“Indeed, if we were fallen angels,” said Anne, “we could hardly be more -used to it.” Then she said, “I hope we may see you and Mr. Ellett often. -I must go and tell Rose what a pleasant chat we have had.” - -As she turned, she swayed a little, so as to touch Mr. Carington. -“Pardon me,” she said, “I am not over-strong, and it now and then makes -me awkward.” She was really in extreme pain. “Good-by.” - -He stepped aside to let her pass, struck, as she moved away, with her -pallor. It was a sign of unusual liking in this woman when she permitted -herself the least allusion to her own feebleness. - -Carington was in the gayest of moods as their canoe went up the river. - -“He has very good cigars,” remarked Ellett. - -“Admirable! And the air up here, I have noticed, keeps them in -first-rate condition. Cigars are a good deal like people, Oliver—they -are unaccountably changeable. Ever notice that?” - -“Yes; but a pipe is an unchanging friend. Cigars are like women. That’s -a good idea!” - -“Bother your ideas! What interesting people! It seemed to me a wholesome -atmosphere—strong and true and honest. Master Jack did not appear. I -suppose he was in disgrace.” - -“Very likely.” - -“That boy Ned is a quaint little fellow.” - -“We only wanted the sister and that scamp to make up the entire family.” - -“I am not so sure about the scamp—the black sheep; I fancy he is hardly -more than brown. I was rather hard on him; but I was angry enough to -have thrashed him, and yet I couldn’t help liking his pluck.” - -“It was rather out of place, Fred.” - -“Yes. To know when to fear, and what to fear, is wisdom.” - -“I think you have it to-day, Fred. You are afraid of that girl.” - -“Upon my word, you do have at times the most remarkable flashes of -intelligence. You are right.” - -“But why? The awkwardness of the affair seems to me to lie on the lady’s -side.” - -“I wish it were not. She is young, and—well, rather pretty, and of -course she will be effusive, and enthuse, and then there will be a few -tears, and I shall feel like a fool!” - -“It’s a great thing, Fred, to have no imagination. Now, it wouldn’t -trouble me in the least. She will just say, ‘I am so much obliged, Mr. -Carington,’ and you will say, ‘Oh, it really doesn’t matter, Miss -Lyndsay.’ People don’t go splashing their emotions about like a wet dog -shaking off the water on everybody. Good notion, that!” - -“You are a social and consolatory Solomon. Give me your tobacco. I shall -go back to-morrow and have it over. Will you fish the upper pool this -afternoon?” - -“Either.” - -“Hang your politeness, Oliver. There is nothing gives as much trouble as -‘either.’ It ought to be kicked out of society.” - -“Then the lower pool.” - -“Good!” - -There was a little interchange of views at the Cliff Camp as to their -guests; a certain pleasantness of relief at finding Carington one who -could confer an immense obligation and appear totally to ignore it. -Perhaps, of all of them, Anne the best appreciated this; for she -understood, as did neither her brother nor his simple and direct wife, -that Rose felt and must deeply feel a sense of indebtedness, and the -difficulty of at once putting herself into the right relations with the -man who had, without peril to himself, left on her a debt which could -never be canceled. It was easy to say about it to Rose too much or too -little; but, with her usual clearness of head as to matters of conduct, -Miss Lyndsay now held her tongue, nor did Rose tempt her to speak -further. - -As to Jack, he came out of his room at one, adding an hour out of pure -dislike to having any one think he cared. Anne spoke to him, as he -passed her, a mere “How are you, Jack?” but he merely answered, “Good -morning, Aunt Anne,” and went at once to the barrel in which he had left -his cub. It was gone; but whither he never knew. Then he came in to get -his rifle, a gift from Anne on his last and fifteenth birthday. That, -too, was gone. Upon this he got a crust of bread, and betook himself to -the woods, where the black flies were more active than his conscience. -At last he climbed a high dead pine, and sat in the wind, and saw, far -away on the river, his father’s canoe. He felt that he had been -ill-used, and then, remembering Rose on the beach, with the blood about -her, had an hour or so of a boy’s unhappiness. Toward evening he found a -woodchuck’s burrow, which he resolved to dig out; and, somewhat -comforted, at last wandered back to the cabin, all other emotions having -given way before the overwhelming hunger to which, in his wrath, he had -needlessly condemned himself. - - - - - CHAPTER XVI - - -The fishing had been fortunate in the Cliff Camp waters, and now, -somewhat later than usual, dinner being over, the whole family, save -Anne, was collected in the large central room of the cabin. The -fireplace was of a size to hold logs five feet in length, and was built -of rough, unhewn, gray rock. As the evening was cold, a great pile of -birch-wood filled the wide chimney-throat with ruddy flame, and the lamp -which hung overhead and the candles on the table were scarcely needed to -light the room. Here and there were books. In the corner stood a rod or -two in their cases; on the racks a rifle and shot-gun. - -Lyndsay was busy with his salmon-flies, and was carefully inspecting the -multitude of feathered lures which every one collects and no one uses. -On a cushion, upon the floor, sat Rose, in the ripest glow of the red -birch flame. She was all in virginal white, and with this innocence of -color the fire was playing pretty tricks, flushing the white sweep of -the skirt with rose, or playing hide-and-seek with flitting shadows, as -they hid among the folds, and were chased hither and thither when the -long jets of flame spurted out at the ends of the logs. - -Jack being still in some disgrace, our Rose must have his head in her -lap, the lad’s sturdy figure stretched out on the floor. Beside him, Ned -sat cross-legged, like a Turk, and stared into the fire. Dick, at a -side-table, with a candle to himself, was far away in another world, -watching a wild menagerie of rotifers spinning around on the field of -his microscope. - -They were quiet, all of them, in the company of their thoughts. At the -table, Mrs. Lyndsay was deep in “Belinda.” She dearly loved those -pleasant books, still worth the reading, and often gay with very -delightful chat. Now and then she read a bit aloud to her husband. She -cared little for the great books, and liked best the level lowlands of -literature. When Anne was lost in book-land, and it took two or three -questions to call her back to consciousness of her kind, Margaret found -it impossible to comprehend her absorption. Anne had once said to her, -“There are books which carry one away to the mountain-peaks, and will -not let one go without a ransom.” Then Margaret had smiled, and replied, -with the nearest approach to sarcasm of which she was capable, that it -was well there were some people left down below to order the dinners and -see to the servants. - -In the cool air without, and well wrapped up, Anne Lyndsay swung gently -in her hammock beneath the porch. It was well understood among these -people, who so deeply loved her, that at times she liked to be alone, -and then was to be left to herself. She had struggled for this freedom -from kindly intrusion, and years ago had won it, but not without some -contest with Margaret, who was quite unable to see why any one could -want to be solitary. Anne would say, “I am never alone, my dear,” and -was of opinion that the hardest thing to get in a large family were -these sacred hours of privacy. Too many women know that. - -She was just now absolutely free from pain, and in unrestrained -enjoyment of the cool, dry air of the Canadian river, which ran below, -and sent up at unaccountable intervals strange noises as she listened. -Now it was a low, booming, bass note, and now mingled sounds, as of -cries, and distant chuckle of suppressed mirth, where, above and below, -the voyaging waters hopped merrily over their rocky path to the sea. The -moon was high overhead, and lit up the water with life of light, when -here and there the checked current rose in snowy foam over some huge -boulder, dropped ages since on the mighty portage of the ice-swept -continent. Nor cry nor insect-note came from the somber masses of the -hills. After awhile she turned her head, and looked in through the -window at the good people who were so near to her heart. Then she -called, “Jack! Jack!” - -The boy got up and went out to her. - -“Sit down on that stool beside me,” she said. He obeyed in silence. - -“How is the cub, Jacky Giant-Killer?” - -“He is gone!” - -“Indeed! I am sorry for that. I wanted to see it. Did it get away?” - -“No. I suppose father gave it to Tom, or somebody. I don’t care. It was -my cub. I don’t care,” he repeated. - -“Jacky, if Goliath had lied in proportion to his size, he could not have -lied larger than that. Now, isn’t that so?” - -“Oh, I don’t care, and I do.” Then he broke out angrily, “The thing is, -Aunt Anne, nobody asked me a question; nobody wanted to give me a -chance; and that long-legged fellow that shot the bear, he said—I wish -he was my size!—he called me an idiot.” - -“The description was brief and correct. What brains you have—and they -are good enough—you did not use. Three people called to you to drop the -cub. Why didn’t you? You see what mischief came of it; and how much -worse it might have been I do not like to think. Why did you hold on to -the cub?” - -“I just couldn’t let it go, Aunt Anne. You’re awful good to a fellow. -There is no one like you.” And here she captured his hand. - -“Why couldn’t you? It was only to do that.” And she let his hand drop, -and caught it again. - -“It would have been cowardly.” - -“Of course—I knew it; I knew what you thought; but I wanted you to say -it out.” - -“Nobody else has asked me. I didn’t think that bear would go after -anybody but me and the cub, and I just held on.” - -“I see. It explains what you felt; it does not excuse what you did. This -is not quite all of it.” - -He was silent. - -“You were afraid some one would think you were afraid. Wasn’t that a -sort of cowardice, Jack?” - -He was clear of head now, and this arrow went to the mark. - -“Yes,” he said; “I’d hate to think I was afraid.” - -“What is courage?” - -“Oh, not to be afraid; never to be afraid.” - -“Is that all? Isn’t there a nobler courage that goes hand in hand with -reason and love and unselfishness? A man ought to fear when there is -reason to fear—to fear evil, or hurt of others, or dishonor, or sin. You -have unreasoning courage. How are you better than a bulldog? I remember -once, at your father’s table, that I asked a great and wise general as -to another, who was famous for mere heedless bravery, what he thought of -him. ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘he was a great thunderbolt of war, to be thrown by -a hand not his own.’ The man who spoke was brave as are God’s bravest, -Jack; but he had always his wits about him, and knew when to go on and -when to fall back. Isn’t that the finer courage?” - -“I guess so,” said the boy. And then, abruptly, “Are you ever afraid, -Aunt Anne?” - -“No.” And it was true. - -“But if you were in a battle, or were going to die?” - -“I am!” - -“Oh, but soon?” - -“I am! Look here, Jacky, my dear Jacky. I never talk of myself; but I -will this once, for you. I am a very ill woman; in a year or two I shall -die. It is certain. I am to leave this world and those I love. I suffer -pain all the time. No one knows how much.” - -“Oh, Aunt Anne!” - -“Yes. Now I am not afraid to die. I am not even afraid of this pain, -which goes on from bad to worse. If some angel came and said, ‘You are -free to die to-morrow,’ I would say ‘No.’ Life is my little bear-cub, -and it isn’t like your cub. I should be afraid to be such a coward as, -for fear of pain, to want to let go my cub; and that is because God has -put me here to bear what ills come to me, and to use them so as to get -something out of life—to learn endurance and true courage. Perhaps some -one else may get something out of it. I do not want to talk over your -head, Jack. Do you understand me?” - -“I think so,” and tears began to fall on her hand. “I am—I am so sorry -for you.” - -“That is well,—although I am foolish as to pity, and like best to keep -my troubles to myself. But if to know all this helps you to do right, to -know what the courage which comes from God means, I shall not have -suffered in vain.” - -“Thank you!” He began to comprehend her courageous reticence, and was -appalled at this insight into the anguish and struggle of this calm, -self-contained life, which went laughing on its way to death. - -“Kiss me,” she said, “and mind this is between us two. I try usually not -to pain others with my pain. Except to help you, I would not have made -you suffer for my suffering. No one knows why there is so much torment -in the wide world of man and beast, but some of it is clear enough. I -have made your young heart ache to-night; but this suffering has a -meaning, and ought to have a use.” - -“Thank you, dear Aunt Anne!” - -“Don’t cry any more,” she said. “I shall love you better than ever -because we have trusted each other. Now I think you know what to do. -Don’t wait,” and she laughed pleasantly; “procrastination is the -thief—of what, Jacky?” - -“Oh, of time.” And he laughed. - -“No, no, stupid!—of all the virtues. Your father is in the room. Kiss -me.” - -The boy rose up and went straight into the cabin. With his head in air, -and a little flushed, he walked up to his father, and stood as the -latter looked up from his book. - -“I am sorry, sir, for what I did yesterday. I was wrong.” - -Lyndsay put out his hand, and the mother also looked up from her book. - -“That will do,” he said. “I thought you would come right. Go and kiss -Rose.” - -He did so, whispering in her ear, “I am awful sorry, Rose.” Then, in the -brief silence that followed, he walked out again, and went back to Anne. - -“It wasn’t hard?” she said. - -“Yes, it was! I hated it, but I did it.” - -“Now, that was honest courage, Jack. You will feel better for it -to-morrow. Good night; I must go to bed myself.” - -Jack went in with her, and by the way in which he was bidden good night, -saw that the bear business was over. Before he fell asleep, he heard -Rose ask: - -“May I come in?” - -“Yes,” he shouted. She came to the bedside and kissed him. - -“I wanted to say, Jack, that I thought you were very brave to-night. I -would have done it, but I would have waited until dear old Marc. -Aurelius was alone. Oh, I am proud of you. You are to have your rifle -to-morrow.” - -“You asked for it?” - -“I did.” - -“By Thor, but you’re—” - -This was a family oath. - -“Hush, no swearing.” - -“Oh, by Jove!” - -“These are not the Olympic games.” - -“Plague it, Aunt Anne says that isn’t swearing. She says—” - -“You and Aunt Anne had better be careful how you explain away the -commandments. Good night.” - -A poet has said that Time is a mighty peacemaker, and it is quite -certain that he patches up even our quarrels with ourselves. This Rose -found to be the case. The lapse of a day left her less self-annoyance. -That certain precedent facts about her bowman cast a humorous aspect -about the new acquaintance began to be felt rather as a relieving aid to -future social intercourse than as an added embarrassment. - - - - - CHAPTER XVII - - -The next day went by before Rose was believed to be well enough to cast -a fly. Mr. Ellett dropped down to ask how Miss Lyndsay was, and to leave -a note from Carington, with a half-dozen of the famous Millers. - -Aunt Anne smiled a little as she caught Mr. Ellett on his way to the -house, no one else but she being at home. She made herself very amusing, -and, as Ellett was enthusiastic about Carington, she bagged, as she -said, all there was to be known of both young men. - -“You see, Miss Lyndsay, I am unlucky enough to have more money and more -time than Carington says is good for me. But everybody has the same time -as everybody else. That’s so, isn’t it? I saw it in—I think I saw it in -Smith’s ‘Wealth of Nations.’ Ever read it, Miss Lyndsay?” - -“Yes,” said Anne, charmed with her capture. - -“I don’t have much time now. I go in for managing hospitals and things. -You see, Fred says a man who can run a club can manage a hospital. Good -notion, that. He says men are better housekeepers than women.” - -“What heresy!” - -“Isn’t it? Nowadays Fred has more money than I have. You see, he builds -bridges and things.” - -“Then you and your friend Mr. Carington have little in common, from your -account.” - -“Oh, yes, we have; we like each other.” - -“That’s neatly and nicely said; but don’t you think that, on the whole, -in people who are intellectually sympathetic, unlikeness of tastes and -pursuits may be as good a foundation for friendship as a common fondness -for this or that?” - -“Y-e-s,” said the small gentleman, somewhat perplexed. He was slow of -apprehension, but in the end likely enough to become clear as to what he -should think of things said. Miss Anne, on the other hand, was a rapid -talker and thinker, and sometimes overestimated the capacity of people -to follow her. - -“We were speaking of this last week. I said then that as little reason -goes into the making of most friendships as into most love-affairs, or, -for that matter, into most of the religious attachments which men call -their beliefs. Friendship ought to be a tranquil love-affair of the -head, without base question of dot,” and she laughed. - -“But I like a fellow first, and then find reasons for it afterward.” - -“I said it was a love-affair of the head. I have a small heart somewhere -in my head; I know that. Some folks have two heads, and call one a -heart.” - -“I don’t think I quite follow you, Miss Lyndsay,” said Ellett. - -“Oh, there’s no need to.” - -“But it’s dreadful to get left the way I do, at the first hurdle. I was -going to tell you what Fred said to me once; it wasn’t bad at all. He -said once that ours was a friendship of _convenance_ at first, and then, -afterward— Well, the fact was, I happened to hear that he needed money, -and I used to admire him, but I never did think he would care for a -fellow like me, that shot pigeons, and rode steeplechase, and—killed -things.” - -“And you helped him?” - -“Good heavens, Miss Lyndsay! I never meant to—to say anything about -that. I—” - -“You need not apologize,” she said, smiling. “I am getting to be a -pretty old maid, and that gives me privileges. I think I like Mr. -Carington’s friend”; and she said to herself, “You are a dear, shrewdly -simple little man.” - -Then he thanked her, blushing as he rose, and saying: - -“Now, I must go and get a fish.” - -As for Rose, she began to feel that it was rather nice of Mr. Carington -to be in no haste to come after the inevitable gratitude; but when a -pleasant note came to Mrs. Lyndsay inclosing the flies, she began also -to have a certain amount of curiosity as to the man in question, much, I -suppose, like the beginning of that same fatal emotion which in the end -causes the salmon to inspect at closer quarters the provocative Jock -Scott or Durham ranger. - -It was now near the end of their second week, and the after part of the -third day from that which saw the drama of the bear and cub. Rose had -killed two salmon in the morning, and, not having altogether gotten over -the loss of blood, had declined to fish again in the afternoon. Anne was -in her room, the mother out in the boat with Mr. Lyndsay, and the boys -off to dig up the unhappy woodchuck. Rose had the pleasant feeling of -having the house to herself. She took a volume of Lowell, and, settling -herself in the hammock, was soon so deep in the delicate analysis of -Gray that she did not observe the coming canoe, until of a sudden -Carington was beside her. - -“Good evening, Miss Lyndsay.” - -Rose made the usual awkward effort to rise from her comfortable nest, -saying, “I am like the starling, I can’t get out.” - -“Permit me,” he said, and, with the help of his hand, she was on her -feet. - -“Upon my word,” she laughed, “you seem to be essential to the getting me -out of scrapes. I am, I was, always shall be hopelessly in your debt,” -and she blushed prettily, feeling that she had been less formal than she -had meant to be. “Pray sit down,” she added, taking a camp-stool. - -“Thanks. Don’t you think that to give a man such a chance to oblige -people like—like your father and mother—rather puts the sense of -obligation on the other side?” - -“Aunt Anne says that it is written large on some debts, ‘Not -transferable.’ You have put it very nicely, and still you must let me -say once for all, I thank you.” - -“And I am forgiven for my boy frolic?” - -“I don’t know,” she cried, smiling. “That is not nominated in the bond.” - -“Well, we will consider the other obligations settled,” he said, “and -leave this for future adjustment. You will give me what the men call a -good ‘recommend’ for a new place as bowman? I am rather vain of my -poling. How wet you were!” - -“Wet! You have no idea. It established new standards of moisture for me. -But we got the fish.” - -He liked the pronoun of partnership. - -“Yes. I wonder if Mr. Lyndsay would let you fish our water. I could -promise you a salmon or two. Ellett would like to exchange to-morrow -afternoon, and try your lower pool, so that, if Mr. Lyndsay would take -the lower half of our fishing and we the upper, we should be agreeably -matronized—patronized I should say. Will you be so good as to give your -father this note?” - -Rose said yes, and he took up the book she had dropped into the hammock. - -“Lowell! I like his essays more than his verse, except always the -immortal fun of the Biglow Papers. That must surely live. For most of -his poetry I care little.” - -“Yes, it is graceful, interesting at times, which is not true of some -much greater verse; but I do not care for it much,—and that is dreadful, -because we all know him well and love him well.” - -“Indeed! How pleasant that must be! Long as I have lived near him, I -have never seen him.” - -“We shall quarrel here and now if you do not at once praise the Biglow -Papers.” - -“Oh! but I could not say too much of them. After their kind they stand -alone.” - -“Thank you! And how rare it is that the poets combine humor with the -higher qualities! It is sadly true of our day.” - -“Yes, yes! It is laughable to hear people talk of Browning’s humor. At -times he is grotesque or sardonic—never delicately humorous or funny. We -want a word in between fun and humor. And Tennyson is not humorous. It -all seems a part of the gloom which has fallen on English letters.” - -“Oh, there is ‘Plump head-waiter at the Cock’!” - -“That is the exception, and is not very notable, like Lowell’s sustained -and delightful verbal play; the rest are no better or worse off—the -lesser larks, I mean.” - -“Yes, and Shelley has no humor, and Keats’s attempts are only -illustrations of the fact that editors don’t know where to draw the -line.” - -“How agreeable we are!” he said, laughing. He had the happy art of -low-pitched laughter. - -“That way of saying we agree,” she said, “would delight Aunt Anne.” - -“And do you find time up here to read much?” he went on. “I cannot. The -hours go by like the water, without freight of thought.” - -“Not much,” she returned. “I read very little here, although at home we -are mighty consumers of books. I am as little fond of the needle as is -my aunt, but one takes up a book lazily here as a sort of companion that -does not insist on answers.” - -“You seem to have provided a goodly ration,” he returned, looking about -him. - -“I am hardly responsible for this mob of books. My good mother is in -despair over our accumulations, and my father declares that the house at -home is a Noah’s ark of books after their kind.” - -“And what kind?” said Carington, much pleased to get off so easily from -what he had feared might be an importunate debtor. - -“Oh, every kind! Of course, my good father’s legal books now and then -drift away from their proper place. Then Jack collects voyages and -ferocities by land and sea, and Dick will spend his last dime on books -about beasts and plants. My dear Ned reads everybody’s books with entire -impartiality. Aunt Anne must have digested libraries; but then she is -not like anybody else. I hardly call it reading. She falls upon a book, -and appears to look it over carelessly, and then, after you have read it -with attention, you find that she knows twice as much about it as you -do.” - -“But that is very interesting. I judged from our little chat at -breakfast that Miss Anne was out of the ranks of our commonplace world. -And she reads widely?” - -“Yes! We call her the ‘book-hawk.’ It is rare fun to see her pounce on a -tempting volume.” - -“She struck me, if I may venture to say so, as most interesting; but -that there should remain this immense, ever active energy of -appropriation with feeble health seems remarkable.” - -A little surprised, Rose asked, “Why do you think her ill?” - -“She told me so,—or hardly that: she was merely led to say she was not -strong, and a glance at that pale drawn face, Miss Lyndsay, would—pardon -me—I—” - -“No. Perhaps I should explain my surprise. It was because to hear of -Aunt Anne as confessing weakness was to me more strange than you can -imagine, unless you knew her as we do.” - -“I liked it,” said Carington. - -“Yes. It means that she—well—it means that she is going to like you—a -signal.” - -“Thank you; that is very pleasant. But, talking of books again, you left -off just where I hoped you were going to tell me what books after your -kind go into the family ark.” - -“I was going to do nothing of the sort,” cried Rose, with a laugh. “You -will think we are a dull set of mere book-grubbers. I can assure you we -are very foolish people, and can be as silly as the silliest.” - -“You shall have credit for any possible margin of folly.” - -“Oh, there must be a limit. I did not want to leave you to think we are -what Aunt Anne calls book proud.” - -“Book proud?” - -“Yes. You must have known people who seem at some time to have suddenly -discovered books, the real books, and are vastly set up by their -new-found wealth.” - -“I know. I was stupid. My friend Ellett came pretty near to having a -grave case of the malady soon after I first knew him, but he was cured -easily with the tenth dilution of a sarcasm.” - -“Were you the doctor?” - -“I was. I hope you liked him, Miss Lyndsay. I like my friend to be liked -by—by every one.” - -“You meant to say, by your friends,” she returned, with pretty -frankness. “You have committed the folly of making a large addition to -your list.” - -“And I may include Miss Rose Lyndsay?” he said, as he stood up. - -“That goes without saying.” - -“But I want it with the saying.” - -“Then you have it,” and she gave her hand for good-by, and he went away. -At the cliff edge he paused. - -“I shall be dreadfully disappointed if we do not get the fishing.” - -“But I think we shall.” - -“Then good-by again.” In a moment he was in his canoe, for he had come -alone, and was sturdily poling up the stream. The well-knit figure in -the becoming guise of jacket and knickerbockers held her eye until it -was lost around the river curves. Then she said aloud: - -“That is a very nice man.” - -The man in the canoe said to himself: - -“Please God I shall marry that woman.” - -An hour ago she was Miss Lyndsay and as other women had been to him. But -now—he smiled. - -When Miss Lyndsay had made her own little statement, she looked about -her shyly of a sudden, as if fearful lest some one might have overheard -her, and, reassured by the knowledge that she was alone, added: - -“I am not as sorry as I was.” The why of this last decision she did not -seek to analyze, but dropped into the hammock, and, lulled by its -motion, by and by fell asleep. - -After awhile came Lyndsay on tip-toe, and, smiling, kissed her, and then -again before she quite waked up. - -“A pair—two pair—of gloves,” he cried. - -At this she sat up, with a faint blush on her cheek, fetched from far -away out of dreamland. I do not know of what she was dreaming. - -“You startled me so, Pardy. How wicked you are! Mr. Carington has been -here, and left a note for you.” - -“And you settled your small obligations—hey, Rose?” - -“I did.” - -“Difficult?” He had anticipated her embarrassments. - -“No. Not even you could have been nicer about it.” - -“And you liked him? We did.” - -“Yes—oh, yes,” she said with indifference. “I thought him pleasant. He -talks quite well, and is a gentleman.” - -“Rather mild praise for a man who—” - -“Don’t, please, Pardy; I—I hate to be joked about it.” - -“I won’t, dear. To say, in these days of too easy fashions, that a man -is a gentleman means, for us at least, a good deal.” - -“I think so. Of course, I had to say distinctly that I thanked him, and -he received it so—so quietly and simply that I was not in the least -embarrassed. I can’t tell you, Pardy, how absurdly I dreaded it.” - -Thereupon Mr. Lyndsay went in, saying to himself: - -“I hope the receiver isn’t going to be the thief—confound the business!” - - - - - CHAPTER XVIII - - -The next day, being Saturday, a little note sent in the morning told -Carington that Miss Lyndsay and her father would fish his waters in the -afternoon. Her father took Rose up in his own canoe, and at the Island -Camp they found their new friends. Mr. Ellett went off to take their -pool, and Rose was soon seated in Carington’s canoe, facing the stern of -the boat. - -“No,” he said gaily, “I shall sit between you and Michelle, here in the -bottom. I shall be very comfortable, and I shall be able to criticize -your casts. No, I don’t mean to fish. It is your day—all yours. We shall -beat you, Mr. Lyndsay. Mind, Michelle, we are bent on wholesale -business.” - -Then they were off, and in a half-hour were at the head of the pool, a -full cast from the bank, and in a wilful rush of broken water. Meanwhile -Mr. Lyndsay dropped down half a mile below them. - -“I am afraid you must cast seated,” said Carington. “The boat rocks too -much for it to be safe to stand.” - -“That makes it harder.” - -“Yes; but you won’t mind my coaching you?” - -“Oh, no!” - -“Then, use your arms and wrist in the cast. Don’t try to put too much -force in it. There, that is better—so.” - -She went on casting, a little troubled by the critical watchfulness of -the curly head below her, for Carington had thrown his cap at his feet -and sat bare-headed. At last, in the second drop, a fish rose. - -“Didn’t you see him?” - -“No.” - -“He rose. Wait a little. He lies on a line with that cedar. Now, again. -They are in rising mood to-day. I rose six here this morning, and then -left the pool, so as not to exhaust their curiosity.” - -“That was to leave me the chance,” thought Rose. - -“There, Miss Lyndsay; he was pretty eager that time. - -“A rise to a Rose seems grammatically improbable,” he murmured, laughing -outright at his own nonsense, and happy enough to be easily silly. - -“What amuses you?” she said. - -“Oh, nothing.” - -“Then you are very readily amused.” - -“I am to-day. Up anchor. He has it. Tip up! So! A grilse.” - -“Oh! how he jumps,” she cried, for he was in and out of the water a -dozen times. - -“That is the fashion of his kind, young and foolish. Hold him hard, and -reel him in. He is too small to trifle with. Well done; four minutes, or -less.” - -“That horrid gaff!” said Rose. - -“Wait a moment. I thought you might not like it. I have my big net,” and -so in a moment the pretty five-pounder was in the boat, and had his -_coup de grâce_. - -The next half-hour Rose fished hard, but in vain, and began to be weary. -Then, at last, there was a huge splash at the utmost limit of her -casting distance. - -“Two fish was after that fly,” said Michelle. “Guess they run against -each other.” - -“Let out a little line,” said Carington. - -“But I can’t cast that far. Won’t you, please?” - -“Certainly.” And, standing, he threw off two or three feet of line. The -leader and fly dropped far away, straight from the rod. At last, after -many casts, he put on a fly well known to anglers as a “fairy.” The fish -rose, missed it, and then, following the retreating line, struck -savagely. - -“Up anchor!” cried Carington, as he sat down, giving the rod to Rose. - -“Big one that, sir,” said Michelle; and, as he spoke, the salmon darted -down-stream, the men in wild excitement, and the canoe swiftly urged in -his track. - -“The salmon seem fond of going to sea, Michelle. It is very rare, Miss -Lyndsay.” - -“Oh, he will have all my line! What can I do?” - -“Tip up! up! He must run, and he will.” And away they flew. - -“Quick, Michelle! I have twice seen a salmon run off a reel.” And now, -in fact, there was very little line left, when, after nearly half a mile -of rush downstream, the fish turned and ran toward the boat. - -“Lost? No! Nothing is ever lost—reel! reel!—except by people who ought -to lose. No, reel! reel!” And poor Rose, at the limit of exhaustion, -obeyed till her arm ached, and the perilously long loop of line at last -became tense, and the fish showed himself in one great leap not forty -feet away. - -“He’s beat!” cried Michelle. “Easy, miss, easy. Have to gaff him, sir.” - -“All right. What’s the matter with him?” - -“Hooked foul, sir. Ah!” And, amidst splash and laughter, and much water -over Rose, the prey was hers. - -“What does he weigh?” - -Carington took the spring-scale. “How is it, Michelle?” - -“Thirty-eight pounds, miss, and a beauty. A half-hour we was, I guess.” - -“I congratulate you. Are you tired?” - -“Tired? No, I am exhausted. I really don’t think I can fish any more. -Won’t you?” - -“Suppose we pole up a mile or so, to the upper pool. I’ll cast a little, -and then we can drop down and meet Mr. Lyndsay.” - -“Certainly. I, at least, am satisfied.” - -“Up-stream, Michelle.” And the poles were out, and they went away slowly -up the watery slope. - -“Do you mind talking at the back of a man’s head?” said Carington. “I -might have shifted the chair, and my own position—I will, if you like.” - -“No; it has its advantages,” and she laughed, remembering another -occasion. - -“Such as—” - -“I leave that to your imagination.” - -“I have none.” - -“Then to your reason.” - -“Gone! Retired from business.” - -“I found it advantageous—once.” - -“You mean when I was bowman. I thought I was to be forgiven.” - -“I distinctly said you were not, and that I should reserve the matter -for future consideration.” - -“But the advantage was all on my side.” - -“Thank you. I suppose because you could not see my face.” - -“That is simply a diabolical explanation. I hope you may lose your next -fish.” - -“Don’t. I can bear any form of malice but that. I have gone salmon-mad, -like the rest of you.” - -“I retract,” he said. “Isn’t this hunting and fishing instinct curious? -I suppose it got ingrained ages ago, in the days when our forebears were -getting their daily diet by the use of the club and spear. If you could -shoot, would you like that?” - -He did not want her to say yes, and she did say, “No; I set my sporting -limits at the salmon.” - -“That is to say, pretty well up the scale. I confess that for me -salmon-fishing is the noblest of the sports.” - -“Why is it? For myself, I like it; I hardly know why. But I want to hear -why you speak of it so warmly. You shoot, of course?” - -“Yes. All manner of things, when I get the time. As to this fishing, I -don’t think I spoke at random. It requires some skill,—not too much, or -too intense attention. One is free to mix it with a book, or with deep -thinkings, or with the laziest mind-idleness. Then, too, one’s curiosity -is kept up by the unguessable riddles of the ways of salmon. We know no -more about salmon than we know about—well, I leave you to fill the gap.” - -“It is easy to guess,” she cried, “what the other term of all difficult -comparisons is for men.” - -“Woman, I humbly presume you to mean. Indeed, I at least might be -excused if I so said. I have no sister, no cousins, indeed; no -mother—now,” and he paused. “I am in truth alone in the world since -after the war, when I wandered north, a pretty sorry sort of a -half-educated orphan.” - -“And what did you do then?” She felt agreeably the courteous deference -of the young man’s manner, and liked the brief emotion of his pause as -he spoke of his mother, nor less the soft Southern accent. - -“Oh, I got work on a railroad as a chain-bearer, and worked up until I -made a little invention, which I sold, and with the money I went to the -Troy scientific school. It was pretty tough, because I had to do double -work on account of my want of early training. However, I got through.” - -“And then?” - -“Oh, then I was employed as an engineer, and, by and by, the firm I am -now in took up some of my new notions about bridge-building. I ought to -ask pardon for talking about myself. I really think it was your fault.” - -“I am not over-penitent. I think, with my father, that the lives of men -who succeed are interesting.” - -“Have I succeeded? I suppose that fellow Ellett has been indulging you -all with my virtues and capacities.” - -“Perhaps!” And now a look at the face would have been desirable. He said -no more for a moment. Then Miss Lyndsay went on: - -“You were about to say—” - -“No, I was not. Yes, I was. I was about to say that success in life -means many things. Material success I have had. There are other -successes. I have by no means all I want.” - -“And what else do you want? Immaterial success? I hardly know what that -is; but one can’t be consistently wise.” - -He laughed. “Oh, I am a fellow full of wants.” - -“Do you get what you want, as a rule? I sometimes envy men the battles -of their lives.” - -“Yes, mostly I get what I want. When I want things, I so terribly want -them that not to win is—is unpleasant.” - -“Oh!” she cried, “did you see that salmon jump? I should like to be a -salmon, just an hour, to know why they want the fly. They don’t want it -to eat, do they?” - -“No. But also we ourselves want many things which we can’t eat.” - -She laughed outright, which is at times provoking when the face is -invisible. - -“It is my turn now,” he said. “What amuses you?” - -“Nothing!” This was hardly true. She was mirthfully overcome at the idea -of Carington as a salmon, and somebody casting a fly over that curly -head. “Oh, nothing.” - -“I know better,” he said. - -“Indeed? What kind of a fly would you advise as a lure to a human -salmon?” - -“That is a pretty serious question. It is to be a male salmon, I -presume. What would I rise to? Money, good looks, character, position.” - -“I might suggest a killing combination fly,” she returned. - -“That reminds me pleasantly of my old guide, Tom Dunham, who used to go -with me on Lake Superior. He was an old beaver-trapper. Once I asked him -how he baited his traps. He said, ‘Women beavers is easy satisfied with -one thing for a bait, but men beavers is best took with two or three -kinds, all just sot to one, in a bait.’” - -“I don’t see the moral.” - -“Oh, that is a matter of choice. The beaver, once in the trap, has -leisure to select the moral.” - -“Rather. How interesting these guides must be! The lonely life in the -woods must result in the making of some singular characters. Or do they -all become dull and taciturn?” - -“Some do. Tom was a most amusing person. I remember we were lying one -night at the Pictured Rocks, on the south shore. I can see now the dim -line of cliffs, and the camp-fire, and the loons on the lake, taken by -the broad red band of ruddy light flashing far over the waters. Tom was -talking beaver. At last I told him a beaver story out of one of -Buckland’s books. It doesn’t bore you?” - -“Oh, no. I love stories.” - -“Well, once on a time, when folks wore beaver hats, an ancient beaver -sat on a dam, and discoursed wisdom to a young beaver. Presently came -floating down-stream a beaver hat. ‘What is that?’ cried the young -beaver. Then the old beaver wiped his eyes with his long, hairy tail, -and said, ‘My son, that is our grandfather!’” - -“Delightful! Do tell the boys that.” - -“Tom considered this incident in silence until at last I said, ‘Tom, I -don’t suppose you believe that story?’ ‘Well, now,’ says Tom, ‘that just -shows you don’t know nothin’ about beavers. In course he knowed his own -granddaddy.’” - -“That is really charming.” - -“Oh, here is the pool.” Their places were now shifted, Carington casting -over Miss Lyndsay. For an hour he fished in a distracted way, to -Michelle’s disgust, for the fisherman sat for the most part, and paid -less attention to the fly than to the back of Miss Lyndsay’s neck, and a -pair of delicately modeled ears, and the most distracting lot of hair, -which had been disturbed in her casting, and in and out of which two -hands were busy with mysteriously guided efforts at readjustment. Also, -he wondered how much of a woman’s nature one could learn from these -limited opportunities. - -After a good deal of talk, with some dangerous intervals of silence, he -gave up fishing, saying, “It is no use,” and ordered the anchor up. It -was now toward evening, and they were off and away to meet Mr. Lyndsay -at the beach. - -“Don’t paddle,” said Carington. “Keep her straight; that is all.” - -He was more than willing to lengthen the time of their too brief voyage. -Both seemed inclined to the lonely satisfaction of silent thought. - -As they neared the Island beach, Rose said, “I have had so delightful an -afternoon that I almost forgot mama’s message. I was to ask you to come -down to-morrow—no, Monday—night, after dinner, and Mr. Ellett, of -course. We will try to show you what silly folk we can be. We are guilty -of much folly, I assure you. We will play ‘Situations’—we call it -'Plots.’” - -“What is that?” - -“Oh, you will learn—and charades, I dare say.” - -“It looks formidable.” - -“It is—it will be. I have to get even with you about that bowman -business.” - -“But I am reeking with remorse.” - -“I don’t believe it. By the way, in my moistened haste, I gave you my -luck-piece, my dear little gold dollar.” - -“Well.” - -“I want it back.” - -“And my pay? I do not work for nothing.” - -“You shall have a big silver dollar.” - -“No, that is worth only eighty-five cents: pure swindle that!” - -“But I want it.” - -“I like that.” - -“I shall never rest till I get it.” - -“I am so sorry.” - -“But I really don’t care.” - -“That is a relief to my conscience.” - -“Oh, Pardy! I have killed a grilse and a thirty-eight-pound salmon.” - -“And I nothing. Mr. Carington must have ordered all the fish up-stream. -Might I ask for some water?” - -“Yes. Michelle, get a jug fresh from the spring. Come to the tents. -Alas, Mr. Lyndsay, to-morrow is Sunday—no fishing.” - -“No, indeed. How good that water is! Rose, you might take that grilse to -Mrs. Maybrook to-morrow.” - -“I will, unless it is too hot. Good-by, Mr. Carington. How comfortable -you look here!” They were now in the dinner-tent. “And books! You are -worse than Aunt Anne.” And they went away. - -Carington watched them from shore as they hailed Ellett, who went by -them with three good fish. - -“Now,” said Carington, “if it is cool in the morning, I shall go to see -Mrs. Maybrook, to pay for the milk; and if it is warm, I shall go in the -afternoon. I hope the thermometer will be definite.” - - - - - CHAPTER XIX - - -On this Saturday evening, while Rose was relating her day to Aunt Anne, -Joe Colkett sat, meditatively, astride of his wood-saddle.[5] In the -morning he had seen Dorothy Maybrook, and had been as cunning as he knew -how to be. He had found Dory engaged in “p’inting her man,” as she said; -he was to saw some wood, and to kill two chickens for Mrs. Lyndsay’s -table. “Now, two p’ints, Hiram, two!” The pale, square-shouldered man -considered her with dull eyes. - ------ - -Footnote 5: - - The cross-pieces on which wood is laid for sawing. - ------ - -“You said two pairs.” - -“Oh, you are not p’inted right yet. Don’t you kill more than two -chickens. Here,” and she set two pins in his sleeve, “you can look at -these.” - -“There, one pin stands for each chicken,” he said. “Guess I’m p’inted,” -and he went away. - -“What’s wanting,Joe?” she said. “How’s Susie?” - -“Oh, she’s kind of upsot. She takes on ’bout that last boy like there -wasn’t a boy on airth.” - -“There isn’t for her.” - -“There’s no gainsayin’ that. She’s allus a-talkin’ about them Lyndsays, -and how they sot a stone, a right handsome stone, up on that there boy -of theirn,—and she ain’t got none. Women’s awful queer, Dory. I can’t -buy no tombstone.” - -“It doesn’t seem so queer to me. Can’t you get some kind of a thing, -just to please the woman? Why, if it was only of wood, you see, it might -help.” - -“That’s so. I was a sort of thinkin’ ’bout that. Queer how folks thinks -’bout the same things.” - -“Were you? Well, you’re a better kind of man than I took you for, Joe -Colkett. Your wife’s about half off her wits with grieving. If I was -you, I wouldn’t—well, I wouldn’t take her too serious. People that are -troubled the way she is do have strange notions. I think the devil he’s -as like as not to get a grip on us when we are—” - -“What was you a-thinkin’, Dory?” he broke in, suspiciously. - -“I ain’t fully minded to tell you, Joe. But Susie’s a masterful woman, -and don’t you let her get you into trouble. If it’s money, my man and me -we’ve got a little put by. I’d a heap rather spend a bit of it than see -you tormented into some wickedness.” - -“You must think I’m right bad, Dory. Can’t you talk out?” - -“No; I might, but I won’t. Only you remember, Joe, I didn’t say you were -bad, but I do say anybody you care for might p’int you wrong. It’s a -queer thing how easy men can be p’inted.” - -He was terribly scared, and, seeing that no more was to be had out of -Dory, resolved to profit by her warning. How she could have guessed -anything of his or his wife’s intentions he was at a loss to comprehend. -But he was timid, and eager to steer clear of trouble. After a few -moments of silent consideration, he spoke: - -“It ain’t always easy to keep straight. Guess I’m p’inted now, like -Hiram,” and he grinned. “I don’t drink none neither, not now.” - -“Stick to that and keep your mouth shut, or it may be worse for you—and -for Susie, too,” she added. - -“I will. Don’t you be afraid.” - -“And what fetched you, Joe?” - -“I was minded to set a nice clean board over them boys. I was a-tellin’ -you that. And I can’t read none nor write. But if you was to write big -on a paper just what a man might want to set on a board like I was -a-talkin’ of, guess I could copy it plain enough.” - -Dorothy considered. “Can you wait? It’ll be quite a time.” - -“Yes, I kin wait.” - -She left him, and went into the house, and was gone a full hour. What -the man thought of as he leaned against the rails, or sat on top, I do -not know. He had the patience of an ant. - -When he saw Dorothy again at the door he climbed down, and, with some -excitement in his face, went toward the cabin. - -“It wasn’t right easy, Joe. I was thinking I might ask Mr. Carington -about it. Mr. Lyndsay he’d be best; but I guess I wouldn’t ask him.” - -“No,” said Joe, promptly. He saw why this might not be well. “I don’t -want nobody to know, Dory, ’cept you and Susie. It’ll kind of surprise -her, and she’ll like it.” Then he added, with some cunning, “She hates -to have folks goin’ there where them children’s buried.” - -“I shall never want to,” said Dorothy. She still carried an unpleasant -remembrance of the dismal burial. - -“Well, I thought I’d tell you, Dory.” - -“Yes, of course.” She took the hint as but another evidence of Susie’s -state of mind and of Joe’s dreads and anxieties, and failed to examine -it closely, not being of a suspicious turn, despite a life which had -given little and taken much. Whoever asked of Dorothy a favor approached -her on the side of her nature most open to capture. - -“You are a good deal more patient than most men,” she said. “Come in; -come in.” Joe entered after her. A Sunday quiet was in the air of the -place. There was no fire, and the sun, as it looked in, disclosed no -want anywhere of neatness and care. It was not lost on poor Joe as he -looked around the small house. He had been here often, but there are -times when we see and times when we do not. Now, perhaps because of -being on guard, all his senses, and the inert mind back of them, were -more alive than usual. A book lying open on the spotless table struck -him most; a snow-white rolling-pin had been hastily laid on it to keep -the place at the moment of Joe’s coming. - -He was bent on making himself agreeable to his hostess, who now stood by -an open window, well satisfied with her work, a large sheet of paper in -her hand. She had put on for Sunday a white gown which had known the -summers of Georgia. It was clean and much mended, but it set off her -fair rosiness and dark hair, and made her look larger than she was. - -“Sit down, Joe.” - -“Guess I will,” said Joe. “Top rail of Hiram’s fence is mighty sharp.” - -He sat down with caution, being heavy. In his own home the furniture was -apt to go to pieces unless humored by a but gradual abandonment to it of -the full weight of the human frame. Satisfied as to this, he began to -use the weapon of his sex: - -“You’re well fixed up here, Dory. There ain’t many women could keep a -man’s house lookin’ like yourn!” - -“Oh, it’s only just to not let things get ahead of you, and to keep your -man p’inted right.” - -“Might be the woman mostly,” he said. “Some women p’ints themselves, and -some women don’t. It isn’t every woman’s got your talents.” - -“I don’t know, Joe. Sometimes I think it isn’t worth while to go on and -on this way, and then I let things go a while just any way they’re -a-minded. That’s burying your talents, Joe; and then at last I can’t -stand it, and I dig up my little talents, and dust them well, and say, -‘Get up on your legs, and attend to your business.’” Her parables were -never clear to him. - -“We live just like hogs at my house.” - -“No, you don’t,” cried Dorothy, laughing. “I hate to hear a man taking -away the characters of respectable animals. A hog has always got his -nose over the trough. He wants his feed like everything. He’ll work for -it all day—and smart! Why, he’ll be into your truck-patch and out, when -he sees you, before you can turn round. He knows what he wants, and he -goes for it; and he knows when he’s stealing as well as you or me. I -hate to hear an animal called pig-headed because he don’t mean to be -ordered here or there by a fellow that hasn’t got half his will or half -his brains. There!” - -“Gosh, Dory, but you’re a funny woman.” - -“Am I? There is more than fun in that sermon. Look here; this might do.” -And, as he came near and stood with huge square hands on the table, she -spread out the sheet of paper. - -“Can’t you read any of it, Joe?” - -“Not no word of it. I might know the letters—the big ones.” - -He looked at it as a scholar might at some papyrus in an unknown -language. “You might read it,” he said. - -Upon this, with a finger on each word, as she went on, and with his eyes -following it with interest, she read slowly: - - “HERE LIE THE BODIES - OF - SUSAN FAIRLAMB, - PETER FAIRLAMB, AND - ISAIAH FAIRLAMB, - CHILDREN OF SUSAN AND - PETER FAIRLAMB.” - -“I guess I’d leave him out,” said Joe, straightening himself. - -“But children must have a father.” - -“There ain’t no need to say it, though, Dory. Susie she won’t like it.” - -“Well, it isn’t my tombstone,” said Dorothy. “He wasn’t much use to them -when he was alive; we’ll leave him out.” Untrammeled by the usages of -the world, she put a pen through the statement of parental relation. - -“What about the dates—the days they died, and their ages?” - -“Derned if I know, except about Isaiah. It don’t matter none.” He was -reflecting that the work before him might be reasonably lessened. - -“It really don’t matter,” she returned. “But, Joe, don’t you want some -verse out of the Bible? They most generally do put that.” - -“It makes a heap of work, and my knife ain’t none too sharp. Make it -short, anyways.” - -Certain grim texts came into Dorothy’s mind, but she set them aside. At -last she wrote: - - Of such are the kingdom of heaven! - -and repeated the phrase aloud. - -“That’s as short as you could make it?” he said. - -“Yes. Do you come down to-morrow morning—no, on Monday. I’ll baste four -big sheets together, and print it all, the size you will want it. Then -you can easily copy the letters. How will that do?” - -“First rate. I’m awful obliged to you, Dory.” - -“Can Susan read it?” - -“Well, she can manage to spell it out; and you’ll read it to me a couple -of times, so I’ll be able to tell her if she ain’t got the meanin’ -straight. I’ll come, and don’t you let no one know.” - -“Well, good-by.” She made no promise. She had too clear a sense of the -ridiculous to want to let this thing stand uncriticized. It was for her -a novel venture. Now she saw the man go, and stood herself a moment in -the sun, facing the doorway, and resting with both hands on the table. -Her own children lay in nameless graves in the far South, buried in days -when war and want had made record difficult. She was recalling the -live-oak grove where the two small mounds were crumbling to the common -level of earth. At last she smiled, and said aloud: - -“I guess Christ will know where to find them.” - -“What was you sayin’?” said Hiram, entering. - -“I was only p’inting myself, Hiram.” - -“Do you have need to do that, Dory? I’d’a’ never guessed that.” - -“Oh, pretty often.” She herself would scarcely have said “p’inting” in -her talk with the Lyndsays, but that her husband used the word, and she -had come to regard it by habit as having a specific significance other -than that of its proper, unabbreviated parent. - -Meanwhile Joe Colkett walked homeward, with so much mind as he possessed -at ease. The rest of the enterprise seemed small compared to the -difficulty over which poor Dorothy had so innocently helped him. - -At times he had been inclined to content himself with a neat wooden -tomb-mark. Being clever enough with tools, this might easily have been -managed; but now, the hard, half-distraught woman, whose worn middle age -still had his love, for whom he would have dared all his nature let him -dare, was ever at his elbow with hints as to the possibility of crime. -He had, however, no natural tendency to grave wrong-doing, and it seemed -to him that if he could propitiate this relentless temptress by -gratifying her lesser desire, she might be content and cease to urge him -into worse ways. He was distinctly afraid of his wife, and, once or -twice, of himself, when she had set before him what they could do with -money, and how pleasant it might be to get drunk when he liked. - -At least now she should have her more innocent wish satisfied. Nor was -it strange that he gave no thought to the people he was about to -plunder. He had lived too much of late in the black shade of the -possibilities of larger crime to be troubled by the smaller sin he was -so eager to commit. Nor could he supply to the minds of those he meant -to rob more motives than his own imagination supplied, and it taught him -nothing in the way of sentiment concerning these records of the dead. - - - - - CHAPTER XX - - -Joe went home, and, as he approached, saw the woman, his wife, at the -wood-pile. One foot was on a log, and, as she struck, she swung the ax -with the ease of habit and of strength. Joe stood a moment thinking what -a fine, big creature it was. He admired the physical power and the -dexterity of this gaunt being, to whom unkindly time had left none of -the fair curves of her sex. - -Once he had humbly wondered why the tall and still handsome Susan had -given herself to him; but for years he had too well known her motives, -and slowly, by degrees, there had been revealed to his simplicity the -true nature of the wife he had taken. It did not destroy, it scarcely -lessened, his attachment. The poor fellow had by birthright a great -fortune in capacity to love. No one had cared for him, and when he found -this single love of a sad life, it was not in his construction to be -capable of change. - -“Halloa, Susie! Why, I’ll do that!” he cried cheerfully. - -She stopped short, and, turning, faced him. “You ain’t man enough even -to cut wood for a woman.” And again she struck to right and left with -masculine vigor. “Get out, or I’ll let you have it,” she said, whirling -the ax around her head as he fell back. And still the vigor and force of -the woman pleased him, despite the sense that he was being ill used. - -“But I’ve been doin’ somethin’ for you that’ll please you a heap.” - -She ceased to chop as he spoke, and, standing, faced him. - -“You can’t fool me. You’ve been after drink. I know you. Get in and make -the bed, it ain’t been made all day; and there’s a pair of socks needs -darning.” She laughed. “Pretty dear, he is!” - -The sarcasm was thrown away. He stared at her a moment in dull wonder, -and went in, and tossed up the pillows, and turned the corn-husk -mattress, and propped a broken chair against the wall, and did his best -to make it all look like the neat order in Dorothy’s cabin. Next he took -a half-loaf of stale bread, and went out the back door and into the -woods. - -It was now dusk. Avoiding the road, he strode with a woodman’s skill -through the deeper forest, over a hill-top, and thus down to the river, -and so at last found himself above the clearings. Here he came upon the -dugout he had hidden in the alders two days before. He got in and poled -up-stream in the darkness, passing the burnt lands, and coming at length -to a deserted flat. It had once been a good pasture, but some change had -taken place in the channel, and now in the spring the waters always went -over it. Where coarse undergrowth had sprung up, the ice of the April -floods had torn long lanes of ravage. The dead or half-dead bushes were -bent southward, and weighted with a ragged tangle of leaves and twigs -caught in the angular branchings of the stems: a desolate place, and -wild enough in the uncertain evening light. - -Beyond the ruined cabin, which the changes of the river curves had made -untenable, he crossed the inland road. He might easily have come by it, -but had wisely avoided even this small chance of being seen. On the -farther side was an oblong, white frame-building, the Methodist chapel. -Once in a month it was used in its turn for service by the lean -minister. It was likely that no one would be near it for two weeks, and, -in fact, here the road ended. - -Joe got over into the graveyard and looked about him. There were three -or four heavy slabs of gray stone, and a dozen or two of unmarked -graves, over which he stumbled with a curse. He looked around and -listened. Only the hoarse roar of the rapids reached his ear, and he saw -the moon just over the tree-tops. The light aiding him, he came at last -on the simple, white, upright slab set over the child’s grave. He seized -it, with no hesitation, and began to rock it sideways, to and fro. At -last it was loosened, and, with no more thought than he would have given -the felling of a pine, he tore it out, and with difficulty hoisted it on -his back, and set out toward the river. It was easily lifted over the -low stone wall of the graveyard, but as he set it on the top of the -fence beyond the road, and began to climb over, the rail broke and he -fell, the heavy marble tumbling on his foot so as to cut the instep. He -sat down, with an oath, and took off his boot. He was in great pain. The -boot was torn, as he found, and half full of blood. It was an hour -before he could get it on again and walk at all. - -At length he got over the broken fence, thinking only in his suffering -of the woman and how she would like what he meant to do for her. Twice -he failed to lift the slab onto his back, and twice lay down beside it, -overcome by a strong feeling that after all he might fail. At last, in -such extremity of pain as would have conquered most men, he got up, and -set his teeth, and resolutely took up his burden. It must have been the -most intense hour of a life without power to call up the past by means -of pictures, for, as he staggered through the gloom, sweating with -effort and from increasing torture, he was given a brief moment when he -saw Susan as he first knew her, a slim, strong, young woman, with the -emphatic beauty of anger upon her. It made him stronger, and he went on. -At last he reached the dugout, and saying, from mere habit, “Thank the -Lord! I done it,” he sat a while with his foot in the cool river water. - -It was true that at no moment had he felt the terrors which few had -escaped in the lonely home of the dead he had robbed. Now he was at ease -and assured of success. He laid the stone in the boat. As he stood an -instant in the gloom of a profound stillness, a cold gust of wind came -down from the hills, and, with wail and roar in the pines beyond, -swooped onto the level, and for a moment shook life of movement into the -dead gray streamers of moss and the hanging wreckage of torn underbrush. -The next moment all was still again. It is not a very rare phenomenon, -but he might not before have given it attention. Somehow its unusualness -impressed him, so that he shivered as he felt the momentary coolness, -and with this came the familiar notion of his childhood that a dog was -crawling over his grave. He jumped into the pirogue, shoved it off, and -was at once away in the current. As he sat down, with his paddle in -hand, he reflected that the white stone was full in view and that some -one might by chance be out with a drag-net poaching. He put into shore, -and carefully covered the stone with ferns. There was, of course, the -risk of a river-warden’s inquisition, but he knew when the rounds were -made, and so ran on fearlessly, keeping a sharp eye ahead. - -No one troubled him. He got ashore near his cabin, and still in the -utmost pain, resting often on the way, carried the stone to the wood, -where, in secure remoteness from his house, he could go on with the -needed work. On his way homeward he picked up two steel traps as an -excuse for his absence. - -When he entered the house it was early morning, and, to his surprise, he -found Susan afoot. Her habit was to lie abed until Joe had been up some -time, kindled the fire, and perhaps even had set the frying-pan to heat, -and made tea, which she was accustomed to drink in excessive amounts. On -other days, of late, she was apt to lie abed still longer, to refuse -food, and decline to take the least notice of Joe. For him these moods -represented the mother’s grief. If he did not fully comprehend it, he at -least tried his best to disregard the inconvenience thus added to his -wretched life. His canine simpleness craved mere affectionate regard, -and in its lack, and the undefined misery this caused him, the woman -possessed a deadly weapon. And now, on this occasion, to his surprise -she was up, and his sorry breakfast of stale bread and bacon ready. - -Of trees to fell, or quality of rafted lumber, he knew enough to be a -good hand in the woods or on the spring drives, but naturally enough was -unobservant of people. Nevertheless he noticed that his wife had on a -not uncleanly gown, and a bit of worn ribbon, and had set her unkempt -locks in order. - -“Law, Susie, you look right slick,” he said. - -“Been after the traps, Joe?” she said, glancing at the rusty irons in -his hand. “Get anything?” - -“Guess so. A mus’rat and a wood-chuck.” - -“Let’s see.” He went out and brought them in. - -“Chuck’s good and fat, Susie, and I know where another one lives!” - -“Just ain’t he fat! And the rat-skin?” - -“That ain’t much.” - -“But it’d make a nice purse if there was any money to put in it.” - -“That’s so, Susie.” - -“But we’ll get something to put in it,” she said, setting her large red -eyes on the man, and speaking with cold cheerfulness. - -“Yes,” he returned hastily. “I’ll get a job up river soon. Them Boston -men’s set on buildin’ a house. Thought I’d see ‘bout gettin’ on to -that.” - -“Is Carington comin’ to hunt caribou?” - -“Don’t know rightly. He ain’t said nothin’, ’cept last week. I ain’t -seen him since.” - -“He’ll come, I guess, Joe, and then, if you’re a man, there’ll be a -chance.” - -“Yes, yes,” he said anxiously. “Time ’nough.” - -He was dreadfully scared. He felt that he might be made to do anything. - -A smile crawled sluggishly over her face. “That’s so. But the thing is -to get your mind set to it. Might happen a good chance any day.” - -He was too simple not to show his fear, and she was quick enough to see. - -“You trust me, old man, to fix it, and there won’t be nobody’ll ever -guess who done it.” - -“You ain’t called me your old man, Susie, this two year,” he said. “Now -don’t you go for to want me to do somethin’ like that.” - -“There ain’t no harm in considerin’ things, Joe. Everything’s just gone -against you and me, and if a good chance was to turn up—a right safe -one—I guess you’d not be the man I took you for if you don’t just grab -it.” - -“Well, we’ll see,” he said, eager to get off the subject. He had become -set in his mind as to this matter, and meant somehow to escape the toils -she was casting about him. “What’s for breakfast, Susie?” - -“Oh, that old hen’s took to layin’ again. There’s eggs and bacon, and I -done you some slapjacks.” - -“That’s good. I’m hungry.” As he passed her to sit at the table he -kissed her. “Why, you look right pert to-day.” - -“Thought you might be a-spyin’ round Dory. Got to keep an eye on you -fellows,” and she laughed. Manufactured laughter is a dreary product; -but it answered for poor Joe as well as the most honest coinage of a -merry heart. It set him at ease for a time, and they ate, while the -woman tried to revive for her victim the coarse coquetry of her younger -days, when she attracted or revolted men as their natures chanced to be. - - - - - CHAPTER XXI - - -Lyndsay had set his heart on a second Sunday morning on the river, with -Rose and the trees. She readily gave up her proposed morning visit to -Dorothy, and said the afternoon would answer. Miss Anne thought she -herself was strong enough for the party, and Rose, much pleased, set -about arranging her cushions in Tom’s canoe. - -“We will be back to lunch, mama,” said Rose. “It is early. Will it rain? -It looks hazy.” - -“It is smoke, Rose. Some far-away fire. Where are the boys, Tom?” - -“Up-river, sir, with the Gaspé men.” - -“Who gave them leave to go?” - -“You, papa,” said Rose. “I suspect they have gone after those unhappy -hornets. They were up and away long ago. They asked you last night.” - -“Did they?” - -“Yes; you were deep in a book, and said ‘Yes, yes,’ in your dear old -absent way.” - -“I am sorry. Mama thinks it a naughty amusement at best, and when there -is also the additional naughtiness of battle on Sunday! Well, they will -be properly stung with remorse or hornet-fangs, or a combination. The -wounded will be pardoned, I fancy. Hey, Rose?” - -“Like enough.” - -Mrs. Maybrook’s vivid account of Susan Colkett’s talk with Joe had made -on Lyndsay at first a strong impression of disgust and annoyance. He saw -in it, after cooler reflection, only one of the numberless beginnings of -tragic crime which are refused the prosperity of opportunity. We have no -proverbial wisdom as to what place bad intentions go to pave; but those -who see much of the darker ways of man are well aware that there is much -intended evil, as well as intended good, which never gets beyond the egg -of theory. The crime which Susan Colkett was nursing with the devil-milk -of base use of a man’s honest love grew less momentous to Lyndsay as he -considered it. Once suspected, it became to him almost childlike in its -foolishness. Crime-seed, like the grain of the parable, falls -everywhere. There is a human climate in which, above all others, it -finds swift maturity of growth. - -Susan Colkett was by nature inclined to evil. She had base animal -cravings, liking high colors and coarse meats. A want was with her at -once a fierce hunger of desire, and made temptation dangerous to one who -had in its crude fullness brute courage, and that dreadful alliance of -the sensual with the destructive instincts which is more rare in woman -than in man. But of Susan Colkett’s personality Lyndsay knew almost -nothing. He was, however, by no means indifferent as to the matter, but -had simply put off speaking of it to Carington for want of an easy -chance. - -As they came opposite the Island Camp, Lyndsay said abruptly: - -“Run her up onto the beach, Pierre.” - -“Are you going to stop? I wish you wouldn’t stop, papa. We have a very -short time to-day.” - -“I shall be back in a moment. I have been putting off a little matter -of—of business with Carington. I shall not be long.” Meanwhile Anne -Lyndsay’s canoe also came to shore. - -Rose said no more. She saw her father disappear into the tent, come out -with Carington, and begin to walk to and fro on the upper slope. Very -soon she began to be curious, as she saw them pause and turn and go on -again. - -“What are they talking about, Aunt Anne?” - -Miss Lyndsay looked up from a book. “How on earth, my dear, should I -know?” - -“But are you not curious?” - -“Yes, I am always curious—as to the good, and as to the bad, and as to -everything in between.” - -Rose laughed. “That covers the whole possibilities. Here they come. Now -I shall know.” - -“I don’t think you will.” - -“A pair of gloves to a pound of bonbons.” - -“Done, goosey! Whom will you ask?” - -“That is my business. There was no limit of time.” - -“None! But you will lose. Your father looks solemn, and Mr. Carington -like a sphinx.” - -“Given two men and one woman, aunty, and a thing to find out: that seems -an easy equation.” - -“I see the unknown quantity written clear on both faces. You won’t win.” - -Carington stood a moment in gay chat with Rose. Then Lyndsay said: - -“You won’t come with us?” - -“No; not to-day.” His question was settled without the thermometer. He -was clear enough as to the indiscreetness of a useless morning with Rose -and two others, and a meeting at Mrs. Maybrook’s in the afternoon. He -would abide by the later chance and its less distracting accompaniments. - -“We shall look for you both to-morrow,” said Miss Anne Lyndsay. And they -poled away up the river, while Rose talked to her father, biding her -time to win her little bet. - -Anne, lying in her own canoe, and very comfortable, fell into amused -reflection. If books were what she dearly loved and closely studied, she -had a no less active fancy for that rarer occupation, the serious study -of the human face. It is a difficult branch of observation, because one -may not too often or too attentively examine the features of those with -whom we are in immediate social contact. Like her friend, Dr. North, she -preferred on the whole the critical study of women’s faces. She declared -that only these repaid attention, and that the hirsute growths of men -were, like the jungle, useful for the concealment of animal expressions. -She remarked with interest that Carington lacked this partial mask, and -said to herself, “That man has something on his mind. Is it about what -Archie has been telling him? I shall ask Archie.” Then she went back to -her book, which was her favorite “Reisebilder.” - -In the other canoe, Rose had brought the talk around several sharp -corners, and at last, having no better chance, said: - -“You looked worried, Pardy, or so very grave, when you were talking to -Mr. Carington. Has he been naughty, papa?” - -“No.” - -“Well, what was it? You both seemed so intent.” - -“Allow me, miss, to ask if interest in me, in Mr. Carington, or in the -unknown is at the thriving root of your evident curiosity?” - -“In you, Marc. Aurelius.” - -“That is pretty clever, miss. Permit me to reply, in the language of my -namesake, ‘Mere curiosity is like a road which leads nowhere: what -profits it to go that way? Also as to things it may be well, or as to -those in whom we have an interest, but not as to the horde of men.’ Now, -as you have expressed no interest in it as a thing unknown, and none as -to Mr. Carington, or mankind, and as it concerns him chiefly, I shall -forever after hold my peace. You lost your chance.” - -“Give me another.” - -“Not I.” - -“But I made a bet with Aunt Anne.” - -“Then pay it. Have you exhausted your feminine arts?” - -“All—I give up; but I mean to know. I shall ask Mr. Carington.” - -“I wouldn’t do that, my dear child.” - -“Oh, Pardy! How you rose to that fly! Imagine it!” - -“You minx! Halloa, Tom! Hold up a moment. Drop anchor here. I want to -stop.” They were near to the farther bank. “Here, Pierre, put your canoe -alongside. Are you all right, Anne?” - -“Perfectly.” - -“I want to show you something before the sun is too high. Can you sketch -here, Rose? The boat is pretty quiet?” - -“I am not sure; I can try.” - -“How much darker it is, Tom!” - -“Yes, sir. It’s the smoke. It’s been about a bit for a day or two. Now -the wind’s to south, it’s gettin’ kind of thicker. There’s a big fire -somewhere.” - -“How far?” - -“Might be a hundred miles away. ‘Heap big smudge,’ Polycarp says.” - -“Look now,” said Lyndsay. “Try to get me these water-tints. Take a bit -of it.” - -“I can’t. What makes these colors? They are beyond me.” - -“The sun must be back of you; the water near you—that is, you must be -low down. Then the stone-tints of the river-bed are caught by the many -changeful mirrors of the surface. It is, as you see, pretty well -wave-broken here. Also, the general color is that of this yellow-red -gravel slope opposite, mixed with the green of the trees.” - -“Then,” said Anne, “it gets color—surface color—from within, and also -from without, like one’s personality.” - -“That is it, I see,” said Rose. “But the blue in the waves is so -deep—deeper than the sky. It is intense indigo. More heavenly than -heaven.” - -“Yes, that is so. It is because, as we partly face the current, you look -into the concavities of thousands of waves, and each condenses, so to -speak, the blue of large sky spaces. Am I clear?” - -“‘Each nobler soul inherits heaven’s largeness,’” quoted Anne. - -“Thanks, aunty. The greenish gold of the surface is the color of the -bank, made also deeper in hue because of being caught on the myriad -rippling of the water.” - -“Good, my dear.” - -“How beautiful it is!—the flashing cupfuls of blue in among this bloom -of green and gold. No one could paint it.” - -“It is best at evening, Rose, but not at this point. There is a place -some miles up where the general surface is silvered by a mass of white -or light-gray granite, and in this you have set again the numberless -wave-shells of indigo-blue—a dance of blue in silver.” - -“Isn’t that smoke getting very much thicker? The colors are less -brilliant now.” - -“Yes, ma’am. The wind blows it up the gorges. Happen might smell it.” - -“I do,” said Anne. “One can hardly see the farther hills.” - -“Some men,” said Lyndsay, “fancy that it affects the fishing -unfavorably; but two years ago, on the Cascapedia, the water was so -saturated with smoke as to be undrinkable, and still the fish rose well. -I wanted to study with you again, Rose, the purple color of the dead -trees above us; but this smoke will somewhat affect it.” - -“Let us get on to the beach, papa.” And in a moment they were seated on -a log, Anne lying at ease beside them. - -“It gets still more dense, Rose. We must give up the water. Sketch that -sprawling dead pine yonder; it seems reeling back, and the one in front -looks as if it had just hit it.” - -“How droll, Archie!” said Anne. “May I talk, or will it disturb the -higher art?” - -“No. Talk as much as you like. No one could be cruel enough to deny you -the safety-valve of talk.” - -“If you had said no, I should have wanted to talk. I am now perversely -inclined to silence.” - -“It is a self-limited disease with you, Anne.” - -“Thank you! I was wondering a little whether you were right about the -use of minute observation of nature by the poets. Rose told me what you -had said. It was, I think, that Wordsworth was apt to be over-credited -with this faculty, and that others have had it far beyond him.” - -“Yes; it is the spiritual use of what he saw that is his distinctive -quality. I think he carries that at times to the utmost endurable -limit—even to near touch of the absurd.” - -“That may be so. I think the limits of acceptance depend on one’s moods. -Of course, too minute notice in verse of natural peculiarities may be -possible. Now, these colors—how could one put them in verse?” - -“Oh, aunty, you forget: - - ‘A silver plane of fretted gold, - Set thick with shells of violet blue.’” - -“That is mere description, Archie—good enough and true; but what I mean -is that accurate description does not, as a rule, consist with poetry. -The best of it seizes a single trait, and with it links some human -emotion. You can’t catalogue in verse, as Walt Whitman does.” - -“My dear old Walt!” said Lyndsay. “I am thankful for what he gives, and -do not quarrel with what he does not. I am inclined to think that he -will outlive some of his seeming betters. I have been more than once -struck, in talking with him, by his entire unconsciousness of the fact -that, while he believed himself to be the poet of the masses, he found -his only readers among the most cultivated class.” - -“Could I read him? You said once that I could not,” said Rose. - -“He is hardly _pueris et virginibusque_, my dear; but his later editions -are fairly expurgated of what had as well never been written. Anne will -give you his great poem, ‘The Dream of Columbus,’ and ‘The Convict,’ and -‘My Captain,’ and ‘When Lilacs Bloom.’ A friend of North’s once gave -Walt, through him, a check which he much needed, asking in return an -autograph copy of ‘My Captain.’ He took the gift with entire simplicity, -and sent two copies of that noble verse. He was the most innocently and -entirely vain creature I ever knew. The perfect story of his vanity -will, I fancy, never be written. It was past belief.” - -“What a fine head he had a few years ago,” said Anne. - -“Yes; he was a great big child, and he looked then like the Greek busts -of Jove.” - -“He should always be read aloud,” returned Anne, “and read, too, with a -little contribution of rhythmical flattery. If I were Mr. Ellett, I -would say, ‘Now, that isn’t at all a bad remark.’” - -“You appear to have said so, Aunt Anne.” - -“I have. If I were a poet, I would set over my verses, ‘Read this -aloud’; or, ‘Read this to yourself’; or, ‘To be read under a tree over a -woman’s shoulder’; or, ‘With a pipe in autumn.’” - -“What a nice idea, aunty! When you were talking just now of the use of -natural descriptions, I meant to tell you what Mr. Carington said.” - -“Well.” - -“He said it seemed to him a fine and artful thing in Shakspere to set -amidst the crime of Macbeth all that prettiness about innocent nature; -the description of the martlets and the castle, you know.” - -“It is true,” said Anne. “It is quite true. Does the young man talk -well? I am not sure that his remark is new; but no matter. How little of -one’s talk can be that!” - -“I thought he talked fairly well. He did not say it was his own -thought.” - -“No matter. It is _ben trovato_.” - -“I think it was his own,” said Rose. - -“Oh!” - -“How the smoke still thickens, papa! And the water is now a green -bronze.” - -“Yes, and the sun— Here is my word-sketch: ‘Eleven A. M. Sun over and -back of me. Air full of smoke. Hills a delicate, airy blue. Sun -orange-red, with a blur of yellow around it. All shadows on gray sand a -faint green. Delicate opalescence on smooth, slightly rippled water. -Deep purple reflections of dead trees. Sense of strangeness—of -mystery.’” - -“That is almost as good as a picture, Pardy.” - -“At early morning here,” he went on, “the river-bed is full of mist. The -combination of this with smoke gives some very weird effects. If we have -a bright yellow sunset this evening, the dead trees on the hilltops will -be of a pure orange tint.” - -“I shall imagine the morning colors,” said Rose. “I am like the salmon. -How they are rising now!” - -“Yes; and so is my appetite. Shall we go? It will be lunch-time before -we get back.” - -“And this is our last Sunday on the river for this year,” said Rose. - -“And perhaps my last for all years,” thought Anne; yet what she said was -this: - -“I have been trying to make out, Archie, why water is such a lovely -thing. Why is it?” - -“I don’t know.” - -“Nor I. It is the one thing in nature which has moods for me,—I mean -many moods. Then it is the one natural thing which has something like -laughter.” - -“Time writes no wrinkles, etc.,” cried Rose. - -“And it has no memory or record of its works. Is that part of its -seeming joyousness? And never—never is in straight lines.” - -“Rather obvious that, Anne.” - -“But it wasn’t obvious to me a half-hour ago. I am pleased with my -discovery. Don’t tell me Ruskin has said it. I know he has not, or if he -has, he had no business to have said it, and you can’t patent ideas.” - -“But Anne—” Lyndsay began. - -“Don’t, Archie. I am not to be contradicted to-day.” - -“I was going to agree with you”; and he laughed. “May not a fellow even -agree with you?” - -“Certainly, if he agreeably agrees with me. There are—oh, there are -hateful ways of agreeing with people.” - -Then Rose was about to mention Mr. Carington’s use of the word -agreeable, but refrained, she did not know why. She caught the words -about to issue out, and put them back into a corner of silence, and did -say: - -“What you say, Aunt Anne, of water reminds me of what Mr. W. said about -a picture, last spring, of great war-ships coming through a mist toward -us. It was rather fine. But the water was set in such stiff, orderly -billows that Mr. W. said, ‘Yes, Britannia certainly has been ruling the -waves.’” - -“I had forgotten it,” said Anne. “Now I remember that our English friend -did not capture the meaning.” - -“Oh, no. Really, Pardy, it sometimes makes life hard in England, this -sort of inaptitude to turn with quick apprehension from grave to gay.” - -“It would suit your mama. I am not sure that I like our unending -tendency to see things or put things in ridiculous aspects—no, not just -ridiculous,—help me to a word; not funny, either,—somewhere among the -lost words, the verbal refuse-heaps of Old English, there must be the -word I want.” - -“We know what you mean,” said Anne. “I agree with you. Our newspapers -are every day painfully funny for me. To deal all the time with the -serious so as perpetually to make it seem trifling by putting it in -comic guises is to damage one’s true sense of humor.” - -“And of the serious, which is worse,” said Lyndsay. - -“And, Archie, I don’t like the constant misuse of words it brings about. -I don’t like to lose respect for words. I don’t like their characters -taken away, so as to unfit them for their next place. Words have -duties.” - -“That is all true, Anne; but if we begin to abuse newspapers, we shall -never get home. And they are so infallible, confound them!—an absolutely -honest confession that they have told what was not true is the last -thing you can get out of them. The editor who would not contradict a -false paragraph as to a man’s death is a good example: he offered to put -in a statement of the man’s birth! Let us go home.” - -Laughing, they pushed off, and, soon lapsing into silence, slid away -down the dancing rapids, under an ever dimmer sunshine, as the smoke -grew more and more dense. Now and then Lyndsay saw something to remember -in wood or water, and made brief note of it. He had a mind some day to -make a small book about word-sketching. Probably he would never do it; -but it is pleasant to pet our little enterprises, until, maturing in -thought, they get too large for the mother-lap. - -Rose watched the amber waters, and then, furtively, the Island Camp, -where was noontide quiet, and no man in sight. - -The two canoes were held together as they ran down-stream, and only now -and then a guiding paddle was used. - -“You have had a nice little nap,” said Lyndsay. - -“I have,” said Anne. “I am the only person I know who will admit to -having slept in daylight. I slept little last night, and—isn’t it -droll?—I took just now into my sleep a queer little bit of the Orient. I -think it is rare to carry one’s thoughts with one unbroken into the land -of dreams. But I did, and I went on dreaming of it.” - -“What was it, aunty?” - -“Only some stuff out of the ‘Legenda Aureata.’ It would not interest -you.” - -“Anne!” “Aunty!” they cried. “It used to be El Din Attar, and Hafiz. Now -it is the ‘Talmud’ or the ‘Golden Legends.’ You are a horrid humbug,” -added Lyndsay. - -“You are a dear, sweet, altogether nice humbug,” said Rose. “What was -it?” - -“Then listen, children. When Adam and Eve were turned out of Eden, they -could get no sleep, because of their tears—for when tears part the lids -what man may slumber? Therefore all night long they complained. After -awhile the birds flew up to heaven and said, ‘We have done no wrong, -neither have we eaten of the tree, nor do we know good from evil. Yet -these two keep us awake with their cries.’ Then the Christ came down to -help them, and, coming to Adam, said, ‘What is there thou wilt give God -for sleep?’ And Adam said, ‘We have but one thing left us: we will give -love.’ And the Christ said, ‘It is enough. Forasmuch as even the kings -of the earth receive no gift without returning a better, therefore for -thy love thou shalt have God’s larger love and also sleep.’ So the man -and the woman slept, and the birds had rest. And it was said later, ‘He -giveth his beloved sleep.’” - -“Isn’t it pretty, papa?” - -“Rather. But, Anne—” - -“I am sleepy,” she said. “By-by,” and she pushed their canoe away. “Let -go, Pierre; I want to go to sleep again.” - -“Was it out of some book, Pardy?” - -“Gracious, Rose, how do I know?” - - - - - CHAPTER XXII - - -The Sunday stillness of the Island Camp was broken by lunch, and after -it Ellett thought he would go down to call on the Lyndsays, and perhaps -Fred might like to go with him. But Fred had letters to write—he was too -lazy—he wished to finish a novel. However, he wrote a note to Mr. -Lyndsay, to say that on Thursday he meant to go down the river to -Mackenzie to see a man about a cabin he desired to have built on the -Island, and would call to ask if Mr. Lyndsay still wished him to have a -check cashed at the bank, in order to pay his men. Also, he could then -arrange for the tickets and sleeping-car accommodations Mr. Lyndsay’s -family needed on their return. And thus, having secured the absence of -Ellett, he saw him depart, and for an hour or more smoked, and -diligently struggled with a book by a sadly literary woman who was -contributing her feeble ferment of doubts to enliven the summer moods of -man and maid. At last he rose, pitching the book across the tent, and -said aloud: - - “There was a young woman of Boston, - A blanket of doubts she was tossed on; - Four fiends who were scorners - Had clutch of the corners. - They tossed her so high - That she stayed in the sky, - And doubts the existence of Boston. - -I forget the other nine verses. Michelle, halloa! Put me across!” - -“Pshaw!” he exclaimed, as he strode through the summer woods. “I hate -books which land you in the country of nowhere.” And he thought, -smiling, of the famous Eastern tale of the caliph and the philosopher: -“Who are you?” said Haroun. “I don’t know.” “Where are you going?” “I -don’t know.” “Where are you from?” “I don’t know. I write books; what -about is for him that readeth to discern. To know nothing is the Path of -Negation by which you attain knowledge of the infinite Nothing.” “Then,” -said the caliph, “in the language of El Din Attar, ‘One serious -conviction is better than armies of denial: more wholesome is it to -believe in Satan than to deny God.’ In order that thou mayest abide on -the seat of wisdom for a week and acquire one earthly certainty, thou -shalt have the bastinado!” “Where did I read that stuff?” he thought, -and went along, humming snatches of song, his own or others, for he -scribbled a little, and had some musical touch of the light grace of the -song; but “intended no monuments of books.” - -The woods soon brought back to him the mood of contentment, which is one -of their many mysteries. The most delightful possibilities are those -which never occur, and of these the woods are full. The delicate sense -of something about to happen began to possess Carington. He went on his -way, smiling, and now and then stood still to touch a tree, or notice -some unusual giant, or to note some singularity of limb or bole. - -An hour or more of sharp walking brought him to the cabin of the -Maybrooks. It was closed. He passed around it, and saw no sign of its -inhabitants. He knocked and got no reply. Then he said a naughty word, -and went and sat down on the edge of the well and reflected. He was more -disappointed than he felt willing to admit. By and by he acquired -wisdom, and went to the brook, where would have been the grilse if Rose -and her attendant had come and gone. Seeing no fish lying in this cool -larder, he felt better and went back to the well. There doubt awaited -him with the possibility of Dory having gone to the Cliff Camp, which -would have made needless Miss Rose’s intended visit. He had been stupid -in not anticipating this contingency. At least he would wait awhile. - -And now there was a sudden gleam far away among the trees, unseen by -this young man who was gazing down into the cool depths of the well. Had -he looked that other way this flutter of color in the trampled ox-road -would soon have become to him a pink muslin gown. The wearer carried a -basket in her right hand, and in the left, swinging it gaily as she -walked, a broad straw hat. At the wood skirt she paused to change her -burden to the less tired hand,—for she had been of a mind to come alone, -and now found her five-pound fish to have gained in weight. As she -looked up, she was aware of Mr. Carington seated on the edge of the -well, his back toward her. He was singing: - - Oh, merry’t is in proud La Moine, - I hear my glad heart sing; - The flag is up, the fleet is safe, - And the blessed church-bells ring. - - Oh, here’s a kiss, and there’s a kiss, - For you, good northern wind, - That brought our fishers home again, - For you left no soul behind. - - And here’s a kiss, and there’s a kiss, - Because my heart is glad; - And there be twenty dozen left, - And my sweet sailor lad. - -He sang with little art, but with every word clear, and as a man alone -sings for company of sound. - -Rose stood still and heard it out, liking it, but hesitated a little, -half hid behind a huge pine,—a pleasant picture of a maiden struck shy -of a sudden. What had happened? There is a little timepiece which Cupid -winds up. It ticks quietly, and by and by strikes a fateful hour, or we -take it out to see how goes the enemy, and behold! it is to-morrow. Love -is the fool of time. - -Rose stood a moment, as I have said, not forty feet away, a little -inclined to retreat,—aware that, if detected, this would mean something, -she knew not what. At last, seeing the need of action, she made a -strategic movement to left, and said, “Are you looking for Truth?” - -“Good heavens! Miss Lyndsay,” and he rose from his seat on the edge of -the well. The prettiness of the picture struck him as Rose came forward: -the pink gown, fresh from the looms of fairy-land, set fair against the -greenwood spaces, the faint excess of color in her cheeks, and the look -of unconsciousness which goes surely with natural distinction of -carriage. - -“Did you come up out of Mother Earth? Are you sure it is you?” - -“I am. I came over to give my grilse to Mrs. Maybrook.” - -“Our grilse, you remember.” - -“I do not; but it is no matter. I came to give Dorothy the grilse.” - -“She is not at home. Let me take the basket. I will put it in the brook. -Did you carry it?” - -“I did. It weighs—I assure you—twenty pounds! I must see it bestowed.” -And she followed him into the wood along a narrow path to a basin of -brown water. The stream crawled forth here from under a fallen tamarack, -and seemed to hesitate a little in the pool below. Then it gathered -decision for flight, and leaped out, tripping across the tangled roots -as it went. Carington laid the fish in the water, and two stones upon -it. - -“It is cooler here than outside,” he said. “Dorothy will be back in a -little while.” - -After this outrage on truth, he added: - -“I came over to pay my milk-bill.” - -Then Rose, of a sudden remembering what she had said the day before as -to this errand of hers, became at once conscious of being in the country -of a pleasant enemy. Therefore she made a neutral remark as she looked -about her: - -“How pretty it is here!” - -“It is prettier a little way up, where the spring comes out under a -rock.” - -“I should like to see it, but I must go. I have no time to spare. I must -go home. I have so much of nothing to do here, and there is nothing -takes so much time as doing nothing!” - -“That is more mysterious than my little spring. Do come. It is only a -step.” - -“If it is really only a step.” And she went with him, as he answered: - -“Yes, almost literally.” - -He put aside the bushes, and ten feet away came where, from under a -broad, mossy stone, a gush of water broke forth with a brisk air of -liking it. She stood still, pleased with that she saw. - -“The dear, sweet, little thing!” she cried. - -“It seems glad to get out,” he said. “Perhaps it has some strange -craving for sunshine; and think what a journey underground in the -darkness, like a soul in prison.” - -“Go on,” she said, still looking down, and considering the fine -wholesomeness of its untainted life. - -“How it got a little help here, and strength there, and climbed up from -under the bases of the hills, and of a sudden found light and voice and -purpose, and goes on its way, not minding obstacles. Pretty, isn’t it? -It seems so eager.” - -“Yes. I wonder will the sea answer its riddle.” It was a quite alarming -little parable to this quick-witted young woman. “How it hurries! And it -reminds me I too must be going. It says, ‘Come.’” - -“Does it, indeed? But it does not say, ‘Go.’” - -“I am so sorry I have missed Dorothy.” - -“You might give her a few moments. She will not be long. I shall have to -‘bide,’ as she says. I came to pay my milk-bill. Pray consider my -melancholy prospect if I have to stay here by myself!” - -“Certainly a sad trial,” she said, smiling; “but I really must go.” She -began to move back again toward the pool. - -“Does she know you meant to leave the grilse? It will spoil if it is not -cleaned. Grilse spoil so easily.” - -It was difficult for mendacity to go beyond this latter statement. - -“I am sorry, but I can leave a note in the doorway. Yes, I have a card, -by good luck. Have you a pencil?” - -This time he achieved the lie direct, and said, “No! but it is near -milking-time, and Hiram will be ‘p’inted’ this way of a certainty.” - -“I really cannot wait. What time is it?” - -“How late it is!” he replied, glancing at his watch. “I had not the -least idea it was so late. They ought to be here now. It is half-past -five.” - -There was good judgment in this fib. If he made it early she would not -think it worth while to wait, and if very late, she would be sure to go -at once. - -“Indeed! Only half-past five! I will rest a few minutes.” - -“Better sit down,” he said. She took her place on a rock, while he cast -himself down at her feet, dividing the ferns as he lay. She felt that -she had been infirm of purpose. He gave her no time to analyze her -weakness. - -“You are very good not to leave me in the naughty company of myself.” - -“It is not goodness at all: it is self-indulgence. I am a little tired; -that fish was very heavy. But you have not told me what you were looking -for in the well.” - -“What do you folks look for in a well?” he asked, in turn. - -“Truth, I suppose. Was that what you were looking for?” - -“Yes.” - -“And did not find it.” - -“I shall.” - -“There is more water here,” she said, laughing, and then could have -bitten her wicked tongue. - -“Ah! we don’t look for it in shallow waters. There must be quiet for -reflection.” - -“Indeed! What were you singing about?” she added, abruptly. “What is ‘La -Moine’? I caught the name.” - -“I am glad you asked. On the coast near to Bar Harbor there is a little -fishing-town, La Moine. The cod-fishers go out in a fleet from its small -port in June, to the banks. The voyage, and, in fact, the whole life at -sea of these brave fellows, is full of peril. When the home-bound fleet -is sighted, the people go to the beach, and a lookout stays in the -church-steeple. If he sees no flag flying from the nearest smack, it -means that one or more men have been lost, and then the bells are -silent. But if he sees the signal flag, all is well: there has been no -life lost, and the bells ring out merrily.” - -“What a pretty story! Tell me more, as the children say. It sounds like -a bit of Brittany. It is the girl who sings?” - -“Yes. A girl—the girl.” - -“Who made the verses? Where did you find them?” - -“A local poet,” and he smiled. - -“Yourself?” - -“Yes; when I get away from my work my brain is apt to run on such -stuff.” - -“Oh, I like them. Won’t you copy them for me?” - -“You ask too much. But what am I to have in return?” - -“The pleasure of obliging me.” - -“Good! You shall have them.” - -“Thank you. Aunt Anne will like the story, and Dorothy—it is strange how -easily that woman is interested. Don’t you like her?” - -“Yes, very much. But, then, we are rather old friends. I was not here -last year, and this year I find Hiram a good deal changed. It seems as -though Fate had dealt hardly with Dorothy. She has so much tact, such -natural good manners, and you would smile if I said distinction.” - -“No, I should not. It is a word which has acquired a fine flavor, and is -well applied here. I am always tempted to feel sorry, when with her, -that she must always have this narrow life.” - -“I do not think the idea ever occurred to her.” - -“Possibly not. She is by nature contented, and a source of contentment, -which is more rare.” - -“That is true. I never see her without feeling that I have gained -something. She is in a real sense influential.” - -“It seems odd, or perhaps it is not, but she has the same effect upon -me. I hardly fancy that in her class you could find this creature -repeated.” - -“She has a similar effect on Ellett, and human nature does not repeat -itself. I mean that even the type is rare. It is purely natural,—owes -little to the education of events.” - -“Yes, rare in all classes, I should say. My Aunt Anne is in some ways -queerly like Dorothy.” - -“Indeed?” - -“As I am like Jack. You may smile,—I am. Yes, and that makes me think of -Jack. Poor fellow! he fancies you utterly despise him.” - -“No? Does he? I will ask him to go after a bear with me. I was quite too -rough with him, but really—-- However, I do not want to talk about that -horrid morning. I thought he was splendidly courageous and equally -outrageous.” - -“There is courage and courage.” - -“Yes, of course. It admits of analysis. I am often a coward myself; I am -desperately afraid of some things.” - -“Of what?” she said, smiling. - -“I will tell you some day. It is not well to tell a woman everything; -one loses interest as one satisfies curiosity.” He was on thin ice -now,—but ice it was, as he found out,—what Jack would have called tickly -benders. - -“I have no curiosity,—none at all. I think I must go,” she said. “I -really must go,” and she rose, adding, “There is Dorothy, at last.” - -He was as much relieved as she. He had seen but little of this young -woman, and his reason told him clearly enough that he had been near the -crumbling brink of folly, and that he had better be careful. He also -rose, and they went over to the cabin, where Dorothy greeted them. It -was not possible for a person as shrewd as Dorothy, knowing what had -passed on the beach with the bear, not to have some notion of what it -might lead to in the future. She had in her a fine feminine spice of -romance. Now she said, in her quiet way, “Good afternoon! Did you happen -to meet my Hiram?” - -“No,” said Carington. - -“I brought you a grilse, Mrs. Maybrook. It is in the pool.” - -“I am that obliged to you. Guess I’ll smoke it, if it isn’t too big. -Come in. I just pulled some roses for Miss Anne. I’ve got them inside. -You might take them along. I’ll have to look up Hiram. Come in.” They -followed her. - -“Here is your money for the milk,” said Carington, “and very good milk -it is.” - -“My old cow ought to have her share, but she won’t. I guess we none of -us know when we get our fairings. She won’t know any more than the rest -of us. Did you walk down, Mr. Carington?” - -“Yes.” - -“Come by Joe Colkett’s?” - -“No; I took the lower road.” - -“He was here yesterday. You wouldn’t guess in a week of Sundays what -for. He wants to put a wooden slab over those poor children,—just to -please that hag. And he asked me to print it for him,—I mean, what will -do for the inscription. I tell you I was puzzled. I want you to see if -it is all right. He can’t read a word. You see, he means to copy it, and -then to please the woman with it.” - -“How sad that is!” said Rose. “And he really cares for her?” - -“I should think he did! That’s the worst of it.” - -“The worst of it? Why?” - -“Oh, she isn’t a woman to keep a man straight. She’d have to begin with -herself, way back, too.” Then she added, “Who was the woman -Macbeth,—_Lady Macbeth_?” - -“One of Shakspere’s characters,” said Carington. - -“I should like well to read about her.” - -“She ‘p’inted’ her man wrong, I can tell you,” laughed Rose. “I can lend -you the book.” - -“Now, can you? Don’t forget. There’s the writing. I am rather proud of -it.” They both considered it gravely. - -“You might put in the dates.” - -“Joe says ‘no.’ I guess he thinks it will make too much work.” - -“How strange!” said Rose. “And the text is, ‘Of such are the kingdom of -heaven.’” - -“Yes. How will that do?” said Dorothy. “They were a queer lot, those -children,—perfect little fiends, I called them; but I suppose there’s -going to be a pretty well mixed up party in that other world. Think I’d -like to choose my mansion. It wouldn’t be the nursery. Sakes alive! what -was I saying?” Her face became grave, with a look of yearning tenderness -in her eyes. “Miss Rose, I oughtn’t to have said that. There would be -the very place I should go for first; and only to think I might not get -in! Where would I be then? I tell you, Miss Rose, you’ve got to begin -pretty early with your tongue, if you want to make it keep all the -commandments.” - -Carington smiled. “I fancy dumb folks are as bad sinners as we. After -all, one slanders the tongue. One does not know half how naughty a -thought is until we have put it into speech.” - -“Lord! Mr. Carington! There’s a heap of wiseness in that you said. Guess -I’ll be set up about talking after that!” - -Here she took up her half-dozen roses, nourished with care on the south -end of the cabin, which Dorothy had whitewashed to get more heat upon -the scanty children of her garden. She considered them with affectionate -care, touching a leaf here and there, her head on one side. - -“I guess they’re nice enough, even for Miss Anne. Mind, there’s six of -’em. Don’t you lose any, Miss Rose!” - -“Shall I carry them?” said Carington. “And the basket? Where is it?” - -“Oh, I’ll smudge that a bit to get the fish smell out, and I’ll fetch it -to-morrow. I’m coming after Mrs. Macbeth, or whatever her name is. No, -Miss Rose is to take the bouquet. They’re sort of relations, you see. -Men can’t be trusted with flowers, and roses are scarce up here.” - -“You might 'p’int’ me, Mrs. Maybrook,” said Carington, laughing, as he -followed Rose at a little distance. - -“Reckon I’m too old.” And she stayed in the doorway of her poor little -home, kindly, by no means unhappy, and giving the benediction of a smile -to these two people in their youth of health and prosperity and love. “I -guess he’s p’inted already,” she said, as she stood. - -Rose turned at the wood-skirts, and nodded good-by. The parable of the -roses had been by no means meant as such, but neither the maid nor the -man at her side failed to capture the possibilities of its meaning. They -walked on in silence for a while, she with a faint hope that her -companion had not been as apprehensive as she, and he, a little amused, -and with a not unpleasing impression as to the slight embarrassment -which, despite her training, Rose had betrayed when their eyes met a -moment while Dorothy was speaking. - -“How silent we are, Miss Lyndsay!” he said at last. He might have taken -it as a sign of their growing intimacy. - -“And do you object to that? I like it sometimes. I like that about the -well-bred English. They talk or not, as they want to. We seem to think -it socially criminal to keep quiet. I like to feel free to talk or not -to talk.” - -“And are you not?” - -“Yes,” she said, and then felt that the little monosyllable was more or -less an admission, and so there was a yet longer silence. But one may be -silent too long, and Rose spoke: - -“What you said to Dorothy made me think of a quotation with which Aunt -Anne puzzled us last night. Her quotations and my dear papa’s Marc. -Aurelius we are always doubtful about.” - -“What was it?” - -“‘He who speaketh out the evil of his soul is at the gate of wisdom.’ -She declined to explain it, and vowed it was out of a Hindostanee poem; -but as to this you need never quite trust Aunt Anne. I was on the point -of quoting it just now, but did not, because I fancied Dorothy might not -understand it.” - -“Do you?” - -“No,” she laughed; “not I.” - -“She would have been sure to say something droll. I wish you had quoted -it. I am glad you do not understand it. I do not. It might have several -meanings. But I don’t like vagueness in prose or verse. If the thought -is worth stating, I think it must be worth the trouble of stating it -clearly.” - -“Pardy—I mean papa—insists that vagueness of language always means -mistiness of thinking.” - -“I hardly go that far. There are many explanations of the vague in -statement. A man may think with decisive sharpness of result, and be -quite unable to word his conclusions. But we are in deep waters.” - -“Quite too deep. As to quotations, I like to think with Aunt Anne that -they are all in the dictionary, and so cease to bother myself with the -source.” - -“Assuredly that saves trouble. Ah, here is the river,” he said. “Am I -not to have a rose?” - -“Is that a quotation, Mr. Carington?” and she laughed. “That is silly -enough for ball-room talk.” - -“It has been said pretty often, and at all events is not vague.” - -“I am not sure men ought ever to have roses,” she cried, gaily; “but, as -I am not sure, here is one. I will not act on my vagueness.” - -“Thank you.” He held it a moment, and then quietly dropped it into the -pocket of his jacket, not unperceived by Rose. - -“Ah, here is my boat,” she said; “good-by.” As they stood on the bank, -she looked hastily over at the cabin and saw no one in sight. Then she -stepped into the canoe, where Polycarp sat in tranquil patience, and the -young man, lifting his cap, walked away into the woods. - -Gay comrade thoughts and fancies went with him on the way, and, light of -heart, he guided himself by the yellow lanes of sunshine which lit the -open forest before him. Soon he found the lower road, and, still -smiling, moved on more slowly, and took to building castles on those -great estates in Spain to which he had just fallen heir. - -“Seen my cow, Mr. Carington?” said a voice, a few feet behind him, and -the sweet prosperity of fancy was gone. It was Susan Colkett who spoke. -He started. He had heard no step, as she came out of the wood, although -she must have been very near. - -“No; I saw no cow. Is yours astray?” - -“Yes. What time might it be?” - -“Six o’clock,” he replied, looking at his watch. - -“Do you think to come up here in September, sir? Joe says caribou’s -plenty up the river.” - -Then Carington recalled Mr. Lyndsay’s warning, and said, “It is hard to -say as yet. Most likely I shall not.” - -“I did hear there’s bears back to the pond. If you was minded to go -after ’em, Joe he’d like to guide. There ain’t no better hunter.” - -“I’ll see about it. If I want him, I shall let him know. Good night.” -And he left her. - -After walking some thirty yards he looked back. The woman was standing -in the road, tall, angular, and large, a long crooked stick in her hand. -She was watching him, but instantly moved as she caught his glance. - -“Confound it,” he muttered, “if I believed in the evil eye, and were a -good Catholic, I should cross myself.” - -Then he tried to think again of Rose Lyndsay, but, failing to command -the return of his broken day-dream, he went on more swiftly, and once or -twice turned again, with inexplicable unease, to look back to where he -had seen the figure of the woman set against the darkening greenwood. -“Pshaw!” he exclaimed. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIII - - -When on her return Rose went into their cabin she happened to glance at -the clock. Then she said: - -“What time is your watch, Aunt Anne?” Being told, and discovering that -the two timekeepers were unanimous in opinion, she smiled a little, and -went on into her own room. Here she went straight to the small mirror -and—why, who shall say?—inspected herself briefly, saying, aloud: - -“You were a rather big fool, to-day, Miss Lyndsay, and next time you -will have your own watch.” - -Presently, remembering what he had done with the rose, she concluded -that men were hateful. She had seen a good deal of the world, and had -had her full share of earnest admiration at home and abroad, so that she -was by no means ignorant as to the cause of the gentle tumult in her -bosom. She wanted to wish that this man would let her alone, and be but -a friendly and pleasant companion. Also she more sincerely desired that -the race of bears had been omitted from Noah’s menagerie. - -At last she made her toilet, and went out to dinner, where Dick asked, -with cruel promptness, why she had not brought that big Boston man over -to dine. - -“Because I did not ask him.” - -“That’s not a reason, Rosy,” said Ned. “I wish he had come.” - -“And I don’t,” remarked Jack. - -“Why not?” said Lyndsay, coldly. - -Jack flushed as he caught Anne’s eye. “Oh, you can’t like everybody.” - -Anne said, in a quiet aside, “Jackey, your giants are not all dead,” and -he was silent. - -“Mr. Carington was at Dorothy’s when I got there. He came to pay for the -milk they get. By the way, papa, he told me to say that on Thursday he -had to go to Mackenzie, and that he would call as he went by and get the -draft you wanted cashed, and please to leave word how you wanted it. Oh, -I forgot, he said afterward that you could tell him to-morrow night; -and, Pardy, he wants you to let Jack go with him on Friday, to look for -a bear they have seen some distance back of the camp, above the burnt -lands.” - -Meanwhile Anne was quietly glancing at her niece’s face. Now this -proposal was fire-hot embers to Master Jack. - -“Oh, I can’t go! Hang bears!” he said. - -“He did not tell me to tell you, Jack; but he did say he had been hard -on you, and I think so, too.” - -And now Anne Lyndsay put on her glasses. - -“Well, Jack,” said his father, “how is it?” - -“Am I to take my rifle, Rose?” - -“Yes,—I think he said so.” - -“His trust in this family must be large,” said Lyndsay. - -“Do you think I ought to go?” said this young hypocrite. - -“Yes, but don’t shoot him!” - -And now Rose was dreadfully aware of her aunt’s inspection, and made -haste to add, with embarrassment more felt than seen, “What a budget! -Oh, I quite forgot, Aunt Anne, I took your roses into my room. Dorothy -gave them to me for you.” As she spoke she left the table, and, -returning, put the flowers by her aunt. “I was to tell you there were -only half a dozen,” and here she made a full, though brief, stop; “but -that it was all she had. She seemed to think it hardly worth while -sending so few. You know how nice she is; but, dear me, I have made a -speech of congressional length,—and I am so hungry!” - -In fact she had talked at the last with accelerated speed, having made, -as she well knew, a sad blunder into undesirable arithmetical verities. - -And now Lyndsay said, “It was very kind of Carington. You must be quite -exhausted by the carrying of so many messages!” - -“It isn’t all,” said Rose; “Mrs. Maybrook wishes to borrow the book, -Pardy, in which is the history of Mrs. Macbeth.” - -“Indeed!” he returned; “that is droll,” and fell to thinking. - -Then Mrs. Lyndsay said, “You must be very warm, dear: you look quite -overheated.” - -Here Anne let drop her eye-glasses, and began to consider the number of -her roses, but said nothing. - -On Monday, after a most successful day on the river, in which both camps -had nearly equal good luck, the two men from the island came down in the -evening, through a fine moonlight, to the lower camp. They were now in -that easy stage of acquaintanceship with the Lyndsays when people begin -to make agreeable discoveries as to other people who are common friends. - -Carington watched his chance and caught Jack alone. - -“You are going with me, I hope?” - -“Yes. Papa says he wants me to go.” - -Carington was very quick to catch the accent of lingering discontent. - -“By the way,” he said, “I was rather sharp on you the other day. I don’t -want you to think I thought you did quite the right thing; but I liked -your pluck, even if it was out of place, and I understood the -temptation. Suppose we forget it all. Be ready on Thursday night—pretty -late. I shall get back here by eleven, I hope, and will pick you up. I -can give you a bed and a blanket, and early Friday we will be off for a -day. I can’t promise you a bear, but I think we shall both like the -tramp.” - -“I’ll be ready, and I’m much obliged, too.” - -Jack was enchanted, and by and by confided to Rose in a corner his -exalted opinion of Mr. Carington, nor was he altogether satisfied with -her “Oh, yes, he’s quite a nice kind of a man.” - -“You were to have seen, Mr. Ellett, how foolish we can be,” said Rose, -as they stood by the door. “I also promised Mr. Carington that -experience.” - -“And are we not to have it, after all?” - -“No. Papa and I had arranged some very neat situations for your -discomfiture; but papa finally decided that they were too difficult, or -at least needed some preparation.” - -“But I should really like it. I can do a little at it myself, and Fred -used to be a very clever actor. But, then, he does so many things well. -Do you do many things well?” - -“Everything,” said the young woman. “We do everything well here in this -family, even to liking our friends better than other people like their -friends.” - -“Don’t you think our friends’ friends are often great troubles? I think -a fellow’s friends ought not to have any friends. That is, a man’s -friends should not be the friends of his friends. That wouldn’t be so -bad now, would it, if it wasn’t a bit mixed?” - -Hearing Rose’s merriment, as poor Ellett endeavored to untangle his -sentence, Anne and Carington turned to join them. - -“What is the fun, Oliver?” said Carington. - -“I’ve made an overrun,” said Ellett. “When I try to talk too fast, I am -very apt to do it.” - -“And what is an ‘overrun’?” asked Anne Lyndsay. - -“When you are casting for striped bass, the reel runs very easy, and the -bait is heavy, and if you don’t check the reel with a thumb, as the line -runs out, and then stop it as the bait drops on the sea, the reel runs -on, and the line gets into a tangle, such as is really unimaginable. It -takes hours to get it clear. Hence Ellett’s comparison.” - -“That is a noble idea,” cried Miss Anne. “An intellectual overrun!” - -“You see,” said Ellett, much pleased, “everything is underneath that -ought to be on top, and the inside of the line gets snarled in loops of -the outside, and there’s a sidewise tangle, and—” - -“Wouldn’t it be advisable to stop at this point?” said Fred. - -“Shouldn’t wonder.” And he reflected upon the excellence of his -comparison. - -The night was clear and pleasant, and, as they talked, they went out and -sat on the porch, where presently Lyndsay joined the group. - -“Miss Lyndsay,” said Carington, “tells us you gave up the plots. I am -not too sorry. How do you play the game?” - -“Oh, two or three of us devise situations, and when we announce them, -the others act them. It is an Italian game, I believe, and quite -amusing. You may treat the situations seriously or lightly. It is -easiest to keep to the key-note on which you start, and not try too hard -to be funny. Puns and quibbles, coming in of a sudden, disturb the other -actor, unless he be well used to it.” - -“I never pun,” said Anne; “but to be forbidden I regard as an invasion -of human rights.” - -“Oh, they are not forbidden!” - -“Then they should be, except to Wendell Holmes. Only the worst puns are -endurable. When Alice Fox told Dr. North his horse ‘Roland’ was well -named, because he was to carry good news to Aix, I considered that the -climax of verbal murder.” - -“No, there is a worse one,” cried Rose; “but that I shall never, never -tell.” - -“Pardon me,” said Carington, “was not Mrs. Fox that delightful widow -with the pleasant name,—I recall it now, ‘Westerley,’ Mrs. Westerley? -There was some queer story about her wanting to marry a country doctor -who came to grief, or did some queer things, I forget what.” - -“Yes; she married Colonel Fox, at last.” - -“Married once,” said Lyndsay, “engaged once, and at last lucky enough to -capture that fine fellow. How many love-affairs she had in between—who -shall say?” - -“And a sweeter, better woman never was,” returned Anne. “I could explain -her life; but I have no mind to betray the secrets of my sex.” - -“She attained wisdom at last,” said Lyndsay, “for I heard her tell Fox -once that married men should have every year one month for a bachelor -honeymoon.” - -As they laughed, Mrs. Lyndsay, who had just come onto the porch, said, -“That is like her; but I do think it is only an echo of the discontent -with our decent, old-fashioned notions as to marriage. I hope, Rose—” -and here Mrs. Lyndsay stopped short. Anne looked up. - -“The recipe seems to work well. They are very happy. I propose some day -to start a company to insure the permanency of the married state. It -ought to pay. They insure everything nowadays, from boilers to -window-glass,” she added. - -“That’s so,” said Ellett. “Now, the interviews of the examiner of that -company with the young couples wouldn’t be a bad situation to play.” - -“Admirable,” laughed Lyndsay. - -“But don’t you want to hear our plots? You will see what you have -escaped.” - -“By all means,” replied Carington. - -“Well, here is one. Mr. Sludge, the medium, calls up Shakspere to ask if -he wrote Bacon’s essays.” - -“If that is a specimen,” cried Carington, “I still less regret. The -probability of Shakspere having been in Bacon’s pay as essayist strikes -me as a delightful alternation to put into the Shakspere discussion.” - -“It is a trifle tough,” said Anne. “I should like to ask for it at the -next spiritual _séance_. I myself am strongly of the opinion that Queen -Elizabeth wrote Shakspere’s plays. Just turn some of her correspondence -with James into blank verse, and see how dramatic it is, and how -humorous.” - -“Repeat some of it for Mr. Carington, aunt,” said Rose. “It is really -interesting.” - -“Certainly, if I can recall it. Ah, here is one. I have made but little -change in her words,—hardly any: - - ‘I praise God that you uphold ever a regal rule. - Since God then hath made kings, - Let them not unmake their authority. - Let little rivers and small brooks acknowledge - Their spring, and flow no further than their banks.’ - -“There is another: - - ‘Else laws resemble cobwebs, whence great bees - Get out by breaking, and small flies stick fast - For weakness.’ - -“I like this one,” said Miss Anne: - - “‘For they be actions rather, and not words, - Which paint out kings and truly in their colors. - There be so many viewers of their facts - That their disorders (do) permit no shade, - Nor will abide excuses.’” - -“Oh,” cried Carington, “that last is like Tennyson. ‘The fierce light -that breaks upon a throne.’ Is there more?” - -“Tell us,” said Rose, “the one about a treaty—she ‘mislikes,’ I think -that is what she says. I liked that one.” - -“I think I can: - - ‘Touching an instrument you’d have me sign, - I do assure you, though I play on some, - And have been brought up to know musick well, - Yet this discord would be of gross account, - Such as for well-tuned musick were not fit. - Go teach your new raw counsellors better manners - Than to advise you such a paring off - Of ample meanings.’” - -“How pleasantly that takes one back to _Hamlet_ and the pipe!” said -Lyndsay. “It ought to settle the question of authorship.” - -“I begin to agree with you, Miss Anne,” said Ellett. - -“Don’t forget to ask your medium about Queen Bess, aunty,” cried Rose. - -“I? Indeed I shall.” - -“Have you any belief in that business of spiritual manifestations, Mr. -Lyndsay?” asked Carington. - -“None. Not I. It is one mass of self-deceit and fraud. I have seen too -much of it.” - -“I have a strong belief in the circulating medium,” cried Anne. “It -seems rather essential as a means of inspiring the other mediums. But -what are the rest of your situations, Archie?” - -“Oh, there is one more Shaksperian situation.” - -“Well.” - -“Mr. Shakspere appears at midnight in Mr. Browning’s study and asks what -the mischief he means by—” - -“For shame, Pardy!” broke in Rose; “we won’t hear any more. They are -horrid.” - -“I guess we are out of it,” said Jack. “I’m audience.” - -“Oh, there is one for you. The ghost of a murdered bear appears -to Master Jack Lyndsay and wishes to know if he can spell -‘responsibility.’” - -“Good for you, Jack,” cried Dick. - -“Wait till I catch you to-morrow, Redhead.” But there was much laughter, -and Jack felt that on the whole it was not undesirable for his bear to -pass into the limbo of jokes. - -“And now, boys, be off with you and dream over that last situation. Good -night,” and they trooped away, merry, to their tent on the cliff. - -“Jack is a very good actor,” said Lyndsay; “but children are apt to be -fairly good actors and then to lose the gift. Ned is even better. The -boys are fond of charades, and what we like best is to take the names of -poets from Chaucer to Crabbe,—we have pretty well exhausted the list.” - -“I have seen in France,” said Ellett, “a harder game than your plots. -Two or three scenes are allowed, and what each is to include is stated. -Then the actors endeavor to go through with each act so as to fulfil its -dramatic purpose.” - -“I trust,” said Mrs. Lyndsay, “no one will introduce that game.” - -“It would be charming,” cried Rose. - -“Come in, Archie,” said Mrs. Lyndsay, “and let us have our piquet. Anne -and Rose will furnish quite as much talk as will suffice. I must have my -revenge.” - -“Certainly, my dear,” and he went in with his wife. - -“Some time we must really try those plots,” said Rose. “Papa is too fond -of the difficult ones. Imagine _Hamlet_ furnishing evidence to the -Psychical Society about his father’s ghost!” - -“Does any one believe in ghosts nowadays?” asked Ellett. - -“Pardy does,—look!” she said, laughing, and pointing through the open -window. Lyndsay was pushing off from a burning candle the tall spikes of -wax which stood unmelted on one side. “We are laughing at you, papa,” -she cried. - -“Are you?” he said, turning from his game. “I can’t stand a ghost in the -candle: it is another relic of my Scotch education, Mr. Carington. It is -bad luck to have a ghost on the candle. I have lost the belief, but the -habit remains.” - -“I fancy we all keep some of these little pet superstitions,” said -Carington. - -“I assure you, we are rather proud of ours,” returned Anne. - -The chat went on, grave and gay by turns, and at last Lyndsay came back, -saying: - -“I retire after a sad defeat.” - -“My papa plays cards abominably, Mr. Carington. He writes verses -better.” - -“Rose! Rose! None of that nonsense.” - -“The fact is, when we were talking about the charades of poets’ names, I -meant to repeat the endings papa made for some of them, but, when I -mentioned it to him, he shook his head like a China mandarin, and I -weakly gave up. He is doing it now,” and she laughed. “Oh, I am even -with you at last, Pardy, because you left me yesterday in the anguish of -ungratified curiosity. This is my vengeance.” - -“It is incomplete,” said Carington. - -“Blush, Pardy, but tell us the verses.” Lyndsay declared that the verse -was hardly worth a fight. - -“I can recall only two,” he said. “Here is one: - - The fight was lost. On hill and glen - Thick lay the ranks of fallen men; - And sullen through the narrow gorge - Went back the standard of St. George. - Then in the saddle rose the ’Squire, - And shook his pennoned spear on high, - And called his broken band again, - And taught them how to die, - And won a name, and little knew - That where his country’s banner flew - By hill or dale, on ocean blue, - In centuries to come, - That name the lifted pennon won - Should live as deathless as the sun. - -“Of course these words were meant only for the children,” said Rose; “I -like this better: - - A Smith who beat the gold of song - To voices pleasant, sweet and strong: - What royal jewelries he wrought - With simple words and kindly thought! - A careless, foolish, wasteful soul, - Too fond, alas, of pipe and bowl; - Vain of his looks, his waistcoat’s set, - Oppressed with duns, o’erwhelmed with debt, - Crushed with distasteful Grub Street work, - The friend of Reynolds and of Burke, - He smiling bore the gibes of Johnson, - And loitered in the shop of Tonson; - And well or ill, or drunk or sober, - In youth or age’s drear October - Went smiling, jesting, laughing through, - If friends were false or friends were true. - And fared he well, or fared he ill, - Left but kind words to greet us still, - And modest humor’s gentlest play, - That bids no maiden turn away, - And many a cool, clear, ringing line, - Still heard through all those noisy years, - And wholesome as a wayside spring, - And sweet with smiles, or sad with tears.” - -“That is really a nice bit of character-sketching,” said Carington, as -he rose. “We must try the postponed plots some other time.” - -“I think my father and you and Mr. Ellett could manage the ghost scene.” - -“Perhaps we may have a chance next winter,” he returned. “I have a -bridge to build near your good city, and shall certainly see you all as -I go and come.” Rose made no reply. The gap in the talk was filled by -Miss Anne: - -“That we shall be glad of.” - -“And,” added Lyndsay, coming out, “we shall hold you to it. There is a -little old Madeira still left.” - -“Your fellows in the war drank all that would have been mine,” said -Carington. “You owe me principal and interest.” - -“We shall be honest; and we shall look to see you also, Mr. Ellett,” -said Rose. - -“Good night.” And they went to their boats. As they poled away in the -night, Carington said to himself, “If those railway directors but knew -it, I would pay for the privilege of building their bridge. However, -skew bridges are difficult: it will take a good while.” And he lit his -pipe. - -“What are you thinking over, Fred?” - -“Oh, about the difficulty of constructing a cantilever skew bridge.” - -“What a word! Good gracious! It suggests a dreadful pun.” - -“Don’t,” cried Carington. “Come alongside, and give me some baccy.” - - - - - CHAPTER XXIV - - -There was something pitiful to Dorothy in the eagerness with which Joe -received the inscription, which she had carefully printed on four sheets -of foolscap basted together. She read it to him, over and over, that -Monday morning, at his request, until he could repeat it easily. - -Before going home he looked up Hiram, and borrowed a cold chisel and a -hammer. When he reached the wood where he had hidden the stone, he laid -it down, and, without further thought, began to chisel out the few sad -words in which the graver of the city workman had recorded the fate of -Harry Lyndsay. This was sufficiently easy, as he made rough work of it, -being anxious to get to the more difficult task. - -He had reflected a little as to the risks of some one visiting the -little burial-ground up the river, but, as those he knew thereabouts did -not trouble themselves to visit the graves of their dead, it did not -occur to him that these city-folks would be any more likely to do so. -Nor was it any more probable that, far away in the depth of the forest, -anybody who was interested would ever come upon the burial-place of -Susan’s children. - -“Wouldn’t know nothin’ if they did,” he said to himself, as he went on -with great care to mark with a burned stick the place for the lettering, -which he began now to chisel on the smooth reverse of the marble. - -It was a hard job, but Joe, like most lumbermen, was very skilful with -tools. He returned after dinner, and steadily persevered until the -twilight forbade him to go on. Susan, still in her more pleasant mood, -was satisfied that his absence meant merely the continuance of the usual -labor of accumulating fire-wood for winter use. - -On Tuesday, early, he went back to the unaccustomed task, and all day -long hung anxious and sweating over the stone. Meanwhile Margaret -Lyndsay sat on the porch of the Cliff Camp, reflecting that soon she -must go away and leave her dead to loneliness and the long burial of the -winter snows. - -On the river Lyndsay was fishing with Anne, and Dorothy had been over, -and taken away, carefully wrapped in her handkerchief, the drama of -“Mrs. Macbeth.” - -And still the hammer rang on in the dark woodland, until at evening his -task was completed. Joe stood up, straightened his tired back, and -considered the stone with satisfaction. The work was roughly done, but -sufficiently plain, nor was Joe disposed to be too critical. At last -here was something which Susie would like. - -Pleased with this idea, he brought water from a forest spring, and -sedulously cleared the marble of the charcoal-marks and of the soil of -his handling. As he stood regarding it, he even felt pride in his -seeming power to read what he had carved, and repeated aloud, “Of such -are the kingdom of heaven.” - -It was now late, and with deliberate care, lest his burden should fall, -he heaved the slab on his back, and set off across the forest, limping -as he went. When he reached the three small mounds in the clearing, he -laid it down with care, and, after some deliberation, dug a hole and set -the stone at the head of the middle grave. Having thus completed his -task, he wiped his wet brow on his sleeve, and sat down on a stump, with -his pipe in his mouth. - -He intended to let the night go by, and, after breakfast next day, to -take his wife to the wood, and surprise her with what he had done for -her. He would tell her he had a secret; he would say it was something -she would want to have done. But he would not tell her what it was. He -was like a great simple child; unthoughtful, owned by the minute’s mood -or need, not immoral, merely without any recognized rule of life. - -As he regarded what he had done, he began to think that to bring her -hither at once would be pleasant. He could not wait. The notion brought -him to his feet, and he soon gathered the material for a fire, which he -placed facing the stone, a few feet from the graves. The space around -was amply cleared, so that there was no risk. This done, and the pile -ready with birch-bark kindling, which needed only to be lighted, he -turned away and hastened home. - -It was now dark. As he entered his cabin he saw his wife crouched low on -a stool before the fire, her head in her hands, her hair, which was -coarse and abundant, hanging about her—a comb awry in its tumbled mass. - -He guessed that her mood had changed. She took no manner of notice of -his coming. He moved forward, and, touching her shoulder, said: - -“What’s the matter, Susie?” - -“Matter enough!” she returned, sharply. “That lawyer man’s been here, -and wanted you. You ain’t never to hand when you’re wanted.” - -“What is it now?” - -“He says we’ve got to pay up or git out in October. Guess he got my mind -’bout it. I’d have licked him if I’d been a man. He wasn’t far from -scared, anyhow.” - -“That won’t help us none,” said Joe, with a glimmer of good sense. -“He’ll be wus’n ever he was.” - -“Who cares?” Then, turning, she set her eyes, aglow with the firelight, -large, red, and evil, on Joe. “That man Carington was around to-day, -asking if we’d seen bear-tracks. Bill Sansom told me. He didn’t come -here. I did see him yesterday, on the lower road, a-twiddlin’ a gold -watch-chain and a-singin’. What might a big gold watch be worth, Joe? I -asked him the hour, just to git a look at it.” - -“Lord, Susie, I don’t know.” - -To this she made no reply. He stood beside her, shifting his feet -uneasily. - -Of a sudden she got up and caught the man by the shoulders, and, as she -stood, towered over him a full foot. - -“What—what’s the matter, Susie?” he gasped. - -“Git that man up here in September, you fool.” - -Joe looked aside, Dorothy’s imperfect warning in his mind. - -“I heerd he’d give up that notion.” - -“That’s a lie.” - -“It ain’t! I swear it ain’t no lie. I heerd Michelle a-sayin’ so.” - -“When was it?” - -“I don’t rightly remember. I—I couldn’t do it.” - -“Git him here, and I’ll do it,” she said. “It’s just to pull a trigger. -So.” And she snapped her thumb and finger so as make a sharp click. The -blood was up in splotches of dusky red upon her angular and sallow face. -The man recoiled, more scared at the woman than at the crime which he -lacked power to conceive of as possible. - -“Gosh!” he cried, “you’re a devil!” - -In an instant she was changed. She had a share of the singular dramatic -power of the abler and more resolute criminal nature. - -“Oh, I’m just crazy, Joe, what with one thing and another. Don’t you -never mind me.” And a smile, which to another man would have seemed -hideous, disturbed her features with unwonted lines. “Might nothin’ ever -chance. You and me we’ll have to just fight along. ’Tain’t every man -would have stood by me all along, the way you’ve done.” - -“That’s so,” said Joe, relieved. “I’ll work for you, Susie: don’t you go -to fear I won’t. I was a-thinkin’ you was ’bout downded all along of -them children.” - -“That’s it, Joe; you’re better a heap than me.” She knew, or thought she -knew, that if the chance came she would have the power to compel him -into doing her will. There was strange self-confidence in her sense of -capacity to hurl this child-man into evil-doing, as one may cast a -stone; and now the notion possessed her almost continually. How to do -it? how to bring about the occasion? how to escape consequences? The -craving for this thing to become possible grew as the days went by. Nor -is this abiding temptation rare in minds of her class. I have said that -it possessed her, and the phrase suffices to describe her condition. The -idea of crime owned her as a master owns a slave. It was a fierce and a -powerful nature which poor Joe had taken to his unchanging heart. - -“I knowed it was the children. You won’t never talk so again? Just you -come with me; I’ve got something’ll surprise you.” - -“What’s that, Joe?” She was just now intent on quieting his fears. “Do -tell me.” - -“No! You come along. Looks like rain a bit.” - -“Well, I’ll go.” She threw her hair aside, and went out with him, -saying, “You are a queer old man; I guess I’m right curious.” Well -pleased, he went along, the woman following. - -By and by they came into the open space around which the underbrush grew -so close that it would have puzzled one unused to the way to find it. - -“You just stand there a bit,”—and, as he spoke, he bent over the ready -pile,—“and don’t look yet,” he added. - -“What’s that white thing?” The night was dark, and, in the forest, of -inky blackness, because of the coming storm. - -“You wait,” he repeated. “Don’t you look yet.” - -He struck a match on his corduroys, and lighted the birch-bark shavings. -Instantly a red light leaped up, and in a moment the flame soared high, -flaring in the gusts of wind, so that the tall pines cast all around -wild lengths of shivering shadows, and the forest became as day; while -the white oblong of stone came sharply out into view. - -“I done it,” he said. “I done it for you, Susie! I done it.” - -The woman came near, and, saying no words, fell on her knees to see it -better. - -“You did that, Joe?” and she looked up. - -“I did!” - -“There’s letters on it. I can’t spell them rightly.” - -“Dory she made them on paper. She won’t know. I told her it was for a -board I was thinkin’ to set up. There don’t no one come here.” - -“It’s a stone! a real tombstone, Joe!” - -“Yes, it’s that.” - -“What’s on it?” - -“I learned it,” he said. “It just says: - - ‘HERE LIE THE BODIES - OF - SUSAN FAIRLAMB, - PETER FAIRLAMB, - ISAIAH FAIRLAMB, - CHILDREN OF - SUSAN FAIRLAMB.’ - -I left out Pete Fairlamb. Seems right, don’t it?” he added, noticing her -silence. - -“There isn’t anything about when they was born and died. Any fool would -have guessed it ought to have that.” - -Joe’s face fell. After all, he had failed to satisfy her entirely. - -“I done my best. Guess my back’s achin’ yet with heftin’ that stone.” - -“Where did you fetch it?” she said, looking up. - -“I took it out of the graveyard, up-river.” - -“Why can’t you say you stole it? It’s them Lyndsays’.” As she spoke the -dominant idea which she had so long nurtured rose anew into power. -“Well, I didn’t think you was that much of a man, Joe.” She felt that he -had taken a downward step. “You stole it!” she repeated. “You needn’t be -afraid to tell me.” - -The words “stole it” disturbed him. - -“I stole it!” he repeated, mechanically. - -“I don’t like it any the worse for that. What’s that last line? Did you -say all of it?” - -“That’s what Dory said was to be put under the rest. It made a lot more -work; but Dory she said they most allus done it like that.” - -“What is it?” said the woman. “I don’t make it out.” - -He hesitated a moment. “‘Of such’—that’s it; most clean forgot it: ‘Of -such are the kingdom of heaven.’” - -As he spoke the drops began to fall. Then an intolerable blaze of orange -light flooded the forest with momentary noonday, and, without interval, -the thunder, followed by a deluge of rain, and struck hither and thither -by the hills, died away reverberant in the distance. - -“Jerusalem! That was a near one! Ain’t it a-rainin’!” - -As the lightning fell the woman threw up her arms where she knelt and -staggered to her feet. “Come along,” she cried; and, as she moved -swiftly before him in a mighty downfall of rain, she said, over and -over, “‘Of such are the kingdom of heaven’; ’of such are the kingdom of -heaven!’” - -When they reached home, she sat down by the fire, as if unconscious of -her soaked garments, until Joe, coming in from the cow-house, said: - -“You’d best be gettin’ on dry clothes, Susie. You’ll take your death of -cold.” - -“I’d like them Lyndsays to miss that stone, Joe.” - -“I hope they won’t,” he returned. “They ain’t never been nothin’ but -good to folks hereabouts. I’d not of took it happen there was another; -and I wouldn’t have done it for no other woman.” - -“It was a brave job, Joe, and I’ll never forget it. I wish them other -things had been set on it—when they was born and died. It’s only them -rich people has things complete. Maybe you done the best you could.” - -“That’s so,” he returned. - - - - - CHAPTER XXV - - -On Wednesday morning, Anne Lyndsay woke up with what her brother called -one of the acute attacks of curiosity in regard to Mrs. Maybrook. They -were subject to variations and accompaniments. She shared with her -friend, Dr. North, the fancy for imagining what certain persons, real or -unreal, would do under circumstances which she contrived for them. It -was the byplay of a restless intellect. Lyndsay, who was in his -professional work keenly logical, had at times no patience with Anne’s -amusing nonsense. He labeled it “mental vagabondage” or “mind gossip.” - -She was just now outside in her hammock, enjoying the wonderful weather -of a Canadian river in mid-June. She was also busy considering Dorothy -Maybrook in a variety of new social surroundings; as to what she would -say or do in a drawing-room, or if of a sudden dropped into a seat at a -Boston dinner-party, between Emerson and Wendell Holmes. And then she -laughed aloud in her satisfaction at reseating her between _Polonius_ -and _Mercutio_. - -“What amuses you?” said Lyndsay, as he came out of the cabin with his -beloved “Marcus Aurelius,” a finger in between the leaves. “What, no -book?” - -She related gaily her occupation. - -“Upon my word, Anne, I am unable to conceive what pleasure you can take -in such stuff.” He was in one of his severer moods, when to be merely -logical was alone possible. As Anne said, it was pretty hard to switch -Archie off on a siding. He had his own moods, gay or serious; but for -the time they were despotic, and disabled him temporarily from entering -into those of others. - -“My dear Archie,” she returned, “you have no mental charity; at least, -not of a morning. Now, if I were to ask you, to-night, to imagine -Dorothy at dinner between George the Third and Edgar Poe, you would just -as like as not assist my imagination with an added pair of wings, and—” - -“Very likely,” he interrupted. “I suppose it is the result of long -habit. I came out just now to ask you how this passage strikes you.” - -She was at once all interest. “What is it, Archie?” - -“‘Cast away opinion; thou art saved. Who, then, hinders thee from -casting it away?’” - -Anne laughed, “Try it,” she said. “Cast away opinions—have none, and you -won’t be bothered with the need to trouble yourself with this old -heathen’s. I agree with him. Opinions are like gowns: it is so nice to -change them! I am all the time giving away mine, and it is delightful to -see how ill they fit other folk.” She was, in reality, of all people, -the most definite and clear as to her religion and her politics. - -“I think you never can be serious, Anne. Nobody holds harder to their -beliefs than you do. I can’t imagine what the old pagan meant. Saved -from what? ‘Cast away opinion, and you are saved.’” - -“It is the salvation of negation, Archie; pretty popular in some places. -It is not my kind.” - -“I shall get no help here,” said her brother. “You are no easier to -eject from a mental mood than I am. I think I shall give it up and go -a-fishing.” - -“It is my changeless opinion that you are now on the track of reason. -The first fish will answer you. He will be quite on the side of Marcus -Aurelius, and wish he had not had a too definite opinion as to the -desirability of closer relations with a dusty miller or Durham ranger. -Get to thee fine opinions, but don’t act on them. Thus, thou shalt have -the cool joy of theory, and escape the hot results of its practical -application.” - -“On my honor, Anne, you are quite intolerable at times.” - -“I am to myself, old fellow. I wish aches were opinions. The Christian -Science idiots say they are. I would like to exchange aches for -opinions.” - -“Are you not so well to-day?” he said, putting Aurelius in his -coat-pocket. “You look much better.” - -“I am far better than usual,” she returned, hastily repentant, as usual, -of her admission of weakness or pain. “I am thinking of going over to -see Dorothy this afternoon. It is a great enterprise for me, but I -really cannot bide, as she says.” - -“Why not?” - -“My dear Archie, she took away ‘Macbeth’ to read, yesterday, and I -must—I cannot wait. I want to know what she thinks of it.” - -“Indeed! She probably won’t think at all. She will very likely give up -at the end of the first scene.” - -“No, I don’t think it. After the witches? No! She told me you said -something about _Lady Macbeth_; why or when, I do not know. It seems to -have made her curious.” - -“That is rather odd. Does she read much? I should not think it.” - -“No, very little, and that is why I want to hear. The opinions of people -who read too much are not often worth much. But what Dorothy concludes -about _Lady Macbeth_ ought to be entertaining, at least.” - -“You can have a canoe, dear, and Tom, after lunch. Are you quite up to -the walk?” - -“My legs may give out, but my curiosity will not—I can assure you of -that. I shall take Ned.” - -“Very good, then. I am to go with Margaret up to the burying-ground. She -wants to see that it is kept in decent order, and to have a better -inclosure made.” - -“Poor Margaret! We go away on Saturday—do we not?” - -“Yes, about noon or later.” - -“I suppose those Boston men will remain.” - -“Yes, a week or two.” - -After this she was silent, and her brother, leaning against the -door-post, glanced listlessly down the river. She was seldom silent very -long. - -“Well, what is it, sister?” He rarely used the word of relationship. - -“Have you thought at all, Archie, about—Rose and Mr. Carington?” - -“Why should I? Margaret has been pestering herself about the man. But -Rose is a difficult young woman, Anne, and there have been so many -matrimonial scares that now I don’t trouble myself any longer.” - -“Circumstance is a mighty match-maker, Archie.” - -“But Rose is not, as you know. I sometimes think she will never marry. -She is twenty now.” - -“Indeed! I think, Archie, I should like to have a dictionary of the -reasons why women marry men.” - -He laughed. “The reason is as old as Adam. They have no one else to -marry.” - -“Oh, he had no _embarras de choix_,” she cried. “Pity he had not. They -are various, I fancy—I mean the honest causes of interest that lead on -to love. I have always thought that Rose would be captured by character. -In our every-day life it lacks chance of exhibition, but here, it is, or -has been, different. That man is a strong, effective, decisive person. -He has a good deal that is attractive, and that soft Southern way which -our men lack. Moreover, he is very good-looking. If you don’t want it to -be, take care: _I_ think it is too late.” - -“Anne!” Her sagacity was very rarely at fault. He knew it, and was -somewhat alarmed. “But I can do nothing.” - -“No. I do not know why you should. We know all about the man and his -people. Rose is not a girl to act in haste.” - -“Why, then, should we bother about it?” he said. - -“We don’t: you will. And Margaret will fuss.” - -“I am afraid so. Confound the men!” - -“If Margaret had confounded you with other men twenty-four years ago, -this catastrophe would not have been imminent to-day. Let us hold her -responsible.” - -“You have made me very unhappy, Anne. I can’t jest about it.” - -“Then I can. I think I like him. I wish I had married myself—I mean, -somebody else. Old maids are married to themselves, and that is the -reason why they have a bad time.” - -“Do you?” - -“Not a bit! Go a-fishing, and hold your tongue.” - -Lyndsay uttered a malediction on things in general, and walked away. - -Some time after lunch Anne called Ned, and went over the river with Tom, -who thundered replies to her ever-varying range of questions about -climate, lumber, trees, and men. A little later, Margaret and her -husband, who had given up for her his evening sport, set out up-stream, -and the twins were left to the Indian and a chance at the lower pool. - -Anne and the boy climbed up the bank, and went away into the woodland. -Several times, feeling tired, she sat down on a wayside stump or fallen -tree. She had the peculiar trait of liking to be silent when afoot or -when driving. As soon as she was at rest her tongue was apt to be set -free, and she became, as usual, a delightful comrade. - -Now she began to amuse herself by asking the lad in what age he would -like to have lived, and was pleased that he chose the reign of -Elizabeth. Then at last she talked about Dorothy, and of her life, its -hardships, trials, and contentments with what she had, and, finally, of -the woman’s interest in “Macbeth” and her own curiosity as to this. She -had the art of interesting the young in matters usually thought to be -out of their sphere of comprehension. - -As she sat, Ned, who was quick to see, noticed that she became of a -sudden silent, and, looking up, saw that her face was distorted for a -moment, and that she had one hand pressed against her side. He rose, -saying: - -“What is the matter, Aunt Anne?” - -“Nothing. Nothing much. I very often have pain, and sometimes it beats -me.” - -“I am sorry. Can’t I do something?” - -“No, dear. It will be better presently. It is better now,” and she wiped -her brow. - -“Why do people have pain?” - -“To keep them from eating green apples a second time.” - -“That’s so, aunty; but you—why do you have pain?” - -“Perhaps because my great-grandpapa would eat green apples. ‘The fathers -have eaten sour grapes, and the children’s teeth are set on edge.’” - -“I don’t understand.” - -“No! That is an enigma for more than you. I do not know why I have pain. -Having it, I know what to do with it. I don’t know why Christ had pain. -God might have willed to help us in other ways, but at least I know what -to do with the story of that anguish. If he was, as we think, a perfect -man, Ned, he must have suffered as only a man who was also more than man -could suffer. As he chose his pain to be, and taught men how to use it, -so must I in my small way.” - -“And wouldn’t you choose, aunty, just to have no pain, if you could?” - -“Get thee behind me, little Satan,” she laughed. “If I could make a -world without pain, would I choose? I don’t know. My pain has been a -bitter friend. Come,” and she rose. The boy, whose thoughts and -questions were beyond his years, walked on in silence, now and then -glancing at the woman’s face. - -“Does no one know, Aunt Anne, why we must have pain?” - -“Only one man knew, Ned, and he suffered and was silent.” - -“It seems dreadful, Aunt Anne.” - -“Perhaps it only seems: best to think that.” - -At the cabin-door Dorothy came out smiling, the little, red pocket-copy -of “Macbeth” in her hand. - -“Now this is right good of you, Miss Anne,” she said. “Come in. Mrs. -Lyndsay was telling me last week you like a cup of tea about sundown. -It’s a bit early, but you might be tired. I’ve got the tea Mrs. Lyndsay -sent me last year.” - -“I would like a cup, Dorothy. How is Hiram? and the cows? and the -chickens? and Sambo, the cat?” - -“They’re all well—the whole family.” - -She set the kettle on the fire, got some bread, cut it up, and set it -with a supply of butter before Ned. - -“No good in asking a boy if he is hungry.” - -Ned laughed. “Jack says it is no use for Dick to eat: he is just as -hungry when he is done as he was at first.” - -“‘It grows by what it feeds on, like the worm i’ the bud,’” said Anne to -herself. “I’ll keep that quotation for Archie.” And then, aloud, “We old -folks eat from habit. The only appetite I have left is for books, and— -What good tea, Dorothy! Thanks! Yes, one cup more. My brother says you -like coffee better. I sent to Montreal for a few things you might like. -You will find among them a small bag of coffee. We think ours -excellent.” - -“And I was just last night a-wondering how I could get some right good -coffee. It’s half chicory what we get; and here, in you walk, and I’ve -got it easy as asking. I haven’t said I’m obliged to you, but I am. Fact -is, Miss Anne, giving comes so natural to some folks—you might as well -thank them for sneezing. I’m a bit that way myself. I do just think -being thanked is the hardest part of giving. If the man in church was to -say, ‘Thank you, ma’am,’ every time I dropped a sixpence in his bag, he -wouldn’t get another out of me soon.” - -“I am much of your way of thinking,” said Anne. “But tell me, what about -the book? How do you like it? And why did you want to read it?” - -“Mr. Lyndsay happened to say some one was like that woman, _Lady -Macbeth_. Guess I called her Mrs. Macbeth.” - -“And who was the some one?” - -Dorothy hesitated. - -“I was telling him a little about Susie Colkett.” - -“Indeed!” - -“Yes—she’s an evil-minded one.” - -Anne had no suspicion of the seriousness of the story Dorothy had -confided to Mr. Lyndsay, and was somewhat amused at the remoteness of -the tragic comparison. She set the thing aside, and resolved to ask her -brother what he meant. She was now instantly curious as to what effect -the drama had had upon a woman like Dorothy. - -“If Susan Colkett is as bad as _Lady Macbeth_, she must be an unpleasant -neighbor.” - -“There isn’t much to steal here,” said Dorothy, smiling and looking -around her; “and I never did see the woman I was afraid of. As for -Susie, she’s so bad, she’s—a fool. There wouldn’t be much harm in it if -Joe wasn’t the worst fool of the two. She’ll be the losing of that man -yet. Two fools can hatch a heap of mischief.” - -“He isn’t much like _Macbeth_.” - -“I don’t know that. You were asking about this book. I don’t read books -much. I can find out people right soon; books—they puzzle me.” - -“But you have read it?” - -“Yes, I read it. I read it twice. I sort of set myself to believe it the -second time. There’s a heap I didn’t understand.” - -“And _Lady Macbeth_?” - -“She was a queer one. All that howling and a-carrying on of the -witch-women, it’s just nonsense. I got the idea those witches set it up -to tell the man he was to be a king: that’s straight, isn’t it?” - -“Yes.” - -“’T isn’t wholesome to get notions; they stick like bur-ticks. I knew a -girl down at Marysville, in Georgia, and an old black woman told her, -for her fortune, she was to marry a thin man with heaps of money, and -the fool was so awful took with this that she told her beau. He was a -direful stout man. Well, when she wouldn’t have him, he went off and -tried to starve himself thin; and the end was he fell away and died, and -that girl, she never got another beau, fat or thin.” - -Ned and his aunt laughed. - -“Well, what else, Dorothy?” - -“That’s about all I have to say. That _Macbeth_ woman understood -p’intin’ her man.” - -“She did, indeed.” - -“Sometimes Hiram gets tired of being p’inted. That’s how men are: they -haven’t got the natural goodness of women. I wouldn’t give a cent for -the woman that don’t know a man has got to be kept p’inted on to the -narrow way. They’re awful easy got off the track—just like Hiram: he’ll -stop to pick berries any time. You just take notice how Eve she p’inted -Adam, and it’s been going on ever since, like it was natural. Maybe -’tis.” - -Anne was enchanted. - -“Shall I leave you the book?” - -“No, I don’t want it. I couldn’t stand two of the kind. Susie Colkett’s -enough. Have another cup?” - -“No; and thank you for the roses, Dorothy.” - -“I hadn’t but just six.” - -“They were lovely.” And now Anne was still more certain how six roses -came to be five. - -“I like them right well, Miss Anne. I don’t believe anybody likes them -more than me. Seems like waste, next month, to see those wild roses so -thick all along the river, and no one so much as to smell them. Seems -just pure waste, like that precious ointment Mrs. Lyndsay and me were -talking about the other day. That always did puzzle me, that story.” - -“Does it?” said Anne. “Perhaps the flowers enjoy one another—who knows? -And perhaps you and I and the rest of us are not all the beings of -earth. Why should we think everything is meant only for us?” - -“Sakes alive! Miss Anne, but you have got some queer notions. To think -of folks you can’t see smelling around among the flowers! Suppose you -was to bump heads when you were smelling of them. It gives me the creeps -to think of it. Hope I’ll never run against one of them. Must you go? -Well, I’m right sorry. When you and Mrs. Lyndsay and the rest go away, -my old head will have a long rest.” - -“Shall I send you some books?” - -“No. I shouldn’t read them. I don’t set much store by books, without I -have some one to talk to, and poor Hiram is as mum as a stone. That’s -the worst of our long winter. Only last night I was reading the Bible,—I -do read that, Miss Anne,—and I came upon where Christ wrote on the sand. -I just said to myself I would wait about that till I saw you. I did want -to talk it over right away.” - -“And what is it you want to ask?” - -“What do you suppose Christ wrote in the sand?” - -“Who can tell that, Dorothy?” - -“But it must have meant— Why did he do it?” - -“I suppose,” said Anne, thoughtfully, “that he wanted to let the woman -think over what he had said. When you think of the eyes of Christ -looking at you, Dorothy, you might understand.” - -“I see, Miss Anne. That woman she felt awful bad, I guess, and he only -wanted not to seem to take notice. I wouldn’t ha’ thought of that in a -year, not if I stayed awake all night every night.” - -“Why not write to me in the winter? I should like that.” - -“Would you really? That would take the edge off the lonesomeness. If I -didn’t say ‘oh!’ every now and then, of evenings when the green wood -cracks and the sparks fly, I guess I’d go dumb before the birds come -back.” - -“Well, Dorothy, that is settled. I shall write first. Good-by!” And, -with Edward, she moved slowly away through the broken cross-lights of -the sunset glow. - - - - - CHAPTER XXVI - - -After two or three weeks in the forest, where “the slow-growing trees do -patience teach,” and the strong, effortless waters go by and seem only -merry and idle, there comes to some men a sense of being at home. It -does not come at once. We are all of us, in our busier lives of varied -work or pleasure, actors in ever-changing rôles. It can hardly be -otherwise. Almost the simplest lives involve some use of the art of the -actor. In the woods, away from men and their struggles and ambitions, -with the absence of need to be this or that, as duty, work, or social -claims demand, we lose the resultant state of tension, of being on -guard. It is readily possible to notice this effect in the rapid erasure -from the faces of the constantly strained, intellectual workman of the -lines of care which mark the features of those on whom, in one or -another position, the world relies to carry its burdens. - -At first, on passing from great mental occupation to the life of the -forest, there is a period of unrest, of vague disappointment. But soon -or late, with repose of mind, and the cessation of endless claims upon -the sentinel senses, arises a distinct and less explicable indifference -to what a fortnight back was important. Our whole world of relation is -gradually changed. The passion, strife, and more or less worthy motives -of the great camps of men shrink to valueless dimensions, so that we -look back and wonder how this or that should have caused us a thought, -or called forth that irritability which is apt to be the offspring of -the unceasing strain of modern life. - -At last we lose count of the days, and acquire a strange impression of -the remoteness of the tumult of the active life from which we have fled. -So complete may be this feeling that at times the busy past seems to -fade into dreamy unreality, as with sense of relief we give ourselves -unresistingly to the wholesome influence of the woodland and the waters. -Much of this ease of mind must be due to the physical well-being which -this existence surely brings to those who know how to get out of it the -best it holds. - -This calm of spirit, and this feeling of perfect fullness of bodily -health, were what Archibald Lyndsay unfailingly secured in his summer -holiday. He had become careful to humor the pleasant mood, and to be -annoyed when anything took place which forced him even for an hour to -return to the problems of the outer world. - -Such a summons had come from Anne. She had not explained why she had -spoken, nor could she have given a reason beyond the fact that she and -he habitually discussed in common all family interests, and that it was -not always quite safe for Anne to talk of them to Margaret. That gentle -little woman was indisposed to have others, as she said, “come between -her and her children,” and was in fact jealous, with a steadiness of -jealousy which unwillingly accepted even love as an excuse, and heard, -with unreasoning lack of logic, explanations, advice, or comment, which -another might have welcomed, or at least calmly considered. Thus, when -Anne wished to influence Margaret, she was apt to talk to the husband, -who, in turn, was shrewd enough to profit by the counsel without -betraying the counselor. - -Archibald Lyndsay’s uneasiness had been extreme from the time Anne had -spoken of Carington. Now he was in the canoe with his wife, and was -being poled up-stream by the two Indians, who could understand but -little of the rapid speech of the white man, and before whom, therefore, -he could talk at ease. Lyndsay sat with his back to the bowman, his wife -facing him and lying against a pile of cushions. After a little he said, -speaking low: - -“Margaret, has it occurred to you that possibly all this unavoidable -intimacy between Rose and young Carington might—well, might result in -some serious attachment, and—” - -“Of course,” she broke in, with the wife’s privilege of apprehending -more than the husband has said, “of course, any one—” - -“My dear Margaret, I wish you would listen until I have finished—” - -“Very well, dear, I will listen. I only meant to remind you that I have -already spoken of this, and that you said it was not of any moment; and -that I was too much given to anticipating trouble. The fact is, Archie, -when you are on your holiday, you hate to have anything serious brought -to your mind, and you are pretty apt just to put it aside.” - -Lyndsay, well versed in the fine art of matrimonial diplomacy, made no -instant reply to this arraignment. - -“Perhaps, my good wife, we may be as to this a little alike. When you -are very full of a subject, or have decided it in your own mind, you are -inclined not to hear me out.” - -“That may be so. I beg pardon, Archie. What is it?” - -“What was I saying? Where was I? It is like taking the marker out of a -book you are reading.” - -“You were saying it might result in a serious attachment.” - -“Yes, that was it; or something to that effect. Perhaps I should not -have been quite so definite. Yes, that was it. It has seemed to me that -Rose is a girl who would readily be captured by—well, by a man who had a -chance to show force of character, and this very thing has happened. You -know, dear, in the ordinary chances of life these opportunities are -rare, but—well, you understand.” - -She did; and also she had a suspicion that this bit of social reflection -was somebody else’s wisdom. - -“Has Anne mentioned the matter?” - -“I did say something to her about it yesterday—no, this morning.” - -“I would much rather, Archie, when you want to discuss the children, -that you come to me first.” - -Clearly he had brought this on himself. She went on: - -“Anne is ready enough to interfere without being given an excuse, and -now, I suppose— She has not talked to Rose, I trust?” - -“No, my dear. She has not and never will. That would be very unlike -Anne.” - -“I don’t know. One never knows what to expect.” - -“But you do now. Have you noticed of late how thin Anne looks? I -sometimes think she will trouble none of us very long.” - -“I think you are rather prone to exaggerate about Anne. She isn’t well, -but these chronic invalids outlast the healthy.” Margaret had the -occasional hardness of the very tender. “As to Rose, it is as well to -comprehend the matter, and then, as the man seems unexceptionable, to -let Rose alone.” - -Mrs. Lyndsay’s good sense usually kept her at the end on the ways of -reasonable decisions. If she could always have acted without speaking, -she would have had more credit for wisdom. But acts are rare, and speech -is not; so that people were apt to say, “Margaret Lyndsay is a very good -woman, but not always very wise.” Those who knew her best did not so -think, and especially Lyndsay, who well understood that great goodness -cannot coexist with foolishness, because the more valuable goodness must -have intelligence for one parent. There are people who reflect very -little about what they are going to say, and a great deal about what -they are about to do: of this kind was Lyndsay’s wife; but then, under -some circumstances, words are acts, or have their force, and so she made -mischief occasionally for herself and for others. - -“I quite agree with you, my dear,” he replied. “It were best left to -Rose’s good sense. In the end you and I are sure enough to agree.” - -“Perhaps you might give Anne a hint, or—shall I?” She was a trifle -afraid of her sister-in-law. - -“It won’t be required. She has quite our own ideas about it”; and then -Margaret knew that Anne had fully discussed this question with Lyndsay. -She did not like it, but this time held her tongue. - -The sun was low when they drew to the shore, a little above the point -where Joe had left his dugout two days before. The oblong white box of a -church stood on the upland, a dismal architectural symbol. Its closed -doors and windows, the broken steps at the entrance, and the ragged, -storm-worn paint looked dreary enough to Lyndsay as he passed with his -wife through the open gateway. - -“How hideous it is!” he said. “Would not you like it, my dear Margaret, -if in the fall I had our boy brought home to rest among our own dead?” - -“Very much, Archie.” - -“It shall be done,” he said. - -“Thank you.” By this time they had picked their way around the church -amidst growth of thistles and wild raspberry vines. Lyndsay led, and -presently they were in the scantily-peopled half-acre back of the -chapel. He stood a moment, confused. - -“I don’t see the stone,” he said. - -“What? What is that?” - -He turned, and said again, “I don’t see it!” - -Margaret went by him swiftly. - -“It was here! here!” and, utterly bewildered, she stood, looking up at -her husband, or down at the grave, and then around her. “Archie! It is -gone! This is—is horrible.” - -Lyndsay paused a moment. He was both troubled and perplexed; but the -intellectual puzzle was uppermost, and, as usual with him, was merely -fed with motives for action and decisions by the shock of horror with -which the thing affected him. As for his wife, she looked down again at -the trampled ground and broken flower-stems, and then saying, “What is -it? Where is it?” began to go to and fro, irregularly, among the graves, -and along the tumbling stone wall of the inclosure. - -At last she ran, like a scared thing, back to her husband, threw her -arms about him, and burst into violent sobbing. - -“Oh, my boy! my boy!” she cried. Her face twitched, and she broke out -into unnatural laughter. Lyndsay caught her as she reeled to and fro. - -“Take care, Margaret! Margaret! Be quiet. No more of this! I command you -to control yourself!” - -As he spoke he lifted her slight figure, and carried her to the gate. - -“Sit down,” he said. “Now, no more of this! I want your clearest -head—your help.” - -“Yes, yes, Archie,” she said. “I will try. I—oh, I couldn’t help it! -Don’t scold me.” - -His eyes filled. “No, dear love, not I. But keep still. I want to look. -This is a mere vulgar, brutal theft. Wait a moment, can you?” - -“Yes, but don’t be long.” - -He walked back again to the little grave, and carefully examined the -place. It was broken and battered by large footmarks, and these led away -toward the low stone wall, and were lost in the underbrush beyond the -broken fence-rail on the far side of the unused road. He saw that the -break in the rail was recent. At last he returned to his wife. - -“The grave, dear, is not disturbed. Some fool has stolen the stone. Come -with me; I want to go through the drift yonder, and I do not want to -leave you alone.” - -She stood up, and followed him around the church, and back to where he -had found the rail broken. “Ah, here again is a footmark,” he said. At -the river he walked along the margin, and at length came upon the place -where a dugout had been drawn up and where were other footprints in the -wet clay margin. - -“It is very simple,” he said. “We shall soon know. But why any man -should do such a thing I cannot imagine.” - -“He ought to be killed,” said our quiet Margaret. - -“That will do for the present,” he said, and then called to his men to -drop down from the landing where he had left them. In a minute or two -they were at the shore. - -“Now, dear,” he said, as they came near, “try to keep this thing a -secret for the few days left us here. It is an intolerable bit of -wickedness, possibly of malice, but this I do not believe. The more -quiet we can keep it, the better my chance of discovering who has done -it.” - -“I will try; but Anne!” - -“Oh, Anne, of course, and Rose perhaps. It is the men who must not know, -and the boys.” - -“That is easier. What shall you do about it, Archie? Who could have been -so cruel?” - -“Unusual crime,” he said, thoughtfully, “has commonly unusual causes. I -do not as yet know what I shall do. And now, dear, let us not discuss it -any more. And will you tell Anne, or shall I?” - -“I would prefer to do it myself, Archie.” - -As the sick animal knows by instinct what wild grasses it shall eat, -this woman apprehended her need for a woman’s strength and sure -community of feeling. She was as certain to fall back on Anne’s opinion -or help in the end, or where she herself was honestly puzzled, as she -was to resent her sister-in-law’s independent assertion of her right to -have a say where the question was one as to which Mrs. Lyndsay thought -that the title mother or wife was in itself a victorious defense of all -decisions needed in either capacity. - -In this present trouble it was a woman’s help she wanted. She had been -for the first time in her life close to an hysterical attack. Without -the forceful tonic of her husband’s call upon her self-command, the -discipline of years would have been of no avail: she would have been -entirely routed. As it was, there had been sad disorder in the ranks of -the governing qualities of a being unused to yield to the lawlessness of -unrestrained emotion. This nearness of defeat was more or less due to -the preparative softening influences with which she came to say a silent -farewell to her dead, and to the suddenness of the shock of horror and -of insult. - -None turned to Anne Lyndsay in vain. As Lyndsay and his wife approached -the cabin, where, as usual, Anne was lying in her hammock, she saw at -once that something had gone wrong. Her long walk was exacting the sad -price of all physical exertion which took her beyond the limits of the -most carefully measured exercise. She was in great pain, and, for a half -hour, had been resolutely struggling to ignore it by forcing herself to -give deliberate attention to a difficult passage in the second part of -“Faust.” She dropped her dictionary as they came up, put a marker in the -page she had been reading, and rose on one elbow. - -“Go and talk to Anne,” said Lyndsay. “Is Rose still out, sister?” - -“Yes; and the boys, except Ned. He is in the wood, somewhere. I am all -alone, Margaret. What is it, dear?” - -“Something very unpleasant has happened, Anne; nothing serious—I mean, -no personal calamity. Margaret will explain.” And so saying, he went -into the cabin, while Mrs. Lyndsay sat down on a low stool, and, letting -her head fall on Anne’s bosom, began to cry. But this time she had -herself well in hand, and the burst of tears was wholesome, as Anne -instantly knew. She let her hand fall over Margaret’s neck. - -“Have it out, dear,” she said. “A man always says, ‘Don’t cry’; a woman -says, ‘Cry; it will help you.’ Cry as much as you want to. God knew our -wants when he gave us tears. No; don’t try to explain,—not yet, not -yet.” And the reassuring hand put back a stray lock of hair, and rested -in tender caress on the wet cheek. - -Both were still for a few minutes, save for an occasional sob. - -“Now I am better, Anne. I can talk now. How well you know!—what is it, -dear?” she added, abruptly, for a brief exclamation, “Oh, my God!” broke -from Anne’s lips. She was in the extremity of physical pain. The tone -and words were unusual, as coming from these lips, and Margaret, -instantly turning aside from her own trouble, caught the look of -suffering on the other woman’s face. She wiped her eyes hastily. - -“Are you ill, Anne?” - -“Yes. Oh, not ill! I had a stitch in my poor old side.” Then she laughed -low. “I am sure it is years older than the rest of me. Get me your -smelling-salts.” - -Margaret got up at once and went into the cabin. As for Anne, -smelling-salts, hot-water bags, sedatives, and, in fact, the whole -armament of the invalid, were to her altogether unpleasant. But now she -was in some want of a minute to herself. She got it, and more, for -Margaret was some time before she came out with the smelling-salts and a -flask. - -“No, dear,” said Anne; “no brandy.” She used the smelling-salts, and -returned them to her sister-in-law. “I hate all scented things. I am -better now. Tell me all about it, and don’t hurry. What is it?” - -“We went up to my boy’s grave, and, Anne, Anne, some one had trampled it -all over—trod on my—my dead!” - -“Well, dear. Take care! Don’t give way, or you will go to pieces. There! -What else?” - -“And some cruel brute has taken away the tombstone. It was not there. Do -you understand?” she cried, with fierce energy. “They stole it! It is -gone!” - -Anne understood well enough; but the fact, as told her, was so strange, -so unlooked for, that she was amazed for a brief time beyond power of -comment. The next moment all her heart went out to the mother at her -side. - -“It is horrible!” she cried. “Oh, for me, even, for me! And for you, -what must it be?” She saw, as few would have done, the broken -flower-fence, the rudely profaned and trampled grave, the gap in the -earth where the stone had been. “For me, horrible—but, my dear God! what -must it have been for you!” - -“Yes; I am his mother!” She was moved because Anne did not pretend to -share the maternal intensity of her feelings. “Only a mother could know. -Archie says I must not think about it; but that is beyond my power—I -must think about it. Who could have done it? I can’t see any reason in -the theft. Do you think it could have been to annoy us, or to get a -reward? I—” - -“No,” said Anne. “Neither.” - -“Then what could it have been? There must have been a motive.” - -“Yes, there must have been.” - -“And what? We are liked, I think, on the river. “We do try to help these -people.” - -“Yes.” - -“Who could have done it?” - -“Joe Colkett!” - -“Archibald! Archibald!” cried Margaret, instantly rising. He came out at -once. - -“What is it?” - -“Anne says Colkett took it!” - -“What does this mean, Anne?” he said. - -“Only this: Rose told us yesterday, you remember, that Colkett had been -to see Dorothy about an inscription for a board to set over his wife’s -children. You heard her speak of it.” - -“Yes; but what then?” - -“That man is the thief!” - -“You are a most astonishing woman, Anne. What reason have you? You must -have a reason.” - -“I shall have; but now, as yet, I have none.” - -“I am sorry, then. You have quite upset Margaret.” - -“No. I saw the man take it.” - -“Saw him? Nonsense—I beg pardon, dear, I don’t quite mean that.” He was -nice always in his home ways with the women he loved. “I mean that you -have spoken unadvisedly.” - -“Yes, I had no advice from within or without, for that matter; but I -know that man is the thief.” - -“It is a serious charge.” - -“It is. When you come to think it over, you will agree with me.” - -Lyndsay was silent a moment. Then he called, “Tom! Tom! I am going up to -the Island Camp; put the canoe in the water.” - -“What are you going to do, Archie!” asked Margaret. - -“I want to talk to Carington. He knows all these people; has known them -for years.” - -“Shall you tell him what my own belief is?” said Anne. - -“Certainly! Why not?” - -“But,” exclaimed Margaret, “do you not think—” - -“No. No, dear, I don’t think at all as yet. I have no material for -thinking—very little, at least.” He spoke with unhabitual impatience. -“Evidence is what we want.” - -He was annoyed by this mysterious crime in the midst of his idle hours; -troubled by his wife’s distress; and finally, if but to a slight extent, -irritated at Anne’s unreasoning dash at a decisive conclusion. Perhaps -he was the more disturbed because, on hearing her, he had at once begun -to put together facts, always within his own knowledge, which he felt -should have caused him to have gone, under guidance of reason, toward -the goal which she had reached at a bound. - -“I shall be back in three or four hours. Do not keep the dinner waiting. -Good-by.” - -“But, Archibald, do listen to me. It is not about—about this—” And she -followed him as she spoke, and, at the edge of the cliff, said a few -words hastily, but with earnestness. - -“No,” he said, so that Anne heard. “I see—I see, of course; but there is -no help for it; and, after all, Carington is not a man—” And the rest -was lost to Anne’s ear. - -“Perhaps not,” said Margaret. “I suppose you know best.” And she went -back to Anne. - - - - - CHAPTER XXVII - - -When Lyndsay walked up the beach at the Island Camp, it was already -dark. In the dinner-tent, on camp-stools, the two men were gaily -discussing such events as in a fishing camp are always uppermost—how -this or that salmon behaved, the weather, the water, or the eternal -black-flies. - -The cook had just set on the table a dish of broiled salmon, and said, -as he did so: - -“There’s a canoe at the beach—Mr. Lyndsay, I think.” - -“Come to ask your intentions, Fred,” said Ellett, laughing. - -“Hush, I hear him coming. I wonder what it is he wants.” As Carington -spoke, he threw open the fly of the tent. “Come in, Mr. Lyndsay; you are -just in time. Bring the soup back, Jim.” - -“Thanks. How are you, Mr. Ellett? Yes, I will dine with you, and with -pleasure. No soup, thank you,” and he sat down. - -For a while there was the ordinary talk of the river, and when, finally, -they were left with the tobacco and cigars, Lyndsay having declined the -rye whisky, he said: - -“I came up to get a little help from you. We have had to-day a very -singular and quite unpleasant incident. There is no one can overhear -us?” - -“No one. I need hardly say how heartily we are at your service. Pray go -on. May I ask what has troubled you?” - -“Of course. I came to tell you, and then to ask your help or advice. You -know all these river men?” - -“Almost all, even the lumber-gangs.” - -“I thought so. I shall be brief. Last year we buried my youngest child -here. I had set up at the head of the grave a simple white stone. To-day -I went up with Mrs. Lyndsay to see that it was all in order. To our -horror the stone was gone. Of course my wife was painfully disturbed. -The grave was trampled; the wild rose-bushes we had set around in a -little thicket were beaten down. That is the whole story. I am, as you -may fancy, greatly annoyed. I felt that, with your knowledge of the men -hereabouts, you might possibly give me some clue. I owe you every -apology,” and he turned to Ellett, “for thrusting so personal a calamity -into the hours of a holiday, but—” - -“You could not have found two people more willing.” - -“Thank you.” - -“Let me ask you a few questions,” said Carington. - -“Of course.” - -The young man reflected a moment, and then in quick succession put his -queries. - -“Have you gone over the place?” - -“Yes,” and he told the little he had seen. - -“Was it a dugout?” - -“Yes, I think so.” - -“I will look to-morrow, early. Were there several people?” - -“The foot-marks seemed alike—the usual many-nailed boot. I did not -measure them.” - -“I will. The beach is clay up there. Has any one cause to injure you?” - -“No one. My wife has been, as usual, all goodness to these poor people.” - -“I see no possible motive,” said Ellett. - -“Wait a bit, Oliver. The grave had not been opened?” - -“Great Heaven! No.” - -“Why should a man want a tombstone?” said Ellett. “An insane person -might have done it.” - -“No,” returned Carington, thoughtfully. “No, there are none here. No, -some one wanted that stone. Why!—by George, I hate to suspect the poor -devil!” - -“Who?” - -“It is a mere guess, a suspicion. I have an idea that Joe Colkett stole -that stone.” - -“It is a little odd. That, exactly, is my sister’s conclusion.” - -“Indeed!” - -“Yes. Being a woman, she had no reason to give, or none worth anything; -and yet I myself am enough inclined to agree with her to want to make -sure as to whether there is any evidence to be had. It is a thing to -punish.” - -“I think so. The man is in pretty sore straits about money. But it -cannot be any motive involving money, and yet—however, it is useless to -talk about it. The first thing is to go over the ground with care. Let -me do that—early to-morrow. Ah, to-day is Wednesday; I must go to -Mackenzie to-morrow. That I can’t let wait. A man is to meet me there -about my cabin. Can this thing rest a day?” - -“Yes, I shall stay over Sunday. We had meant to go out on Saturday.” - -“Then I will call late to-morrow night for your boy—as we come back, I -mean.” - -“One moment: I have thought best not to tell the boys. It can do no -good.” - -“None. On our return toward camp, I will manage to send Jack off, and -will myself slip down to Colkett’s, and will look about me. If -necessary, I can talk it out frankly. I think I could know in five -minutes all the man knows, if he is in the thing at all.” - -“But you won’t forget my warning, Mr. Carington. Joe is a poor sodden -dog, but the woman is a devil.” - -Carington smiled. “Oh, I shall have my rifle; and, after all, what could -a woman do? There is no manner of risk.” He did not say that the notion -of there being some peril in the matter made the enterprise more -attractive. There were other motives also which were not disagreeable, -and of these, too, he made no mention. - -“Well, promise me to be on your guard.” - -“It all seems rather absurd, but I shall keep my eyes open. I may be -very late to-morrow night. Tell Jack, and, by the way, if it is late, I -shall have to keep your money until Friday evening, or Ellett can take -it to you. Send me the draft to-night.” - -“I have it with me”; and he handed it across the table. - -“I think,” said Carington, “I would ignore the whole matter until I see -you on Friday night. I would fish, as usual.” - -“I think so.” He had asked advice and help, and this very decisive young -man had certainly given it. “Thank you a thousand times,” he said, as he -rose; “you have really relieved me,” and then he went away. - -In his canoe he reflected a little on the mental peculiarity which made -Anne and Carington prompt to conclude where he had been so tardy in -reaching a decision. Anne had once said of him that his mind lacked -wings, but was very sure on its legs. He reached home late, and rather -weary. Anne said Rose had been told, and that Margaret had behaved -admirably; also that the boys had no suspicion of the events which had -distressed their elders. - -The lives of men are lived under the limited monarchy of circumstance. -Within this, men’s instincts and personal qualities—in a word, -character—decide how they deal with the stringency of events, or meet -the despotism of changeless natural laws. - -Carington was about to feel the results of a combination of influences, -some within and some outside of those due to mental and moral -peculiarities entirely his own. - -What I saw in an idle hour may serve to illustrate my meaning. The -reader has my benevolent permission to leave it unread. I was once lying -on my couch of spruce in a rude log-cabin on the Alligash River. It was -raining heavily, and we had left our tents awhile for the more perfect -shelter of a deserted log-cabin where the lumbermen had wintered years -before my coming. Apparently for reasons as good as our own, many live -things had come hither—some for a permanent home, and some, like Noah’s -menagerie, for temporary protection. A splendidly constructed spider’s -net occupied the open space where a window-pane had been. The three -remaining panes were intact. It was a happy thought of that spider: when -flies at noon sought the cool shade of the house, this open pane seemed -to offer a way, and, when the sun fell, the path of exit was as -inviting. The net was well stocked, as I saw, but mostly these corpses -were dead shells, out of which the succulent meats had been taken. -Nevertheless, the deadly _retiarius_ lay coiled in a corner, as eager as -if he had never had a breakfast. As to the flies, who were many, they -seemed to be as ignorant of the net’s thin lines as men are of the fatal -meshes which circumstance spins in the way of human flies, or which -character weaves when the fly is his own spider. The spaces between the -anchoring cables were wide. Most of the flies went through quite unaware -how near they had been to death. Some got into the toils and struggled -out, and then went and sat down in dark corners, and reflected on -free-will and predestination. At last a queer-looking, yellowish fly got -into trouble. He was physically odd-looking, and as to mental -organization clearly distinct from the herd of flies. He was evidently -adventurous and on a holiday. He was in and out of the room, between the -long net lines, half a dozen times. “That is luck!” said I. “The goddess -Wyrda has smiled on him!” At last he struck the net, and was caught. In -place of struggling, he kept still a moment, while the spider ran out -and made a reconnaissance. Then my fly gave a kick and a flutter, and -was off and away. “Luck and strength,” said I. By and by he sailed past -me, and sat down to dine on the sweet margins of some ponds of -molasses—the relics of our lunch. Being a little too eager, he got his -legs in the sweets, and then his wings. Not liking this, he flew away, -and, after a disorderly flight, made for the window, where he hit the -center of the net. This time I got up to observe the affair closely. He -made a brave fight, but the molasses on his sticky legs was the -determining circumstance. The net-thrower crawled up with caution, when, -of a sudden, a great bee, humming in its flight, went like a Minié ball -through the net, and the spider fled, and the fly tumbled out—and this -was the end. I felt as if I had been a superior being who, from the -vantage of a higher sphere, had been watching one of earth’s numberless -dramas. He would have seen how instincts, character, and circumstance -combine to determine the fates of men. - - - - - CHAPTER XXVIII - - -There are few things more interesting than to observe in a quiet family -the effects of an explosion of the unusual. Assuredly, what had happened -to the Lyndsays was uncommon. There is family character just as there is -national character. Individuality is more or less dominated by it. Among -those with whom we are dealing the endless discussions which in some -groups of human beings are wasted on a matter of annoyance—a calamity or -a grievance—were quite unknown. At need they talked over their troubles -or difficulties, and put them aside when decisions were once attained. - -Anne was fond of saying, “Talk is a wedge which widens troubles. When -you think, you are talking to yourself alone, and are responsible for -the consequences; it is hard so to weigh words as to know what weight -they will have for others.” And thus it was that even about her most -unbearable pain she said nothing, and disliked all discussions which led -to no working opinion. Mrs. Lyndsay alone was given to seeking sympathy -in her small ailments; but Anne, as she herself once observed, “wore -neither her heart nor her liver on her sleeve.” And this was the general -tone. If talk was needed to settle a thing, there was enough, and no -more. Lyndsay liked to say, “And now we will put it aside, my dear.” He -had thus ended a talk with his wife, who was disposed to say far more. - -To all of them the unpleasant event I have recorded brought a sense of -horror. But the primary mood of anger or disgust gave way to some other -form of mental or moral activity, which varied with the person. Lyndsay -simply and directly occupied himself with the slight evidence he had, -and endeavored to reach a conclusion as to the criminal. Anne fell to -thinking with interest of the motives of the criminal, and as to what -possible temptation could make her desire to do such an act. The mother -remained in a state of somewhat lessened emotional disturbance, wanting -some one to talk to of it all, but finding none save Rose, who had no -power to repress her. - -Thus Thursday passed quietly enough at the Cliff Camp. Mr. Lyndsay -wisely went a-fishing, and took Rose. It was pitiably true that, for -Mrs. Lyndsay, the incident of the day before had renewed the grief which -time had begun to heal. She wondered how Archie could go and fish. She -even made a mild attempt to keep her daughter at home; but Lyndsay -resolutely persisted, and had his way. Left to herself, Margaret devoted -the morning to coddling Anne, which resulted, for the latter, in a -condition of restrained irritability which was almost too much even for -this heroic woman. At last she took refuge in her room. - -Jack spent the day in cleaning his rifle, and Dick in stuffing a -kingfisher, while Ned bothered him with questions which not Solomon -could have answered. As to Carington, he asked Ellett to go up to the -church and make careful measurements of the footsteps, as this, by -relieving him of the task, would enable him to get away earlier for his -long paddle to Mackenzie. - -At dawn, Carington, with his two men, in their canoe, went by the Cliff -Camp, where all was peacefully still. - -At the little town he made his own arrangements for the building of his -cabin in the fall, and cashed a draft for himself and one for Mr. -Lyndsay. The seven hundred dollars of Canadian notes he rolled into a -tight bundle and put in his breeches-pocket. Then, after a hasty meal -and a little rest, he turned back for the journey up the river. - -There was some paddling to do until they reached swift water, and here -he “spelled” his bowmen, taking a turn at poling, and pushed on. Three -miles an hour is very good speed at this business, and thus, as the way -was long, it was far into the night before they reached the Cliff Camp. -Every one else but Jack was in bed. He had taken his blanket and gun, -and settled himself patiently at the foot of the cliff. - -“Is that you, Nimrod?” said Carington. - -“Yes.” - -“You have had a long wait. Is your father up?” - -“No.” - -“Then I must keep this money until Ellett can give it to him to-morrow. -Jump in. It is late.” - -In five minutes the boy was asleep in the bottom of the canoe. Carington -began to think over what he should do next day about the tombstone -business. - -At his own camp-ground it took him some five minutes to restore Jack, -for a time, to the world of the wakeful, and Carington himself was glad -enough to find his own couch. - -Before dawn, Michelle touched him on the shoulder. - -“You are pretty hard to wake, Mr. Carington.” - -“Am I? What is it? Oh, we are going after bears. Hang the bears!” He -rubbed his eyes, sat up, and said to Michelle, “Wake that boy. It will -take ten minutes.” - -“Yes, sir.” - -After Jack’s blanket was pulled away, and he himself rolled on to the -tent-floor, he began to wake up. - -“Coffee ready and lunch in knapsack, Michelle?” - -“All right, sir.” - -Carington got up, and, laughing at the guide’s difficulty in reviving -Jack, went down to the beach, had a cold—a very cold—dip, and in a few -minutes was dressed and ready, while Jack, but half awake, was making a -boy’s still briefer toilet. - -Meanwhile Carington looked into Ellett’s tent, and, seeing him sound -asleep, hesitated a moment as to waking him, in order to give into his -charge the money he had drawn. As he was about to speak, Michelle called -out: - -“Halloa! Canoe’s adrift! Take care, Jack. Paddle her in.” - -Carington ran out of the tent, and saw that Jack was again ashore. He -had put his gun and other traps in the boat, and then, jumping in -hastily to arrange them, had caused the canoe to slip off into the -current. The slight break thus caused in Carington’s mental processes -made him for the time forget his intention. Ten minutes later he -remembered it, as they were flying down-stream, and his hand chanced to -fall on the bulging packet of notes in his pocket. - -“Confound it!” he exclaimed. “I forgot it. It is hardly worth while to -go back, Jack. I meant to leave the money I drew with Mr. Ellett. I -fancy it is safe enough.” Then he proceeded to secure the pocket with a -pin, saying, “We won’t go back. It is late, as it is.” - -“I was thinking that,” said Jack, to whom bears were of far more -importance than the balance in the national treasury. - -“I meant to wake myself earlier, Jack; but I was pretty tired. Usually I -can wake when I please.” - -“I did think you were up, sir,” said Michelle. “You were a-saying things -about roses when I touched you.” - -“Was I?” - -“Yes. Just, ‘Rose—Rose’—like that.” - -“That’s queer,” remarked Jack. - -“No. I am rather fond of flowers, more so than most men. By the way, -Jack, you are a first-class performer in your sleep. If the -wedding-guest had heard your loud bassoon, I don’t know what he would -have done.” - -“Who was the ‘wedding-guest’?” - -“Ask Miss Rose.” - -“I shall say you told me to ask.” - -“That is hardly necessary. Read the poem—‘The Ancient Mariner,’ I mean.” - -“I don’t care much for poetry stuff.” - -“Don’t you? Well, you were pretty musical about 3 A. M.” Then he played -a little with the matter of his rosy dream. “I think, Jack, that very -often dreams like this of mine seem to be the outcome of some quite -trivial event rather than of the larger things of life. A day or two -back I was trying to pick a rose, and pricked my finger. I didn’t get -the rose, but I—meant to. I suppose that thorn stuck into some -pincushion of the mind. Odd, wasn’t it?” - -“I dreamed about bears for a week after that beastly circus on the -beach.” - -“No wonder,” and they laughed. “I don’t think dreams very interesting, -Jack; but twice in my life I have chanced to see dreams produce some -very strange results. See how the mists are melting away.” - -“What was it about—the dreams?” - -“One, Jack, I cannot tell you. The other I can. I had a guide in the -Wind River country who used to talk in his sleep. Several times when we -were alone in the hills he woke me up by the noise he made. I used to -whistle to quiet him long enough to give me a chance to fall asleep. It -is a good recipe to stop snoring. I tried it on you.” - -“Dick can beat me all hollow! But please go on, Mr. Carington.” - -“Well, one night he kept at it so long, and talked so plainly, that I -gave up in despair and listened. He was unusually excited this time. I -heard him say, ‘Kill him! Kill him!’ Then he groaned and rolled over and -groaned so that I thought he had a nightmare. At last he sang out, ‘Let -me go! I didn’t do it.’ After this I whistled ‘Yankee Doodle,’ and it -acted like a charm. Next morning at breakfast I said, ‘Whom were you -murdering in the night, and were they really going to hang you, Billy?’ -When I said this he looked at me sharply, and I saw he did not like it. -He asked what he had said. I thought it best to say as little as -possible, and so replied, ‘You might have been killing bears, Billy.’ I -saw he did not believe me. All day long that fellow was restless and -uneasy. He twice missed an elk, and he was a perfect shot.” - -“That was bad,” remarked Jack. - -“That wasn’t all. When I woke next morning Bill was gone. I never saw -him again, and I had a pretty hard time getting back.” - -“Do you think he had killed somebody?” - -“Probably. Folks’ consciences seem to get a grip of them in sleep, and -to go to sleep themselves in the daytime. It’s a queer enough story.” - -As they talked the paddles were busy, the mist melted, and they ran -swiftly down-stream a mile or more below the Cliff Camp. Here, at a -bend, where the river made a bold curve to the northwest, they ran -ashore. - -“That will do, Michelle. Be on the lookout about six or seven to put us -over. Come, Jack. Give me the knapsack. Do not load yet.” As he spoke -they left the shore, and Carington, leading, struck into the woods. - -They walked slowly through a tangled wilderness of trees, dead and -alive, set in perplexing undergrowth, Carington explaining his plans to -the boy as they tramped along. - -“We shall go up the hill to left, over the crest and down on to Loon -Lake. It is a mere pond, but the berries are thick on the far side, and, -although now there are none, the bears have a habit of going there. We -shall read our fortune clear when we get on the shore.” - -“By the tracks on the edge?” - -“Yes. The deep print of the foot makes little pools; and if the water in -these is still muddy, the prints are recent; if not, we shall get no -chance.” - -“I see.” - -“Out in the Rockies we used to stir up the mud in the old prints with a -stick so as to fool the other fellows. It is an ancient trick. By the -way, Jack, at evening I shall set you on the ox-track to the west of -Colkett’s. I saw two porcupines there a day or two back. I will go -straight down the mountain to Colkett’s. I shall be but a few minutes at -Joe’s. I want to arrange about lumber for my cabin. If you see no game, -don’t wait, but take the cross track to Colkett’s. You can’t miss it. It -starts back of the big boulder in the clearing on the left, as you face -the river.” - -“And you will meet me?” - -“Yes. Perhaps before you quit the open.” - -“I understand.” - -“The road doesn’t go all the way to Joe’s, but I shall be on it before -you.” - -“Yes.” - -“Be very careful how you shoot. Colkett’s is not far, and the river in -the other direction none too wide, and rifle-balls travel a long way.” - -“Yes, I will be careful.” - -“And don’t carry your gun that way. So—that’s better.” - -It was full noon and cloudy as they walked noiselessly down the slope to -the lonely little pond in the lap of the hills. At last they paused -among a mass of boulders. - -“Now, keep still. I ordered a man up last evening late to put a black -kelt on the beach at the far side, where a brook comes in. I fancied it -might fetch Mr. Bear.” So saying, Carington adjusted his glass, and -searched with care the curved line of the farther shore. - -“Look there! It’s a good half-mile or more.” - -The boy took the glass. - -“There are some water-weeds in a bunch, and above—oh, a black thing! A -bear!” - -“Come,” said Carington, “you will want a skin for Miss Rose. Come.” - -The boy went after him, and the long walk around the lake began. The way -was hard. - -“We must go well back up over that hill, and then down the gorge which -carries the stream.” - -At times the elder person glanced back at the noiseless, tough little -fellow. “Tired?” he said, as they broke with care through the alders. - -“Awful,” said Jack. - -At the foot of the hill, as they left the lake, they came on a bit of -old burnt land, and here the way was even harder. Myriads of dead pines, -spruces, and firs, interlaced in tumbled ruin, made progress difficult. -Now it was a giddy walk, twelve feet in air, along a slippery trunk, now -a crawl under spiky and splintered stems. Again Carington looked back, -and began to understand the value of the qualities of endurance, -strength, and grip of purpose, with which the boy pursued his way. - -At length, hot, brier-scratched, and weary, they came out on the -hilltop. Jack was for immediate march, but Carington said: - -“No. Get cool; you could not hit a barn-door now. Lie down a bit. You -will want to be fully rested. As for me, I am half dead,” and he dropped -on the scant soil. “Fine, isn’t it?” - -A great sea of lesser hills was all around them, with here and there a -rare sparkle of silver from distant windings of the river. - -As for Jack, who lay on the summit, his eyes were eagerly searching the -ravine down which they were to go. - -“A friend of mine—oh, drop that bear, Jack; he’ll keep—a friend of mine -says that to enjoy a view like this one must walk up. He has a notion -that somehow the exercise absolutely increases your mental power to get -the best out of it.” - -Jack was not clear as to this, and he said so. - -“I don’t understand it myself. I do not know why it is true, but it is -true—for me, at least.” - -“Maybe because it’s hard work,” said Jack. - -He could not get his idea into proper shape, not having Ned’s facility -of expression. - -“Yes,” said Carington. “We like what is difficult to get; but that is -not all of it. I suppose, if bears were as easy to get as omnibus -horses, neither you nor I would go after bears.” - -“I guess that’s so.” - -“What do you want to be, Jack, when you grow up?” - -“I shall go to West Point.” - -“Well, and after? The army is not a career, nowadays.” - -“But there is first-rate sport in the West.” - -“Yes; but that is for one’s idle hours. Life is a pretty big thing, -Master Jack.” - -“What do you do, Mr. Carington?” - -“I build bridges, lay out railroads, generally scrimmage with nature to -make life easier for man. How would you like that?” - -“I don’t know.” He had a clever lad’s indisposition to commit himself. -“Is it easy?—I mean, to learn. I hate books—school-books, I mean.” - -“No; it isn’t easy. But it is work for a man. Go to a school of -engineering for three or four years when you are older, and then come -and help me to build bridges. All this energy of yours—all this hatred -of defeat—this—well, you have the whole outfit, as we say in the -Rockies, but it is no good unless you know how to do things. The fellows -that know and have no steam, I don’t care about. Now, we want that bear, -don’t we?” - -“Rather!” - -“And first, we know how to get him, and then we want him so tremendously -that torn breeches, scratched legs, and the like, make no kind of -difference. Just patent that combination, and, as my friends down in -Carolina say, ‘there you are.’” - -The small skeptic returned, “But we aren’t there yet.” - -“We will be. The wind is up the gorge. See those ferns, how they sway -up-hill. He can get no scent of us.” - -“That’s so. I wouldn’t have thought of that.” - -“It is intelligence against mere instinct. Are you easily lost in the -woods, Jack? I am. I have no resource except incessant observation of -landmarks.” - -Jack looked up in surprise. “I—lost? No, I never get lost.” - -“But is that really so?” - -“Yes. I wander off anywhere. It is easy to find your way here; but in -Maine it is harder. I was up with father two years ago, at the -Parmaccini lakes, and he almost always had to ask me the way.” - -“How do you know it?” - -“I don’t. I go home.” - -“Like a dog?” - -“I suppose so. I can’t tell.” - -“But do you not unconsciously take note of the sun, and the moss on the -north side of the trees, and so guide yourself?” - -“No—I may; I am not sure. I only know I can get back, and I go pretty -straight. Father says it is instinct.” - -“That may be. I have seen guides who could go through a wood without -fail, and unerringly take you to camp in the darkest night. They cannot -tell how they do it.” - -“I never thought much about it,” said Jack. - -“It is worth thinking about. You see most instincts are intelligently -aided in man. The thing is to keep your instincts and help them with -mind; but I fancy you will lose yours as you cease to use them. What you -seem to have is like the instinct which brings the salmon back to his -own river, the homing pigeon to its own cote, and the cat you may have -tried to lose to its own kitchen, miles across the unknown streets of a -great city.” - -“Can you explain it?” - -“No,” replied Carington. He was interested in the talk. “No, it is -incomprehensible. There are organs in the ear which tell us the point -from which sounds come, and the eye is a help; but there is over and -above all, this instinct of direction, which guides the bird, or, still -more wonderfully, the fish, and to some degree, I suppose, the men who -have this capacity. I was once lost in a cave in Virginia. After an hour -of turning and twisting in long passages, and among forests of -stalactites, two hundred feet underground, the guide of a sudden got -altogether bewildered and terribly alarmed. A boy who was with us said, -‘I can get out,’ and, by Jove, Jack, he took us back, and in and out, -and at last into the open air. He never paused.” - -“That was a scrape. I wish I had been with you.” - -“Do you? I prefer not to try it again. Are you rested?” - -“Yes.” - -“Then come.” And they went over the slope, and began to go down the bed -of the scantily fed brook. In a half-hour they came to a small basin -whence the water fell into the pool below. Creeping cautiously, they -reached the edge and looked down on the muddy shore. The bear had gone. -Then Carington took his glass. - -“The tracks go to the left,” he said. “Come, but be careful.” - -Slowly and in silence they scrambled down to the edge of the underbrush. -Suddenly Carington caught the boy’s arm and drew him back. - -“Hush!” he murmured. “Softly. There!” and parting the bushes, he pointed -through them. A large bear was slowly moving along the curve of shore, -not forty feet away. “Your bear, sir; behind the left shoulder. Steady!” - -“No—you, sir!” - -“Quick! You will lose him. Steady now! Well done!” he cried aloud, as -the boy’s rifle rang out, and the bear fell, rose, and fell again. “No! -Don’t run in! Load! Now wait a moment!” And, so saying, he moved along -the beach. But poor Bruin was dead. - -“Clean shot, Master Jack!” - -“By George!” cried the boy. “What fun! I thought—I was awful afraid you -meant to shoot him yourself.” - -“That is not my way with my friends. I hate selfish sportsmen. When you -have killed as many bears as I have, we will toss up for the first shot. -He is dead enough.” And Carington nudged the beast in the ribs with his -gun-barrel. - -Jack inspected his prey with care. “We must get his skin.” - -“Of course. Got a knife?” - -“Yes.” - -“Then help me.” - -It was a long business, and the sun was well down when they were done, -and the skin packed in a tight roll on Carington’s back. - -“We will hang up the meat and send up for it early to-morrow. It is -poor, at best. Come, Jack. I think you are an inch taller. You have -killed a bear!” - -“Just haven’t I?” said the boy. - -“And you are going to be an engineer,” added Carington, laughing. - -“I don’t know,” said Jack. “Would Michelle tan the skin for me?” - -“Yes. It shall be smoke-tanned and sent down to you. Once smoke-tanned, -it is fairly moth-proof, and you will find it does not get stiff after a -wetting. The civilized man has never yet learned the art of the tanner.” - -“I want it for Aunt Anne.” - -“I thought you said it was for Miss Rose?” - -“No. That was what you said.” - -“Did I?” And they went on in that uncertain light which is more puzzling -than darkness, in and out of the water, or, with exclamations and -laughter, pitching over rocks and dead trees. - -Half-way down the hill Carington stopped. The brook-channel they were -following descended to the river in a widening gorge. He intended to -follow it, and, after seeing Colkett, meant to rejoin Jack, as he had -previously arranged. He now set the boy on a disused lumber-road leading -to the clearing, saying, at last, “This is my way. You may see the -porcupine in the open to the left, but be careful how you shoot. -Confound it! How much longer do you think I am going to be your -pack-mule? I shall kick. Here, carry your own plunder.” And, laughing, -he cast the bearskin on the ground. - -Jack’s face lit up. This, of all things, was to be desired. - -“I was going to ask you if I might carry it a bit.” - -“Were you? Well, be off, and, if you lose yourself, remember that all -the slopes lead to the river.” - -“Yes. As if any fellow didn’t know that!” said Jack to himself, as he -trudged away, very proud, with the bearskin on his back. - - - - - CHAPTER XXIX - - -Carington stood a moment, looking after the boy. Then he readjusted the -straps of the knapsack, which he had taken again when Jack had loaded -himself with the bearskin, and went rapidly down through the more open -forest. - -At first he had meant to look quietly about the cabin, hoping to find -the place where the children were buried. On reflection, he changed his -mind, and determined to go at once to the Colketts’s, for which he had a -ready excuse. There was still enough of light, but he had not as yet the -least idea where the little graveyard lay. Better, perhaps, he thought, -to ask Dorothy, and to return at mid-morning, when Joe would be away. -That there was the least peril in his search he did not think, despite -Lyndsay’s warning. It had interested him, and he meant to be guided by -it so far as to have some other guide than Joe in September. That was -all. - -At the edge of the clearing he climbed over the snake-fence, and walked -at once to the well, being hot and thirsty. Mrs. Colkett, seeing him, -came out of the cabin, and met him as he began to lower the bucket. He -turned as she came. - -“Good evening, Mrs. Colkett. Is Joe about? I have a job for him.” - -“He’s ’round somewhere. Joe!” she called, in a high-pitched voice; -“Joe!” - -The man came from the cow-shed, and joined them at the well. - -“Was you wantin’ me, sir?” - -“Yes, Joe. I mean to build a cabin on the island this fall. Remson will -do it. I saw him yesterday. He wants you to get out a lot of squared -lumber. Can you do it?” - -“Yes.” - -“I will give you the measurements before I leave. It will be a pretty -good job for you. Mind you pick out good stuff.” - -“I will; no fear of that. Want some water, sir?” - -“Yes.” - -Joe let down the bucket, and brought it up brimming. He set it on the -rim of the well. Meanwhile Carington sat on the ledge, and, tilting the -bucket, wetted his handkerchief and wiped his brow. - -“That’s jolly good. By George, but I am warm! I have had a hard tramp.” -As he completed this brief refreshing of the outer man, he looked up, -and for a moment considered the scaffold of big bones on which time and -care had left Susan Colkett but a minimum amount of flesh. - -He took no more deliberate notice than do most people of the features, -which gave him, however, in their general effect, a sense of strangeness -and of vague discomfort. The eyes were too big, and, like the -cheek-bones, too red, the features large. Beside her the stout husband, -muscular and not unkindly of look, presented an odd contrast. There did -not seem much harm in him, and how miserably poor they must be! - -“Come over soon,” said Carington; “I will tell you then more precisely -what I want.” - -“He’ll come,” said the woman. - -“Very good.” - -“Would you mind, sir, to give Joe a little in advance? I’ll see he -comes.” - -“Why not? Certainly!” - -“The fact is, Joe he’d never think to ask it; he’s that modest.” - -Carington, who had been looking at her husband’s face, was of opinion -that he was pretty full of whisky, and just now dulled with drink. -Still, he was a good workman, and the misery in which they lived was but -too obvious. He might have found a more certain agent, but then he would -have lacked excuses for the interviews which his present purpose -required. - -“I will tell you just what we want when you come over, and, as to pay, I -shall be glad to give you now a moderate advance.” - -“Thank you, sir,” said Joe. - -“He’ll come to-morrow, sure. Fact is,” she went on, “we ain’t a dollar, -and there’s no work, and this house, there’s a man in Mackenzie’s got a -mortgage on it, and the pork’s about out.” - -“Will you have to go?” - -“That’s what we’ll have to do.” - -“Rather hard, that.” - -“I wouldn’t mind so much if it wasn’t to leave them dead children, sir, -and no man to care for their graves. ’T ain’t like as if we was rich.” - -“Are they buried here, Mrs. Colkett?” - -“Yes, they’re put away, back in the woods. You might call that buried. -We are just clean broke, Mr. Carington, and that’s all there is to say.” - -“I am sorry for you.” And he was, despite all he knew, being a man -pitiful of what led to crime or to want. “I shall be very glad to give -you help now.” - -“The lawyer man he’s coming to-morrow, pretty early. If we ain’t got -twenty dollars, the cow must go.” - -“Can he take it? I don’t understand that.” - -“He says so. I don’t rightly know. We poor folk can’t ever tell. We most -always get the worst of it.” - -She played her part and told her lie well, looking down as she spoke, -and at last wiping her eyes, while Joe uneasily shifted from one foot to -another as he stood. - -Carington put his hand in his pocket, and took out the roll of notes. As -he unfolded them, the woman’s eyes considered them with a quick look of -ferocious greed. He counted out twenty-five dollars, and gave the money -into her hand, replacing the roll in his pocket as she thanked him. -After this he took the bucket, tilted out of it half the water, and, -raising it, drank. As he buried his head in its rim, Susan caught Joe by -the arm, and pointed to the thirsty man, whose back was toward them. She -looked around in haste, took a step toward a broken ax-helve, which lay -near by, and then stood still, as Carington set down the bucket. He had -been nearer death than he ever knew. - -As he turned, the woman’s face again struck him. It was deeply flushed; -the large, sensual lower lip was drawn down, so as to uncover a row of -large yellow teeth, and the face was stern. - -“Thank you, sir,” she said again, quick to notice his look of scrutiny. - -“You are welcome. Come, Joe. I want to talk over the lumber.” - -As Joe went by her, Susan caught his arm with so fierce a grip that he -exclaimed aloud. - -“What is it?” said Carington, pausing. - -“I hurt my foot last week, and I just stumped my toes—that’s all.” - -They walked on and reached the house. Here she passed them and went in. -While they stood a moment in talk, she moved to the far corner, and took -from its rack Joe’s old-fashioned muzzle-loading rifle. She knew that, -as usual, it was loaded. Then she hesitated, set it down against the -table, and fetched a bowl of milk to the door. - -“You might like a drink of milk?” she said. “Come in. It’s good. Dory -fetched it; our cow’s run dry. Hers was better anyway. It’s right rich.” - -Carington might have thought of Jael as Mrs. Colkett faced him. “She -brought him butter in a lordly dish.” His thoughts, however, were far -away. - -“No, thank you,” he replied, absently. - -“Won’t you rest a bit, sir?” - -“No, I must go.” - -Profoundly disappointed, she went in, sat down, took hold of the rifle, -and then set it aside, as she listened. - -“I am not over sure of the way, Joe.” He knew it well enough. “Come with -me a bit.” - -“Yes, sir.” They went around the cabin and struck off into a forest -road. At the brook, which crossed it some fifty yards from the house, -Carington turned off the road. He had brought Joe thus far with the -indistinct intention of sounding him about the lost tombstone. Suddenly, -however, Joe said: - -“I wouldn’t go down the trail by the stream, sir.” - -“Why not?” - -“It’s shorter, but it’s awful muddy.” - -“Oh, that doesn’t matter.” - -“You’d lose your way, sure.” - -“Nonsense.” - -The man’s manner was so uneasy that Carington at once concluded that the -trail might lead near to the object of his search. - -“Good night,” he said, abandoning his intention to question Joe. “I -shall take the brook trail. Don’t come with me. I see you are very -lame.” - -“Don’t you try that way, sir. You—you—I got stuck in that swamp last -fall. It’s real bad.” - -Carington was now still more certain of the cause of the lumberman’s -persistent warnings. “I’ll risk it,” he said and set off. “Good night.” - -“Good night. Keep the left side, if you will take the trail.” - -“All right, Joe.” - -He crossed the rivulet, and kept to the right bank. Joe stood a moment -looking after him. The brook-path would bring Carington full in sight of -the tombstone, and the shadows were not yet deep enough to hide it. A -great fear came upon him of a sudden. He turned, and ran limping back to -the house. - -“What is it?” she cried, as he stumbled in. “Is he dead? Have you done -it?” - -“No, no! I couldn’t stop him! He’s gone down the brook. Oh, Lord, he’ll -see it, and I’m done for! He’s a-goin right for it.” - -She broke out, “Here!” and thrust the rifle into his hand. “Now is your -chance! It’s a heap of money. Go! go! You are ruined, anyway. Ruined! -He’ll see it. He’ll see it, sure. Make it safe. Quick!” - -The man stood still. “I can’t! I just can’t!” He was shaking as with -ague. - -“Coward! Fool! Give it to me.” And she tore the rifle from his hand. - -“Susie! Susie! It’s murder.” - -He caught her arm, and her gown, which tore in his grasp. She thrust him -aside with a blow of her open hand on the chest. He fell over a chair, -and got up, limping, unsteady, in extreme pain from his hurt foot. She -was gone. - -“I will kill you if you follow me,” he heard, as she passed the open -window. - -He believed her. He was afraid. He went to the door, limped back, and, -falling into a chair, stuffed fingers into his ears, while sweat of -terror ran down his cheeks. A moment passed, then another, and, despite -his childlike precaution, he heard his rifle ring through the forest -stillness, and upon this he burst into tears, and cried aloud, “Oh, -Lord, oh, Lord God!” - -As he spoke, he rose up, and stood in agony of expectation. The woman -came in. - -“Where’s your powder and ball?” - -“I ain’t none. Last charge,” he gasped. “Did you miss him?” - -“Miss! No. Take an ax, and go and make sure. He ain’t to be feared now. -I hit him sure. Go and get the money. Haven’t you that much pluck, you -sot?” - -“I dassen’t.” - -“He’s got his gun, Joe, and I had a notion he might be just crippled, -and I’d come and get a load and make certain.” - -As she spoke, he stood by her, swaying on his feet, dazed. - -“Great God, are you a man!” she cried. - -“Not that sort,” he said, slowly. “Did you say you done it, Susie?” - -“Did I? You fool! Go and get the money. He won’t hinder you none.” - -“I couldn’t, Susie.” - -She looked about her, in no wise intimidated or hurried. An ax stood in -the corner. - -“What! What! You mustn’t!” he cried. - -“Go and get a spade,” she said. “I’ll fetch the money.” And, seizing the -ax, she thrust him aside as he stood in the doorway. “You white-livered -coward, get out of my way, or I’ll brain you.” - -He shrunk aside. He could only say, “Susie! Susie! Don’t—don’t!” - -“Off with you!” And passing him, with no more words, she ran around the -cabin and disappeared in the darkening forest. - -This time she moved with extreme caution, so as to approach her victim -in another direction. Nevertheless, being, like most of the -forest-dwelling women, a fair shot, she felt coolly certain of her prey. - -After leaving Joe, Carington had followed the brook, or rather the trail -beside it, for some hundred yards, when he noticed a gleam of white -among the shadows. Anything unusual in the forest is sure to win instant -notice from men accustomed to wandering and to keeping all their senses -alert. Moreover, he was now keenly observant. He stopped, and, crossing -the brook, broke through the undergrowth, and stood at once in a -clearing some twenty yards wide. As he came nearer to the three little -mounds, now dimly visible, he saw the white slab, and instantly -understood that his guess had been correct. A little while he remained -still, in thought recalling what Dorothy had said, and gradually seeing -in his mind the pitifulness of it all: the crude animal eagerness of the -mother; the rough, unthinking man’s wish to please her. - -At last, laying aside his rifle, he knelt down, and, unable to see, felt -with his hands the surface of the stone. “Ah!” he exclaimed, recognizing -on the back the dints poor Joe’s tool had made. Next he struck a match, -and, guarding it with his hands, read the inscription. The match went -out before he had quite done. He lit another. - -“Ah me!” he murmured; “this is a strange world.” And he read, “Of such -are the kingdom of heaven.” “What a sad business!” - -He lifted his hand to cast aside the still-burning match. At this -instant, while still on his knees, there was a flash of light. He heard -no sound, but fell across the graves, motionless. - -Meanwhile, Jack, with swift feet, eager for home, trotted down the -broken road, and, to his disgust, finding no porcupines, struck easily -into the cross-road, and, passing the boulder, moved away along the -forest-track. At last the way became less and less plain; but, trusting -by habit to his sense of direction, he pushed on into the wood. - -A little surprised not to meet his friend, he concluded that he might -possibly have missed his way. For the first time the boy hesitated. -Then, as he stood, he heard a rifle, and, sure at once that Carington -must have shot something, he ran with greater speed. In a few moments -the tangle of undergrowth checked his pace. Some five minutes or more -went by, and he saw a flare of light. Thinking it strange, he hurried -his steps, and then, of a sudden, stood still. - -The woman had carefully approached her prey, ax in hand, and at last -saw, as she strained her vision, that Carington’s rifle lay out of his -reach. Reassured, she went on more boldly. Looking around, and seeing no -one near, she calmly lifted the man’s head, and let it fall. This seemed -enough. She took the roll of money, and began to disengage the -watch-guard; but, unable to release the catch in the buttonhole of his -jacket, struck one of the matches which, as usual, she had in her -pocket, caught up a scrap of birch-bark, and, lighting it, saw by the -flare how to undo the chain. As she dropped the watch into her bosom, a -long gasp broke from the chest of the man beneath her. - -“He ain’t done for,” she exclaimed, and rose to her feet, the roll of -burning birch in one hand, the ax in the other. She stepped back a pace, -cast down the blazing bark, which flashed forth anew as she let her -right hand slip up the handle and lifted the ax. - -A voice rang out to the left, “Stand, or I’ll shoot!” - -She set a foot on the fading bit of fire, and, still gripping the ax, -fled, with one hoarse cry, through the woods, striking against the -trees, falling, tearing her hands and clothes in the raspberry vines. - -Joe heard her coming, and stumbled out. - -“He ain’t dead,” she cried, “and there’s another man there. I got the -money, though. Come! quick! Take blankets—go on to the road. I’ll be -there in a minute. Don’t stand staring. You’re drunk!” - -He was. All day long he had been drinking; and when she went out, he -found his bottle and emptied it, half crazed with fear. He obeyed her -with difficulty and came out staggering—letting the blankets trail, and -stumbling as he went. Then he halted. - -“Where am I going?” - -“Oh, the river! the river!—the dugout! Fool! sot! The dugout’s at the -lower landing, isn’t it? I left it this morning.” - -“Yes, it’s there.” - -“Then wait at the road.” - -She went back into the cabin, caught up some garments, and threw them -out of the window. Next she raked the fire out onto the floor, and, when -again at the door, caught the kerosene-can from a shelf, with no tremor -or haste, uncorked it, and threw it onto the scattered fire. A great -yellow blaze went up, and she barely escaped in time. She stood a -moment, and turned away laughing. “There won’t be much for that -lawyer-man, I guess.” One of her starved hens, which had ventured into -the cabin to forage, was hurled out by the blast, blind and scorched, -and reeled about making strange noises. “Gosh, but that’s funny!” she -cried, snatching the ax and following Joe. - -At the fence she found Joe. - -“What’s been a-doin’, Susie?” - -“Shut up, and hurry, if you want to save your neck.” - -“’T ain’t my neck.” - -“What!” she cried. There was that in her voice which quieted the man, -and they went as swiftly as a reeling head and hurt leg permitted down -to the landing. - -“Set down,” she cried, and pushed off the pirogue. “Can you paddle?” - -“I can.” - -“Then do it,” and they went away into the darkness, down the hurry of -the stream. - -Jack had dimly understood that something was wrong as he came through -the edge of the wood, but, as the birch flared up in its fall through -the air, he caught sight of a man’s body, and of the backward step of -one about to strike with an ax. Then he called to her. As she fled he -ran out, and, hearing the noise of her retreat more and more distant, he -dropped beside the man. - -“It’s Mr. Carington! Is he dead? She shot him! I heard it—oh, this is -awful! What shall I do?” - -“Mr. Carington!” he called. “Mr. Carington!” As he shook his shoulder, -he guessed it was blood he felt on his hand. - -He stood up at last, and listened. There was no sound but the deep -murmur of the distant river. More at ease, he struck a match, for the -birch flame was out, and, bending over, looked at the body. - -“By George! he’s not dead; he’s breathing.” And still his anxiety was -intense. He took both rifles, dropped a shell in each, ran to the edge -of the clearing, and laid them down. Running back, and catching -Carington under the arms, he tried to drag him to a shelter. It was in -vain. The tall, sturdy man was beyond his powers. But, as he tugged at -him, Carington groaned aloud. At the next pull, he spoke: - -“What’s wrong? Who are you?” - -“I am Jack, sir. You have been shot.” - -“Did I do it?—my rifle?” he murmured, feebly. - -“No—a woman.” - -“What? What’s that? A woman!” The shock of the ball-wound and the -subsequent faintness, kept up by loss of blood, were partly over. - -“I am dreadfully weak. What an infernal business! Where am I?” - -“In the woods; in the woods. Can you get over to the bush? They might -come back.” - -“I’ll try. Great Scott! It’s my left shoulder.” And he fell in the -effort to get to his feet. “I can’t do it. Get my flask. Ah, that’s -better.” - -This time he crawled with one arm and Jack’s help to the margin of the -clearing, and at last lay among the underbrush. - -“Tie a handkerchief, tight, here, around my arm-pit. I don’t think it -bleeds. It might. Now lie down, and keep an eye over yonder. In a while -I shall be better. What a deuce of a business! Now keep quiet. Are you -loaded?” - -“Yes—both rifles.” - -Jack waited, a hand on his rifle. Presently Carington said, feeling his -pocket with the right hand, “George! that’s it. I was a fool. It’s gone! -and my watch!” - -“How’s that?” - -“No matter now. Halloa, Jack, what is that light?” - -“Light?” - -“Yes,” for the upward glow of the blazing cabin now rose in the sky -overhead, and soon began to send arrowy flashes of illumination through -the trees. - -“Can’t be the woods,” said Carington. “They are all wet, and there are -few pines. Let us try to get out of it.” - -This time he did better, but it was slow work, and Jack became more and -more anxious as the light grew behind them, and now and then sparks fell -through the foliage about their path. They were soon close to the shore. - -“Stop!” cried the boy. “Who’s there?” - -“Good Heavens!” said Lyndsay. “Jack! Jack!” and Rose, at his side, -repeated his name. “What is wrong?” - -“I got a little hurt,” said Carington, leaning against a tree. “That is -all. It is of no consequence.” - -“He’s shot,” Jack blurted out. “A woman shot him. Oh, but I’m glad to -see you!” - -At this Rose exclaimed, “Shot!” and caught at a great, friendly pine -near by and held fast to it, until a moment of its stay sufficed to -steady her. “Is it bad?” she said, in a voice which elsewhere might have -told enough, had the comment of her face been visible. - -“No,” said Carington, cheerfully. “It is really of no account, Miss -Lyndsay. Let us get away. I can tell you all to-morrow.” - -Lyndsay put a strong arm around him, and, thus aided, they were soon at -the shore, where Michelle in Carington’s canoe lay ready beside -Lyndsay’s. - -“Mr. Carington’s hurt,” said Lyndsay, and in a few words explained the -matter. - -Carington, too weak and dazed to resist, or indeed to care, found -himself in a minute in Tom’s boat with Lyndsay, while Rose and Jack -followed in Michelle’s canoe. - -“Down-stream,” said Lyndsay, “and hurry, my men.” - -“Where are you taking me?” asked Carington, feebly. - -“To the Cliff Camp, of course, my dear fellow. We are going to get even -on the bear business.” - -“You are very good.” He was in dreadful pain, but even this did not -prevent the pleasant reflection that he was to be under the roof with -Rose Lyndsay. - -“By George!” he added, “it hurts.” - -“I know well enough,” said Lyndsay. “You are not bleeding, however. I -still have one of these leaden hornets in me. It takes the pluck out of -a fellow, at first.” - -“I should think it did!” said Carington. - -“Don’t talk now. It can’t be serious. To-morrow, or later, we shall want -to hear more.” - -Meanwhile Rose in her own canoe was hearing from Jack all that he knew -of the day’s misadventure. - -“That will do,” she said, at last, and fell back on her seat, deep in -thought. There are some fruits which only winter ripens quickly. - - - - - CHAPTER XXX - - -Lyndsay had just come in when he saw the glow of the fire over the -hilltop. He was curious and a little anxious. Wood-fires are of all -things what men dread the most, when once they have been face to face -with their terrors. He called his men again, and ordered them to take -him up the river. Rose, who had been with him on the pool, asked at once -to go with him. - -He said, “I see no objection. Get a wrap and make haste.” - -Thus it chanced that in a few moments they were poling up the stream -with more than usual speed. - -“Halloa!” cried Lyndsay, as a dugout shot by them in the darkness. -“What’s wrong up above?” - -There was no reply. - -“Isn’t that queer?” said Rose. “How uncivil!” - -“Very.” - -At the landing they went ashore, and pushed on to see what was the -source of the blaze. - -Presently Lyndsay halted, noticing the sparks about him. “There is no -wind, Michelle.” - -“No, sir; and the woods are soaking wet. I’ve a notion it’s Colkett’s.” - -“Best to see. I will wait at the boat. I don’t want to run any risk with -Miss Lyndsay.” But at this moment he heard Jack’s challenge, and so all -the threads of my story are spun together. - -As they ran down-stream, Lyndsay was a little uneasy concerning what -might be his wife’s judgment as to his course in regard to Carington; -but he had felt very deeply the obligation under which the young man had -placed them, and he was clear enough that there had been really nothing -else to do. Nevertheless, he was shrewd as to the domestic management of -the matter. At the landing he said to Rose: - -“Wait a moment, you and Jack,” and then ran up the steps and into the -house. - -By this time Rose was in full command of herself, and able, as her -father left them, to speak tranquilly enough to the wounded man. - -“Yes, he was in some pain; but, to judge from his own feelings, the -trouble could not be grave.” - -Then she asked, quite naturally, if Mr. Ellett had been told, and -learning that he had not, sent Jack to find Polycarp, that he might take -a note to the Island. When Jack came back with the Indian, Rose said: - -“I must see papa about the note for Mr. Ellett. Ah, here he comes.” She -did not wait to complete this business, but turned to the canoe where -Carington still lay, and said: - -“Good night, and good-by, too, for a few days. Mama will keep you well -caged. You may rest assured of that!” - -In the very dim light she saw him put out the hand nearest to her. She -took it, felt the lingering grasp, already fever-hot, that would have -delayed the moment’s soft prisoner, but dared not. She said again: - -“Good night. Here is papa,” and moved away, at first slowly, and then -quickly. - -When Mr. Lyndsay entered the cabin his wife looked up. - -“What is it, Archie?” - -“Don’t be alarmed, Margaret. Mr. Carington has been shot—badly wounded.” - -“Not by Jack!” cried the mother. - -“Oh, no! No. It’s a queer story. I have not heard it fully. He bled a -good deal, and—” - -“Do you think him in danger, Archie?” - -“It is hard to say, especially so soon.” - -“Surely you did not leave him at their camp?” said Margaret. - -“No. He is in my canoe on the beach.” - -“Good gracious! Is he?” - -Anne smiled, as she would have said, inside of her, and reflected upon -the wisdom her brother had displayed, for at once Margaret, easily -captured by appeals to her pity, was afoot, and, for the time, intent -alone upon what was best to be done. - -“I would send Tom to Mackenzie for a doctor, and he must stay. I think, -Archie, you will have to give Mr. Carington your room and take to a -tent.” Then she went off to set the room in order, while Lyndsay -returned to the beach, still a little anxious, but also a little amused. - -Rose had gone. - -By and by the guides carried the wounded man up into the neat chamber, -where Lyndsay helped him to bed, and was easily able to ascertain that -the ball had crossed the chest beneath the skin, passed over the left -shoulder, and out again—a severe flesh-wound. - -“It does not bleed,” said Lyndsay, “and I think there is no very serious -hurt. Can you move your arm?” - -“Yes,—with pain.” - -“Then the joint is safe. I have known fellows brevetted for things no -worse.” - -“But my puzzle is, why what is only a flesh-wound should have made me -drop as if I were dead. I cannot understand it.” - -“The doctors call it ’shock,’” said his host. “At times it affects the -head, and a man hit in the foot or arm goes crazy for a time, or else it -stops the heart, and he faints.” - -“That was it, I suppose.” - -As they talked Lyndsay put on a wet compress, and, with the skill -learned long since, where bullets were many and bigger, he made his -patient reasonably comfortable, and left him at last under Mrs. -Lyndsay’s despotic care. - -In the mean time, Anne, anxious to know more, had looked for Jack. At -ease concerning Carington, he was off somewhere, busy about the -preservation of his precious bearskin, and Rose, too, had disappeared. -Anne felt that she must wait, and, as usual, went to her room, to rest a -little before their retarded dinner. She opened the door, and instantly -went in and shut it. Rose was lying on the bed, trying hard to suppress -her sobs, knowing well that she would be but too easily heard. - -“Dear child, what is it?” said Anne. - -“I don’t know. Oh, do, please, let me alone!” - -“But I must know. It is so unlike you. Mr. Carington is in no danger.” - -“I know. I don’t care whether he is in danger or not. I do care! It -isn’t he! It’s—it’s me—it’s I. I can’t tell. I am ashamed. Are all women -this way? Oh, I hate to be such a fool!” - -Anne sat down. “I don’t quite understand, dear; but, no matter. What is -clear is that you are going to have hysterics.” - -“I am not going to have hysterics.” - -“Then keep quiet, and don’t talk.” - -“You made me talk!” - -“I did. I am an ass.” - -“No—no! Kiss me, aunty. I am so miserable! Couldn’t I get to bed -quietly?” - -“Yes. Your mother is busy. Come.” And thus, when at last dinner was on -the table, and Mrs. Lyndsay asked for her daughter, she was told that -Rose had a headache, and then, when she got up to go to her, that she -was asleep, which may or may not have been true. - -At dinner, between what Carington had told Lyndsay and Jack’s very clear -statement, the story came out plainly enough. The boy was praised to his -heart’s content, and when Anne had said that this was courage in the -right place, and Carington refused to sleep until he had thanked him, -Jack felt that, including the bearskin as a part of the day’s blessings, -life had no more to give. As for Dick, he settled the genus and the -species of the bear, and Ned sat in a corner and meditated, seeing the -whole day’s events in pictures, with curious dramatic clearness. - -Next morning the doctor arrived, and further reassured them. Mr. -Carington was in for a day or two in bed, and then might be out in the -hammock. - -Of course Ellett had been informed the night before, and had come down -at once. When again, next day, he returned, there was a long -consultation, and it was decided that the patient was so well that -Ellett might move down and take care of him, that the doctor would come -back and stay a few days, and that Mr. Lyndsay and his family might go -away on Sunday night. To this plan Mrs. Lyndsay somewhat eagerly -assented, for reasons of which she said nothing, an unusual course for -the little lady. - -Thus, on Friday and Saturday, what with fishing and packing, every one -was busy. - -“Preliminaries are the bane of existence,” said Anne, “but -postliminaries are worse”; and thereupon she asked Ned if that word was -in “Worcester,” and declared for a dictionary of her own making. - -Mrs. Lyndsay had no opinion of Anne’s capacities in any practical -direction, and declined for a day her help in the care of Mr. Carington. -But now she was over-busy, and thus it chanced on the next morning, -being Saturday, that she asked Anne to look after their wounded guest. -They had purposely brought no maids with them, and, even with all of -Rose’s help, Anne had been obliged to assist in packing, for, as -concerned her books, she was as old-maidish and precise as are some -other of her corps about what Anne regarded as quite unimportant -properties. To escape, at last, out of the bustle of packing, and to -find some one to talk to or be talked to, was entirely to her taste. - -“Certainly, Margaret,” she said. - -“And do not let him talk.” - -“No.” - -“And do not talk to him, dear.” - -“Of course not.” - -“There is nothing so fatiguing.” - -“No. That is quite the case.” - -“And be careful about drafts.” - -“Yes. Is that all?” - -“I think so,” returned Mrs. Lyndsay, doubtfully, and then went before -Anne into Carington’s room. - -“I have brought you a new nurse. My sister-in-law will look after you -this morning. You must not let her talk to you.” And having thus doubly -provided against the deadly malaria of conversation, she went out as -Anne sat down. - -Carington liked the maiden lady, with her neat dress and erect carriage, -which no suffering had taught the stoop of the invalid; moreover, her -unusualness pleased him. Her talk, too, was out of the common, and full -of enterprise. What she used of the learning or sentiment of others -seemed also to acquire a new personal flavor. Mrs. Westerly had once -said, “When Miss Anne quotes Shakspere, it loses the quality of mere -quotation. She can’t say anything like the rest of us.” - -As she sat down, she said demurely, “I am not to talk to you. Let us -gossip: that is not talk.” - -“Oh, no,” he said, joyously. “I am just about in a state for mere chat, -which involves no thinking. Mrs. Lyndsay has been severe.” - -“I have to fight her a little myself, dear, good, obstinate creature as -she is. I suppose she did not talk to you at all,—not a word, I -presume?” - -“I decline, Miss Anne, to betray the weaknesses of my nurses.” - -“That is well. Negations often answer questions quite sufficiently in -the affirmative. I know she did talk to you, and about that miserable -tombstone. She cannot help it, poor mother!” - -“Yes. I thought it pitiable. She seemed unable to escape from it.” - -“It is like her; but it is not wise. Margaret is persistent always. Her -likes and dislikes are changeless. She is obstinate in her kindness, her -loves, and her charities. As good as gold, we say; but goodness, like -gold, is not an insurance of fertile results in all its relations. I -mean that goodness can be sometimes exasperating. But, as usual, my -tongue is indiscreet. I would like you to understand her. She is worth -the trouble.” - -“Thank you. I never can forget her tenderness and her kind carefulness. -Never!” - -“Our real battles are over my books. She says my little library is a -wilderness of books, and every autumn, on my return, I find the servants -have had orders to dust my books.” - -“How dreadful!” - -“Is it not? And the strange things that happen! I like to arrange my -books so that they shall be happy, and when I come home and find -Swinburne in among the volumes of Jeremy Taylor, and Darwin sandwiched -between Addison and the ‘Religio Medici,’ I get frantic and say things. -It is useless.” - -“How sad!” - -“I shall assure her we—you and I—were only gossiping. She has an abiding -impression that I talk only high science, and I detest science. Talk I -must.” - -“I think it will do me no harm. I am now quite easy. I have no fever.” - -“None,” said Anne, taking his hand and looking at her watch. “Pulse -good, too. I don’t think a talk will hurt you. Tell me when you are -tired.” - -“I promise, but you shall do the talking. I will listen.” - -“You had better be careful how you give such large liberty. Did you -ever, by chance, know Miss Pearson?” - -“Yes, yes,” and he laughed, “years ago—that statistical lady in -Germantown. I had some engineering work near there. Oh, years ago: I was -a mere lad. I knew all those good people, Mrs. Fox and the Mortons. But -what about Miss Pearson? Good woman, I take it?” - -“Yes, entirely; but she kept her religion on ice; a sort of east-wind of -a woman. She had that bloodless propriety which passes muster for -dignity. When you gave me full discretion as to talk, I meant to tell -you her description of my conversation; I don’t think I shall.” - -“Well, you are revenged, I think,” and he laughed. “I find I must not -laugh; it hurts. You will have to be grave, if you talk at all.” - -“I think I _must_ tell you. She declared that if I wanted to be amusing, -I never hesitated to be either inaccurate or untruthful, and that, while -accidental inaccuracy was deplorable, intended intellectual inaccuracy -was criminal!” - -“That is surprisingly like her—or was. She is dead, I think.” - -“Yes. How it must bother her! One can’t imagine accuracy in space, and -where time is not. I don’t suppose the angels plume themselves on -punctuality.” - -“Really, Miss Anne!” - -“Well, I will try to be good. Now, don’t laugh! Let us be serious. Do -you suppose folks take the seriousness of death into that other world? -Not that I personally regard it as so very grim a business. There are -many worse trials in life than dying, because vital calamities may -repeat themselves; but it seems improbable that we shall have more than -one experience of this exit.” - -“Who can say?” said Carington. “I have been near it of late; but I can -contribute to no wisdom.” - -“I like to think I shall grin at the world from the safe side of the -fence,” she returned. “Miss Pearson would have said that a due sense of -the relative proportion of things would be inconsistent in another -sphere with the minute dimensions of our earthly jests.” - -“And you call that serious?” - -“I do. Don’t you?” - -“No. I shall have to ‘p’int’ the talk, as Mrs. Maybrook says.” - -“And what shall we talk about? If I cannot put a smile into my talk, I -shall prefer silence.” - -He made no answer for a time, and then spoke gravely enough. - -“I have had a very narrow escape, Miss Anne, and, but for that fine -fellow, Jack, I should have been lost to this life, or, if you like, -this life to me.” - -“Yes, that is so. I am proud of the boy. He has made a friend, I trust.” - -“Yes, and I can help him. I saw that in the talks we had. One can tell, -sometimes, when, of a sudden, one comes into sympathetic touch with -another nature. It is like taking a key out of your pocket at need, and -finding it fit a strange lock and turn easily, and so open a life to -you. The sentence isn’t good, but you know what I mean.” - -“I do.” And again he was quiet a little while. - -“Miss Anne, may I tell you something?” - -“Why not?” - -“You may not like it.” - -“Perhaps not. That is of no moment. I want to hear. I always want to -hear. My appetite for the unknown is like that of a ghost for -realities.” - -“This is real enough.” - -“Well?” - -“I care—oh, a great deal—for Miss Lyndsay.” - -“Do you call that a secret? It was arithmetically revealed to me by five -roses, which should have been six.” - -“You are a terrible woman, Miss Anne! The witches were a trifle to you!” - -“They had the insight of wickedness. I have the sagacity of love. Rose -is very, very dear to me.” - -“Do you think it possible—” - -“That Rose should care for you? Yes. It is possible. But, frankly, yours -is a three weeks’ acquaintance, ripened by unusual events. Neither she -nor we know you as we should know a man to whom—” - -“Let me interrupt you. I am thinking of the future. One does not win a -woman like Miss Lyndsay in a day.” - -“You are right. I think, were I you, I would assist the future to take -care of itself.” - -“Thank you. I should like, much as I care for her, to have her get quite -away from any sense of obligation to me. I almost wish she could -entirely forget it. Any man could have done the little I did, and, after -all, you are quite out of my debt.” - -“No one can pay another’s debts. The heart has no clearing-house. Rose -must know that. You feel, as I do, that no manly nature should want to -be taken for granted, as altogether what is best for life, just on the -chances of a minute of decisive action. You want her to know you in many -relations, and to know herself also. Isn’t that so?” - -“It could not be better stated.” - -“If you had saved her life a dozen times, she would still reflect before -she said ‘yes,’ and be the more apt to hesitate because of the -obligation. It is a strong nature.” - -“But I don’t want her to let—” - -“No. I understand, and don’t misunderstand me. We are quite at one.” - -“And you will be my friend?” - -“Yes. I like you. If you are good enough for my Rose—I doubt— Come and -see us; and be prudent now. I never could hold my own tongue. Therefore, -much conversational adversity makes me a good adviser. If you see Rose -at all before we leave, be on your guard.” - -“Thank you again,” and he took her hand. - -“Now I must go. What a pity we were ordered not to talk!” - -“Dreadful, was it not? And how good we have been! I assure you, Miss -Anne, I am worlds the better for your visit. Good-by. I am to be up on -the lounge on Sunday afternoon. Indeed, I am to be carried out to the -porch. I could walk well enough. Don’t you think I shall have a chance -to say good-by?” - -“To me? Oh, yes.” - -“Please, Miss Anne, you know I mean Miss Rose!” - -“Why not? And now I must go.” - -She did not calculate on Mrs. Margaret, who was now once more uneasy -about this business, and had a maternal mind to put in its way enough -obstacles to make the stream of love run anything but smooth. As I have -said, she was conservative. The unusual distressed her. Rose’s other -love-affairs had been conducted after the conventional manner, and had -caused her no great discomfort. There was too much abrupt romance in -this courtship, and she feared for the effect on Rose of its -singularity, believing it might unsettle her good sense and bring about -a too hasty result. She did not understand her daughter; few mothers do. - -It was late in the afternoon of Sunday, almost twilight, when the canoes -were loaded and ready. Rose came down last and stood with the rest on -the beach. Mrs. Lyndsay, her husband, Anne, and the boys had said -good-by to Ellett and Carington, but the mother, on this or that excuse, -kept the men busy, until at last, Ellett, seeing Carington’s impatience, -called one of his own people, and with his help lifted his friend out on -the porch. - -The cliff hid from view the little group on the shore below. - -“Confound it,” said the sick man, “they are gone! No, I hear them. I -think I shall walk to the steps, Ellett.” - -“You will do nothing of the kind!” - -“Hang it all!” - -“No. Keep still.” - -At this moment, as Lyndsay was busy putting his people in the boats, and -Tom was thundering advice and orders to the men, Anne said: - -“Really, Archie, Rose ought to say good-by to Mr. Carington.” - -“What is that?” exclaimed Margaret from her canoe, which had just been -shoved off from the strand. - -“Nothing, dear,” said Anne. “It is really ungracious, Archie.” This in -an aside. - -“But Margaret thinks—” - -“Margaret will make mischief by wanting not to.” - -“Well, perhaps you are right. Run up, Rose,” he said aloud, “and say -good-by to Mr. Carington. He is on the porch now.” - -“I will go up with you,” said Anne; “I forgot to say good-by myself,” -and, with this mild prevarication to assist her, Rose followed her aunt. - -“I came up to say good-by, Mr. Carington.” - -“And I,” said Anne. - -“Good-by,” he said, putting out his hand. Whether his eyes were as -prudent as his tongue, may be doubted. - -“You will write to me, Miss Anne?” - -“I will, and Mr. Ellett will let us hear.” - -“No, I shall do that myself.” - -“Come, Rose,” called Lyndsay. - -She turned and went away with her aunt. In a few moments Carington saw -the little fleet of canoes scattering, as the paddles rose and fell. -Then they entered the swift current, and were lost to view around the -bend in the river,—the boys calling out a loud “good-by,” and then -breaking out into their favorite song: - - “Seven braw sons had gude Lord James, - Their worth no Scot will gainsay; - But who shall match the bonny eyes - Of gentle Rose a Lyndsay?” - -“Who, indeed!” said Carington, as he shut his field-glass with a snap. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXI - - -Rose was in the boat alone with her aunt. Neither being in the mood for -talk, they ran silently down the broadening stream without a word. The -paddles dipped and rose; the evening shadows crept forth, as it were, -out of the earlier darkness of the woods, and again, as once before, -they sped along in the gloom of an overcast night. - -The same soft odors of earth and spruce, the peculiar smell of broken -water, were as they had been. Once more the hills seemed closing in upon -them. The clouded skies overhead appeared to be almost within touch. -Then the white flash and roll and strange voices of the rapids went by -them like the mysterious uncertainties of a dream. - -All was as it had been three weeks before: all but Rose herself. She was -under other skies, in the strong tide of a mightier current. She locked -her hands, and set herself to put it all aside, and to win again the -mood of peace and serenity which these three weeks had so disturbed. It -would not come back. - -As for Anne, she lay against the piled-up luggage, silent and -thought-bound. She was in the dreary company of pain, and smiled sadly -as she glanced back over the years in which it had been her foe or -friend, and again, as often before, wondered how long it would last, and -she be called upon to bear it with ever-weakening physical power to make -the fight less easy. - -At the landing, and while they were arranging to go to the station, a -man came down the bank and asked for Mr. Lyndsay. - -“That is my name. How are you, Carstairs? What is it?” - -“This way, sir, a moment. Could you let Michelle come with me for half -an hour,—or Tom. The body of a man has come ashore on Caribou Bar. They -have taken it up to my barn. Some of the men say it is Joe Colkett. We -think one of your people would know.” - -Lyndsay called Michelle, and, leaving proper directions, went away with -him. - -In the barn, after twenty minutes’ walk, he found a number of men, and -the local magistrate. Two lanterns lit dimly the threshing-floor. - -The men stood about silent; the horses in the stalls beyond changed -feet, and the noises of the never-quiet river came up through the night. - -On the floor lay the body. Lyndsay took the lantern, and bent over it. - -“Yes, it is Joe! Poor fellow!” - -“He is badly cut up by them rocks,” said Michelle, “and his foot.” - -“Was it rocks?” asked Lyndsay. “The skull seems broken. Poor fellow!” -Then he took the magistrate aside, and they talked long and earnestly. - -“Yes, I got your message. Thursday night one of the wardens hailed a -dugout, and got no answer. That was below your camp.” - -“I passed it also, farther up—two people. It must have been that woman -and Joe. They fired their house,—why, I do not know,—and got off with -their plunder.” - -“We shall catch her. Do you think she killed Joe?” - -“Perhaps! As like as not. But, if that woman is alive, you will not -catch her.” - -“I shall wire to Quebec.” - -“And you will let me know?” - -“Certainly.” - -“Carington’s evidence you can get, of course. I really have none to give -myself. The woman you will never get.” And they did not. No dugout was -found, and whether she too was lost or escaped to breed further -mischief, none know. - -Lyndsay walked swiftly back, and rejoined his people at the station. -When at last they were running at speed between Quebec and Montreal, -Anne said: - -“Archie, what was it last night? Why did they want you?” - -Then he told her, as he had already told his wife, the sad ending of -poor, simple Joe. - -“It is a miserable business,” she returned. “Really, Archie, the morals -which come at the end of life’s fables are pretty useless for those most -concerned.” - -On reaching home, Anne found a letter from Carington. He wrote: - -That astonishing woman—Dorothy Maybrook—has spent most of her time with -me. She calmly told Ellett to go a-fishing. He went. I have been -admirably nursed, and, as you may suppose, have not lacked conversation. -Who ‘p’ints’ Hiram, in her absence, I do not know. - -There has been no news of the Colketts. It is but too probable that she -killed the man, and got away in safety. I shall hereafter entertain a -profound respect for the intelligence of crime. - -It is great fun to hear Ellett and Dorothy. Do write to me—and say -pleasant things to all of those dear, good people of yours. Tell Miss -Rose I am not too badly crippled to ask for a new place as bowman. - - Yours, etc. - - - - - CHAPTER XXXII - - -The winter days went by, and, although the bridge was built, it seemed -to need later much inspection, until, by ill fortune, there were bridges -to build in Cuba, and thither Carington went in haste. It was therefore -not until mid-June that he reached home again. - -While busy with his bridge, and later, he had found himself often at -Lyndsay’s table, and had come to be a welcome guest. And yet he seemed -no nearer to the end he desired. One day, just after he had gone to the -West Indies, Anne Lyndsay had said to Rose: - -“I think that is a too patient man: I hate a man to be as patient as -that. If I were he, I would go away and stay away.” - -“He won’t.” - -“How long will this state of things go on?” - -“I do not know. I cannot be sure. I—aunty, one ought to be so very sure. -It is for life! I think he understands me.” - -“If he were to leave you, my dear, you would cry your eyes out.” - -“I should.” - -“How many bears go to a wooing?” - -“Let me alone, Aunt. I had better be let alone.” - -Then Aunt Anne, who was feebler than ever, said to herself, “Love is the -only fruit which ripens in the spring.” But meanwhile Carington was away -in Cuba, as we have said, and the spring came and went without results. - -He found in his rooms in Boston, on his return, a letter from Miss Anne -Lyndsay. He was depressed in spirits; the town was empty of all he knew, -and more than ever he felt the want of a home. When last he saw Miss -Rose, she was still, as always, pleasant, gay, and friendly. He had -never yet seen fully the emotional side of a nature resolute by -construction, and perfectly mistress of all the protective ways of the -world of woman. Now and then the dim past of their life on the river -seemed to him as if it had never been. More and more time, and the world -appeared to be widening the distance between them, and yet once she had -looked to be so near. - -He sat a minute or two with Anne’s letter in his hand. The maiden -lady,—“Mistress Anne” he liked to call her, after the Southern fashion -his youth remembered,—Mistress Anne had, as the months went by, taken -him quietly into the wide circle of her friendships. Her letters, -however, were rare enough. She wrote many, but not often to Carington, -although from Cuba he had written frequently. - -He put aside all the other notes and, lighting a pipe, sat down with -Anne’s letter, honestly glad of the kindly relation it suggested. - -DEAR MR. CARINGTON: I have had a number of letters from you of late, and -this is all I have been able to give in return. I have now to limit -myself even as to this indulgence. - -You won’t want to hear about the new books, and you will have, I -presume, some quite absurd desire to know about my good people. A man -would say, “Everybody quite well, thank you”; but, being a woman, I know -better the masculine wants: only women write satisfactory letters. - -My good brother is well, and shamefully busy at the game of the law. -Mrs. Lyndsay is just now in bed. Dr. North comes daily; but Margaret’s -maladies, which I must say are rare, are obstinate when they arrive. She -has to read a report next week at a society for the prevention of -something to something. If she lets that day go by in bed, I shall be -alarmed. A dose of duty will cure her at any time. She requires large -doses of pity when ill, and as to that I am grimly homeopathic. - -Dick is at school—and Ned. They both want what no schools give, some man -who will know how to educate the peculiar, and not insist that it be -like the unpeculiar. As for Jack, he has begun to work, and takes it -hard, and has more rows than ever. One envies England her India for -these restless young Vikings. In a week we join Lyndsay on the river. - -Carington looked at the date. It was two weeks old. - -My niece is very well; as handsome as ever; rather too serious, as I -think: one wants a little foolish vagueness in the young. It gives to -the human landscape atmosphere, as the painters say. If you don’t know -what I mean, I am sorry for you. I tell Col. Fox that is what the -Quakers lack—atmosphere. (_I_ call that _very_ clever: _vide_ Ellett.) -Fox says Friends _are_ rather definite,—think of the arrogance of -calling themselves Friends, and a big _F_ also. This is the great and -lovely liberty of the letter. It may wander like a gipsy. I think really -I must go back and look. I meant to tell you what North said about -tombstone biography. He called it “epitaffy.” Isn’t that lovely? Also, -it has no manner of connection with the rest of this meandering screed. - -I was saying that Rose has become too grave. Do not be alarmed. It is -only a mood elongated. And now I am going to do a very silly thing. No, -I won’t! A word to the wise is said to be enough; sometimes the silence -of wisdom is better. I dreadfully hunger after a chance to give you a -dose of advice. I write a big ℞, like the doctors’, in due form, with -that stupid flourish below, which is, I believe, their invocation to -Jupiter for luck (they need it); and then—I hesitate. Be so good as to -fill in this blank with what I shall only think, not say: - - I advise most positively— - ...........? - ...........? - -I can hear your anathema. - -“I should think so, indeed!” exclaimed Carington; “and what next?” - -We shall be in camp before this reaches you. I had some doubt about -going myself, but I mean to have all the joys life offers, or that I can -decently lay hands on. When the thing is over, I shall just say to my -dear people, “By-by; see you again shortly,” and laugh a little, and go -to sleep. I never could see why folks make such a fuss about dying. The -way some people think of it rises to the gravity of a jest. What _would_ -the goody-goody world say to that—or my dear Margaret Lyndsay? - -I hear that you are to be on hand soon. Mr. Ellett has gone up the -river, and promises to be very attentive to me. I am all of a flutter. -Read with care what I have not written, and believe me, - - Mysteriously your friend, - - ANNE LYNDSAY. - -L’envoi. - -If you are fond of Scotch literature the poems of Montrose might be of -interest. - -“Of all the nonsense ever I read!” said Carington; but he went to the -side of the room, where the long bookcases overflowed with volumes on -which the dust had gathered in his absence. He looked them over, and at -last found the one he sought. “Montrose—Graham—James, Marquis of, etc., -author of certain songs once popular.” - -By and by he chanced upon a volume of Scotch ballads, and sat down. Very -soon he laid the book, back up and open, on the table, and went on -smoking. After a half-hour he discovered that his pipe had long been -out. It was, in fact, cold. - -He went forth at once, and assured his partners that Cuban malaria -necessitated Canadian air. In twenty-four hours he was on his way to the -river. - -Three days later saw him on the waters he loved. Toward five in the -afternoon he heard voices singing. He knew them well, and in a few -minutes was ashore at a bend of the stream. - -For a few moments he stood, unseen, a little below the lads, who lay -back of a rock, caroling their songs, having killed many trout, and -filled themselves with a mighty luncheon. - -Carington listened a little, and then cried out, “Any bears here?” and -walked round the rocks. He was noisily made welcome. “Give me a bit of -something,” he said. “I pushed on, and have had nothing since nine -o’clock.” - -“There isn’t much left,” said Jack. “Rufus ate the big pie. There was -only one little one for Ned and me.” - -“They said they didn’t want it, and I wish I hadn’t,” said Dick. “Pie’s -an awful different thing when it’s outside of you and when it’s inside.” - -“I have observed that,” said Carington. “That will do, Jack. A little -marmalade, please. Bad, Dick?” - -“Very.” - -“When we get our deserts, we don’t always escape whipping.” - -“That’s so!” exclaimed Ned. “Just remember that, Red Head.” - -“Shut up!” - -“Behave yourselves,” said Jack. “Fact is, sir, we are all about ready -for a row.” - -“Bad as ever?” - -“Worse—those two, I mean. I am like a lamb.” - -“Or a bear-cub,” said Ned. - -“You wait a bit, old rhyme-snarler.” - -“Halloa!” said Carington. “Not now, please. How is everybody? and Miss -Anne?” - -“We are all first-rate. Rose she is up there above us on the point. She -wanted to be alone; she loves that. She told the big Indian to come down -here and wait till we go up. You can see her red umbrella. She’s -sketching. We are to stop for her at six. More bread?” - -“Yes. Bless me, it is five o’clock! I must get away. What was that song? -I thought I knew your whole repertory.” - -“Oh,” said Ned, “we found that last winter. Tune up, Jack. Dick’s got -colic in his bagpipes: he’s no good.” - -“I didn’t catch it quite. No, don’t sing it; say it for me.” - -“Well, here it is,” said Ned: - - “It was a lorde of the North Countree - Cam’ wooing a lady of high degree. - She wad nae listen, she would nae hear; - Till a wee bird sang in that lorde’s ear: - - “‘When spring-tide leaves are fair to see - Brave little wooers we birdies be. - Give me for love-luck bannocks three, - And I will pay a fairy fee.’ - - “‘Ye shall hae bannocks fair and free - For all the birds in the North Countree.’ - Up and whistled the little bird friend, - ‘Wise folks begin where ither folk end.’ - - “Gay laughed that lorde. Nae more said he, - But thrice he kissed that fair ladye, - He kissed till she was red to see; - And they’re awa’ to the North Countree.” - -“And is that your notion of wooing, Mr. Ned?” - -“Rose she says it’s a horrid song.” - -“You just ask her,” said Dick. “Hang that pie!” - -Carington, laughing, stepped into his canoe, and settled himself in easy -comfort against the baggage piled up behind him. “See you soon, boys.” - -Then he said, “Michelle, you may drop me at the point where Miss Lyndsay -is. I shall walk up.” - -“Well!” he said to himself. “The family seem unanimous. It would be -rather funny if—if it wasn’t something else.” - -After this he gave himself up to his thoughts, and what fair cheer the -June evening offered. The good mother-nature was all in sympathy, and, -foreseeing in her prophetic heart the drama about to be, had set out the -stage and its scenery with pleasant prevision. - -For here was a stretch of rippled river, where the hidden stones set the -waters a-dancing, and there they rolled high, and anon were possessed of -a coy quietness in nooks below the trees, where red and white tangles of -rootlets swayed in the current and had their fill as a reward of -adventurous growth. The sun was just over a far hill, and low, so that -all the long broad reach was aglow with many colors, to which the sky -above and the stones below lent variety of help, that none might hope to -explain or paint it, and that only the pure joy of it should be left in -the heart of man. - -And for it all this young fellow in the canoe was open enough, glad to -get from the sensual tropic zone to the cool wholesomeness of that he -saw. Now and then he caught sight of the red shelter on the point, and -tingled, for this love had been fed with mere memories these many -months, and now he had won the sweet courage which is a thing native to -the wild woods, and wilts in the hordes of men. - -Across the waters a mighty wreckage of vast rocks lay, where untold -years since they fell in some elemental strife from the granite fortress -which still towered high in air. Along its battlements a few grim warder -pines kept their centuried watches. - -On the beach opposite To-Day sat, and mocked with colors the massive -ruin, untroubled by its mystery. To-Day was a maid in a pink gown, for -prettiness—standing, sketch in hand, to see, with head on one side, if -her sketch had got the vigor of these fallen rocks. - -Nature, liking love-affairs, had decoyed the maid into a moment of -statuesque repose, and, knowing well her business, had set back of her a -bold gray rock, deep sunk in ferns. Against its sternness the strength -of virginal curves stood out, very fair to see. Meanwhile the canoe drew -nearer, running close to shore. - -At last Carington leaped on the beach, and came straight to where she -stood, flushed of a sudden, and with downward hands holding the picture. - -“Good evening.” - -“Oh, Mr. Carington!” - -“That will do, Michelle. Don’t wait. I shall walk.” - -The canoe was off and away as she said: - -“It must be four miles. Isn’t it a rather rough walk?” - -“It is nearer five. How are you? How is every one? I can’t tell you how -glad I am to see you.” - -“How dreadfully brown you are!” - -“Cuban sun, Miss Lyndsay. I am told it is becoming.” - -“Indeed! Who told you?” - -“A young woman on the steamer.” - -“Indeed.” - -Here she glanced down the river, and resumed her place on the rock. - -“You may sit down there. Please give me that color-box. Those pines are -so hard to get in.” - -“Thank you. I shall sit when I am made welcome. You have not said so -much as that you are glad to see me.” - -“That was stupid of me. Of course I am glad to see you. How did you like -Cuba?” - -“It was very hot.” - -“Was that the extent of your observation? It seems rather limited. Do -you think that lower stone is purple enough? Purple is such a -difficulty!” - -“I wish you would not paint now.” - -“Why not? But I must. I shall never get just this light again. It is the -most important thing in life—that rock.” - -“Let me see.” He took the sketch and put it aside, out of her reach. - -“Please,” she said. - -“No.” - -“But I shall—I shall be angry.” - -“You have had your way too long. You get whatever you want. It is very -demoralizing.” - -“But I never got my gold dollar.” This was unwise. - -“No; you never will.” - -She was silent now, foreseeing trouble. - -Meanwhile he sat on the ferns at her feet. As she spoke, her color-box -fell. Carington set it aside. She made no further remonstrance. - -“What o’clock is it, Mr. Carington?” - -“You are here till six. You can’t get away. What is the use of asking -the time?” - -“I don’t know.” - -“I do. It is my hour, Rose Lyndsay.” And he looked up. “For a year we -have been seeing one another in the midst of a fog of conventionalities, -and the game has been all in your hands. One cannot love and respect a -woman and wish to force her to abrupt decisions, and she can always -escape. I have waited.” - -“Please—it is dreadful! I beg of you.” - -“No. I have been very patient, but I am so no longer. We are here alone: -a man and a woman. The world of defense and excuses is far away.” - -“Oh, if you only knew! It is so hard! If you think I have been happy -this winter, you little know.” - -“How long is this indecision to last?” - -“I do not know.” - -“It is a simple question: Do you care for me? Care! No! I want you to -say that you love me! Oh, plainly, Rose Lyndsay, as I have said it until -you are weary of it, I dare say.” - -“How cruel you are! I cannot. I ought to be so sure about such a thing; -and I am not—I am not!” - -“Then I think I will go.” He spoke slowly, with measured distinctness. - -“I am sorry,” said Rose. “I am more sorry than you can think.” - -He made no reply for a moment; but, still seated below her on the ferns, -put his hands to his head and, looking down at the pebbles, said: - -“I came here resolute to force you to say ‘Yes’ or ‘No.’ It seemed easy, -away from you. Now that you are beside me, I am helpless. If I loved you -less, I could do it. I find it easier to carry my weariness of waiting -still longer. You are all my life to me. You have a home and constant -loves: I have no one—I am alone! What others have in life—sisters, -brothers—I lack, as you know. And yet—and yet, I cannot force you to a -decision. If you are just to my great love, Rose, I must ask you to say— -It might be wiser, both for you and for me, if I were to be positive.” - -“Oh, no! no!” - -“You shall have your way. I will not trouble you again: but, I know you -well—you are a woman of sense and courage. If I go, have I not the -honest right to expect that some day you will be brave enough just to -write to me, yes—or no? I leave it with you. That ought to set you at -ease.” - -“But it does not,—it will not. Life is so hard—and I do—I do want to do -what is right!” - -“Have I been too hard? Well, good-by.” And, so saying, he rose and stood -beside her. She glanced up at him, uneasy, pitiful, timid. He put out -his hand, “Good-by.” She took it, rising as she did so. As she held it, -he added: - -“I shall go back to-morrow; a telegram will explain it. I must not spoil -your holiday. Good-by.” - -The hand she gave stayed passive in his grasp. - -“Let me see you once, Rose, before I go. I mean, look up.” - -She lifted her gaze, and, as his eyes met hers, he saw. - -“Rose!” - -“What is it?” - -“You love me!” - -“No—no. Oh, I don’t know!” - -Then he caught her in his arms and kissed her, and all her soul went out -to him in one great sob of joy and love; and in the sweet pain of it she -fell to crying, the fair head on his shoulder. - -“Oh, Fred! Fred!” It was all that she could say. - -“Are you sorry?” - -“No! No!” - -“And you are sure?” - -“Yes.” - -“Then don’t cry any more.” - -“I can’t—can’t help it. I am so—so glad.” - -She stood and took his two hands, and said, “I was afraid, I was not -sure. Now I know; it is for always!” - -“Yes, Rose. Sit down, dear.” And again he fell on the ferns beside her, -and they talked in the tongue of the new land they had found, looking -before and after, and asking no more of life than the golden-freighted -minutes brought. - -Meanwhile the sun fell behind the hill, and the glow of blue and orange -light on the waters faded to dusky brown. Tree and rock grew slowly less -distinct as the shadows crossed the stream; but on their world another -sun arose, and with touch of hands they stayed, talking of the life of -love and duty and common helpfulness which lay broad and beautiful -before their eyes. - -At last they heard the paddles, and their hands fell apart. - -“How late you are, boys!” - -“Yes; the trout were rising. I’m awful sorry,” said Ned. - -“So are we,” returned Carington. “We have been horribly bored—Miss Rose -and I. I will go up in your boat, Miss Lyndsay, if I may. It is late to -walk.” - -“Certainly.” - -She had now a little gold dollar in her shut hand, and was silent -enough, till he left her at the Cliff Camp. - -She went up the steps slowly. What had an hour done with and for her? -She was very happy. - -“Pleasant, isn’t it?” said Anne. “Get a good sketch, dear? Mama and your -father are still out. Come here, nearer; what is the matter with you?” - -“Nothing.” - -“Wasn’t that Mr. Carington I heard on the beach?” - -“Yes. He stopped when he saw me sketching.” - -“Yes. Come and kiss me, Rose.” - -The girl bent over her. - -“I am so glad!” - -“Glad? Why?” - -“Go and wash your face, and change that ribbon, Miss Ostrich; but, for -heaven’s sake, don’t let Margaret know I guessed it.” - -“No! no! Dear Aunt Anne! I am so very happy!” - -“And I, my darling.” - -“Will Pardy like it?” - -“Very much.” - -“And Mardy?” - -“Yes.” - -“Oh, here they come,—I must run. I want—I want to be alone, just a -little.” - -“Kiss me again, Rose.” - -Then the girl fled in haste; but Anne said, “And now I should like to -live a little longer.” - - Transcriber’s Note - -Errors deemed most likely to be the printer’s have been corrected, and -are noted here. The references are to the page and line in the original. - - 18.3 [‘]The Mystery of Pain[’], my poor Anne! Added. - - 43.20 and by and by you will have it.[’]” Added. - - 98.3 [‘/“]I think my own curiosity collapses in hot Replaced. - weather,” - - 142.20 [“/‘]The bowman, fully prepared, replied at Replaced - once: - - 146.18 We don’t know those people, and I wish to be Added. - careful.[”] - - 185.28 “[‘]Gracious! How numerically interesting!’ Added. - - 200.32 more joy than the beggar, saith El Din Added. - Attar.’[”] - - 211.5 “Yes,” said Lyndsay, “these Gasp[e/é] men Replaced. - - 378.28 “I’ll fetch the money.[”] And, seizing the ax, Added. - she thrust him aside - - 404.25 “Archie, what was it last night?[”] Why did Removed. - they - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's When All the Woods are Green, by S. 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Weir Mitchell - -This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most -other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions -whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or re-use it under the terms of -the Project Gutenberg License included with this eBook or online at -www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you'll have -to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this ebook. - - - -Title: When All the Woods are Green - A Novel - -Author: S. Weir Mitchell - -Release Date: September 22, 2016 [EBook #53120] - -Language: English - -Character set encoding: UTF-8 - -*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK WHEN ALL THE WOODS ARE GREEN *** - - - - -Produced by KD Weeks, Charlene Taylor and the Online -Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This -file was produced from images generously made available -by The Internet Archive) - - - - - - -</pre> - - -<div class='tnotes'> - -<div class='nf-center-c1'> - <div class='nf-center'> - <div>Transcriber’s Note:</div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c000'>The few footnotes have been positioned following the paragraph in -which they are referenced.</p> - -<p class='c000'>Please consult the <a href='#endnote'>note</a> at the end of this text for -a discussion of any textual issues encountered in its preparation.</p> - -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c1'> -<div class='nf-center c001'> - <div>WHEN ALL THE WOODS ARE GREEN</div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='box'> - -<div class='nf-center-c1'> -<div class='nf-center c001'> - <div><span class="blackletter">Other Books by</span></div> - <div><span class="blackletter"><span class='large'>Dr. S. Weir Mitchell.</span></span></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='figcenter id001'> -<img src='images/shamrock.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' /> -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c1'> - <div class='nf-center'> - <div><span class='large'><span class="blackletter">Novels.</span></span></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-l'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>HEPHZIBAH GUINNESS.</div> - <div class='line'>IN WAR TIME.</div> - <div class='line'>ROLAND BLAKE.</div> - <div class='line'>FAR IN THE FOREST.</div> - <div class='line'>CHARACTERISTICS.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c1'> - <div class='nf-center'> - <div><span class='large'><span class="blackletter">Essays.</span></span></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-l'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>DOCTOR AND PATIENT.</div> - <div class='line'>WEAR AND TEAR—HINTS FOR THE OVERWORKED.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c1'> - <div class='nf-center'> - <div><span class='large'><span class="blackletter">Poems.</span></span></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='lg-container-l'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>THE HILL OF STONES.</div> - <div class='line'>THE MASQUE.</div> - <div class='line'>THE CUP OF YOUTH.</div> - <div class='line'>A PSALM OF DEATHS.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -</div> - -<div class='figcenter id002'> -<img src='images/frontis.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' /> -<div class='ic002'> -<p>S. WEIR MITCHELL.</p> -</div> -</div> - -<div> - <h1 class='c002'>WHEN ALL THE WOODS <br /> ARE GREEN</h1> -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c1'> -<div class='nf-center c003'> - <div>A NOVEL</div> - <div class='c004'>BY</div> - <div class='c004'>S. WEIR MITCHELL</div> - <div class='c004'>M.D., LL.D., HARVARD</div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='figcenter id003'> -<img src='images/title.jpg' alt='' class='ig001' /> -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c1'> - <div class='nf-center'> - <div>NEW YORK</div> - <div class='c004'>THE CENTURY CO.</div> - <div class='c004'>1894</div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c1'> -<div class='nf-center c003'> - <div>Copyright, 1894, by</div> - <div><span class='sc'>The Century Co.</span></div> - <div class='c004'>THE DE VINNE PRESS.</div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c1'> -<div class='nf-center c003'> - <div><span class='pageno' id='Page_I'>I</span>TO</div> - <div class='c004'>JOHN L. CADWALADER</div> - <div class='c004'>THE FRIEND OF MANY YEARS,—THE</div> - <div>COMPANION OF MANY SUMMERS</div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c1'> -<div class='nf-center c001'> - <div><span class='xlarge'>WHEN ALL THE WOODS ARE GREEN</span></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> -<div class='nf-center c001'> - <div><span class='pageno' id='Page_1'>1</span><span class='large'>WHEN ALL THE WOODS ARE GREEN</span></div> - </div> -</div> - -<div class='chapter'> - <h2 class='c005'>CHAPTER I</h2> -</div> - -<div class='c006'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/dropcap_t.jpg' width='100' height='101' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi1_0'> -The night of summer comes late in -this north land. Although it was -nearly nine o’clock, the shadows, -long gathering in the valleys and -the woods, had but just now overflowed -onto the broad levels of the -river. Above was hurry of low-lying clouds, through -which swift star-gleams seemed to flit, like the momentary -beacons of the rare fireflies along the shore. -Far away the shriek of a departing train broke the -general stillness and rang fainter and more faint in -wild variety of tones among the farther hills.</p> - -<p class='c007'>On the bank of this wide Canadian river, a little -above the margin, stood under the yet dripping trees -a group of diverse people, but all of one household. -Travel-weary and silent, for a time they looked down -on the dimly lit stream, and heard, as they waited, the -murmur and hum of its waters, or, with eyes as yet -unused to the gloom, strove to see the group of men -about the boats on the beach below them.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“This way, Margaret,” said a man’s cheerful voice; -<span class='pageno' id='Page_2'>2</span>“take care; there is my arm, dear. How delightful -to see the old river!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>The night was so dark that Lyndsay hesitated as he -stood on the verge.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What is it?” said his wife.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I do not quite like to go up to-night in this depth -of darkness. Do you think it quite safe, Polycarp? -Can you see?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Not very well,” said the guide, “but soon break -and have heap moon.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I think we must risk it, my dear. You will go -with me.” Then he said a word of caution to the -guides, and called to the boys, “Come, Dicky, and -you, Jackums.” They ran down the slope in haste -and stood a little, made quiet for once in their noisy -lives, but interested, alert, and peering through the -darkness.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Is that you, Tom and Ambrose? How are you -all? and Pierre—have you kept me a big salmon?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>He shook hands with each of the guides, having a -gay word of kindly remembrance for all in turn. -Meanwhile the sister of the boys came down to the -canoes, made silent, like the children, by the night, the -pervasive stillness, and the novelty of the situation.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Baggage gone up, Pierre?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, Mr. Lyndsay; everything is right,—and the -salmon thick as pine-needles. The small traps are all -in. We might be getting away.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Shall the women need their waterproofs, Tom?”—this -to a huge form which loomed large as it moved -among the other men, who were busy adjusting the -small freight of hand baggage. The voice, when it -<span class='pageno' id='Page_3'>3</span>broke out in reply, was, even for a fellow of six feet -two, of unproportioned loudness.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“They won’t want none; it ’s a-goin’ to bust out -clear.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Miss Anne Lyndsay, the maiden aunt of the children, -came down the bank as Thunder Tom replied. -Her steps, too feeble for health, were thoughtfully -aided by Edward, the youngest boy. To her turned -Rose, the niece, a woman of twenty years.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Did you ever hear the like?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>She felt the queer impropriety of this terrible voice -in the solemn stillness which, somehow, adequately -suggested the tribute of the bated breath.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Won’t need no wraps, Miss Lyndsay. Rain’s -done. There fell a power of water.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What a voice, Aunt Anne!” said Rose. “It ’s -like the boom of the sea.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“He explodes,—he doesn’t speak; a conversational -cannonade.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Hush,” said Mrs. Lyndsay, the mother; “he is -quite sensitive about it. He was with us last year, -and a very good man, too, as I know.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Canoe is ready, sir.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It is like a parting salute,” said Rose.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Well, my dear,” whispered Miss Anne, “it will be -a fine reminder for a certain person; all things have -their uses.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Thanks, Aunt Anne. A certain person has a not -uncertain consciousness that she doesn’t need it. -Folks complain that we women speak too loud. I am -sure our men have lost their voices. As for the English -women you admire so much, I could hardly understand -<span class='pageno' id='Page_4'>4</span>them at all, with their timid, thin voices, -and fat a’s.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Stuff!” said Miss Anne. “That is English.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I prefer Shakspere’s English,” said Rose. “I advise -them to read ‘Love’s Labor’s Lost.’”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That is our old battle-field, Rose. But you would -have to be consistent, and I do assure you, if you -talked as Shakspere talked, you would make a sensation.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Come, adjourn that skirmish,” said Archibald -Lyndsay, who had been rearranging the canoeloads.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Then the voice, to which others were as whispers, -roared:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Who’s for where, Mr. Lyndsay?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“All right. Tom, your voice is really getting -broken. Come, Margaret,--this way dear.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It’s so,” said Tom. “I kin speak bigger if I try,”—this -to Miss Lyndsay, apologetically, as he aided -her into the boat. “Fact is, Miss, I was twins, like -them boys, and Bill he died. He hadn’t no voice to -count on. It’s main useful when you’re drivin’ -logs.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What a baby he must have been in a quiet -family!” whispered Anne to Rose and Ned. “Imagine -it!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I didn’t understand what he said, Aunt Anne,” -remarked the boy.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I do not think he quite understood himself. Perhaps -he had a vague notion that he had to talk so as -to represent the dead brother, ‘who hadn’t no voice -to count on.’”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I like it,” remarked Rose. “Yes, papa.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_5'>5</span>“This way,” said Lyndsay; “here, Margaret, in -my canoe.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Could I have Ned with me, brother?” asked Miss -Anne.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Certainly. Here, in this canoe, not the birch. -This one,—now, so, with your face up the river, and -you, Ned,—yes, on the cushion on the bottom.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“How comfortable!” said Anne, as she leaned back -on a board set at a slope against the seat.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And now, Margaret,—you and I, together with -Pierre and—Halloa there, Gemini! Oh, you are in -the birch already. No nonsense, now! No larking! -These birches turn over like tumbler-pigeons.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You, dear,”—to Rose,—“you are to go with Polycarp -and Ambrose. By yourself, my child? Yes.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>There was a special note of tenderness in his voice -as he spoke.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“How is that, Rosy Posy?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Delightful! How well you know! And I did -want to be alone,—just to-night,—for a little while.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes.” As he released her hand he kissed her. -“Now, away with you.” In a few moments the little -fleet was off, and the paddles were splashing jets of -white out of the deep blackness of the stream. By -degrees the canoes fell apart. Despite the parental -warning, the twins had secured paddles, and were more -or less competently aiding their men, so that soon they -were far ahead.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Lyndsay chatted with his guides of the salmon, and -of his luggage and stores, sent up the day before. -Aunt Anne and her favorite Ned were silent for a -time; but the boy’s glance roamed restlessly from sky -<span class='pageno' id='Page_6'>6</span>to stream, and up over the great dim hills. At last -he said:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Hark, Aunt Anne; how loud things sound at -night!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Them’s the rapids,” said Tom, in tones that made -Miss Lyndsay start. “Them’s a mile away.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I suppose, Ned, that when all one’s other senses -are more or less unused, the ear may hear more distinctly; -at all events, what you say is true, I think. If -I want to hear very plainly, I am apt to shut my eyes—good -music always makes me do that.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That’s so,” said John. He considered himself -quite free to have his share in the talk. “When I’m -callin’ moose, I most allus shuts my eyes to listen to -them trumpetin’ back. Dory Maybrook was a-sayin’ -that same thing las’ Toosday a week. We was a-settin’ -out by her wood-pile. An’ she sat there a-thinkin’. -An’ says she, ‘It’s cur’ous how you can hear things at -night.’ Jus’ like you said. Hiram he was a-choppin’.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Who is Dory Maybrook?” said Ned.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Well, she’s Dory Maybrook; she’s Hiram’s wife. -Hiram’s her husband,” and he laughed,—laughed as -he talked, so that the noise of it boomed across the -wide waters.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Again for a while they were silent, asking no more -questions. The aunt was wondering what could have -given big Tom his overpowering voice, and how it -would affect one to live with such an organ. She -turned it over in her mind in all its droller aspects, -imagining Tom making love, or at his sonorous devotions, -for to Anne Lyndsay there were few things in -life remote from the possibility of humorous relation.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_7'>7</span>Twice the boy asked if she were comfortable, or -warm enough, and, reassured, fell back into the possession -of the deepening night and the black water, -whence, suddenly, here and there, flashed something -white through the blackness, like, as the lad thought, -the snowy wings of the turning sea-gulls he had seen -over the St. Lawrence at break of day.</p> - -<p class='c007'>In the other canoe, far behind and out of sight, -Rose Lyndsay lay, propped against the baggage, in -delicious contentment of mind and body. It was a -vast and satisfying change from the completed civilizations -of the world of Europe, where for a year she -had wandered with Anne Lyndsay. Three weeks before -the evening on which begins my tale, she was in -London, and now she was greeted with a sudden -sense of emancipation from the world of conventionalities. -Neither father nor mother was exclusively -represented in this happily fashioned womanhood. -And thus it was that her inherited qualities so modified -one another that people missed the resemblances, -and said only that she was like none of her people.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Nevertheless, she had her father’s taste and capacity -for seeing accurately and enjoying the simple uses of -observation, with also, in a measure, what he somewhat -lacked—the aunt’s unending joy in all humor; -sharing with her the privilege of finding a smile or a -laugh where others, who lack this magic, can only -conjure sadness. She saw with mental directness, and, -where her affections were not concerned, acted without -the hesitations which perplex the inadequate thinker.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Her aunt, to whom she bore some resemblance in -face, had learned much in a life of nearly constant -<span class='pageno' id='Page_8'>8</span>sickness, but never the power to restrain her fatal incisiveness -of speech. She could hurt herself with it -as well as annoy others, as she well knew. But in -her niece, keenness of perception and large sense of -the ridiculous were put to no critical uses. The simple -kindliness of her mother was also hers.</p> - -<p class='c007'>At times in life permanent qualities of mind vary in -the importance of the use we make of them. Rose -was now in the day of questions. Everything interested -her: an immense curiosity sharpened her naturally -acute mental vision; an eloquently imaginative -nature kept her supplied with endless queries. The -hour of recognized limitations had not yet struck for -her. Now she set the broad sails of a willing mood, -and gave herself up to the influences of the time and -place. Deep darkness was about her. The sky -seemed to be low above her. The dusky hills appeared -to be close at hand on each side. The water -looked, as it rose to left and right, as though the -sky, the waves, the hills were crowding in upon her, -and she, sped by rhythmic paddles, was flitting through -a lane of narrowing gloom.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The impression I describe, of being walled in at -night by water, hill, and sky, is familiar to the more -sensitive of those who are wise enough to find their -holiday by wood and stream. The newness of the -sensation charmed the girl. Then in turn came to -her the noise of the greater rapids, as, after two hours, -the river became more swift.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Twice she had spoken; but twice the dark guide -had made clear to her that he needed all his wits -about him, and once he had altogether failed to answer -her or, perhaps, to hear at all. But now the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_9'>9</span>clouds began to break, and the night became clear, so -that all objects were more easily discernible. “Is -your name Polycarp?” she said, at last, turning as she -sat to look back at the impassive figure in the stern.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I’m Polycarp,” said the Indian.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What is that I hear? Of course I hear the rapids, -but—it is like voices and—and—laughter. Is it only -the rapids? How strange! Could you—just stop -paddling a moment?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>The paddles were silent, and she listened. The -sounds came and went, mysteriously rising, falling, or -changing, despite the absence of wind, as they drifted -downward when the paddles no longer moved. Mr. -Lyndsay’s canoe overtook them. “What is it?” he -called. “Anything wrong?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No, no! I wanted to hear the rapids. They seem -like voices.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Ask me about that to-morrow,” said her father, -“but push on now. We shall be late enough.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Again the paddles fell, and her canoe slid away into -the ever-deepening night. Of a sudden her trance of -thought was broken, and over the waters from the -twins came snatches of song, bits of Scotch ballads, -familiar in this household. At last she smiled and -murmured, “The scamps!” They were caroling the -song with which they had been fond of mocking her -in her girlhood.</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“There are seven fair flowers in yon green wood,</div> - <div class='line in2'>In a bush in the woods o’ Lyndsaye;</div> - <div class='line'>There are seven braw flowers an’ ae bonny bud,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Oh! the bonniest flower in Lyndsaye.</div> - <div class='line'>An’ weel love I the bonny, bonny rose—</div> - <div class='line in2'>The bonny, bonny Rose-a-Lyndsaye;</div> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_10'>10</span>An’ I’ll big my bower o’ the forest boughs,</div> - <div class='line in2'>An’ I’ll dee in the green woods o’ Lyndsaye.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Her face is like the evenin’ lake,</div> - <div class='line in2'>That the birk or the willow fringes,</div> - <div class='line'>Whose peace the wild wind canna break,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Or but its beauty changes.</div> - <div class='line'>An’ she is aye my bonny, bonny rose,</div> - <div class='line in2'>She’s the bonny young Rose-a-Lyndsaye;</div> - <div class='line'>An’ ae blink of hor e’e wad be dearer to me</div> - <div class='line in2'>Than the wale o’ the lands o’ Lyndsaye.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>The voices rang clear a moment, and then were lost, -and heard anew, without seeming cause for the break. -Then came a fresh snatch of song:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Come o’er the stream, Charlie,</div> - <div class='line'>Braw Charlie, brave Charlie;</div> - <div class='line'>Come o’er the stream, Charlie,</div> - <div class='line'>And dine with McClain.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>As she listened and caught the wilder notes of Burnieboozle, -they fell into the orchestral oppositions of -the rapids, and died to the car amid the cry and crash -and hoarse noises of the broken waters.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Rose saw the men rise and take their poles, and felt -amidst the beautiful dim vision of white wave-crests -how the frail canoe quivered as it was driven up the -watery way.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Then they kept to the shore under the trees, the -poles monotonously ringing, with ever around her, -coming and going, that delicious odor of the spruce, -richest after rain, which to smell in the winter, amid -the roar of the city, brings to the wood-farer the -homesickness of the distant forest. Her dreamy -mood once broken was again disturbed by that rare -speaker, the silent Polycarp.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_11'>11</span>“I smell camp.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What!” she said.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes—very good smell—when bacon fry—smell -him long away—two mile.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I smell it,” she said. “How strange!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Smell fry long way—smell baccy not so far. -Smell Mr. Lyndsay pipe little while back.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>And now far ahead she saw lights, and started as -the Indian smote the water with the flat of his paddle, -making a loud sound, which came back in altered notes -from the hills about them.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Make ’em hear at camp.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Presently she was at the foot of a little cliff, where -the twins were already noisily busy.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Halloa, Rose! Can you see?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, Jack.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Isn’t it jolly? Give me a hand.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No, me.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“This beats Columbus,” said the elder lad. “Take -care, Spices”—this to the younger twin, who, by reason -of many freckles, was known in the household, to his -disgust, as the Cinnamon Bear, Cinnamon, Spices, or -Bruin, as caprice dictated.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I’ll punch your red head, Rufus,” cried the lad. -“You just wait, Ruby.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Boys! boys!” said Rose. “Now each of you give -me a hand. Don’t begin with a quarrel.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It isn’t a quarrel; it’s a row,” said Jack.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“A distinction not without a difference,” laughed Rose. -“Oh, here is everybody.” And with jest and laughter -they climbed the steps cut in the cliff, and gaily entered -the cabin which was to be their home for some weeks.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_12'>12</span>There was a large, low-raftered room, covered with -birch-bark of many tints. On each side were two -chambers, for the elders. The boys, to their joy, were -to sleep in tents on the bluff, near to where the tents -of the guides were pitched, a little away from the -cabin, and back of a roaring camp-fire. Behind the -house a smaller cabin sufficed for a kitchen, and in -the log-house, where also a fire blazed in ruddy welcome, -not ungrateful after the coolness of the river, -the supper-table was already set. As Rose got up -from table, after the meal, she missed her mother, and, -taking a shawl, went out onto the porch which surrounded -the house on all sides.</p> - -<p class='c007'>For a moment, she saw only the upward flare of the -northern lights, and then, presently, Mrs. Lyndsay, -standing silent on the bluff, with a hand on Ned’s -shoulder, looking across the river. Rose quietly laid -the shawl over her mother’s shoulders, and caught her -hand. Mrs. Lyndsay said, “Thank you, dear Rose, but -I want to be alone a little. I shall come in very soon.” -They went without a word, meeting their father just -within the door. “Mother sent us in,” said Rose.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I understand,” and he also turned back. “It is -Harry! It is about Harry.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, it is Harry,” repeated Rose; for the year before -Mrs. Lyndsay had left a little weakly fellow, her -youngest, in the rude burial-ground of the small -Methodist church, some miles away, up the stream. -She had been alone with Mr. Lyndsay and the child, -and it had been her first summer on the river. When, -the next spring, she had proposed to take thither the -whole family, her husband had gladly consented.</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_13'>13</span> - <h2 class='c005'>CHAPTER II</h2> -</div> - -<div class='c006'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/dropcap_m.jpg' width='100' height='97' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi1_0'> -Mrs. Lyndsay—comely, rosy, in -the vigor of young middle-life—was -the first to welcome the sun, as -it came over the hills beyond the -river. In the camps was stir of -breakfast, and silent, inverted cones -of smoke from the fires. Soon Rose, on the edge of -the cliff, cried “Good morning!” and the mother saw -the strong, well-built girl come toward her, and had -pride in her vigor and sweetness. They kissed, and -the mother went in, and Rose back to her maiden -meditations.</p> - -<p class='c007'>She sat down on a camp-stool, and felt that for the -first time she had leisure to think. She and her aunt -had been met by her father when their steamer came, -and amidst incessant questions they had been hurried -off into the wilds of New Brunswick. A year away -had made for her new possibilities of observation, and -now, with surprised interest, she found herself in the -center of a household which, assuredly, even to the -more experienced, would have seemed peculiar. It -was, in fact, more peculiar than odd. There was no -eccentricity, but much positive character. This Rose -Lyndsay saw as she had never seen it before. The -growth of definitely marked natures in the boys struck -<span class='pageno' id='Page_14'>14</span>her, the fresh air of a kind of family freedom rare -elsewhere; the audacity of the lads’ comments, and -their easy relations with the father, were things which -now she saw anew with more thoughtfully observant -eyes.</p> - -<p class='c007'>It were well to say, however, that it was a republic -with sudden probabilities of dictatorship, and that a -stranger coming within its circle rarely beheld much -of the outspoken fashions and droll appearance of -equality which, at times, seemed to disregard the deference -ordinarily yielded to parental opinion. In -fact, there was a comfortable sense of comradeship -all around, which had its values, and with it an affection -so strong that the wounds of all intellectual differences, -and of the somewhat rare physical contests -of the boys, were easily healed by its constancy, and -by the father’s power to make each see in all the rest -their specifically valuable traits. Some things which -in other households are looked upon as serious were -in this little noticed,—while, as to certain lapses, -punishment was apt to be severe enough.</p> - -<p class='c007'>By and by Ned came out and sat down by Rose. -He was the most silent of them all.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Well,” said Rose, as he kissed her, “isn’t it beautiful, -Ned? Look at the low meadows down below -the elms, and the cliffs opposite, and the wild water! -Don’t you love it?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I think I—I like it,” he replied. “How black -the water looks—how wilful it looks—that was -what I wanted to say. I <em>think</em> I like it, Rose. Sometimes -I don’t like things other people like,—I mean -grown-up people. I suppose that’s very stupid.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_15'>15</span>“No,—oh, no!” She was struck with the oddness -of some aspects of his mind. “Was that what troubled -you yesterday, when we were all looking at that -great flare of red sunset light,—you wouldn’t speak?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It was beautiful, but—you won’t tell, Rose?—the -Bear and Rufus would laugh at me,—it was terrible!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>She looked aside at him, curious and interested. -“I think I understand, and I shall never, never laugh -at you, Ned. You must tell me everything.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Sometimes I can’t,” he said. “It is queer, but -sometimes I don’t want to.” He was truthful to a -fault, and was of no mind to make unconditional -treaties.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I understand that, too”; and then they fell into -lighter chat of friends and cousins, until Mr. Lyndsay -called “breakfast,” from the cabin-door, and they -went in.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The twins were scarcely more than wide-awake -enough to settle down to serious work at bread and -butter and porridge. The canned milk they pronounced -abominable, but soon learned that Mrs. Maybrook’s -cows would furnish a fair supply of their -essential diet. Miss Anne came in a little wearily, -glad as she moved of the stay of a chair-back and the -boys’ help, for they all rose at once.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Did you sleep well?” said Lyndsay.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No; worse than usual.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I thought by your smiling you would have had a -good night, but your dear old face is a dreadful purveyor -of fibs. Are you feeling badly to-day?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Sh—sh—!” she cried, “don’t dose me with myself, -Archy; as that delightful Mrs. Maybrook said to -<span class='pageno' id='Page_16'>16</span>Margaret, ‘I do hate to be babied.’ Is that your tenth -corncake, Jack?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Ninth, aunty,—I have to eat for you and me. -I’m like Thunder Tom’s voice.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That’s the good of being twins,—you can eat for -two!” cried Ned.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It’s my seventh,” said Dick, complacently. “I -wouldn’t be such a G. I. P. as Jack.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Sudden death is what he will get,” returned Dick.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Your seventh,” said Anne. “But how can one die -better than facing fearful odds?” And then there -was a little moment of laughter, and the gay chatter -went on. At last Mr. Lyndsay said:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“When you are through, boys, with this astounding -breakfast, we will talk of our plans. Your mother -wants to go up the river. She shall have the two -Gaspé men. Rose, you will go with me for a first -lesson in salmon-fishing, and you three boys shall go -with Polycarp after trout. Lunch at one; and remember, -boys, no nonsense in the canoe, mind. This -water is too cold and too swift to trifle with. You -are a pretty bad lot, but I should not like to have to -choose which I would part with. As Marcus Aurelius -said, ‘Girls make existence difficult, but boys make it -impossible.’”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Who? What?” cried Rose.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That was because of Master Commodus,” said -Ned.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I’d like to have licked him,” remarked Jack, whose -remedial measures were always combative.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“He was not a nice boy, like me,” said Dick with a -grin.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_17'>17</span>“Like who? I hope he spoke Latin with decent -correctness. Out with you!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I had almost forgotten about Marc. Aurelius, aunt,” -said Rose, aside. “I was really taken in for a moment.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>It was a family fiction, and still a half belief, that -Archibald Lyndsay would some day publish a great -commentary on the famous emperor’s philosophy; -meanwhile it served a variety of humorous purposes.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“<em>I</em> shall provide myself with a book and sunshine,” -said Miss Anne, “and then with a good field-glass, I -shall own the world,—mental and physical.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But are the books unpacked?” said Rose.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No, but I have all I want. I must go and see.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Rose set out a lounging-chair on the porch, put beside -it a foot-stool and a rude little table, made by a -guide, and following her aunt to her room, came back -laughing with an arm-load of books. Archibald Lyndsay -smiled.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No wonder that man at St. Lambert’s groaned over -Anne’s trunk.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That delightful man!” cried Rose, “who checked -baggage, switched the trains off and on, sold tickets, -answered questions, and did the work of three and -laughed for six. He told papa ‘he guessed he wasn’t -no Canadian. Not much! Had to go down to York -State once a year to eat pumpkin-pie and get sot up—kind -of.’”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“He was of the best type of our people,” said Lyndsay. -“Come, Rose; Anne appears to be reasonably -supplied.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I should think so, papa. But I must see,—wait -a bit.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_18'>18</span>“Oh!” he exclaimed, picking the books up in turn, -“‘Massillon,’ ‘Feuchtersleben,’ what a name! ‘Dietetics -of the Soul,’ what a droll business! <a id='corr18.3'></a><span class='htmlonly'><ins class='correction' title='The Mystery of Pain,'>‘The Mystery of Pain,’</ins></span><span class='epubonly'><a href='#c_18.3'><ins class='correction' title='The Mystery of Pain,'>‘The Mystery of Pain,’</ins></a></span> my poor Anne! ‘History of the Council -of Trent,’ good gracious!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>At this moment his sister reappeared. “Are you -supplied for the morning, Anne? Past risk of famine, -eh!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Not, too heavily,” she said. “You know what Marcus -Aurelius says about books. ‘There is nothing as economical -as a bad memory, because then there ariseth -no need to buy many books.’ That is my case.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Then this is all,” laughed Lyndsay, pointing with -his pipe-stem to the table. “Hum! Well, well! -Come, Rose.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, go!” cried Anne, seating herself, “and take -with you Epictetus. ‘If that which is of another’s -life perplex thy judgment, go a-fishing,—for there -thou shall find more innocent uncertainties, and will -capture the whale wisdom, if thou takest nothing else.’ -You may recall the passage. Carp might have been -the fish. Eh, Archie?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Stuff and nonsense!” cried her brother, as they -turned away. “Anne gets worse day by day, Rose. -Come. Marcus Aurelius, Epictetus, indeed!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>As they went down the steps to the bluff, Anne -Lyndsay, her thin white hands in her lap, looked after -them. Her face was rarely without a smile; but, as -Rose said truly, “Aunt Anne wears her smiles with a -difference.” Just now her smile was delicately flavored -with a look of satisfied affection. As she looked over -river and sun-lit hills, a sharp twinge of pain crossed -<span class='pageno' id='Page_19'>19</span>her face, and her hands shut tight a moment, while the -sweat of a brief but overpowering pang wrung from -her lips an exclamation. Her life had been physically -narrowing for years. As she became less and less -able to go here and there, to do this or that, she more -and more resolutely broadened the horizon of her -mental activities, but, no matter what happened, she -continued to smile at or with everything, herself included. -Now she wiped her forehead, and fell to -smiling again, looking sharply about her, for this -woman immensely disliked to be seen in the rare moments -when pain was too emphatic for absolute silence. -“I wonder why I hate to be seen,” she said -aloud, being unusually given to soliloquizing; for, as -she liked to explain, “I have more respect for my own -opinion if I say it out. It is easier to disregard the -unspoken. I like to think I have the good manners to -listen to myself. It does so trouble Archie, and that -girl, for a day when I break up. I wonder if that -small Spartan had had the perpetual company of his -fox, how long he would have gone on without squealing. -I know he wriggled,” she said, and so fell to -laughing, after which she lay back in her chair, waved -her handkerchief to Rose, and began to read.</p> - -<p class='c007'>While the Gaspé canoe went away up the stream, -urged by skilful arms, Archibald Lyndsay and Rose -talked merrily.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I told those boys to keep their eyes open, and not -to come back and tell me they had seen nothing in -particular. As for Ned, he is sure to see certain things -and not others. He is a dreamer,—oh, worse than -ever, my dear,—it grows on him.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_20'>20</span>“But his dreams—”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, I know. There is always something in them. -He seems to me, Rose, too absent-minded for this -world’s uses. At times he puzzles me. He is the duck -in my henbrood.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“He is pure gold.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, but when he comes to be put into current -coin,—really, I don’t know. As to Rufus,—Dick, I -mean, I hate nicknames, and this family has enough -for a directory; you will have six a week,—as to -Red-head—”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Rose laughed.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I get no more respect in this household than—”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, was that a salmon?” A fish, some three feet -long, leaped high in air, dripping silver in the sun, -and fell with a mighty swash into the glowing waters.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes; there’s another! As to Dick, he sees everything, -and for questions—you are nothing to him. I -wanted to talk to you about them, Rose.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And Jack?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, Jack! Jack will do. He hates books, but he -also hates defeat,—a first-rate quality, Rose. He is -one of the three people I have seen in my life who -honestly enjoy peril. That comes from his Uncle -Robert. My poor Robin used to laugh when he rode -into the hottest fight!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Rose, remembering how the major died at Antietam, -was silent. Her father was also quiet for a few moments.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That boy must always be fighting somebody. Just -now, he and Ned have a standing difficulty about the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_21'>21</span>Roundheads and Jacobites. I believe it has cost two -black eyes already.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“How funny! What do you do about it?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I? Nothing. Ned is like a cat for activity, small -as he is, and as to an occasional black eye,—well, I -don’t ask too many questions.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But doesn’t it distress mother?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, yes, of course; but so long as they love one -another, I find it wise to say little. By and by, dear, -when you are married, and have a lot of boys of your -own, you will understand the wisdom of knowing -when not to see,—when not to ask questions.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>This astounding improbability, of a sudden, struck -Rose dumb. Then she said, abruptly, “Who is that -away up the river?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Two young Boston men. Are they from the island -camp, Tom?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, sir,” said Tom, in his great voice. “Mr. -Ellett, and Mr.—I don’t rightly mind me of the other -man’s name. Think it’s Carington.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Rather a pretty name,” said Rose,—“Carington.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Not a New England name, I suspect. Probably -Southern. How easily one tells where most of our -family names belong,—the older ones, I mean. Oh, -there is their camp. See how neat everything is about -their tents. Above this point, Rose, there are a few -clearings, and the graveyard lies back from the shore, -where our Harry is buried. Poor little man! He was -well out of it, Rose, well out of it. We rarely talk of -him. Your mother dislikes it. For myself, I like -better to speak of my dead—and they are many—in a -<span class='pageno' id='Page_22'>22</span>wholesome way, without the strange reserve which -even the best of folks have about their lost ones. -However!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Shall we anchor to the head of the pool, sir?” said -Tom.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, yes. And now, Rose, I want first to have -you watch me closely,—hand, rod, and line,—and to -try to follow the fly on the water. I promise you to -talk enough about the trees and the waters next Sunday. -There are some dead forests above us, on the -river, from which I want sketches made; but now it -is the more serious business of the salmon; ask what -you like.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Well, then, isn’t it late to fish? It is eight o’clock.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No; the salmon is an aristocrat, and rises late. If -you want striped bass, the break of day is none too -early.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But will that thin line—what you call the casting-line—hold -a great thing like the fish I saw leap?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, with the bend and give of this sixteen-foot -rod, and the certainty with which these matchless -Vom Hoff reels work. Look, now, the day is pleasantly -cloudy, the water a little thick, riled,—roily, -if you like. I think a silver doctor—that’s a fly, -see, Rose—will do. There, you can look over my -fly-book.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Well,” said Rose, “I am compelled to sympathize -with the salmon. Are not our Anglo-Saxon ideas of -sport a little hard on birds and fish?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“We will adjourn that discussion,” said her father, -“until you see a salmon. Then we shall know -whether your store of pity will hold out.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_23'>23</span>The canoe was now anchored in some four feet of -strong, broken water. The bowman, with his anchor-rope -ready, the sternman, on the bottom of the boat, -with his face to the pool, his eye on every cast of the -fly. Mr. Lyndsay stood a little back from the center, -a fine figure, Rose thought, tall, strong, ruddy, with a -face clean-shaven, except for side-whiskers. At first -he cast his fly near to the canoe, left and right in succession, -and giving the rod a slight motion, kept the -fly moving down-stream until directly astern of the -boat. Then with a new cast, adding two or more feet -of line from the reel, he again let the swift water run -it out. Thus, casting each time a little farther, he -covered by degrees an increasing triangular area of -water, of which the stern of the boat was the apex. -As he went on fishing, he chatted with Rose, who sat -in front of him, so that he cast over both the girl and -the burly figure of Tom.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I am now casting about forty-five feet of line,” he -said. “I <em>can</em> cast about sixty-five, from reel to fly. -There are men who can cast one hundred feet and -more, but here it is needless. I could not do it if it -were needed.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Rose began to think all this a little slow, for a pastime. -At last Lyndsay, saying, “Drop, Tom,” reeled -up his line within a few feet from the long silk leader. -As he gave the word, the lump of lead used as an anchor -was lightly lifted and held well in hand, the -sternman used his paddle, and the boat dropped -some forty feet farther down the pool, and was gently -anchored. The stream at this place was more broken, -and was what Tom called “strong water.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_24'>24</span>The casting business began again, with no better -result, so that Rose, to whom it all looked easy enough, -began to find it more pleasant to watch the shadows -of the hills and the heavy clouds moving overhead. -Mr. Lyndsay was now casting some fifty feet of line, -and, as Rose turned, trying to analyze for her own -use the succession of movements, she was struck with -the grace and ease with which the line was recovered -at the end of the cast,—sent apparently without -effort directly behind the fisherman, and then without -crack or snap impelled in a straight line to right -or left at an angle from the boat, so that the casting-line -and fly dropped or settled lightly on the water; -the fly always maintaining its place at the end of the -cast. Then she heard, “You riz him!” “We have -tickled his fancy, Rose, or tempted his curiosity. -Now we have a little game to play. Sometimes we -wait a few minutes. I rarely do so unless the fish are -scarce. Look sharp. Did you see him rise?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That fish lies in a line with yonder dead pine. In -this quick water the fly buries itself, but as I follow it -with the rod, you can guess its place. Most commonly -a salmon remains in one spot, with his nose up-stream, -and—”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh!” cried Rose, as the fly reached the indicated -spot and a swirl in the water and a broad back caught -her eye. “Oh! oh!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It has all the charm of gambling,” said Mr. Lyndsay, -“without the badness.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Will he rise again?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Perhaps. Ah, not this time”; and after a couple -of casts, he said, “Put on a black dose.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_25'>25</span>“A what?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Our flies have all manner of queer names. This -is a ‘dark fly,’ quite unlike the bright doctor. It may -tempt him.” And at the first cast, with the same -length of line, the peaceful scene was turned into one -of intense excitement.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“There!” cried Rose. “Oh!” for as the new fly -reached the fated spot, there was a sudden flash of -white a dozen yards away. The reel ran out a few -feet, the rod was lifted and turned over to bring the -winch to the right hand, and the pressure on the entire -length of the bending rod. The angler sat down.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Tom meanwhile had called to the bowman as the -fish struck, and the anchor was instantly drawn up. -For this brief interval of time the great salmon -stayed, pausing. “Thinking what’s wrong,” said Lyndsay. -The next instant the reel sang, and some two -hundred feet of line ran out with incredible swiftness. -Far away across the stream a great white thing leaped -high out of the water, as Lyndsay dropped the tip of -his rod to relax the tension of the line.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“How exciting it is!” cried Rose, as the fish leaped -again. “I don’t sympathize with the salmon at all; -I am intent on murdering him.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Fresh run and clean,” said Tom,—“a beauty!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>The canoe, urged by deft paddles, moved across -the river. The tension relaxing, Lindsay reeled up -line. Then again there was a wild rush up river.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Tom, quick! After him!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>The next moment the line came back, slack.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh!” cried Rose, “he is gone!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No! no!” shouted Tom. “Reel! reel, sir!” and -presently the long, loose line grew tight, for the salmon -<span class='pageno' id='Page_26'>26</span>had turned and made straight for the boat. Now, -once more, he broke water, thirty feet away.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Them long runs tires ’em,” said Tom, “and the -jumps tires ’em more. Showed his belly, sir.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Lyndsay now slowly lifted his rod-tip, throwing it -back of him, and then lowering it as he recovered the -line.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Take care, sir!” cried Tom, for once more there -was a fierce, short dash across, and again a leap. This -time the fish came in slowly, but surely, and Tom took -his gaff.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Can you do it?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, sir.” The gaff was in, and the great, flapping -fish in the boat, and Rose pretty well splashed with -water as Tom cleverly lifted his prey on the gaff-hook.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“A twenty-pounder, Mr. Lyndsay, sure!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Well, Rose, how do you like it?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, papa, it is splendid!</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Where are we going?” she added, as the canoe -was run ashore.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“The men will put the fish under a bush, to be out -of the sun; and now, what were you about to ask? I -saw a question ready in your eyes.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I wish, papa—I wish I did not think the fish had -a dreadful time. I have to think of pleasure holding -the rod and tragedy at the end of the line.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Upon my word, Rose, you are emphatic. I can -assure you, my dear, that you may safely keep your -emotional statements for another occasion.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Let me tell you something. Once when fishing -on the Nipigon, I saw an odd-looking, very large trout. -He rose every time I cast, and at last took the fly. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_27'>27</span>Now, why the salmon takes the fly, not Solomon could -say, because he eats nothing while in the rivers; but -trout are pigs for greediness. When I looked this -hungry trout over, he was still bleeding from a fish-hawk’s -claws, and his intestines and liver were hanging -in the water. Such pain, or injury if you like, as -this, does in man utterly destroy appetite and cause -inaction. The inference is plain enough: fish cannot -be said to suffer what we call pain. I once took a -striped bass which had been terribly torn by a gaff. -On the whole, Rose, I conclude that, as we go down -the scale of life, there is less and less of what we call -pain, and at last, probably, only something nearer to -discomfort or inconvenience.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Is that so? Then we hold our higher place at the -cost of suffering, which must increase as we go on -rising through the ages to come?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes,” said Lyndsay, looking aside with freshened -curiosity at this young logician. “Yes, the rule must -work both ways. But man alone has the power to -limit, lessen, even annihilate pain. The amount of -pain in the civilized world must have been vastly -diminished within forty years, since we got ether and -the like.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And will not that in time lessen our power to endure? -But then,” she added quickly, “that might be -of less moment if we are always increasingly able to -diminish or stop pain.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Lyndsay smiled. This alert grasp of a subject was -a novel acquisition. As he was adjusting a fly, and -the boat was dropping to a new station, she said:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I hate pain. I don’t believe in its usefulness. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_28'>28</span>Not for Rose Lyndsay, at least. It only makes me -cross.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yet you would hesitate to make a world without -it?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes. One can see the difficulties.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“The more you think of them the more they multiply. -It is, of course, commonplace to say pain is -protective, and in a sense educative. That one may -admit; and yet there will still be such a lot of torment -which is natural that one does keep on wondering -why.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Do you remember, Pardy,”—this was her nursery -name for her father,—“when Mr. Caramel -preached about the uses of pain, and said the man -who suffered was ignorantly rich: he had only to -learn to use his wealth?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, very well I remember. As we came out Anne -said she would be glad to be generous with her over-competence, -and wanted to send Mr. Caramel a few -of the crumbs to relieve his too comfortable poverty!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, only one can’t repeat her bits of grim fun, -Pardy; and when she tells Dick a green-apple stomach-ache -is only a joke which he don’t understand, you -must see her face and Dick’s grimace.—Oh, see how -that fish jumped!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“North has a curious notion that pain, except for -early protective education, is, in a measure, useless. -He declares that long bouts of it make men bad.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Not Aunt Anne, Pardy.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, a woman! That is different.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Nor that splendid fellow, Dr. Hall, now—”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Bother, Rose! Don’t interrupt me. North says -<span class='pageno' id='Page_29'>29</span>he has seen certain hysterical women get well as to -everything except loss of sense of pain. He knows of -two who are ignorant, at present, of the feeling of pain. -You cannot hurt them. One of them declares that -she would on no account resume the normal state.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I cannot imagine any one wanting to be so unnatural, -and she must lose all warnings as to burns and -knocks.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No, she substitutes intelligent watchfulness for -the sentinel pain.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I shall never get rid of pain by having hysterics,” -said Rose, confidently. “I can’t imagine that.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Occasion may assist imagination. Take care!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“There is a scornful masculine note in that remark, -sir! Why do not men have hysterics?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Ask North; he will refer you to <em>Hamlet’s</em> condition. -Isn’t it in Act I, Scene IV, where he gets what -Jack calls ‘rattled’ about the ghost? North says he -was hysterical. Dr. Shakspere knew his business. -But I meant to add that North says there is one case -on record of a man who, in all his life, never knew -what pain was,—had no pain; could not be hurt in -any way!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“How strange!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, but we are losing the shining hours. The -busiest bee could not improve them here.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No, indeed!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, one word more, and then let us pitch the -horrid thing overboard. I was so puzzled once—I -still am—about this passage in my Aurelius.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Real or fictitious, Pardy? You are not always -above following Aunt Anne’s wicked ways!”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_30'>30</span>“Oh, real. He says, ‘There is no dishonor in pain.’ -I have remarked in my commentary that this passage -is not clear.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But is it not, papa? He must mean that dishonor -is the worst anguish, and that pain is only an evil to -the body, and that an ache of the soul is worst of all, -and therefore—”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Only an ill to our grossest part, if we so determine -to limit its effects. Is that it, my dear?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I suppose so,” said Rose, with some hesitation. -“Yes, that is it.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But now you shall argue with a fish. You will be -awkward at first. Here is a lighter rod; we call it a -grilse-rod. Tom shall coach you, and I will grin at -your failures!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I hate failure!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And I loathe it. But, as the Persian poet says, -‘Failure is the child of doubt, and the grandfather -of success.’”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Pardy! Pardy!” Rose smiled. Those Oriental -quotations were family properties, and a source of -some bewilderment to the educated stranger.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Now, dear, see how I hold the rod—lightly. -Yes, so, without tension. Don’t make too much -physical effort. Let the rod do its share. Don’t -insist on doing all, and too much yourself.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Rose took the rod, and Tom began his lesson. But -the gods were good, and, after a few awkward casts, a -salmon, more eager than his kind, made a mad bolt for -the fly, and was off like a crazy thing, across the stream.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Turn your rod! Down! Sit down! Tip up! -Up! That is rare,” said Lyndsay. “If that salmon -<span class='pageno' id='Page_31'>31</span>were to keep on running, there would be no salmon -for you. Quick, boys!” for before the anchor was -up, the wild fish had run off two thirds of the reel. -Now they were away after him at fullest speed.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Reel! reel!” cried Tom. “Reel up!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But I am tired! Oh, I shall lose him!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>However, after he had made another run, Rose -began to get in the line, then the fish stopped a -moment, and again was away.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Meanwhile, the canoe, in crossing and recrossing, -had come close to the swift water below the pool.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“We have got to go down the rapids, sir.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Let her go, then. Steady, Rose, keep a strain on -him.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But I am nearly dead!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You will come to. Quick! Drop the tip!” for -as they fled down-stream, the boat dancing, the water -splashing in, the poles, now pushing, now snubbing -the canoe, the salmon made a leap high in air, and -fell across the taut line, which came back free, while -Rose looked around in disgusted amazement.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“He is gone!” she said.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes. You should have lowered the tip when he -jumped. But think how pleased he is, my dear!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I hate him!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“He has got half a leader and a good silver doctor,” -said her father. “You can quote Browning, -dear, ‘The Last Leader.’”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“For shame! I knew those things must be weak. -I would have a good, thick rope.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You wouldn’t take many fish, miss,” said Tom, -grinning.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_32'>32</span>“What are these wretched leaders made of?” said -Rose.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Silk. They drown the silkworm in vinegar, and -then, cutting out the silk sac, take the two ends, and -pull them apart. The silk, for a whole cocoon, is in -a state of thick solution, and is thus pulled out into -one of the many lengths which we tie to make a -nine-foot leader.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“How curious!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Meanwhile, another leader was well soaked and -adjusted, and Rose began anew. But, although she -cast better, no more salmon rose, and, tired out, she -gave up the rod. Mr. Lyndsay had no better luck, -and, as it was close to lunch-time, they ran ashore to -pick up their salmon, which Tom laid in the canoe -and covered with ferns. Soon again the little vessel -was in the strong current.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“There is no hurry, Tom,” said Lyndsay; and so -the canoe, held straight by a guiding paddle, glided -swiftly onward.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It is perfect motion, Pardy,—at most, it has the -ease and grace of flight.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It makes one envy the fish.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Ah, the dear things. I am so glad to be able to -think it really does not hurt them.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Hurt ’em?” said Tom. “They likes it, else why’d -they want it. They needn’t ’less they’re a mind to.”</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_33'>33</span> - <h2 class='c005'>CHAPTER III</h2> -</div> - -<div class='c006'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/dropcap_a.jpg' width='100' height='99' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi1_0'> -As they floated quietly down the river, -close to shore, under birch and beech -and pine and silky tamarack, the -delight of open air, the pleasantness -of the shifting pictures, the delicate, -changeful odors, even the charm -of the motion, were keenly felt by Rose. She was -falling under the subtle magic of this woodland life, -and lazily accepting the unobservant, half-languid -joy it brought. At last she said:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Papa, does it take you long to—well, to get -away from your work, so that you can fully enjoy -all this?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Three or four days; not more. I like at once the -feeling that I have nothing I must do. After awhile -the habit of using the mind in some way reasserts -its sway. At home I watch men. It is part of my -stock in the business of the law. Here I readjust my -mind, and it is nature I have learned to watch. I -was not a born observer; I have made myself one. -After a day or two on the water, I begin to notice the -life of the woods; the birds, the insects. This grows -on me day by day, and, I think, year by year. It is a -very mild form of mental industry, but it suffices to -fill the intervals of time when salmon will not rise.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_34'>34</span>“It is so pleasant to drift!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes; that is the charm of the life. Nobody elbows -you here; no rude world jostles your moods. -You may entertain the gentle melancholy of Penseroso -or the entire idleness of Adam before the apple -tempted him. You may be gay and noisy,—no one -is shocked; and then, the noble freedom of a flannel -shirt and knickerbockers! Why do we ever go back?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“There is a queer indefiniteness about it all to me,” -said Rose. “I cannot get into any full—I mean -interested—relation with the life and all there is in -it. I don’t say just what I mean.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I see, Rose: from Rome to this is a long way,—‘a -far cry,’ we say in Scotland. Let yourself go. Drift, -as you said.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Ah,” said Rose,</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“‘’Tis pleasant drifting, drifting,</div> - <div class='line'>Where the shores are shifting, shifting,</div> - <div class='line'>And the Dream God has the tiller,</div> - <div class='line'>And Fancy plies the oar.’</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>It is not always easy to drift, and I am not yet -enough at ease to drift. I find, Pardy, that the -changes at home are very great. I am getting slowly -used to them. The boys seem new creatures. You -are just the same. But mama! I am so sorry for -her.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That will come right, dear. The mother-wounds -heal slowly. As for me, I own to no discontent about -my boy’s death. Most people hold foolish notions as -to death. In my third chapter on Marcus Aurelius, I -have given a history of opinion about death. It has -<span class='pageno' id='Page_35'>35</span>had strange variations. Really, we are very stupid as -to the matter. The old heathen is fine about it: -‘Thou hast embarked. Thou hast made the voyage. -Thou art come to shore; leave the ship. There is no -want of Gods even there.’”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, but—I did not embark,” said Rose. “I was -put on as freight. I—”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“How horribly exact you are for a summer day! I -won’t argue with you; you love it. How quiet it is! -Not a leaf stirs. How completely peaceful! The -drowsiness of noon.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, it is like ‘the peace that is past understanding.’ -I never think of that phrase,” she added, after -a pause, “without a little puzzle of mind about it. -Aunt Anne says it is so altogether nice after a mournful -length of sermon; but Aunt Anne is terrible at -times. I often wonder what people who do not know -her well must think of her. What I mean is—Well, -it is hard to state, Pardy. Is the peace so great that -we have no earthly possibility of apprehending its relief -from the unrest of this life?—or that—Don’t -you dislike to stumble in thinking? I—it does not -seem to me as if I wanted peace. Is that dreadful?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No, dear. But some day you may, and there are -many kinds. I sometimes crave relief from mere intellectual -turmoil. Another yearns after the day -when his endless battle with the sensual shall cease. -One could go on. Perhaps for you, and for all, the -indefiniteness of the promise is part of the value of its -mystery. That is widely true. You may one day -come to love some man, and to entirely believe in his -promise of love. Yet you will not fully know what -<span class='pageno' id='Page_36'>36</span>that means,—you cannot; and yet you trust it, for -the inner life after all rests on a system of credits, -as business does. Do you follow me?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes,” she said, with a little doubt. “Yes, I think -I do; and yet it is not peace I want, if that means -just merely rest.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, no; surely not finality of action. Remember -that with that promise of peace is to come increase of -knowledge of God, which means all knowledge. We -see and hear now the beautiful in nature, and are -troubled by its apparent discords. There the true -harmonies of it all shall be ours to know. It is like -learning the reasons for the music we hear now with -only joy and wonder.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That may be so. To like or love a person, a -friend, is pleasant; but to love and also fully to understand -a friend is better. Then one is at ease, one -has true peace, because we have then knowledge with -love.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That was nicely put, my child, but one can’t talk -out in full such subjects as this. One can only sow -seed and trust to the fertilization of time. Where -did you get your quotation about drifting?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I do not know; Aunt Anne would.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, that, of course,” said Lyndsay; “she told us -once that not to know the name of the man you quote -is a form of ingratitude: to take the gift and forget -the giver.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That is so like her: to label want of memory as -intellectual ingratitude.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“When we laughed,” said Lyndsay, “she added that -quotations were mean admissions of our own incapacity -<span class='pageno' id='Page_37'>37</span>of statement. Claiborne was dining with us,—you -should have heard his comments. You know -how perplexingly droll she is at times, and when she -is in what the boys call a ‘gale’ of merry mind-play.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It sounds familiar. Aunt Anne is not above repeating -her jests. I recall it now. She insisted gaily -that it is bad manners to call up the spirit of a man, -and accept his contribution to your needs, and then -to say, ‘Sorry I forgot your name,’ and just show -him to the door of your mind. She is great fun, -sometimes.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, sometimes. The fun is not always honeyed, -or—if it looks so—of a sudden the bees crawl out -of it and sting folks; but who can wonder? If it -helps Anne to clap an occasional mustard-plaster on -me, dear lady, she is welcome.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Once, Pardy, in Venice, she was in dreadful pain, -and some women got in by mistake. She was perfectly -delightful to those people. When they went -away, I said, ‘Aunty, how much better you are!’ And -what do you think she replied? ‘You will never -know, dear, whether you have good manners or not -until you have pain for one of your visitors,’ and then -she fainted. I never knew her to faint, and I was -dreadfully scared.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“She ought to have excused herself,” said Lyndsay. -“It was heroic foolishness.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I suppose it was.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You need not suppose,—it was! I hate to think -of how she suffers. Look at yonder lot of firs and -spruce with the gray, green, drooping mosses on them. -After a rain that hillside looks like a great cascade. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_38'>38</span>You see the moss hangs in arrow-head shapes, like -those of falling water. It is so hard to set these -simple things in words—you can describe them with -half a dozen pencil-marks. I envy you the power. -I have to stick to my old habit of word-sketches, about -which our friend, the doctor, once wrote, as you know. -On Sunday we will have a run up-stream, and a big -wood-and-water chat.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>As he spoke the canoe slipped around a little headland, -and was at once close to the cliff camp.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That doesn’t look very peaceful,” cried Rose. -“Oh, they will be killed!” and she started up.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Keep still,” said her father; “you will upset us.” -What she saw looked grim enough: a tangle of three -boys, rolling down some fifteen feet of graveled -slope; then the three afoot; two or three savage -blows, fierce cries, and a sudden pause, as Lyndsay -called out:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Hullo there!—quit that, Jack! Stop, Ned!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Their faces were very red, their clothes covered -with dirt. There was silence and instant obedience. -Mrs. Lyndsay stood imploring at the top of the cliff, -and Anne was standing by with a queer smile on her -face, and her fingers in a book.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Who began it, boys? What is it all about?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Jack spoke first: “Dick hit Ned, and he’s too small -for him, and so I hit Dick.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“He might have let us alone. I’m as good as -Dick any time,” said the slightest of the lads, with -no show of gratitude.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“He said I was a fool,” explained Dick. “Ned’s -quite a match, but Jack can’t keep out of a row.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_39'>39</span>“And so it was two to one, was it? I can’t stand -that: no more fishing to-day or to-morrow, Master -Jack.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, sir.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And now, what was this war about?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Well, Ned he said Claverhouse was a bloody villain, -and I said he was a gallant gentleman, and Ned -said I was a fool.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That was a difference of sentiment which has cost -blood before,” laughed Anne, from the bluff. Ned -grinned as he wiped a bloody nose.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, do keep quiet, Anne,” said her brother; “this -is my affair. How is it, Ned, and you, Dick? Is it -settled? If not, there is room back of the house. -This fighting before women is not to my taste. But -is all this just as Dick says, Ned?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Why, father, I—I said it.” And Dick’s face -flushed.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You are right, sir; I beg pardon. As you seem -indisposed to have it out, shake hands; but an honest -shake. It must be peace or war; no sullenness.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“All right, sir. I’m sorry, Dick.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I’m not—very,” said Dick; but he put his hand -on Ned’s shoulder, and kindly offered a second handkerchief.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Now, you mad Indians, go and make yourselves -decent. It is time for luncheon.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Rose went up the cliff to where Miss Anne still -stood. “I think it is dreadful, most dreadful.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I used to, my dear, but on the whole it clears the -air, and the boys seem none the worse for it. Jack -is usually the ferment; Dick is hot of temper; and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_40'>40</span>Ned, my dear Ned, would die on the rack for a -sentiment.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>When the family sat down to the luncheon, a -stranger would have detected no evidence of the recent -warfare. The mother, once or twice, cast an -anxious look at the slight enlargement of Ned’s -nose, but, to the surprise of Rose, what had seemed -to her an angry contest made no kind of alteration -in the good humor of the lads. Ned was as usual -silent; but Dick and Jack were busily discussing the -color of the trout they had taken: some were dark, -some brighter in tint.</p> - -<p class='c007'>It was the good habit of this old-fashioned household -to invite the talk and questions of the children.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You got the blacker ones at Grime’s run, near the -mouth,” said Mr. Lyndsay; “the others in the river -below. Well, what do you make of it?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Isn’t the bottom dark in the places where the fish -are dark?” said Dick.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Put it backward,” replied his father, “and you -will have a part of the truth.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But how could that act?” said Dick.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It must act somehow,” said Jack.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Is it the light?” said Ned.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But light blackens the skin, or heat does,” reasoned -Dick.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“The true cause is curious. It is an action of light -through the eyes, and thence, by the brain pathways, -on to the numberless little pigment-cells of the skin, -which are able to shrink or enlarge, and thus change -the hue of the whole outside of the fish. Blind fish -do not change their hue.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_41'>41</span>“But that is not the way we get brown,” said Rose.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No, not at all. Sun-tan is not caused by the sun’s -heat; it is an effect of the chemical rays.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“A kind of photography, Pardy?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, more complete than you can fancy; the sunlight -falls nowhere without leaving a record, only we -cannot recover it as we can the photograph of the -camera. In fact, it is probable that every reflection -from everything and onto everything leaves positive -records. It was Professor Draper, I think, who -played with this pretty idea, that, if we had the -means of development, we might thus win back pictures -of every event since the world was made.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I like that,” said Anne. “What would one desire -to see if we could recover these lost memorials?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>There was a little pause at this.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Come, Ned.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, I’d want to see old Cromwell when he was -looking at Charles, just lying there dead.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But he never did see him then,” said Jack. “You -wouldn’t have wanted to, Ned, if you had been that -scoundrel.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, I should,” cried Ned; “I’d have known then -if I was right.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Anne looked at him aside, with brief curiosity. -He often puzzled her.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Cromwell a scoundrel!” he murmured to himself.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And you, Jack?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, the cemetery hill at Gettysburg, just when -the rebel line broke; but”—and his face flushed—“just -to have been there. That would have been -better.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_42'>42</span>“And what would you like to see, Anne?” said -Lyndsay.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, a hundred things!” and her eyes lit up. At -last she said, “Yes; I think if it were only one thing, -I would say, St. Paul on Mars’ Hill.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I think I shall rest content with Anne’s choice,” -said Mrs. Lyndsay. “But, ah me, there might be -many, many things.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Dick, it is your turn,” said Lyndsay.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I—I—don’t know. Yes, yes. The days of the -great lizards—and things,” he added, comprehensively; -“and that beast with a brain in his head and -one in his tail. And, father, may I see the insides of -that salmon? He has a lot of what the men call sea-lice -on him.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Certainly. He loses them very soon in fresh -water. It is a sign of a clean run fish. Yes, of -course. Do as you like, my boy.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Mrs. Maybrook was here this morning,” said Mrs. -Lyndsay. “I was away. You and Anne must see -her, Rose. She is really a personage. I, at least, -have never seen any one like her. She left word that -the little boy was sick at Joe Colkett’s,—the upper -clearing, you know, Archie; and could we do something -to help them? There is no doctor for fifty -miles. I thought, Rose, you might take some things, -and go over after lunch, and see what it is.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Now, Rose was salmon-bitten, but it was characteristic -that she said at once she would go. A glance at -the mother’s face decided her. Anne, who understood -everybody with strange readiness, nodded to her -gently, and Rose had her reward. It is pleasant to -<span class='pageno' id='Page_43'>43</span>be clearly read by those we love. Then the chat went -on, gay or grave, but plenty of it, and with ample -sauce of folly.</p> - -<p class='c007'>As the girl went out onto the porch, Lyndsay said -to his sister, “I was sorry for Rose. Her first day of -salmon-fishing. Sometimes my good Margaret is—well, -a little too positive about these confounded -duties. She might—”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No, Archie. Rose understood her mother. Of -course, she did not like it, but she was right, and was -perfectly sweet about it.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I shall take her up myself, and wait for her,” he -went on. “If we start early, she will be in time for -a late cast. Hang the black flies!—get a smudge, -Tom,” he called. “I suppose Margaret is right. Even -the simulation of goodness is valuable. Of course, -Anne, as Marcus Aurelius said, ‘Affect a virtue—’ -No, confound it! he says, ‘If you have not a virtue, -make believe to have it, and by and by you will -<a id='corr43.20'></a><span class='htmlonly'><ins class='correction' title='have it.”'>have it.’”</ins></span><span class='epubonly'><a href='#c_43.20'><ins class='correction' title='have it.”'>have it.’”</ins></a></span></p> - -<p class='c007'>Anne smiled. “I think there is a statute of limitations -for some of us.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Come into my room,” he added. “I want to read -you my last chapter. It is on the value of habits. -You can sew if you like.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Archie! You never saw me sew in your life. It -is Margaret’s resource, not mine. I never could comprehend -its interest for women. M. A. was a bit -of a prig in my opinion; but, as to the commentary, -look out,—previous experience should have -warned you,—there will be two commentaries,” and -she went in after him, laughing.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_44'>44</span>As he passed Rose, he said, “By the way, and to -put your conscience at ease before you fish again, -here is a note-book of mine in which you may see that -while hunting is forbidden to the clergy, fishing is -allowed. The reasons are amusing. Ned or Dick -will help you, but the Latin is easy.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Walton quotes it,” added Lyndsay.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No, only in part,” said Anne.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You are intolerable. Your literary conscience is -like Margaret’s moral exactness. There is no living -with either of you.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Don’t believe him, Rose; but keep for me the -quotation.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>She devoured books, and digested them also, with -the aid of a rather too habitual acidity of criticism; -but what was in them she never forgot.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Come, now, Archie.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Rose took the note-book and sat down. This was -what she read, from the Decretals of Lyons, 1671: -<span lang="la" xml:lang="la">“Sed quare prohibetur venari, et non piscari? Quia -forte piscatio sine clamore, venatio non; vel quia major -est delectatio in venatione; dum enim quis et in -venatione nihil potest de divinis cogitare.”</span><a id='r1' /><a href='#f1' class='c009'><sup>[1]</sup></a></p> - -<hr class='c010' /> -<div class='footnote' id='f1'> -<p class='c007'><a href='#r1'>1</a>. Until within two years, it was lawful to fish on Sunday in -New York, but unlawful to shoot.</p> -</div> -<hr class='c010' /> - -<p class='c007'>“Ambrose speaks of it in like manner in his third -homily,—the old humbug!” said Miss Rose, over -whose shoulder Dick had been looking.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I guess they took a sly shot, now and then, at the -king’s deer, Rosy Posy.”</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_45'>45</span> - <h2 class='c005'>CHAPTER IV</h2> -</div> - -<div class='c006'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/dropcap_a.jpg' width='100' height='99' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi1_0'> -About three o’clock, as Rose stood by -the canoe in a pretty hot sun, she -saw Ned and Dick making ready for -another trip to the brook.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Pardy,” she said, “do let Jack -go with them.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It won’t be half the fun without Jack,” urged -Ned. Lyndsay hesitated. “Well, yes, Rose.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>She was away up the steps in a moment, and found -Jack deep in an Arctic voyage.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You are to go, Jack,” she cried.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I don’t want to.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That’s a first-class fib.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Well, I don’t want to go.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Come, Jack; you hurt me; and I asked—”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“By George!” he cried, “I’ll go.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You must want to go.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I do.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Go and thank Pardy.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Jack stood a moment, and then Rose kissed him.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Drat you women!” said the youngster, and -walked away and down to the canoes. He went -straight to his father.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I am very much obliged to you, sir.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“All right, old man. Off with you.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_46'>46</span>“By George, Dick, but M. A. is a gentleman,” said -Jack, as the canoe left the beach. “He might have -rubbed it in, and he just didn’t.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“How’s your nose, you small poet cuss?” said Dick. -“I cut my knuckles on those sharp teeth of yours.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That’s what they’re for, Ruby”; and so they -were away, singing as they went:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“The king shall enjoy his own again,”—</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>to the amusement of the two Indians.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I should have sent the Gaspé men,” said Lyndsay -to Rose, as he stood following the canoe with his -eyes. “If anything happens, they would think first -of the boys, and next of themselves. In Mr. Lo I -have less faith.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But why?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Experience, prejudice, color—distrust. Once I -was on Lake Superior, Rose, in a boat in a storm. -Our two Indian guides simply lay down and wilted. -We could get no help from either. And a curious -thing happened that night. We landed on a beach at -the river of the Evil Manitou. When the Indians -learned that I meant to camp there, they tried to steal -a canoe and run away, explaining that to sleep there -would cause the death of some one of their people. I -could not stand this, because we needed the third -canoe. It ended by our keeping watch, revolver in -hand, all night. When we reached Duluth, an old -Indian—a Chippeway, of course—was waiting to tell -one of my guides that his sister had died that morning.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What did he say to you, papa?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Only, ’Me telly you so.’”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_47'>47</span>“And didn’t you feel very, very badly? You -know, dear M. A., you are quite a bit superstitious -yourself.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“As to the first question, No. I was sorry, but—Get -into the canoe—so—facing the bow. I sha’n’t -see your face when you talk, and I can fib without -those nice eyes of yours making righteous comments.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“A <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr"><em>tête-à-tête</em></span> back to back might have its advantages,” -she returned, laughing, “for a <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr"><em>cœur-à-cœur</em></span> at -least, papa.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I trust that is in the dim distance, my child.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“How serious you are, Pardy!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>He was troubled at times lest this best of his dear -comrades should find another man whom she would -love more than she loved the father-friend.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And,” she went on, “would you have shot the Indian -if he had taken or tried to take the boat, Pardy?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, no! The revolver was not loaded. Our Anglo-Saxon -fists would have answered, as we were four -to two.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But aren’t these Indians Catholics?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“If you mean that religion puts an end to these -little or large superstitions, No. Kismet, the Fates, -our Angle ancestors’ Wyrda—the goddess who decreed -deaths in battle and spared the brave awhile—she -became God for the Christian Angles: then the -will of God, and now the law of God, and for some -the laws of nature. It is only a transmutation of -phrase. We remain fatalists, and change the label.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But it seems to me,” said Rose, “a long way from -Wyrda, who was rather indecisive, I remember, to -changeless law.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_48'>48</span>“Rose, you are dreadful! If ever I begin to talk -loosely, down comes Anne or you with your confounded -rigidity of statement. Don’t marry a fool, -Rose, or he and you will have a dreadful time.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No, papa, never! Heaven forbid! But isn’t it -helpful at least to know—”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You can’t drag me any further into these deep -waters to-day.</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>‘To-day we give to trifles,</div> - <div class='line'>And if to-morrow rifles</div> - <div class='line'>The honey thefts we won,</div> - <div class='line'>At least the pleasant hours</div> - <div class='line'>Head down among the flowers,</div> - <div class='line'>Swinging jolly in the sun—’</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>nobody can quite take away. I forget the rest of it.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I am happy enough, dear Marcus Aurelius, to -dare to be grave. I have a pocketful of moods at -your order.</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>‘Eat, drink, and be merry,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Dance, sing, and rejoice,</div> - <div class='line'>With claret and sherry,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Theorbo and voice.’</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>For we all shall be past it a hundred years hence.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I don’t know that, Rose. I like to think, with -Anne, that in a world to come</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>‘The angel Laughter spreads her broadest wings.’</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>We may laugh at other things, but laugh we shall.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Dear Aunt Anne! The angel of laughter! I -think I can hear him.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Just to go back a moment, Rose. You can’t talk -out these deeper things. I, at least, must use the pen -<span class='pageno' id='Page_49'>49</span>if I am at all able to discuss them. There never was -truth in text or brief sayings that for me could stand -alone. Even a proverb needs limbs of comment to -get about usefully among mankind. Books of mere -maxims I detest. Don’t! I see you mean to reply. -Good-by to common sense to-day.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Aunt Anne was talking last night,” said Rose, -“about the value of nonsense. I think it was apropos -of just the very worst conundrum you ever heard,—you -know what a lot of them the boys have. This -one I have made a solemn vow never to repeat. She -was wondering why the novelists never make people -talk refreshing nonsense the way all really reasonable -folks do sometimes.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I wonder more, Rose, why they so rarely get -really good talk into their conversations, talk such -as we do hear, gay and grave by turns. Of course -they say of their characters things clever enough.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That is terribly true,—one tires of the endless -essays about their people. Why not let them say of -one another what is to be said. Aunt Anne says she -hates to have a critical providence forever hovering -about a story.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“A good deal of the personal talk in novels is -needed to carry on the tale. Still, there ought to be -room for doing this in a way to make the talk in -itself amusing at times, and not merely coldly developmental -of character.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Wait till I write my novel,” cried Rose. “Every -one in it shall be clever,—English clever. It hurts -my sense of the reality of the people in books to be -told they are able, or this and that, and have sense -<span class='pageno' id='Page_50'>50</span>of humor, and then not to find these qualities in -what they say.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You may have too much of it,” he returned. -“The mass of readers are unaccustomed to a selected -world where to want to amuse and interest, and to -be amused, is part, at least, of the social education. -Your book would lack readers, just as George Meredith’s -books do, where, surely, the people talk enough, -both of brilliant wisdom and as shining wit.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But they keep me in a state of mental tension; I -don’t like that.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No. I said there could be too much in a book, in -a novel. These books keep one on a strain. That -may suit some people, some moods, but it isn’t what -I read novels for. Now, Cranford is my ideal.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I knew you would say Cranford, papa. But isn’t -it a little too—too photographic? I met in the -Tyrol, papa, a lady who knew many of the people in -Cranford. Did you know it was called Knutsford?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Ah, Canute’s ford.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes. She told me such an odd thing about -Knutsford. When a bride is on her way to the -church the bridesmaids scatter sand before her, and -this is because when Canute crossed the ford he was -seated on the bank, and getting the sand out of his -shoe,—and just then a bride came over the stepping-stones; -the king cast the sand after her, and said, -‘May your offspring be as many as the sands in my -shoe.’ Now, isn’t that a pretty story?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“A <em>very</em> pretty story. I shall write it on the blank -page of my Cranford.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Hullo, Tom; are those bear-tracks?”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_51'>51</span>They were close now to a sandy beach.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, and fresh, too.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“If Jack saw this he would go wild,” said Rose. -“And the little marks?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Them’s cubs. They’ve been roun’ here a sight.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>As they went on, the hills became higher and more -steep. At their bases lay the wreckage of countless -years, the work of ice and heat and storms piled high -along the shores. It was covered with dense greenery -of beech and birch and poplar. Out of this, in -darker masses, broad columns of tamarack, pine, and -spruce seemed to be climbing the long upper slopes -of the hills which, still higher, lifted gray granite -summits, free of growths.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“How fast do we go?” said Rose.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It is good poling on this stream to make three -miles an hour. On the St. Anne there is one ten-mile -stretch which takes all day. Watch the movement -of using the poles. See how graceful it is,—the -strong push, the change of hands, the recovery. -Ah!—” Suddenly the bowman let go his pole, -which Tom seized as it came to the stern.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Now, that’s a good thing to see, Rose. He caught -it in the rocks, and let it go. If he held it, it would -break, or he go over, and possibly upset us,—no trifle -in these wild waters. It requires instant decision.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I see. Aren’t these the clearings?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>And now, on the farther side, the hills fell away, -and the stream grew broad and less swift. A wide -alluvial space, dotted with elms, lay to the left, with -here and there the half-hidden smoke of a log-house.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_52'>52</span>“Beyond this is a hopeless wilderness, my dear; -and to-morrow, Sunday, we shall go up and look at it. -And you shall draw a little, if you are wicked enough, -and I will make some word sketches.” They were -now poling along close to the farther shore.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Who is that fishing across the river?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It must be the island camp men.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Rose set her opera-glass and looked. In a moment -she put it down, conscious that the man in the boat -was doing as to her precisely the thing she had done. -She had a queer feeling that she did not like it; why, -she would have been puzzled to say.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Who are they? Oh, yes, I remember; you spoke -of them before.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“One is Mr. Oliver Ellett. I think he must be -Oliver Ellett’s son. We were at Harvard. The other -is a Mr. Carington.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“He’s an old hand up here. Fished here a heap -these years. Casts an awful nice line. Seed him yesterday. -Shot a seal last week, they was a-tellin’ me.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I should hate a man that could shoot a seal,” said -Rose. “They look so human, and, then, they can be -taught to talk. He can’t be a nice man.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Them seals spiles the fishin’, Miss Rose. They -ain’t got no business to spile the fishin’. As for them -seals a-talkin’, that’s a pretty large story, miss; -whatever, I don’t go to doubt you heerd ’em.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But it is true.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I’d like to <em>con</em>verse with one,” said Tom, in his -most liberal voice. “He’d git my opinion.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>And now the canoe was ashore, and Rose and her -father set out through the woods, and by and by -<span class='pageno' id='Page_53'>53</span>came upon a rude clearing and a rough-looking log-cabin, -surrounded with fire-scarred and decaying -stumps. The huge wood-pile, as high as the eaves, -struck Rose.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“How that makes one think of the terrible cold -and the loneliness of winter here,—no books, no company; -what can they do?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It recalls to me,” said Lyndsay, “the curious use of -the word ‘stove’ in Labrador, where, even more than -here, it is important. You ask how many people there -are, say, at Mingan? The reply is sure to be, ‘Oh, -there are twenty-seven stoves.’ But how many people? -‘I don’t know; there are twenty-seven stoves.’”</p> - -<p class='c007'>At the open door Lyndsay knocked, and in a -moment came through the gloom within a tall, sallow -woman. A soiled and much-mended brown gingham -gown hung down from broad but lean shoulders over -hips as lean and large. As she came to the door, she -hastily buttoned her dress awry across the fleshless -meagerness of her figure.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“How do you do, Mrs. Colkett?” said Lyndsay.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Now, ain’t it Mr. Lyndsay? I’m that wore out I -didn’t know you. Set down”; and she wiped a chair -and a rickety stool with the skirt of her gown. “I -didn’t know you, sir, till you came to speak. Was -you wantin’ Joe?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No; we came over because Dorothy Maybrook -left word your boy was sick. This is my daughter -Rose. We brought some lemons and other trifles. -The little man might like them.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>As she turned, Rose took note of the unkempt hair, -the slight stoop of the woman’s unusually tall figure, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_54'>54</span>and the shoeless, uncovered, and distorted feet. Not -less the desolate, comfortless cabin caught her eye,—the -rude wooden furniture, and the bed, whence came -the hoarse breathing of the sick child. To her surprise, -Mrs. Colkett said:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Dory Maybrook’s always a-fussin’ over other -folks’ concerns, ’stead of mindin’ her own affairs.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Lyndsay, who was standing beside Rose, looked -up at the woman.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I think,” he said, “Dorothy is incapable of wanting -to be other than kind.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“S’pose so. She might of let on she was goin’ -a-beggin’.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, it was not that,” cried Rose, bewildered by -the woman’s mode of receiving a kindness.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Dare say: maybe not. All the same, me and -Joe ain’t never asked no favors. Set down, miss.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No, thank you,” returned Rose, and began to -empty her basket of fruit and other luxuries.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“We came over,” said Lyndsay, “because my wife -thought you might need help.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It ain’t no use. It wasn’t never no use. That -boy’s a-goin’ like the rest.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I trust not so bad as that.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes; he’s a-goin’ like them others.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You have lost other children?” said Rose, gently, -looking up as she cleared the basket.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes; two, and he’s the last. They hadn’t no -great time while they was alive, and now they’re -lyin’ out in the wood, and no more mark over ’em -than if they was dead dogs. There won’t no one -care.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_55'>55</span>“Yes, I shall care; I do care, Mrs. Colkett. Oh, -isn’t it hard to say why such things do happen?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Happen!” said the woman. “Dorothy, she says -God took them children. I’d like to know why? -Preachin’ ’s easy business. God! What do I know -about God, except that he’s done nothin’ for me? -And I’m to be thankful,—what for?” As she spoke -a hoarse sound came from the bed. “For that poor -little man a-croakin’ there, I suppose!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>As Rose was about to reply, her father touched -her arm, and, understanding that argument was thus -hinted to be unwise, she said:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Let me see the little fellow?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You may, if you’ve a mind. ’Tain’t no good. -When it isn’t any good, it isn’t any good, and -that’s all there is to it.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Rose went up to the bed. A sickening odor filled the -close air. She saw beneath her a stout little boy of ten, -hot and dusky red with fever, his lips purple, two small -hands tightly locked, with the thumbs in the palms, -the head, soaked with the death-sweat, rolling rhythmically -from side to side. The woman followed her.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Has he had any one to see him?” said Lyndsay.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes. We had a doctor from down river. He -came twice. He wasn’t no use. He took ’most all -the money we had left.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“We shall be glad to help you.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Much obliged, sir. It’s only to bury him now. -There’s one mercy anyways,—it don’t cost much for -funerals up here. It’s just get a preacher and dig a -hole and my man to make a box. Thank you, all the -same.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_56'>56</span>Here was poverty so brutal in its results that even -the pretense of sentiment was absent. Rose was -troubled. Before her was death, and it was new to -her. She turned to her father. “Oh, can’t something -be done?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>He tried a moment with unprofessional awkwardness -to find the pulse. There was none he could feel. -“What did the doctor say? What is the matter with -the boy, Mrs. Colkett?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“He left some medicine stuff; but laws! the child -couldn’t take it. The doctor he says it’s diphthery, -or something like that. I don’t rightly know. It -don’t matter none.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>All this was said in a slow monotone, as if, Rose -thought,—almost as if the woman, the mother, had -been an uninterested spectator. After a pause she -added, in the same slow voice:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“If he’s goin’ he’ll go, and that’s all there is of it.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>At the word diphtheria, Lyndsay recoiled, pushing -Rose back from the bed. “Harry!” he exclaimed. -“It was that! Go out, Rose! Go at once!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Lord, is it ketchin’?” said the woman, shrinking -back from the bed. “That fool never said so. If -I’m to git it, I guess the mischief’s done. If Joe he -gits it, Hiram’ll have to make the box.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Come away, Rose.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>The girl was divided between horror and pity. At -the door she turned.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I am not afraid. Let me stay, father,—I must -stay!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No; it is useless, and might be worse than useless.” -As she obeyed him, a short, squat figure of a -<span class='pageno' id='Page_57'>57</span>man coming into the doorway darkened the dimly lit -room. He moved aside as Rose went out into the -sun. Lyndsay went by him also, and the man, turning -back, said, “It’s about all over, I guess. We’ve -got more’n we can handle, sir. Seems there’s no -end of troubles.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Come this way,” returned Lyndsay. “And you, -Rose, wait by the fence.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>He saw but too clearly that the stout, ruddy little -man had been taking whisky. Joe Colkett followed -him.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Good Lord, my man, that child is dying,—will -be dead, I am sure, before night; and here you are in -liquor just when that poor woman most wants help.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I ain’t that drunk I can’t do chores. Fact is, Mr. -Lyndsay, I went down to ask Dory Maybrook jus’ to -lend me a little money. That doctor he took most -all my wood wage.”<a id='r2' /><a href='#f2' class='c009'><sup>[2]</sup></a></p> - -<hr class='c010' /> -<div class='footnote' id='f2'> -<p class='c007'><a href='#r2'>2</a>. Money earned by lumbering in the winter woods.</p> -</div> -<hr class='c010' /> - -<p class='c007'>“Well?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“She wouldn’t do it.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Well?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“She said she’d come up and help, an’ if my old -woman wanted any she might have it. That ain’t no -way to treat a man.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No,” said Lyndsay, with such emphasis as satisfied -his own conscience, and also the duller sense -of the lumberman. “No,—that is not the way to -treat a <em>man</em>. Listen to me, Joe: Don’t drink any -more.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I ain’t any,” said Joe.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Really?”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_58'>58</span>“Not a drop. It was just a bit I had left.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Come to me when it is all over, and I will pay the -doctor’s bill, and you can help clear off the brush -back of my cabin.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Thank you, sir.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You don’t drink often, I think. Why should you -now? Was it trouble—about your child?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“He wasn’t my child.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What!” exclaimed Lyndsay, puzzled; “how is -that?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“My wife was a widder, you see, and them was all -her first man’s; I never had no child. ’T ain’t like it -was my own child. He was awful spiled, that boy. -I licked him two weeks this Sunday comin’ for makin’ -fire by the wood-pile. Gosh, what a row Susie did -make!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“My God!” exclaimed Lyndsay.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The man understood him well enough.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, I don’t go to say I didn’t like him none. -Lord, I’d done most anything to git that boy well. -I wanted that money to help put him underground. -It don’t cost much buryin’ up here, but it ain’t to be -done for nothin’, and you’ve got to look ahead. -There’s the minister’s got to be fetched, and—and—”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Here the man sat down on a stump, and putting a -palm on each temple and an elbow on each knee, -looked silently down at his mother earth.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Respect for the moods of men is one of the delicacies -of the best manners. Lyndsay was still a -minute. Then he put a hand on Joe’s shoulder.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“How else can we help you?”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_59'>59</span>“It’s my woman I’m a-thinkin’ of.” He spoke -without looking up. “This thing’s the last and the -wust,—it’s goin’ to down her awful. And there ain’t -nothin’ I can do,—nothin’!” Here he passed his -sleeve across his eyes, and then glanced at the unaccustomed -moisture, and had a dulled remembrance -of having cried long years before; he failed to recall -why or just when.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You’re a-thinkin’ I’m a mean man to be a-drinkin’ -and that child a-dyin’ in yon; and that woman! That’s -where it gits a man. I ain’t been a bad man to her; -I’ve took care of them children right along, Mr. -Lyndsay, and I never beat her none, and I don’t mind -me I ever used no bad words to her, not when I was -wore out, and—and—hadn’t a shillin’, and was -busted up with blackleg.<a id='r3' /><a href='#f3' class='c009'><sup>[3]</sup></a> I don’t git it clear, sir; -I don’t care most none for that child, but she might -kill me if it would git it well. I don’t see nothin’ to -do but drink, and that’s the fact.”</p> - -<hr class='c010' /> -<div class='footnote' id='f3'> -<p class='c007'><a href='#r3'>3</a>. The scurvy of the lumberman,—more rare nowadays.</p> -</div> -<hr class='c010' /> - -<p class='c007'>Lyndsay stood silent in thought. He had seen -enough of life not to wonder that drink could be distinctly -regarded as, under stress of circumstances, an -available resource. He had also seen men or women -capable of a single affection, and of only one. What -there was to know of this man’s relations to his wife -and her offspring had been uncovered with frank brutality. -He had said there was nothing for him except -to drink.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But if you love your wife, my man, you want to -help her, and if you drink you are useless,—and, in -fact, you add to her troubles.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_60'>60</span>“It ain’t that, sir. Fact is, she don’t care a’most -none for me,—and there’s the truth. You wouldn’t -think, sir, what a pretty woman she was. She took -me to get them children a home and feed. Dory, she -knows. I ain’t given to tellin’ it round, but you’re -different. Somehow it helps a man to say things -out.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Here was the strange hurt of a limited tenderness, -with all this rudeness of self-disclosure, and, too, -some of the stupid, careless immodesty of drink.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I take it kindly,” said Lyndsay, “that you have -told me the whole of your troubles. Come over and -see me. I left some tobacco on the table for you.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Much obliged, sir,” and, rising, Joe took Mr. -Lyndsay’s offered hand. “I’ll come,” he said, and -walked back toward the cabin, while Lyndsay, beckoning -to Rose, turned into the ox-road which led to -the shore.</p> - -<p class='c007'>For a while they were silent. Then he said, “This -child is dying of a fever; no word of the diphtheria -to your mother or even to Anne.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“One can escape mama easily, but Aunt Anne is a -relentless questioner.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I will speak to her.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That would be better, I think. How horrible it -all was! And that woman! Do you think she really -did not care?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No, no, dear. Imagine a life of constant poverty, -utter want of means,—to-day’s wages meaning to-morrow’s -bread; a cruel soil; a mortgaged farm at -that; then one child after another dying; the helplessness -of want of money; the utter lack of all resources; -<span class='pageno' id='Page_61'>61</span>the lonely, meager life. This woman has -the moral disease of one long, unchanging monotony -of despair.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I see—I see—you know more, and that makes -you forgive more.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Some one has said, Rose, that to be able to explain -all is to be able to forgive all, and that only One can -truly explain all.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It seems to me, Pardy, that poverty has more -temptations in it than wealth, and more explanations -of sin, too. Isn’t the man a brute, Pardy? He had -been drinking, and to drink at such a time!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No; he is coarse, but not a bad fellow. You or I -would have much we could turn to if trouble came -upon us. This man has nothing. It does not surprise -me that he drank. It is not his habit. But let -us drop it all now. I am sorry I took you.” He was -not unwise enough to speak of the anguish of dread -which had possessed him as he stood by the bedside, -and now made haste to add, “And yet the lesson was -a good one. You won’t want to fish, I fear?” He -had in some ways appreciative touch of his kind, and -knew the daughter well.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No, no; not to-day. Let us go home.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“As you please, dear”; and they slid away swiftly -down the gleaming water as the evening shadows -crept across the stream.</p> - -<p class='c007'>After awhile Rose said, looking up, “You must -have seen, oh, so many people die, Pardy.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes; Death was for four years a constant comrade. -I had always a firm belief I would not be -killed. Some men were always predicting their -<span class='pageno' id='Page_62'>62</span>own deaths; others carefully avoided the question. -I know one very gallant fellow who was always a -gay comrade in camp, and almost abnormally merry -in battle unless the fight took place on a day of the -month which was an odd number. Then he was sure -to think he would be killed. Men in war are like -gamblers, and have queer notions as to luck. You -knew that child was dying?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“How did you know it?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I cannot tell. What troubled me, Pardy, was—I -think what troubled me—was the loneliness of -death; that little fellow going away and away, all -by himself.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, dear.</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>‘Once, once only, love must drop the hand of love!’”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>“But what a horrible woman! I can’t help thinking -that.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Was she? Perhaps; I don’t know.” His charity -was older than hers.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Did you notice, Rose, her sad fatalism: if the -child was to die, it would die?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes; it was a strange illustration of our talk.”</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_63'>63</span> - <h2 class='c005'>CHAPTER V</h2> -</div> - -<div class='c006'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/dropcap_w.jpg' width='100' height='104' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi1_0'> -We have so far heard little of Mrs. -Lyndsay; but, in fact, she was -usually more felt than heard in the -every-day life of the household. -Archibald Lyndsay said, “She had -but one defect, and that was not a -fault. She was so entirely good that she lacked all -human opportunity for the exercise of repentance.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“There is no credit to be had in this world, my -dear, for monotony of virtue,” said Anne Lyndsay. -“When you do some of your sweet, nice things, that -cost you no end of trouble, people merely say, ‘Oh, -yes, Margaret Lyndsay! but she likes to do that kind -of thing.’ For my part I prefer that wise mixture -of vice and virtue which gives variety of flavor to -life, and now and then adds the unexpected.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>This was said at breakfast on Sunday morning, -the day after Rose had seen the dying lad, who now -lay quiet in the dismal cabin where the mother sat -angrily brooding over her loss.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Lyndsay had spoken of some pleasant act of -thoughtful kindness on the part of his wife; and as -Anne, laughing, made her comment, Margaret had -shaken a menacing finger at her kindly critic, saying -quietly:</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_64'>64</span>“Oh, I think we are very much alike, Anne”; at -which there was a general outbreak of mirth, for -these people were much given to laughter.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Lyndsay declared that he had observed the resemblance.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And the boys inherit our goodness,” added Anne, -demurely. “At least, it seemed to me I had evidence -of it pretty early to-day; but then the hymn -says, ‘<em>Let</em> boys delight to bark and bite.’ I disremember -the rest, as Peter, our cook, says.” At this -Ned gave his aunt’s gown a gentle pull, by way of -respectfully intimating that she was getting them -into difficulties.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“‘Let’ is permissive,” she went on. “I was not -really disturbed, Archie”; for her brother was now -curiously regarding a rather distinct scratch on Dick’s -ruddy cheek.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Raspberry thorns, Dicky?” he said, maliciously.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No, sir.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Sleep-cats,” said Anne. “That was always our -nursery explanation.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What then? Another row? I thought we had -had enough for a week.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And on Sunday morning, Dick!” said the mother. -“I wouldn’t.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Anne looked up, amused at this latter declaration.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Never mind, Margaret,” said her husband. “What -was it about, boys?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, it wasn’t much of a row. It was only a -scrimmage,” said Dick. “Ned said King James cut -off Raleigh’s head because he would smoke tobacco. -Did you ever hear such nonsense?”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_65'>65</span>“But Aunt Anne told me King James wrote a -book against smoking,—didn’t you, aunt?” urged -the smaller lad.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And I said it was ridiculous,” cried Dick.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And Jack he up and said it wasn’t, because if he -was a king, and people didn’t do as he wanted, he -would cut off their heads, like that,” said Ned, knocking -off the end of an egg, by way of illustration.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And so we had a melley,” remarked Jack. “It -wasn’t much, and that’s all there was of it. <em>I</em> don’t -see why people make such a fuss.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Suppose you let this suffice for the day, you -rascals,” said Mr. Lyndsay.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, sir.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And it wasn’t Raleigh who brought tobacco to -England, was it, Aunt Anne?” said Ned. “I told -Dick it was Hawkins, and he wouldn’t believe me. -I saw it in—”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Where?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Ned hesitated. His habit of lying on his stomach -on the floor in the long winter afternoons, with some -monstrous quarto, was matter for unending chaff on -the part of the twins.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Where was it, old Book Gobbler?” cried Dick. -“Where was it?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It was in Hollinshead’s Chronicles,” returned the -lad, coloring.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You are right,” said Aunt Anne. “You would -do better to read a little more yourself, Jack, than to -laugh at Ned.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What’s the use, if I am going to West Point?” -said Jack.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_66'>66</span>“You will find out, I fancy, when you get there,” -remarked Rose. “I am told it is dreadful.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Well, there’s time enough to think about it,” returned -Jack, with his usual philosophical calm. “I -wish it wasn’t Sunday. Oh, dear!” and he groaned -in anticipation of the dullness of the day.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Jack!” exclaimed the mother. “Oh, Jack!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Well, you can’t go to church, and there’s no fishing; -and, mother, you know you don’t like us to read -novels on Sunday, and I’ve read voyages until I -know all there are up here,—and I don’t see what a -fellow is to do.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I shall read the service before you all scatter.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Well, that doesn’t take long.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>As a means of passing the time, this device of her -sister-in-law enormously delighted Anne. “I confess -to a certain amount of sympathy with the unemployed. -It is a Sabbath lockout.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Margaret turned on her with abruptness; but -Lyndsay said, quickly:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“My dear Anne, this is Margaret’s business. Keep -out of other folks’ small wars. You are as bad as Jack.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That is true, Archie. I am a conversational free -lance. I beg pardon, Margaret, I will never, never -do it again.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Not until the next time,” returned Mrs. Lyndsay, -with unusual ascerbity. “It is really of no moment,” -she added, “but I like to manage the boys myself.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You are right. I was wrong to meddle.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I propose,” said Lyndsay, “that the two Gaspé -men shall take you fellows up the Arrapedia. You -will find it hard work if they let you pole, and you -<span class='pageno' id='Page_67'>67</span>can’t drown there if you try; and the black flies, -mosquitos, and midges will make you miserable. -And, Jack, come here,—nearer. This in your ear: -at the second bend there is an old clearing, and under -the eaves of the cabin—now, don’t let it out—there -is a mighty nest of hornets. I recommend it to your -attention. I owe them a grudge.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Jack’s face flushed with joy.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Thank you, sir.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Mrs. Lyndsay said, “What is it, Archie?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, nothing; a little secret between Jack the -Giant Killer and his pa.” Lyndsay had a pretty distinct -notion that fighting hornets as a Sunday distraction -would not be altogether to his wife’s taste.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Don’t tell, Jack.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No, sir.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Honor bright!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“All right, sir.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Won’t you tell us?” asked Ned of his father.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But I have an irresistible curiosity,” said the boy.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And I have an impenetrable resolution to hold -my tongue. You are to sail under sealed orders.” -One of his delights was to offer problems to this -sturdy young intellect. “Suppose, sir,”—and he put -the old scholiast question,—“If the impenetrable -were to meet the irresistible, what would happen?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That would be a row,” said Jack.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Ned had a deep dislike to being beaten by these absurd -questions. His detestation of intellectual defeat -was as deep as his brother’s disgust at physical discomfiture. -He hesitated, flushed, and replied:</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_68'>68</span>“It couldn’t be at all, father, because it says in the -Bible that the world will be destroyed, and, if there -was an impenetrable, that couldn’t be at all,—I say it -<em>couldn’t</em> be.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Shade of Confucius!” exclaimed Anne.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But suppose.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I can’t.” He had a sense of wrath at the question. -At last he said, “You might as well ask a fellow -what would happen if the impossible met the incomprehensible.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Glory! what dictionary words!” cried Dick.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Pretty well, old fellow,” said Lyndsay, laughing -as they rose.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, I hate things like that.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Rose, Rose, put some lunch in a basket. We -shall make a day of it. We will take the skiff and -Tom. Put my note-book and pencils in the basket, -and your sketch-book; and don’t forget my field-glass. -Won’t you come, Margaret?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No; I am going to Mrs. Maybrook’s this morning, -and, Archie, I want Hiram to attend to something at -the church where Harry is. Don’t trouble about me.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Anne, won’t you come with us?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No; I am not good for all day. I shall go and -have a talk with Mrs. Maybrook this afternoon. If I -lie down until then, I may manage it. Margaret says -it sweetens one for a week to see that woman. I -mean to try the recipe.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I am getting very curious about her,” said Rose; -“and there is so much to do, and I must catch a -salmon to-morrow.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“We kill salmon,” said Lyndsay.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_69'>69</span>“But you catch them with a pole and a line.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No; they catch themselves; and we call it a rod, -miss, please.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, Marcus Aurelius.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“At ten o’clock, sauce-box; and get your wits in -order.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Ay, ay, sir!” and she touched her forehead and -went to secure their lunch.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Anne took a book, as usual, and went out to lie -under the porch in a hammock. The boats got away, -and still she lay quiet. Delicate of features, the -mouth and large gray eyes her only beauties; her -nose fine, but large for the rest of her face, and aquiline; -her forehead square, with a mass of brown hair -set too high above its pallor for good looks, perhaps -justified the common notion that Anne Lyndsay -never had been even pretty. Years of pain and endurance -had lessened, not increased, her natural irritability, -and given to her face an expression of singular -force. It may be added that she was a trifle vain -of the small hands and feet which she, like all of her -people, possessed.</p> - -<p class='c007'>As she lay at more than usual ease, dreamily happy -as she noticed the sun, the shadows, and the far-stretching -curves of the river, she saw a dugout, -what in the North is called a pirogue,<a id='r4' /><a href='#f4' class='c009'><sup>[4]</sup></a> put out from -the farther bank. A woman stood in the stern and -urged it across the swift current with notable -strength and dexterity. Presently it ran onto the -beach, and Dorothy Maybrook came up the steps, a -basket in her hand.</p> - -<hr class='c010' /> -<div class='footnote' id='f4'> -<p class='c007'><a href='#r4'>4</a>. Spanish, <span lang="es" xml:lang="es"><em>piriagua</em></span>.</p> -</div> -<hr class='c010' /> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_70'>70</span>As to most things, all books, and people in general, -Anne Lyndsay had a highly vitalized curiosity; but, -as to this woman, it was more eager than usual. She -was mildly skeptical as to the fact that the wife of a -small Quaker farmer, illy educated, and, of course, -without the tact which makes sympathy acceptable, -could have been what Margaret Lyndsay said this -woman had been to her in the last summer’s trial. -Anne was apt to distrust Mrs. Lyndsay’s unwonted -enthusiasms. Also, this invalid lady was very democratic -in theory, but by nature’s decree an aristocrat, -whether she would or not. Thus, Anne Lyndsay -was now a little on her guard, and more curious than -she would have liked to have been thought.</p> - -<p class='c007'>But when, as Dorothy Maybrook advanced, a pair -of large gray eyes came into the horizon of another -pair almost as luminous, Anne, as she afterward explained, -felt something akin to fascination. She made -up her mind as Mrs. Maybrook approached that her -facial expression was one of strange purity of repose. -The next moment Miss Anne cast a foot over the -hammock’s edge, and made an effort to rise, in order -to greet the new-comer. But to get out of a hammock -with ease is not given to mortals to achieve -without much practice, and as all rapid movements -were sure to summon at once her unrelenting enemy, -pain, she fell back with a low exclamation, wrung -from her by pain so extreme that she was quite unprepared. -Sudden anger stirred within her, because -she had so plainly betrayed her feelings to one who -had been described to her as full of sympathy and -almost incredibly competent to notice the peculiarities -<span class='pageno' id='Page_71'>71</span>of men and things. If this woman should dare -to pity her, in words or with looks!</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Good morning. Mrs. Maybrook, I am sure. I -am Miss Lyndsay,” said Miss Anne, in her most tranquil -voice, and it was capable of many tones.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Said Dorothy to herself, “That woman isn’t long -for this world.” What she said aloud was:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, I’m Dorothy Maybrook. I brought over -some wild strawberries for Mrs. Lyndsay. They’re -very early, but there’s a sort of little nest right -back of our clearing, and the sun gets in there constant,—seems -as if it couldn’t ever get out,—and it -hatches the berries two weeks before they’re done -blooming anywhere else.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Thank you,” said Anne, who was making a difficult -effort to catch with the foot outside of the hammock -a slipper lost in the foiled attempt to rise.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Mrs. Maybrook set down the berries, and without -a word went on her knees, took the dainty slipper, -lifted the foot, bestowed a glance of swift curiosity -upon it as she put on the slipper, and gently replaced -the foot in the hammock.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Sakes alive! If I was a man, I’d just say it’s -beautiful. Being a woman, I’d like to know how -you walk on them?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, I don’t very much; not nowadays,” returned -Anne, smiling. “Thank you.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>It was a neat little shot, although quite unconscious -of aim. Miss Anne tried to think she disliked both -the help and the outspoken admiration. She made a -feeble effort to generalize the compliment, and so to -get away from its personal application:</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_72'>72</span>“It’s a family failing, Mrs. Maybrook. Even our -men have absurdly small hands and feet. I should -have offered you a camp-chair. Get one, please, out -of the house. I am quite incapable of helping any -one,—even myself.” Mrs. Maybrook did as Anne -desired, and sat down.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“My sister-in-law was going to see you to-day. -Shall I call her! She must be in her room.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, there’s time enough. That’s the only thing -we have a plenty of up here. We ain’t time-starved, -I can tell you.” Anne began to be interested. Quaintness -of phrase was a thing so rare. For a few -minutes she had been struggling with one of her few -weaknesses. At last she gave way:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Excuse me, but would you be so kind as to put -the basket of strawberries in the house? The sun -will spoil them.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, but the sun is good for them. They won’t -take any hurt.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But I shall. The fact is, when I was a girl I was -picking strawberries in the White Hills, and a snake—oh, -a rattlesnake—struck at me. I have been ever -since unable to endure the odor of strawberries. I -think it becomes worse as I grow more feeble. It is -very absurd.” She was absolutely pleading her -weakness to this simple woman, and had ceased for -the time to be self-critical.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Mrs. Maybrook rose, and without more words, after -carrying the basket to the cook’s house, returned -around the cabin to her seat facing Miss Anne. The -smile she wore as she came back would usually have -been taken by Anne for vulgar comment on her own -<span class='pageno' id='Page_73'>73</span>display of what might, with reason, have been taken -for pure affectation. Now it struck Anne as being like -her own habit of smiling large, or smiling small, as -she said, at some humorous aspect of the passing hour.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What amuses you?” she queried pleasantly.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, I was just a-thinking you might feel about -those berries like Mrs. Eve might of felt when she -was coming on in years and one of her grandchildren -fetched her a nice, red apple. Guess he got warmed -for it. Sandals might have come handy in big -families, those days!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Anne looked up, laughing gaily, and noting by the -exception how rarely Mrs. Maybrook failed in her -grammar.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Delightful! Now I feel historically justified. Are -there any snakes here?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, no; none to hurt. But, bless me, I never can -hear about snakes without thinking of Sairy Kitchins.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And what was that?” said Miss Lyndsay, enjoying -talk with a mind as fresh and unconventional as -her guest’s.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, it ain’t much. You see, I’ve had asthma so -bad that Hiram and me, since the children are gone, -we have traveled here and there, trying to find a -place where I wouldn’t have it.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Have you suffered much?” said Anne.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes,—quite my share. But there are worse -things.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That is so.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Hiram and me get along most anywhere. We -have a bit of money,—not overmuch. We are both -pretty handy, and once we tried it two years down -<span class='pageno' id='Page_74'>74</span>South, at Marysville, in Alabama. That was a right -nice place for snakes.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Gracious Heavens! You talk as if you liked -them.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Well, they’re handsome, and brave, and don’t -want to hurt you; and how many men can you say -that about?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“A fair defense,” said Anne; “but what of Sairy -Kitchins? I love a story; I am like a child.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Well, Sairy she had just come that spring. She -was the wife of one of them Methodist preachers that -don’t be let to bide long anywhere,—the kind that -goes about the land seeking whom they may devour. -As I came along the road with her there was a six-foot -rattler lying right across in the sun. Down went -Sairy on her knees. ‘Good lands!’ said I, ‘what’s -the good prayin’ to that reptile? A whole camp-meeting -couldn’t convert him.’ Well, we couldn’t -get by him, and so I got a good, big stick of live oak, -and fetched him a crack on the head, and one or two -more to make sure. Then I said, ‘Come along, Sairy; -he won’t sin any more; if that fool of a woman, Eve, -had had any sense, and a live-oak stick handy, there -wouldn’t have been no need of you and me going to -meeting this hot day.’”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I should think not,” cried Anne, laughing. “And -what did Sairy say? I am quite on her side.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, she told her husband, and I got prayed over a -heap. It’s amazing how clear those preachers see the -sins of other people.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I think it a delightful story. I shall tell the boys -to-night. I haven’t laughed as much in a month.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_75'>75</span>“Dear me! It must be ten o’clock,” said Mrs. Maybrook, -looking up at the sun, “and I must see Mrs. -Lyndsay, and go home to cook Hiram’s dinner. But -I would like to see the house. You know last year -they tented. When I was here yesterday no one was -about, and so I did not go in to look. I was dying to -see it.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Anne smiled. “Help me a little.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>The hand she met with hers was strong, well-modeled, -and—if tanned by sun, and showing signs of -toil in the broken nails—was, like the gown, scrupulously -clean. Dorothy wore no head-cover, and her -hair, which was fine and abundant, lay in flat, old-fashioned -style on her temples, and was caught back -in an ample and perfectly neat coil. Again, as Anne -rose, the look of repose on Dorothy’s face, and also -the absence of lines of care, struck her no less than -the regularity of features. There was none of the -slouch of labor; Dorothy sat erect, without touching -the back of the chair; a woman of fifty or over, and -still keeping many of the gracious curves of feminine -maturity.</p> - -<p class='c007'>But what interested Anne most in Mrs. Maybrook -as they moved about the room—which was hall, -dining-room, and sitting-room—was her simple pleasure -in the white curtains Mrs. Lyndsay had tied up -with gay ribbons, the cane seats, and the covers of -light Eastern stuffs, not very remarkable or costly, -but, as it seemed, pleasing to the visitor. Anne -thought she would have noticed the books, but of -these she made no mention, albeit the collection was -odd enough, because every one had brought what -<span class='pageno' id='Page_76'>76</span>they liked, and the cleverly built book-shelves Pierre -had made were full to overflow.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Very soon Mrs. Lyndsay appeared, gave the visitor -a more than usually warm welcome, and at last asked -about the Colketts and the child.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It died last night,” said Mrs. Maybrook. “I was -up there pretty early to-day. They’re awful hard -folks to help any; it’s like setting up ten-pins, and -down they go, in a minute. Hiram says they haven’t -any ‘gitalongativeness.’ That’s a great word with -Hiram.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Do they want help? What is there we can do?” -said Mrs. Lyndsay.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I wouldn’t know to tell you. Oh, dear, if I was -that man, I’d drink, too.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No! No!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, I’d drink! He did, some, yesterday; but -I judge he’s taken none since Mr. Lyndsay was -there. The fact is, Mrs. Lyndsay, Susan Colkett -cared more for those children of hers than for her -first man or Colkett, or anybody else, except herself. -She’s just savage now, like a bear that has had its -cubs taken away. And the worst of it is, she hasn’t -got the means of wisdom in her, and never had, or -else she’d have seen you can’t live in a pigsty and -bring up live children. Oh! You were asking if -they want anything?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, Dorothy.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Well, Mr. Carington he went over yesterday -afternoon. I guess he took the short cut or he would -have met Mr. Lyndsay coming out. Mr. Carington -must be a pretty nice man. There’s not many as -<span class='pageno' id='Page_77'>77</span>young would give up Saturday afternoon fishing, -even a bit of it, to go and see about a sick brat. -Fishermen’s generally right selfish. He left them -twenty dollars. But he had the high-up sense to -give it to Susie. He’s a well set-up young man; I -saw him poling a pirogue across. It takes a lot of -judgment in a man’s legs to handle a dugout.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But you do it well, I fancy,” said Anne.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, but I’m a woman.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Good,” said Miss Lyndsay, and went out, leaving -the others to talk alone.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Then Dorothy said, “What troubles that woman -the most you couldn’t think, not if you lived as long -as Noah.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And what is it?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It’s because there won’t be any tombstone. -They’re all buried in the wood back of the cabin. -Poor little kittens, just dead drownded in filth. She -had better have thought more for them when they -were alive.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I will speak to Mr. Lyndsay about it.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It would be just that much wasted.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Money is well wasted sometimes. You might -think of the box of ointment, Dorothy.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It’s a long way between them two wastings.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Perhaps. I don’t know. We shall see.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Well, I must go and cook Hiram’s dinner. Good-by.” -And she went out and down to her dugout.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What do you think of her, Anne?” said Mrs. Lyndsay, -as the maiden lady came out of her own room.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I think her most interesting, and altogether a -remarkable person.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_78'>78</span>“A heart of gold!” said Mrs. Lyndsay. “You -cannot imagine, Anne, what that woman was to me -last summer.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I can,—I think I can now.” Mrs. Lyndsay went -back to some household occupation, and Anne, returning -to her hammock, lay thoughtfully watching -the retreating pirogue and its capable guide, and -smiling ever as was her habit.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Then she spoke aloud:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That beats Marcus Aurelius. To have lost all -her children, to have had sickness,—poverty, and not -a wrinkle to record it all. That woman must have -the self-contentment of a first-class angel. Ah, me!” -And she turned again to the “Life of John, Lord -Lawrence,” and was soon smiling over it, for in her -heroic lives found glad and ready recognition.</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_79'>79</span> - <h2 class='c005'>CHAPTER VI</h2> -</div> - -<div class='c006'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/dropcap_t.jpg' width='100' height='101' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi1_0'> -The light Gaspé canoe sped away up -stream close to the shores, with -Archibald Lyndsay and Rose. They -were contentedly quiet for an hour -or more, and at last left behind them -the island camp and its white tents, -and then the last of the clearings and the lower -alluvial meadows with their richly feathered elms. -As they went on, the hills were more abrupt and -closer to the river, or precipitous past the power of -the hardiest pines to find more than here and there -a foothold.</p> - -<p class='c007'>And now Lyndsay laughed, and Rose, curious, -inquired why.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I was thinking of the boys”; and he told her -of the hornets’ nest.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I don’t think the dear mother will like it,” said -Rose.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Perhaps,—oh, assuredly not; but what on earth -can one do with three young steam-engines?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It’s very, very dreadful, papa, and do not tell; -but I would like to be present at the siege of the -hornets’ nest. It must be awfully good fun.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What was that you said?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I said awfully good fun. And also I desire to -<span class='pageno' id='Page_80'>80</span>add that this is my day, and I shall say what I please, -do what I please, talk slang and bad grammar by the -yard if I want to.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“As you like,—I make but one condition: there is to -be none of that wading into deep waters of which you -and Anne are so fond. I get enough of that at home, -in my work. This is to be a tree-and-water day. I -want to push on first up to the burnt lands. Some -twenty years ago the upper country was burned off, -so that, between the hills and the river are long -abrupt slopes with low underbrush and millions of -dead trees. The tops of the hills are also covered -with the same mighty stubble.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But that cannot be beautiful.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No and yes. I fished above there one year, and -for some days I found the desolation most oppressive. -Then, one evening, I saw something in these gray -dead trees, and ever since I have seen in them more -and more that is strange or even beautiful.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I think I have felt like that at times,—as if of a -sudden I had become another person, and saw with -strange eyes. Once we were looking at Ruysdael’s -pictures; it was at Amsterdam, and Aunt Anne said -how delightful it would be just in a moment to see -the world of things as a great master does, or the -world of men as a poet may.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What spirit made me his own I do not know, my -dear,” said Lyndsay; “but, if he fled, he left me some -permanent property. There is a bit of St. Clair’s -verse which puts it fairly.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And it is—Pardy?”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_81'>81</span>“I think I can repeat it, but I am never sure about -my quotations:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>‘If from the vantage of thy wiser heart</div> - <div class='line in2'>I could look out on nature through thine eyes,</div> - <div class='line'>I think that I should learn a novel art,</div> - <div class='line in2'>And joyful capture some divine surprise.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>The tiny morrow of the opening rose,</div> - <div class='line in2'>With kindred comment of thy genius viewed,</div> - <div class='line'>Might to love’s wisdom eagerly disclose</div> - <div class='line in2'>The mystery of some new beatitude.’</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>Perhaps you will like my dead trees at first sight.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I can hardly fancy that.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, you may. The afternoon is the time for the -water. The black flies are pretty thick, Rose, eh?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“They don’t trouble me,” she returned. “I can’t -say why. They bite, and that is all.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I never could account for the exceptions,” he said. -“Ned is tormented by them, and they hardly touch -Jack.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“How curious!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes. My own foes are the sand-flies, what are -called by the Indians ‘no-see-ums,’ and in Pennsylvania -pungies. I brought a little smudge-pot and a -small A-tent, just to give you shelter at need.” Meanwhile -the poles rang ceaselessly, and the talk went on.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I think, Pardy, the landscape under the water is -almost as attractive as that above it. The stones -seem to be all colors, and, I suppose, all shapes, because -they play such queer tricks with the water. -I never noticed until yesterday that when a wave -<span class='pageno' id='Page_82'>82</span>rolls over a large, smooth rock it takes perfectly the -form of a shell,—I think I mean a scallop-shell.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That is so, Rose. There, over there, is an example. -I think it a very pretty idea,—one might be -ingeniously poetical about it, but one won’t.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>By and by the stream stretched out shallow and -broad, and the men took their paddles. Then they -turned a sharp angle of the river and came among -the burnt lands. Here and there a few great trees -had strangely survived the fire, and towered high, -green cones among the ruin.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I can see no beauty in it,” said Rose.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I said it was strange, interesting, and had certain -beauties. Wait a little. Land us on the island, -Tom,—at the upper end. There will be more air. -There is a good bit of grass and a spring near by.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Pretty soon the tent was up, and the smudge-pot, -full of cedar bark, lighted. There was some wind, -however, and the flies were not annoying.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But what am I to sketch?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Let us sit in the opening of the tent. And now, -my pipe. Let us first consider, Rosy, the eccentricities -of these burnt trees. I want a sketch of some -of them.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Why are they not black? I see very few that -are charred.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Ask Tom,—it will amuse you.” She did so.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Them trees, when there’s a fire, and there ain’t -too many pines and firs, the fire it just eats up their -leaves and scorches their hides.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Bark?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes; and the winds and the frost and the sun, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_83'>83</span>they peels off the dead hides. After that them trees -lasts powerful long. But if the bark be on, they -rots.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What I want just now, Rose, is to get you to -look at those few isolated skeletons of dead trees on -the point. There are many as odd in the wood-tangle -below, but these above you can more readily -sketch for me, because they stand by themselves. -We will come back to the rest by and by.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, my dear, dear M. A., what a fine master you -are! I used to long for you, and that book we were -to write, on the ‘Art of Seeing.’”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, I have taught myself to see. While you are -sketching I will lecture a little.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And just what do you wish me to draw?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Take your field-glass and look at the trees on the -point. Now, the one at the edge,—look at it; I do -not want to tell you about it, I want you to see.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Well,” said Rose, talking as she sat in the tent-shadow, -the glass at her eyes, “I see a tall dead -tree,—a fir? No, a dead spruce,—probably a spruce, -I am not sure. It is gray, and has only two great -limbs left, and a tuft of dead twigs above—and—the -trunk is oddly twisted to the left.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Now you are getting warm, as the children say. -Hey, Rose?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I see,” she cried, with a real joy in her mind; -and, taking her pencil, swiftly drew the desolate -dead thing, while Lyndsay looked on.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Good!” he said; “very good. You have it precisely. -I will make a word-sketch, and we will compare -work. I can’t draw a straight line, as you know. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_84'>84</span>I conceive of the other world, not entirely as a place -to develop our own qualities, but where there will be -a pleasant interchange of capacities. There, my dear, -I shall sing like Nilsson and paint like Velasquez.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I think I could myself make some pleasant exchanges,” -said Rose. “Those stiff lines of the dead -branchless firs and pines, set against that dark -cloud,—they remind me of the lances in that great -picture by Velasquez at Madrid,—the Surrender of -Breda. I loved the two men in that picture. Requesens -is taking the keys of the town from Don John -of Nassau, and he is just saying, ‘Might have happened -to any fellow,—so sorry for you!’ You know, -papa?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No, I do not. But I recall Macbeth’s etching -of the picture. Go on with your sketch. Mine will -be done in a few minutes.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Then he wrote in his note-book again, glancing -now and then at the tree.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Listen, Rose. How is this? ‘Tree sketch: dead -tree; no bark; cool gray all over; stands alone on -point of land. Trunk twisted; only two limbs; -bunched end-twigs. Limbs raised like arms.’ Now, -if—mind, if it says to you—I mean if it has for -you a distinct expression—I hate affectation here -and everywhere: but if this distorted thing really -expresses for you—something—label it!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Rose was still a moment, and then said, “It is -rooted there, still, alone. It seems to be turning -back toward its fellows. It suggests to me utter -dreariness. What have you found to say about it, -Pardy?”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_85'>85</span>“See, dear, I have written, as I often do at the end -of a word-sketch: ‘Loneliness, suffering; isolated -anguish, if you like.’”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I see. How very, very interesting! It seems to -remember the fire, father.” It was sometimes this, -and sometimes Pardy, or Marcus Aurelius, or any -queer pet-name of nursery origin.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You begin to see what one may get out of a dead -tree?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes. There is another, below,—just below.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes; I sketched it last year. Here it is: ‘Dead -tree; poplar; split by lightning; black and gray. -The lower half thrown out like a leg. Above, one -limb has fallen against the trunk; top of tree tufted -and thrown back. Queer expression of jollity.’ Sketch -it, dear.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“How ready you are!” he said, over her shoulder. -“Look at the one farther away,—bent back with two -great limbs high in air. It is prayer, deprecation—dread: -I am not sure,—and again, before you draw -it, look across to the other side. This is my sketch. -‘Late twilight; a huge, gray rock in the water. -Deep cleft in it; out of this rises a dead pine. It -leans toward me. Two vast limbs extended right -and left. Top tufted as usual, and bent to one side. -All set against a bleak mass of boulders.’”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I see, even in this light; but at dusk! at dusk -it must be terrible,—a crucifixion!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, that is it. It recalls to me an odd thing. -A few years ago I was fishing as late as ten o’clock -at night on the Metapedia, and, looking up, saw on -the hill above me a cross set against the blood-red, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_86'>86</span>newly risen moon. Next morning I perceived that it -was only a telegraph-pole with its cross-bar.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What a theme for Heine!” said Rose.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, indeed. Now sketch me this, and the other -trees. I want only just mere hints of form. There -are no end of strange things among dead trees. I -could not exhaust them in hours of description. -There was last year a fallen tree on an island near -our camp. I suppose the mass of stuff sent down by -freshets protected it below, and the ice and so on swept -away the branches which lay uppermost. At last the -wreckage was washed off. When I came on it at -evening it looked like one of those prehistoric lizards -Dicky delights in. There were many legs on each side -as it lay and—”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Do let me see, Pardy. You drew it?” and she -laughed. “I don’t think it would go into the <em>Salon</em>. -There ought to be a place for embryo art like this.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Like ‘Rejected Addresses’?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes; the real ones.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Do you frame yours, Rose?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, for shame!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Who rose to that fly?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But you coldly planned it. It was base.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Poor thing!” he laughed—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“The wail of the salmon</div> - <div class='line'>A man tried to gammon.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>Alas, poor Rose!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Wait a bit. As Jack says, ‘That drawing is -unique.’”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I am quite proud of it. I wanted to give you the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_87'>87</span>lesson. Now I will smoke and talk and take mine -ease, while you draw.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I can talk and sketch, too.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No doubt. On the Nipigon River there is a long -carry once burned over. After the fire must have -come a windfall. The whole blasted forest went down -before it. It lies to-day a grim tangle of gray or black -trunks, with huge agonized arms extended upward. -At dusk it is very striking. Years went by, and then -I saw the dead Confederates lying below Round Top -the day after the fight, with arms and legs in rigid -extension,—a most horrible memory. As I looked, it -recalled that wrecked forest.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“How dreadful, Pardy! I think I could draw those -trees as you describe them. I will try to-morrow.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Meanwhile, as she sketched, he went on:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“The growth of power to see is a curiously interesting -thing. There is a disease or disorder called ‘mind-blindness,’ -about which the doctor was telling me a -few weeks ago. People who have it see things only -as a mirror sees, and cannot give them names; but if -they touch or handle them, are able to say what they -are, or to tell their uses. Think, now, of a baby. It -merely sees things as a mirror sees. Later, it learns -the qualities of things seen, remembers them, learns -to group them, and so to say at last what the thing -is, or is for. Some people seem to stop in their education -a little way beyond their baby gains, and at -least never learn to get out of mere observation -any pleasure.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But one may make many uses of this power to -see. Now, the poets—”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_88'>88</span>“Stop a moment. The poets get an absurd amount -of credit for being able to see as other men do not; -but, really, the pleasantest people for a woodland -walk are those naturalists who see far more than the -poet, and combine with their science, or have with it, -the love of things for the mere beauty in them. I -never did walk with a poet in a wood. I think I -should see all he saw.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But not the same way.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I would dispute that, if you mean to say I get less -pleasure, Rose. And there is some nonsense in the -notion that poets are very close observers of nature. -They vary, of course. Take Wordsworth, he was a -mere child in minute observation compared to Shakspere. -Tennyson is better, too,—oh, by far; and any -clever naturalist sees far more than any one of them.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And now, I know, Pardy, you are going to advise -me to read Ruskin, because that is the way you always -used to wind up our talks.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I was, dear.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I must try him again. Aunt Anne says we grow -up to the stature of certain books as we get older, and -at last can look them in the eyes and say, ‘We understand -one another.’ As to what you say of Wordsworth, -I shall ask her what she thinks.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“We shall not differ,” said Lyndsay. “I see you -have done your sketch. Let us have lunch. Afterward, -if there is time, we can take a look at these -trees when the evening shadows are falling. We -have by no means done with them.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Meanwhile Tom and his bowman had made the fire. -The salmon was deliciously broiled, for these woodmen -<span class='pageno' id='Page_89'>89</span>are nearly all good cooks; the potatoes roasted -in the hot ashes; the bacon, broiled with the salmon, -in thin slices, brown and crisp. Rose thought there -could be no meal like this. It was set out on a flat -rock, with birch-bark for plates. The spring was a -little way back of them.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Let us go for the water ourselves,” said Lyndsay.</p> - -<p class='c007'>They walked down the island a hundred yards, and -there, in deep woods, found two rocks fallen together, -and under them a pretty little rise of water, bubbling -up out of the earth.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That is really a spring,” said Rose. “One uses -words until one forgets to think of their meaning. -How cold it is!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes 38°,—and delicious.” He twisted a bit of red -birch-bark into a cup, and put a split twig at each end -to keep it together. Then he filled it, and she drank, -throwing her hair back with one hand, and flashing -laughter over the brim of the cup from eyes the color -of which has never been rightly settled to this day.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“More lunch, Rose?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“A little jam and a biscuit.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Archibald Lyndsay lit a pipe and lay upon his back -on the meager grasses, with hands clasped behind his -head. His eyes wandered from the clouds overhead -to Rose, and thence to wood or stream.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“The court has dined, M. A.,” she said. “What -now?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I am afraid,” he returned, “it is too late for you -to sketch in colors the trees, or even a bit of them. -I wanted to get your notion of the tints; but look at -this—I am not quite sure I myself see colors at their -<span class='pageno' id='Page_90'>90</span>true values. There is no standard in which to try -our sense of color. I am sure some men see a tint -bright, and some see it darker, and then some artists -are sensational in their statement of colors on canvas.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I should like to try.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“We are a little too late; but the sun is back of -us yet. That is essential. Now, keep in shadow, -and tell me the color of those sun-lit myriads of dead -pine and fir and spruce and poplar.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“How they shine!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes; they are very hard, and polished by storm -and sun. They are about a hundred yards distant. -Near by they are silvery-gray. At their feet is a -mass of young birch and beech, and feathered ferns -below, along the margin.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“They are purple,—clear, distinct purple,” said -Rose. “Of course, they are purple.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes. Now look at the river.” All between the -two observers and the trees was a swift flow of -hastening water, faintly fretted all over by the underlying -brown and gray and white stones of the -bottom,—a tremulous brown mirror.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, the beautiful things!” cried Rose. “Purple -reflections,—deeper purple than the trees. How they -wriggle!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Put me the two purples on paper.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“There!” she said, “that is as I see them.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And I,” he returned,—“for me they should be a -much deeper, purer tint. That is the difference between -your color sense and mine.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Is it true, Pardy, that there may be colors no man -has seen?”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_91'>91</span>“Yes.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And sounds no man has heard?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“‘Heard sounds are sweet, but sounds unheard are -sweeter.’”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Your quotation sets one’s imagination free to -rove. Think of extending the gamut of human -thought. I cannot imagine that; and, as to your -poet, he did not mean, I suppose, the sounds man -never heard are sweeter; but then one has his freedom -of interpreting the words of genius. They always -build better than they know.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Aunt Anne says that is so beautifully illustrated -by the view a man of science would take to-day of -St. Paul’s words: ‘The eye cannot say to the hand, -I have no need of thee.’”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“The point is well taken, as we lawyers say. But -that must do for to-day. Come, Tom, you and Bill -can smoke your pipes in the middle of the skiff. Put -Miss Rose in the bow, I will take the stern.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And am I to paddle? What fun!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes. In with you.” And the boat fled away down -the swift waters, with here and there, where the billows -rolled high over a deeply hidden rock, a wild -roller which swept them on as with the rush of a bird -through space, while Rose laughed out the joy of a -great delight, for of all modes of motion this is the -most satisfying.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It isn’t difficult,” she said.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No, and it is a noble exercise. Look! Look, Rose! -See that hawk,—no, it is an eagle. Don’t you envy -him? What are those lines Anne loves to quote about -<span class='pageno' id='Page_92'>92</span>the hawk and the lark? They are called ‘True Captivity.’”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I forget all but the last two lines. It contrasts -the two prisoners, and says of the lark:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>‘He has the heaven which he sings,</div> - <div class='line'>But my poor hawk has only wings.’”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>“Thank you. There used to be an imprisoned hawk -in a cage at the lower clearing. The melancholy of -his great yellow eyes so troubled me that I bought -him, and, to Churchman’s amazement, opened his -cage. The poor old warrior walked out, looked -around him, and then walked back again into voluntary -captivity.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Like the man of the Bastille.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes. I shut the cage and took it down to the -river. There I left it, open. Next day I saw him -perched above it on a dead tamarack, swinging in a -wild wind. The day after he was gone.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I wonder if he regrets the cage and the certainty -of full diet.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Ah! liberty is very sweet. I sometimes wonder -whether, when this earthly cage is opened, we shall -linger about it like my hawk.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>For a time they speed onward, silent, as the shadows -grew across the waters. Said Lyndsay, at length: -“One more thing to note: the sun is down, but see -how that huge array of gleaming, seried tree-trunks, -away up on the hilltops, takes the light we have lost.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Rose looked, and saw on the far summits that the -multitudinous tree-stems were of a lovely lemon yellow, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_93'>93</span>and below, where their lines crossed at the intercepting -angles of two slopes, of a pallid lilac.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I think we have learned to use our eyes to-day. -No need to paddle here. Take a rest. We are going -at the rate of five miles an hour.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>In the gathering dusk they flitted past the camp-fires -on the island, and soon were at their cabin door.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Shall I ever have another day like this?” said -Rose, as she ran up the steps. “Thank you, Pardy.”</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_94'>94</span> - <h2 class='c005'>CHAPTER VII</h2> -</div> - -<div class='c006'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/dropcap_w.jpg' width='100' height='104' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi1_0'> -When they entered the cabin, Dick -was diligently counting a beetle’s -legs,—a process the animal seemed -to resent. Ned, at a window, was -staring at the falling shadows on -the farther hills, and Jack, at the -door, was deep in a gruesome book of adventures by -sea and land.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The boys rose as Lyndsay entered.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Gracious!” exclaimed Rose, observing their swollen -faces. “You have not gotten off without honorable -wounds.” Jack’s face was a testimonial of valor. -“You seem to have found it lively.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It was galumptious.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What?” cried Rose.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, I wasn’t going to run. Those fellows, they -ran. I think they’re—”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What?” broke in Dick.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“None of that,” said Lyndsay. “I suppose the -hornets did not have a very pleasing time.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“They licked us,” said Ned.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That’s because—”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Hush,” said Lyndsay, laughing. “I presume -there are enough left for another time?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Archie, how could you?” said Mrs. Lyndsay. “I -shall be glad to get these boys home alive.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_95'>95</span>“Oh, we are all right,” cried the twins; and they -went gaily to supper, and before long to bed.</p> - -<p class='c007'>When Rose got up next day it was raining; the sky -gray, and the waters inky black. She was reassured -at breakfast by her father, and told to get her waterproof -and high boots, and be ready for a salmon after -breakfast. Again Miss Anne was on hand, declaring -that she had not felt as well for a year, and they fell -to planning their day’s amusements. The squirrels -tempted Jack and his gun. Dick and Ned were to -fish the upper pool, and Anne and the mother, as they -desired, were to be left to their own devices.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But, Rose,” said the latter, “you must see Mrs. -Maybrook.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“If we get any salmon, I might take her one, or -one of the men might carry it this afternoon. I am -very curious about this paragon. I don’t believe -much in perfection, mama.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I did not say she was that, Rose. Dorothy Maybrook -is my friend.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Isn’t that putting it rather strongly, mama? A -woman in her class of life can scarcely—”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Nevertheless, she is my friend.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That answers all questions,” said Lyndsay.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No,” said Anne, “not until one knows your definition -of friend. What is a friend?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“A fellow that will fight for you,” said Jack.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Then Sullivan or the ‘Tipton Slasher’ would be -the best friend,” remarked Ned.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“A fellow you like,” said Dick.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“How is it, Ned?” said Lyndsay. “What is a -friend?”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_96'>96</span>“I don’t know,” replied Ned, coloring as usual. “I -would want a lot of them.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“There is something in that,” said Anne. “I never -found any one human being who, at all times and -under all stress of needs, was able to give me everything -I want of man or woman.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I think with you, Anne,” returned Lyndsay. “I -never could quite comprehend those all-satisfying -alliances one reads about, those friend-love affairs, -such as Shakspere had with Herbert, or whoever it -was. Certainly some men, and not always those who -have most to give, intellectually, at least, have, as was -said of a dead friend of mine, a genius for friendship. -Wherever he went, men became attached to him,—they -could hardly say why.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“How do you explain it?” said Rose.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“He was quick of temper, cultivated, but not a -profound man,—unselfish. I think it must have -been chiefly because he took a large and unfailing -interest in other men’s pursuits, and was not troubled -if they made no return in kind. He gave interest -and affection, being easily pleased, and exacted no -return. But it always came.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I should have said he had a talent for friendship. -Genius is a large word,” said Anne.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes; it was only an unusual capacity,—not -genius.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But what is genius?” said Rose.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You are getting out of my depth!” cried Mrs. -Lyndsay, laughing. “I shall want a life-preserver -pretty soon, Archie.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I can only quote Marcus Aurelius,” said Lyndsay.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_97'>97</span>“He remarks—what is it he says about genius, -Anne?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No, no. We want something fresh, Pardy.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“A fine way to clap an extinguisher on wisdom.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But I want—I do want an answer.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Shall we say that genius is crude creative power? -How will that do?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That is better than usual, Aurelius,” cried Anne. -“It needs talent to come to anything. It would be -easy to illustrate. There is Blake at one end, and—well—Shakspere -at the other.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“May we go?” said Jack, yawning fearfully.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, of course. What a sight you are!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“They must have been good shots.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, they did well,” said Ned, “and it was worse -than bullets. They don’t get inside your pantaloons -and skirmish around. I’m very uncomfortable when -I sit down.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“How can one die better, etc.?” cried Dick, and, -riotously laughing, they ran out of doors. Margaret -looked after them affectionately.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Do you remember, Archie, how you used to have -an unending tale for those boys when they were little, -of Tommy Turnip, and how he ran away, and went -to Russia, and was made Count Turnipsky?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I do, indeed, my dear. It went on for years. -Come, Rose, I sha’n’t rest until you have killed a -salmon. If it rains hard all day the water will rise, -and then good-by salmon until it begins to fall.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Is that so?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes. The salmon is a mysterious creature. We -know little about him; but we do know that with -<span class='pageno' id='Page_98'>98</span>rising water, or rapidly rising warmth of water, he -seems to lose curiosity as to flies. Come along.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><a id='corr98.3'></a><span class='htmlonly'><ins class='correction' title='‘I think'>“I think</ins></span><span class='epubonly'><a href='#c_98.3'><ins class='correction' title='‘I think'>“I think</ins></a></span> my own curiosity collapses in hot weather,” -said Anne.</p> - -<p class='c007'>There was now a steady fall of rain, but, well protected, -they reached the pool.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“How black the water is!” said Rose. Tom sat -quiet without the least cover, and took the ducking -as if it were a matter of course. Now he adjusted a -rather large Jock Scott. Then Rose began to cast, -while Lyndsay sat behind her and smoked.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Couldn’t I stand?” she said.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes. You will cast better, and take care you -don’t catch the handle of the reel in your wraps. -Give the back cast a little more time. Count one, -two, three quickly. You do very well. You will -soon get the trick of it.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You riz him!” roared Tom, for there was a -mighty swash, and half a salmon came into view.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Sit down. Wait a little.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“<em>Will</em> he—<em>do</em> you think he will rise again?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“If I knew, dear, it would save much needless casting. -Will a young man propose twice, thrice? Who -can say?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I fail, sir, to perceive the analogy.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“My dear Rose, the too logical mind is destructive -of the very foundations of social gaiety. Young -man rises to a fly; salmon rises to a fly.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But no right-minded woman casts a fly over. Oh, -they just—you know.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No, I don’t. Both the fish and the man have the -right of choice; but there is some responsibility as -<span class='pageno' id='Page_99'>99</span>to the attractiveness of a Jock Scott, or a Durham -fanger. So, after all, the young man’s anguish may -be the fault of the wicked milliner. As a question of -morals one likes to know.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But will he—will he come back?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Really, Rose, that was worthy of Sarah Siddons. -It might have been said of the most attractive of -my sex.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Bother the men, papa; I want <em>my</em> fish. What is -a man to a salmon!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I recognize that assertion of personal ownership -as distinctively feminine.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You are too bad. How it pours!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Try him again. Cast out to right, and let the fly -come down, around the tail of the boat, with not too -much movement, just as if you were quite indifferent; -an ordinary, every-day promenade, my dear. The -application is, you see, of skill acquired in one branch -of industry to the cultivation of another.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Of a sudden the reel ran out a little.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Poor young man! Sit down. Keep the tip up, so.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>The fly had been tranquilly taken under water, this -time with no show of indecision. Rose obeyed the -advice, and for a moment sat expectant, the rod well -bent. The delay on the part of the salmon was so -great that she could not understand it.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It must be fast on something. It doesn’t move.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No, the young man isn’t quite sure as to what is -the matter. He is reflecting. Are Cupid’s arrows -barbed, my dear? There!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh!”—for the reel ran out so fast as to make a -distinct musical note, and, in a moment, Rose saw -<span class='pageno' id='Page_100'>100</span>the salmon flash high in the air near the farther bank.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That can’t be my young man.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes. Reel, reel quick.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Meanwhile it was up anchor and away, the instant -the fish struck. The men shared Rose’s excitement, -and watched the quick movements of the fish with -admirable understanding of when to wait or to follow. -The rapid reeling in Rose found hard work.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I do think you must take the rod,” she said.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No,” he cried, laughing. “I prefer not to have -the responsibility of other folks’ flirtations. He won’t -carry on this way very long.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>But again he was off, and this time not so far. -Then he leaped twice, with mighty splashings of the -water. Meanwhile Tom was carefully getting his -canoe out of the heavy current, and Rose found that -the salmon was slowly yielding to the steady strain -of the rod. They were now near the bank, and in an -eddy.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Look sharp, Rose,” said Mr. Lyndsay. “Give -him the butt.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes. Keep the tip back and the butt forward. -As the fish yields reel in a little, dropping the tip. -That’s right. Now, you can lift him, as it were, by -throwing the butt forward again, so. Reel! reel! -Well handled.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“He’s a-comin’,” said Tom. “He are a buster.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>She could but just perceive her fish,—a dark, shadowy -thing,—a few feet away. Now he sees the man -with his gaff, and is off on a short run; and again is -slowly reeled in.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_101'>101</span>“Something must break,” said Rose.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No, you can’t pull more than two pounds, my -dear, do as you may. It seems to you a vast strain. -There, keep his head up-stream. Well done. Let -him drop back a little.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>As he spoke, Tom made a quick movement and -gaffed his fish. In a moment it was in the boat, and -Rose sank back delighted.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Here is the scale, Tom.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Tom held up the fish, with the scale-hook in the -gill-cover.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Thir—ty—two—pounds, miss.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Do let me see,” she said, and examined her captive -with curiosity.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“A fine young man, by the neb of his lower jaw,” -said her father. “You don’t like the gaffing: I saw -that. Be assured that lingering hours of slow exhaustion -in the nets at the mouth of the river are far worse. -You could let the fish go; you could refrain from -fishing; you need not eat salmon; several ways are -open to the sensitive.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I am very foolish, I dare say.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“There is some folly that is nearer heaven than -some wisdom, my child. If this folly is incapable of -reasoning defense, it is still not one to be ashamed of. -We may over-cultivate our sensibilities so as, at last, -to become Brahminical in our abhorrence of any destruction -of life. The argument as to need for animal -flesh is hardly a help. Men, in fact, nations, live -without it; and it is quite possible that we have in -time more or less manufactured both the appetite and -the need for this diet. Our nearest anatomical kinsmen, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_102'>102</span>the monkeys, are all vegetarians, and as for any -necessity to kill salmon or deer, there is nowadays -none. Both are mere luxuries of the rich. Not a -soul on these rivers ever gets a salmon, unless he -poaches or we give it to him.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Isn’t that hard?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes and no. Throw it all open, and in five years -there would be no salmon. They would go as the -buffalo have gone.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And still I am sorry for the people who cannot -fish; the eating is another matter.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Their fishing, dear, would be the mere use of a -net. But there is another point of view. We leave -more money on these rivers, are of more real use to -these boatmen and farmers, than all the salmon they -might take could possibly be.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“How difficult all life seems! There are so many -questions.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Fish, my dear, in peace of soul. By Thor, you -have a grilse!” he cried. For now she was fast to a -fish of some six pounds, which was in and out of -water every minute, and, being too small to gaff, was -beached by a quick run up a sandy shore of the well-drenched -fisherwoman. While Tom was weighing -the fish, Rose learned that a grilse was a young -salmon, and what a parr was, and a smolt, and a kelt, -and how a grilse was known by the forked tail and -the small scales.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“A good un to smoke,” said Tom. “We split ’em, -miss, and salt ’em pretty well, and then hold ’em open -like with two sticks, and hangs ’em over a right -smoky fire for a matter of four or five days. Some -<span class='pageno' id='Page_103'>103</span>makes a wigwam of bark and smokes ’em in that, but -it ain’t needed unless you want ’em to keep long. -Them they sells is all dried stiff and hard. These -here, just dried gentle, why they’re as fine-flavored -as—as—angels, or a chicken porkenpine.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“A smoked angel!” laughed Rose. “I am horribly -wet, but I must kill another salmon.” Her hope was -realized, and, after an hour of hard casting, a twenty-pound -fish was brought to gaff in some twelve -minutes.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Very good time, Rosy. I used to think no man -ought to be over a half-hour in killing the strongest -salmon. But the charm of the game lies in the amazing -individuality of the fish. No one of them ever -does just what any other does. Once I was two -hours with a salmon, and you may have the like luck.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I should perish of fatigue.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What would you think of killing ninety-two and -six grilse in five days? I once killed forty-two -striped bass in twenty-four hours, but these are -bonanzas. Run the boat up and empty her,” he -added to Tom. As they stood, the rain continued -falling more and more heavily through a perfectly -still atmosphere.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Kind of falls,” said Tom.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Did it ever rain harder?” said Rose.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, miss; there are a spot up nigh back of -Thunder Bay—that’s to north of Lake Superior—and -there it do rain in July—solid.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Solid?” said Lyndsay.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I said solid. Folks moves out for a month, otherwise -they is drownded standin’.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_104'>104</span>“That is a trapper’s tale, Rose. I have heard it -before.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It is near enough here to being solid to enable -me to believe the rest. How the boughs leap every -now and then as they drop their loads of rain, and -how slate-blue and opaque the water is!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Notice these great drops: each rebounds from -the surface in a little column, so as to seem like black -spikes in the water. See, too, how the circles they -make cross one another without breaking. Smoke -rings do that,” and he blew successive circlets of his -pipe-smoke, as he spoke, so that they passed across -one another, breaking and remaking their rolling -rings.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Why is that?” she said.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I do not know. I hardly care to ask. I am in -the mood of mere acceptance. Oh, there is the sun, -Rose! See how between the finger-like needles of -the pine the drops are held, and what splendid jewelry -the sun is making. It needs a still hour for this. -You have seen a thing in its perfection quite rare.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Must we go, Pardy? It has done raining.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, we must go. I forgot to ask you to listen -to the different noises a heavy rain makes according -as you stand under pine or spruce, or hear it patter -on the flat-lying, deciduous leaves, or hum on the -water. Come, you must take the twenty-pounder to -Dorothy Maybrook. If it is not too wet, she will -perhaps walk up to Colkett’s with you. But don’t -go into the cabin. You might take for those poor -people two or three cans of corned beef. Meats are -scarce luxuries with them. They will need no money -<span class='pageno' id='Page_105'>105</span>just at present. Mr. Carington gave them some -help.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Did he?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes. The child is to be buried to-morrow, I hear.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Is Mr. Carington the young man who shot the -seal?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I suppose so,—yes. Why do you ask?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, nothing. Idlest curiosity. Pure curiosity -unstained by the coarseness of a motive.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I am answered,” he said, laughing.</p> - -<p class='c007'>They were soon at home.</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_106'>106</span> - <h2 class='c005'>CHAPTER VIII</h2> -</div> - -<div class='c006'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/dropcap_a.jpg' width='100' height='99' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi1_0'> -After Rose and her father had made -their brief toilets, they found the family -at luncheon.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I was wet to the skin, and -through it, I believe,” said Rose. -“No, I sha’n’t take cold, mama. -Nobody takes cold here. Tom must be wet through -to his bones—absolutely water-logged.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“The boys were a-drip like water-rats,” said Mrs. -Lyndsay. “I am sure some of you will have pneumonia.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But I got an eighteen-and-a-half-pound salmon,” -cried Jack.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“He’s had him in his lap for an hour, like a baby,” -said Dick.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That is capable of olfactory demonstration,” remarked -Anne.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“He’ll get that salmon framed,” cried Dick. “Such -a fuss—”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Did you get any, sir?” asked his father.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Are you sorry Jack did?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No, I am not that mean,” returned the boy, flushing. -“Ned he caught it, and he let Jack bring it in. -Jack wanted it so very bad.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_107'>107</span>“Badly, sir?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Badly.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And it was Ned’s fish, after all.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>As he spoke, Lyndsay nodded gently, smiling at the -youngest son, and no more was said; but the boys -understood well enough that neither the selfishness -nor the self-denial had gone unnoticed. This was -made more plain when Mr. Lyndsay said:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I shall fish the upper pool to-morrow morning—or, -rather, you may, Ned, for I have letters to write.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And Jack and Dick?” said Ned.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Those other fellows may slay trout.” He disliked -even the approach to tale-telling by his boys, and -when Mrs. Lyndsay made an appeal, in her mild way, -he said, laughing:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“The laws of the Medes and Persians were never -changed. Let it rest there. My barbarians understand -me, I fancy.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>There was a little silence, which Rose broke.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What is that in the glass, Dick, on the window-ledge?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What Pierre calls a lamprey. It is the very lowest -of vertebrates. It has only a cartilaginous skeleton.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Must be an awful learned beast,” said Ned.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It holds on to the side of the salmon, Rosy.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Just like a fellow outside of an omnibus,” said -Dick.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What a queer thing!” and Rose got up to look at -it. “I wonder if the salmon likes it. A parasite!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Which proves,” laughed Anne, “that even a parasite -is capable of attachment. The obligation is all on -one side.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_108'>108</span>“Literally,” said Lyndsay.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Archie, you are worse than Mr. B.,” said Anne. -“If you say anything clever, he begins to dissect it -for the benefit of all concerned. The application of -anatomy to humor is one of the lowest of social pursuits. -I loathe that man.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You don’t really loathe any one, aunty.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“If you do not,” said Margaret, “it is a pity to say -that sort of thing.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But I do loathe the man—I do; I do. I am honest. -He has every quality of what Dick tenderly calls a -G. I. P., except the probability of ultimate usefulness.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Reasonably complete that,” said Lyndsay, while -Jack grinned his appreciation.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“He is a clergyman, Anne,” remarked Margaret, -with emphasis.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That only makes it worse. I have heard him -preach. Don’t you think a man who has no humor -must be a bad man?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Anne!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“One moment, dear. Let me finish him. I was -going to say, Archie, that if a mule was to kick -that man just for fun, he would never know he -was kicked.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That covers the ground. You should have edited -a newspaper, Anne. Such vituperative qualities are -wasted here.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Indeed, I think so,” said Mrs. Lyndsay, rising at -the end of her luncheon. “It may amuse you, Archie, -but for the boys it is bad, dear, bad.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Upon this the twins, enchanted to hear of wickedness, -became critically attentive to the matter, and for -<span class='pageno' id='Page_109'>109</span>a moment refrained from their diet. Anne, a little -vexed, smiled as her sister-in-law stood opposite, but -made no other reply.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I dare say it amuses you, my dear Anne.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It does.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But should it, dear, and at the cost of temptation -to others? Go out, boys.” The twins went forth -merry. “And—and, dear, don’t you think—?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Between question and answer Lyndsay made swift -retreat, with an explanatory cigar-case in his hand.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, I think, Margaret”; and then, the gray eyes -lighting up, “I think, Margaret, that you do not always -think. If you did, you would criticize that -wicked Archie.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Archie! Archie! What do you mean?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I admit your premise. Homicide applied to character -is bad enough; but don’t you think that Archie -ought to give up killing salmon?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You see it teaches the boys to be cruel. It is the -sad beginning of murder. There is only a difference -of degree in it. Suppose, now, a man kills a monkey, -and then—you follow me, dear—and then—oh, do -come here, Rose—and then he gets a shot somewhere -in Africa at the missing link. You see where killing -salmon lands you at last. Where shall we draw the -line?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Rose laughed, despite her mother’s face of puzzled -yet obstinate gravity.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What do you mean, Anne?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Anne rarely argued seriously with this sister-in-law, -who, despite their differences, was very dear to her. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_110'>110</span>Her delight was, like the cuttle-fish, so to obscure the -whole atmosphere of a discussion with mistiness of -vague analogy as to enable her to retreat with honor.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Good gracious!” Margaret went on, fanning herself -violently, as she did in all weather, and amuseingly -indicating by her use of the fan her own moods, -“what did I say to bring out all this nonsense? I -think I—yes—what was it, Rose?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Any one’s irritation, of which she herself seemed to -be the cause, troubled the little lady, especially if -Anne were the person involved. Nevertheless, no experience -sufficed quite to keep Mrs. Lyndsay out of -these risks when her motherly instincts were in action.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Rose smiled, as she replied:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Dear little mother, Aunt Anne objects to your -criticism of her form of sport, and the naughty aunty -is raising a dust of words, in which she will scuttle -away.” As she spoke she cast a loving arm around her -mother, and one on her aunt’s thin shoulders. But -Margaret Lyndsay had the persistency of all instinctive -beings.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I think it bad for the boys. I always shall think -it bad. Dick is now too fond of ridiculing serious -things, and they think whatever you do is right, and -whatever you say they think delightful. As for -Ned—”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Ned! my Ned! That boy is an angel. I won’t -have a word—”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“As if I did not know it!” said Margaret, with the -nearest approach to wrath of which she was capable. -“Really, Anne Lyndsay, may I not even praise my -own boys?”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_111'>111</span>“I think, my dear Margaret, you lack imagination,” -said Anne. Like a great algebraist, who is apt -to skip in his statements a long series of equations, -she was given to omitting the logical steps by which -her swift reason passed to a conclusion satisfactorily -true for her, but obscure enough to her hearers.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I don’t understand,” said Mrs. Lyndsay.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Nor I,” echoed Rose.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“My dears,” said Anne, smiling, “the prosperity of -life lies largely in the true use of imagination.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You are incorrigible, Anne. But I know I am -right.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Knowledge and wisdom, far from being one, are -ofttimes different,” quoted Anne, rising, and not over -well pleased. “I think I shall go and lie down.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I think I would,” said Mrs. Lyndsay, simply. -“You are not looking well to-day.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I am well enough,” said Miss Anne.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“All ready!—and the fish and Polycarp!” cried -Lyndsay.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Rose was soon in the canoe, and the men began -poling across the river. As they moved, she sat, reflecting -upon the little scene she had witnessed. It -troubled her that two people so dear to her should -not always understand each other. The mother had -already ceased to think of it, and the aunt’s irritability -was a matter of minutes. Only Anne Lyndsay knew -how sternly a remarkable intellect had by degrees -dictated terms of reasonable life to a quick temper -and a tongue too perilously skilful. This endless -warfare was now rarely visible, but its difficulties -were terribly increased at times when weakness and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_112'>112</span>pain grew hard to endure and fought on the side of -her foes. There were, indeed, times during the weariness -of travel when Rose Lyndsay was startled by -what she saw; times when Anne was striving with -constantly increasing pain. Then it would end with -a laugh and a jest, and some quaint defense of pain -as a form of moral education, until Rose, despite herself, -would be reassured, and she</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Who would have given a caliph’s gold</div> - <div class='line'>For consolation, was herself consoled.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>These things troubled her as she crossed the stream. -Once ashore she ceased to think of them. Polycarp, -with few words, slung the salmon on his back, and, -leaving Ambrose to pious meditations and the canoe, -indicated the ox-road to Rose, who went on in front.</p> - -<p class='c007'>After twenty minutes of swift walking, Rose came -out of the wood-path into a clearing of some fifty -acres, and at last to a cabin set in an inclosure. Here -were a few beds of the commoner flowers and a squared-log -house. The windows were open, the clean white -muslin curtains pulled back, and on the ledges tomato-cans -and a broken jug or two filled with that flower -which grows best for the poor, the red geranium. On -the south end of the cabin a Japanese ivy, given by -Mrs. Lyndsay, had made a fair fight with the rigor of -a Canadian winter and was part way up to the gable. -Noticing the absence of dirt and of the litter of chips, -rags, egg-shells, and bits of paper, so common where -labor has all it can do to attend to the essential, Rose -tapped on the open door, and then, turning, saw Mrs. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_113'>113</span>Maybrook standing at the well. She came forward at -once to meet her visitor.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Why, I guess you must be Margaret Lyndsay’s -daughter.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Rose, a little taken aback by the familiar manner of -this identification, perhaps showed it to this shrewd -observer in something about her bearing as she said, -“A pleasant evening after the rain,” and took the -proffered hand. “Yes, I am Rose Lyndsay.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I’m never quite rid of my Quaker fashion of naming -folks without their handles. Seems to get you -nearer to people. Now, don’t you think so? Come in.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Rose, as her host stepped aside, entered the cabin. It -was bedroom, kitchen, and sitting-room all in one, like -most of these rude homes, but it was absolutely clean, -and just now, as the cooking was done out of doors, -was cool and airy. Mrs. Maybrook was in a much-mended -gown, and bore signs enough of contact with -pots and pans. Still the great coils of hair were fairly -neat, and the gray eyes shone clear and smiling. She -made none of the apologies for her house or its furniture -such as the poor are apt to make, nor yet for -herself or her dress.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Come in and sit down. I’m that glad to see -you. Oh, Polycarp, is that you? And your father -has sent me a salmon? My old man will like that. -Put it in the brook, Polycarp.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But it is my fish,” said Rose. “I killed it and I -wanted you to have it; my father had nothing to do -with it, I am glad of a chance to thank you, Mrs. -Maybrook, for—for all you were to my mother—all -you did last summer when our dear Harry died.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_114'>114</span>And this fine young woman, in her tailor-made -London walking-gown, thereupon having got to the -end of words, and having had this thing in mind for -ten minutes, fell an easy victim to nature, so that her -eyes filled as she spoke. When this came about, Dorothy -became as easy a prey to the despotism of sympathetic -emotion, and her tears, too, fell like ripe -apples on a windy November day. Also, upon this, -these two “fools of nature” looked at each other -and smiled through their tears, which is a mysteriously -explanatory and apologetic habit among rightly made -women. After this they were in a way friends. The -elder woman took the hand of the younger and said:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“When my last boy died, there was a woman I just -hated, and she came and she cried. It makes a heap -of matter who cries,—don’t it, now?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, it does—it does,” said Rose, with still a little -sob in her voice.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I didn’t want that woman to cry. But you don’t -mind <em>my</em> crying, now, do you? That was the sweetest -little fellow.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Please don’t,” said Rose.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No, no; I won’t, I know. Isn’t it awful lucky -men can’t cry? That’s just the only way we can get -even with ’em. How’s mother? And Miss Anne? -Now, that is a woman. Never saw a woman like her -in all my born life. Ain’t she got a way of saying -things? Oh, here’s Hiram. Hiram, this is Miss -Rose Lyndsay. I reckon”—Mrs. Maybrook reckoned, -calculated, or guessed with the entire indifference of -a woman who had lived south, north, and east—“I -reckon they knew what they was about when they -<span class='pageno' id='Page_115'>115</span>called you Rose. ’T ain’t easy naming children. They -ain’t all like flowers, that just grow up, according to -their kind. If you’d have been called Becky, there -wouldn’t have been no kind of reason in it.“</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I trust not,” laughed Rose.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“How do you do, miss?” said Hiram. He was tall, -a little bent, clad in sober gray, and had a shock of -stiff, grizzly hair and a full gray beard. His eyes, -which were pale blue and meaningless, wandered as he -stood.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Miss Rose has fetched a fish,” said Dorothy. “You -might clean it, Hiram.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I’ll do it,” he said, stolidly, and turned to go like -a dull boy sent on an errand.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And don’t forget to fetch the cows in at sundown.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I’ll do it,” and he went out.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“He’s a bit touched in his head,” said his wife. -“You see, when we were at Marysville the war kind -o’ upset him. They wanted him to go into the rebel -army, and he wasn’t minded to do it. I got him a -place on a railroad, so he didn’t have to; but he was -awful worried, and took to thinking about it, and his -brothers that were in our army,—on the other side,—and -then he got off his head. He ain’t been the same -man since,—and twice he ran away. But I fetched -him both times, and then the fevers took the children. -He ain’t been the same man since. I’ve got to p’int -him a good bit,—that’s what he calls it; but if he’s -p’inted right, he goes sure. To my thinking, it is a -queer world, Miss Rose. I wish I was certain there -is a better.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_116'>116</span>“But there is,” said Rose.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Well, well. Maybe. Anyhow, I never felt no -call to doubt what I was to do in this one. Old -Kitchins used to pray over me. He was an awful -certain man about other folks’ sins; never missed -fire. At last, one day, when he was a-consoling me, -and thinking he’d just only got to be a kind of centurion -for a woman’s troubles, and say go and they’d -go, I asked him if he’d any knowledge of the gospel -of grinning,—and that ended him. Come out and -see my flowers.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Rose got up, laughing. “I want you to walk to -Colkett’s with me. I told the men to go up the river, -so as to bring us back. You see, I made sure you -would go.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Go!—of course I’ll go,” said Dorothy. “No, I -won’t want a bonnet. I’ve got one somewhere, under -the bed, I guess,” and, so saying, they set off. It required -little skill to draw from this frank and fearless -nature, as they walked, the history of a wandering -life, of the children dead, of the half-witted husband, -of her own long-continued asthma, now gone, as she -hoped. It was told with curious vivacity,—with some -sense of the humorous quality of complete disaster, -and when she spoke of her dead it was with brief -gravity, which seemed to deny sympathy or hasten -away from it. As they moved along and her companion -talked, Rose glanced with curiosity at the -Quaker-born woman, who had lost nearly every trace -of her origin. She walked well, and there was a certain -distinctiveness, if not distinction, in her erect carriage -<span class='pageno' id='Page_117'>117</span>and refinement of feature, still visible after years -of toil and troubles.</p> - -<p class='c007'>At last, after a pause, Rose spoke for herself.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It seems to me wonderful that you, who have -gone through so much, could have stood it as you -seem to have done.” She herself was at the opening -age of doubts and questions. At times the discontentment -of a life without the definite aims of a man’s -career distressed her. Yet she had surely all that one -could ask of existence; and here was this poverty-haunted -woman supremely cheerful under circumstances -such as would have ruined all capacity for -happiness in most of her sex. Rose went on, half -surprised at her own frankness:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I have everything in the world, and sometimes I -am not happy. I ought to be ashamed.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Well, Miss Rose, I did use to bother, but I gave it -up. As long as you’re here, you’re here. I’m like -a pig Hiram used to have out West. He was a very -enterprising pig, and was always a-trying to get into -the pea-patch and out of his own field. One day I -was watching that pig,—I used to think that pig could -laugh,—well, he spied an angle of a great big, dead -cottonwood-tree Hiram had set to stop the gap in a -fence. You see, the two ends of it were in the field, -and it was hollow right through trunk and limb, and -the point of it stuck out into my pea-patch. So, Mr. -Pig, in he goes, and after much scratching he got -through the trunk, and then through the big branch, -and then out he came, and there he was in the same -field again. Well, he tried it three times and then he -<span class='pageno' id='Page_118'>118</span>gave it up; looked like he’d have liked to scratch his -head; and after that he was the contentedest pig you -ever saw. And when sticking-time came, at Christmas, -he didn’t squeal any morsel louder than the rest. I -guess I’m a good deal like that pig. I’ve quit trying -to get out of my field, and so I just stay here and grin, -and take what comes.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Thank you,” said Rose, smiling. “That is a delightful -parable, Mrs. Maybrook.” And with it Rose -ceased awhile to hear what her companion said, and -took stern measures with herself, because of the -thoughts this woman’s life and words had brought -to her.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Dorothy was at times, when her audience suited -her, a person who talked herself out in liberal amount, -finding in self-utterance one of her few and most distinct -pleasures. Yet she was never so full of herself -as entirely to cease to think of others. She saw in a -few minutes that Rose had lost hold of the talk, and -was at intervals saying, “Yes, yes,” in an absent way, -so as to keep up a decent appearance of being still interested -in her companion’s words. Dorothy had by -no means fine manners, but she had the automatically -active instincts of a woman to whom tact was a natural -gift. She too became silent, and they walked on for a -time without more exchange of words.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Rose, like some young women of her age, was at -times the easy prey of moods of absence, which -carried her far enough from the hour or its company. -She had preached herself a severe sermon, -and now came back to the outer world again as they -passed a marshy spot where, of a sudden, the wholesome -<span class='pageno' id='Page_119'>119</span>wood odors rose around her, that delightful -commingling of the scent of moldering trunks, resinous -weepings of the pine, and the sweetness of -the breath of the young spruces. Nature said, in -her most tender tones, “Come back to me out of -your tangle of self-discussion, and I will give you -rest.” It was a delicately responsive organization to -which this mute appeal was made, and the fine instrument -answered to the call with no more consciousness -of the gentle influence than has the swaying -pine stirred to healthful exercise by the northland -breeze.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Don’t you like the wood-smells?” she said.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Me? I guess I do. That’s queer about Susan -Colkett; asked her one day if she didn’t love the -spruce-smells, and she just said they hadn’t none.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That was odd. I could never like that woman, -but I am very, very sorry for her.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Like her! Miss Rose, I saw her once killing -chickens,—I never <em>can</em> do that,—and the woman was -laughing all the while. I don’t love her, but—There’s -the house; you wait here in the woods; -I’ll get her out, and then you can talk. Sit down on -this log. I’ll fetch her.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But are you not afraid, Mrs. Maybrook?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I? No; I’m old and tough, and it wouldn’t -matter much—except for Hiram. There’d be nobody -to p’int him,” and she laughed.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Then Rose took up her sermon again, and Dorothy -walked to the back of the crumbling cabin, through -the vileness of the cow-shed, which was connected -with the house to save wintry exposures in caring for -<span class='pageno' id='Page_120'>120</span>the cattle, now reduced in number to one lank, milkless -cow.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Two decrepit chickens fled as she came by, and a -long-legged, high-roofed pig lifted his snout above -his empty trough and grunted a famine-born appeal. -Her feet were noiseless in the slough of muck -through which she picked her way with a grimace of -disgust. At the open back door she paused, hearing -high voices within. About to enter, she halted -abruptly, and a look of intense attention came upon -her face. The speakers were hidden, but in the dimness -at the far end of the room, she saw the half -of the bed,—one broken leg of it tied up to a splint -of wood,—and above, the white sheet upon the -figure of the dead child. She stayed motionless a -moment, at first merely shocked at the rude noises -in the chamber of death, but, when about to knock, -stopped short again at the hearing of her own name.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Dory Maybrook’s a fool; don’t tell me about -her!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Well, I won’t. Ain’t I goin’ to have no more of -that money?” It was Joe Colkett who spoke.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You took five dollars last night,” said the woman. -Her voice, strident and high-pitched, sent a shiver of -discomfort through Dorothy. “Didn’t think no -man would be mean enough to steal from under a -dead child’s pillow!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I might ov took it all,—I’m that miserable. -Don’t go to say I’m drunk. I’m not. What did -you do with the rest of it, anyway?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I got Bill Churchman’s wife to buy me a white -gown down the river, to put on my child, and a white -<span class='pageno' id='Page_121'>121</span>sheet, and then there’s the money to fetch the -preacher. I couldn’t get no sheet until I paid your -reckonin’ for whisky. There ain’t much left.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I’m dreadful sorry,” said the man.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, don’t go a-whinin’ round me! Just let me -alone! I was a fool to have took a man like you, -that ain’t got no sense and no work in him!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I wouldn’t ov sayed that, Susie.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No? Well, I say it. What did that lawyer man -tell you about the mortgage? When has we got to -go?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, he says we may bide till next winter; but -he’s to have the cow and the pig.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And you said you’d give ’em up?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes. What could I ov done? Susie, don’t you -set there a-cryin’. I can git a lumber job, and we’ll -look about, and Mr. Lyndsay he’ll give us a bit of -money.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No, he won’t. Dory Maybrook she’ll tell him -Mr. Carington gave you some money, and Dory she’ll -tell him, too, it’s no use helpin’ a drunken brute.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I said I wouldn’t drink no more, and I won’t. -You might believe me, Susie. Ain’t I allus loved -you, and slaved for you and them dead children, and -not mine neither? I’m not a bad man, if I do take -a drop now and again.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“If you was a worse man, I’d ov liked you better. -A great strong man like you, and all these rich -folks round here.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What!” he exclaimed.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Dorothy started. She would have liked to see -those two faces.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_122'>122</span>“If you was to care for me a little, Susie, I’d do -most anything you wanted.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Ain’t that Carington comin’ up in September, -and didn’t he ask you to go into the woods after -caribou with him? There ain’t no better hunter than -you in these parts.” As she spoke, her voice became -low and softer, so that the listener scarcely heard it. -“Them city folks carries a lot of money about with -’em, and watches and things. We’ve got to get -away, and we’ve got to live, Joe Colkett,—to live, I -say!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Do you want me to steal the man’s money?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, stealin’ gits found out. Ain’t we been robbed? -Who stole our house and all my man’s earnin’s?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What is it you want, Susie?” He spoke timidly.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I want a man as is a man, and ain’t afeard,—you -ain’t him!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Didn’t I say I’d do ’most anything for you?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“’Most anything!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Well, anything.” Then there was a moment of -utter silence. “You wouldn’t go to want me to do -nothin’ wrong.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Well, you are a fool! Ain’t folks lost in them -woods sometimes, and never found?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I can’t do it,” said the man, hoarsely. “I said I -couldn’t, and I can’t. I—I can’t,” and he was heard -moving to and fro in the agitated indecision of a -great temptation. Dorothy began to fear that she -would come into view.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I can’t,” he repeated.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But he will,” murmured Dorothy, falling back -noiselessly. Then, stepping through a break in the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_123'>123</span>rotten boards of the shed, she bent low among the -alders and fled. When away in the woods, she walked -until she came again to Rose. “They’re in,” she -said. “Mind, we’ve just come. Don’t let on I left -you—hush—not now. There’s a reason. I can’t -explain now. Come.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Rose, rather bewildered, followed her. A few paces -from the closed door she stood still, while Dorothy, -going on, called gently, “Susie Colkett,” and knocked -as she spoke.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, it’s you!” said the mistress of the house, as -she came forward to the doorway.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes; Miss Lyndsay came up with me. Dear me! -I’m that tired!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Mrs. Colkett, from her grim height of leanness, -looked sharply at the speaker. “That ain’t common -with you.” Then she came out and went up to Rose. -“Won’t you come in?” she said. “It ain’t much of a -house, but poor folks has got to put up with what -they can git.” The stooping carriage, the high, red -cheek-bones, and the large, yellow teeth struck the -young woman unpleasantly. That the mother said -nothing of the dead child within seemed strange.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I—I couldn’t now,—not now,” said Rose, gently. -“I wanted to say we were all so—so very sorry for -you. It’s only just a year last week that my own little -brother died, you know.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And, Susie, it was the same thing, oh, just the -same,” said Dorothy, softly.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“My father would like to know if there is anything -you want; anything—really anything we can do?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No,” she said. At one moment she was filled with -<span class='pageno' id='Page_124'>124</span>eager greed to get all that was to be had out of these -fine people; at the next she was shaken by a storm of -anger at the contrast between these deaths. She had -a crude remembrance of the decencies and order of the -funeral of Harry Lyndsay, and then of Joe coming in -with the rough coffin, of the place back in the woods -where her two children lay in unmarked graves. On -such recollections the mere brutalness of love of her -offspring dwelt with savagery of comment. She had -seen the small stone which had been set over the little -Lyndsay, in the late spring, just before the family had -come upon the river. These things had been in her -mind for days, and now it was hard to conceal her -feelings She would have liked to take an ax and -break the modest memorial of their dead. She said, -merely, “No, no!” to Rose, and then, shortly, “Joe -and me are much obliged, miss.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You will let us know if we can help you?” Her -visible emotion Rose, very naturally, misinterpreted. -Dorothy stood by, grave, silent, and watchful.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Where’s your man?” she said, as Rose bade good-by -and turned away. Joe, stunned, half afraid of his -masterful temptress, had remained in the cabin. “Oh, -Susie,” added Dorothy, in lower tones, “I hope he -hasn’t been drinking again?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What’s that your business?” returned the other -woman. “Guess I can take care of my man.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I am not so sure of that; but I didn’t mean to -offend you.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Then you hadn’t ought to have meddled.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“All right,” said Dorothy; “good-by”; and, turning, -she left Mrs. Colkett and rejoined Rose.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_125'>125</span>“What a woman!” she said, and then for a time -neither spoke.</p> - -<p class='c007'>When they were well on their way to the shore, -Rose said: “I am troubled, Mrs. Maybrook, that I so -dislike any one as unfortunate as that woman. But I -don’t like her. I never, never want to go there again, -and I am sorry for her, too. Oh, I am as sorry as I -can be; but—”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Dorothy simply said, “I do not wonder.” And then, -with a laugh, “The fact is, Miss Rose, that Colkett -woman’s bad; and, for my part, I’m a right lopsided -Christian. I can’t put on mourning for rattlesnakes -just the same as for doves. It’s a kind of -comfort to find you aren’t much better than I am.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I,—indeed not!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Meanwhile Dorothy was debating in her mind how -much she should tell her companion. A side glance -at the fresh young maiden face decided her. “I said -along back I would explain what kept me so long. I -cannot. They were talking about me. It wasn’t very -pleasant. I overheard something disagreeable. I -reckon I’ll come over and see about it with Mr. Lyndsay. -Do you chance to know Mr. Carington that fishes -up to Island Camp?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No.” Rose felt that whatever was withheld concerned—must -concern—this gentleman. “But I am -immensely curious,” she said.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Are you?” cried Dorothy, laughing. “I am going -to keep my mouth shut for twenty-four hours, and -that’s real, rity-dity penance, I can tell you! Did you -never see Mr. Carington? Why, he’s right up river, -just two or three miles.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_126'>126</span>“No,—or yes, with my glass a moment, ever so far -away. What is he like?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, there’s two.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Not twins?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No. There’s a Mr. Ellett. He’s a man walks -about and—well, he walks about.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Rose laughed. She felt the description to be somewhat -indistinct, and said so.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Kind of man says ‘Oh!’ when you talk to him. -Awful neat man,—wears glasses?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And the other?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“He’s a well-set-up man. Stands up strong on -his hind legs.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“His what?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“His hind legs. He’s pretty smart with a boat, -and a gun, too. He’s got a way of putting his head -back, and sort of looking you over, as if he was taking -stock of you. It’s not as if he was stuck up or -saucy. It’s just a way your father has, too, Miss -Rose.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Indeed!” Miss Lyndsay was not quite sure she -desired any one to resemble her father. “Here we -are at the landing.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You won’t mind if I ask you, Miss Rose, not to -say—there was—anything—anything wrong?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No, of course not, if you wish it; but I do want -to know,” and then they went away homeward, down -the highway of the waters. In fact, as to this matter -of which she was not to speak, Rose was vastly curious, -and lay long awake that night, smiling at times -over the description of the dwellers at the Island -Camp.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_127'>127</span>Dorothy slipped away up the ox-road, from the -river-bank opposite the Cliff Camp, and went with -slow and unusually thoughtful steps through the -wood. At the gate of their clearing she found -Hiram, as usual, waiting for her like a patient dog -for the master.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You’ve been a long time,” he said.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes,—I could not help it. Are the cows milked!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No. I kind of forgot.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Better go and milk them now,” she said; “and -don’t forget to feed the hogs, and put the bars up,—one, -two, three things,” and she smiled; “mind, three -things.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, now I’m p’inted right. I’ll go. The bars, -you said?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, the bars.” And he went away, saying, -“One, two, three, one, two, three. I might forget -them bars!” And meanwhile the wife moved homeward, -still deep in thought.</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_128'>128</span> - <h2 class='c005'>CHAPTER IX</h2> -</div> - -<div class='c006'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/dropcap_a.jpg' width='100' height='99' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi1_0'> -At breakfast next day, Rose came in -late.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What, overslept yourself?” said -her father, as she went the round of -the table with her morning kisses.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes; I couldn’t get to sleep.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And what kept you awake?” said Miss Anne, who -still, to the surprise of all, appeared almost daily at the -morning meal. “A penny for your thoughts.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I was guessing a riddle; but I took it into my -sleep unanswered.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“A good many riddles have been answered in sleep,” -said Miss Anne. “Was yours?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No. Oh, no, Master Ned; I shall not tell it.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That’s the hardest riddle ever was,” cried the -boy. “I have to guess what the riddle is, and then -what the answer is.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You will never, never know.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“May we ask twenty questions about it?” said -Dick. “Animal, vegetable, or mineral?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I should be puzzled. To what kingdom do morals -belong?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Why, who ever heard of mineral or vegetable -morals?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“The last might admit of illustration,” said Miss -<span class='pageno' id='Page_129'>129</span>Anne; and she began to consider within herself the -people she knew who had what she called vegetable -morals.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Is there a man in your riddle?” cried Jack.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“A Boss-town man,” said Dick, with a grin.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Pinch him, Jack,” said Rose.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh!” cried Dick, responsive to the promptly applied -punishment, and making a wry face. “You -would be awfully good at a Jersey courtship, Rose, -especially if you got Jack to help.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“A good friend at a pinch,” said Jack. And so -these foolish people rattled on, and by and by Mrs. -Lyndsay said:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Rose, you have not told us anything about Mrs. -Maybrook and those poor Colketts. I did not ask -you last night, you were so sleepy.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Don’t ask me now,” said Rose. “I never saw such -a horrible creature as that woman.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But her child is dead!” said Mrs. Lyndsay, with -gentle inconsequence.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I think her altogether hateful,” insisted Rose.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Altogether hateful?” cried Anne. “I like these -complete natures. It must simplify things in life so -satisfactorily. Amiability would become so useless an -effort. To be altogether and hopelessly aside from the -possibilities of affection or respect might save a deal of -moral exertion.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I don’t think I understand,” said Mrs. Lyndsay; -“or, if I do, I am very sure that it isn’t a nice thing -to say. “Wouldn’t it be as simple and better to be -altogether lovable?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No, no,” cried Anne; “you have tried that, and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_130'>130</span>does it really pay, dear?” Margaret was a trifle -uncertain as to the compliment, and Anne, much delighted -at her game of what she called mental cat’s-cradle, -was about to go on, when Pierre came in.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Ah, here is the mail,” said Lyndsay, and emptied -out the bag on a side-table.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I have been yearning for a newspaper,” said -Anne.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Not I,” cried her brother, as he walked around the -table distributing the letters. “Ah,” he said, “my -friend North. He was to have joined us with his wife -next week, Anne; but Clayborne is dead. You will -all be sorry to hear that. North says—it is, as usual, -interesting. Shall I read it?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, certainly, Archie,—all of it. I am very sorry. -It will be a great loss to Dr. North.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And to our too small world of letters,” added -Lyndsay.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“He says, ‘We—that is, Vincent and I—had spent -two hours with our old friend in that great book-clad -room we all know. We came away talking of his -vast knowledge of medieval men and things. I had -chanced to say I wondered how a gentleman in the -fifteenth century spent a day, and he had at once told -it all in curious detail—as to hours, dress, diet, and -occupations. I left Vincent and went back for a book -I had meant to borrow. When I entered, Clayborne -was seated as usual with a little book in his hand. -As he did not stir, I went up to him. The book was -kept open by his palm. I stooped over him and saw -that the book was Fulke Greville’s on Democracy. -He was dead. He had noiselessly gone out, without -<span class='pageno' id='Page_131'>131</span>stir of a finger. He must have been receiving ideas, -dealing with them, and then—’ See, Margaret, this -is his symbol of death. ‘I suppose, dear Lyndsay, -you will think it strange that I sat still a half-hour -beside my dead friend. I never felt the other world -so close; it seemed within touch. At last—as the -great frame began to stiffen—the book fell. I took -it, marked the place, and put it in my pocket.’</p> - -<p class='c007'>“The rest,” said Lyndsay, “is of less interest.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“A happy exit,” said Anne.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I cannot think that,” returned Margaret. “I should -want to know that I was dying.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“One rarely does,” said her husband. “You get -muddled, and say and do foolish and ill-bred things. -I sympathize with a friend of mine who gave orders -that he was to be left to die alone.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“How horrible! How unnatural!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No, no,” cried Anne; “it is you who are ‘un-natured.’ -But imagine dying with such a dull book in -hand! I was wondering what book I should want -to have last seen on earth.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I can think of but one, Anne.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, that is not one book. Why call it a book? It -is the books of many men. Besides,—and this is terrible, -Margaret,—I should like it to have been some -very earthsome book,—I had to coin an adjective,—and -I should like it to be like Ned’s friend—several.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Margaret was critically silent. All this was in a -way unpleasant to her, as the unusual is always to -some people.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I do not think,” said Lyndsay, “I know with what -thoughts I should like to go hand in hand out of life. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_132'>132</span>He was a fine, irritable old fellow. The critics won’t -bother him now.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Who can tell? There may be archangelic critics, -for all we know,” returned Anne. “However, perhaps -one won’t mind it. You know what Hafiz says: -‘Happy are the dead, for they shall inherit the kingdom -of indifference.’”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Anne! Anne!” exclaimed Mrs. Lyndsay.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Between papa’s Aurelius and Aunt Anne’s Persian -poets,” said Rose, in haste to intervene, “the fairy-land -of bewilderment is never far away.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I have the wicked worldliness, brother, to want to -know how Mr. Clayborne left his money. Wasn’t he -rich?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes. Wait a moment. He divided it, North says, -between him—that is North, dear; I am glad of that; -it will be in wise hands—and, really, that queer creature, -St. Clair; but he was clever enough to put his -share in trust.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I am very glad. That too delightful man!” exclaimed -Rose. “Do you remember, Aunt Anne, the -morning we spent with him at the Louvre? It was -like walking about with some Greek sculptor. He -seemed to be away in Athens while he talked.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It was certainly interesting,” said her aunt. “A -trifle naturalistic at times, I thought.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Was he? I don’t know. We used to wonder, -mama, if he ever really cared for Alice Leigh. After -that morning I made up my mind he never did. He -spent ten minutes comparing her head and neck to -that of the Diana.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What a feminine test!” said Lyndsay. “If a man -<span class='pageno' id='Page_133'>133</span>were to tell you that you looked like the Venus of -Melos, Rose, would you say, ‘No, sir; you can’t care -for me. It is impossible. I shall always,’ etc., etc.—the -usual formula?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You are too bad, Pardy! My convictions are unshaken. -Mr. St. Clair told me; he did not tell her. -If he had told her, I know he would have said it in -that soft, convinced way. She would have liked it.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I see,” said Lyndsay; “it becomes clearer.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Why do men sneer at him? I think him—well, -I think him indescribably attractive. The word ‘fascinating’ -would answer. And I am sorry for poor -Mrs. North; oh, I am! Fascinating—yes, that is -what <em>I</em> should call him, and oddly unconventional.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I think you young folks are too apt to use that -word ‘fascinating,’” said her mother. “I have no -liking for these men who can fascinate, and can’t -hold fast to the affections of any one.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>At this Anne burst into inextinguishable laughter, -and, with one hand pressed on the aching side which -was so apt to check her wilder mirth, she held out -the other to the astonished Mrs. Lyndsay, exclaiming:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“A forfeit—a pun from Margaret. Five cents—ten -cents; a forfeit!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And what did I say?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh!” cried Rose.—“the dear mama! She said—she -said a man who could fascinate and not hold on -to one. Oh, mama, how could you?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But I didn’t. I never meant such a thing.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes! yes!” they cried; and, laughing, got up -from table amidst continued protests from the innocent -punster.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_134'>134</span>Rose followed her father on to the porch.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Mrs. Maybrook will be over at ten. She wants to -see you. I told her you would not fish to-day.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What is it she wants?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I do not know. Something serious, I fancy.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No new trouble for her, I hope. By the way, old -Polycarp’s bowman is sick to-day and cannot go with -you. Anne, for a wonder, wishes to go on the water. -Ned shall take Pierre. Not to disappoint you, I sent -Polycarp early up to the clearings to get a bowman. -He will be back shortly. Good luck to you!” And -he went in to his letters, while Rose arranged her -fishing-basket, put in it a couple of books, and sat -down to look over the bright assortment of feathered -lures in her father’s fly-book. Now and then she -glanced up the river, but no boat appeared.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Meanwhile Mrs. Maybrook came, and went. Rose -heard her father say to her, as she went out:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No; it must not be left in doubt.” He was of -opinion that it might mean little; but it might, on the -other hand, mean much. Many are tempted, and few -fall. The idea of crime on this quiet river seemed -almost absurd to him. He added, “I shall mention -it, you may feel sure of that, Mrs. Maybrook. A Lady -Macbeth in business up here is queer enough.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I certainly do think he ought to be told,” said Dorothy.</p> - -<p class='c007'>These bits of talk much puzzled Rose. As to Dorothy, -she lingered a while to chat with Anne, who sat -with her hands in her lap in that entire idleness which -more than any other thing on earth exasperated Margaret -Lyndsay. Below, on the beach, Ned was preparing, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_135'>135</span>a little troubled because the other boys were not -to go with him, while they, quite reconciled to the decree -of parental fate, were gaily launching their canoe, -and singing, as they poled up-stream:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“I would not gi’e my bonny Rose,</div> - <div class='line'>My bonny Rose-a-Lyndsaye,</div> - <div class='line'>For all the wealth the ocean knows,</div> - <div class='line'>Or the wale of the lands of Lyndsaye.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>Then Rose waved her handkerchief, and, much disappointed, -again took her field-glass and still saw no -canoe. At last Mrs. Lyndsay came out, and they sat -in the pleasant sunshine, the mother sewing with even -constancy, which as seriously annoyed Anne as her -own absence of all manual employ did the little -mother.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Very soon Anne became engaged in her usual -amusement of recklessly tangling some one in the -toils of statements, arguments, and opinions in which -she herself had no serious belief; since, I should add, -this bright, humorous, and strangely learned creature -was, under all, a woman of strong views and deliberately -won religious beliefs.</p> - -<p class='c007'>When Rose, distracted from her regrets at the loss -of the forenoon fishing, began to hear the talk, Anne -had just said:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I don’t see how the world could go on at all without -fibs.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Upon which Mrs. Lyndsay, despite years of acquaintance -with her sister-in-law, pricked her finger and -dropped her thimble, and took to her fan.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You see, there is no commandment against it, -Margaret.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_136'>136</span>“But, Anne, ‘Thou shalt not hear false witness,’” -said Mrs. Lyndsay.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But suppose I tell a harmless fib about myself, or -praise some one I should like to—to slap?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It’s all false witness, I reckon,” said Dorothy. -“If I ain’t my own neighbor, I’d like to know who -is?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Anne smiled. That this fly was not easily meshed -in her sophistical web only excited the spider.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It would be a horrid addition to one’s responsibilities -to be one’s own neighbor. I should move -away. After all, Margaret, isn’t the chief use of -habitual truthfulness to enable one at need to lie -with useful probability of being believed?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>By this time Mrs. Lyndsay was nearly past the possibility -of remonstrance. She let fall the work she -had resumed, and, rocking steadily, began to fan -herself with deliberate slowness. A little she suspected -this baited snare; but not to seize it was beyond -her power of self-control.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I am thankful my boys are not here. You will -say it is a jest. Whether it is a jest or not, it is -equally the kind of thing which should not be said—ever,” -and here she shut the fan with decision, as if -that also closed the argument.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I was thinking I’m rather on Miss Anne’s side,” -said Dorothy. “There’s a heap of righteousness in -some lies. Now, if I hadn’t been a dreadful truth-speaking -woman a good many years, my Hiram -wouldn’t believe me now; and the fact is I just stuff -that man full of lies nowadays. I just chuck them -around like you feed chickens. I tell him he looks -<span class='pageno' id='Page_137'>137</span>better every day, and how he is getting stronger. -Miss Anne, I shouldn’t wonder a bit if the Lord -loved a right cheerful liar.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Good gracious!” said Margaret Lyndsay. “Dorothy, -how can a good woman like you say such -things?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I can. And he’s a-failing before my very eyes,” -she added, upon which she became silent. A tear or -two dropped down her cheeks. “Now, wouldn’t you -lie, Mrs. Lyndsay, if you was me?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Anne looked up with interest as to what the answer -might be.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I might; I would,” said Margaret. “I am afraid -I should.” Then she put a sympathetic hand on her -friend’s knee, while Anne looked grave, and Rose -watched Dorothy, with instant pity in her heart.</p> - -<p class='c007'>But this was not Dorothy’s common way.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“My lands! I’ve been making a fool of myself!” -She had the aversion of the strong to the alms of -sympathy. As she spoke she rose. “Come over and -see me when you feel right good, Miss Anne. I do -love a talk—and my roses! I’ve got a lot of them -to blooming this year, and if that isn’t enough to -make a woman happy, what is?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>With this she said good-by and went down to the -beach. Anne watched with envy, in which was no -unkindliness, the vigor with which the dugout shot -forth from the shore. “A fine nature, that. It does -one good to talk to her. Example is a strange medicine. -It is hard to analyze its value. Because she -endures with patience, I may. Yes; my helps are -larger.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_138'>138</span>As Mrs. Maybrook walked up to her house she -thought over, as was the habit of her lonely life, the -talk she had had with Mr. Lyndsay and its occasion. -In her younger days of wandering, Hiram and she -had lived long amidst rough people in the West, -among miners and loose ruffians of all degrees of -wickedness. Thus the idea of crime was not so unfamiliar -as to strike her as it did Lyndsay. She had -seen men shot, and had been where murder and -plunder were common. She had overheard a half-evolved -scheme of villainy, one to be easily thwarted; -nor, knowing, as she did, Colkett and his wife, did it -greatly amaze her. Still, it was rare to hear of crime -on the river. She had found more or less explanation -of this wickedness in what she remembered of the -Colketts, and had said in explanation to Mr. Lyndsay:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“She was a right fine-looking woman when she -married Joe Colkett; but she never was less than -bad. She’s about the only one I ever came across -that would give her man—that is, her first man—drink, -and buy it for him, too, till she poisoned him. -When the children came, and two were idiots, like -drunkards’ brats are, as every one knows, she put it -all on her first man—Fairlamb was his name. At -last she was left with them, and nothing to do but -get another man. She’d have married ’most any one -to keep those children. That’s the only good about -her; but the funny thing is the way that stump of a -fellow does love her. He does, though!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“A queer story!” said Lyndsay.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Now, as she walked homeward, she said to herself, -“But who on earth was that Lady Macbeth Mr. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_139'>139</span>Lyndsay talked about? It must be a book. I forgot -to ask. Think I’d like to read it. I’ll ask Miss -Anne. The way a woman p’ints a man is the thing. -Guess I’ve always p’inted Hiram straight, thank the -Lord! I wonder if he’s seen about mending that -scythe?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Meanwhile, by noon, came lazily back Polycarp -and the canoe, without a bowman. Lyndsay was -vexed. There had been no one at the clearings who -could be had. Pierre, when he came in, must go -down with the mail. Said Lyndsay:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Go back at once. Stop at the Island Camp. -There seems to be a lot of men about there. I saw -four canoes on the shore. The lumbermen are driving -on that reach. Some one said a photographer -was camped there. He can’t want both of his -men. Don’t ask the gentlemen for a man; I don’t -know them. Now, mind what I say. Find somebody; -I’ll pay him a dollar for his half-day, but -don’t come back without a bowman.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It’s a great thing the way you p’int a man, papa,” -said Rose. “Mrs. Maybrook has the trick of it.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“He’ll find some one now. You had better fish -the rock stretch, a mile above the Island Camp. The -Indian knows, and no one has cast a fly there yet. -Be careful not to get on Mr. Carington’s water. -Watch Polycarp, or he’ll let you fish down to the -bay. They are all born poachers, these fellows.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Polycarp said “Yes,” and no more, and poled -doggedly away up the river, not over well pleased. -At the camp he beached his canoe. The photographer -had gone. The lumbermen could none of -<span class='pageno' id='Page_140'>140</span>them get leave; and the Indian, pleased at the prospect -of a lazy half-day with his pipe, was on his way -back to his canoe, when the tent-fly of the larger -canvas home was parted, and he heard:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Halloa! Want anything?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Want man for bow to pole down at Cliff Camp. -Mr. Lyndsay he goin’ a-fishin’, and my man sick—hurt -leg. No much good.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Well, ask the lumbermen.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No make any use.” At this appeared a second -man, also, like the first, in knickerbockers. He wore -a glass on one eye, and looked Polycarp over curiously. -Then he went back, and lay down with a -novel and a pipe.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Hold on!” said Carington. “Take one of our -men; Mr. Ellett isn’t going to fish to-day.” Then -his face lit up with a quick look of merriment. -“What fun! I’ll go myself!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You wouldn’t do that? I wouldn’t do that!” -said a voice from the tent. Now, opposition was to -this young man like fuel to fire.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Why not?” he said.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Might be awkward.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, you be hanged! Look here, my man, what’s -your name?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Polycarp.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Well, you antique saint, I mean to go down with -you and pole for your Mr.—what’s his name? -oh, Lyndsay, is it? I can pole. Don’t be afraid. -Here’s a dollar if you don’t let on,—tell, I mean.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>The Indian grinned.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“This is a spree, Polyglot—Poly-carp—Poly-salmon, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_141'>141</span>or whatever your multitudinous fishy name is. -Do you know what a spree is?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Plenty heap whisky,” said the Indian.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Well, there are varieties. Can you hold your -tongue?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes—can hold tongue.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You can fib a bit?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Heap much.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Then remember I am one of the men up here, no -matter who.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Well, of all the absurd things!” said the mentor -within the tent.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“By St. Botolph, as they say in Boston, I need a -little absurdity to make a decent average after a fortnight -with you, you confounded old conventional -<span lang="la" xml:lang="la"><em>et cætera</em></span>.” And, talking or laughing, he presently -emerged in pretty well soiled velveteens, a dingy -jacket, slouched felt hat, and his trousers stuffed in -his long boots.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Are you really going?” said Ellett.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I am. Come along, Polycarp. I fancy I’m -dressed in character. What fun! He will want to -pay me,” and he whistled as he pushed the bow out -into the stream and sat down to paddle.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Meanwhile Mr. Oliver Ellett considered his vanishing -friend from afar with mingled feelings of dismay -and admiration. “That is a very remarkable man. -I couldn’t possibly have done that. I think there -are several brief insanities besides anger.” Then, as -if surprised at his own cleverness, he added, “I wish -Carington had heard that. Confound it!” and he -smote an army of unseen midges who had taken advantage -<span class='pageno' id='Page_142'>142</span>of his abstraction to prey on the ruddy -cheeks, which, with a slight tendency to stoutness -of girth, gave him a look of youthfulness he much -detested.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What was it Fred said last night about remorse -and midges? Confound it, I forget. Blank the -things! Get a smudge, Steve,—two smudges!” -And he retired again to the tent and his novel.</p> - -<p class='c007'>He had been drowsily considering the fates of a -despairing young woman for a half-hour or more, -when he was aware of an unfamiliar voice outside of -the tent. Steve, the guide, an honest, good-tempered -Gaspé man, was heard to say:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Mr. Carington—he went away a bit back. I -didn’t see him, sir. I was getting cedar bark for -smudges.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Where did he go?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Michelle, where is Mr. Carington? Where did -he go?”</p> - -<p class='c007'><a id='corr142.20'></a><span class='htmlonly'><ins class='correction' title='“The bowman,'>‘The bowman,</ins></span><span class='epubonly'><a href='#c_142.20'><ins class='correction' title='“The bowman,'>‘The bowman,</ins></a></span> fully prepared, replied at once:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I don’t rightly know.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>At this Mr. Ellett bounded from his mattress, and -appeared without. The voice he heard first was unmistakably -that of a man of his own world.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Beg pardon,” he said; “I was dozing. I am Mr. -Oliver Ellett. Won’t you come in?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No, thank you. I have but a few minutes. I am -Mr. Lyndsay, from the Cliff Camp. I came to see Mr. -Carington. Is he here?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No. He has gone off somewhere.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“On the river?”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_143'>143</span>“I don’t think he is fishing. Perhaps, if you were -to come in and wait a little, he might turn up.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>But this Lyndsay declined. He had run up with -Pierre’s canoe, and must return to get rid of some yet -unanswered letters and be in time to fish the lower -pool.</p> - -<p class='c007'>At last, after a little chat about the salmon, he -said: “Are you not Oliver Ellett’s son, of Boston? -I think it must be so: the resemblance is strong. -We were classmates at Harvard.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes,” said Ellett; “he was my father.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“He was stroke-oar in my boat. If you are as -good a fellow—oh, if you are half as good a fellow—we -shall be glad to see you and your friend at the -Cliff Camp.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It will give us great pleasure; and what shall I -say to Carington?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That can wait. By the way, I sent that Indian of -mine to the lumbermen to get a bowman for half a -day. I trust he did not trouble you. I gave him -strict orders. I saw he had been successful. We -passed him as I came up.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, he got some one,” said Ellett. “It was not one -of our men.” And so, with further talk of flies and -fish, he carefully conducted Mr. Lyndsay to his canoe, -and was relieved to hear him tell Pierre to land him -on the far shore.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“One feels the need to use one’s legs here. Meet -me at the timber brow,” he said to Pierre. “I shall -walk fast. Good-by, Mr. Ellett, and come soon to -see us.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_144'>144</span>Ellett stood a moment, and then went back to his -tent. “I wonder whom he is to pole for? It isn’t -Mr. Lyndsay. Christopher Columbus! What a lot -of mischief you are responsible for! No wonder Fred -says you have pretty near as much sin to your count -as that fair explorer who discovered the new world of -wickedness. By George! If it should be the woman! -He stared at her, Sunday, through his glass as they -went by, until I told him it wasn’t decent. He said -it did bring her pretty close. Well, I never heard of -falling in love through a telescope. Now, that wasn’t -a bad idea at all.” He had no high estimate of himself, -and was occasionally overcome at his own cleverness. -“This beats my novel all to bits. More smudge, -Michelle!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Meanwhile the canoe ran down-stream, Fred Carington -in the bow, and Polycarp, with his changeless, -coppery visage, astern.</p> - -<p class='c007'>As the Indian had by no means hurried himself, -the morning was past and luncheon long over when -Rose saw the canoe returning. Lyndsay had not -come back. At all events, she would have the afternoon -fishing.</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_145'>145</span> - <h2 class='c005'>CHAPTER X</h2> -</div> - -<div class='c006'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/dropcap_w.jpg' width='100' height='104' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi1_0'> -When Mr. Lyndsay reached home, -Rose had gone, and he had no chance -to take a look at the new bowman: -he hoped he was competent. The -man in the bow especially has to -judge with decision as to the watery -way before him, to avoid shallows, to look out for rocks, -and instantly to obey every order from the stern.</p> - -<p class='c007'>When Polycarp’s birch, for the Indians always use -the bark canoe, ran close to the beach, the bowman -stepped out, as the way is, into the water and drew -the bark to the shore. Polycarp, silent as a monk of -La Trappe, went up the steps. The boys were absent, -Miss Anne was off with big-voiced Tom, and Mr. -Lyndsay had not returned. Carington began to be -curious. “Great Scott!” he exclaimed, for here was -a young woman coming gaily down the steps. She -wore a boy’s cap and carried a basket. Behind her -came Polycarp with her rods.</p> - -<p class='c007'>It is the business of the bowman to use his eyes and -not his tongue. The former were now discreetly busy. -I scarcely ever knew a talkative bowman. Talk is the -privilege of the man at the stern, who rarely hesitates -to advise as to the handling of a fish, or to converse -with easy freedom.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_146'>146</span>“I scarcely bargained for this,” said Fred to himself. -“It’s high comedy, rather. I am in for it. Here -goes!” And he drew the side of the birch close to -the shore, readjusted a stone or two of those placed -for landing and then steadied the canoe. Miss Lyndsay -put a hand on his shoulder, stepped lightly in, and -sat down. As usual in this watery travel the low seat -for the fisherman is set to face in the direction in -which the boat moves, so as to give the view ahead. -When about to fish the canoe is run ashore,—beached, -they say,—and the seat is turned so as to look to the -stern.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“We are to fish the upper—the rock pool, Polycarp; -above the Island Camp—a mile or so, I believe.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Me know.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And you are to be careful not to go beyond a certain -dead pine, or to get onto the water of the Island Camp. -We don’t know those people, and I wish <a id='corr146.18'></a><span class='htmlonly'><ins class='correction' title='to be careful.'>to be careful.”</ins></span><span class='epubonly'><a href='#c_146.18'><ins class='correction' title='to be careful.'>to be careful.”</ins></a></span></p> - -<p class='c007'>“Me know. Last drop best. Have to cast a little -over. No help it.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No, not a foot! These are a couple of Boston -gentlemen, and very likely to be disagreeable as to -boundaries.” Rose was thinking aloud.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Thereupon the bowman was tempted—“I did hear -tell they was awful nice men.“</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Indeed!” said Rose, not fancying this reply.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“There won’t nobody know,” muttered Polycarp, -with a chuckle.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You bad old poacher,” she returned, laughing. -“Here is some tobacco for you; you may smoke, but -I can’t have you chewing. As to poaching, I hope it -won’t be necessary.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_147'>147</span>As she spoke, the poles clinked as one on the rocks -and pebbles, and, keeping close to shore, they gradually -forged up-stream, Rose lying back at lazy ease, -and hardly hearing the rare words of order or warning -from stern to bow. By and by, being, as I have -said, an observant young person, she fell to noticing -the symmetry and strong lines of her bowman’s -figure, and then the thick, brown half-curl of hair -under the felt hat. The action, as it repeated itself -over and over, struck her fancy. She took at last -to analyzing the movement, which beautifully brings -out the curves of the tense muscles. She saw that -poling on the right side begins with the left hand -above, the right below; and that, in the recover and -forward lift for a new hold on the bottom, the right -hand is shifted above the left, and the pole is carried -forward through the relaxed grip of the left hand, -and the push begins again. At last she took out her -sketch-book, and pretty soon caught a neat likeness -of the man in the last moment of the forward shove, -when the balancing power of the man in these unsteady -vessels is the most severely tried. Her unconscious -model, now warming to the work, had -half forgotten the awkwardness of the position in -the pleasure of this manly use of well-trained muscles. -A little later and he saw Ellett, as they sat -down to take their paddles to cross the quieter -water before the camp, in order to win the farther -shore. “Confound his impudence!” said Carington -to himself, as he became aware of his friend coolly -inspecting them with a field-glass from a bank on the -margin.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_148'>148</span>“Who is that man?” said Miss Lyndsay, turning -toward Polycarp.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Not know name.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Aren’t there two gentlemen fishing this reach? -How much water have they?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>An Indian usually answers the last question, taking -no notice of the first. “They got Mr. George—his -water. From bogan up to big tree.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Bogan? What is that?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Just bogan,” said Polycarp. His descriptive -powers, as well as his English, were limited. The -word which puzzled her is probably an old English -term. Still unsatisfied, Rose addressed the tall bowman. -“What is your name, bowman?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Frederick, ma’am.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But your whole name?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Fairfield.” In fact, it was his middle name.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What is a bogan, Fairfield?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“A kind of a little bay like.” He was about to say -a <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr"><em>cul-de-sac</em></span>, but stayed his tongue in time.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And what is that yellow stuff all along the shore? -It looks like sulphur.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It’s the pollen of the alders.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Pollen!” said Rose.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes; that’s what the gentlemen calls it. Drops -off them bushes, ma’am. Pullen or pollen—I don’t -rightly mind.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Where is our pool, Polycarp?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“’Most to it now.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, there are the burnt lands,” said Rose. “What -a dreadfully sad-looking place!” This was a mere -personal reflection, unaddressed; but the bowman -<span class='pageno' id='Page_149'>149</span>was now in the spirit of his part, and made a shy -cast for a rise of interest in his human freight.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It’s right mournsome-like.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>The fish rose. “What a beautiful word! Mournsome! -Fearsome is another good word up here.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Hadn’t we best anchor?” said Carington. “I -say, Polycarp, how is it? I don’t know this upper -water.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Rose took a look at the back of this curly head. -The voice had not the intonations of Gaspé, but rang -out clear over the noise of the rapids. Also the “a’s” -were broad, and there was a decided south-land note -in it, with which Rose was too unfamiliar to cause suspicion. -Polycarp silently turned the canoe, and in -a moment beached it. Rose stood; the chair was -shifted, and now in a few moments they were at the -top of the pool, a swift flow of dark water all around -them.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Anchor—drop,” said Polycarp, as they swung to -the current. “Keepee hold short.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>The stream was a hundred yards wide. The hills -rose high to right, and already a favoring shadow -was on the pool. Rose had lost much time by reason -of this trouble about the bowman. It was well on -toward evening. A fish leaped below and then another. -It was of a truth most beautiful, and the man -in the bow, who was now behind Rose, was longing -to say as much, but Rose was intent on other matters. -A moderate-sized Jock Scott was adjusted, and -she began to cast,—still awkwardly enough.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I must stand,” said Rose. Then she cast better, -but still in vain. An hour went by. Two people -<span class='pageno' id='Page_150'>150</span>were beginning to consider it a little dull. At last -once more Polycarp said, “Drop!” Rose laid her -rod on the thwarts, as they slid down some thirty -feet, the fly and leader hanging in the water, and the -butt behind her. Of a sudden there was a mad -splash, the reel ran out, and the bowman, catching -the butt, raised the rod, and, leaning over her, put it -in her hands. “Take care!” he said, “he’s off,” -and away he went across the water.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“How splendid!” cried Rose, as she lowered the -tip, when the fish made a mighty leap, eighty feet -away, and his silvery arched form fell amidst foam -onto the dark waves.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Look out! More jump!” cried the Indian; and -again the reel clicked busily.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Reel! Reel!” said the bowman. “Well done, -miss! Reel! Logs coming, Polycarp!” It was true. -A half-dozen dark logs were coming down on them.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Darn logs!” said the Indian, much excited. “You -hold hard now. Tip up!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes. Tip up! tip up!” cried Carington. “There, -can you hold him? If you can’t, he will get the line -among the logs.” They were now out of the current -in a side eddy. “So—so! Hold there, Polycarp! If -he waits a half-minute before he runs, we shall have -him. Good! He’s coming! Now lift him, miss! -Well done! Reel! Reel! These running fish don’t -last.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“See belly,—much dead. Yah,” said the Indian; -and the gaff was in, and, amidst laughter and wild -splashing, which covered her with water, a fine salmon -was in the boat.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_151'>151</span>“Admirably done, miss!” said Carington. “That -was well handled.” Then he added, “Them fresh-run -fish is tough uns.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Rose began, even amid her tire and excitement, to -be a little puzzled. However, they went back to the -same drop, and the casting went on as before. A half-hour -passed. It was now long after six o’clock.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“See him rise, ma’am?” said Polycarp. “Best fish—heap -late, heap best fish.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>She cast again, and this time saw the swirl in the -water and a glance of white.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Much hungry!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>After a little while the fly was changed, and then -again, until at last the first fly was tried anew.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No good! He no come!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Hold on a moment,” said Carington. “Try this”; -and he took from his head his soft felt hat and threw -it over to Polycarp. “There’s a fly in the band: try -that. It is a white miller.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No good!” said Polycarp; but he put it on. The -next moment Rose saw a fish dart sideways through -the water, and with open mouth take the fly. Then -the anchor was up, and the fish away for a wild run -down-stream, the reel whizzing, pausing, and whizzing -again. For a half-hour of running and reeling this -went on. At length the fish hung out steadily in the -strong water, his head to the current, while Rose with -all her power held him.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“These runs down-stream are rare,” said Carington; -“How strong he is!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>For an hour the sky had been overcast, and the -river-bed in the nest of hills was fast growing dim.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_152'>152</span>“Are you tired?” said the bowman. “Shall I take -the rod? It might spell you.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, no! Thank you! No.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Give him a little line—so, slowly; but be careful. -Drop the tip a little. It may tempt him to run again. -No! How he holds on! Might I suggest, Miss Lyndsay,”—he -had quite forgotten his part in the excitement -of the contest,—“may I suggest that we drop -below him?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>This was tried. The fish came duly down-stream. -The canoe was again brought to the bank, and again -there was the salmon out in the heavy water. Each -motion of his tail revealed itself by a single “click, -click” of the reel. It was now dusk.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It is that limp rod: it has no power,” said Carington, -and, reaching over, he caught a few small stones -from the bank, and threw them at the point where at -the end of a perilously tense line the fish still held his -place.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No much good!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>At last she got in a little line. The salmon was -now not over twenty feet from her rod-tip; but she -could no longer see, and it was near to eight o’clock, -and, by reason of the coming storm, far more dark -than usual at that hour.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I shall be eaten by the sand-flies,” said Rose. -“How they bite!” It was now too dark to see line -or rod-tip.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Hold her, Polycarp,” said the bowman. “I will -make a smudge.” And in a moment a thick smoke -was whirling from the beach, and cast around her by -the rising wind. Then, of a sudden, the smudge, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_153'>153</span>blown into ruddy flame, sent a long flare of light -across the water. In an instant the line came home.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“He is gone!” cried Rose, in accents of despair.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No! no!” cried Carington, from the beach: “reel!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>The fish, caught by the light, had rushed wildly toward -it, and run his nose onto the shore. The bowman, -catching first a handful of gravel, seized it by -the tail, and threw it high up onto the shore, the -rod-tip snapping as Rose threw it back of her.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Did any one ever see the like?” said Carington.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Me see—twice—two time,” said the Indian, as -he took the spring balance from the fishing-basket.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, this is fishing!” cried Rose. “It must be -quite two hours! I know what papa will say. He -will say, ‘Bad fishing!’”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But I assure you,” said Carington, from the -darkened shore, eight or ten feet away, “I can assure -you no one could have handled that fish better!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>At this Rose was struck silent, and now she wanted -to get a good look at this eccentric bowman.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No see,” said Polycarp; “’bout twenty-nine pound; -got match?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Ah!” she exclaimed, for now in an instant there -fell a fury of driving rain, which struck her on the -face and hands like spent shot.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Let me help you,” said Carington. “Here. How -dark it is! Take my hand. This spruce will hold -off the rain a while.” Rose leaped out in haste.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It won’t last,” added the bowman.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But what does my fish weigh? Couldn’t you -strike a match and see? I want to know.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Certainly, ma’am!” he said, urgently sensible of -<span class='pageno' id='Page_154'>154</span>the need to get back into character. “Best get it -weighed soon. Them fish drops weight a lot.” So -saying, he took out a silver match-box, and, taking -three matches together, struck them on his corduroys, -and hastily covered them with the cavern every -smoker knows how to make with his hands. The -wind put them out at once.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No good!” said Polycarp.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But I must know what my fish weighs,” urged -this persistent young woman.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Of course, ma’am!” said the much-amused Carington.</p> - -<p class='c007'>It had become suddenly still darker. Above them -the storm roared, as it tossed the plumes of the unseen -tree-tops, and the spruce was no longer a cover. -Miss Lyndsay squirmed, and gave a little laugh, as -more and more insolent drops crawled down her back.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Do hurry,” she said, “my good man.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Meanwhile, Carington again lit a match, this time -in the shelter of his hat, and kindled the resinous -tips of a pine-branch he had torn away.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Thirty-one pounds and over—say thirty-two.” -As he spoke he held up the fiercely blazing branch, -so that its red-and-orange light flared over the water, -and, seen in a million drops, cast for a moment dancing -shadows through the dense woodlands back of -them. In this wild light the Indian’s visage stood -out like some antique bronze, and she saw for the -first time clearly a smiling brown face, clean shaven -except for a slight mustache. The bowman threw -the branch on the water, where it sparkled a moment, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_155'>155</span>and said, cheerfully, “Will the canoe live in -this wind, Polycarp?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Not know! Big much blow!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Confound it!” said the bowman. “I think we -had better wait a bit, ma’am. Kind of rains like -them clouds was buckets turned upside down. It -can’t last. Are you gettin’ wet, ma’am?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No, I am wet,” said Rose. “Mama will be so uneasy. -Couldn’t we go? We must go! How long -will it last?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Polycarp was silent, and the deluge went on pattering -on the maples, humming softly on the water -when the wind ceased, and the intervals of quiet let -into the ear the myriad noises of the falling drops. -Rose set her soul to be patient. She was now too -cold for comfort, and very hopelessly soaked. But -it was like her to say, “It is nobody’s fault, and, -after all, it is great fun.” Then Carington, liking -the courage and good sense of the woman, forgot -himself again.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Don’t you think it is a little difficult sometimes -to say just where amusement ends, and—the other -thing begins?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What other thing?” said Rose, too wet and shivering -to be acutely critical.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh—discomfort!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But I think one may be both amused and uncomfortable.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Guess that’s so, miss,” said the actor. “It is -holding up a little. The clouds are breaking. By -George! we have a moon—a bit of one!”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_156'>156</span>“Go now,” said the sternman, as he tilted the -canoe to rid it of water.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Can we risk it? Are you sure?” said Rose.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Carington smiled. He was about to add, gaily, -“Miss Lyndsay’s carriage stops the way.” He did say, -“All right, ma’am. It rains a mawsel, but the wind’s -nigh done. We’d have risked it alone. All ready?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>In a moment they were away, in the power of the -great river’s night march to the sea. Never had -Rose felt as full a sense of this vast energy of resistless -water. Again, as once before, she realized the -feeling of being walled in by darkness. Then there -came the fierce rush through white water, and things -like gray hands tossed up to right and left.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Look sharp for salmon pillow,” said the Indian.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, yes!” cried Carington, intent on the stream -before him, silent, a little anxious. “Left! left!” he -cried. And Rose saw close by, as they fled on, a huge -lift of waves, and then again they were away in a -more quiet current, and the moon was out and the -torn clouds were racing across its steady silver.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Here’s a paddle, ma’am,” said the bowman. “Try -to use it; it will keep you warm.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Thanks,” she returned. “What a good idea, -Fairfield!” And now in a few moments she was -more and more comfortable, and in proportion inclined -to talk and reflect. She concluded that the -bowman must have been thrown much with gentlemen -in the fishing-season. She wondered if, on the -whole, it was good for a man in his position to see -the easy comfort of camps, the free use of money, -and then to fall back into the hardships and exposures -<span class='pageno' id='Page_157'>157</span>of the winter lumbering. The man puzzled -her a little as she tried to reconcile him as he at -times had appeared with what she knew must be -his common existence.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Is lumbering hard work, Fairfield?” She was -now seated so as again to face his back.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“The woods, ma’am, is it, or the drive?” He was -safe here. No man knew better this wood-life.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh!—both.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“The spring drive is pretty stiff work; beats a -circus, ma’am, jumpin’ from log to log in quick -water. Ever see a circus?” he added, with ingenuous -innocence.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Of course, often.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I’d like to see a circus. I did hear tell of one -once. There’s the lights. Best let them know”—and -he smote the waters with the flat of his paddle. -“Guess they’ll hear that.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>The next moment they ran on to the beach, where -Mr. Lyndsay was standing. He had been somewhat -anxious, but had laughed at the women’s fears.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“All right, Rosy?” he said. “Go up at once and -change your clothes. You must be wet through.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I am all right, papa, and two such salmon; one -took nearly two hours!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Up with you.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, Pardy. Don’t forget to pay the man. He -has been most capable and very thoughtful. I should -like to keep him always.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What fun!” thought the bowman.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Needn’t mind, sir. I can come down for it ’most -any time.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_158'>158</span>“I have no change, Rose,” said her father. “How -much is it? Oh, a dollar, I think I said. Come down -to-morrow, and ask the cook now to give you some -tobacco.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Thank you, sir, I doesn’t smoke—at present,” he -added to himself.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Stop, papa!” cried Rose. “It is absurd to bring -this poor fellow all the way back for a dollar. I have -my portemonnaie.” So saying, she searched it in the -dark.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Have you got it? Hurry, Rose. You will take -cold. Bother the child. How persistent you are!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Her fingers encountered only a bundle of notes of -amounts not to be known in the gloom, and then, in -a pocket apart, a little gold dollar—a luck-penny, -kept for its rarity. She hesitated, but, being chilly -and in haste, said, “Here is a dollar, my man. It is -one of our old-fashioned gold dollars; but it is all -right. I am very much obliged to you. If I want -you again, can you come?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Maybe, ma’am. Depends on the lumber-boss.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Well, good night.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Good night, ma’am.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Do come, Rose.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That’s an odd sort of a man, Pardy,” said the -young woman, while the canoe sped away, and the -odd sort of a man said:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Set me ashore at the ox-path; no, at the brow -above. I’ll walk up. I am soaked. I shall take -Colkett’s dugout and cross at my camp. Here’s another -dollar, you old saint, and if ever you tell, I will -scalp you!”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_159'>159</span>“All right, Mr. Carington.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Well,” exclaimed that gentleman, as he strode -away, “if that wasn’t fun, there isn’t decent cause -left for a laugh in the universe.” Then he lit a pipe, -inspected by its dim light the gold dollar, and, smiling, -carefully put it away in a safe pocket.</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_160'>160</span> - <h2 class='c005'>CHAPTER XI</h2> -</div> - -<div class='c006'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/dropcap_t.jpg' width='100' height='101' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi1_0'> -The transmutation of the emotions or -the passions into one another is -among the mysteries of the sphere -of morals. In some natures, even -the most sacred grief, the outcome -of a child’s death, I have seen capable -of change into anger at a world in which such -things are possible.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Susan had loved her sturdy little boy with unreasoning -ardor, and indulged him to the utmost limit -their scant means allowed. He had been like her -in face, and this pleased her. He had, too, her masculine -vigor, and seemed more bone of her bone than -the two idiots who had gone early to the grave.</p> - -<p class='c007'>She sat just within the doorway, rocking. The -chair creaked at each strong impulse of her foot. An -oblong of sunshine lay at her feet, and in it a faded -crape bonnet, last relic of a day when prosperity could -afford to grief a uniform. It had turned up in her -vain search after a decent garment for the dead. As -she continued to rock with violence, the loose planks -of the floor moving, a toy ark, the gift of Dorothy to -the boy, fell from a shelf. Noah and his maimed -beasts tumbled out, and lay on their sides in the sun. -She took no note of the scattered menagerie.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_161'>161</span>The room was in no worse than its usual disarray, -with no sign of that terrible precision which we associate -with the death-chamber. At last she rose -quickly, and, pushing the toys and bonnet aside with -an impatient foot, left the rocking-chair in motion, -and trod heavily up and down the room, opening -and shutting her hands as she walked. She fed her -rage with each look she cast on her dead boy.</p> - -<p class='c007'>A far gentler woman once said to me that there -was for her in her child’s death the brutality of insult. -Some such feeling was now at work with -Susan Colkett.</p> - -<p class='c007'>In her younger life she had lived on a farm in -upper Canada, a tall, pretty, slim girl, quick of -tongue, unruly, and with an undeveloped and sensual -liking for luxury and ease. Then she married a man -well enough off to have given her a comfortable life. -A certain incapacity to see consequences, with that -form of fearlessness which is without fear until the -results of action or inaction are too evident, led her -to be careless of debts. Then her husband drank, -and grew weary of her tornadoes of unreasoning -anger; the idiot children came, and she began to -think of what even yet she might realize for herself -if he were dead. Making no effort to stop him, she -let him go his way, seeing without one restraining -word the growth of a deadly habit. Dorothy had -said that she helped his downward course even more -actively. His death left her penniless, but free. Men -were unwilling, however, to face her wild temper, and -when, at last, her looks were fast fading, to help the -only things in the world she cared for, she took the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_162'>162</span>stout little man who had for her from his youth an -unchanging affection. Misfortune taught her no -good lessons. Even now she hated work, loved ease, -and lacked imagination to picture consequences. -Amidst the animal distress her child’s death occasioned, -she was still capable of entertaining the -thought of crime; in fact, her loss contributed a -new impulse in the storm of fury it evoked. They -were close to the end of their resources. There is -in Paris a Place St. Opportune. Who this saint was, -I know not. His biography might be of interest. -There is probably a fallen angel of the same name -who makes the paths of virtue slippery. Crime had -been near to this woman for years, and ever nearer -since disaster had been a steady companion. She -had lacked opportunity, and that alone. Nor was -this the only time she had cast temptation in the -way of her simple-minded husband.</p> - -<p class='c007'>At last, as, striding to and fro, she went by the -doorway, she saw Dorothy, and with her a thin man -in shining, much-worn, black alpaca clothing.</p> - -<p class='c007'>She knew at once that he was the preacher who -had been brought up from Mackenzie to bury her -child.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Upon this she turned back into the room, and -stood a moment by the two chairs on which lay the -pine box which Joe had made. The little fellow -within it had been hardly changed by his brief illness. -He was fair to see; white, and strongly modeled; -and now he was beautiful with the double -refinements of youth and death. She touched his -cheek as if to test the reality of death, and then -<span class='pageno' id='Page_163'>163</span>kissed him, and, laying over him the rude cover, -turned away.</p> - -<p class='c007'>At the door she met Dorothy and the minister. -Dorothy said, “Good morning, Susan.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You’ve been a heap of time comin’.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Dorothy, glancing at Mrs. Colkett, did not enter, -but stepped to one side and, leaning against the log -wall, waited. The little man in the worn alpaca suit -was stopped as he turned to go in by the gaunt form -of his hostess.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“There ain’t no need to go in or to preach,” she -said.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Upon this Dorothy plucked at his coat-skirt, and, -much embarrassed, he fell back, saying, “That’s as -friends please.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Then Joe came from the cow-shed and went in past -his wife. As he went by, he nodded cheerfully to -Dorothy and to the preacher. “’Most ready; won’t -be long.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Mrs. Colkett stood looking across the clearing. -The preacher, uneasily moving to and fro, at last approached -her again. “My sister,” he said, “the hand -of the Lord has been heavy on this household of his -people.” From her great height Susan Colkett cast -her eyes down on the wan little person below her. -“It is fit,” he went on, “that while—”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Look here,” said Susan; “you’ve come to bury -that child, and that’s all you’re here for. Just set -down and wait”; and so saying, she brought out two -crippled chairs.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Dorothy said, “No, I will stand.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>The preacher sat down without a word, and found -<span class='pageno' id='Page_164'>164</span>occupation in keeping his place, as the chair-legs -bored unequally into the soft soil. At last, greatly -troubled, he looked toward Dorothy for consolation, -and, receiving none, at last fell on his knees in deep -despair. “Oh, Lord!” he cried, “move the heart of -this woman that she may receive the message of thy -grace!” and on this Dory too knelt in the sunshine, -while Susan turned and went into the house.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Then there arose within the rude noise of loud -hammering, and, utterly confused, the unhappy -preacher looked up, and saw that he was alone -with Dorothy.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What manner of people are these?” he said, as -they both arose. “I must speak to her,” and he -moved toward the door.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I wouldn’t,” said Dorothy, touching his coat. -“Not now. Another time.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>He said no more, and the pair stayed without, -waiting with no further words, while the hammering -went on. At last it ceased. Joe came out, wringing -a finger. “I kind of mashed it,” he said, in an explanatory -voice. “Susie’s ready.” He went back, -and soon came out again with the white box held in -front of him on his two outstretched arms.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The mother followed, looking straight before her—a -strange, high-colored, set face, the tightly shut -jaw making hard lines in the lower cheek-curves. -The meager preacher came after with a book in his -hand, and Dorothy followed.</p> - -<p class='c007'>In the woods Joe stumbled once, and a moment -after set down his strange burden and wrung his -hurt finger. Then he went on again into the deeper -<span class='pageno' id='Page_165'>165</span>woodland, and about two hundred yards from the -house stopped and set the box on a level stump. -Before them were two crumbled mounds of earth, -and beyond a small open grave, not over-deep.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The clergyman came forward.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I might put it in?” said Joe, interrogatively.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes,” said Dorothy. “Let me help.” And, taking -the coffin at each end, they let it down, for the grave -was shallow.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Them roots is in the way; they bothered me -when I was a-diggin’,” said Joe.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Hush!” exclaimed Dorothy. “Hush!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>As they stood up, the minister went on to read his -simple burial service. Susan Colkett paid, or seemed -to pay, intense attention. At last he ceased, and all -stood still a moment in the deep wood-shadows, for -the twilight was near at hand. There was a little stir -as Dorothy took from her handkerchief a handful of -roses and let them fall into the open grave. Susan -looked at her a moment, and then, turning to the -preacher, said, coldly:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Is that all of it? I don’t want none left out.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Don’t rich people have no more said than that?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No; that is all,” he replied, much astonished. -“Wouldn’t you like me to talk to you at the house!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No, I wouldn’t. My man he’ll pay you.” And -she walked away. The minister wiped his brow, and -sat down on a stump, while Dorothy waited, and Joe -calmly began to fill up the little grave.</p> - -<p class='c007'>He paused once to give the minister the cost of his -journey, and then went on.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_166'>166</span>“Come,” said Mrs. Maybrook. “No; don’t go in,” -she added, as they passed the cabin. “Let her alone.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“The Lord has made my errand hard,” he said.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No; he hasn’t took a hand in the matter at all,” -she said. “It’s the devil! Come!” And they disappeared -in the darkening wood-spaces.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Before Joe had quite done, he was aware of his -wife again standing beside him.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What’s wrong?” he said. “Best wait in the -house. I’ll come. And don’t bother none for the -supper. I’ll cook it.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Couldn’t you set a board over the boy?” she said.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“They’re just buried like dead dogs!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I’ll git somethin’.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What’s the use, anyhow? If you were any good -of a man, there’d be a decent white stone like them -Lyndsays has set.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, I’ll find somethin’, Susie! I’ll think about -it.” He was anxious to get through with it all, and -somewhere deep in his mind was moved by her want.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It ain’t no use thinking,” she said, “when you’ve -got no money.” And so, at last, she went away once -more to the wretchedness they called home, leaving -him to complete his task.</p> - -<p class='c007'>It was now dusk. He sat down on a log, and wiped -his brow with his sleeve. There was a little tobacco -left in his pouch. He lit a pipe, and sat awhile in -dull rumination, like some slow ox, recalling her -words. At last he took the pipe out of his mouth, -and stood up, as one set on the clear track of an idea. -A difficulty occurred to him.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_167'>167</span>“I’ll do it. No one won’t know. There don’t nobody -come here.” A moment later a new obstacle -arose is his mind, and he resumed his pipe and his -seat.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That’ll do,” he said. “I’ll get Dory to help. -She won’t think for to suspect none.” And so, much -cheered by the prospect of pleasing his wife, he went -away to the cow-shed.</p> - -<p class='c007'>His had been a poor, loveless life. An orphan boy, -he had never possessed ability or power to win affection -or respect for anything except his muscles. Yet -a canine capacity to love without question was in him, -and the tall, gaunt woman who alone had put out a -hand of apparent trust to him had all of his simple -attachment.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Now he extinguished his pipe, knocked it on a tree -to shake out the live ashes, put it in his pocket decisively, -and went back to the house.</p> - -<p class='c007'>He had a sense of satisfaction in the notion that he -would surprise his wife with fulfilment of her desires: -also he felt surprise, and as much elation as he -was capable of, at his own skill in seeing his way -through this enterprise. What she, the poor hurt -mother, wanted was now in single possession of a -mind little able to transact mental business with more -than one importunate creditor at a time.</p> - -<p class='c007'>To take what is not your own is common enough. -The higher criminal mind disposes of the matter with -some sophistry as to the right to have a share in the -unjust excess of another’s property. The utterly immoral -nature gives it no thought, save how to act -with safety. The lowest type of man is untroubled -<span class='pageno' id='Page_168'>168</span>as to the ethics of thieving, and as little as to personal -results. The idea that another might suffer in -proportion to what his own wife would gain never -passed the threshold of this poor fellow’s consciousness. -What he was about to do seemed to him easy -and safe. He was certain that Susie would like it, -and would think him more of a man. And that -was all.</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_169'>169</span> - <h2 class='c005'>CHAPTER XII</h2> -</div> - -<div class='c006'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/dropcap_m.jpg' width='100' height='97' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi1_0'> -Mr. Lyndsay, as we now know, -came back without having seen Mr. -Carington. His purpose was, however, -unchanged. Yet, as there was -no immediate need to act, and no -present danger, he concluded to -wait, quite sure that the two gentlemen on whom he -had called must, when they returned his courtesy, -give him an easy chance to say to Carington what he -had heard. Thus having decided what to do, and -that delay involved no possibility of mischief, he put -it all aside for the time.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Meanwhile, the Island Camp was the scene of -amusing debate. The next morning, as they lay on -their tent mattresses and smoked that most blissful -first love of the day, the after-breakfast pipe, Ellett -took up the talk of the night before.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I told you that you would get in a scrape.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It wasn’t that. ‘My lands!’ as Mrs. Maybrook -says, what a noble adventure! If I only could do it -again! No, I don’t repent. Far from it; I would -like to do it again. It was just too altogether delicious, -as the girls say.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But you will have to call. Mr. Lyndsay has been -to see you, and go to see him you must, if I have to -carry you!”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_170'>170</span>“But I can’t and I won’t! I am a bad boy. Just -now it is all a beautiful and adventurous dream. I -don’t want to see that woman again—ever. It would -spoil the romance of it. Go yourself. You can drop -down in mid-morning. No one will be in. Leave my -card on the table.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What stuff, Fred! You can’t get out of it. Mr. -Lyndsay wants to see you. He called on you, not -on me.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But I don’t want to see him. Imagine my having -to explain and apologize, and fetch the whole thing -down to the dreary level of prose. I am ill; I am -dead; I shall go home—anything!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>He was at his high level of reckless enjoyment of a -delightful indiscretion, and a part of his delight lay -in the distress it occasioned his soberly conventional -friend. He was himself, in truth, a graver man than -Ellett, but took into his work as a successful engineer -the same gaiety which ran riot in his holiday hours. -It had its value with the men who did work under his -eyes, and helped him and them over some hard places. -At need he became instantly a cool, watchful, cautious -man, with the bearing and reserve of middle -life. To those who saw him only in his utter abandonment -of glee, ready as a boy for any merry enterprise, -and by no means disliking it the more if it -brought physical risks, it was hardly conceivable that -he should be, back of all this, a man of strong opinions, -political and religious, of definite views, and of -an almost fantastic sense of honor.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Can’t you be decently quiet a moment, and think -a little?”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_171'>171</span>“Don’t want to,” returned Carington. “Git away -wid ye! You are like Eve: you want to introduce a -knowledge of good and evil into this Eden of mine. -Go, fish and let me alone. I want to dream it over: -that scene in the wood, the rain, the wild orange, -light for a minute, that copper-head saint. It was -really great, Oliver! Beats the Bowery Theater! -And, oh!—I forgot to tell you. She told her pa I -was such a good bowman!—so thoughtful! and -couldn’t she have me always? Always, Oliver! The -bliss of that!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I don’t see how you can see anything amusing in -it, Fred. It isn’t as if this was some common New -York girl, with a boarding-school civilization. Now -that’s a rather neat phrase, ‘a boarding-school -civilization.’”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Is it? What else?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Nothing. I only meant to say these Lyndsays -are gentlefolk, and won’t be very well pleased.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You old idiot! Do you suppose I don’t know -that? Put your brains to work. Here am I at the -end of the first volume of a lovely romance; situation -entirely novel. I wish to stop there; the -second and third volumes are sure to fall off dismally. -The problem is, how not to go on; or, if I -must, how to drop from poetry to prose.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I should think you must have dropped pretty -distinctly when Mr. Lyndsay paid you; I suppose -he did.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Sir, I was paid in gold of the Bank of Spain—in -coin no longer current—by the woman herself.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Would you kindly interpret?”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_172'>172</span>“I will”; and he told the scene on the beach.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Let me see that gold dollar.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“See it! Not I. No profane eyes shall—”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Stuff and nonsense! She will very likely want it -back. Probably it was a luck-penny.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Very like. I shall keep it for luck. You are an -iconoclast of dreams. Let’s go and kill fish. I have -been trying to divide my enchanted mood with you. -It has been a dismal failure. The fact is, I know as -well as you—and a blank sight better—that this is -a lady, that these are nice people, and that I am in a -scrape. But to-day they may all go to the deuce and -the bow-wows. ‘Let the great world spin forever, -down the ringing grooves of change.’ He must have -meant a railway. I never thought of that before. -Don’t bother. I’ll go and call some day. Come, -let’s kill salmon.” And they went to their canoes.</p> - -<p class='c007'>While this dreadful thing was agitating Mr. Ellett’s -mind, it was also receiving due consideration at the -breakfast-table of the Cliff Camp.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Rose Lyndsay, despite remonstrance, had been sent -at once to bed on her return, and supplied with hot -tea and more substantial diet, and ordered to go to -sleep. Next to being wicked through and through, -to be wet through and through was, to Mrs. Lyndsay’s -mind, one of the most serious of human catastrophes. -She was gently positive, and so Rose lay -very wide-awake, and considered at ease the events -of a most agreeable day, until, thinking with a little -regret of her luck-penny, she fell asleep, only to wake -up with the sunlight streaming in as her mother -<span class='pageno' id='Page_173'>173</span>opened the curtains, and to hear the pervasive voices -of the boys singing under her window:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Up in the mornin’ ’s nae for me!</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>“Overslept yourself, Rose!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Are you dry yet?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That salmon is only thirty pounds. You awful -fraud!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“All right, dear, to-day?” were the salutations of -the noisy table, as she distributed her morning kisses, -and at last sat down.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“One at a time,” she replied. “Fair play, boys. -First, I am nearly dry. Second, salmon always loses -weight.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I have noticed that,” laughed her father. “Tell -us all about it, my dear.” And upon this she related -the adventures of the previous day.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I must have my luck-penny,” she added. “I was -a goose to give it away, but I was so cold and wet, -and I was in such a hurry. I hated to send the man -away without a cent.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It is odd that he took it,” said Anne.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes,” returned her brother. “These fellows are -sharp enough about their pay and about money; and -he couldn’t have known what he was taking. These -coins circulate no longer, even in the States. He -never said a word, but merely put it in his pocket. -What sort of a fellow is he, Rose?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It is so hard to describe people.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It is impossible,” said Anne, “even on a passport.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_174'>174</span>“Not quite. Tall, and curly hair—very curly hair.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That’s satisfactory, Rose,” remarked Jack.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I had not done. Oh, what I thought strange was -the man’s manner. Now and then he spoke as if he -was talking to an equal, and really he has a voice -quite full of pleasant tones. The next minute he -talked like Thunder Tom, or worse.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I must ask Carington about him. By the way, -I was right as to Ellett. He is a son of my old companion. -I fancy they will be here to-day or to-morrow. -If this present Oliver is like his father, he will -be solid, stolid,—a rock of good sense.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I don’t want him, Marcus Aurelius, nor the other. -For a first-class B. O. I prefer my young man of the -gold dollar. But I must have it again. I am not at -all sure now that honesty is the best policy. When -you see Mr. Carington, Pardy, do ask about the man. -He seemed quite above his class. Ned, I cannot wait -for you to finish your interminable meal.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I think he just chews for exercise,” said Dick. -“Might arrange, if the meat was tough enough, to -keep his appetite up all the time. Wouldn’t that be -fine, Ned?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I don’t think any of my boys require artificial -aid,” said Mrs. Lyndsay. “Dugald Dalgetty was a -trifler to you.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I haven’t got to the fish yet, and it’s my own -salmon,” said the boy, helping himself.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“We want to have Rose to-day,” said Dick, between -mouthfuls. “I want her to go up to the -brook. There’s a marsh there, and Drosera—oh, -lots! It’s far north for it, too.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_175'>175</span>“What is Drosera, Dicky?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Fly-trap; and there are some purple orchids.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“For this once I will compromise,” said Anne. -“I want to see Archie kill a salmon. If you will assure -me of Rose to-morrow afternoon, you may have -her to-day.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And I am to take care of myself,” said her brother. -“I never hear of compromises without thinking -of Dr. North’s illustration. I must have told -you, Margaret.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“If you ever did, I have forgotten.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Stories were pretty often retold in this household, -and it was the way to consider them as guests to be -made welcome, no matter how often they came.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Lyndsay smiled. “Two Germans, who were North’s -patients, built houses together and adjoining. Then -each of them bought paint enough to paint both -houses; one chose green and one a fine brick-red. -This ended in a quarrel. Dr. North advised them to -consult their priest, and this they did. He said, -‘Shust you make a gompromise, and migs de baints.’ -So this was done, and neither got what he wanted. -This is of the essence of all compromise.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But I shall get what I want,” said Anne.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And we, too!” cried the boys. “We will take -Rose and lunch and Big Tom, and Pierre and you -can have the Indian, father.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And his lame bowman, if he be well enough,” -added Lyndsay. “Thanks.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And I shall take my rifle,” said Dick.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No, unless you go alone,” said Lyndsay.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“All right; we’ll fish for trout, Rose,” cried Jack. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_176'>176</span>“Red Head can hunt beasts in the swamp, and Ned -shall sit on a stump and make poetry.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Be sure not to be late again, Rose. I was a good -deal troubled last night.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, Pardy; but my watch has stopped. It got -wet through, last night, poor thing! I fear it is utterly -ruined. It was not worth much.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Never mind, dear,” said Anne. “I will give you -one when we get home.” To give was Anne’s great joy.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“For a drowned watch intemperance is the cure,” -said Lyndsay: “total immersion in alcohol or whisky -is the sole remedy. I never carry one here; it reminds -me too much of the minor oppressions of -civilization.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And, after all,” said Anne, “punctuality is a quite -modern virtue.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes. I think a Quaker in the reign of Anne -has the terrible responsibility of the invention of -the minute hand. In another century we shall say, -‘You are late six seconds; is this the way you keep -engagements?’”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It makes one shiver to think of it; and, by the -way, Jack, I promised you a watch at Christmas. Be -sure to remind me.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I’d rather have something else, Aunt Anne.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Why, Jack?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, I know lots of fellows carry watches. They -have an awful time.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“The watches?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No; those boys. If you have a watch, you have -to wind it up, and the fellows ask what time it is; -and if you play, it gets smashed; and if you have a -<span class='pageno' id='Page_177'>177</span>fight, you have to get another fellow to hold it, and -he forgets—”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Gracious! The simplicity of the mind of youth! -You would prefer—a new bat?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, indeed, and a good foot-ball.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I am a female Kriss Kringle,—presents to order.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Thank you, Aunt Anne. And I say, Rosy Posy, -get lunch ready. Oh, quit eating and come along, -Dick!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Upon this Dick secured a biscuit and followed him, -while Anne and the rest went out onto the porch.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I trust, Margaret, those young men will not regale -you and me with their society at lunch. What -a wholesome thing it would be to have a man-smudge! -I get no time to read. But you said -Dorothy would be over to lunch. That is better. -What fun it would be if the stolid, solid Boston man -should turn up. I could enjoy the combination, I -think.” Then she walked to the cliff-edge, smiling, -for there was a battle imminent between the boys.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I mean to paddle,” said Jack.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No, I’ll pole.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Not with me in the canoe,” said Rose.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I’m to paddle,” cried Dick.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“May I sit by you?” said Ned.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You sha’n’t, if I can’t pole,” cried Dick. “You -always want Rose.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You’re hard to please, boys.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I’m not; I’m soft to please,” said Ned.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Get in!” And so, with some coaxing from Rose, -the peacemaker, they got away.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And I should like a boy-smudge, Anne,” said -<span class='pageno' id='Page_178'>178</span>Lyndsay, who had quietly watched the proceedings -on the shore.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“They are delightful.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You have no responsibility for them, my dear -sister. You know what Marcus Aurelius says: ‘Irresponsibility -arises from an unphilosophical indifference -to—to—’”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Consequences,” cried Anne, laughing. “You -worry too much over the boys, Archie. I mean it. -You take them too seriously. Permit me to say you -are too consequentitious.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What a word! Did you make it? I can’t help -worrying. I am always thinking of what their future -will be. One should give some thought to the -morrow, and other people’s morrows are the real -difficulty.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“See Marcus Aurelius, chapter third,” said Anne, -maliciously. “‘To-morrow is only a stranger; when -he is to-day consider how thou shalt entertain him.’”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That is not my way, Anne.” And he left her, -saying, “Jack is the one I fear for most.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I least,” said Anne to herself. “I shall not be -here to see, whatever, as Tom says.” Then she sat -down to her book about the Council of Trent, and by -and by varied it with a little tough work on Cædmon’s -Anglo-Saxon riddles, smiling as she read,—a -good, half-dozen kind of smiles, of which she alone -had the secret.</p> - -<p class='c007'>By and by came Margaret Lyndsay and sat down, -her knitting-needles clicking, until Anne’s unlucky -nervousness, kept in hand with difficulty, was viciously -alive. At last Mrs. Lyndsay laid aside her work with -<span class='pageno' id='Page_179'>179</span>a certain deliberation, for those who knew her best a -signal of serious moment. She said, “You won’t -mind, dear, if I say something I have had on my -mind?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I? Oh, no! What is it?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I sometimes think, dear, that the endless trivialities -into which you and Archibald lead those boys are -not, dear, a good thing. I have spoken to Archibald -about it, and he quite agrees with me. I sometimes -think Archibald agrees with me too easily. I would -rather he argued the matter; but he is so apt to say, -‘Certainly, Margaret!’ and then to go and smoke. -I do wish you would consider it seriously. And you -are so capable of wiser and more instructive talk. -You won’t mind what I say, dear?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“My dear Margaret,” replied Anne, with some irritation, -“shall we converse about the Council of Trent? -Also the enigmas of Cædmon are instructive; the -manners and customs of the Angles are stated there -in a manner to combine interest with amusement, instruction -with perplexity.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Why do you answer me in that way? You always -do. Anne, you are too bad! You know well -enough what I mean.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, I know,” she said, a little wearily. “I think -you are hardly just. You see only one side of things. -At all events, the whole logic of the situation is this: -When you have a headache, you go to bed and dose -yourself, and put stuff on your temples; when I am -in pain from head to foot,—I was at breakfast,—I -go merry mad and say things. You will have to -stand it, unless I go away.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_180'>180</span>“Oh, Anne! How can you hurt me so? Go away?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I spoke hastily: I don’t mean that. But sometimes, -Margaret, you so completely fail to comprehend -me that I feel I had better be away. You can -never change me.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But you—you could change yourself.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Could I, indeed? And trust me, Margaret, I -shall go on as gay, as inconsequent, as merry; but -if I can teach, if anything in my life teaches these -boys to laugh when they might cry, I shall not have -lived in vain. I am sure we are all grave enough at -times. When I go wild, and say absurd things, pity -me. A jest is my smelling-salts; a joke is my medicine. -Believe me—oh, it is true: the custom of -laughter is good.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But this constant amusement at everything—yes, -everything!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“There is quite enough that is serious, even now, -in these young lives. The laugh of a fool is as the -crackling of thorns, and heats no water in the pot; but -the grin of the wise boils the kettle of wisdom. There!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>The illustration was unhappy.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I think, dear, you might put Scripture to wiser -use than to twist it into a defense of this perpetual -levity. It seems strange to me that you cannot see -these things as I see them.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Better to give me up as a hopeless case. I shall -laugh till I die, and if afterward the supply gives out -I shall feel glad that I neglected no reasonable chance -on earth.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“There is a time for all things, Anne, and sometimes—”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_181'>181</span>“Yes, I know. Only we differ as to the times. I -think, now, I must go in and rest a little.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>This was the usual end of their discussions. Anne -was mentally victor, but physically defeated. “Yes, -I am sure that will be best.” Upon this Anne went -away with a smile that was not quite pleasant. In -her room she stood a moment and then said, “D. A. M! -I think that is good French. The Lord deliver us -from the gentle!” and so fell in a heap on the bed, -with set teeth and very white.</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_182'>182</span> - <h2 class='c005'>CHAPTER XIII</h2> -</div> - -<div class='c006'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/dropcap_m.jpg' width='100' height='97' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi1_0'> -Meanwhile the overladen canoe -went away up the river. “And -now, boys,” said Rose, “this is my -day, and there must be no quarrels. -We are pretty well packed in one -canoe, and I will have only sunshine -and good temper. And do sit still. Remember what -the wise man said:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Three Irishmen of Timbuctoo,</div> - <div class='line'>They went to sea in a birch canoe.</div> - <div class='line'>They kicked up such a hullabaloo</div> - <div class='line'>That they never got back to Timbuctoo.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>Remember that, boys.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh!” said Ned. “I know a better one—</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>There was a young man of Siam,</div> - <div class='line'>As occasionally murmured a damn!</div> - <div class='line in4'>Monotonous virtue</div> - <div class='line in4'>Is certain to hurt you;</div> - <div class='line'>So he swallowed a taciturn clam.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>“What nonsense!” cried Rose.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That’s good about monotonous virtue,” said -Jack. “A whole day and no row!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Not one,” said Rose.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_183'>183</span>“Why, Rose, if a fellow don’t fight somebody, -what’s to become of him?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I guess we aren’t any less brave than the Romans,” -remarked Ned, sententiously. “If you gemini -had a hornets’ nest to fight every day, you would let -me alone. I hate to fight.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh! There’s a nice fat fib.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I do. I had to eat dinner standing up for two -days after that scrimmage.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, little peaceful man!” said Jack. “Tell us a -story, Rose. It’s an hour to the brook.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Very well. Once on a time there was a princess. -She was terribly rich, and as pretty—”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“As you,” said Ned.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No interruptions, sir! She was very beautiful, -and very, very hard to satisfy. A great many lovers -came to ask her to marry them. None of them -pleased her, but so many came that to save trouble -she wrote a big ‘No!’ on her visiting cards, and -gave every man one as he came in, and this saved a -great deal of trouble. When there were no more -lovers left in the world but only three, she began to -be afraid she would never get married at all. So she -tore up her cards, and was polite to these three. -Their names were Hurdy-Gurdy and Trombone and -Mandolin. At length her father said she must make -up her mind. At first she thought she would draw -lots, but by and by she resolved to marry the most -courageous of the three.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh!” exclaimed Jack, “I like that.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“One day they were all four walking by the river, -and, as if by accident, she fell in. ‘Oh, dear!’ she -<span class='pageno' id='Page_184'>184</span>cried, ‘I shall drown.’ Then Hurdy-Gurdy sat down -and began to whittle a shingle; but Trombone -jumped in, and, as she flopped about a great deal, he -was like to drown himself. Then in jumped Mandolin, -and pulled them both out by the hair.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Then all three spread themselves in the sun, to -dry. And the princess said, ‘Now, which <em>is</em> the most -courageous?’</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Trombone cried, ‘I! Because I dashed in to -save you, without hesitation.’</p> - -<p class='c007'>“‘But,’ said Mandolin, ‘you did not save her. I -pulled you both out.’</p> - -<p class='c007'>“‘I was first,’ said Trombone.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“‘Certainly!’ said the princess, which her name -was Henrietta, and she was so called because she was -fond of algebra, and preferred even an improper fraction -to the most virtuous of men. Said she, ‘What -good was your courage, if it only served to drown us -both? You are neither of you as brave as me.’”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh!” cried Ned.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“They always speak bad grammar in fairy-land, -because it is romantic, and because then the young -princesses can be sure that the princes are thinking -more of them than of the mere choice of words.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Guess Jack would have a fine chance!” said Ned.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Don’t interrupt me. Where was I? Oh!</p> - -<p class='c007'>“‘You are neither of you as brave as me, because -I have to marry one of you, and that is an act of -courage of which a man is incapable. Also, I can’t -swim, but I fell in so as to see which of you is the -bravest. I fell in! Trombone jumped in! Mandolin -leaped in!’</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_185'>185</span>“‘But I saved you!’ said Mandolin.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“‘A mere question of brute skill,’ urged Trombone. -‘It is braver to jump in when you can’t swim than -when you can.’</p> - -<p class='c007'>“‘It is very puzzling,’ cried Henrietta. ‘The personal -equation—’”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I know what that is,” cried Ned.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Shut up, old wisdom! Go ahead, Rosy Posy.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“‘It is a question in the rule of three. As Trombone -is to Mandolin, so is me to the answer.’</p> - -<p class='c007'>“‘That leaves me out,’ said Hurdy-Gurdy.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“‘You stayed out!’ cried Mandolin, with scorn.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“‘I don’t see my way,’ said the princess. ‘Let -Mandolin be B, and Hurdy-Gurdy C, and I am—’</p> - -<p class='c007'>“‘B, C puts them both out of the question,’ said -Trombone. ‘They are dead.’”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Sancho Panza!” cried Ned. “What fine nonsense!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Do keep quiet,” said Jack.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“‘And me—I—oh, bother!’ said Henrietta. ‘It -comes out even.’</p> - -<p class='c007'>“‘But,’ said Hurdy-Gurdy, ‘it is heart-rending -what I suffered. I alone had the courage not to jump -in. I had the courage of my opinion, which was that -I should be drowned, and so break your heart. I -really couldn’t. There are three hundred and twenty-one -kinds of courage.’</p> - -<p class='c007'><a id='corr185.28'></a><span class='htmlonly'><ins class='correction' title='“Gracious!'>“‘Gracious!</ins></span><span class='epubonly'><a href='#c_185.28'><ins class='correction' title='“Gracious!'>“‘Gracious!</ins></a></span> How numerically interesting!’ said -Henrietta. ‘Dry yourselves, and I will reflect.’</p> - -<p class='c007'>“So she left the three seated on the bank, in the -sun, and went away. But once a year she sent her -maid to see if they were dry, and to say she was -<span class='pageno' id='Page_186'>186</span>working it out. The second year Hurdy-Gurdy went -away, because he was a person who had a good deal -of decision of character.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“There!” cried Rose, laughing. “It’s a little too -old for you.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Well, of all the stuff!” said Dick.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I call it bully,” said Jack.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And whom did she marry?” cried Ned. “Never -any one?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Never! Like Rose Lyndsay. I am going to live -with you all my life at home, and never, never marry.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Upon this the twins intimated their satisfaction by -pulling Ned’s back hair. He howled loudly.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Seems to answer the bell,” said Jack.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, stop that—it hurts!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Look out there!” cried the sternman. “You’ll -upset the birch. There are too many of you, anyways.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Again Rose called them to order, and they were -silent a while. In the mean time she sat gazing up -the changing waterway. This home-coming, this -abrupt transition, this privilege of abandonment to -every light, innocent folly, even to enjoying the mad -fun of three clever boys, made for her an immense -change, and one which she felt to be both wholesome -and pleasant. In Europe she had come fully -to understand the sacrifice Anne had made in order -to be with her, and at last to see but too clearly that -Anne Lyndsay was failing. To none was this so -clear as to the sufferer; to none less clear than to -her brother. As to Margaret, she was by nature -conservative. The word hardly describes what I -<span class='pageno' id='Page_187'>187</span>mean. She had an inherent belief in the unchangeableness -of things and people. The death of Harry -had been the first calamity in a prosperous life. She -had so long seen Anne Lyndsay to her mind full of -levity that she found it impossible to accept the idea -that for this woman, who lowered her crest to no adverse -hour, the time could not be very far away -when she would cease to smile at pain.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Miss Anne, of her own will, cut short by three -months their intended length of stay abroad. She -had seen how heavy was the burden of responsibility -which this fatal descent placed upon Rose. In fact, -to be alone with a woman like Anne was good only -if the younger person had intervals of other companionship. -Anne made a too strong call upon the -apprehending intellect to be as a constancy good for a -growing girl, and her matchless cynicism in talk, which -found no representation in her acts, was tempting as -an example and easily capable of misapprehension.</p> - -<p class='c007'>This long stay with Anne had been for Rose a -severe test of character and even of physical power. -Without altogether realizing the true cause of her -rebound into unusual joyousness, she distinctly felt -the relief of her new surroundings.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“There is the brook, Rose,” said Ned. “We’ll -fish, and build a big fire, and cook our own fish.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>They were now above the clearings, and on the far -side of the river.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What canoe is that up the stream, near the far -shore?” she asked.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It’s Mr. Carington’s. He’s took a bit of water -’bove Mr. Lyndsay’s upper pool. It ain’t much good.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_188'>188</span>“You are sure it is Mr. Carington?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I don’t rightly know. It’s too far.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>After this they went ashore on a broad beach, -through which a quick run of brown water from the -swamps inland found its way out to the main river.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Rose took a book and sat down, while the boys -cast for trout at the mouth of the brook. After a -while the twins tired of this and set to work to build -a fire on the higher rise of the shore, while Tom -cleaned the fish they had captured. By and by came -Ned and sat down with his sister. Now and then he -called her attention to a salmon, or, at intervals, -asked Rose questions not always easy of answer. At -last he said, “There is a spring back in the woods,—comes -out of the hollow of a big, old balm of Gilead. -I found it.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, we must go and see it after lunch. I know -few things I like better than a spring,—and out of -a tree.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes; mustn’t it be comfortable for the old tree?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Rather,” she said, and fell silent.</p> - -<p class='c007'>It was now quiet and warm—no leaf astir—a -noonday dreaminess on wood and water. “That -canoe’s dropping down,” Ned said. “Is it Mr. Ellett -or Mr. Carington, Rose? He doesn’t get any fish.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I don’t know. I was half asleep. How nice to be -where all the noises are sounds one likes!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Do you hear the rapids, Rose? I thought yesterday -they were exactly like children laughing—I mean -their noise.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I said that very thing to Pardy, the night we -came up.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_189'>189</span>“I guess when the Indians called a fall ‘The -Laughing Water’ they might have meant that.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Perhaps,—or only that, in a way, it did sound -cheerful.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I don’t think the sea always makes pleasant -noises, Rosy.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No,” said Rose, abstractedly. She was watching -the canoe, as in successive drops it came toward them -around the curve.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What set that great boulder on this beach, I wonder!” -said Ned. “Rufus he says, it’s what he calls -conglomerate, and that there is none near by.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“The ice, I suppose,” said Rose. “Ask papa.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>The rock was some eight feet high, rounded and -smooth, except toward the waterside, where it was -broken and splintered.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Where are the men? That fire is too large.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“They are in the wood after birch bark. I’ll see -to the fire.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“By Jove!” he cried, and bounded to his feet. -“Look sharp, Rose!” And, giving her a hand, he -helped her to rise. She looked about in dismay, for -this thing had happened: Jack had suddenly spied a -small bear cub, an awkward, black little bruin, -sprawling over the round stones at one end of the -beach, between him and the water. It was not much -bigger than a well-grown kitten. He had it by one -hind leg in an instant, and was roaring with the fun -of his capture, the capture grunting dolorously. As -Ned spoke, Jack saw the troubled mother-bear come out -of the wood, and, a moment in doubt, hesitate among -the bushes. Ned dragged his sister toward the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_190'>190</span>water, as the bear, fiercely growling, began to move -toward them. As for Jack, he was away around the -boulder, and in an instant upon top, the young bear -giving him a smart nip, as he stood on the summit, -flushed, resolute, and laughing.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Fling it down!” cried Ned, with good sense. -But Jack was otherwise minded, hardly taking in -the peril for Rose and Ned. Dick had dashed into -the wood, calling wildly to the men.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Let it go!” cried Rose. Then there was a loud -cry from the river:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Drop it, you fool!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Not I!” cried Jack. “Run, Rose; he’ll go for -me. Run! run!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>As he spoke, the savage bruin reared herself up in -a vain effort to climb the smooth stone. Jack, on -the boulder, laughed, as he balanced himself with difficulty, -owing to the struggles of the cub. Seeing -that to climb was impossible, the bear proceeded to -make a flank movement, which would have enabled -her to follow Jack up the back of the rock. The boy -was in no way alarmed. But now he saw that Rose -was in the path of the bear, and that Ned, white as -death, was standing between Rose and the enraged -mother, a canoe-pole in one hand, and the other motioning -back at Rose, as he called to her to “Run! -run!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Just as Jack, appalled at these unlooked-for consequences, -was about to part with his precious captive, -a voice rang out again from the river: “Run! -run! Quick!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Ned cast a glance behind him, and, catching Rose’s -<span class='pageno' id='Page_191'>191</span>hand, pulled at her so violently, as he threw the pole -aside, that she lost her balance and fell, striking -heavily on a corner of rock. Ned cast himself down -beside her. Instantly a rifle rang out from the river -behind them. As they lay, he heard the shrill -“ping” of a rifle-ball above him, and the bear rolled -dead on her side, clean shot through the head.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Jack leaped from the boulder, still holding on to the -cub, and made toward Rose, as the men and Dick -came out in haste from the wood onto the beach. -Carington sprang into the water before his canoe -touched the land, crying to Jack:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Back there, you infernal young idiot!” With his -rifle ready, he pushed the boy aside and advanced -cautiously but swiftly, until he saw that the beast -was dead. Next he turned to Rose, who lay motionless -on the beach. As the group of faces, still wild -with scare or excitement, gathered around him, he -knelt, lifted the girl, and, seeing a thin thread of -blood leaping in little jets from her temple, he set -her head against his knee and put a finger on the -wound, saying:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Get me water. It is not so bad. Good Lord! -It might have been worse!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Is she dead?” said Ned.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Dead? No, my boy—not she.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>He wet his handkerchief and washed the blood off -her face, still keeping a finger above the cut on the -artery, as he gave directions to Tom to make a pad -from Ned’s handkerchief. With this and his own -tied tightly around her head, he was able easily to -check the bleeding. Meanwhile the rest stood still, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_192'>192</span>recognizing the competence of the improvised surgeon.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That will do,” he said, looking at her as he knelt, -and letting her head rest on a cushion from the canoe. -“I think she has only fainted.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh!” cried Jack, “I was afraid— Be still, you -beast!” to the writhing cub. Carington gave him a -look, and again considered the fair, young face beneath -his gaze, the blood on neck and dress, and the -red splashes on his own attire.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That is better,” he exclaimed, for Rose opened -her eyes, looked about, confused for a moment; then -rallied her faculties, and said, feebly:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What is it? Where am I? What has happened?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It is all right. You fell down.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, Fairfield! Is that you? Where is Ned?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I’m here.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And Jack?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, I’m all right! And the bear’s dead.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“The bear? Yes, I know now. Dead?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Mr. Carington shot him,” said Ned.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Mr. Carington? Where is he?” cried Rose, sitting -up, and still a little dazed.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Keep quiet, boys,” said the young man. “Back -a little. Take that cub away, sir. Can you stand, -Miss Lyndsay? Here, take a little brandy from my -flask. The explanations can wait. Why, you are -quite strong. Now, then. Don’t look at the bear; -come.” And he supported her to the canoe, talking -as he went, to keep her from questioning.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Now, then,”—turning to Jack,—“you must wait -here, sir. You can go in Tom’s boat with Miss Lyndsay”—this -<span class='pageno' id='Page_193'>193</span>to Ned. “I will go ahead and explain at -the camp. Don’t let Miss Lyndsay talk.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But, Fairfield,” said Rose, “I must—”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You are better, I think. There, that will do,” as -she was laid in the canoe. “If you talk, you will -start the bleeding. Not a word now.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>This was a somewhat masterful person, and Rose, -as she lay back against the cushions, was satisfied to -shut her eyes and obey, weak, and still tingling with -past excitement.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You shall know everything by and by, Miss -Lyndsay.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Thanks!” she murmured, and her canoe put off.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I will overtake you,” he said, and then walked -back and took a look at the bear, which Jack, now -reassured, was attentively regarding.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“A first-rate shot that was!” said the boy.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Carington made no reply. Then, glancing at the -bear: “Poor old mother!” he said. “A sucking -bear! I am sorry I had to kill you.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You’ll send for me soon?” said Jack.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Carington again failed to reply.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Isn’t there room in your boat?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Not for you.” He was very angry. Jack sat -down with his troublesome captive, feeling that he -had been sharply snubbed; and the canoe fled away -in the track of Rose’s boat. As he passed her, Carington -cried out:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Are you all right?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, thank you!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Well, don’t talk.” And his birch went by at -speed, he himself taking a third paddle to gain time.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_194'>194</span>“By George! My little comedy came near to a -tragic ending. How Ellett will rate me! What a -mess!” And he considered a moment his bloody -knickerbockers and stained stockings.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Your face is all over blood,” said Michelle. “Best -wash, sir. Might scare ’em worse than a bear.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That is so.” Ceasing to paddle, he took the boat -sponge, and made a hasty toilet.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Am I clean, Michelle?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Well—pretty fair, sir. You are right well -painted. It was awful lucky you took a mind to try -for a shot at that other seal.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes. Shove her along!” He took the paddle -again, and fell to thinking, until they came to the -beach. There was no one in sight. He ran up the -steps, noticing that there was one canoe on the shore. -Then he paused, and, returning, called Tom.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Go up and tell Mr. Lyndsay I want to see him.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Presently Mr. Lyndsay came down the steps.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Mr. Carington!” And he stayed a moment, surprised -at the appearance of the blood-stained man. -“What is it?” he said. “Anything wrong?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Miss Lyndsay has had a slight accident. She is -all right now. I came on ahead to tell you. It is -really—really not serious. They were scared by a -bear on the beach. I was lucky enough to kill it, -but, in trying to escape, your daughter fell and -struck her head, and—oh, it bled a bit. Oh, here is -the canoe.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Rose, freshened by the air and motion, got up, -laughing, and ran to her father.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Rose, my dear! Rose!” he cried.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_195'>195</span>“Where is mother? Does she know? It isn’t -anything, Pardy.” Then she looked at his companion, -who presented a sufficiently soiled and untidy -appearance to still perplex her.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Fairfield,” she exclaimed, “where is—”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I am Mr. Carington,” he returned, smiling, and a -little embarrassed. Lyndsay looked on bewildered.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But—”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Never mind, Miss Lyndsay. I owe you an apology -for playing bowman for a half-day.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Indeed!” cried Rose, flushing, and, turning away, -went up the steps. She hesitated half-way, remembering -the bear, and then went on and entered the -house.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“One moment, Mr. Carington!” exclaimed her -father. “Wait for me.” And he hurried after her. -In a few minutes the scared mother was made to understand -the matter, and, reassured, busied herself in -seeing Rose safely to bed.</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_196'>196</span> - <h2 class='c005'>CHAPTER XIV</h2> -</div> - -<div class='c006'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/dropcap_a.jpg' width='100' height='99' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi1_0'> -Archibald Lyndsay went down -to the beach again, where Carington, -not very happy, sat waiting on -the stern of his canoe. He rose as -his host came near.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“This way,” said Lyndsay. “And -now”—as they walked to and fro on the upper -shingles—“may I ask you to let me understand it -all?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Carington quietly related the scene on the shore, -omitting nothing. When he had ended, Lyndsay -said:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I have probably to thank you for a life which is -very dear to me. I have no words in which to say -what I feel. We are very deep in your debt.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, any one would—”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No—I understand. You are a little like myself, -I fancy. To have too much obliged another has its -embarrassments. I won’t ask you now to let my wife -say her own thankfulness; but come and breakfast -to-morrow, and bring Mr. Ellett.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“With pleasure.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“By the way—and you will pardon me—what was -all that about Fairfield and a bowman?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Simply, Mr. Lyndsay, that I am still, in my holiday -\.pn +1 -times, a bit of a foolish boy, and when Polycarp -came up for a man and could get none, I supposed -it was for you, and just as a frolic induced him to let -me play bowman. I had, of course, not the remotest -idea that it was for Miss Lyndsay. May I ask you to -accept for her my most humble apologies?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I see,” said Lyndsay, laughing. “It has its amusing -side.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, but— Well, it ceased to be amusing when -I realized the annoyance it might bring to Miss -Lyndsay.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I dare say you will be able to make your peace,” -said his host, as Carington took his hand. At the -boat, to which he walked with the elder man, he -paused:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“May I say a word to that boy of yours?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“To Ned? Yes, certainly.” He called, “Ned! -Halloa! Come here!” for the lad had gone up to -the cabin with Rose.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Coming,” cried Ned, from the porch, where, with -Anne, he was trying to make a good case for Jack.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Meanwhile, as Lyndsay was ordering a boat up to -Jack, Ned came down to the strand.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Mr. Carington wished to see you,” said Lyndsay. -“Good-by, and breakfast at half-past eight to-morrow”; -and so, with ready tact, he went up the cliff, -leaving Ned with Carington.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I wanted to see you a moment, Ned, while the -matter is fresh. I want to say that I saw the whole -affair on the shore. I was but thirty yards away. -Perhaps you won’t think it a liberty, my lad, if I say -you behaved admirably, and kept your wits, too. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_197'>197</span>You showed both good sense and courage.” He spoke -as if he were addressing an equal.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Ned flushed with pleasure. “Oh, thank you!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That’s all. I think you and I shall be friends -after this. You must come up and see me; we might -kill a salmon. Good-by.” And he pushed off.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Ned stood a moment, in his thoughtful way, and -then went back up the steps to Miss Anne, who was -now at ease as to Rose, and well pleased with her -dearest nephew.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What was it?” she inquired.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, not much—nothing.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I think I know.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes; he wanted to say you had behaved well.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, bother, Aunt Anne! What’s the use of your -asking, if you know? You always do know.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Then Ned went away, and Archibald Lyndsay came -out and strode uneasily up and down the porch.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Archie,” said Anne. “Brother.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Well, what is it?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Are you troubled?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, of course. How should I be other than -troubled?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But why?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Why? Jack has behaved like a selfish, thoughtless—”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No; he is not at bottom selfish. Thoughtless—yes; -and he has the vices of his virtues. He is so -bold, and so resolute in action—so enjoys the peril he -creates. Can’t you see what such a character wants? -<span class='pageno' id='Page_198'>198</span>You may rest assured, my dear Archie, that he is -quite enough punished.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“He is incidentally punished.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But—”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I don’t want to hear any more, Anne. He has -behaved like a blackguard.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Confound the women!” he said, and walked -away; but in an hour was at the shore to meet Jack, -who landed a little dismayed, his grunting cub still -expostulating in the only language known to juvenile -bears.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Well, sir! I have heard this agreeable story!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But, father—”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I should think you might be fatigued!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Now, a good kicking would have been preferred -by any of these boys to the father’s sarcasm.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Go up to the house, undress, and go to bed. I -don’t want to see you for a day. No words, sir, or I -shall lose my temper. Off with you—you are not -fit to associate with gentlemen.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Without a word more, Jack went up the steps and -did as he was told; in consequence of which Margaret -wept a little, and Anne, who thought on the -whole that Jack had gotten off better than she expected, -betook herself to her books, with a full determination -to have it out with the boy in her own -way, and at a later date.</p> - -<p class='c007'>It was well into the afternoon when Carington -reached his camp, and found Ellett still away on -the river.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_199'>199</span>“I shall catch it!” said Fred, with a grin at the -prospect. He made use of the interval to change his -clothes and get rid of the stained garments, after -which he ordered a smudge, pulled open the tent-flaps, -and cast himself on the camp mattress, for the -first time realizing that he was tired, or, at least, had -that sense of languor which follows upon intense excitement. -The tent-fly was up—the triangular space -thus open to view framed prettily the beach, the men -and canoes, the river, and the hills beyond. The -smoke of the cedar-smudge at times dimmed the picture. -At last, being absolutely comfortable, the cushions -just right, the midge and black fly routed, he -carefully filled and lit his pipe, reflecting, as he did -so, on the varied value of tobacco, which he had -never misused. Next he sought in one pocket after -another, until he came upon a worn note-book. -Among its scraps of verse and memoranda he found -the well-known apostrophe of El Din Attar to the -pipe. He read it with a smile.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“‘O wife of the soul, thou art wiser than any who -bide in the harem. A maker of peace thou art and a -builder of prudence between temptation and the hour -of decision. Can anger abide with the pipe, or a -gnat in the smoke of the tent-fire? Lo, wine is but -wine for the simple, and a pipe but a pipe for the -foolish; and what is a song to the dumb, or a rose -to the eye that is blind? A bud of the rose findeth -June on the breast of the dark-eyed; a song must be -sung by the heart of the hearer. And thus are the -pipe and the smoker. Also of it the king hath no -more joy than the beggar, saith <a id='corr200.32'></a><span class='htmlonly'><ins class='correction' title='El Din Attar.’'>El Din Attar.’”</ins></span><span class='epubonly'><a href='#c_200.32'><ins class='correction' title='El Din Attar.’'>El Din Attar.’”</ins></a></span> -<span class='pageno' id='Page_200'>200</span>“A pipe is a pipe, and a rose is a rose, be it prim or -not,” said the happy young fellow, laughing. “There -is no new wisdom. To think what Wordsworth -would have said to that? If Hamlet could have -played upon this pipe, would he have been nicer to -Ophelia?” His own meerschaum had been a friendly -counselor at times. “Gracious!” he laughed outright—a -good sign of a man that he can soliloquize -laughter—“if I should fall in love, and the woman -hate tobacco!” He let his fancy wander, and began -to reflect, lazily, and yet with some curiosity, on the -person he had saved from a serious, if not fatal, -calamity. “I got out of that comedy pretty well,” he -said to himself. “But, by George! it is rather more -awkward to put a person—a woman—under such -an obligation as this. How I should hate it! I wonder, -does she? I suppose she won’t be at breakfast. -That, at least, is a comfort.” Then he reflected that, -with people such as these, he would not be too absurdly -overwhelmed with gratitude. At last he -turned to a book, fully satisfied that, on the whole, -he had the best of it, and that there was no need to -growl at Fate.</p> - -<p class='c007'>In a minute or two he exclaimed, “In-door poetry, -that”; and dropped the volume of too dainty verse. -The substance beneath was not worth the polish on -top. He was not in a book mood, or disposed to -anchor. The hours slipped by without freight of -urgent question or answer. He was in a dreamy -state, and, liking the hazy indistinctness of its demands, -invented for his use, with a smile of approval, -the word, “Vaguearies.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_201'>201</span>Smiling, he made note of this verbal find, as Ellett -came up the beach.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What pleases you, Fred? And what is all this -row the men are talking about?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“One at a time. I was hoping that the woman I -shall love will take generously to my pipe.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“She will be a fool if she don’t. I always advise the -women never to marry a man who doesn’t smoke. You -see, if they fall out a bit, she can always say, ‘Well, -just take a cigar, Fred, and think it over.’ I am sure -the proportion of divorces must be smaller among the -couples that include a smoker. Good notion, that!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It is on the heights of wisdom!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Isn’t it? And you haven’t been fishing?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes; I did fish, but I got no fish. I caught a -mild little adventure.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Michelle began to tell me—”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Michelle be hanged! These guides are always -dramatic!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Well, and what was it happened? Tell me.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Talk to you about that by and by.” He was indisposed -to have too much made of the incidents of -the morning. Why, he could hardly have explained. -He did not want Miss Lyndsay discussed. Perhaps -this was what the doctors call a prodrome—of a malady -known to man and maid. Love may, like other -forces in life, assume many forms before it unmasks -and we know it as love. The correlation of forces -obtains in the world of the emotions as well as in -that of matter.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“How confoundedly queer you are sometimes, -Fred! I can wait, I suppose; but I don’t see why.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_202'>202</span>“Oh, because my mind is an absolute vacuum. -That is a rather interesting thought, Oliver, quite -worthy of Boston! Fancy an entire mental vacuum! -Is it any more possible than a physical one? Don’t -you think there may be a zero of thought, as of -cold—or of heat, I should say?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Nonsense!” cried Ellett.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Want to know? Do you? Well, I was seriously -thinking that when we can get photographs in colors, -it will be a delightful thing to collect sunsets.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I don’t care a continental malediction for sunsets, -or thought-zeroes, either. What’s the matter with -you? Michelle says you shot a bear, or a young woman—I -am not sure which. He was a little mixed -about it. But why you should—”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I was only chaffing you, old man.” He was -really, and like a child, putting off an inevitable annoyance. -He knew he must talk of it all to his -friend, and felt himself ridiculously unwilling either -to make it seem grave or to treat it as a matter for -jesting comment. Not to understand the cause of -your own states of indecision is, for the habitually -decisive, most unpleasant, and yet silence may make -a thing seem important which is not.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What happened, Oliver, was this.” And he quietly -narrated the incidents of the morning.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I congratulate you, Fred.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And why?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Well, if you are idiot enough to ask that in sober -earnest, I am not fool enough to reply in kind. And -so Miss Lyndsay knows who her bowman was?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_203'>203</span>“Did she like it?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“How the deuce do I know?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But I should think you could tell. I hope that -girl lost her temper. Girls who can’t lose their tempers -can’t lose their hearts. That’s pretty good, -Fred!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Nonsense! Who wants her to lose her heart? -You can judge for yourself, if you are curious—we -are to breakfast with them to-morrow. Get any fish?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“One—only ten pounds. The new run is up, -Pierre says. Saw plenty of small fish leaping. But -about these Lyndsays?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Let’s have supper. Hang the Lyndsays!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Both, with all my heart; and I will also suspend -my opinions, if it suits you better. Wasn’t bad, -that!” And then, as Fred walked away to stir up -the cook, Ellett muttered, “What the mischief’s gone -wrong with the man?” And so, being a kindly fellow -and considerate, as far as he knew how to evolve -in action this form of social wisdom, he dropped the -subject for the evening, and, as Miss Anne used to -say, “left time to pull the chestnuts out of the fire, -when they were cool enough to be useful as diet.”</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_204'>204</span> - <h2 class='c005'>CHAPTER XV</h2> -</div> - -<div class='c006'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/dropcap_c.jpg' width='100' height='96' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi1_0'> -Carington had slept off his brief -ill-humor, and the friends were in a -happier mood as they flitted downstream -next day to breakfast with -the Lyndsays.</p> - -<p class='c007'>At the Cliff Camp things were -not so entirely joyful. Mrs. Lyndsay, after a talk -about the simple bill of fare with the black cook they -had brought with them, paid a furtive visit to Jack, -who was condemned to such tranquillity as was possible, -even in bed, for a human machine as restless. -She administered a tender scolding, and left him with -a book or two. Next she softly opened Rose’s door, -and, finding her comfortable and smiling, said, “No, -dear, you are to keep still to-day,” and left her to -reflect that, on the whole, she was as well satisfied -not to meet the “two single gentlemen rolled into -one” before the entire family. However clearly the -matter had been explained, there remained, and she -colored as she thought of it, the remembrance of certain -things she had said to her bowman. Nor was -it quite pleasing to imagine herself discussed by these -two strangers over their evening meal. The scene in -the boat—“She would like to have him always as -her bowman!” The scene on the beach! And then the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_205'>205</span>obligation! The debt to an unknown man! In what -currency should such debts be paid? She smiled, as -she quoted to herself:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line in26'>What need</div> - <div class='line'>Good turns be counted as a servile bond</div> - <div class='line'>To bind their doers to receive their meed?</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>Then, having no other more consoling thought on -hand, she began to recall how the novelists had dealt -with these situations. A man saves your life! What -then? As far as she remembered, it always ended in -the woman giving the man what he saved—a life!—her -life! She would have liked to have certain books -to see precisely what they did say, or Aunt Anne, -who was herself and generally all books beside. As -she played with these questions, a little amused or a -trifle annoyed, Miss Anne knocked, and was welcomed.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Aunt Anne,” she cried merrily, “what would you -do for a man who saves you from a horrible mauling -by a bear, or possibly from death?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“The novelists marry them. That cancels the debt, -or makes the woman in the end regret the man’s skill -and strength.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Aunty, that is very cheap cynicism for you, and -at eight <span class='fss'>A. M.</span>! What will you be at dinner?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I repent, dear. I hate the sneer—easy and obvious. -I am always penitent over verbal wickednesses -that are mere children of habit, and have no -wit to excuse them. Is the question, dear, worth -considering?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, but seriously—”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_206'>206</span>“I mean seriously. Would it not depend on the -moral make of the people concerned? Clearly, when -those involved are of one world, likely to meet,—to -have continuous relations of some sort,—it must lead -to close friendship when the debt of life is merely -between man and man.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes; but when a woman owes an unknown person—a -man in her own class—an obligation like -this? She must feel it—really feel it, as I do.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“My dear, you are a little absurd. Many debts remain -unpaid, and should so remain. How do you pay -your debts to Shakspere? And, after all, this is a -small affair—Mr. Carington was in no peril.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No, it wasn’t that. The thing involved courage -and decision. Papa has told me all of it—all. And -the ball went only a couple of feet over dear Ned -and myself. Any one but a brave and positive man -would have hesitated—and, just a moment more! -It is dreadful to think of it! Dreadful!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Your gratitude is quite too analytical for me, -dear.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But do you believe, aunty, with mama, that there -cannot be true, simple friendships between man and -woman?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Man and woman? A large question.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Certainly, I believe there can be—more likely, -more easy, more possible with us than in Europe. I -know of many such, where what was in youth a friendship, -limited by conventions, became, as years went -on, a larger, deeper, more valuable relation, and yet -only and always a friendship.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_207'>207</span>“Thank you!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I think myself that when women—married women—grow -wise, they will want their husbands to -have women friends. Margaret would say, ‘That is -an old maid’s opinion.’ Nevertheless, it is mine, and, -as I have chosen never to marry, it is valuable. The -old maid is a sort of neutral, with the wisdom of -both sexes.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I should like to choose my husband’s female -friends.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Should you? I have not talked it out yet, but -now I must go. I want to see how your creditor -behaves. He may be a true Shylock and want—how -many pounds do you weigh, dear?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You are horrid, aunty! I certainly do not think -you have settled my questions.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“How can I? or you? or he, for that matter? -Time, dear, not only answers letters, but also doubts -and difficulties. As a consulting physician, I am -told, he is unsurpassed. You are, naturally, in a -state of unease to-day, and had better wait until you -see what kind of a draft on the bank of gratitude -you are called on to pay, or honor, if you like the -word better. I don’t know whether, nowadays, commercial -men use the word, or the thing. You might -send him a silver pitcher, the inscription to be, ‘To -my preserver, from the preserved,’ or else—”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Go away, bad aunty!” cried Rose, laughing. -Once alone, she began upon her coffee and rolls, and -wished it was next month, and thus, like Carington, -turned over her hot chestnuts to pussy-cat time. -They were too hot for her.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_208'>208</span>Miss Anne went out on the porch, and began watching, -with the interest she took in almost all earthly -pursuits, Ned’s efforts to tie a salmon-fly, while Dick, -beside him, was feeding the drosera’s hairy leaves -with minute black gnats, and considering, through a -lens, the ferocious certainty with which the vegetable -monster closed upon the captives cast among its sensitive -limbs. Presently Dick said to her:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Aunt Anne, is father very angry with Jack?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I’m sorry, because—because he really didn’t have -time to think—and it wasn’t cowardly.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No, it wasn’t that.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But I ran away.” He had a vague feeling that to -prove himself to have gone amiss would be to lessen -the enormity of Jack’s conduct.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You went into the wood to call the men, and were -the first back on the beach, my Prince Rosy-locks. -You are a first-rate liar; but, as you are a Lyndsay, -you are not a coward, and you had better kick yourself -well for insulting Dick Lyndsay!</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>I may not turn, I may not flee,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Though many be the spears;</div> - <div class='line'>I should not face with better grace</div> - <div class='line in2'>The army of my fears.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>I do not blame Jacky as much as your father does. -I understand him, I think.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“He feels awfully, Aunt Anne.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That will do no harm, Dick.” The boy turned -again to the drosera and his lens.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_209'>209</span>Anne was herself so entirely brave that not even -the prospect of the coming of added pain had ever -been able to make her timid. All forms of courage -were to her intelligibly beautiful, knowing as she did -that if its mere instinctive form be meaningless, it is, -in its higher developments, the knightly defense of all -the virtues. She pulled Dick’s ear, playfully, and said, -finally:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Jack will be out at noon. The less you say about -it, the better.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I guess so,” remarked Dick.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Ah, here comes Mr. Carington. Now, boys, behave -yourselves at breakfast. No nonsense, mind! -This is to be a very pretty-behaved family; we will -make up for it at lunch.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>The two gentlemen were in turn presented. There -were the ordinary greetings, and no word of allusion -to the day before, except that Mrs. Lyndsay, in a -quiet aside, said to Carington:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I shall not be quite comfortable until I say how -much I thank you—for all of us—all.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That is more than enough,” he returned. “How -is Miss Lyndsay?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Wonderfully well!” And presently they went in -to breakfast.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Here by me, please, Mr. Carington. Anne, sit -next to Mr. Carington. This seat, Mr. Ellett—on -the left.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>The boys, a little subdued, contented themselves -with quiet inspection of the new guests, and the talk -slipped readily, in skilful hands, from the subjects of -fish and the weather, and flies and rods, to other less -<span class='pageno' id='Page_210'>210</span>trivial matters. Anne was unusually silent. She was -studying the unconscious Carington, who soon noted -the absence of Jack, and as quickly understood its -meaning.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes,” said Lyndsay, “these <a id='corr211.5'></a><span class='htmlonly'><ins class='correction' title='Gaspe'>Gaspé</ins></span><span class='epubonly'><a href='#c_211.5'><ins class='correction' title='Gaspe'>Gaspé</ins></a></span> men are most -interesting. They are clever, competent, and inherently -kindly, really good fellows; but their trouble -is, and it does not trouble them, that they have no -persistent energy. I confess that, being myself, at -least while here, without energy, I like its absence.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Isn’t it a vast relief, after the endless restlessness -of our people,” said Anne, “to fall among folks who are -contented, and home-loving, and so uncomplicated?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I certainly think so,” said Carington. “And what -a surprise it is to meet the stray descendants of loyalists -hereabouts and on the 'St. John’s’—I ought to -say the ‘Aroostook,’ there are so many ‘St. John’s.’ -Some of the best of the Canadians are descendants of -those people; but, for the most part, those who settled -in certain quarters of Lower Canada are down again -to the level of mere laborers or fishermen.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And no better off,” said Ellett. “I mean no more -energetic than—well, than I am. I hate the very -word energy. I quite share your opinions, Miss -Lyndsay. There is a nice little conundrum about -that word—sounds better in French. But, pardon -me, I never repeat conundrums, or make puns.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I am so sorry. Are you past persuasion?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Entirely.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Even as a personal confidence?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That is another matter. It will keep. I think, -Mr. Lyndsay, you were about to say—”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_211'>211</span>“I forget. But no matter. One may talk about, and -about things, at breakfast especially. It is pleasant -to feel that you may kick—that any one concerned -may kick—the foot-ball of talk without reference to -a goal.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I don’t think my friend Carington would agree -to that,” said Ellett. “He likes talk to be well feathered, -and go straight home—”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And I like it,” cried Anne, “to be well feathered, -and go zigzag home, or not, like a bird.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And, for my part, aside from Ellett’s calumnious -nonsense,” laughed Carington, “I have no social -creed as to good talk. If it bears sharp analysis, it -is probably poor talk.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But,” said Anne, “there are some essentials. One -must reverse the great maxim that it is more blessed -to give than to receive.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Mrs. Lyndsay regarded the maiden lady with a look -of reprobation, in which were trial, judgment, and -execution. She reserved her verbal attack for a better -occasion, while Anne, unconscious of offense, went -on, “Wasn’t it Mr. Lowell, Archie, who said at our -table, when you questioned him as to the best talkers -he had met, ‘Oh, the best are those who meet you’? -I thought that delicately put.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But then he added,” said Lyndsay, “when you -mentioned G. M. as on the whole the most remarkable -of dinner talkers, that he had not the essential -conversational art of punctuation. That his sentences -were like those of Judge Jeffries, eternal -How one spoils such a thing in the telling! We all -smiled at it a little. Our friend himself liked an -<span class='pageno' id='Page_212'>212</span>audience, and to have, at times, the royal freedom of -unbroken talk. North, a friend of ours, Mr. Carington, -has a theory that breakfast talks are the best.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I should think so,” said Ellett, and then began to -think he had been rather critical, and added, “I -mean—well, I usually breakfast alone, and a fellow -can’t talk to himself.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“This fellow can,” cried Anne.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“He meant,” said Lyndsay, “that breakfast talk is -apt to be general and gay; but that at dinner you -have the cares of the day on your back. It takes a -little effort, or a little champagne, to get up steam.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But I have no cares,” said Ellett.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Then,” cried Miss Lyndsay, “we will all dine with -you, and you shall do all the talking.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That would suit my sister admirably,” laughed -her brother. “Did you ever notice how silent many -of these woodmen are?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes,” said Carington, “that is true. The woodland -life has the same effect upon me.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That’s curious,” remarked Miss Lyndsay. “Certain -people blast me with utter dumbness. It might -be useful if it were kept up long enough to form a -habit. I mention that to anticipate my brother. One -does sometimes say what one doesn’t want to say—but, -oh, I do think one much more often wants dreadfully -to say what one had better not say.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I think that is true,” said Mrs. Lyndsay, with -reminiscent gravity.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Which? or both?” said Anne, in an aside.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“By the way,” said Lyndsay, “talking of these unlucky -relics of the royalists, and, in fact, of too many -<span class='pageno' id='Page_213'>213</span>on these coasts, the most energetic of us would succumb -to their environment.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes; there is that poor devil, Colkett,” said -Carington, “a good hunter, a hard worker—I am -told, a first-rate lumberman—and yet always in -want.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“To judge from my daughter’s account,” said Mrs. -Lyndsay, “the wife is his difficulty.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>By this time the boys were at ease.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What is an ‘environment,’ Aunt Anne?” said -Ned. “Is a wife an environment?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Ellett laughed. “Sometimes she is.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Environments are surroundings—a man’s surroundings.” -She always answered the boys seriously.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But does a wife surround a man?” urged Ned, -oblivious of his place as a boy among elders in his -keen pursuit of a meaning.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I should think so!” said Carington. “Wait till -your turn comes! You will see!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I am quite sure Dorothy Maybrook is a fair illustration,” -said Anne. “It is a good sermon on the -conduct of the matrimonial life to see that woman -what she calls ‘p’int’ poor old Hiram.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“An interesting person,” returned Carington. -“Don’t you think so?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It hurts a fellow to see a woman as placid as -that,” remarked Ellett. Whereupon Miss Anne adjusted -her glasses, and took a look at the small, rotund -man.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Why?” she said. “Why does it hurt you?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>He hesitated a trifle, and then replied, “Well, it -sort of knocks all the excuses out of a fellow’s life.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_214'>214</span>“Certainly,” laughed Anne. “She doesn’t pet her -moods,” and she concluded that there was something -in the ruddy gentleman, who looked so pleased at -what he had said.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I have known her under many circumstances,” said -Mrs. Lyndsay, “and I doubt if she has any moods.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I rather suspect,” said Lyndsay, “that Mrs. Maybrook’s -equality of temper is partly natural, and -partly a singularly intelligent acquired capacity to -make the best of her surroundings.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Environment,” said Ned, under his breath, and -now satisfied.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Really, Rose knows more about her than even my -wife, who has known her longer; but Rose has a -curious way of getting at people, and I have seldom -seen Rose so carried away by any one.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I envy people the power of understanding people -on short acquaintance. I like everybody at first, -and then, by and by, I have to change my mind. -Now, Carington—”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Nonsense!” cried his friend.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Indeed!” exclaimed Anne. She thought Mr. Ellett -oddly frank.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“From all I can hear,” said Carington, “Mrs. Maybrook -must be a kind of female Marcus Aurelius.” -This was quite too much for the boys, who began to -laugh; and then, as Lyndsay and his wife followed -their example, Miss Anne felt obliged to explain, in -her amusing way, why this remark had so unaccountably -disturbed the nerves of the household. Lyndsay -defended himself with seriousness. As they rose -to have their cigars outside, Ned said:</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_215'>215</span>“We are going up to the beach, father. Rose lost -a pin there. May we take lunch, mama? There is -plenty of brass knocker from breakfast.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Pardon me,” said Carington, “my dear fellow; -but what on earth is ‘brass knocker’?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Lyndsay laughed. “That is a family bit of my -Scotch education. The lowland Scotchman calls the -relics of a meal the ‘brass knocker,’ because once, I suppose, -the poor relations, who came to get the remains -of a feast, were expected to knock, and not to ring.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“How curious. Yes, thank you, I will smoke. -Mrs. Lyndsay?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, my women are angelic about that!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Indeed, if we were fallen angels,” said Anne, “we -could hardly be more used to it.” Then she said, “I -hope we may see you and Mr. Ellett often. I must -go and tell Rose what a pleasant chat we have had.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>As she turned, she swayed a little, so as to touch -Mr. Carington. “Pardon me,” she said, “I am not -over-strong, and it now and then makes me awkward.” -She was really in extreme pain. “Good-by.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>He stepped aside to let her pass, struck, as she -moved away, with her pallor. It was a sign of unusual -liking in this woman when she permitted herself -the least allusion to her own feebleness.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Carington was in the gayest of moods as their -canoe went up the river.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“He has very good cigars,” remarked Ellett.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Admirable! And the air up here, I have noticed, -keeps them in first-rate condition. Cigars are a good -deal like people, Oliver—they are unaccountably -changeable. Ever notice that?”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_216'>216</span>“Yes; but a pipe is an unchanging friend. Cigars -are like women. That’s a good idea!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Bother your ideas! What interesting people! It -seemed to me a wholesome atmosphere—strong and -true and honest. Master Jack did not appear. I -suppose he was in disgrace.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Very likely.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That boy Ned is a quaint little fellow.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“We only wanted the sister and that scamp to -make up the entire family.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I am not so sure about the scamp—the black -sheep; I fancy he is hardly more than brown. I was -rather hard on him; but I was angry enough to have -thrashed him, and yet I couldn’t help liking his -pluck.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It was rather out of place, Fred.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes. To know when to fear, and what to fear, is -wisdom.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I think you have it to-day, Fred. You are afraid -of that girl.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Upon my word, you do have at times the most remarkable -flashes of intelligence. You are right.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But why? The awkwardness of the affair seems -to me to lie on the lady’s side.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I wish it were not. She is young, and—well, -rather pretty, and of course she will be effusive, and -enthuse, and then there will be a few tears, and I shall -feel like a fool!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It’s a great thing, Fred, to have no imagination. -Now, it wouldn’t trouble me in the least. She will -just say, ‘I am so much obliged, Mr. Carington,’ and -you will say, ‘Oh, it really doesn’t matter, Miss Lyndsay.’ -<span class='pageno' id='Page_217'>217</span>People don’t go splashing their emotions about -like a wet dog shaking off the water on everybody. -Good notion, that!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You are a social and consolatory Solomon. Give -me your tobacco. I shall go back to-morrow and -have it over. Will you fish the upper pool this -afternoon?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Either.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Hang your politeness, Oliver. There is nothing -gives as much trouble as ‘either.’ It ought to be -kicked out of society.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Then the lower pool.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Good!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>There was a little interchange of views at the Cliff -Camp as to their guests; a certain pleasantness of -relief at finding Carington one who could confer an -immense obligation and appear totally to ignore it. -Perhaps, of all of them, Anne the best appreciated -this; for she understood, as did neither her brother -nor his simple and direct wife, that Rose felt and -must deeply feel a sense of indebtedness, and the -difficulty of at once putting herself into the right -relations with the man who had, without peril to himself, -left on her a debt which could never be canceled. -It was easy to say about it to Rose too much or too -little; but, with her usual clearness of head as to -matters of conduct, Miss Lyndsay now held her -tongue, nor did Rose tempt her to speak further.</p> - -<p class='c007'>As to Jack, he came out of his room at one, adding -an hour out of pure dislike to having any one think -he cared. Anne spoke to him, as he passed her, a -mere “How are you, Jack?” but he merely answered, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_218'>218</span>“Good morning, Aunt Anne,” and went at once to -the barrel in which he had left his cub. It was -gone; but whither he never knew. Then he came -in to get his rifle, a gift from Anne on his last and -fifteenth birthday. That, too, was gone. Upon this -he got a crust of bread, and betook himself to the -woods, where the black flies were more active than -his conscience. At last he climbed a high dead pine, -and sat in the wind, and saw, far away on the river, -his father’s canoe. He felt that he had been ill-used, -and then, remembering Rose on the beach, with the -blood about her, had an hour or so of a boy’s unhappiness. -Toward evening he found a woodchuck’s -burrow, which he resolved to dig out; and, somewhat -comforted, at last wandered back to the cabin, -all other emotions having given way before the overwhelming -hunger to which, in his wrath, he had needlessly -condemned himself.</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_219'>219</span> - <h2 class='c005'>CHAPTER XVI</h2> -</div> - -<div class='c006'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/dropcap_t.jpg' width='100' height='101' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi1_0'> -The fishing had been fortunate in the -Cliff Camp waters, and now, somewhat -later than usual, dinner being -over, the whole family, save Anne, -was collected in the large central -room of the cabin. The fireplace -was of a size to hold logs five feet in length, and was -built of rough, unhewn, gray rock. As the evening -was cold, a great pile of birch-wood filled the wide -chimney-throat with ruddy flame, and the lamp -which hung overhead and the candles on the table -were scarcely needed to light the room. Here and -there were books. In the corner stood a rod or two -in their cases; on the racks a rifle and shot-gun.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Lyndsay was busy with his salmon-flies, and was -carefully inspecting the multitude of feathered lures -which every one collects and no one uses. On a -cushion, upon the floor, sat Rose, in the ripest glow -of the red birch flame. She was all in virginal white, -and with this innocence of color the fire was playing -pretty tricks, flushing the white sweep of the skirt -with rose, or playing hide-and-seek with flitting shadows, -as they hid among the folds, and were chased -hither and thither when the long jets of flame spurted -out at the ends of the logs.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_220'>220</span>Jack being still in some disgrace, our Rose must -have his head in her lap, the lad’s sturdy figure -stretched out on the floor. Beside him, Ned sat -cross-legged, like a Turk, and stared into the fire. -Dick, at a side-table, with a candle to himself, was -far away in another world, watching a wild menagerie -of rotifers spinning around on the field of his -microscope.</p> - -<p class='c007'>They were quiet, all of them, in the company of -their thoughts. At the table, Mrs. Lyndsay was deep -in “Belinda.” She dearly loved those pleasant books, -still worth the reading, and often gay with very delightful -chat. Now and then she read a bit aloud to -her husband. She cared little for the great books, -and liked best the level lowlands of literature. -When Anne was lost in book-land, and it took two -or three questions to call her back to consciousness -of her kind, Margaret found it impossible to comprehend -her absorption. Anne had once said to her, -“There are books which carry one away to the mountain-peaks, -and will not let one go without a ransom.” -Then Margaret had smiled, and replied, with the -nearest approach to sarcasm of which she was capable, -that it was well there were some people left -down below to order the dinners and see to the servants.</p> - -<p class='c007'>In the cool air without, and well wrapped up, -Anne Lyndsay swung gently in her hammock beneath -the porch. It was well understood among -these people, who so deeply loved her, that at times -she liked to be alone, and then was to be left to herself. -She had struggled for this freedom from kindly -<span class='pageno' id='Page_221'>221</span>intrusion, and years ago had won it, but not without -some contest with Margaret, who was quite unable to -see why any one could want to be solitary. Anne -would say, “I am never alone, my dear,” and was of -opinion that the hardest thing to get in a large family -were these sacred hours of privacy. Too many -women know that.</p> - -<p class='c007'>She was just now absolutely free from pain, and in -unrestrained enjoyment of the cool, dry air of the -Canadian river, which ran below, and sent up at unaccountable -intervals strange noises as she listened. -Now it was a low, booming, bass note, and now mingled -sounds, as of cries, and distant chuckle of suppressed -mirth, where, above and below, the voyaging -waters hopped merrily over their rocky path to the -sea. The moon was high overhead, and lit up the water -with life of light, when here and there the checked -current rose in snowy foam over some huge boulder, -dropped ages since on the mighty portage of the ice-swept -continent. Nor cry nor insect-note came from -the somber masses of the hills. After awhile she -turned her head, and looked in through the window -at the good people who were so near to her heart. -Then she called, “Jack! Jack!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>The boy got up and went out to her.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Sit down on that stool beside me,” she said. He -obeyed in silence.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“How is the cub, Jacky Giant-Killer?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“He is gone!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Indeed! I am sorry for that. I wanted to see -it. Did it get away?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No. I suppose father gave it to Tom, or somebody. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_222'>222</span>I don’t care. It was my cub. I don’t care,” -he repeated.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Jacky, if Goliath had lied in proportion to his -size, he could not have lied larger than that. Now, -isn’t that so?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, I don’t care, and I do.” Then he broke out -angrily, “The thing is, Aunt Anne, nobody asked me -a question; nobody wanted to give me a chance; and -that long-legged fellow that shot the bear, he said—I -wish he was my size!—he called me an idiot.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“The description was brief and correct. What -brains you have—and they are good enough—you -did not use. Three people called to you to drop the -cub. Why didn’t you? You see what mischief came -of it; and how much worse it might have been I do -not like to think. Why did you hold on to the cub?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I just couldn’t let it go, Aunt Anne. You’re -awful good to a fellow. There is no one like you.” -And here she captured his hand.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Why couldn’t you? It was only to do that.” -And she let his hand drop, and caught it again.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It would have been cowardly.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Of course—I knew it; I knew what you thought; -but I wanted you to say it out.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Nobody else has asked me. I didn’t think that -bear would go after anybody but me and the cub, and -I just held on.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I see. It explains what you felt; it does not -excuse what you did. This is not quite all of it.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>He was silent.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You were afraid some one would think you were -afraid. Wasn’t that a sort of cowardice, Jack?”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_223'>223</span>He was clear of head now, and this arrow went to -the mark.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes,” he said; “I’d hate to think I was afraid.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What is courage?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, not to be afraid; never to be afraid.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Is that all? Isn’t there a nobler courage that -goes hand in hand with reason and love and unselfishness? -A man ought to fear when there is reason to -fear—to fear evil, or hurt of others, or dishonor, or -sin. You have unreasoning courage. How are you -better than a bulldog? I remember once, at your -father’s table, that I asked a great and wise general -as to another, who was famous for mere heedless -bravery, what he thought of him. ‘Oh,’ he said, ‘he -was a great thunderbolt of war, to be thrown by a -hand not his own.’ The man who spoke was brave as -are God’s bravest, Jack; but he had always his wits -about him, and knew when to go on and when to fall -back. Isn’t that the finer courage?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I guess so,” said the boy. And then, abruptly, -“Are you ever afraid, Aunt Anne?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No.” And it was true.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But if you were in a battle, or were going to die?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I am!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, but soon?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I am! Look here, Jacky, my dear Jacky. I -never talk of myself; but I will this once, for you. -I am a very ill woman; in a year or two I shall die. -It is certain. I am to leave this world and those I -love. I suffer pain all the time. No one knows how -much.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, Aunt Anne!”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_224'>224</span>“Yes. Now I am not afraid to die. I am not even -afraid of this pain, which goes on from bad to worse. -If some angel came and said, ‘You are free to die -to-morrow,’ I would say ‘No.’ Life is my little bear-cub, -and it isn’t like your cub. I should be afraid -to be such a coward as, for fear of pain, to want to -let go my cub; and that is because God has put me -here to bear what ills come to me, and to use them -so as to get something out of life—to learn endurance -and true courage. Perhaps some one else may -get something out of it. I do not want to talk over -your head, Jack. Do you understand me?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I think so,” and tears began to fall on her hand. -“I am—I am so sorry for you.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That is well,—although I am foolish as to pity, -and like best to keep my troubles to myself. But if -to know all this helps you to do right, to know what -the courage which comes from God means, I shall -not have suffered in vain.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Thank you!” He began to comprehend her courageous -reticence, and was appalled at this insight into -the anguish and struggle of this calm, self-contained -life, which went laughing on its way to death.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Kiss me,” she said, “and mind this is between us -two. I try usually not to pain others with my pain. -Except to help you, I would not have made you suffer -for my suffering. No one knows why there is so -much torment in the wide world of man and beast, -but some of it is clear enough. I have made your -young heart ache to-night; but this suffering has a -meaning, and ought to have a use.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Thank you, dear Aunt Anne!”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_225'>225</span>“Don’t cry any more,” she said. “I shall love -you better than ever because we have trusted each -other. Now I think you know what to do. Don’t -wait,” and she laughed pleasantly; “procrastination -is the thief—of what, Jacky?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, of time.” And he laughed.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No, no, stupid!—of all the virtues. Your father -is in the room. Kiss me.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>The boy rose up and went straight into the cabin. -With his head in air, and a little flushed, he walked -up to his father, and stood as the latter looked up -from his book.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I am sorry, sir, for what I did yesterday. I was -wrong.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Lyndsay put out his hand, and the mother also -looked up from her book.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That will do,” he said. “I thought you would -come right. Go and kiss Rose.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>He did so, whispering in her ear, “I am awful -sorry, Rose.” Then, in the brief silence that followed, -he walked out again, and went back to Anne.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It wasn’t hard?” she said.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, it was! I hated it, but I did it.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Now, that was honest courage, Jack. You will -feel better for it to-morrow. Good night; I must go -to bed myself.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Jack went in with her, and by the way in which he -was bidden good night, saw that the bear business -was over. Before he fell asleep, he heard Rose ask:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“May I come in?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes,” he shouted. She came to the bedside and -kissed him.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_226'>226</span>“I wanted to say, Jack, that I thought you were -very brave to-night. I would have done it, but I -would have waited until dear old Marc. Aurelius was -alone. Oh, I am proud of you. You are to have your -rifle to-morrow.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You asked for it?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I did.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“By Thor, but you’re—”</p> - -<p class='c007'>This was a family oath.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Hush, no swearing.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, by Jove!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“These are not the Olympic games.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Plague it, Aunt Anne says that isn’t swearing. -She says—”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You and Aunt Anne had better be careful how -you explain away the commandments. Good night.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>A poet has said that Time is a mighty peacemaker, -and it is quite certain that he patches up even our -quarrels with ourselves. This Rose found to be the -case. The lapse of a day left her less self-annoyance. -That certain precedent facts about her bowman cast a -humorous aspect about the new acquaintance began -to be felt rather as a relieving aid to future social -intercourse than as an added embarrassment.</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_227'>227</span> - <h2 class='c005'>CHAPTER XVII</h2> -</div> - -<div class='c006'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/dropcap_t.jpg' width='100' height='101' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi1_0'> -The next day went by before Rose -was believed to be well enough to -cast a fly. Mr. Ellett dropped down -to ask how Miss Lyndsay was, and to -leave a note from Carington, with a -half-dozen of the famous Millers.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Aunt Anne smiled a little as she caught Mr. Ellett -on his way to the house, no one else but she being -at home. She made herself very amusing, and, as -Ellett was enthusiastic about Carington, she bagged, -as she said, all there was to be known of both young -men.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You see, Miss Lyndsay, I am unlucky enough to -have more money and more time than Carington says -is good for me. But everybody has the same time as -everybody else. That’s so, isn’t it? I saw it in—I -think I saw it in Smith’s ‘Wealth of Nations.’ Ever -read it, Miss Lyndsay?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes,” said Anne, charmed with her capture.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I don’t have much time now. I go in for managing -hospitals and things. You see, Fred says a man -who can run a club can manage a hospital. Good -notion, that. He says men are better housekeepers -than women.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What heresy!”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_228'>228</span>“Isn’t it? Nowadays Fred has more money than -I have. You see, he builds bridges and things.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Then you and your friend Mr. Carington have -little in common, from your account.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, yes, we have; we like each other.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That’s neatly and nicely said; but don’t you -think that, on the whole, in people who are intellectually -sympathetic, unlikeness of tastes and pursuits -may be as good a foundation for friendship as a -common fondness for this or that?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Y-e-s,” said the small gentleman, somewhat perplexed. -He was slow of apprehension, but in the -end likely enough to become clear as to what he -should think of things said. Miss Anne, on the -other hand, was a rapid talker and thinker, and -sometimes overestimated the capacity of people to -follow her.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“We were speaking of this last week. I said then -that as little reason goes into the making of most -friendships as into most love-affairs, or, for that matter, -into most of the religious attachments which men -call their beliefs. Friendship ought to be a tranquil -love-affair of the head, without base question of dot,” -and she laughed.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But I like a fellow first, and then find reasons for -it afterward.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I said it was a love-affair of the head. I have a -small heart somewhere in my head; I know that. -Some folks have two heads, and call one a heart.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I don’t think I quite follow you, Miss Lyndsay,” -said Ellett.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, there’s no need to.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_229'>229</span>“But it’s dreadful to get left the way I do, at the -first hurdle. I was going to tell you what Fred said -to me once; it wasn’t bad at all. He said once that -ours was a friendship of <em>convenance</em> at first, and then, -afterward— Well, the fact was, I happened to hear -that he needed money, and I used to admire him, but -I never did think he would care for a fellow like me, -that shot pigeons, and rode steeplechase, and—killed -things.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And you helped him?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Good heavens, Miss Lyndsay! I never meant to—to -say anything about that. I—”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You need not apologize,” she said, smiling. “I -am getting to be a pretty old maid, and that gives me -privileges. I think I like Mr. Carington’s friend”; -and she said to herself, “You are a dear, shrewdly -simple little man.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Then he thanked her, blushing as he rose, and -saying:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Now, I must go and get a fish.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>As for Rose, she began to feel that it was rather -nice of Mr. Carington to be in no haste to come after -the inevitable gratitude; but when a pleasant note -came to Mrs. Lyndsay inclosing the flies, she began -also to have a certain amount of curiosity as to the -man in question, much, I suppose, like the beginning -of that same fatal emotion which in the end causes -the salmon to inspect at closer quarters the provocative -Jock Scott or Durham ranger.</p> - -<p class='c007'>It was now near the end of their second week, and -the after part of the third day from that which saw -the drama of the bear and cub. Rose had killed two -<span class='pageno' id='Page_230'>230</span>salmon in the morning, and, not having altogether -gotten over the loss of blood, had declined to fish -again in the afternoon. Anne was in her room, the -mother out in the boat with Mr. Lyndsay, and the -boys off to dig up the unhappy woodchuck. Rose -had the pleasant feeling of having the house to herself. -She took a volume of Lowell, and, settling -herself in the hammock, was soon so deep in the -delicate analysis of Gray that she did not observe -the coming canoe, until of a sudden Carington was -beside her.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Good evening, Miss Lyndsay.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Rose made the usual awkward effort to rise from -her comfortable nest, saying, “I am like the starling, -I can’t get out.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Permit me,” he said, and, with the help of his -hand, she was on her feet.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Upon my word,” she laughed, “you seem to be -essential to the getting me out of scrapes. I am, I -was, always shall be hopelessly in your debt,” and -she blushed prettily, feeling that she had been less -formal than she had meant to be. “Pray sit down,” -she added, taking a camp-stool.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Thanks. Don’t you think that to give a man -such a chance to oblige people like—like your father -and mother—rather puts the sense of obligation on -the other side?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Aunt Anne says that it is written large on some -debts, ‘Not transferable.’ You have put it very -nicely, and still you must let me say once for all, I -thank you.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And I am forgiven for my boy frolic?”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_231'>231</span>“I don’t know,” she cried, smiling. “That is not -nominated in the bond.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Well, we will consider the other obligations settled,” -he said, “and leave this for future adjustment. -You will give me what the men call a good ‘recommend’ -for a new place as bowman? I am rather -vain of my poling. How wet you were!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Wet! You have no idea. It established new -standards of moisture for me. But we got the fish.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>He liked the pronoun of partnership.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes. I wonder if Mr. Lyndsay would let you fish -our water. I could promise you a salmon or two. -Ellett would like to exchange to-morrow afternoon, -and try your lower pool, so that, if Mr. Lyndsay -would take the lower half of our fishing and we the -upper, we should be agreeably matronized—patronized -I should say. Will you be so good as to give -your father this note?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Rose said yes, and he took up the book she had -dropped into the hammock.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Lowell! I like his essays more than his verse, -except always the immortal fun of the Biglow Papers. -That must surely live. For most of his poetry I care -little.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, it is graceful, interesting at times, which is -not true of some much greater verse; but I do not -care for it much,—and that is dreadful, because we -all know him well and love him well.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Indeed! How pleasant that must be! Long as -I have lived near him, I have never seen him.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“We shall quarrel here and now if you do not at -once praise the Biglow Papers.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_232'>232</span>“Oh! but I could not say too much of them. After -their kind they stand alone.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Thank you! And how rare it is that the poets -combine humor with the higher qualities! It is sadly -true of our day.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, yes! It is laughable to hear people talk of -Browning’s humor. At times he is grotesque or sardonic—never -delicately humorous or funny. We -want a word in between fun and humor. And Tennyson -is not humorous. It all seems a part of the -gloom which has fallen on English letters.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, there is ‘Plump head-waiter at the Cock’!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That is the exception, and is not very notable, like -Lowell’s sustained and delightful verbal play; the rest -are no better or worse off—the lesser larks, I mean.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, and Shelley has no humor, and Keats’s attempts -are only illustrations of the fact that editors -don’t know where to draw the line.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“How agreeable we are!” he said, laughing. He -had the happy art of low-pitched laughter.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That way of saying we agree,” she said, “would -delight Aunt Anne.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And do you find time up here to read much?” -he went on. “I cannot. The hours go by like the -water, without freight of thought.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Not much,” she returned. “I read very little here, -although at home we are mighty consumers of books. -I am as little fond of the needle as is my aunt, but -one takes up a book lazily here as a sort of companion -that does not insist on answers.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You seem to have provided a goodly ration,” he -returned, looking about him.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_233'>233</span>“I am hardly responsible for this mob of books. -My good mother is in despair over our accumulations, -and my father declares that the house at home is a -Noah’s ark of books after their kind.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And what kind?” said Carington, much pleased -to get off so easily from what he had feared might be -an importunate debtor.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, every kind! Of course, my good father’s -legal books now and then drift away from their -proper place. Then Jack collects voyages and ferocities -by land and sea, and Dick will spend his last -dime on books about beasts and plants. My dear -Ned reads everybody’s books with entire impartiality. -Aunt Anne must have digested libraries; but then -she is not like anybody else. I hardly call it reading. -She falls upon a book, and appears to look it over -carelessly, and then, after you have read it with attention, -you find that she knows twice as much about it -as you do.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But that is very interesting. I judged from our -little chat at breakfast that Miss Anne was out of the -ranks of our commonplace world. And she reads -widely?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes! We call her the ‘book-hawk.’ It is rare -fun to see her pounce on a tempting volume.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“She struck me, if I may venture to say so, as most -interesting; but that there should remain this immense, -ever active energy of appropriation with -feeble health seems remarkable.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>A little surprised, Rose asked, “Why do you think -her ill?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“She told me so,—or hardly that: she was merely -<span class='pageno' id='Page_234'>234</span>led to say she was not strong, and a glance at that -pale drawn face, Miss Lyndsay, would—pardon me—I—”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No. Perhaps I should explain my surprise. It -was because to hear of Aunt Anne as confessing -weakness was to me more strange than you can imagine, -unless you knew her as we do.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I liked it,” said Carington.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes. It means that she—well—it means that -she is going to like you—a signal.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Thank you; that is very pleasant. But, talking -of books again, you left off just where I hoped you -were going to tell me what books after your kind go -into the family ark.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I was going to do nothing of the sort,” cried -Rose, with a laugh. “You will think we are a dull -set of mere book-grubbers. I can assure you we are -very foolish people, and can be as silly as the silliest.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You shall have credit for any possible margin of -folly.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, there must be a limit. I did not want to -leave you to think we are what Aunt Anne calls book -proud.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Book proud?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes. You must have known people who seem at -some time to have suddenly discovered books, the real -books, and are vastly set up by their new-found wealth.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I know. I was stupid. My friend Ellett came -pretty near to having a grave case of the malady -soon after I first knew him, but he was cured easily -with the tenth dilution of a sarcasm.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Were you the doctor?”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_235'>235</span>“I was. I hope you liked him, Miss Lyndsay. I -like my friend to be liked by—by every one.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You meant to say, by your friends,” she returned, -with pretty frankness. “You have committed the -folly of making a large addition to your list.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And I may include Miss Rose Lyndsay?” he said, -as he stood up.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That goes without saying.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But I want it with the saying.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Then you have it,” and she gave her hand for good-by, -and he went away. At the cliff edge he paused.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I shall be dreadfully disappointed if we do not -get the fishing.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But I think we shall.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Then good-by again.” In a moment he was in -his canoe, for he had come alone, and was sturdily -poling up the stream. The well-knit figure in the -becoming guise of jacket and knickerbockers held -her eye until it was lost around the river curves. -Then she said aloud:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That is a very nice man.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>The man in the canoe said to himself:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Please God I shall marry that woman.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>An hour ago she was Miss Lyndsay and as other -women had been to him. But now—he smiled.</p> - -<p class='c007'>When Miss Lyndsay had made her own little statement, -she looked about her shyly of a sudden, as if -fearful lest some one might have overheard her, and, -reassured by the knowledge that she was alone, -added:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I am not as sorry as I was.” The why of this last -decision she did not seek to analyze, but dropped -<span class='pageno' id='Page_236'>236</span>into the hammock, and, lulled by its motion, by and -by fell asleep.</p> - -<p class='c007'>After awhile came Lyndsay on tip-toe, and, smiling, -kissed her, and then again before she quite waked up.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“A pair—two pair—of gloves,” he cried.</p> - -<p class='c007'>At this she sat up, with a faint blush on her -cheek, fetched from far away out of dreamland. I -do not know of what she was dreaming.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You startled me so, Pardy. How wicked you are! -Mr. Carington has been here, and left a note for you.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And you settled your small obligations—hey, -Rose?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I did.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Difficult?” He had anticipated her embarrassments.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No. Not even you could have been nicer about it.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And you liked him? We did.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes—oh, yes,” she said with indifference. “I -thought him pleasant. He talks quite well, and is a -gentleman.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Rather mild praise for a man who—”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Don’t, please, Pardy; I—I hate to be joked -about it.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I won’t, dear. To say, in these days of too easy -fashions, that a man is a gentleman means, for us at -least, a good deal.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I think so. Of course, I had to say distinctly -that I thanked him, and he received it so—so quietly -and simply that I was not in the least embarrassed. -I can’t tell you, Pardy, how absurdly I dreaded it.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Thereupon Mr. Lyndsay went in, saying to himself:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I hope the receiver isn’t going to be the thief—confound -the business!”</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_237'>237</span> - <h2 class='c005'>CHAPTER XVIII</h2> -</div> - -<div class='c006'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/dropcap_t.jpg' width='100' height='101' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi1_0'> -The next day, being Saturday, a -little note sent in the morning told -Carington that Miss Lyndsay and -her father would fish his waters -in the afternoon. Her father took -Rose up in his own canoe, and at -the Island Camp they found their new friends. Mr. -Ellett went off to take their pool, and Rose was soon -seated in Carington’s canoe, facing the stern of the -boat.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No,” he said gaily, “I shall sit between you and -Michelle, here in the bottom. I shall be very comfortable, -and I shall be able to criticize your casts. -No, I don’t mean to fish. It is your day—all yours. -We shall beat you, Mr. Lyndsay. Mind, Michelle, we -are bent on wholesale business.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Then they were off, and in a half-hour were at the -head of the pool, a full cast from the bank, and in a -wilful rush of broken water. Meanwhile Mr. Lyndsay -dropped down half a mile below them.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I am afraid you must cast seated,” said Carington. -“The boat rocks too much for it to be safe to stand.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That makes it harder.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes; but you won’t mind my coaching you?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, no!”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_238'>238</span>“Then, use your arms and wrist in the cast. Don’t -try to put too much force in it. There, that is better—so.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>She went on casting, a little troubled by the critical -watchfulness of the curly head below her, for Carington -had thrown his cap at his feet and sat bare-headed. -At last, in the second drop, a fish rose.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Didn’t you see him?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“He rose. Wait a little. He lies on a line with -that cedar. Now, again. They are in rising mood -to-day. I rose six here this morning, and then left -the pool, so as not to exhaust their curiosity.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That was to leave me the chance,” thought Rose.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“There, Miss Lyndsay; he was pretty eager that -time.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“A rise to a Rose seems grammatically improbable,” -he murmured, laughing outright at his own nonsense, -and happy enough to be easily silly.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What amuses you?” she said.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, nothing.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Then you are very readily amused.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I am to-day. Up anchor. He has it. Tip up! -So! A grilse.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh! how he jumps,” she cried, for he was in and -out of the water a dozen times.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That is the fashion of his kind, young and foolish. -Hold him hard, and reel him in. He is too small to -trifle with. Well done; four minutes, or less.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That horrid gaff!” said Rose.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Wait a moment. I thought you might not like -it. I have my big net,” and so in a moment the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_239'>239</span>pretty five-pounder was in the boat, and had his <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr"><em>coup -de grâce</em></span>.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The next half-hour Rose fished hard, but in vain, -and began to be weary. Then, at last, there was a -huge splash at the utmost limit of her casting distance.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Two fish was after that fly,” said Michelle. “Guess -they run against each other.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Let out a little line,” said Carington.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But I can’t cast that far. Won’t you, please?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Certainly.” And, standing, he threw off two or -three feet of line. The leader and fly dropped far -away, straight from the rod. At last, after many -casts, he put on a fly well known to anglers as a -“fairy.” The fish rose, missed it, and then, following -the retreating line, struck savagely.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Up anchor!” cried Carington, as he sat down, -giving the rod to Rose.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Big one that, sir,” said Michelle; and, as he spoke, -the salmon darted down-stream, the men in wild excitement, -and the canoe swiftly urged in his track.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“The salmon seem fond of going to sea, Michelle. -It is very rare, Miss Lyndsay.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, he will have all my line! What can I do?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Tip up! up! He must run, and he will.” And -away they flew.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Quick, Michelle! I have twice seen a salmon run -off a reel.” And now, in fact, there was very little -line left, when, after nearly half a mile of rush downstream, -the fish turned and ran toward the boat.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Lost? No! Nothing is ever lost—reel! reel!—except -by people who ought to lose. No, reel! reel!” -<span class='pageno' id='Page_240'>240</span>And poor Rose, at the limit of exhaustion, obeyed till -her arm ached, and the perilously long loop of line at -last became tense, and the fish showed himself in one -great leap not forty feet away.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“He’s beat!” cried Michelle. “Easy, miss, easy. -Have to gaff him, sir.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“All right. What’s the matter with him?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Hooked foul, sir. Ah!” And, amidst splash and -laughter, and much water over Rose, the prey was hers.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What does he weigh?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Carington took the spring-scale. “How is it, -Michelle?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Thirty-eight pounds, miss, and a beauty. A half-hour -we was, I guess.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I congratulate you. Are you tired?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Tired? No, I am exhausted. I really don’t think -I can fish any more. Won’t you?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Suppose we pole up a mile or so, to the upper -pool. I’ll cast a little, and then we can drop down -and meet Mr. Lyndsay.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Certainly. I, at least, am satisfied.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Up-stream, Michelle.” And the poles were out, -and they went away slowly up the watery slope.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Do you mind talking at the back of a man’s -head?” said Carington. “I might have shifted the -chair, and my own position—I will, if you like.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No; it has its advantages,” and she laughed, remembering -another occasion.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Such as—”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I leave that to your imagination.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I have none.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Then to your reason.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_241'>241</span>“Gone! Retired from business.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I found it advantageous—once.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You mean when I was bowman. I thought I was -to be forgiven.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I distinctly said you were not, and that I should -reserve the matter for future consideration.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But the advantage was all on my side.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Thank you. I suppose because you could not see -my face.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That is simply a diabolical explanation. I hope -you may lose your next fish.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Don’t. I can bear any form of malice but that. I -have gone salmon-mad, like the rest of you.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I retract,” he said. “Isn’t this hunting and fishing -instinct curious? I suppose it got ingrained -ages ago, in the days when our forebears were getting -their daily diet by the use of the club and spear. If -you could shoot, would you like that?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>He did not want her to say yes, and she did say, -“No; I set my sporting limits at the salmon.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That is to say, pretty well up the scale. I confess -that for me salmon-fishing is the noblest of the sports.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Why is it? For myself, I like it; I hardly know -why. But I want to hear why you speak of it so -warmly. You shoot, of course?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes. All manner of things, when I get the time. -As to this fishing, I don’t think I spoke at random. -It requires some skill,—not too much, or too intense -attention. One is free to mix it with a book, or with -deep thinkings, or with the laziest mind-idleness. -Then, too, one’s curiosity is kept up by the unguessable -riddles of the ways of salmon. We know no -<span class='pageno' id='Page_242'>242</span>more about salmon than we know about—well, I -leave you to fill the gap.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It is easy to guess,” she cried, “what the other -term of all difficult comparisons is for men.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Woman, I humbly presume you to mean. Indeed, -I at least might be excused if I so said. I have -no sister, no cousins, indeed; no mother—now,” and -he paused. “I am in truth alone in the world since -after the war, when I wandered north, a pretty sorry -sort of a half-educated orphan.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And what did you do then?” She felt agreeably -the courteous deference of the young man’s manner, -and liked the brief emotion of his pause as he spoke -of his mother, nor less the soft Southern accent.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, I got work on a railroad as a chain-bearer, -and worked up until I made a little invention, which -I sold, and with the money I went to the Troy scientific -school. It was pretty tough, because I had to -do double work on account of my want of early -training. However, I got through.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And then?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, then I was employed as an engineer, and, by -and by, the firm I am now in took up some of my -new notions about bridge-building. I ought to ask -pardon for talking about myself. I really think it -was your fault.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I am not over-penitent. I think, with my father, -that the lives of men who succeed are interesting.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Have I succeeded? I suppose that fellow Ellett -has been indulging you all with my virtues and capacities.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Perhaps!” And now a look at the face would -<span class='pageno' id='Page_243'>243</span>have been desirable. He said no more for a moment. -Then Miss Lyndsay went on:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You were about to say—”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No, I was not. Yes, I was. I was about to say -that success in life means many things. Material -success I have had. There are other successes. I -have by no means all I want.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And what else do you want? Immaterial success? -I hardly know what that is; but one can’t -be consistently wise.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>He laughed. “Oh, I am a fellow full of wants.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Do you get what you want, as a rule? I sometimes -envy men the battles of their lives.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, mostly I get what I want. When I want -things, I so terribly want them that not to win -is—is unpleasant.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh!” she cried, “did you see that salmon jump? -I should like to be a salmon, just an hour, to know -why they want the fly. They don’t want it to eat, -do they?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No. But also we ourselves want many things -which we can’t eat.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>She laughed outright, which is at times provoking -when the face is invisible.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It is my turn now,” he said. “What amuses you?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Nothing!” This was hardly true. She was mirthfully -overcome at the idea of Carington as a salmon, -and somebody casting a fly over that curly head. -“Oh, nothing.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I know better,” he said.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Indeed? What kind of a fly would you advise as -a lure to a human salmon?”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_244'>244</span>“That is a pretty serious question. It is to be a -male salmon, I presume. What would I rise to? -Money, good looks, character, position.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I might suggest a killing combination fly,” she -returned.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That reminds me pleasantly of my old guide, Tom -Dunham, who used to go with me on Lake Superior. -He was an old beaver-trapper. Once I asked him -how he baited his traps. He said, ‘Women beavers -is easy satisfied with one thing for a bait, but men -beavers is best took with two or three kinds, all just -sot to one, in a bait.’”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I don’t see the moral.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, that is a matter of choice. The beaver, once -in the trap, has leisure to select the moral.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Rather. How interesting these guides must be! -The lonely life in the woods must result in the making -of some singular characters. Or do they all -become dull and taciturn?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Some do. Tom was a most amusing person. I -remember we were lying one night at the Pictured -Rocks, on the south shore. I can see now the dim -line of cliffs, and the camp-fire, and the loons on the -lake, taken by the broad red band of ruddy light -flashing far over the waters. Tom was talking beaver. -At last I told him a beaver story out of one of -Buckland’s books. It doesn’t bore you?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, no. I love stories.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Well, once on a time, when folks wore beaver -hats, an ancient beaver sat on a dam, and discoursed -wisdom to a young beaver. Presently came floating -down-stream a beaver hat. ‘What is that?’ cried the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_245'>245</span>young beaver. Then the old beaver wiped his eyes -with his long, hairy tail, and said, ‘My son, that is -our grandfather!’”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Delightful! Do tell the boys that.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Tom considered this incident in silence until at -last I said, ‘Tom, I don’t suppose you believe that -story?’ ‘Well, now,’ says Tom, ‘that just shows you -don’t know nothin’ about beavers. In course he -knowed his own granddaddy.’”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That is really charming.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, here is the pool.” Their places were now -shifted, Carington casting over Miss Lyndsay. For -an hour he fished in a distracted way, to Michelle’s -disgust, for the fisherman sat for the most part, and -paid less attention to the fly than to the back of Miss -Lyndsay’s neck, and a pair of delicately modeled -ears, and the most distracting lot of hair, which had -been disturbed in her casting, and in and out of -which two hands were busy with mysteriously guided -efforts at readjustment. Also, he wondered how -much of a woman’s nature one could learn from -these limited opportunities.</p> - -<p class='c007'>After a good deal of talk, with some dangerous intervals -of silence, he gave up fishing, saying, “It is -no use,” and ordered the anchor up. It was now -toward evening, and they were off and away to meet -Mr. Lyndsay at the beach.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Don’t paddle,” said Carington. “Keep her straight; -that is all.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>He was more than willing to lengthen the time of -their too brief voyage. Both seemed inclined to the -lonely satisfaction of silent thought.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_246'>246</span>As they neared the Island beach, Rose said, “I -have had so delightful an afternoon that I almost -forgot mama’s message. I was to ask you to come -down to-morrow—no, Monday—night, after dinner, -and Mr. Ellett, of course. We will try to show you -what silly folk we can be. We are guilty of much -folly, I assure you. We will play ‘Situations’—we -call it 'Plots.’”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What is that?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, you will learn—and charades, I dare say.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It looks formidable.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It is—it will be. I have to get even with you -about that bowman business.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But I am reeking with remorse.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I don’t believe it. By the way, in my moistened -haste, I gave you my luck-piece, my dear little gold -dollar.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Well.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I want it back.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And my pay? I do not work for nothing.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You shall have a big silver dollar.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No, that is worth only eighty-five cents: pure -swindle that!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But I want it.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I like that.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I shall never rest till I get it.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I am so sorry.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But I really don’t care.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That is a relief to my conscience.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, Pardy! I have killed a grilse and a thirty-eight-pound -salmon.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And I nothing. Mr. Carington must have ordered -<span class='pageno' id='Page_247'>247</span>all the fish up-stream. Might I ask for some -water?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes. Michelle, get a jug fresh from the spring. -Come to the tents. Alas, Mr. Lyndsay, to-morrow is -Sunday—no fishing.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No, indeed. How good that water is! Rose, you -might take that grilse to Mrs. Maybrook to-morrow.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I will, unless it is too hot. Good-by, Mr. Carington. -How comfortable you look here!” They were -now in the dinner-tent. “And books! You are worse -than Aunt Anne.” And they went away.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Carington watched them from shore as they hailed -Ellett, who went by them with three good fish.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Now,” said Carington, “if it is cool in the morning, -I shall go to see Mrs. Maybrook, to pay for the -milk; and if it is warm, I shall go in the afternoon. -I hope the thermometer will be definite.”</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_248'>248</span> - <h2 class='c005'>CHAPTER XIX</h2> -</div> - -<div class='c006'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/dropcap_o.jpg' width='100' height='97' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi1_0'> -On this Saturday evening, while Rose -was relating her day to Aunt Anne, -Joe Colkett sat, meditatively, astride -of his wood-saddle.<a id='r5' /><a href='#f5' class='c009'><sup>[5]</sup></a> In the morning -he had seen Dorothy Maybrook, -and had been as cunning as he -knew how to be. He had found Dory engaged in -“p’inting her man,” as she said; he was to saw some -wood, and to kill two chickens for Mrs. Lyndsay’s -table. “Now, two p’ints, Hiram, two!” The pale, -square-shouldered man considered her with dull eyes.</p> - -<hr class='c010' /> -<div class='footnote' id='f5'> -<p class='c007'><a href='#r5'>5</a>. The cross-pieces on which wood is laid for sawing.</p> -</div> -<hr class='c010' /> - -<p class='c007'>“You said two pairs.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, you are not p’inted right yet. Don’t you kill -more than two chickens. Here,” and she set two pins -in his sleeve, “you can look at these.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“There, one pin stands for each chicken,” he said. -“Guess I’m p’inted,” and he went away.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What’s wanting,Joe?” she said. “How’s Susie?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, she’s kind of upsot. She takes on ’bout that -last boy like there wasn’t a boy on airth.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“There isn’t for her.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“There’s no gainsayin’ that. She’s allus a-talkin’ -about them Lyndsays, and how they sot a stone, a -right handsome stone, up on that there boy of theirn,—and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_249'>249</span>she ain’t got none. Women’s awful queer, Dory. -I can’t buy no tombstone.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It doesn’t seem so queer to me. Can’t you get -some kind of a thing, just to please the woman? -Why, if it was only of wood, you see, it might help.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That’s so. I was a sort of thinkin’ ’bout that. -Queer how folks thinks ’bout the same things.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Were you? Well, you’re a better kind of man -than I took you for, Joe Colkett. Your wife’s about -half off her wits with grieving. If I was you, I -wouldn’t—well, I wouldn’t take her too serious. -People that are troubled the way she is do have -strange notions. I think the devil he’s as like as -not to get a grip on us when we are—”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What was you a-thinkin’, Dory?” he broke in, -suspiciously.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I ain’t fully minded to tell you, Joe. But Susie’s -a masterful woman, and don’t you let her get you into -trouble. If it’s money, my man and me we’ve got -a little put by. I’d a heap rather spend a bit of it -than see you tormented into some wickedness.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You must think I’m right bad, Dory. Can’t you -talk out?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No; I might, but I won’t. Only you remember, -Joe, I didn’t say you were bad, but I do say anybody -you care for might p’int you wrong. It’s a -queer thing how easy men can be p’inted.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>He was terribly scared, and, seeing that no more -was to be had out of Dory, resolved to profit by her -warning. How she could have guessed anything of -his or his wife’s intentions he was at a loss to comprehend. -But he was timid, and eager to steer clear of -<span class='pageno' id='Page_250'>250</span>trouble. After a few moments of silent consideration, -he spoke:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It ain’t always easy to keep straight. Guess I’m -p’inted now, like Hiram,” and he grinned. “I don’t -drink none neither, not now.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Stick to that and keep your mouth shut, or it -may be worse for you—and for Susie, too,” she added.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I will. Don’t you be afraid.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And what fetched you, Joe?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I was minded to set a nice clean board over them -boys. I was a-tellin’ you that. And I can’t read -none nor write. But if you was to write big on a -paper just what a man might want to set on a board -like I was a-talkin’ of, guess I could copy it plain -enough.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Dorothy considered. “Can you wait? It’ll be -quite a time.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, I kin wait.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>She left him, and went into the house, and was -gone a full hour. What the man thought of as he -leaned against the rails, or sat on top, I do not know. -He had the patience of an ant.</p> - -<p class='c007'>When he saw Dorothy again at the door he climbed -down, and, with some excitement in his face, went -toward the cabin.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It wasn’t right easy, Joe. I was thinking I -might ask Mr. Carington about it. Mr. Lyndsay -he’d be best; but I guess I wouldn’t ask him.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No,” said Joe, promptly. He saw why this might -not be well. “I don’t want nobody to know, Dory, -’cept you and Susie. It’ll kind of surprise her, and -she’ll like it.” Then he added, with some cunning, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_251'>251</span>“She hates to have folks goin’ there where them -children’s buried.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I shall never want to,” said Dorothy. She still -carried an unpleasant remembrance of the dismal -burial.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Well, I thought I’d tell you, Dory.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, of course.” She took the hint as but another -evidence of Susie’s state of mind and of Joe’s -dreads and anxieties, and failed to examine it closely, -not being of a suspicious turn, despite a life which -had given little and taken much. Whoever asked of -Dorothy a favor approached her on the side of her -nature most open to capture.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You are a good deal more patient than most -men,” she said. “Come in; come in.” Joe entered -after her. A Sunday quiet was in the air of the -place. There was no fire, and the sun, as it looked -in, disclosed no want anywhere of neatness and care. -It was not lost on poor Joe as he looked around the -small house. He had been here often, but there are -times when we see and times when we do not. Now, -perhaps because of being on guard, all his senses, and -the inert mind back of them, were more alive than -usual. A book lying open on the spotless table -struck him most; a snow-white rolling-pin had been -hastily laid on it to keep the place at the moment of -Joe’s coming.</p> - -<p class='c007'>He was bent on making himself agreeable to his -hostess, who now stood by an open window, well -satisfied with her work, a large sheet of paper in her -hand. She had put on for Sunday a white gown -which had known the summers of Georgia. It was -<span class='pageno' id='Page_252'>252</span>clean and much mended, but it set off her fair rosiness -and dark hair, and made her look larger than -she was.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Sit down, Joe.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Guess I will,” said Joe. “Top rail of Hiram’s -fence is mighty sharp.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>He sat down with caution, being heavy. In his -own home the furniture was apt to go to pieces unless -humored by a but gradual abandonment to it of the -full weight of the human frame. Satisfied as to this, -he began to use the weapon of his sex:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You’re well fixed up here, Dory. There ain’t -many women could keep a man’s house lookin’ like -yourn!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, it’s only just to not let things get ahead of -you, and to keep your man p’inted right.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Might be the woman mostly,” he said. “Some -women p’ints themselves, and some women don’t. It -isn’t every woman’s got your talents.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I don’t know, Joe. Sometimes I think it isn’t -worth while to go on and on this way, and then I let -things go a while just any way they’re a-minded. -That’s burying your talents, Joe; and then at last I -can’t stand it, and I dig up my little talents, and dust -them well, and say, ‘Get up on your legs, and attend -to your business.’” Her parables were never clear -to him.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“We live just like hogs at my house.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No, you don’t,” cried Dorothy, laughing. “I hate -to hear a man taking away the characters of respectable -animals. A hog has always got his nose over -the trough. He wants his feed like everything. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_253'>253</span>He’ll work for it all day—and smart! Why, he’ll -be into your truck-patch and out, when he sees you, -before you can turn round. He knows what he -wants, and he goes for it; and he knows when he’s -stealing as well as you or me. I hate to hear an -animal called pig-headed because he don’t mean to be -ordered here or there by a fellow that hasn’t got half -his will or half his brains. There!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Gosh, Dory, but you’re a funny woman.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Am I? There is more than fun in that sermon. -Look here; this might do.” And, as he came near -and stood with huge square hands on the table, she -spread out the sheet of paper.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Can’t you read any of it, Joe?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Not no word of it. I might know the letters—the -big ones.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>He looked at it as a scholar might at some papyrus -in an unknown language. “You might read it,” he -said.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Upon this, with a finger on each word, as she went -on, and with his eyes following it with interest, she -read slowly:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“HERE LIE THE BODIES</div> - <div class='line'>OF</div> - <div class='line'>SUSAN FAIRLAMB,</div> - <div class='line'>PETER FAIRLAMB, AND</div> - <div class='line'>ISAIAH FAIRLAMB,</div> - <div class='line'>CHILDREN OF SUSAN AND</div> - <div class='line'>PETER FAIRLAMB.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>“I guess I’d leave him out,” said Joe, straightening -himself.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_254'>254</span>“But children must have a father.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“There ain’t no need to say it, though, Dory. -Susie she won’t like it.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Well, it isn’t my tombstone,” said Dorothy. -“He wasn’t much use to them when he was alive; -we’ll leave him out.” Untrammeled by the usages of -the world, she put a pen through the statement of -parental relation.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What about the dates—the days they died, and -their ages?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Derned if I know, except about Isaiah. It don’t -matter none.” He was reflecting that the work before -him might be reasonably lessened.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It really don’t matter,” she returned. “But, Joe, -don’t you want some verse out of the Bible? They -most generally do put that.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It makes a heap of work, and my knife ain’t none -too sharp. Make it short, anyways.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Certain grim texts came into Dorothy’s mind, but -she set them aside. At last she wrote:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Of such are the kingdom of heaven!</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>and repeated the phrase aloud.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That’s as short as you could make it?” he said.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes. Do you come down to-morrow morning—no, -on Monday. I’ll baste four big sheets together, -and print it all, the size you will want it. Then you -can easily copy the letters. How will that do?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“First rate. I’m awful obliged to you, Dory.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Can Susan read it?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Well, she can manage to spell it out; and you’ll -read it to me a couple of times, so I’ll be able to tell -<span class='pageno' id='Page_255'>255</span>her if she ain’t got the meanin’ straight. I’ll come, -and don’t you let no one know.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Well, good-by.” She made no promise. She had -too clear a sense of the ridiculous to want to let this -thing stand uncriticized. It was for her a novel -venture. Now she saw the man go, and stood herself -a moment in the sun, facing the doorway, and resting -with both hands on the table. Her own children lay -in nameless graves in the far South, buried in days -when war and want had made record difficult. She -was recalling the live-oak grove where the two small -mounds were crumbling to the common level of earth. -At last she smiled, and said aloud:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I guess Christ will know where to find them.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What was you sayin’?” said Hiram, entering.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I was only p’inting myself, Hiram.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Do you have need to do that, Dory? I’d’a’ never -guessed that.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, pretty often.” She herself would scarcely -have said “p’inting” in her talk with the Lyndsays, -but that her husband used the word, and she had -come to regard it by habit as having a specific significance -other than that of its proper, unabbreviated -parent.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Meanwhile Joe Colkett walked homeward, with so -much mind as he possessed at ease. The rest of the -enterprise seemed small compared to the difficulty -over which poor Dorothy had so innocently helped -him.</p> - -<p class='c007'>At times he had been inclined to content himself -with a neat wooden tomb-mark. Being clever enough -with tools, this might easily have been managed; but -<span class='pageno' id='Page_256'>256</span>now, the hard, half-distraught woman, whose worn -middle age still had his love, for whom he would -have dared all his nature let him dare, was ever at -his elbow with hints as to the possibility of crime. -He had, however, no natural tendency to grave -wrong-doing, and it seemed to him that if he could -propitiate this relentless temptress by gratifying her -lesser desire, she might be content and cease to urge -him into worse ways. He was distinctly afraid of his -wife, and, once or twice, of himself, when she had set -before him what they could do with money, and how -pleasant it might be to get drunk when he liked.</p> - -<p class='c007'>At least now she should have her more innocent -wish satisfied. Nor was it strange that he gave no -thought to the people he was about to plunder. He -had lived too much of late in the black shade of the -possibilities of larger crime to be troubled by the -smaller sin he was so eager to commit. Nor could he -supply to the minds of those he meant to rob more -motives than his own imagination supplied, and it -taught him nothing in the way of sentiment concerning -these records of the dead.</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_257'>257</span> - <h2 class='c005'>CHAPTER XX</h2> -</div> - -<div class='c006'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/dropcap_j.jpg' width='100' height='97' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi1_0'> -Joe went home, and, as he approached, -saw the woman, his wife, at the -wood-pile. One foot was on a log, -and, as she struck, she swung the -ax with the ease of habit and of -strength. Joe stood a moment thinking -what a fine, big creature it was. He admired the -physical power and the dexterity of this gaunt being, -to whom unkindly time had left none of the fair -curves of her sex.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Once he had humbly wondered why the tall and -still handsome Susan had given herself to him; but -for years he had too well known her motives, and -slowly, by degrees, there had been revealed to his -simplicity the true nature of the wife he had taken. -It did not destroy, it scarcely lessened, his attachment. -The poor fellow had by birthright a great fortune in -capacity to love. No one had cared for him, and -when he found this single love of a sad life, it was -not in his construction to be capable of change.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Halloa, Susie! Why, I’ll do that!” he cried -cheerfully.</p> - -<p class='c007'>She stopped short, and, turning, faced him. “You -ain’t man enough even to cut wood for a woman.” -And again she struck to right and left with masculine -<span class='pageno' id='Page_258'>258</span>vigor. “Get out, or I’ll let you have it,” she said, -whirling the ax around her head as he fell back. -And still the vigor and force of the woman pleased -him, despite the sense that he was being ill used.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But I’ve been doin’ somethin’ for you that’ll -please you a heap.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>She ceased to chop as he spoke, and, standing, faced -him.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You can’t fool me. You’ve been after drink. I -know you. Get in and make the bed, it ain’t been -made all day; and there’s a pair of socks needs -darning.” She laughed. “Pretty dear, he is!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>The sarcasm was thrown away. He stared at her -a moment in dull wonder, and went in, and tossed -up the pillows, and turned the corn-husk mattress, -and propped a broken chair against the wall, and did -his best to make it all look like the neat order in -Dorothy’s cabin. Next he took a half-loaf of stale -bread, and went out the back door and into the -woods.</p> - -<p class='c007'>It was now dusk. Avoiding the road, he strode -with a woodman’s skill through the deeper forest, -over a hill-top, and thus down to the river, and so -at last found himself above the clearings. Here he -came upon the dugout he had hidden in the alders -two days before. He got in and poled up-stream in -the darkness, passing the burnt lands, and coming at -length to a deserted flat. It had once been a good -pasture, but some change had taken place in the -channel, and now in the spring the waters always -went over it. Where coarse undergrowth had sprung -up, the ice of the April floods had torn long lanes -<span class='pageno' id='Page_259'>259</span>of ravage. The dead or half-dead bushes were bent -southward, and weighted with a ragged tangle of -leaves and twigs caught in the angular branchings -of the stems: a desolate place, and wild enough in -the uncertain evening light.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Beyond the ruined cabin, which the changes of the -river curves had made untenable, he crossed the inland -road. He might easily have come by it, but -had wisely avoided even this small chance of being -seen. On the farther side was an oblong, white frame-building, -the Methodist chapel. Once in a month it -was used in its turn for service by the lean minister. -It was likely that no one would be near it for two -weeks, and, in fact, here the road ended.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Joe got over into the graveyard and looked about -him. There were three or four heavy slabs of gray -stone, and a dozen or two of unmarked graves, over -which he stumbled with a curse. He looked around -and listened. Only the hoarse roar of the rapids -reached his ear, and he saw the moon just over the -tree-tops. The light aiding him, he came at last on -the simple, white, upright slab set over the child’s -grave. He seized it, with no hesitation, and began -to rock it sideways, to and fro. At last it was loosened, -and, with no more thought than he would have -given the felling of a pine, he tore it out, and with -difficulty hoisted it on his back, and set out toward -the river. It was easily lifted over the low stone -wall of the graveyard, but as he set it on the top of -the fence beyond the road, and began to climb over, -the rail broke and he fell, the heavy marble tumbling -on his foot so as to cut the instep. He sat down, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_260'>260</span>with an oath, and took off his boot. He was in great -pain. The boot was torn, as he found, and half full -of blood. It was an hour before he could get it on -again and walk at all.</p> - -<p class='c007'>At length he got over the broken fence, thinking -only in his suffering of the woman and how she -would like what he meant to do for her. Twice he -failed to lift the slab onto his back, and twice lay -down beside it, overcome by a strong feeling that -after all he might fail. At last, in such extremity -of pain as would have conquered most men, he got -up, and set his teeth, and resolutely took up his burden. -It must have been the most intense hour of a -life without power to call up the past by means of -pictures, for, as he staggered through the gloom, -sweating with effort and from increasing torture, he -was given a brief moment when he saw Susan as he -first knew her, a slim, strong, young woman, with the -emphatic beauty of anger upon her. It made him -stronger, and he went on. At last he reached the -dugout, and saying, from mere habit, “Thank the -Lord! I done it,” he sat a while with his foot in -the cool river water.</p> - -<p class='c007'>It was true that at no moment had he felt the terrors -which few had escaped in the lonely home of the -dead he had robbed. Now he was at ease and assured -of success. He laid the stone in the boat. As -he stood an instant in the gloom of a profound stillness, -a cold gust of wind came down from the hills, -and, with wail and roar in the pines beyond, swooped -onto the level, and for a moment shook life of movement -into the dead gray streamers of moss and the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_261'>261</span>hanging wreckage of torn underbrush. The next -moment all was still again. It is not a very rare -phenomenon, but he might not before have given it -attention. Somehow its unusualness impressed him, -so that he shivered as he felt the momentary coolness, -and with this came the familiar notion of his -childhood that a dog was crawling over his grave. -He jumped into the pirogue, shoved it off, and was -at once away in the current. As he sat down, with -his paddle in hand, he reflected that the white stone -was full in view and that some one might by chance -be out with a drag-net poaching. He put into shore, -and carefully covered the stone with ferns. There -was, of course, the risk of a river-warden’s inquisition, -but he knew when the rounds were made, and -so ran on fearlessly, keeping a sharp eye ahead.</p> - -<p class='c007'>No one troubled him. He got ashore near his -cabin, and still in the utmost pain, resting often on -the way, carried the stone to the wood, where, in secure -remoteness from his house, he could go on with -the needed work. On his way homeward he picked -up two steel traps as an excuse for his absence.</p> - -<p class='c007'>When he entered the house it was early morning, -and, to his surprise, he found Susan afoot. Her habit -was to lie abed until Joe had been up some time, kindled -the fire, and perhaps even had set the frying-pan -to heat, and made tea, which she was accustomed -to drink in excessive amounts. On other days, of -late, she was apt to lie abed still longer, to refuse -food, and decline to take the least notice of Joe. For -him these moods represented the mother’s grief. If -he did not fully comprehend it, he at least tried his -<span class='pageno' id='Page_262'>262</span>best to disregard the inconvenience thus added to his -wretched life. His canine simpleness craved mere -affectionate regard, and in its lack, and the undefined -misery this caused him, the woman possessed a deadly -weapon. And now, on this occasion, to his surprise -she was up, and his sorry breakfast of stale bread -and bacon ready.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Of trees to fell, or quality of rafted lumber, he -knew enough to be a good hand in the woods or on -the spring drives, but naturally enough was unobservant -of people. Nevertheless he noticed that his -wife had on a not uncleanly gown, and a bit of worn -ribbon, and had set her unkempt locks in order.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Law, Susie, you look right slick,” he said.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Been after the traps, Joe?” she said, glancing at -the rusty irons in his hand. “Get anything?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Guess so. A mus’rat and a wood-chuck.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Let’s see.” He went out and brought them in.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Chuck’s good and fat, Susie, and I know where -another one lives!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Just ain’t he fat! And the rat-skin?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That ain’t much.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But it’d make a nice purse if there was any -money to put in it.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That’s so, Susie.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But we’ll get something to put in it,” she said, -setting her large red eyes on the man, and speaking -with cold cheerfulness.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes,” he returned hastily. “I’ll get a job up -river soon. Them Boston men’s set on buildin’ a -house. Thought I’d see ‘bout gettin’ on to that.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Is Carington comin’ to hunt caribou?”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_263'>263</span>“Don’t know rightly. He ain’t said nothin’, ’cept -last week. I ain’t seen him since.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“He’ll come, I guess, Joe, and then, if you’re a -man, there’ll be a chance.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, yes,” he said anxiously. “Time ’nough.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>He was dreadfully scared. He felt that he might -be made to do anything.</p> - -<p class='c007'>A smile crawled sluggishly over her face. “That’s -so. But the thing is to get your mind set to it. -Might happen a good chance any day.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>He was too simple not to show his fear, and she -was quick enough to see.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You trust me, old man, to fix it, and there won’t -be nobody’ll ever guess who done it.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You ain’t called me your old man, Susie, this two -year,” he said. “Now don’t you go for to want me -to do somethin’ like that.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“There ain’t no harm in considerin’ things, Joe. -Everything’s just gone against you and me, and if a -good chance was to turn up—a right safe one—I -guess you’d not be the man I took you for if you -don’t just grab it.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Well, we’ll see,” he said, eager to get off the -subject. He had become set in his mind as to this -matter, and meant somehow to escape the toils she -was casting about him. “What’s for breakfast, -Susie?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, that old hen’s took to layin’ again. There’s -eggs and bacon, and I done you some slapjacks.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That’s good. I’m hungry.” As he passed her -to sit at the table he kissed her. “Why, you look -right pert to-day.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_264'>264</span>“Thought you might be a-spyin’ round Dory. Got -to keep an eye on you fellows,” and she laughed. -Manufactured laughter is a dreary product; but it -answered for poor Joe as well as the most honest -coinage of a merry heart. It set him at ease for a -time, and they ate, while the woman tried to revive -for her victim the coarse coquetry of her younger -days, when she attracted or revolted men as their -natures chanced to be.</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_265'>265</span> - <h2 class='c005'>CHAPTER XXI</h2> -</div> - -<div class='c006'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/dropcap_l.jpg' width='100' height='96' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi1_0'> -Lyndsay had set his heart on a second -Sunday morning on the river, -with Rose and the trees. She readily -gave up her proposed morning -visit to Dorothy, and said the afternoon -would answer. Miss Anne -thought she herself was strong enough for the party, -and Rose, much pleased, set about arranging her -cushions in Tom’s canoe.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“We will be back to lunch, mama,” said Rose. “It -is early. Will it rain? It looks hazy.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It is smoke, Rose. Some far-away fire. Where -are the boys, Tom?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Up-river, sir, with the Gaspé men.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Who gave them leave to go?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You, papa,” said Rose. “I suspect they have -gone after those unhappy hornets. They were up -and away long ago. They asked you last night.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Did they?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes; you were deep in a book, and said ‘Yes, -yes,’ in your dear old absent way.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I am sorry. Mama thinks it a naughty amusement -at best, and when there is also the additional -naughtiness of battle on Sunday! Well, they will -be properly stung with remorse or hornet-fangs, or -<span class='pageno' id='Page_266'>266</span>a combination. The wounded will be pardoned, I -fancy. Hey, Rose?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Like enough.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Mrs. Maybrook’s vivid account of Susan Colkett’s -talk with Joe had made on Lyndsay at first a strong -impression of disgust and annoyance. He saw in it, -after cooler reflection, only one of the numberless -beginnings of tragic crime which are refused the prosperity -of opportunity. We have no proverbial wisdom -as to what place bad intentions go to pave; but -those who see much of the darker ways of man are -well aware that there is much intended evil, as well -as intended good, which never gets beyond the egg -of theory. The crime which Susan Colkett was nursing -with the devil-milk of base use of a man’s honest -love grew less momentous to Lyndsay as he considered -it. Once suspected, it became to him almost -childlike in its foolishness. Crime-seed, like the -grain of the parable, falls everywhere. There is a -human climate in which, above all others, it finds -swift maturity of growth.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Susan Colkett was by nature inclined to evil. She -had base animal cravings, liking high colors and -coarse meats. A want was with her at once a fierce -hunger of desire, and made temptation dangerous to -one who had in its crude fullness brute courage, and -that dreadful alliance of the sensual with the destructive -instincts which is more rare in woman than in -man. But of Susan Colkett’s personality Lyndsay -knew almost nothing. He was, however, by no means -indifferent as to the matter, but had simply put off -speaking of it to Carington for want of an easy chance.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_267'>267</span>As they came opposite the Island Camp, Lyndsay -said abruptly:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Run her up onto the beach, Pierre.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Are you going to stop? I wish you wouldn’t -stop, papa. We have a very short time to-day.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I shall be back in a moment. I have been putting -off a little matter of—of business with Carington. -I shall not be long.” Meanwhile Anne -Lyndsay’s canoe also came to shore.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Rose said no more. She saw her father disappear -into the tent, come out with Carington, and begin to -walk to and fro on the upper slope. Very soon she -began to be curious, as she saw them pause and turn -and go on again.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What are they talking about, Aunt Anne?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Miss Lyndsay looked up from a book. “How on -earth, my dear, should I know?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But are you not curious?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, I am always curious—as to the good, and as -to the bad, and as to everything in between.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Rose laughed. “That covers the whole possibilities. -Here they come. Now I shall know.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I don’t think you will.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“A pair of gloves to a pound of bonbons.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Done, goosey! Whom will you ask?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That is my business. There was no limit of time.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“None! But you will lose. Your father looks -solemn, and Mr. Carington like a sphinx.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Given two men and one woman, aunty, and a -thing to find out: that seems an easy equation.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I see the unknown quantity written clear on both -faces. You won’t win.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_268'>268</span>Carington stood a moment in gay chat with Rose. -Then Lyndsay said:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You won’t come with us?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No; not to-day.” His question was settled without -the thermometer. He was clear enough as to the -indiscreetness of a useless morning with Rose and -two others, and a meeting at Mrs. Maybrook’s in the -afternoon. He would abide by the later chance and -its less distracting accompaniments.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“We shall look for you both to-morrow,” said Miss -Anne Lyndsay. And they poled away up the river, -while Rose talked to her father, biding her time to -win her little bet.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Anne, lying in her own canoe, and very comfortable, -fell into amused reflection. If books were what -she dearly loved and closely studied, she had a no less -active fancy for that rarer occupation, the serious -study of the human face. It is a difficult branch of -observation, because one may not too often or too attentively -examine the features of those with whom we -are in immediate social contact. Like her friend, Dr. -North, she preferred on the whole the critical study -of women’s faces. She declared that only these repaid -attention, and that the hirsute growths of men -were, like the jungle, useful for the concealment of -animal expressions. She remarked with interest that -Carington lacked this partial mask, and said to herself, -“That man has something on his mind. Is it -about what Archie has been telling him? I shall ask -Archie.” Then she went back to her book, which was -her favorite “Reisebilder.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>In the other canoe, Rose had brought the talk -<span class='pageno' id='Page_269'>269</span>around several sharp corners, and at last, having no -better chance, said:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You looked worried, Pardy, or so very grave, -when you were talking to Mr. Carington. Has he -been naughty, papa?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Well, what was it? You both seemed so intent.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Allow me, miss, to ask if interest in me, in Mr. -Carington, or in the unknown is at the thriving root -of your evident curiosity?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“In you, Marc. Aurelius.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That is pretty clever, miss. Permit me to reply, -in the language of my namesake, ‘Mere curiosity is -like a road which leads nowhere: what profits it to -go that way? Also as to things it may be well, or as -to those in whom we have an interest, but not as to -the horde of men.’ Now, as you have expressed no -interest in it as a thing unknown, and none as to -Mr. Carington, or mankind, and as it concerns him -chiefly, I shall forever after hold my peace. You -lost your chance.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Give me another.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Not I.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But I made a bet with Aunt Anne.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Then pay it. Have you exhausted your feminine -arts?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“All—I give up; but I mean to know. I shall ask -Mr. Carington.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I wouldn’t do that, my dear child.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, Pardy! How you rose to that fly! Imagine -it!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You minx! Halloa, Tom! Hold up a moment. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_270'>270</span>Drop anchor here. I want to stop.” They were near -to the farther bank. “Here, Pierre, put your canoe -alongside. Are you all right, Anne?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Perfectly.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I want to show you something before the sun is -too high. Can you sketch here, Rose? The boat is -pretty quiet?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I am not sure; I can try.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“How much darker it is, Tom!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, sir. It’s the smoke. It’s been about a bit -for a day or two. Now the wind’s to south, it’s gettin’ -kind of thicker. There’s a big fire somewhere.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“How far?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Might be a hundred miles away. ‘Heap big -smudge,’ Polycarp says.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Look now,” said Lyndsay. “Try to get me these -water-tints. Take a bit of it.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I can’t. What makes these colors? They are -beyond me.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“The sun must be back of you; the water near -you—that is, you must be low down. Then the -stone-tints of the river-bed are caught by the many -changeful mirrors of the surface. It is, as you see, -pretty well wave-broken here. Also, the general -color is that of this yellow-red gravel slope opposite, -mixed with the green of the trees.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Then,” said Anne, “it gets color—surface color—from -within, and also from without, like one’s personality.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That is it, I see,” said Rose. “But the blue in -the waves is so deep—deeper than the sky. It is -intense indigo. More heavenly than heaven.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_271'>271</span>“Yes, that is so. It is because, as we partly face -the current, you look into the concavities of thousands -of waves, and each condenses, so to speak, the -blue of large sky spaces. Am I clear?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“‘Each nobler soul inherits heaven’s largeness,’” -quoted Anne.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Thanks, aunty. The greenish gold of the surface -is the color of the bank, made also deeper in hue because -of being caught on the myriad rippling of the -water.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Good, my dear.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“How beautiful it is!—the flashing cupfuls of blue -in among this bloom of green and gold. No one -could paint it.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It is best at evening, Rose, but not at this point. -There is a place some miles up where the general surface -is silvered by a mass of white or light-gray -granite, and in this you have set again the numberless -wave-shells of indigo-blue—a dance of blue in silver.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Isn’t that smoke getting very much thicker? -The colors are less brilliant now.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, ma’am. The wind blows it up the gorges. -Happen might smell it.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I do,” said Anne. “One can hardly see the farther -hills.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Some men,” said Lyndsay, “fancy that it affects -the fishing unfavorably; but two years ago, on the -Cascapedia, the water was so saturated with smoke -as to be undrinkable, and still the fish rose well. I -wanted to study with you again, Rose, the purple -color of the dead trees above us; but this smoke will -somewhat affect it.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_272'>272</span>“Let us get on to the beach, papa.” And in a moment -they were seated on a log, Anne lying at ease -beside them.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It gets still more dense, Rose. We must give up -the water. Sketch that sprawling dead pine yonder; -it seems reeling back, and the one in front looks as if -it had just hit it.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“How droll, Archie!” said Anne. “May I talk, or -will it disturb the higher art?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No. Talk as much as you like. No one could be -cruel enough to deny you the safety-valve of talk.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“If you had said no, I should have wanted to talk. -I am now perversely inclined to silence.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It is a self-limited disease with you, Anne.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Thank you! I was wondering a little whether -you were right about the use of minute observation -of nature by the poets. Rose told me what you had -said. It was, I think, that Wordsworth was apt to be -over-credited with this faculty, and that others have -had it far beyond him.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes; it is the spiritual use of what he saw that is -his distinctive quality. I think he carries that at -times to the utmost endurable limit—even to near -touch of the absurd.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That may be so. I think the limits of acceptance -depend on one’s moods. Of course, too minute notice -in verse of natural peculiarities may be possible. -Now, these colors—how could one put them in -verse?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, aunty, you forget:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>‘A silver plane of fretted gold,</div> - <div class='line'>Set thick with shells of violet blue.’”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_273'>273</span>“That is mere description, Archie—good enough -and true; but what I mean is that accurate description -does not, as a rule, consist with poetry. The -best of it seizes a single trait, and with it links some -human emotion. You can’t catalogue in verse, as -Walt Whitman does.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“My dear old Walt!” said Lyndsay. “I am -thankful for what he gives, and do not quarrel with -what he does not. I am inclined to think that he -will outlive some of his seeming betters. I have -been more than once struck, in talking with him, by -his entire unconsciousness of the fact that, while he -believed himself to be the poet of the masses, he -found his only readers among the most cultivated -class.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Could I read him? You said once that I could -not,” said Rose.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“He is hardly <span lang="la" xml:lang="la"><em>pueris et virginibusque</em></span>, my dear; but -his later editions are fairly expurgated of what had -as well never been written. Anne will give you his -great poem, ‘The Dream of Columbus,’ and ‘The Convict,’ -and ‘My Captain,’ and ‘When Lilacs Bloom.’ -A friend of North’s once gave Walt, through him, a -check which he much needed, asking in return an -autograph copy of ‘My Captain.’ He took the gift -with entire simplicity, and sent two copies of that -noble verse. He was the most innocently and entirely -vain creature I ever knew. The perfect story -of his vanity will, I fancy, never be written. It was -past belief.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What a fine head he had a few years ago,” said -Anne.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_274'>274</span>“Yes; he was a great big child, and he looked then -like the Greek busts of Jove.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“He should always be read aloud,” returned Anne, -“and read, too, with a little contribution of rhythmical -flattery. If I were Mr. Ellett, I would say, -‘Now, that isn’t at all a bad remark.’”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You appear to have said so, Aunt Anne.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I have. If I were a poet, I would set over my -verses, ‘Read this aloud’; or, ‘Read this to yourself’; -or, ‘To be read under a tree over a woman’s -shoulder’; or, ‘With a pipe in autumn.’”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What a nice idea, aunty! When you were talking -just now of the use of natural descriptions, I -meant to tell you what Mr. Carington said.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Well.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“He said it seemed to him a fine and artful thing -in Shakspere to set amidst the crime of Macbeth all -that prettiness about innocent nature; the description -of the martlets and the castle, you know.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It is true,” said Anne. “It is quite true. Does -the young man talk well? I am not sure that his -remark is new; but no matter. How little of one’s -talk can be that!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I thought he talked fairly well. He did not say -it was his own thought.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No matter. It is <span lang="it" xml:lang="it"><em>ben trovato</em></span>.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I think it was his own,” said Rose.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“How the smoke still thickens, papa! And the -water is now a green bronze.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, and the sun— Here is my word-sketch: -‘Eleven <span class='fss'>A. M.</span> Sun over and back of me. Air full -<span class='pageno' id='Page_275'>275</span>of smoke. Hills a delicate, airy blue. Sun orange-red, -with a blur of yellow around it. All shadows on gray -sand a faint green. Delicate opalescence on smooth, -slightly rippled water. Deep purple reflections of -dead trees. Sense of strangeness—of mystery.’”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That is almost as good as a picture, Pardy.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“At early morning here,” he went on, “the river-bed -is full of mist. The combination of this with -smoke gives some very weird effects. If we have a -bright yellow sunset this evening, the dead trees on -the hilltops will be of a pure orange tint.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I shall imagine the morning colors,” said Rose. -“I am like the salmon. How they are rising now!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes; and so is my appetite. Shall we go? It -will be lunch-time before we get back.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And this is our last Sunday on the river for this -year,” said Rose.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And perhaps my last for all years,” thought Anne; -yet what she said was this:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I have been trying to make out, Archie, why -water is such a lovely thing. Why is it?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I don’t know.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Nor I. It is the one thing in nature which has -moods for me,—I mean many moods. Then it is the -one natural thing which has something like laughter.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Time writes no wrinkles, etc.,” cried Rose.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And it has no memory or record of its works. Is -that part of its seeming joyousness? And never—never -is in straight lines.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Rather obvious that, Anne.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But it wasn’t obvious to me a half-hour ago. I -am pleased with my discovery. Don’t tell me Ruskin -<span class='pageno' id='Page_276'>276</span>has said it. I know he has not, or if he has, he had -no business to have said it, and you can’t patent -ideas.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But Anne—” Lyndsay began.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Don’t, Archie. I am not to be contradicted to-day.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I was going to agree with you”; and he laughed. -“May not a fellow even agree with you?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Certainly, if he agreeably agrees with me. There -are—oh, there are hateful ways of agreeing with -people.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Then Rose was about to mention Mr. Carington’s -use of the word agreeable, but refrained, she did not -know why. She caught the words about to issue out, -and put them back into a corner of silence, and did -say:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What you say, Aunt Anne, of water reminds me -of what Mr. W. said about a picture, last spring, of -great war-ships coming through a mist toward us. -It was rather fine. But the water was set in such -stiff, orderly billows that Mr. W. said, ‘Yes, Britannia -certainly has been ruling the waves.’”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I had forgotten it,” said Anne. “Now I remember -that our English friend did not capture the -meaning.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, no. Really, Pardy, it sometimes makes life -hard in England, this sort of inaptitude to turn with -quick apprehension from grave to gay.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It would suit your mama. I am not sure that I -like our unending tendency to see things or put -things in ridiculous aspects—no, not just ridiculous,—help -me to a word; not funny, either,—somewhere -<span class='pageno' id='Page_277'>277</span>among the lost words, the verbal refuse-heaps -of Old English, there must be the word I want.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“We know what you mean,” said Anne. “I agree -with you. Our newspapers are every day painfully -funny for me. To deal all the time with the serious -so as perpetually to make it seem trifling by putting -it in comic guises is to damage one’s true sense of -humor.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And of the serious, which is worse,” said Lyndsay.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And, Archie, I don’t like the constant misuse of -words it brings about. I don’t like to lose respect -for words. I don’t like their characters taken away, -so as to unfit them for their next place. Words have -duties.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That is all true, Anne; but if we begin to abuse -newspapers, we shall never get home. And they are -so infallible, confound them!—an absolutely honest -confession that they have told what was not true is -the last thing you can get out of them. The editor -who would not contradict a false paragraph as to a -man’s death is a good example: he offered to put in -a statement of the man’s birth! Let us go home.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Laughing, they pushed off, and, soon lapsing into -silence, slid away down the dancing rapids, under an -ever dimmer sunshine, as the smoke grew more and -more dense. Now and then Lyndsay saw something -to remember in wood or water, and made brief note -of it. He had a mind some day to make a small -book about word-sketching. Probably he would -never do it; but it is pleasant to pet our little enterprises, -until, maturing in thought, they get too -large for the mother-lap.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_278'>278</span>Rose watched the amber waters, and then, furtively, -the Island Camp, where was noontide quiet, and no -man in sight.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The two canoes were held together as they ran -down-stream, and only now and then a guiding paddle -was used.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You have had a nice little nap,” said Lyndsay.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I have,” said Anne. “I am the only person I -know who will admit to having slept in daylight. I -slept little last night, and—isn’t it droll?—I took -just now into my sleep a queer little bit of the -Orient. I think it is rare to carry one’s thoughts -with one unbroken into the land of dreams. But I -did, and I went on dreaming of it.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What was it, aunty?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Only some stuff out of the ‘Legenda Aureata.’ -It would not interest you.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Anne!” “Aunty!” they cried. “It used to be El -Din Attar, and Hafiz. Now it is the ‘Talmud’ or -the ‘Golden Legends.’ You are a horrid humbug,” -added Lyndsay.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You are a dear, sweet, altogether nice humbug,” -said Rose. “What was it?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Then listen, children. When Adam and Eve -were turned out of Eden, they could get no sleep, -because of their tears—for when tears part the lids -what man may slumber? Therefore all night long -they complained. After awhile the birds flew up to -heaven and said, ‘We have done no wrong, neither -have we eaten of the tree, nor do we know good from -evil. Yet these two keep us awake with their cries.’ -Then the Christ came down to help them, and, coming -<span class='pageno' id='Page_279'>279</span>to Adam, said, ‘What is there thou wilt give -God for sleep?’ And Adam said, ‘We have but one -thing left us: we will give love.’ And the Christ -said, ‘It is enough. Forasmuch as even the kings of -the earth receive no gift without returning a better, -therefore for thy love thou shalt have God’s larger -love and also sleep.’ So the man and the woman -slept, and the birds had rest. And it was said later, -‘He giveth his beloved sleep.’”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Isn’t it pretty, papa?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Rather. But, Anne—”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I am sleepy,” she said. “By-by,” and she pushed -their canoe away. “Let go, Pierre; I want to go to -sleep again.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Was it out of some book, Pardy?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Gracious, Rose, how do I know?”</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_280'>280</span> - <h2 class='c005'>CHAPTER XXII</h2> -</div> - -<div class='c006'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/dropcap_t.jpg' width='100' height='101' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi1_0'> -The Sunday stillness of the Island -Camp was broken by lunch, and -after it Ellett thought he would go -down to call on the Lyndsays, and -perhaps Fred might like to go with -him. But Fred had letters to write—he -was too lazy—he wished to finish a novel. -However, he wrote a note to Mr. Lyndsay, to say -that on Thursday he meant to go down the river to -Mackenzie to see a man about a cabin he desired to -have built on the Island, and would call to ask if Mr. -Lyndsay still wished him to have a check cashed at -the bank, in order to pay his men. Also, he could -then arrange for the tickets and sleeping-car accommodations -Mr. Lyndsay’s family needed on their return. -And thus, having secured the absence of Ellett, -he saw him depart, and for an hour or more smoked, -and diligently struggled with a book by a sadly literary -woman who was contributing her feeble ferment -of doubts to enliven the summer moods of man and -maid. At last he rose, pitching the book across the -tent, and said aloud:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“There was a young woman of Boston,</div> - <div class='line'>A blanket of doubts she was tossed on;</div> - <div class='line in2'>Four fiends who were scorners</div> - <div class='line in2'><span class='pageno' id='Page_281'>281</span>Had clutch of the corners.</div> - <div class='line in2'>They tossed her so high</div> - <div class='line in2'>That she stayed in the sky,</div> - <div class='line'>And doubts the existence of Boston.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>I forget the other nine verses. Michelle, halloa! Put -me across!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Pshaw!” he exclaimed, as he strode through the -summer woods. “I hate books which land you in the -country of nowhere.” And he thought, smiling, of -the famous Eastern tale of the caliph and the philosopher: -“Who are you?” said Haroun. “I don’t -know.” “Where are you going?” “I don’t know.” -“Where are you from?” “I don’t know. I write -books; what about is for him that readeth to discern. -To know nothing is the Path of Negation by -which you attain knowledge of the infinite Nothing.” -“Then,” said the caliph, “in the language of El Din -Attar, ‘One serious conviction is better than armies -of denial: more wholesome is it to believe in Satan -than to deny God.’ In order that thou mayest abide -on the seat of wisdom for a week and acquire one -earthly certainty, thou shalt have the bastinado!” -“Where did I read that stuff?” he thought, and went -along, humming snatches of song, his own or others, -for he scribbled a little, and had some musical touch -of the light grace of the song; but “intended no -monuments of books.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>The woods soon brought back to him the mood of -contentment, which is one of their many mysteries. -The most delightful possibilities are those which -never occur, and of these the woods are full. The -delicate sense of something about to happen began -<span class='pageno' id='Page_282'>282</span>to possess Carington. He went on his way, smiling, -and now and then stood still to touch a tree, or -notice some unusual giant, or to note some singularity -of limb or bole.</p> - -<p class='c007'>An hour or more of sharp walking brought him -to the cabin of the Maybrooks. It was closed. He -passed around it, and saw no sign of its inhabitants. -He knocked and got no reply. Then he said a -naughty word, and went and sat down on the edge -of the well and reflected. He was more disappointed -than he felt willing to admit. By and by he acquired -wisdom, and went to the brook, where would have -been the grilse if Rose and her attendant had come -and gone. Seeing no fish lying in this cool larder, -he felt better and went back to the well. There -doubt awaited him with the possibility of Dory -having gone to the Cliff Camp, which would have -made needless Miss Rose’s intended visit. He had -been stupid in not anticipating this contingency. At -least he would wait awhile.</p> - -<p class='c007'>And now there was a sudden gleam far away -among the trees, unseen by this young man who was -gazing down into the cool depths of the well. Had -he looked that other way this flutter of color in the -trampled ox-road would soon have become to him a -pink muslin gown. The wearer carried a basket in -her right hand, and in the left, swinging it gaily as -she walked, a broad straw hat. At the wood skirt -she paused to change her burden to the less tired -hand,—for she had been of a mind to come alone, -and now found her five-pound fish to have gained in -weight. As she looked up, she was aware of Mr. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_283'>283</span>Carington seated on the edge of the well, his back -toward her. He was singing:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Oh, merry’t is in proud La Moine,</div> - <div class='line in2'>I hear my glad heart sing;</div> - <div class='line'>The flag is up, the fleet is safe,</div> - <div class='line in2'>And the blessed church-bells ring.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>Oh, here’s a kiss, and there’s a kiss,</div> - <div class='line in2'>For you, good northern wind,</div> - <div class='line'>That brought our fishers home again,</div> - <div class='line in2'>For you left no soul behind.</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>And here’s a kiss, and there’s a kiss,</div> - <div class='line in2'>Because my heart is glad;</div> - <div class='line'>And there be twenty dozen left,</div> - <div class='line in2'>And my sweet sailor lad.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>He sang with little art, but with every word clear, -and as a man alone sings for company of sound.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Rose stood still and heard it out, liking it, but -hesitated a little, half hid behind a huge pine,—a -pleasant picture of a maiden struck shy of a sudden. -What had happened? There is a little timepiece -which Cupid winds up. It ticks quietly, and by and -by strikes a fateful hour, or we take it out to see -how goes the enemy, and behold! it is to-morrow. -Love is the fool of time.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Rose stood a moment, as I have said, not forty feet -away, a little inclined to retreat,—aware that, if detected, -this would mean something, she knew not -what. At last, seeing the need of action, she made a -strategic movement to left, and said, “Are you looking -for Truth?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Good heavens! Miss Lyndsay,” and he rose from -his seat on the edge of the well. The prettiness of -<span class='pageno' id='Page_284'>284</span>the picture struck him as Rose came forward: the -pink gown, fresh from the looms of fairy-land, set -fair against the greenwood spaces, the faint excess of -color in her cheeks, and the look of unconsciousness -which goes surely with natural distinction of carriage.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Did you come up out of Mother Earth? Are you -sure it is you?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I am. I came over to give my grilse to Mrs. -Maybrook.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Our grilse, you remember.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I do not; but it is no matter. I came to give -Dorothy the grilse.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“She is not at home. Let me take the basket. I -will put it in the brook. Did you carry it?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I did. It weighs—I assure you—twenty pounds! -I must see it bestowed.” And she followed him into -the wood along a narrow path to a basin of brown -water. The stream crawled forth here from under a -fallen tamarack, and seemed to hesitate a little in the -pool below. Then it gathered decision for flight, -and leaped out, tripping across the tangled roots as it -went. Carington laid the fish in the water, and two -stones upon it.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It is cooler here than outside,” he said. “Dorothy -will be back in a little while.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>After this outrage on truth, he added:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I came over to pay my milk-bill.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Then Rose, of a sudden remembering what she had -said the day before as to this errand of hers, became -at once conscious of being in the country of a pleasant -enemy. Therefore she made a neutral remark -as she looked about her:</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_285'>285</span>“How pretty it is here!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It is prettier a little way up, where the spring -comes out under a rock.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I should like to see it, but I must go. I have no -time to spare. I must go home. I have so much of -nothing to do here, and there is nothing takes so -much time as doing nothing!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That is more mysterious than my little spring. -Do come. It is only a step.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“If it is really only a step.” And she went with -him, as he answered:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, almost literally.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>He put aside the bushes, and ten feet away came -where, from under a broad, mossy stone, a gush of -water broke forth with a brisk air of liking it. She -stood still, pleased with that she saw.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“The dear, sweet, little thing!” she cried.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It seems glad to get out,” he said. “Perhaps it -has some strange craving for sunshine; and think -what a journey underground in the darkness, like a -soul in prison.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Go on,” she said, still looking down, and considering -the fine wholesomeness of its untainted life.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“How it got a little help here, and strength there, -and climbed up from under the bases of the hills, and -of a sudden found light and voice and purpose, and -goes on its way, not minding obstacles. Pretty, isn’t -it? It seems so eager.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes. I wonder will the sea answer its riddle.” -It was a quite alarming little parable to this quick-witted -young woman. “How it hurries! And it -reminds me I too must be going. It says, ‘Come.’”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_286'>286</span>“Does it, indeed? But it does not say, ‘Go.’”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I am so sorry I have missed Dorothy.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You might give her a few moments. She will -not be long. I shall have to ‘bide,’ as she says. I -came to pay my milk-bill. Pray consider my melancholy -prospect if I have to stay here by myself!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Certainly a sad trial,” she said, smiling; “but I -really must go.” She began to move back again toward -the pool.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Does she know you meant to leave the grilse? It -will spoil if it is not cleaned. Grilse spoil so easily.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>It was difficult for mendacity to go beyond this -latter statement.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I am sorry, but I can leave a note in the doorway. -Yes, I have a card, by good luck. Have you a pencil?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>This time he achieved the lie direct, and said, “No! -but it is near milking-time, and Hiram will be -‘p’inted’ this way of a certainty.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I really cannot wait. What time is it?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“How late it is!” he replied, glancing at his watch. -“I had not the least idea it was so late. They ought -to be here now. It is half-past five.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>There was good judgment in this fib. If he made -it early she would not think it worth while to wait, -and if very late, she would be sure to go at once.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Indeed! Only half-past five! I will rest a few -minutes.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Better sit down,” he said. She took her place on -a rock, while he cast himself down at her feet, dividing -the ferns as he lay. She felt that she had been -infirm of purpose. He gave her no time to analyze -her weakness.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_287'>287</span>“You are very good not to leave me in the naughty -company of myself.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It is not goodness at all: it is self-indulgence. I -am a little tired; that fish was very heavy. But you -have not told me what you were looking for in the -well.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What do you folks look for in a well?” he asked, -in turn.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Truth, I suppose. Was that what you were looking -for?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And did not find it.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I shall.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“There is more water here,” she said, laughing, -and then could have bitten her wicked tongue.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Ah! we don’t look for it in shallow waters. There -must be quiet for reflection.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Indeed! What were you singing about?” she -added, abruptly. “What is ‘La Moine’? I caught -the name.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I am glad you asked. On the coast near to Bar -Harbor there is a little fishing-town, La Moine. The -cod-fishers go out in a fleet from its small port in -June, to the banks. The voyage, and, in fact, the -whole life at sea of these brave fellows, is full of -peril. When the home-bound fleet is sighted, the -people go to the beach, and a lookout stays in the -church-steeple. If he sees no flag flying from the -nearest smack, it means that one or more men have -been lost, and then the bells are silent. But if he -sees the signal flag, all is well: there has been no life -lost, and the bells ring out merrily.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_288'>288</span>“What a pretty story! Tell me more, as the children -say. It sounds like a bit of Brittany. It is the -girl who sings?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes. A girl—the girl.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Who made the verses? Where did you find -them?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“A local poet,” and he smiled.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yourself?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes; when I get away from my work my brain is -apt to run on such stuff.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, I like them. Won’t you copy them for me?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You ask too much. But what am I to have in -return?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“The pleasure of obliging me.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Good! You shall have them.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Thank you. Aunt Anne will like the story, and -Dorothy—it is strange how easily that woman is -interested. Don’t you like her?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, very much. But, then, we are rather old -friends. I was not here last year, and this year -I find Hiram a good deal changed. It seems as -though Fate had dealt hardly with Dorothy. She -has so much tact, such natural good manners, and -you would smile if I said distinction.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No, I should not. It is a word which has acquired -a fine flavor, and is well applied here. I am -always tempted to feel sorry, when with her, that she -must always have this narrow life.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I do not think the idea ever occurred to her.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Possibly not. She is by nature contented, and a -source of contentment, which is more rare.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That is true. I never see her without feeling -<span class='pageno' id='Page_289'>289</span>that I have gained something. She is in a real sense -influential.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It seems odd, or perhaps it is not, but she has the -same effect upon me. I hardly fancy that in her -class you could find this creature repeated.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“She has a similar effect on Ellett, and human -nature does not repeat itself. I mean that even the -type is rare. It is purely natural,—owes little to the -education of events.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, rare in all classes, I should say. My Aunt -Anne is in some ways queerly like Dorothy.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Indeed?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“As I am like Jack. You may smile,—I am. Yes, -and that makes me think of Jack. Poor fellow! he -fancies you utterly despise him.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No? Does he? I will ask him to go after a bear -with me. I was quite too rough with him, but really—-- However, -I do not want to talk about that -horrid morning. I thought he was splendidly courageous -and equally outrageous.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“There is courage and courage.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, of course. It admits of analysis. I am often a -coward myself; I am desperately afraid of some things.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Of what?” she said, smiling.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I will tell you some day. It is not well to tell a -woman everything; one loses interest as one satisfies -curiosity.” He was on thin ice now,—but ice it was, -as he found out,—what Jack would have called tickly -benders.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I have no curiosity,—none at all. I think I must -go,” she said. “I really must go,” and she rose, -adding, “There is Dorothy, at last.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_290'>290</span>He was as much relieved as she. He had seen but -little of this young woman, and his reason told him -clearly enough that he had been near the crumbling -brink of folly, and that he had better be careful. -He also rose, and they went over to the cabin, where -Dorothy greeted them. It was not possible for a -person as shrewd as Dorothy, knowing what had -passed on the beach with the bear, not to have some -notion of what it might lead to in the future. She -had in her a fine feminine spice of romance. Now -she said, in her quiet way, “Good afternoon! Did -you happen to meet my Hiram?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No,” said Carington.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I brought you a grilse, Mrs. Maybrook. It is in -the pool.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I am that obliged to you. Guess I’ll smoke it, if -it isn’t too big. Come in. I just pulled some roses -for Miss Anne. I’ve got them inside. You might -take them along. I’ll have to look up Hiram. Come -in.” They followed her.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Here is your money for the milk,” said Carington, -“and very good milk it is.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“My old cow ought to have her share, but she -won’t. I guess we none of us know when we get our -fairings. She won’t know any more than the rest of -us. Did you walk down, Mr. Carington?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Come by Joe Colkett’s?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No; I took the lower road.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“He was here yesterday. You wouldn’t guess in -a week of Sundays what for. He wants to put a -wooden slab over those poor children,—just to please -<span class='pageno' id='Page_291'>291</span>that hag. And he asked me to print it for him,—I -mean, what will do for the inscription. I tell you I -was puzzled. I want you to see if it is all right. He -can’t read a word. You see, he means to copy it, -and then to please the woman with it.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“How sad that is!” said Rose. “And he really -cares for her?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I should think he did! That’s the worst of it.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“The worst of it? Why?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, she isn’t a woman to keep a man straight. -She’d have to begin with herself, way back, too.” -Then she added, “Who was the woman Macbeth,—<em>Lady -Macbeth</em>?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“One of Shakspere’s characters,” said Carington.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I should like well to read about her.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“She ‘p’inted’ her man wrong, I can tell you,” -laughed Rose. “I can lend you the book.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Now, can you? Don’t forget. There’s the writing. -I am rather proud of it.” They both considered -it gravely.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You might put in the dates.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Joe says ‘no.’ I guess he thinks it will make too -much work.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“How strange!” said Rose. “And the text is, ‘Of -such are the kingdom of heaven.’”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes. How will that do?” said Dorothy. “They -were a queer lot, those children,—perfect little fiends, -I called them; but I suppose there’s going to be a -pretty well mixed up party in that other world. -Think I’d like to choose my mansion. It wouldn’t -be the nursery. Sakes alive! what was I saying?” -Her face became grave, with a look of yearning tenderness -<span class='pageno' id='Page_292'>292</span>in her eyes. “Miss Rose, I oughtn’t to have -said that. There would be the very place I should -go for first; and only to think I might not get in! -Where would I be then? I tell you, Miss Rose, -you’ve got to begin pretty early with your tongue, -if you want to make it keep all the commandments.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Carington smiled. “I fancy dumb folks are as -bad sinners as we. After all, one slanders the -tongue. One does not know half how naughty a -thought is until we have put it into speech.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Lord! Mr. Carington! There’s a heap of wiseness -in that you said. Guess I’ll be set up about -talking after that!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Here she took up her half-dozen roses, nourished -with care on the south end of the cabin, which Dorothy -had whitewashed to get more heat upon the -scanty children of her garden. She considered them -with affectionate care, touching a leaf here and there, -her head on one side.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I guess they’re nice enough, even for Miss Anne. -Mind, there’s six of ’em. Don’t you lose any, Miss -Rose!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Shall I carry them?” said Carington. “And the -basket? Where is it?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, I’ll smudge that a bit to get the fish smell -out, and I’ll fetch it to-morrow. I’m coming after -Mrs. Macbeth, or whatever her name is. No, Miss -Rose is to take the bouquet. They’re sort of relations, -you see. Men can’t be trusted with flowers, -and roses are scarce up here.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You might 'p’int’ me, Mrs. Maybrook,” said Carington, -laughing, as he followed Rose at a little distance.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_293'>293</span>“Reckon I’m too old.” And she stayed in the -doorway of her poor little home, kindly, by no means -unhappy, and giving the benediction of a smile to -these two people in their youth of health and prosperity -and love. “I guess he’s p’inted already,” she -said, as she stood.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Rose turned at the wood-skirts, and nodded good-by. -The parable of the roses had been by no means meant -as such, but neither the maid nor the man at her -side failed to capture the possibilities of its meaning. -They walked on in silence for a while, she with a -faint hope that her companion had not been as apprehensive -as she, and he, a little amused, and with a -not unpleasing impression as to the slight embarrassment -which, despite her training, Rose had betrayed -when their eyes met a moment while Dorothy was -speaking.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“How silent we are, Miss Lyndsay!” he said at -last. He might have taken it as a sign of their growing -intimacy.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And do you object to that? I like it sometimes. -I like that about the well-bred English. They talk or -not, as they want to. We seem to think it socially -criminal to keep quiet. I like to feel free to talk or -not to talk.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And are you not?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes,” she said, and then felt that the little monosyllable -was more or less an admission, and so there -was a yet longer silence. But one may be silent too -long, and Rose spoke:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What you said to Dorothy made me think of a -quotation with which Aunt Anne puzzled us last -<span class='pageno' id='Page_294'>294</span>night. Her quotations and my dear papa’s Marc. -Aurelius we are always doubtful about.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What was it?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“‘He who speaketh out the evil of his soul is at -the gate of wisdom.’ She declined to explain it, and -vowed it was out of a Hindostanee poem; but as to -this you need never quite trust Aunt Anne. I was on -the point of quoting it just now, but did not, because -I fancied Dorothy might not understand it.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Do you?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No,” she laughed; “not I.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“She would have been sure to say something droll. -I wish you had quoted it. I am glad you do not -understand it. I do not. It might have several -meanings. But I don’t like vagueness in prose or -verse. If the thought is worth stating, I think it -must be worth the trouble of stating it clearly.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Pardy—I mean papa—insists that vagueness of -language always means mistiness of thinking.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I hardly go that far. There are many explanations -of the vague in statement. A man may think -with decisive sharpness of result, and be quite unable -to word his conclusions. But we are in deep waters.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Quite too deep. As to quotations, I like to think -with Aunt Anne that they are all in the dictionary, -and so cease to bother myself with the source.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Assuredly that saves trouble. Ah, here is the -river,” he said. “Am I not to have a rose?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Is that a quotation, Mr. Carington?” and she -laughed. “That is silly enough for ball-room talk.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It has been said pretty often, and at all events is -not vague.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_295'>295</span>“I am not sure men ought ever to have roses,” she -cried, gaily; “but, as I am not sure, here is one. I -will not act on my vagueness.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Thank you.” He held it a moment, and then -quietly dropped it into the pocket of his jacket, not -unperceived by Rose.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Ah, here is my boat,” she said; “good-by.” As -they stood on the bank, she looked hastily over at -the cabin and saw no one in sight. Then she stepped -into the canoe, where Polycarp sat in tranquil patience, -and the young man, lifting his cap, walked -away into the woods.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Gay comrade thoughts and fancies went with him -on the way, and, light of heart, he guided himself by -the yellow lanes of sunshine which lit the open forest -before him. Soon he found the lower road, and, still -smiling, moved on more slowly, and took to building -castles on those great estates in Spain to which he -had just fallen heir.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Seen my cow, Mr. Carington?” said a voice, a -few feet behind him, and the sweet prosperity of -fancy was gone. It was Susan Colkett who spoke. -He started. He had heard no step, as she came out -of the wood, although she must have been very near.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No; I saw no cow. Is yours astray?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes. What time might it be?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Six o’clock,” he replied, looking at his watch.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Do you think to come up here in September, sir? -Joe says caribou’s plenty up the river.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Then Carington recalled Mr. Lyndsay’s warning, -and said, “It is hard to say as yet. Most likely I -shall not.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_296'>296</span>“I did hear there’s bears back to the pond. If -you was minded to go after ’em, Joe he’d like to -guide. There ain’t no better hunter.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I’ll see about it. If I want him, I shall let him -know. Good night.” And he left her.</p> - -<p class='c007'>After walking some thirty yards he looked back. -The woman was standing in the road, tall, angular, -and large, a long crooked stick in her hand. She -was watching him, but instantly moved as she -caught his glance.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Confound it,” he muttered, “if I believed in the -evil eye, and were a good Catholic, I should cross -myself.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Then he tried to think again of Rose Lyndsay, but, -failing to command the return of his broken day-dream, -he went on more swiftly, and once or twice -turned again, with inexplicable unease, to look back -to where he had seen the figure of the woman set -against the darkening greenwood. “Pshaw!” he -exclaimed.</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_297'>297</span> - <h2 class='c005'>CHAPTER XXIII</h2> -</div> - -<div class='c006'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/dropcap_w.jpg' width='100' height='104' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi1_0'> -When on her return Rose went into -their cabin she happened to glance -at the clock. Then she said:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What time is your watch, Aunt -Anne?” Being told, and discovering -that the two timekeepers were -unanimous in opinion, she smiled a little, and went -on into her own room. Here she went straight to -the small mirror and—why, who shall say?—inspected -herself briefly, saying, aloud:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You were a rather big fool, to-day, Miss Lyndsay, -and next time you will have your own watch.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Presently, remembering what he had done with the -rose, she concluded that men were hateful. She had -seen a good deal of the world, and had had her full -share of earnest admiration at home and abroad, so -that she was by no means ignorant as to the cause of -the gentle tumult in her bosom. She wanted to wish -that this man would let her alone, and be but a -friendly and pleasant companion. Also she more -sincerely desired that the race of bears had been -omitted from Noah’s menagerie.</p> - -<p class='c007'>At last she made her toilet, and went out to dinner, -where Dick asked, with cruel promptness, why she -had not brought that big Boston man over to dine.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_298'>298</span>“Because I did not ask him.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That’s not a reason, Rosy,” said Ned. “I wish -he had come.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And I don’t,” remarked Jack.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Why not?” said Lyndsay, coldly.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Jack flushed as he caught Anne’s eye. “Oh, you -can’t like everybody.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Anne said, in a quiet aside, “Jackey, your giants -are not all dead,” and he was silent.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Mr. Carington was at Dorothy’s when I got there. -He came to pay for the milk they get. By the way, -papa, he told me to say that on Thursday he had to -go to Mackenzie, and that he would call as he went -by and get the draft you wanted cashed, and please -to leave word how you wanted it. Oh, I forgot, he -said afterward that you could tell him to-morrow -night; and, Pardy, he wants you to let Jack go with -him on Friday, to look for a bear they have seen -some distance back of the camp, above the burnt -lands.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Meanwhile Anne was quietly glancing at her niece’s -face. Now this proposal was fire-hot embers to -Master Jack.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, I can’t go! Hang bears!” he said.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“He did not tell me to tell you, Jack; but he did -say he had been hard on you, and I think so, too.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>And now Anne Lyndsay put on her glasses.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Well, Jack,” said his father, “how is it?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Am I to take my rifle, Rose?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes,—I think he said so.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“His trust in this family must be large,” said -Lyndsay.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_299'>299</span>“Do you think I ought to go?” said this young -hypocrite.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, but don’t shoot him!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>And now Rose was dreadfully aware of her aunt’s -inspection, and made haste to add, with embarrassment -more felt than seen, “What a budget! Oh, I -quite forgot, Aunt Anne, I took your roses into my -room. Dorothy gave them to me for you.” As she -spoke she left the table, and, returning, put the flowers -by her aunt. “I was to tell you there were only -half a dozen,” and here she made a full, though brief, -stop; “but that it was all she had. She seemed to -think it hardly worth while sending so few. You -know how nice she is; but, dear me, I have made -a speech of congressional length,—and I am so -hungry!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>In fact she had talked at the last with accelerated -speed, having made, as she well knew, a sad blunder -into undesirable arithmetical verities.</p> - -<p class='c007'>And now Lyndsay said, “It was very kind of Carington. -You must be quite exhausted by the carrying -of so many messages!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It isn’t all,” said Rose; “Mrs. Maybrook wishes -to borrow the book, Pardy, in which is the history of -Mrs. Macbeth.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Indeed!” he returned; “that is droll,” and fell -to thinking.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Then Mrs. Lyndsay said, “You must be very warm, -dear: you look quite overheated.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Here Anne let drop her eye-glasses, and began to -consider the number of her roses, but said nothing.</p> - -<p class='c007'>On Monday, after a most successful day on the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_300'>300</span>river, in which both camps had nearly equal good -luck, the two men from the island came down in the -evening, through a fine moonlight, to the lower -camp. They were now in that easy stage of acquaintanceship -with the Lyndsays when people begin to -make agreeable discoveries as to other people who -are common friends.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Carington watched his chance and caught Jack -alone.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You are going with me, I hope?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes. Papa says he wants me to go.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Carington was very quick to catch the accent of -lingering discontent.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“By the way,” he said, “I was rather sharp on you -the other day. I don’t want you to think I thought -you did quite the right thing; but I liked your -pluck, even if it was out of place, and I understood -the temptation. Suppose we forget it all. Be ready -on Thursday night—pretty late. I shall get back -here by eleven, I hope, and will pick you up. I can -give you a bed and a blanket, and early Friday we -will be off for a day. I can’t promise you a bear, -but I think we shall both like the tramp.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I’ll be ready, and I’m much obliged, too.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Jack was enchanted, and by and by confided to -Rose in a corner his exalted opinion of Mr. Carington, -nor was he altogether satisfied with her “Oh, -yes, he’s quite a nice kind of a man.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You were to have seen, Mr. Ellett, how foolish -we can be,” said Rose, as they stood by the door. “I -also promised Mr. Carington that experience.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And are we not to have it, after all?”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_301'>301</span>“No. Papa and I had arranged some very neat -situations for your discomfiture; but papa finally decided -that they were too difficult, or at least needed -some preparation.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But I should really like it. I can do a little at it -myself, and Fred used to be a very clever actor. -But, then, he does so many things well. Do you do -many things well?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Everything,” said the young woman. “We do -everything well here in this family, even to liking -our friends better than other people like their -friends.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Don’t you think our friends’ friends are often -great troubles? I think a fellow’s friends ought not -to have any friends. That is, a man’s friends should -not be the friends of his friends. That wouldn’t be -so bad now, would it, if it wasn’t a bit mixed?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Hearing Rose’s merriment, as poor Ellett endeavored -to untangle his sentence, Anne and Carington -turned to join them.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What is the fun, Oliver?” said Carington.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I’ve made an overrun,” said Ellett. “When I -try to talk too fast, I am very apt to do it.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And what is an ‘overrun’?” asked Anne -Lyndsay.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“When you are casting for striped bass, the reel -runs very easy, and the bait is heavy, and if you -don’t check the reel with a thumb, as the line runs -out, and then stop it as the bait drops on the sea, the -reel runs on, and the line gets into a tangle, such as -is really unimaginable. It takes hours to get it clear. -Hence Ellett’s comparison.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_302'>302</span>“That is a noble idea,” cried Miss Anne. “An intellectual -overrun!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You see,” said Ellett, much pleased, “everything -is underneath that ought to be on top, and the inside -of the line gets snarled in loops of the outside, and -there’s a sidewise tangle, and—”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Wouldn’t it be advisable to stop at this point?” -said Fred.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Shouldn’t wonder.” And he reflected upon the -excellence of his comparison.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The night was clear and pleasant, and, as they -talked, they went out and sat on the porch, where -presently Lyndsay joined the group.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Miss Lyndsay,” said Carington, “tells us you -gave up the plots. I am not too sorry. How do you -play the game?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, two or three of us devise situations, and -when we announce them, the others act them. It is -an Italian game, I believe, and quite amusing. You -may treat the situations seriously or lightly. It is -easiest to keep to the key-note on which you start, -and not try too hard to be funny. Puns and quibbles, -coming in of a sudden, disturb the other actor, -unless he be well used to it.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I never pun,” said Anne; “but to be forbidden I -regard as an invasion of human rights.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, they are not forbidden!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Then they should be, except to Wendell Holmes. -Only the worst puns are endurable. When Alice -Fox told Dr. North his horse ‘Roland’ was well -named, because he was to carry good news to Aix, I -considered that the climax of verbal murder.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_303'>303</span>“No, there is a worse one,” cried Rose; “but that -I shall never, never tell.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Pardon me,” said Carington, “was not Mrs. Fox -that delightful widow with the pleasant name,—I recall -it now, ‘Westerley,’ Mrs. Westerley? There was -some queer story about her wanting to marry a -country doctor who came to grief, or did some queer -things, I forget what.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes; she married Colonel Fox, at last.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Married once,” said Lyndsay, “engaged once, and -at last lucky enough to capture that fine fellow. -How many love-affairs she had in between—who -shall say?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And a sweeter, better woman never was,” returned -Anne. “I could explain her life; but I have no -mind to betray the secrets of my sex.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“She attained wisdom at last,” said Lyndsay, “for -I heard her tell Fox once that married men should -have every year one month for a bachelor honeymoon.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>As they laughed, Mrs. Lyndsay, who had just come -onto the porch, said, “That is like her; but I do -think it is only an echo of the discontent with our -decent, old-fashioned notions as to marriage. I hope, -Rose—” and here Mrs. Lyndsay stopped short. Anne -looked up.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“The recipe seems to work well. They are very -happy. I propose some day to start a company to -insure the permanency of the married state. It -ought to pay. They insure everything nowadays, -from boilers to window-glass,” she added.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That’s so,” said Ellett. “Now, the interviews of -<span class='pageno' id='Page_304'>304</span>the examiner of that company with the young -couples wouldn’t be a bad situation to play.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Admirable,” laughed Lyndsay.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But don’t you want to hear our plots? You will -see what you have escaped.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“By all means,” replied Carington.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Well, here is one. Mr. Sludge, the medium, calls -up Shakspere to ask if he wrote Bacon’s essays.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“If that is a specimen,” cried Carington, “I still less -regret. The probability of Shakspere having been in -Bacon’s pay as essayist strikes me as a delightful -alternation to put into the Shakspere discussion.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It is a trifle tough,” said Anne. “I should like -to ask for it at the next spiritual <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr"><em>séance</em></span>. I myself -am strongly of the opinion that Queen Elizabeth -wrote Shakspere’s plays. Just turn some of her correspondence -with James into blank verse, and see -how dramatic it is, and how humorous.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Repeat some of it for Mr. Carington, aunt,” said -Rose. “It is really interesting.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Certainly, if I can recall it. Ah, here is one. I -have made but little change in her words,—hardly -any:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>‘I praise God that you uphold ever a regal rule.</div> - <div class='line'>Since God then hath made kings,</div> - <div class='line'>Let them not unmake their authority.</div> - <div class='line'>Let little rivers and small brooks acknowledge</div> - <div class='line'>Their spring, and flow no further than their banks.’</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>“There is another:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>‘Else laws resemble cobwebs, whence great bees</div> - <div class='line'>Get out by breaking, and small flies stick fast</div> - <div class='line'>For weakness.’</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_305'>305</span>“I like this one,” said Miss Anne:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“‘For they be actions rather, and not words,</div> - <div class='line'>Which paint out kings and truly in their colors.</div> - <div class='line'>There be so many viewers of their facts</div> - <div class='line'>That their disorders (do) permit no shade,</div> - <div class='line'>Nor will abide excuses.’”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh,” cried Carington, “that last is like Tennyson. -‘The fierce light that breaks upon a throne.’ Is -there more?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Tell us,” said Rose, “the one about a treaty—she -‘mislikes,’ I think that is what she says. I liked -that one.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I think I can:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>‘Touching an instrument you’d have me sign,</div> - <div class='line'>I do assure you, though I play on some,</div> - <div class='line'>And have been brought up to know musick well,</div> - <div class='line'>Yet this discord would be of gross account,</div> - <div class='line'>Such as for well-tuned musick were not fit.</div> - <div class='line'>Go teach your new raw counsellors better manners</div> - <div class='line'>Than to advise you such a paring off</div> - <div class='line'>Of ample meanings.’”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>“How pleasantly that takes one back to <em>Hamlet</em> -and the pipe!” said Lyndsay. “It ought to settle the -question of authorship.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I begin to agree with you, Miss Anne,” said Ellett.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Don’t forget to ask your medium about Queen -Bess, aunty,” cried Rose.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I? Indeed I shall.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Have you any belief in that business of spiritual -manifestations, Mr. Lyndsay?” asked Carington.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“None. Not I. It is one mass of self-deceit and -fraud. I have seen too much of it.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_306'>306</span>“I have a strong belief in the circulating medium,” -cried Anne. “It seems rather essential as a means of -inspiring the other mediums. But what are the rest -of your situations, Archie?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, there is one more Shaksperian situation.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Well.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Mr. Shakspere appears at midnight in Mr. -Browning’s study and asks what the mischief he -means by—”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“For shame, Pardy!” broke in Rose; “we won’t -hear any more. They are horrid.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I guess we are out of it,” said Jack. “I’m -audience.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, there is one for you. The ghost of a murdered -bear appears to Master Jack Lyndsay and wishes -to know if he can spell ‘responsibility.’”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Good for you, Jack,” cried Dick.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Wait till I catch you to-morrow, Redhead.” But -there was much laughter, and Jack felt that on the -whole it was not undesirable for his bear to pass into -the limbo of jokes.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And now, boys, be off with you and dream over -that last situation. Good night,” and they trooped -away, merry, to their tent on the cliff.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Jack is a very good actor,” said Lyndsay; “but -children are apt to be fairly good actors and then to -lose the gift. Ned is even better. The boys are fond -of charades, and what we like best is to take the -names of poets from Chaucer to Crabbe,—we have -pretty well exhausted the list.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I have seen in France,” said Ellett, “a harder game -than your plots. Two or three scenes are allowed, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_307'>307</span>and what each is to include is stated. Then the actors -endeavor to go through with each act so as to fulfil -its dramatic purpose.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I trust,” said Mrs. Lyndsay, “no one will introduce -that game.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It would be charming,” cried Rose.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Come in, Archie,” said Mrs. Lyndsay, “and let us -have our piquet. Anne and Rose will furnish quite -as much talk as will suffice. I must have my revenge.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Certainly, my dear,” and he went in with his -wife.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Some time we must really try those plots,” said -Rose. “Papa is too fond of the difficult ones. Imagine -<em>Hamlet</em> furnishing evidence to the Psychical -Society about his father’s ghost!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Does any one believe in ghosts nowadays?” asked -Ellett.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Pardy does,—look!” she said, laughing, and pointing -through the open window. Lyndsay was pushing -off from a burning candle the tall spikes of wax -which stood unmelted on one side. “We are laughing -at you, papa,” she cried.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Are you?” he said, turning from his game. “I -can’t stand a ghost in the candle: it is another relic of -my Scotch education, Mr. Carington. It is bad luck -to have a ghost on the candle. I have lost the belief, -but the habit remains.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I fancy we all keep some of these little pet superstitions,” -said Carington.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I assure you, we are rather proud of ours,” returned -Anne.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_308'>308</span>The chat went on, grave and gay by turns, and at -last Lyndsay came back, saying:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I retire after a sad defeat.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“My papa plays cards abominably, Mr. Carington. -He writes verses better.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Rose! Rose! None of that nonsense.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“The fact is, when we were talking about the charades -of poets’ names, I meant to repeat the endings -papa made for some of them, but, when I mentioned -it to him, he shook his head like a China mandarin, -and I weakly gave up. He is doing it now,” and she -laughed. “Oh, I am even with you at last, Pardy, because -you left me yesterday in the anguish of ungratified -curiosity. This is my vengeance.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It is incomplete,” said Carington.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Blush, Pardy, but tell us the verses.” Lyndsay -declared that the verse was hardly worth a fight.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I can recall only two,” he said. “Here is one:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>The fight was lost. On hill and glen</div> - <div class='line'>Thick lay the ranks of fallen men;</div> - <div class='line'>And sullen through the narrow gorge</div> - <div class='line'>Went back the standard of St. George.</div> - <div class='line'>Then in the saddle rose the ’Squire,</div> - <div class='line'>And shook his pennoned spear on high,</div> - <div class='line'>And called his broken band again,</div> - <div class='line'>And taught them how to die,</div> - <div class='line'>And won a name, and little knew</div> - <div class='line'>That where his country’s banner flew</div> - <div class='line'>By hill or dale, on ocean blue,</div> - <div class='line'>In centuries to come,</div> - <div class='line'>That name the lifted pennon won</div> - <div class='line'>Should live as deathless as the sun.</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_309'>309</span>“Of course these words were meant only for the -children,” said Rose; “I like this better:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>A Smith who beat the gold of song</div> - <div class='line'>To voices pleasant, sweet and strong:</div> - <div class='line'>What royal jewelries he wrought</div> - <div class='line'>With simple words and kindly thought!</div> - <div class='line'>A careless, foolish, wasteful soul,</div> - <div class='line'>Too fond, alas, of pipe and bowl;</div> - <div class='line'>Vain of his looks, his waistcoat’s set,</div> - <div class='line'>Oppressed with duns, o’erwhelmed with debt,</div> - <div class='line'>Crushed with distasteful Grub Street work,</div> - <div class='line'>The friend of Reynolds and of Burke,</div> - <div class='line'>He smiling bore the gibes of Johnson,</div> - <div class='line'>And loitered in the shop of Tonson;</div> - <div class='line'>And well or ill, or drunk or sober,</div> - <div class='line'>In youth or age’s drear October</div> - <div class='line'>Went smiling, jesting, laughing through,</div> - <div class='line'>If friends were false or friends were true.</div> - <div class='line'>And fared he well, or fared he ill,</div> - <div class='line'>Left but kind words to greet us still,</div> - <div class='line'>And modest humor’s gentlest play,</div> - <div class='line'>That bids no maiden turn away,</div> - <div class='line'>And many a cool, clear, ringing line,</div> - <div class='line'>Still heard through all those noisy years,</div> - <div class='line'>And wholesome as a wayside spring,</div> - <div class='line'>And sweet with smiles, or sad with tears.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>“That is really a nice bit of character-sketching,” -said Carington, as he rose. “We must try the postponed -plots some other time.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I think my father and you and Mr. Ellett could -manage the ghost scene.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Perhaps we may have a chance next winter,” he -returned. “I have a bridge to build near your good -city, and shall certainly see you all as I go and come.” -<span class='pageno' id='Page_310'>310</span>Rose made no reply. The gap in the talk was filled -by Miss Anne:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That we shall be glad of.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And,” added Lyndsay, coming out, “we shall hold -you to it. There is a little old Madeira still left.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Your fellows in the war drank all that would -have been mine,” said Carington. “You owe me -principal and interest.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“We shall be honest; and we shall look to see you -also, Mr. Ellett,” said Rose.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Good night.” And they went to their boats. As -they poled away in the night, Carington said to himself, -“If those railway directors but knew it, I would -pay for the privilege of building their bridge. However, -skew bridges are difficult: it will take a good -while.” And he lit his pipe.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What are you thinking over, Fred?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, about the difficulty of constructing a cantilever -skew bridge.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What a word! Good gracious! It suggests a -dreadful pun.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Don’t,” cried Carington. “Come alongside, and -give me some baccy.”</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_311'>311</span> - <h2 class='c005'>CHAPTER XXIV</h2> -</div> - -<div class='c006'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/dropcap_t.jpg' width='100' height='101' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi1_0'> -There was something pitiful to Dorothy -in the eagerness with which -Joe received the inscription, which -she had carefully printed on four -sheets of foolscap basted together. -She read it to him, over and over, -that Monday morning, at his request, until he could -repeat it easily.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Before going home he looked up Hiram, and borrowed -a cold chisel and a hammer. When he reached -the wood where he had hidden the stone, he laid it -down, and, without further thought, began to chisel -out the few sad words in which the graver of the city -workman had recorded the fate of Harry Lyndsay. -This was sufficiently easy, as he made rough work of -it, being anxious to get to the more difficult task.</p> - -<p class='c007'>He had reflected a little as to the risks of some one -visiting the little burial-ground up the river, but, as -those he knew thereabouts did not trouble themselves -to visit the graves of their dead, it did not occur to -him that these city-folks would be any more likely to -do so. Nor was it any more probable that, far away -in the depth of the forest, anybody who was interested -would ever come upon the burial-place of Susan’s -children.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_312'>312</span>“Wouldn’t know nothin’ if they did,” he said to -himself, as he went on with great care to mark with a -burned stick the place for the lettering, which he began -now to chisel on the smooth reverse of the marble.</p> - -<p class='c007'>It was a hard job, but Joe, like most lumbermen, -was very skilful with tools. He returned after dinner, -and steadily persevered until the twilight forbade -him to go on. Susan, still in her more pleasant mood, -was satisfied that his absence meant merely the continuance -of the usual labor of accumulating fire-wood -for winter use.</p> - -<p class='c007'>On Tuesday, early, he went back to the unaccustomed -task, and all day long hung anxious and sweating -over the stone. Meanwhile Margaret Lyndsay -sat on the porch of the Cliff Camp, reflecting that -soon she must go away and leave her dead to loneliness -and the long burial of the winter snows.</p> - -<p class='c007'>On the river Lyndsay was fishing with Anne, and -Dorothy had been over, and taken away, carefully -wrapped in her handkerchief, the drama of “Mrs. -Macbeth.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>And still the hammer rang on in the dark woodland, -until at evening his task was completed. Joe -stood up, straightened his tired back, and considered -the stone with satisfaction. The work was roughly -done, but sufficiently plain, nor was Joe disposed to -be too critical. At last here was something which -Susie would like.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Pleased with this idea, he brought water from a -forest spring, and sedulously cleared the marble of -the charcoal-marks and of the soil of his handling. -As he stood regarding it, he even felt pride in his -<span class='pageno' id='Page_313'>313</span>seeming power to read what he had carved, and repeated -aloud, “Of such are the kingdom of heaven.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>It was now late, and with deliberate care, lest his -burden should fall, he heaved the slab on his back, and -set off across the forest, limping as he went. When he -reached the three small mounds in the clearing, he -laid it down with care, and, after some deliberation, -dug a hole and set the stone at the head of the middle -grave. Having thus completed his task, he wiped -his wet brow on his sleeve, and sat down on a stump, -with his pipe in his mouth.</p> - -<p class='c007'>He intended to let the night go by, and, after -breakfast next day, to take his wife to the wood, -and surprise her with what he had done for her. -He would tell her he had a secret; he would say it -was something she would want to have done. But -he would not tell her what it was. He was like a -great simple child; unthoughtful, owned by the minute’s -mood or need, not immoral, merely without any -recognized rule of life.</p> - -<p class='c007'>As he regarded what he had done, he began to -think that to bring her hither at once would be pleasant. -He could not wait. The notion brought him -to his feet, and he soon gathered the material for a -fire, which he placed facing the stone, a few feet from -the graves. The space around was amply cleared, so -that there was no risk. This done, and the pile ready -with birch-bark kindling, which needed only to be -lighted, he turned away and hastened home.</p> - -<p class='c007'>It was now dark. As he entered his cabin he saw -his wife crouched low on a stool before the fire, her -head in her hands, her hair, which was coarse and -<span class='pageno' id='Page_314'>314</span>abundant, hanging about her—a comb awry in its -tumbled mass.</p> - -<p class='c007'>He guessed that her mood had changed. She took -no manner of notice of his coming. He moved forward, -and, touching her shoulder, said:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What’s the matter, Susie?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Matter enough!” she returned, sharply. “That -lawyer man’s been here, and wanted you. You ain’t -never to hand when you’re wanted.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What is it now?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“He says we’ve got to pay up or git out in October. -Guess he got my mind ’bout it. I’d have -licked him if I’d been a man. He wasn’t far from -scared, anyhow.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That won’t help us none,” said Joe, with a glimmer -of good sense. “He’ll be wus’n ever he was.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Who cares?” Then, turning, she set her eyes, -aglow with the firelight, large, red, and evil, on Joe. -“That man Carington was around to-day, asking if -we’d seen bear-tracks. Bill Sansom told me. He -didn’t come here. I did see him yesterday, on the -lower road, a-twiddlin’ a gold watch-chain and a-singin’. -What might a big gold watch be worth, -Joe? I asked him the hour, just to git a look at it.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Lord, Susie, I don’t know.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>To this she made no reply. He stood beside her, -shifting his feet uneasily.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Of a sudden she got up and caught the man by -the shoulders, and, as she stood, towered over him -a full foot.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What—what’s the matter, Susie?” he gasped.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Git that man up here in September, you fool.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_315'>315</span>Joe looked aside, Dorothy’s imperfect warning in -his mind.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I heerd he’d give up that notion.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That’s a lie.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It ain’t! I swear it ain’t no lie. I heerd Michelle -a-sayin’ so.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“When was it?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I don’t rightly remember. I—I couldn’t do it.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Git him here, and I’ll do it,” she said. “It’s just -to pull a trigger. So.” And she snapped her thumb -and finger so as make a sharp click. The blood was -up in splotches of dusky red upon her angular and -sallow face. The man recoiled, more scared at the -woman than at the crime which he lacked power to -conceive of as possible.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Gosh!” he cried, “you’re a devil!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>In an instant she was changed. She had a share of -the singular dramatic power of the abler and more -resolute criminal nature.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, I’m just crazy, Joe, what with one thing and -another. Don’t you never mind me.” And a smile, -which to another man would have seemed hideous, -disturbed her features with unwonted lines. “Might -nothin’ ever chance. You and me we’ll have to just -fight along. ’Tain’t every man would have stood by -me all along, the way you’ve done.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That’s so,” said Joe, relieved. “I’ll work for -you, Susie: don’t you go to fear I won’t. I was a-thinkin’ -you was ’bout downded all along of them -children.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That’s it, Joe; you’re better a heap than me.” -She knew, or thought she knew, that if the chance -<span class='pageno' id='Page_316'>316</span>came she would have the power to compel him into -doing her will. There was strange self-confidence in -her sense of capacity to hurl this child-man into evil-doing, -as one may cast a stone; and now the notion -possessed her almost continually. How to do it? how -to bring about the occasion? how to escape consequences? -The craving for this thing to become possible -grew as the days went by. Nor is this abiding -temptation rare in minds of her class. I have said that -it possessed her, and the phrase suffices to describe her -condition. The idea of crime owned her as a master -owns a slave. It was a fierce and a powerful nature -which poor Joe had taken to his unchanging heart.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I knowed it was the children. You won’t never -talk so again? Just you come with me; I’ve got -something’ll surprise you.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What’s that, Joe?” She was just now intent on -quieting his fears. “Do tell me.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No! You come along. Looks like rain a bit.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Well, I’ll go.” She threw her hair aside, and -went out with him, saying, “You are a queer old man; -I guess I’m right curious.” Well pleased, he went -along, the woman following.</p> - -<p class='c007'>By and by they came into the open space around -which the underbrush grew so close that it would have -puzzled one unused to the way to find it.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You just stand there a bit,”—and, as he spoke, he -bent over the ready pile,—“and don’t look yet,” he -added.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What’s that white thing?” The night was dark, -and, in the forest, of inky blackness, because of the -coming storm.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_317'>317</span>“You wait,” he repeated. “Don’t you look yet.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>He struck a match on his corduroys, and lighted the -birch-bark shavings. Instantly a red light leaped up, -and in a moment the flame soared high, flaring in -the gusts of wind, so that the tall pines cast all -around wild lengths of shivering shadows, and the -forest became as day; while the white oblong of -stone came sharply out into view.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I done it,” he said. “I done it for you, Susie! -I done it.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>The woman came near, and, saying no words, fell -on her knees to see it better.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You did that, Joe?” and she looked up.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I did!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“There’s letters on it. I can’t spell them rightly.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Dory she made them on paper. She won’t know. -I told her it was for a board I was thinkin’ to set up. -There don’t no one come here.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It’s a stone! a real tombstone, Joe!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, it’s that.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What’s on it?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I learned it,” he said. “It just says:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>‘HERE LIE THE BODIES</div> - <div class='line'>OF</div> - <div class='line'>SUSAN FAIRLAMB,</div> - <div class='line'>PETER FAIRLAMB,</div> - <div class='line'>ISAIAH FAIRLAMB,</div> - <div class='line'>CHILDREN OF</div> - <div class='line'>SUSAN FAIRLAMB.’</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>I left out Pete Fairlamb. Seems right, don’t it?” -he added, noticing her silence.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_318'>318</span>“There isn’t anything about when they was born -and died. Any fool would have guessed it ought to -have that.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Joe’s face fell. After all, he had failed to satisfy -her entirely.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I done my best. Guess my back’s achin’ yet -with heftin’ that stone.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Where did you fetch it?” she said, looking up.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I took it out of the graveyard, up-river.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Why can’t you say you stole it? It’s them -Lyndsays’.” As she spoke the dominant idea which -she had so long nurtured rose anew into power. -“Well, I didn’t think you was that much of a man, -Joe.” She felt that he had taken a downward step. -“You stole it!” she repeated. “You needn’t be -afraid to tell me.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>The words “stole it” disturbed him.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I stole it!” he repeated, mechanically.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I don’t like it any the worse for that. What’s -that last line? Did you say all of it?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That’s what Dory said was to be put under the -rest. It made a lot more work; but Dory she said -they most allus done it like that.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What is it?” said the woman. “I don’t make it -out.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>He hesitated a moment. “‘Of such’—that’s it; -most clean forgot it: ‘Of such are the kingdom of -heaven.’”</p> - -<p class='c007'>As he spoke the drops began to fall. Then an -intolerable blaze of orange light flooded the forest -with momentary noonday, and, without interval, the -thunder, followed by a deluge of rain, and struck -<span class='pageno' id='Page_319'>319</span>hither and thither by the hills, died away reverberant -in the distance.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Jerusalem! That was a near one! Ain’t it a-rainin’!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>As the lightning fell the woman threw up her arms -where she knelt and staggered to her feet. “Come -along,” she cried; and, as she moved swiftly before -him in a mighty downfall of rain, she said, over and -over, “‘Of such are the kingdom of heaven’; ’of such -are the kingdom of heaven!’”</p> - -<p class='c007'>When they reached home, she sat down by the fire, -as if unconscious of her soaked garments, until Joe, -coming in from the cow-house, said:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You’d best be gettin’ on dry clothes, Susie. -You’ll take your death of cold.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I’d like them Lyndsays to miss that stone, Joe.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I hope they won’t,” he returned. “They ain’t never -been nothin’ but good to folks hereabouts. I’d not of -took it happen there was another; and I wouldn’t -have done it for no other woman.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It was a brave job, Joe, and I’ll never forget it. I -wish them other things had been set on it—when -they was born and died. It’s only them rich people -has things complete. Maybe you done the best you -could.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That’s so,” he returned.</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_320'>320</span> - <h2 class='c005'>CHAPTER XXV</h2> -</div> - -<div class='c006'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/dropcap_o.jpg' width='100' height='97' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi1_0'> -On Wednesday morning, Anne Lyndsay -woke up with what her brother -called one of the acute attacks of -curiosity in regard to Mrs. Maybrook. -They were subject to variations -and accompaniments. She -shared with her friend, Dr. North, the fancy for imagining -what certain persons, real or unreal, would do -under circumstances which she contrived for them. -It was the byplay of a restless intellect. Lyndsay, -who was in his professional work keenly logical, had at -times no patience with Anne’s amusing nonsense. He -labeled it “mental vagabondage” or “mind gossip.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>She was just now outside in her hammock, enjoying -the wonderful weather of a Canadian river in mid-June. -She was also busy considering Dorothy Maybrook -in a variety of new social surroundings; as to -what she would say or do in a drawing-room, or if of -a sudden dropped into a seat at a Boston dinner-party, -between Emerson and Wendell Holmes. And -then she laughed aloud in her satisfaction at reseating -her between <em>Polonius</em> and <em>Mercutio</em>.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What amuses you?” said Lyndsay, as he came -out of the cabin with his beloved “Marcus Aurelius,” -a finger in between the leaves. “What, no book?”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_321'>321</span>She related gaily her occupation.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Upon my word, Anne, I am unable to conceive -what pleasure you can take in such stuff.” He was in -one of his severer moods, when to be merely logical -was alone possible. As Anne said, it was pretty hard -to switch Archie off on a siding. He had his own -moods, gay or serious; but for the time they were -despotic, and disabled him temporarily from entering -into those of others.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“My dear Archie,” she returned, “you have no -mental charity; at least, not of a morning. Now, if -I were to ask you, to-night, to imagine Dorothy at -dinner between George the Third and Edgar Poe, -you would just as like as not assist my imagination -with an added pair of wings, and—”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Very likely,” he interrupted. “I suppose it is -the result of long habit. I came out just now to ask -you how this passage strikes you.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>She was at once all interest. “What is it, Archie?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“‘Cast away opinion; thou art saved. Who, then, -hinders thee from casting it away?’”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Anne laughed, “Try it,” she said. “Cast away -opinions—have none, and you won’t be bothered -with the need to trouble yourself with this old -heathen’s. I agree with him. Opinions are like -gowns: it is so nice to change them! I am all the -time giving away mine, and it is delightful to see -how ill they fit other folk.” She was, in reality, of -all people, the most definite and clear as to her religion -and her politics.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I think you never can be serious, Anne. Nobody -holds harder to their beliefs than you do. I can’t -<span class='pageno' id='Page_322'>322</span>imagine what the old pagan meant. Saved from -what? ‘Cast away opinion, and you are saved.’”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It is the salvation of negation, Archie; pretty -popular in some places. It is not my kind.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I shall get no help here,” said her brother. “You -are no easier to eject from a mental mood than I am. -I think I shall give it up and go a-fishing.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It is my changeless opinion that you are now on -the track of reason. The first fish will answer you. -He will be quite on the side of Marcus Aurelius, and -wish he had not had a too definite opinion as to the -desirability of closer relations with a dusty miller or -Durham ranger. Get to thee fine opinions, but -don’t act on them. Thus, thou shalt have the cool -joy of theory, and escape the hot results of its practical -application.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“On my honor, Anne, you are quite intolerable at -times.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I am to myself, old fellow. I wish aches were -opinions. The Christian Science idiots say they are. -I would like to exchange aches for opinions.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Are you not so well to-day?” he said, putting Aurelius -in his coat-pocket. “You look much better.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I am far better than usual,” she returned, hastily -repentant, as usual, of her admission of weakness or -pain. “I am thinking of going over to see Dorothy -this afternoon. It is a great enterprise for me, but I -really cannot bide, as she says.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Why not?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“My dear Archie, she took away ‘Macbeth’ to -read, yesterday, and I must—I cannot wait. I want -to know what she thinks of it.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_323'>323</span>“Indeed! She probably won’t think at all. She -will very likely give up at the end of the first scene.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No, I don’t think it. After the witches? No! -She told me you said something about <em>Lady Macbeth</em>; -why or when, I do not know. It seems to have made -her curious.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That is rather odd. Does she read much? I -should not think it.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No, very little, and that is why I want to hear. -The opinions of people who read too much are not -often worth much. But what Dorothy concludes -about <em>Lady Macbeth</em> ought to be entertaining, at -least.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You can have a canoe, dear, and Tom, after -lunch. Are you quite up to the walk?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“My legs may give out, but my curiosity will not—I -can assure you of that. I shall take Ned.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Very good, then. I am to go with Margaret up to -the burying-ground. She wants to see that it is kept -in decent order, and to have a better inclosure made.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Poor Margaret! We go away on Saturday—do -we not?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, about noon or later.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I suppose those Boston men will remain.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, a week or two.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>After this she was silent, and her brother, leaning -against the door-post, glanced listlessly down the river. -She was seldom silent very long.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Well, what is it, sister?” He rarely used the -word of relationship.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Have you thought at all, Archie, about—Rose -and Mr. Carington?”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_324'>324</span>“Why should I? Margaret has been pestering -herself about the man. But Rose is a difficult young -woman, Anne, and there have been so many matrimonial -scares that now I don’t trouble myself any -longer.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Circumstance is a mighty match-maker, Archie.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But Rose is not, as you know. I sometimes think -she will never marry. She is twenty now.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Indeed! I think, Archie, I should like to have a -dictionary of the reasons why women marry men.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>He laughed. “The reason is as old as Adam. -They have no one else to marry.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, he had no <span lang="fr" xml:lang="fr"><em>embarras de choix</em></span>,” she cried. -“Pity he had not. They are various, I fancy—I -mean the honest causes of interest that lead on to -love. I have always thought that Rose would be -captured by character. In our every-day life it -lacks chance of exhibition, but here, it is, or has -been, different. That man is a strong, effective, decisive -person. He has a good deal that is attractive, -and that soft Southern way which our men lack. -Moreover, he is very good-looking. If you don’t -want it to be, take care: <em>I</em> think it is too late.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Anne!” Her sagacity was very rarely at fault. -He knew it, and was somewhat alarmed. “But I can -do nothing.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No. I do not know why you should. We know -all about the man and his people. Rose is not a girl -to act in haste.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Why, then, should we bother about it?” he said.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“We don’t: you will. And Margaret will fuss.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I am afraid so. Confound the men!”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_325'>325</span>“If Margaret had confounded you with other men -twenty-four years ago, this catastrophe would not -have been imminent to-day. Let us hold her responsible.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You have made me very unhappy, Anne. I can’t -jest about it.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Then I can. I think I like him. I wish I had -married myself—I mean, somebody else. Old maids -are married to themselves, and that is the reason why -they have a bad time.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Do you?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Not a bit! Go a-fishing, and hold your tongue.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Lyndsay uttered a malediction on things in general, -and walked away.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Some time after lunch Anne called Ned, and went -over the river with Tom, who thundered replies to -her ever-varying range of questions about climate, -lumber, trees, and men. A little later, Margaret and -her husband, who had given up for her his evening -sport, set out up-stream, and the twins were left to the -Indian and a chance at the lower pool.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Anne and the boy climbed up the bank, and went -away into the woodland. Several times, feeling tired, -she sat down on a wayside stump or fallen tree. She -had the peculiar trait of liking to be silent when afoot -or when driving. As soon as she was at rest her -tongue was apt to be set free, and she became, as -usual, a delightful comrade.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Now she began to amuse herself by asking the lad -in what age he would like to have lived, and was -pleased that he chose the reign of Elizabeth. Then at -last she talked about Dorothy, and of her life, its -<span class='pageno' id='Page_326'>326</span>hardships, trials, and contentments with what she had, -and, finally, of the woman’s interest in “Macbeth” -and her own curiosity as to this. She had the art of -interesting the young in matters usually thought to -be out of their sphere of comprehension.</p> - -<p class='c007'>As she sat, Ned, who was quick to see, noticed that -she became of a sudden silent, and, looking up, saw -that her face was distorted for a moment, and that -she had one hand pressed against her side. He rose, -saying:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What is the matter, Aunt Anne?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Nothing. Nothing much. I very often have pain, -and sometimes it beats me.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I am sorry. Can’t I do something?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No, dear. It will be better presently. It is better -now,” and she wiped her brow.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Why do people have pain?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“To keep them from eating green apples a second -time.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That’s so, aunty; but you—why do you have -pain?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Perhaps because my great-grandpapa would eat -green apples. ‘The fathers have eaten sour grapes, -and the children’s teeth are set on edge.’”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I don’t understand.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No! That is an enigma for more than you. I do -not know why I have pain. Having it, I know what -to do with it. I don’t know why Christ had pain. -God might have willed to help us in other ways, but -at least I know what to do with the story of that -anguish. If he was, as we think, a perfect man, Ned, -he must have suffered as only a man who was also -<span class='pageno' id='Page_327'>327</span>more than man could suffer. As he chose his pain to -be, and taught men how to use it, so must I in my -small way.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And wouldn’t you choose, aunty, just to have no -pain, if you could?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Get thee behind me, little Satan,” she laughed. -“If I could make a world without pain, would I -choose? I don’t know. My pain has been a bitter -friend. Come,” and she rose. The boy, whose -thoughts and questions were beyond his years, -walked on in silence, now and then glancing at the -woman’s face.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Does no one know, Aunt Anne, why we must -have pain?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Only one man knew, Ned, and he suffered and -was silent.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It seems dreadful, Aunt Anne.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Perhaps it only seems: best to think that.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>At the cabin-door Dorothy came out smiling, the -little, red pocket-copy of “Macbeth” in her hand.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Now this is right good of you, Miss Anne,” she -said. “Come in. Mrs. Lyndsay was telling me last -week you like a cup of tea about sundown. It’s a -bit early, but you might be tired. I’ve got the tea -Mrs. Lyndsay sent me last year.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I would like a cup, Dorothy. How is Hiram? -and the cows? and the chickens? and Sambo, the -cat?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“They’re all well—the whole family.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>She set the kettle on the fire, got some bread, cut -it up, and set it with a supply of butter before Ned.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No good in asking a boy if he is hungry.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_328'>328</span>Ned laughed. “Jack says it is no use for Dick to -eat: he is just as hungry when he is done as he was -at first.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“‘It grows by what it feeds on, like the worm i’ the -bud,’” said Anne to herself. “I’ll keep that quotation -for Archie.” And then, aloud, “We old folks -eat from habit. The only appetite I have left is for -books, and— What good tea, Dorothy! Thanks! -Yes, one cup more. My brother says you like coffee -better. I sent to Montreal for a few things you -might like. You will find among them a small bag -of coffee. We think ours excellent.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And I was just last night a-wondering how I -could get some right good coffee. It’s half chicory -what we get; and here, in you walk, and I’ve got it -easy as asking. I haven’t said I’m obliged to you, -but I am. Fact is, Miss Anne, giving comes so natural -to some folks—you might as well thank them -for sneezing. I’m a bit that way myself. I do just -think being thanked is the hardest part of giving. -If the man in church was to say, ‘Thank you, -ma’am,’ every time I dropped a sixpence in his bag, -he wouldn’t get another out of me soon.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I am much of your way of thinking,” said Anne. -“But tell me, what about the book? How do you -like it? And why did you want to read it?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Mr. Lyndsay happened to say some one was like -that woman, <em>Lady Macbeth</em>. Guess I called her Mrs. -Macbeth.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And who was the some one?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Dorothy hesitated.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I was telling him a little about Susie Colkett.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_329'>329</span>“Indeed!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes—she’s an evil-minded one.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Anne had no suspicion of the seriousness of the -story Dorothy had confided to Mr. Lyndsay, and was -somewhat amused at the remoteness of the tragic -comparison. She set the thing aside, and resolved to -ask her brother what he meant. She was now instantly -curious as to what effect the drama had had -upon a woman like Dorothy.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“If Susan Colkett is as bad as <em>Lady Macbeth</em>, she -must be an unpleasant neighbor.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“There isn’t much to steal here,” said Dorothy, -smiling and looking around her; “and I never did -see the woman I was afraid of. As for Susie, she’s -so bad, she’s—a fool. There wouldn’t be much -harm in it if Joe wasn’t the worst fool of the two. -She’ll be the losing of that man yet. Two fools can -hatch a heap of mischief.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“He isn’t much like <em>Macbeth</em>.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I don’t know that. You were asking about this -book. I don’t read books much. I can find out people -right soon; books—they puzzle me.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But you have read it?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, I read it. I read it twice. I sort of set myself -to believe it the second time. There’s a heap I -didn’t understand.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And <em>Lady Macbeth</em>?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“She was a queer one. All that howling and a-carrying -on of the witch-women, it’s just nonsense. -I got the idea those witches set it up to tell the man -he was to be a king: that’s straight, isn’t it?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_330'>330</span>“’T isn’t wholesome to get notions; they stick -like bur-ticks. I knew a girl down at Marysville, in -Georgia, and an old black woman told her, for her -fortune, she was to marry a thin man with heaps of -money, and the fool was so awful took with this that -she told her beau. He was a direful stout man. -Well, when she wouldn’t have him, he went off and -tried to starve himself thin; and the end was he fell -away and died, and that girl, she never got another -beau, fat or thin.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Ned and his aunt laughed.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Well, what else, Dorothy?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That’s about all I have to say. That <em>Macbeth</em> -woman understood p’intin’ her man.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“She did, indeed.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Sometimes Hiram gets tired of being p’inted. -That’s how men are: they haven’t got the natural -goodness of women. I wouldn’t give a cent for the -woman that don’t know a man has got to be kept -p’inted on to the narrow way. They’re awful easy -got off the track—just like Hiram: he’ll stop to -pick berries any time. You just take notice how Eve -she p’inted Adam, and it’s been going on ever since, -like it was natural. Maybe ’tis.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Anne was enchanted.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Shall I leave you the book?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No, I don’t want it. I couldn’t stand two of the -kind. Susie Colkett’s enough. Have another cup?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No; and thank you for the roses, Dorothy.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I hadn’t but just six.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“They were lovely.” And now Anne was still more -certain how six roses came to be five.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_331'>331</span>“I like them right well, Miss Anne. I don’t believe -anybody likes them more than me. Seems like -waste, next month, to see those wild roses so thick all -along the river, and no one so much as to smell them. -Seems just pure waste, like that precious ointment -Mrs. Lyndsay and me were talking about the other -day. That always did puzzle me, that story.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Does it?” said Anne. “Perhaps the flowers enjoy -one another—who knows? And perhaps you and I -and the rest of us are not all the beings of earth. -Why should we think everything is meant only for -us?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Sakes alive! Miss Anne, but you have got some -queer notions. To think of folks you can’t see smelling -around among the flowers! Suppose you was to -bump heads when you were smelling of them. It -gives me the creeps to think of it. Hope I’ll never -run against one of them. Must you go? Well, I’m -right sorry. When you and Mrs. Lyndsay and the -rest go away, my old head will have a long rest.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Shall I send you some books?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No. I shouldn’t read them. I don’t set much -store by books, without I have some one to talk to, -and poor Hiram is as mum as a stone. That’s the -worst of our long winter. Only last night I was -reading the Bible,—I do read that, Miss Anne,—and -I came upon where Christ wrote on the sand. I just -said to myself I would wait about that till I saw you. -I did want to talk it over right away.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And what is it you want to ask?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What do you suppose Christ wrote in the sand?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Who can tell that, Dorothy?”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_332'>332</span>“But it must have meant— Why did he do it?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I suppose,” said Anne, thoughtfully, “that he -wanted to let the woman think over what he had -said. When you think of the eyes of Christ looking -at you, Dorothy, you might understand.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I see, Miss Anne. That woman she felt awful -bad, I guess, and he only wanted not to seem to -take notice. I wouldn’t ha’ thought of that in a year, -not if I stayed awake all night every night.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Why not write to me in the winter? I should -like that.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Would you really? That would take the edge off -the lonesomeness. If I didn’t say ‘oh!’ every now -and then, of evenings when the green wood cracks -and the sparks fly, I guess I’d go dumb before the -birds come back.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Well, Dorothy, that is settled. I shall write first. -Good-by!” And, with Edward, she moved slowly -away through the broken cross-lights of the sunset -glow.</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_333'>333</span> - <h2 class='c005'>CHAPTER XXVI</h2> -</div> - -<div class='c006'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/dropcap_a.jpg' width='100' height='99' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi1_0'> -After two or three weeks in the -forest, where “the slow-growing -trees do patience teach,” and the -strong, effortless waters go by and -seem only merry and idle, there -comes to some men a sense of being -at home. It does not come at once. We are all of -us, in our busier lives of varied work or pleasure, -actors in ever-changing rôles. It can hardly be otherwise. -Almost the simplest lives involve some use of -the art of the actor. In the woods, away from men -and their struggles and ambitions, with the absence -of need to be this or that, as duty, work, or social -claims demand, we lose the resultant state of tension, -of being on guard. It is readily possible to notice -this effect in the rapid erasure from the faces of the -constantly strained, intellectual workman of the lines -of care which mark the features of those on whom, in -one or another position, the world relies to carry its -burdens.</p> - -<p class='c007'>At first, on passing from great mental occupation to -the life of the forest, there is a period of unrest, of -vague disappointment. But soon or late, with repose -of mind, and the cessation of endless claims upon the -sentinel senses, arises a distinct and less explicable -<span class='pageno' id='Page_334'>334</span>indifference to what a fortnight back was important. -Our whole world of relation is gradually changed. -The passion, strife, and more or less worthy motives of -the great camps of men shrink to valueless dimensions, -so that we look back and wonder how this or -that should have caused us a thought, or called forth -that irritability which is apt to be the offspring of -the unceasing strain of modern life.</p> - -<p class='c007'>At last we lose count of the days, and acquire a -strange impression of the remoteness of the tumult of -the active life from which we have fled. So complete -may be this feeling that at times the busy past seems -to fade into dreamy unreality, as with sense of relief -we give ourselves unresistingly to the wholesome influence -of the woodland and the waters. Much of -this ease of mind must be due to the physical well-being -which this existence surely brings to those who -know how to get out of it the best it holds.</p> - -<p class='c007'>This calm of spirit, and this feeling of perfect fullness -of bodily health, were what Archibald Lyndsay -unfailingly secured in his summer holiday. He had -become careful to humor the pleasant mood, and to be -annoyed when anything took place which forced him -even for an hour to return to the problems of the -outer world.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Such a summons had come from Anne. She had -not explained why she had spoken, nor could she -have given a reason beyond the fact that she and he -habitually discussed in common all family interests, -and that it was not always quite safe for Anne to talk -of them to Margaret. That gentle little woman was -indisposed to have others, as she said, “come between -<span class='pageno' id='Page_335'>335</span>her and her children,” and was in fact jealous, with a -steadiness of jealousy which unwillingly accepted even -love as an excuse, and heard, with unreasoning lack of -logic, explanations, advice, or comment, which another -might have welcomed, or at least calmly considered. -Thus, when Anne wished to influence Margaret, she -was apt to talk to the husband, who, in turn, was -shrewd enough to profit by the counsel without betraying -the counselor.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Archibald Lyndsay’s uneasiness had been extreme -from the time Anne had spoken of Carington. Now -he was in the canoe with his wife, and was being -poled up-stream by the two Indians, who could understand -but little of the rapid speech of the white -man, and before whom, therefore, he could talk at -ease. Lyndsay sat with his back to the bowman, his -wife facing him and lying against a pile of cushions. -After a little he said, speaking low:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Margaret, has it occurred to you that possibly all -this unavoidable intimacy between Rose and young -Carington might—well, might result in some serious -attachment, and—”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Of course,” she broke in, with the wife’s privilege -of apprehending more than the husband has said, -“of course, any one—”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“My dear Margaret, I wish you would listen until -I have finished—”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Very well, dear, I will listen. I only meant to -remind you that I have already spoken of this, and -that you said it was not of any moment; and that -I was too much given to anticipating trouble. The -fact is, Archie, when you are on your holiday, you -<span class='pageno' id='Page_336'>336</span>hate to have anything serious brought to your mind, -and you are pretty apt just to put it aside.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Lyndsay, well versed in the fine art of matrimonial -diplomacy, made no instant reply to this arraignment.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Perhaps, my good wife, we may be as to this a -little alike. When you are very full of a subject, or -have decided it in your own mind, you are inclined -not to hear me out.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That may be so. I beg pardon, Archie. What -is it?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What was I saying? Where was I? It is like -taking the marker out of a book you are reading.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You were saying it might result in a serious -attachment.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, that was it; or something to that effect. -Perhaps I should not have been quite so definite. -Yes, that was it. It has seemed to me that Rose is a -girl who would readily be captured by—well, by a -man who had a chance to show force of character, -and this very thing has happened. You know, dear, -in the ordinary chances of life these opportunities -are rare, but—well, you understand.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>She did; and also she had a suspicion that this bit -of social reflection was somebody else’s wisdom.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Has Anne mentioned the matter?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I did say something to her about it yesterday—no, -this morning.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I would much rather, Archie, when you want to -discuss the children, that you come to me first.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Clearly he had brought this on himself. She went -on:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Anne is ready enough to interfere without being -<span class='pageno' id='Page_337'>337</span>given an excuse, and now, I suppose— She has not -talked to Rose, I trust?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No, my dear. She has not and never will. That -would be very unlike Anne.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I don’t know. One never knows what to expect.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But you do now. Have you noticed of late how -thin Anne looks? I sometimes think she will trouble -none of us very long.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I think you are rather prone to exaggerate about -Anne. She isn’t well, but these chronic invalids -outlast the healthy.” Margaret had the occasional -hardness of the very tender. “As to Rose, it is as -well to comprehend the matter, and then, as the man -seems unexceptionable, to let Rose alone.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Mrs. Lyndsay’s good sense usually kept her at the -end on the ways of reasonable decisions. If she -could always have acted without speaking, she would -have had more credit for wisdom. But acts are rare, -and speech is not; so that people were apt to say, -“Margaret Lyndsay is a very good woman, but not -always very wise.” Those who knew her best did -not so think, and especially Lyndsay, who well understood -that great goodness cannot coexist with foolishness, -because the more valuable goodness must -have intelligence for one parent. There are people -who reflect very little about what they are going to -say, and a great deal about what they are about to do: -of this kind was Lyndsay’s wife; but then, under -some circumstances, words are acts, or have their -force, and so she made mischief occasionally for herself -and for others.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I quite agree with you, my dear,” he replied. “It -<span class='pageno' id='Page_338'>338</span>were best left to Rose’s good sense. In the end you -and I are sure enough to agree.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Perhaps you might give Anne a hint, or—shall -I?” She was a trifle afraid of her sister-in-law.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It won’t be required. She has quite our own -ideas about it”; and then Margaret knew that Anne -had fully discussed this question with Lyndsay. She -did not like it, but this time held her tongue.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The sun was low when they drew to the shore, a -little above the point where Joe had left his dugout -two days before. The oblong white box of a church -stood on the upland, a dismal architectural symbol. -Its closed doors and windows, the broken steps at the -entrance, and the ragged, storm-worn paint looked -dreary enough to Lyndsay as he passed with his -wife through the open gateway.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“How hideous it is!” he said. “Would not you -like it, my dear Margaret, if in the fall I had our -boy brought home to rest among our own dead?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Very much, Archie.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It shall be done,” he said.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Thank you.” By this time they had picked their -way around the church amidst growth of thistles and -wild raspberry vines. Lyndsay led, and presently -they were in the scantily-peopled half-acre back of -the chapel. He stood a moment, confused.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I don’t see the stone,” he said.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What? What is that?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>He turned, and said again, “I don’t see it!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Margaret went by him swiftly.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It was here! here!” and, utterly bewildered, she -stood, looking up at her husband, or down at the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_339'>339</span>grave, and then around her. “Archie! It is gone! -This is—is horrible.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Lyndsay paused a moment. He was both troubled -and perplexed; but the intellectual puzzle was uppermost, -and, as usual with him, was merely fed with -motives for action and decisions by the shock of -horror with which the thing affected him. As for -his wife, she looked down again at the trampled -ground and broken flower-stems, and then saying, -“What is it? Where is it?” began to go to and fro, -irregularly, among the graves, and along the tumbling -stone wall of the inclosure.</p> - -<p class='c007'>At last she ran, like a scared thing, back to her -husband, threw her arms about him, and burst into -violent sobbing.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, my boy! my boy!” she cried. Her face -twitched, and she broke out into unnatural laughter. -Lyndsay caught her as she reeled to and fro.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Take care, Margaret! Margaret! Be quiet. No -more of this! I command you to control yourself!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>As he spoke he lifted her slight figure, and carried -her to the gate.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Sit down,” he said. “Now, no more of this! I -want your clearest head—your help.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, yes, Archie,” she said. “I will try. I—oh, -I couldn’t help it! Don’t scold me.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>His eyes filled. “No, dear love, not I. But keep -still. I want to look. This is a mere vulgar, brutal -theft. Wait a moment, can you?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, but don’t be long.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>He walked back again to the little grave, and carefully -examined the place. It was broken and battered -<span class='pageno' id='Page_340'>340</span>by large footmarks, and these led away toward the -low stone wall, and were lost in the underbrush beyond -the broken fence-rail on the far side of the unused -road. He saw that the break in the rail was -recent. At last he returned to his wife.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“The grave, dear, is not disturbed. Some fool -has stolen the stone. Come with me; I want to go -through the drift yonder, and I do not want to leave -you alone.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>She stood up, and followed him around the church, -and back to where he had found the rail broken. “Ah, -here again is a footmark,” he said. At the river he -walked along the margin, and at length came upon -the place where a dugout had been drawn up and -where were other footprints in the wet clay margin.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It is very simple,” he said. “We shall soon -know. But why any man should do such a thing I -cannot imagine.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“He ought to be killed,” said our quiet Margaret.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That will do for the present,” he said, and then -called to his men to drop down from the landing -where he had left them. In a minute or two they -were at the shore.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Now, dear,” he said, as they came near, “try to -keep this thing a secret for the few days left us here. -It is an intolerable bit of wickedness, possibly of -malice, but this I do not believe. The more quiet we -can keep it, the better my chance of discovering who -has done it.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I will try; but Anne!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, Anne, of course, and Rose perhaps. It is the -men who must not know, and the boys.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_341'>341</span>“That is easier. What shall you do about it, -Archie? Who could have been so cruel?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Unusual crime,” he said, thoughtfully, “has commonly -unusual causes. I do not as yet know what I -shall do. And now, dear, let us not discuss it any -more. And will you tell Anne, or shall I?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I would prefer to do it myself, Archie.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>As the sick animal knows by instinct what wild -grasses it shall eat, this woman apprehended her -need for a woman’s strength and sure community of -feeling. She was as certain to fall back on Anne’s -opinion or help in the end, or where she herself was -honestly puzzled, as she was to resent her sister-in-law’s -independent assertion of her right to have a say -where the question was one as to which Mrs. Lyndsay -thought that the title mother or wife was in itself a -victorious defense of all decisions needed in either -capacity.</p> - -<p class='c007'>In this present trouble it was a woman’s help she -wanted. She had been for the first time in her life -close to an hysterical attack. Without the forceful -tonic of her husband’s call upon her self-command, -the discipline of years would have been of no avail: -she would have been entirely routed. As it was, -there had been sad disorder in the ranks of the governing -qualities of a being unused to yield to the lawlessness -of unrestrained emotion. This nearness of -defeat was more or less due to the preparative softening -influences with which she came to say a silent -farewell to her dead, and to the suddenness of the -shock of horror and of insult.</p> - -<p class='c007'>None turned to Anne Lyndsay in vain. As Lyndsay -<span class='pageno' id='Page_342'>342</span>and his wife approached the cabin, where, as usual, -Anne was lying in her hammock, she saw at once that -something had gone wrong. Her long walk was exacting -the sad price of all physical exertion which -took her beyond the limits of the most carefully measured -exercise. She was in great pain, and, for a half -hour, had been resolutely struggling to ignore it by -forcing herself to give deliberate attention to a difficult -passage in the second part of “Faust.” She dropped -her dictionary as they came up, put a marker in the -page she had been reading, and rose on one elbow.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Go and talk to Anne,” said Lyndsay. “Is Rose -still out, sister?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes; and the boys, except Ned. He is in the -wood, somewhere. I am all alone, Margaret. What -is it, dear?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Something very unpleasant has happened, Anne; -nothing serious—I mean, no personal calamity. Margaret -will explain.” And so saying, he went into -the cabin, while Mrs. Lyndsay sat down on a low -stool, and, letting her head fall on Anne’s bosom, -began to cry. But this time she had herself well in -hand, and the burst of tears was wholesome, as Anne -instantly knew. She let her hand fall over Margaret’s -neck.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Have it out, dear,” she said. “A man always says, -‘Don’t cry’; a woman says, ‘Cry; it will help you.’ -Cry as much as you want to. God knew our wants -when he gave us tears. No; don’t try to explain,—not -yet, not yet.” And the reassuring hand put back -a stray lock of hair, and rested in tender caress on the -wet cheek.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_343'>343</span>Both were still for a few minutes, save for an occasional -sob.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Now I am better, Anne. I can talk now. How -well you know!—what is it, dear?” she added, abruptly, -for a brief exclamation, “Oh, my God!” broke -from Anne’s lips. She was in the extremity of physical -pain. The tone and words were unusual, as coming -from these lips, and Margaret, instantly turning -aside from her own trouble, caught the look of suffering -on the other woman’s face. She wiped her eyes hastily.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Are you ill, Anne?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes. Oh, not ill! I had a stitch in my poor -old side.” Then she laughed low. “I am sure it is -years older than the rest of me. Get me your smelling-salts.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Margaret got up at once and went into the cabin. -As for Anne, smelling-salts, hot-water bags, sedatives, -and, in fact, the whole armament of the invalid, were -to her altogether unpleasant. But now she was in -some want of a minute to herself. She got it, and -more, for Margaret was some time before she came -out with the smelling-salts and a flask.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No, dear,” said Anne; “no brandy.” She used -the smelling-salts, and returned them to her sister-in-law. -“I hate all scented things. I am better -now. Tell me all about it, and don’t hurry. What -is it?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“We went up to my boy’s grave, and, Anne, Anne, -some one had trampled it all over—trod on my—my -dead!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Well, dear. Take care! Don’t give way, or you -will go to pieces. There! What else?”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_344'>344</span>“And some cruel brute has taken away the tombstone. -It was not there. Do you understand?” she -cried, with fierce energy. “They stole it! It is -gone!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Anne understood well enough; but the fact, as -told her, was so strange, so unlooked for, that she -was amazed for a brief time beyond power of comment. -The next moment all her heart went out to -the mother at her side.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It is horrible!” she cried. “Oh, for me, even, -for me! And for you, what must it be?” She saw, -as few would have done, the broken flower-fence, the -rudely profaned and trampled grave, the gap in the -earth where the stone had been. “For me, horrible—but, -my dear God! what must it have been for you!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes; I am his mother!” She was moved because -Anne did not pretend to share the maternal intensity -of her feelings. “Only a mother could know. -Archie says I must not think about it; but that is -beyond my power—I must think about it. Who -could have done it? I can’t see any reason in the -theft. Do you think it could have been to annoy us, -or to get a reward? I—”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No,” said Anne. “Neither.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Then what could it have been? There must have -been a motive.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, there must have been.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And what? We are liked, I think, on the river. -“We do try to help these people.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Who could have done it?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Joe Colkett!”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_345'>345</span>“Archibald! Archibald!” cried Margaret, instantly -rising. He came out at once.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What is it?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Anne says Colkett took it!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What does this mean, Anne?” he said.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Only this: Rose told us yesterday, you remember, -that Colkett had been to see Dorothy about an inscription -for a board to set over his wife’s children. You -heard her speak of it.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes; but what then?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That man is the thief!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You are a most astonishing woman, Anne. What -reason have you? You must have a reason.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I shall have; but now, as yet, I have none.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I am sorry, then. You have quite upset Margaret.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No. I saw the man take it.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Saw him? Nonsense—I beg pardon, dear, I don’t -quite mean that.” He was nice always in his home -ways with the women he loved. “I mean that you -have spoken unadvisedly.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, I had no advice from within or without, for -that matter; but I know that man is the thief.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It is a serious charge.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It is. When you come to think it over, you will -agree with me.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Lyndsay was silent a moment. Then he called, -“Tom! Tom! I am going up to the Island Camp; -put the canoe in the water.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What are you going to do, Archie!” asked Margaret.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I want to talk to Carington. He knows all these -people; has known them for years.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_346'>346</span>“Shall you tell him what my own belief is?” said -Anne.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Certainly! Why not?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But,” exclaimed Margaret, “do you not think—”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No. No, dear, I don’t think at all as yet. I have -no material for thinking—very little, at least.” He -spoke with unhabitual impatience. “Evidence is what -we want.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>He was annoyed by this mysterious crime in the -midst of his idle hours; troubled by his wife’s distress; -and finally, if but to a slight extent, irritated at -Anne’s unreasoning dash at a decisive conclusion. -Perhaps he was the more disturbed because, on hearing -her, he had at once begun to put together facts, -always within his own knowledge, which he felt should -have caused him to have gone, under guidance of -reason, toward the goal which she had reached at a -bound.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I shall be back in three or four hours. Do not -keep the dinner waiting. Good-by.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But, Archibald, do listen to me. It is not about—about -this—” And she followed him as she spoke, -and, at the edge of the cliff, said a few words hastily, -but with earnestness.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No,” he said, so that Anne heard. “I see—I see, -of course; but there is no help for it; and, after all, -Carington is not a man—” And the rest was lost to -Anne’s ear.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Perhaps not,” said Margaret. “I suppose you -know best.” And she went back to Anne.</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_347'>347</span> - <h2 class='c005'>CHAPTER XXVII</h2> -</div> - -<div class='c006'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/dropcap_w.jpg' width='100' height='104' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi1_0'> -When Lyndsay walked up the beach -at the Island Camp, it was already -dark. In the dinner-tent, on camp-stools, -the two men were gaily discussing -such events as in a fishing -camp are always uppermost—how -this or that salmon behaved, the weather, the water, -or the eternal black-flies.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The cook had just set on the table a dish of broiled -salmon, and said, as he did so:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“There’s a canoe at the beach—Mr. Lyndsay, I -think.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Come to ask your intentions, Fred,” said Ellett, -laughing.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Hush, I hear him coming. I wonder what it is -he wants.” As Carington spoke, he threw open the -fly of the tent. “Come in, Mr. Lyndsay; you are -just in time. Bring the soup back, Jim.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Thanks. How are you, Mr. Ellett? Yes, I will -dine with you, and with pleasure. No soup, thank -you,” and he sat down.</p> - -<p class='c007'>For a while there was the ordinary talk of the -river, and when, finally, they were left with the tobacco -and cigars, Lyndsay having declined the rye -whisky, he said:</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_348'>348</span>“I came up to get a little help from you. We have -had to-day a very singular and quite unpleasant incident. -There is no one can overhear us?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No one. I need hardly say how heartily we are -at your service. Pray go on. May I ask what has -troubled you?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Of course. I came to tell you, and then to ask -your help or advice. You know all these river men?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Almost all, even the lumber-gangs.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I thought so. I shall be brief. Last year we -buried my youngest child here. I had set up at the -head of the grave a simple white stone. To-day I -went up with Mrs. Lyndsay to see that it was all in -order. To our horror the stone was gone. Of course -my wife was painfully disturbed. The grave was -trampled; the wild rose-bushes we had set around in -a little thicket were beaten down. That is the whole -story. I am, as you may fancy, greatly annoyed. I -felt that, with your knowledge of the men hereabouts, -you might possibly give me some clue. I owe you -every apology,” and he turned to Ellett, “for thrusting -so personal a calamity into the hours of a holiday, -but—”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You could not have found two people more -willing.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Thank you.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Let me ask you a few questions,” said Carington.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Of course.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>The young man reflected a moment, and then in -quick succession put his queries.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Have you gone over the place?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes,” and he told the little he had seen.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_349'>349</span>“Was it a dugout?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, I think so.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I will look to-morrow, early. Were there several -people?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“The foot-marks seemed alike—the usual many-nailed -boot. I did not measure them.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I will. The beach is clay up there. Has any one -cause to injure you?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No one. My wife has been, as usual, all goodness -to these poor people.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I see no possible motive,” said Ellett.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Wait a bit, Oliver. The grave had not been -opened?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Great Heaven! No.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Why should a man want a tombstone?” said -Ellett. “An insane person might have done it.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No,” returned Carington, thoughtfully. “No, -there are none here. No, some one wanted that stone. -Why!—by George, I hate to suspect the poor devil!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Who?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It is a mere guess, a suspicion. I have an idea -that Joe Colkett stole that stone.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It is a little odd. That, exactly, is my sister’s -conclusion.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Indeed!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes. Being a woman, she had no reason to give, -or none worth anything; and yet I myself am enough -inclined to agree with her to want to make sure as to -whether there is any evidence to be had. It is a thing -to punish.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I think so. The man is in pretty sore straits -about money. But it cannot be any motive involving -<span class='pageno' id='Page_350'>350</span>money, and yet—however, it is useless to talk about -it. The first thing is to go over the ground with care. -Let me do that—early to-morrow. Ah, to-day is -Wednesday; I must go to Mackenzie to-morrow. That -I can’t let wait. A man is to meet me there about -my cabin. Can this thing rest a day?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, I shall stay over Sunday. We had meant to -go out on Saturday.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Then I will call late to-morrow night for your boy—as -we come back, I mean.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“One moment: I have thought best not to tell the -boys. It can do no good.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“None. On our return toward camp, I will manage -to send Jack off, and will myself slip down to Colkett’s, -and will look about me. If necessary, I can -talk it out frankly. I think I could know in five minutes -all the man knows, if he is in the thing at all.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But you won’t forget my warning, Mr. Carington. -Joe is a poor sodden dog, but the woman is a devil.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Carington smiled. “Oh, I shall have my rifle; and, -after all, what could a woman do? There is no manner -of risk.” He did not say that the notion of there -being some peril in the matter made the enterprise -more attractive. There were other motives also which -were not disagreeable, and of these, too, he made no -mention.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Well, promise me to be on your guard.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It all seems rather absurd, but I shall keep my -eyes open. I may be very late to-morrow night. Tell -Jack, and, by the way, if it is late, I shall have to -keep your money until Friday evening, or Ellett can -take it to you. Send me the draft to-night.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_351'>351</span>“I have it with me”; and he handed it across the -table.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I think,” said Carington, “I would ignore the -whole matter until I see you on Friday night. I -would fish, as usual.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I think so.” He had asked advice and help, and -this very decisive young man had certainly given it. -“Thank you a thousand times,” he said, as he rose; -“you have really relieved me,” and then he went away.</p> - -<p class='c007'>In his canoe he reflected a little on the mental peculiarity -which made Anne and Carington prompt to -conclude where he had been so tardy in reaching a -decision. Anne had once said of him that his mind -lacked wings, but was very sure on its legs. He -reached home late, and rather weary. Anne said Rose -had been told, and that Margaret had behaved admirably; -also that the boys had no suspicion of the events -which had distressed their elders.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The lives of men are lived under the limited monarchy -of circumstance. Within this, men’s instincts -and personal qualities—in a word, character—decide -how they deal with the stringency of events, or -meet the despotism of changeless natural laws.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Carington was about to feel the results of a combination -of influences, some within and some outside -of those due to mental and moral peculiarities entirely -his own.</p> - -<p class='c007'>What I saw in an idle hour may serve to illustrate -my meaning. The reader has my benevolent permission -to leave it unread. I was once lying on my -couch of spruce in a rude log-cabin on the Alligash -River. It was raining heavily, and we had left our -<span class='pageno' id='Page_352'>352</span>tents awhile for the more perfect shelter of a deserted -log-cabin where the lumbermen had wintered years -before my coming. Apparently for reasons as good -as our own, many live things had come hither—some -for a permanent home, and some, like Noah’s menagerie, -for temporary protection. A splendidly constructed -spider’s net occupied the open space where a -window-pane had been. The three remaining panes -were intact. It was a happy thought of that spider: -when flies at noon sought the cool shade of the house, -this open pane seemed to offer a way, and, when the -sun fell, the path of exit was as inviting. The net was -well stocked, as I saw, but mostly these corpses were -dead shells, out of which the succulent meats had -been taken. Nevertheless, the deadly <span lang="la" xml:lang="la"><em>retiarius</em></span> lay -coiled in a corner, as eager as if he had never had a -breakfast. As to the flies, who were many, they seemed -to be as ignorant of the net’s thin lines as men are of -the fatal meshes which circumstance spins in the way -of human flies, or which character weaves when the -fly is his own spider. The spaces between the anchoring -cables were wide. Most of the flies went through -quite unaware how near they had been to death. -Some got into the toils and struggled out, and then -went and sat down in dark corners, and reflected on -free-will and predestination. At last a queer-looking, -yellowish fly got into trouble. He was physically -odd-looking, and as to mental organization clearly -distinct from the herd of flies. He was evidently -adventurous and on a holiday. He was in and out of -the room, between the long net lines, half a dozen -times. “That is luck!” said I. “The goddess Wyrda -<span class='pageno' id='Page_353'>353</span>has smiled on him!” At last he struck the net, and -was caught. In place of struggling, he kept still a -moment, while the spider ran out and made a reconnaissance. -Then my fly gave a kick and a flutter, -and was off and away. “Luck and strength,” said I. -By and by he sailed past me, and sat down to dine on -the sweet margins of some ponds of molasses—the -relics of our lunch. Being a little too eager, he got -his legs in the sweets, and then his wings. Not liking -this, he flew away, and, after a disorderly flight, made -for the window, where he hit the center of the net. -This time I got up to observe the affair closely. He -made a brave fight, but the molasses on his sticky legs -was the determining circumstance. The net-thrower -crawled up with caution, when, of a sudden, a great -bee, humming in its flight, went like a Minié ball -through the net, and the spider fled, and the fly tumbled -out—and this was the end. I felt as if I had -been a superior being who, from the vantage of a -higher sphere, had been watching one of earth’s numberless -dramas. He would have seen how instincts, -character, and circumstance combine to determine the -fates of men.</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_354'>354</span> - <h2 class='c005'>CHAPTER XXVIII</h2> -</div> - -<div class='c006'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/dropcap_t.jpg' width='100' height='101' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi1_0'> -There are few things more interesting -than to observe in a quiet family -the effects of an explosion of -the unusual. Assuredly, what had -happened to the Lyndsays was uncommon. -There is family character -just as there is national character. Individuality -is more or less dominated by it. Among those with -whom we are dealing the endless discussions which -in some groups of human beings are wasted on a -matter of annoyance—a calamity or a grievance—were -quite unknown. At need they talked over their -troubles or difficulties, and put them aside when decisions -were once attained.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Anne was fond of saying, “Talk is a wedge which -widens troubles. When you think, you are talking -to yourself alone, and are responsible for the consequences; -it is hard so to weigh words as to know -what weight they will have for others.” And thus it -was that even about her most unbearable pain she -said nothing, and disliked all discussions which led -to no working opinion. Mrs. Lyndsay alone was -given to seeking sympathy in her small ailments; -but Anne, as she herself once observed, “wore neither -her heart nor her liver on her sleeve.” And this was -<span class='pageno' id='Page_355'>355</span>the general tone. If talk was needed to settle a -thing, there was enough, and no more. Lyndsay -liked to say, “And now we will put it aside, my dear.” -He had thus ended a talk with his wife, who was -disposed to say far more.</p> - -<p class='c007'>To all of them the unpleasant event I have recorded -brought a sense of horror. But the primary -mood of anger or disgust gave way to some other -form of mental or moral activity, which varied with -the person. Lyndsay simply and directly occupied -himself with the slight evidence he had, and endeavored -to reach a conclusion as to the criminal. -Anne fell to thinking with interest of the motives of -the criminal, and as to what possible temptation -could make her desire to do such an act. The mother -remained in a state of somewhat lessened emotional -disturbance, wanting some one to talk to of it all, but -finding none save Rose, who had no power to repress -her.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Thus Thursday passed quietly enough at the Cliff -Camp. Mr. Lyndsay wisely went a-fishing, and took -Rose. It was pitiably true that, for Mrs. Lyndsay, -the incident of the day before had renewed the grief -which time had begun to heal. She wondered how -Archie could go and fish. She even made a mild attempt -to keep her daughter at home; but Lyndsay -resolutely persisted, and had his way. Left to herself, -Margaret devoted the morning to coddling Anne, -which resulted, for the latter, in a condition of restrained -irritability which was almost too much even -for this heroic woman. At last she took refuge in -her room.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_356'>356</span>Jack spent the day in cleaning his rifle, and Dick -in stuffing a kingfisher, while Ned bothered him -with questions which not Solomon could have answered. -As to Carington, he asked Ellett to go up -to the church and make careful measurements of the -footsteps, as this, by relieving him of the task, would -enable him to get away earlier for his long paddle to -Mackenzie.</p> - -<p class='c007'>At dawn, Carington, with his two men, in their -canoe, went by the Cliff Camp, where all was peacefully -still.</p> - -<p class='c007'>At the little town he made his own arrangements -for the building of his cabin in the fall, and cashed a -draft for himself and one for Mr. Lyndsay. The -seven hundred dollars of Canadian notes he rolled -into a tight bundle and put in his breeches-pocket. -Then, after a hasty meal and a little rest, he turned -back for the journey up the river.</p> - -<p class='c007'>There was some paddling to do until they reached -swift water, and here he “spelled” his bowmen, taking -a turn at poling, and pushed on. Three miles an -hour is very good speed at this business, and thus, as -the way was long, it was far into the night before -they reached the Cliff Camp. Every one else but -Jack was in bed. He had taken his blanket and gun, -and settled himself patiently at the foot of the cliff.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Is that you, Nimrod?” said Carington.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You have had a long wait. Is your father up?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Then I must keep this money until Ellett can -give it to him to-morrow. Jump in. It is late.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_357'>357</span>In five minutes the boy was asleep in the bottom -of the canoe. Carington began to think over what he -should do next day about the tombstone business.</p> - -<p class='c007'>At his own camp-ground it took him some five -minutes to restore Jack, for a time, to the world of -the wakeful, and Carington himself was glad enough -to find his own couch.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Before dawn, Michelle touched him on the shoulder.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You are pretty hard to wake, Mr. Carington.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Am I? What is it? Oh, we are going after -bears. Hang the bears!” He rubbed his eyes, sat -up, and said to Michelle, “Wake that boy. It will -take ten minutes.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, sir.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>After Jack’s blanket was pulled away, and he himself -rolled on to the tent-floor, he began to wake up.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Coffee ready and lunch in knapsack, Michelle?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“All right, sir.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Carington got up, and, laughing at the guide’s difficulty -in reviving Jack, went down to the beach, had -a cold—a very cold—dip, and in a few minutes was -dressed and ready, while Jack, but half awake, was -making a boy’s still briefer toilet.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Meanwhile Carington looked into Ellett’s tent, and, -seeing him sound asleep, hesitated a moment as to -waking him, in order to give into his charge the -money he had drawn. As he was about to speak, -Michelle called out:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Halloa! Canoe’s adrift! Take care, Jack. Paddle -her in.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Carington ran out of the tent, and saw that Jack -was again ashore. He had put his gun and other -<span class='pageno' id='Page_358'>358</span>traps in the boat, and then, jumping in hastily to arrange -them, had caused the canoe to slip off into the -current. The slight break thus caused in Carington’s -mental processes made him for the time forget his -intention. Ten minutes later he remembered it, as -they were flying down-stream, and his hand chanced -to fall on the bulging packet of notes in his pocket.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Confound it!” he exclaimed. “I forgot it. It is -hardly worth while to go back, Jack. I meant to -leave the money I drew with Mr. Ellett. I fancy it -is safe enough.” Then he proceeded to secure the -pocket with a pin, saying, “We won’t go back. It is -late, as it is.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I was thinking that,” said Jack, to whom bears -were of far more importance than the balance in the -national treasury.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I meant to wake myself earlier, Jack; but I was -pretty tired. Usually I can wake when I please.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I did think you were up, sir,” said Michelle. -“You were a-saying things about roses when I -touched you.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Was I?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes. Just, ‘Rose—Rose’—like that.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That’s queer,” remarked Jack.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No. I am rather fond of flowers, more so than -most men. By the way, Jack, you are a first-class -performer in your sleep. If the wedding-guest had -heard your loud bassoon, I don’t know what he would -have done.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Who was the ‘wedding-guest’?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Ask Miss Rose.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I shall say you told me to ask.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_359'>359</span>“That is hardly necessary. Read the poem—‘The -Ancient Mariner,’ I mean.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I don’t care much for poetry stuff.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Don’t you? Well, you were pretty musical about -3 <span class='fss'>A. M.</span>” Then he played a little with the matter of -his rosy dream. “I think, Jack, that very often -dreams like this of mine seem to be the outcome of -some quite trivial event rather than of the larger things -of life. A day or two back I was trying to pick a rose, -and pricked my finger. I didn’t get the rose, but -I—meant to. I suppose that thorn stuck into some -pincushion of the mind. Odd, wasn’t it?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I dreamed about bears for a week after that -beastly circus on the beach.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No wonder,” and they laughed. “I don’t think -dreams very interesting, Jack; but twice in my life I -have chanced to see dreams produce some very -strange results. See how the mists are melting -away.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What was it about—the dreams?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“One, Jack, I cannot tell you. The other I can. -I had a guide in the Wind River country who used -to talk in his sleep. Several times when we were -alone in the hills he woke me up by the noise he -made. I used to whistle to quiet him long enough -to give me a chance to fall asleep. It is a good recipe -to stop snoring. I tried it on you.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Dick can beat me all hollow! But please go on, -Mr. Carington.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Well, one night he kept at it so long, and talked -so plainly, that I gave up in despair and listened. -He was unusually excited this time. I heard him -<span class='pageno' id='Page_360'>360</span>say, ‘Kill him! Kill him!’ Then he groaned and -rolled over and groaned so that I thought he had a -nightmare. At last he sang out, ‘Let me go! I -didn’t do it.’ After this I whistled ‘Yankee Doodle,’ -and it acted like a charm. Next morning at breakfast -I said, ‘Whom were you murdering in the night, -and were they really going to hang you, Billy?’ -When I said this he looked at me sharply, and I saw -he did not like it. He asked what he had said. I -thought it best to say as little as possible, and so -replied, ‘You might have been killing bears, Billy.’ -I saw he did not believe me. All day long that fellow -was restless and uneasy. He twice missed an -elk, and he was a perfect shot.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That was bad,” remarked Jack.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That wasn’t all. When I woke next morning -Bill was gone. I never saw him again, and I had a -pretty hard time getting back.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Do you think he had killed somebody?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Probably. Folks’ consciences seem to get a grip -of them in sleep, and to go to sleep themselves in the -daytime. It’s a queer enough story.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>As they talked the paddles were busy, the mist -melted, and they ran swiftly down-stream a mile or -more below the Cliff Camp. Here, at a bend, where -the river made a bold curve to the northwest, they -ran ashore.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That will do, Michelle. Be on the lookout about -six or seven to put us over. Come, Jack. Give me -the knapsack. Do not load yet.” As he spoke they -left the shore, and Carington, leading, struck into -the woods.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_361'>361</span>They walked slowly through a tangled wilderness -of trees, dead and alive, set in perplexing undergrowth, -Carington explaining his plans to the boy -as they tramped along.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“We shall go up the hill to left, over the crest and -down on to Loon Lake. It is a mere pond, but the -berries are thick on the far side, and, although now -there are none, the bears have a habit of going there. -We shall read our fortune clear when we get on the -shore.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“By the tracks on the edge?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes. The deep print of the foot makes little -pools; and if the water in these is still muddy, the -prints are recent; if not, we shall get no chance.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I see.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Out in the Rockies we used to stir up the mud in -the old prints with a stick so as to fool the other -fellows. It is an ancient trick. By the way, Jack, -at evening I shall set you on the ox-track to the west -of Colkett’s. I saw two porcupines there a day or -two back. I will go straight down the mountain to -Colkett’s. I shall be but a few minutes at Joe’s. I -want to arrange about lumber for my cabin. If you -see no game, don’t wait, but take the cross track to -Colkett’s. You can’t miss it. It starts back of the -big boulder in the clearing on the left, as you face -the river.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And you will meet me?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes. Perhaps before you quit the open.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I understand.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“The road doesn’t go all the way to Joe’s, but I -shall be on it before you.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_362'>362</span>“Yes.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Be very careful how you shoot. Colkett’s is not -far, and the river in the other direction none too -wide, and rifle-balls travel a long way.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, I will be careful.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And don’t carry your gun that way. So—that’s -better.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>It was full noon and cloudy as they walked noiselessly -down the slope to the lonely little pond in the -lap of the hills. At last they paused among a mass -of boulders.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Now, keep still. I ordered a man up last evening -late to put a black kelt on the beach at the far side, -where a brook comes in. I fancied it might fetch Mr. -Bear.” So saying, Carington adjusted his glass, and -searched with care the curved line of the farther shore.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Look there! It’s a good half-mile or more.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>The boy took the glass.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“There are some water-weeds in a bunch, and -above—oh, a black thing! A bear!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Come,” said Carington, “you will want a skin -for Miss Rose. Come.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>The boy went after him, and the long walk around -the lake began. The way was hard.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“We must go well back up over that hill, and then -down the gorge which carries the stream.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>At times the elder person glanced back at the noiseless, -tough little fellow. “Tired?” he said, as they -broke with care through the alders.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Awful,” said Jack.</p> - -<p class='c007'>At the foot of the hill, as they left the lake, they -came on a bit of old burnt land, and here the way -<span class='pageno' id='Page_363'>363</span>was even harder. Myriads of dead pines, spruces, -and firs, interlaced in tumbled ruin, made progress -difficult. Now it was a giddy walk, twelve feet in -air, along a slippery trunk, now a crawl under spiky -and splintered stems. Again Carington looked back, -and began to understand the value of the qualities of -endurance, strength, and grip of purpose, with which -the boy pursued his way.</p> - -<p class='c007'>At length, hot, brier-scratched, and weary, they came -out on the hilltop. Jack was for immediate march, -but Carington said:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No. Get cool; you could not hit a barn-door -now. Lie down a bit. You will want to be fully -rested. As for me, I am half dead,” and he dropped -on the scant soil. “Fine, isn’t it?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>A great sea of lesser hills was all around them, -with here and there a rare sparkle of silver from distant -windings of the river.</p> - -<p class='c007'>As for Jack, who lay on the summit, his eyes were -eagerly searching the ravine down which they were -to go.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“A friend of mine—oh, drop that bear, Jack; -he’ll keep—a friend of mine says that to enjoy a -view like this one must walk up. He has a notion -that somehow the exercise absolutely increases your -mental power to get the best out of it.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Jack was not clear as to this, and he said so.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I don’t understand it myself. I do not know why -it is true, but it is true—for me, at least.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Maybe because it’s hard work,” said Jack.</p> - -<p class='c007'>He could not get his idea into proper shape, not -having Ned’s facility of expression.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_364'>364</span>“Yes,” said Carington. “We like what is difficult -to get; but that is not all of it. I suppose, if bears -were as easy to get as omnibus horses, neither you -nor I would go after bears.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I guess that’s so.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What do you want to be, Jack, when you grow up?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I shall go to West Point.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Well, and after? The army is not a career, nowadays.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But there is first-rate sport in the West.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes; but that is for one’s idle hours. Life is a -pretty big thing, Master Jack.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What do you do, Mr. Carington?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I build bridges, lay out railroads, generally scrimmage -with nature to make life easier for man. How -would you like that?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I don’t know.” He had a clever lad’s indisposition -to commit himself. “Is it easy?—I mean, to learn. -I hate books—school-books, I mean.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No; it isn’t easy. But it is work for a man. Go -to a school of engineering for three or four years -when you are older, and then come and help me -to build bridges. All this energy of yours—all this -hatred of defeat—this—well, you have the whole -outfit, as we say in the Rockies, but it is no good unless -you know how to do things. The fellows that -know and have no steam, I don’t care about. Now, -we want that bear, don’t we?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Rather!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And first, we know how to get him, and then -we want him so tremendously that torn breeches, -scratched legs, and the like, make no kind of difference. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_365'>365</span>Just patent that combination, and, as my friends -down in Carolina say, ‘there you are.’”</p> - -<p class='c007'>The small skeptic returned, “But we aren’t there -yet.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“We will be. The wind is up the gorge. See -those ferns, how they sway up-hill. He can get no -scent of us.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That’s so. I wouldn’t have thought of that.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It is intelligence against mere instinct. Are you -easily lost in the woods, Jack? I am. I have no -resource except incessant observation of landmarks.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Jack looked up in surprise. “I—lost? No, I -never get lost.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But is that really so?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes. I wander off anywhere. It is easy to find -your way here; but in Maine it is harder. I was up -with father two years ago, at the Parmaccini lakes, -and he almost always had to ask me the way.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“How do you know it?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I don’t. I go home.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Like a dog?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I suppose so. I can’t tell.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But do you not unconsciously take note of the -sun, and the moss on the north side of the trees, and -so guide yourself?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No—I may; I am not sure. I only know I can -get back, and I go pretty straight. Father says it is -instinct.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That may be. I have seen guides who could go -through a wood without fail, and unerringly take -you to camp in the darkest night. They cannot tell -how they do it.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_366'>366</span>“I never thought much about it,” said Jack.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It is worth thinking about. You see most -instincts are intelligently aided in man. The thing -is to keep your instincts and help them with mind; -but I fancy you will lose yours as you cease to use -them. What you seem to have is like the instinct -which brings the salmon back to his own river, the -homing pigeon to its own cote, and the cat you may -have tried to lose to its own kitchen, miles across the -unknown streets of a great city.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Can you explain it?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No,” replied Carington. He was interested in the -talk. “No, it is incomprehensible. There are organs -in the ear which tell us the point from which sounds -come, and the eye is a help; but there is over and -above all, this instinct of direction, which guides the -bird, or, still more wonderfully, the fish, and to some -degree, I suppose, the men who have this capacity. -I was once lost in a cave in Virginia. After an hour -of turning and twisting in long passages, and among -forests of stalactites, two hundred feet underground, -the guide of a sudden got altogether bewildered and -terribly alarmed. A boy who was with us said, ‘I -can get out,’ and, by Jove, Jack, he took us back, -and in and out, and at last into the open air. He -never paused.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That was a scrape. I wish I had been with you.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Do you? I prefer not to try it again. Are you -rested?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Then come.” And they went over the slope, and -began to go down the bed of the scantily fed brook. -<span class='pageno' id='Page_367'>367</span>In a half-hour they came to a small basin whence the -water fell into the pool below. Creeping cautiously, -they reached the edge and looked down on the muddy -shore. The bear had gone. Then Carington took -his glass.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“The tracks go to the left,” he said. “Come, but -be careful.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Slowly and in silence they scrambled down to the -edge of the underbrush. Suddenly Carington caught -the boy’s arm and drew him back.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Hush!” he murmured. “Softly. There!” and -parting the bushes, he pointed through them. A large -bear was slowly moving along the curve of shore, -not forty feet away. “Your bear, sir; behind the left -shoulder. Steady!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No—you, sir!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Quick! You will lose him. Steady now! Well -done!” he cried aloud, as the boy’s rifle rang out, and -the bear fell, rose, and fell again. “No! Don’t run -in! Load! Now wait a moment!” And, so saying, -he moved along the beach. But poor Bruin was dead.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Clean shot, Master Jack!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“By George!” cried the boy. “What fun! I -thought—I was awful afraid you meant to shoot him -yourself.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That is not my way with my friends. I hate selfish -sportsmen. When you have killed as many bears -as I have, we will toss up for the first shot. He is -dead enough.” And Carington nudged the beast in -the ribs with his gun-barrel.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Jack inspected his prey with care. “We must get -his skin.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_368'>368</span>“Of course. Got a knife?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Then help me.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>It was a long business, and the sun was well down -when they were done, and the skin packed in a tight -roll on Carington’s back.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“We will hang up the meat and send up for it early -to-morrow. It is poor, at best. Come, Jack. I think -you are an inch taller. You have killed a bear!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Just haven’t I?” said the boy.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And you are going to be an engineer,” added -Carington, laughing.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I don’t know,” said Jack. “Would Michelle tan -the skin for me?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes. It shall be smoke-tanned and sent down to -you. Once smoke-tanned, it is fairly moth-proof, and -you will find it does not get stiff after a wetting. -The civilized man has never yet learned the art of -the tanner.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I want it for Aunt Anne.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I thought you said it was for Miss Rose?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No. That was what you said.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Did I?” And they went on in that uncertain light -which is more puzzling than darkness, in and out of -the water, or, with exclamations and laughter, pitching -over rocks and dead trees.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Half-way down the hill Carington stopped. The -brook-channel they were following descended to the -river in a widening gorge. He intended to follow it, -and, after seeing Colkett, meant to rejoin Jack, as he -had previously arranged. He now set the boy on a -disused lumber-road leading to the clearing, saying, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_369'>369</span>at last, “This is my way. You may see the porcupine -in the open to the left, but be careful how you shoot. -Confound it! How much longer do you think I am -going to be your pack-mule? I shall kick. Here, -carry your own plunder.” And, laughing, he cast the -bearskin on the ground.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Jack’s face lit up. This, of all things, was to be -desired.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I was going to ask you if I might carry it a bit.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Were you? Well, be off, and, if you lose yourself, -remember that all the slopes lead to the river.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes. As if any fellow didn’t know that!” said -Jack to himself, as he trudged away, very proud, with -the bearskin on his back.</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_370'>370</span> - <h2 class='c005'>CHAPTER XXIX</h2> -</div> - -<div class='c006'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/dropcap_c.jpg' width='100' height='96' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi1_0'> -Carington stood a moment, looking -after the boy. Then he readjusted -the straps of the knapsack, -which he had taken again when -Jack had loaded himself with the -bearskin, and went rapidly down -through the more open forest.</p> - -<p class='c007'>At first he had meant to look quietly about the -cabin, hoping to find the place where the children -were buried. On reflection, he changed his mind, -and determined to go at once to the Colketts’s, for -which he had a ready excuse. There was still -enough of light, but he had not as yet the least idea -where the little graveyard lay. Better, perhaps, he -thought, to ask Dorothy, and to return at mid-morning, -when Joe would be away. That there was the -least peril in his search he did not think, despite -Lyndsay’s warning. It had interested him, and he -meant to be guided by it so far as to have some other -guide than Joe in September. That was all.</p> - -<p class='c007'>At the edge of the clearing he climbed over the -snake-fence, and walked at once to the well, being -hot and thirsty. Mrs. Colkett, seeing him, came out -of the cabin, and met him as he began to lower the -bucket. He turned as she came.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_371'>371</span>“Good evening, Mrs. Colkett. Is Joe about? I -have a job for him.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“He’s ’round somewhere. Joe!” she called, in a -high-pitched voice; “Joe!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>The man came from the cow-shed, and joined them -at the well.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Was you wantin’ me, sir?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, Joe. I mean to build a cabin on the island -this fall. Remson will do it. I saw him yesterday. -He wants you to get out a lot of squared lumber. -Can you do it?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I will give you the measurements before I leave. -It will be a pretty good job for you. Mind you pick -out good stuff.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I will; no fear of that. Want some water, sir?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Joe let down the bucket, and brought it up brimming. -He set it on the rim of the well. Meanwhile -Carington sat on the ledge, and, tilting the bucket, -wetted his handkerchief and wiped his brow.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That’s jolly good. By George, but I am warm! -I have had a hard tramp.” As he completed this -brief refreshing of the outer man, he looked up, and -for a moment considered the scaffold of big bones on -which time and care had left Susan Colkett but a -minimum amount of flesh.</p> - -<p class='c007'>He took no more deliberate notice than do most -people of the features, which gave him, however, in -their general effect, a sense of strangeness and of -vague discomfort. The eyes were too big, and, like -the cheek-bones, too red, the features large. Beside -<span class='pageno' id='Page_372'>372</span>her the stout husband, muscular and not unkindly of -look, presented an odd contrast. There did not seem -much harm in him, and how miserably poor they -must be!</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Come over soon,” said Carington; “I will tell you -then more precisely what I want.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“He’ll come,” said the woman.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Very good.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Would you mind, sir, to give Joe a little in advance? -I’ll see he comes.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Why not? Certainly!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“The fact is, Joe he’d never think to ask it; he’s -that modest.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Carington, who had been looking at her husband’s -face, was of opinion that he was pretty full of -whisky, and just now dulled with drink. Still, he -was a good workman, and the misery in which they -lived was but too obvious. He might have found a -more certain agent, but then he would have lacked -excuses for the interviews which his present purpose -required.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I will tell you just what we want when you come -over, and, as to pay, I shall be glad to give you now -a moderate advance.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Thank you, sir,” said Joe.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“He’ll come to-morrow, sure. Fact is,” she went -on, “we ain’t a dollar, and there’s no work, and this -house, there’s a man in Mackenzie’s got a mortgage -on it, and the pork’s about out.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Will you have to go?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That’s what we’ll have to do.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Rather hard, that.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_373'>373</span>“I wouldn’t mind so much if it wasn’t to leave -them dead children, sir, and no man to care for their -graves. ’T ain’t like as if we was rich.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Are they buried here, Mrs. Colkett?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, they’re put away, back in the woods. You -might call that buried. We are just clean broke, -Mr. Carington, and that’s all there is to say.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I am sorry for you.” And he was, despite all he -knew, being a man pitiful of what led to crime or -to want. “I shall be very glad to give you help -now.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“The lawyer man he’s coming to-morrow, pretty -early. If we ain’t got twenty dollars, the cow must -go.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Can he take it? I don’t understand that.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“He says so. I don’t rightly know. We poor -folk can’t ever tell. We most always get the worst -of it.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>She played her part and told her lie well, looking -down as she spoke, and at last wiping her eyes, while -Joe uneasily shifted from one foot to another as he -stood.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Carington put his hand in his pocket, and took out -the roll of notes. As he unfolded them, the woman’s -eyes considered them with a quick look of ferocious -greed. He counted out twenty-five dollars, and gave -the money into her hand, replacing the roll in his -pocket as she thanked him. After this he took the -bucket, tilted out of it half the water, and, raising it, -drank. As he buried his head in its rim, Susan -caught Joe by the arm, and pointed to the thirsty -man, whose back was toward them. She looked -<span class='pageno' id='Page_374'>374</span>around in haste, took a step toward a broken ax-helve, -which lay near by, and then stood still, as -Carington set down the bucket. He had been nearer -death than he ever knew.</p> - -<p class='c007'>As he turned, the woman’s face again struck him. -It was deeply flushed; the large, sensual lower lip -was drawn down, so as to uncover a row of large -yellow teeth, and the face was stern.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Thank you, sir,” she said again, quick to notice -his look of scrutiny.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You are welcome. Come, Joe. I want to talk -over the lumber.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>As Joe went by her, Susan caught his arm with -so fierce a grip that he exclaimed aloud.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What is it?” said Carington, pausing.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I hurt my foot last week, and I just stumped my -toes—that’s all.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>They walked on and reached the house. Here she -passed them and went in. While they stood a moment -in talk, she moved to the far corner, and took -from its rack Joe’s old-fashioned muzzle-loading rifle. -She knew that, as usual, it was loaded. Then she -hesitated, set it down against the table, and fetched -a bowl of milk to the door.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You might like a drink of milk?” she said. -“Come in. It’s good. Dory fetched it; our cow’s -run dry. Hers was better anyway. It’s right rich.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Carington might have thought of Jael as Mrs. -Colkett faced him. “She brought him butter in a -lordly dish.” His thoughts, however, were far away.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No, thank you,” he replied, absently.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Won’t you rest a bit, sir?”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_375'>375</span>“No, I must go.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Profoundly disappointed, she went in, sat down, -took hold of the rifle, and then set it aside, as she -listened.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I am not over sure of the way, Joe.” He knew -it well enough. “Come with me a bit.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, sir.” They went around the cabin and struck -off into a forest road. At the brook, which crossed -it some fifty yards from the house, Carington turned -off the road. He had brought Joe thus far with the -indistinct intention of sounding him about the lost -tombstone. Suddenly, however, Joe said:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I wouldn’t go down the trail by the stream, sir.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Why not?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It’s shorter, but it’s awful muddy.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, that doesn’t matter.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You’d lose your way, sure.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Nonsense.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>The man’s manner was so uneasy that Carington -at once concluded that the trail might lead near to -the object of his search.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Good night,” he said, abandoning his intention to -question Joe. “I shall take the brook trail. Don’t -come with me. I see you are very lame.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Don’t you try that way, sir. You—you—I got -stuck in that swamp last fall. It’s real bad.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Carington was now still more certain of the cause -of the lumberman’s persistent warnings. “I’ll risk -it,” he said and set off. “Good night.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Good night. Keep the left side, if you will take -the trail.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“All right, Joe.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_376'>376</span>He crossed the rivulet, and kept to the right bank. -Joe stood a moment looking after him. The brook-path -would bring Carington full in sight of the -tombstone, and the shadows were not yet deep -enough to hide it. A great fear came upon him of a -sudden. He turned, and ran limping back to the -house.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What is it?” she cried, as he stumbled in. “Is he -dead? Have you done it?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No, no! I couldn’t stop him! He’s gone down -the brook. Oh, Lord, he’ll see it, and I’m done for! -He’s a-goin right for it.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>She broke out, “Here!” and thrust the rifle into his -hand. “Now is your chance! It’s a heap of money. -Go! go! You are ruined, anyway. Ruined! He’ll -see it. He’ll see it, sure. Make it safe. Quick!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>The man stood still. “I can’t! I just can’t!” He -was shaking as with ague.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Coward! Fool! Give it to me.” And she tore -the rifle from his hand.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Susie! Susie! It’s murder.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>He caught her arm, and her gown, which tore in his -grasp. She thrust him aside with a blow of her open -hand on the chest. He fell over a chair, and got up, -limping, unsteady, in extreme pain from his hurt foot. -She was gone.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I will kill you if you follow me,” he heard, as she -passed the open window.</p> - -<p class='c007'>He believed her. He was afraid. He went to the -door, limped back, and, falling into a chair, stuffed -fingers into his ears, while sweat of terror ran down -his cheeks. A moment passed, then another, and, despite -<span class='pageno' id='Page_377'>377</span>his childlike precaution, he heard his rifle ring -through the forest stillness, and upon this he burst into -tears, and cried aloud, “Oh, Lord, oh, Lord God!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>As he spoke, he rose up, and stood in agony of -expectation. The woman came in.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Where’s your powder and ball?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I ain’t none. Last charge,” he gasped. “Did you -miss him?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Miss! No. Take an ax, and go and make sure. He -ain’t to be feared now. I hit him sure. Go and get -the money. Haven’t you that much pluck, you sot?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I dassen’t.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“He’s got his gun, Joe, and I had a notion he -might be just crippled, and I’d come and get a load -and make certain.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>As she spoke, he stood by her, swaying on his feet, -dazed.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Great God, are you a man!” she cried.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Not that sort,” he said, slowly. “Did you say -you done it, Susie?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Did I? You fool! Go and get the money. He -won’t hinder you none.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I couldn’t, Susie.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>She looked about her, in no wise intimidated or -hurried. An ax stood in the corner.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What! What! You mustn’t!” he cried.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Go and get a spade,” she said. “I’ll fetch the -<a id='corr378.28'></a><span class='htmlonly'><ins class='correction' title='money.'>money.”</ins></span><span class='epubonly'><a href='#c_378.28'><ins class='correction' title='money.'>money.”</ins></a></span> And, seizing the ax, she thrust him aside -as he stood in the doorway. “You white-livered -coward, get out of my way, or I’ll brain you.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>He shrunk aside. He could only say, “Susie! -Susie! Don’t—don’t!”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_378'>378</span>“Off with you!” And passing him, with no more -words, she ran around the cabin and disappeared in -the darkening forest.</p> - -<p class='c007'>This time she moved with extreme caution, so as to -approach her victim in another direction. Nevertheless, -being, like most of the forest-dwelling women, a -fair shot, she felt coolly certain of her prey.</p> - -<p class='c007'>After leaving Joe, Carington had followed the -brook, or rather the trail beside it, for some hundred -yards, when he noticed a gleam of white among the -shadows. Anything unusual in the forest is sure to -win instant notice from men accustomed to wandering -and to keeping all their senses alert. Moreover, he -was now keenly observant. He stopped, and, crossing -the brook, broke through the undergrowth, and -stood at once in a clearing some twenty yards wide. -As he came nearer to the three little mounds, now -dimly visible, he saw the white slab, and instantly understood -that his guess had been correct. A little -while he remained still, in thought recalling what -Dorothy had said, and gradually seeing in his mind -the pitifulness of it all: the crude animal eagerness -of the mother; the rough, unthinking man’s wish to -please her.</p> - -<p class='c007'>At last, laying aside his rifle, he knelt down, and, -unable to see, felt with his hands the surface of the -stone. “Ah!” he exclaimed, recognizing on the back -the dints poor Joe’s tool had made. Next he struck a -match, and, guarding it with his hands, read the inscription. -The match went out before he had quite -done. He lit another.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Ah me!” he murmured; “this is a strange world.” -<span class='pageno' id='Page_379'>379</span>And he read, “Of such are the kingdom of heaven.” -“What a sad business!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>He lifted his hand to cast aside the still-burning -match. At this instant, while still on his knees, there -was a flash of light. He heard no sound, but fell -across the graves, motionless.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Meanwhile, Jack, with swift feet, eager for home, -trotted down the broken road, and, to his disgust, -finding no porcupines, struck easily into the cross-road, -and, passing the boulder, moved away along the -forest-track. At last the way became less and less -plain; but, trusting by habit to his sense of direction, -he pushed on into the wood.</p> - -<p class='c007'>A little surprised not to meet his friend, he concluded -that he might possibly have missed his way. -For the first time the boy hesitated. Then, as he -stood, he heard a rifle, and, sure at once that Carington -must have shot something, he ran with greater -speed. In a few moments the tangle of undergrowth -checked his pace. Some five minutes or more went -by, and he saw a flare of light. Thinking it strange, -he hurried his steps, and then, of a sudden, stood still.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The woman had carefully approached her prey, ax -in hand, and at last saw, as she strained her vision, -that Carington’s rifle lay out of his reach. Reassured, -she went on more boldly. Looking around, and seeing -no one near, she calmly lifted the man’s head, and -let it fall. This seemed enough. She took the roll of -money, and began to disengage the watch-guard; but, -unable to release the catch in the buttonhole of his -jacket, struck one of the matches which, as usual, she -had in her pocket, caught up a scrap of birch-bark, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_380'>380</span>and, lighting it, saw by the flare how to undo the -chain. As she dropped the watch into her bosom, a -long gasp broke from the chest of the man beneath -her.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“He ain’t done for,” she exclaimed, and rose to her -feet, the roll of burning birch in one hand, the ax in -the other. She stepped back a pace, cast down the -blazing bark, which flashed forth anew as she let her -right hand slip up the handle and lifted the ax.</p> - -<p class='c007'>A voice rang out to the left, “Stand, or I’ll -shoot!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>She set a foot on the fading bit of fire, and, still -gripping the ax, fled, with one hoarse cry, through -the woods, striking against the trees, falling, tearing -her hands and clothes in the raspberry vines.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Joe heard her coming, and stumbled out.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“He ain’t dead,” she cried, “and there’s another -man there. I got the money, though. Come! quick! -Take blankets—go on to the road. I’ll be there in a -minute. Don’t stand staring. You’re drunk!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>He was. All day long he had been drinking; and -when she went out, he found his bottle and emptied -it, half crazed with fear. He obeyed her with difficulty -and came out staggering—letting the blankets -trail, and stumbling as he went. Then he halted.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Where am I going?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, the river! the river!—the dugout! Fool! -sot! The dugout’s at the lower landing, isn’t it? -I left it this morning.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, it’s there.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Then wait at the road.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>She went back into the cabin, caught up some -<span class='pageno' id='Page_381'>381</span>garments, and threw them out of the window. Next -she raked the fire out onto the floor, and, when again -at the door, caught the kerosene-can from a shelf, -with no tremor or haste, uncorked it, and threw it -onto the scattered fire. A great yellow blaze went up, -and she barely escaped in time. She stood a moment, -and turned away laughing. “There won’t be much -for that lawyer-man, I guess.” One of her starved -hens, which had ventured into the cabin to forage, -was hurled out by the blast, blind and scorched, and -reeled about making strange noises. “Gosh, but -that’s funny!” she cried, snatching the ax and following -Joe.</p> - -<p class='c007'>At the fence she found Joe.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What’s been a-doin’, Susie?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Shut up, and hurry, if you want to save your -neck.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“’T ain’t my neck.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What!” she cried. There was that in her voice -which quieted the man, and they went as swiftly as a -reeling head and hurt leg permitted down to the -landing.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Set down,” she cried, and pushed off the pirogue. -“Can you paddle?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I can.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Then do it,” and they went away into the darkness, -down the hurry of the stream.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Jack had dimly understood that something was -wrong as he came through the edge of the wood, but, -as the birch flared up in its fall through the air, he -caught sight of a man’s body, and of the backward -step of one about to strike with an ax. Then he -<span class='pageno' id='Page_382'>382</span>called to her. As she fled he ran out, and, hearing -the noise of her retreat more and more distant, he -dropped beside the man.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It’s Mr. Carington! Is he dead? She shot him! -I heard it—oh, this is awful! What shall I do?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Mr. Carington!” he called. “Mr. Carington!” -As he shook his shoulder, he guessed it was blood -he felt on his hand.</p> - -<p class='c007'>He stood up at last, and listened. There was no -sound but the deep murmur of the distant river. -More at ease, he struck a match, for the birch flame -was out, and, bending over, looked at the body.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“By George! he’s not dead; he’s breathing.” -And still his anxiety was intense. He took both -rifles, dropped a shell in each, ran to the edge of the -clearing, and laid them down. Running back, and -catching Carington under the arms, he tried to drag -him to a shelter. It was in vain. The tall, sturdy -man was beyond his powers. But, as he tugged at -him, Carington groaned aloud. At the next pull, he -spoke:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What’s wrong? Who are you?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I am Jack, sir. You have been shot.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Did I do it?—my rifle?” he murmured, feebly.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No—a woman.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What? What’s that? A woman!” The shock -of the ball-wound and the subsequent faintness, kept -up by loss of blood, were partly over.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I am dreadfully weak. What an infernal business! -Where am I?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“In the woods; in the woods. Can you get over -to the bush? They might come back.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_383'>383</span>“I’ll try. Great Scott! It’s my left shoulder.” -And he fell in the effort to get to his feet. “I can’t -do it. Get my flask. Ah, that’s better.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>This time he crawled with one arm and Jack’s help -to the margin of the clearing, and at last lay among -the underbrush.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Tie a handkerchief, tight, here, around my arm-pit. -I don’t think it bleeds. It might. Now lie -down, and keep an eye over yonder. In a while I -shall be better. What a deuce of a business! Now -keep quiet. Are you loaded?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes—both rifles.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Jack waited, a hand on his rifle. Presently Carington -said, feeling his pocket with the right hand, -“George! that’s it. I was a fool. It’s gone! and -my watch!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“How’s that?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No matter now. Halloa, Jack, what is that light?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Light?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes,” for the upward glow of the blazing cabin -now rose in the sky overhead, and soon began to -send arrowy flashes of illumination through the -trees.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Can’t be the woods,” said Carington. “They are -all wet, and there are few pines. Let us try to get -out of it.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>This time he did better, but it was slow work, and -Jack became more and more anxious as the light -grew behind them, and now and then sparks fell -through the foliage about their path. They were -soon close to the shore.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Stop!” cried the boy. “Who’s there?”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_384'>384</span>“Good Heavens!” said Lyndsay. “Jack! Jack!” -and Rose, at his side, repeated his name. “What is -wrong?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I got a little hurt,” said Carington, leaning against -a tree. “That is all. It is of no consequence.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“He’s shot,” Jack blurted out. “A woman shot -him. Oh, but I’m glad to see you!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>At this Rose exclaimed, “Shot!” and caught at a -great, friendly pine near by and held fast to it, until -a moment of its stay sufficed to steady her. “Is it -bad?” she said, in a voice which elsewhere might -have told enough, had the comment of her face been -visible.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No,” said Carington, cheerfully. “It is really of -no account, Miss Lyndsay. Let us get away. I can -tell you all to-morrow.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Lyndsay put a strong arm around him, and, thus -aided, they were soon at the shore, where Michelle in -Carington’s canoe lay ready beside Lyndsay’s.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Mr. Carington’s hurt,” said Lyndsay, and in a few -words explained the matter.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Carington, too weak and dazed to resist, or indeed -to care, found himself in a minute in Tom’s boat with -Lyndsay, while Rose and Jack followed in Michelle’s -canoe.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Down-stream,” said Lyndsay, “and hurry, my -men.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Where are you taking me?” asked Carington, -feebly.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“To the Cliff Camp, of course, my dear fellow. We -are going to get even on the bear business.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You are very good.” He was in dreadful pain, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_385'>385</span>but even this did not prevent the pleasant reflection -that he was to be under the roof with Rose Lyndsay.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“By George!” he added, “it hurts.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I know well enough,” said Lyndsay. “You are -not bleeding, however. I still have one of these leaden -hornets in me. It takes the pluck out of a fellow, at -first.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I should think it did!” said Carington.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Don’t talk now. It can’t be serious. To-morrow, -or later, we shall want to hear more.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Meanwhile Rose in her own canoe was hearing from -Jack all that he knew of the day’s misadventure.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That will do,” she said, at last, and fell back on -her seat, deep in thought. There are some fruits -which only winter ripens quickly.</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_386'>386</span> - <h2 class='c005'>CHAPTER XXX</h2> -</div> - -<div class='c006'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/dropcap_l.jpg' width='100' height='96' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi1_0'> -Lyndsay had just come in when he -saw the glow of the fire over the -hilltop. He was curious and a little -anxious. Wood-fires are of all things -what men dread the most, when -once they have been face to face -with their terrors. He called his men again, and -ordered them to take him up the river. Rose, who -had been with him on the pool, asked at once to go -with him.</p> - -<p class='c007'>He said, “I see no objection. Get a wrap and -make haste.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Thus it chanced that in a few moments they were -poling up the stream with more than usual speed.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Halloa!” cried Lyndsay, as a dugout shot by -them in the darkness. “What’s wrong up above?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>There was no reply.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Isn’t that queer?” said Rose. “How uncivil!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Very.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>At the landing they went ashore, and pushed on to -see what was the source of the blaze.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Presently Lyndsay halted, noticing the sparks about -him. “There is no wind, Michelle.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No, sir; and the woods are soaking wet. I’ve a -notion it’s Colkett’s.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_387'>387</span>“Best to see. I will wait at the boat. I don’t -want to run any risk with Miss Lyndsay.” But at -this moment he heard Jack’s challenge, and so all the -threads of my story are spun together.</p> - -<p class='c007'>As they ran down-stream, Lyndsay was a little uneasy -concerning what might be his wife’s judgment -as to his course in regard to Carington; but he had -felt very deeply the obligation under which the -young man had placed them, and he was clear -enough that there had been really nothing else to -do. Nevertheless, he was shrewd as to the domestic -management of the matter. At the landing he said -to Rose:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Wait a moment, you and Jack,” and then ran -up the steps and into the house.</p> - -<p class='c007'>By this time Rose was in full command of herself, -and able, as her father left them, to speak tranquilly -enough to the wounded man.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, he was in some pain; but, to judge from his -own feelings, the trouble could not be grave.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Then she asked, quite naturally, if Mr. Ellett had -been told, and learning that he had not, sent Jack -to find Polycarp, that he might take a note to the -Island. When Jack came back with the Indian, -Rose said:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I must see papa about the note for Mr. Ellett. -Ah, here he comes.” She did not wait to complete -this business, but turned to the canoe where Carington -still lay, and said:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Good night, and good-by, too, for a few days. -Mama will keep you well caged. You may rest assured -of that!”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_388'>388</span>In the very dim light she saw him put out the -hand nearest to her. She took it, felt the lingering -grasp, already fever-hot, that would have delayed the -moment’s soft prisoner, but dared not. She said -again:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Good night. Here is papa,” and moved away, at -first slowly, and then quickly.</p> - -<p class='c007'>When Mr. Lyndsay entered the cabin his wife -looked up.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What is it, Archie?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Don’t be alarmed, Margaret. Mr. Carington has -been shot—badly wounded.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Not by Jack!” cried the mother.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, no! No. It’s a queer story. I have not -heard it fully. He bled a good deal, and—”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Do you think him in danger, Archie?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It is hard to say, especially so soon.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Surely you did not leave him at their camp?” -said Margaret.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No. He is in my canoe on the beach.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Good gracious! Is he?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Anne smiled, as she would have said, inside of her, -and reflected upon the wisdom her brother had displayed, -for at once Margaret, easily captured by appeals -to her pity, was afoot, and, for the time, intent -alone upon what was best to be done.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I would send Tom to Mackenzie for a doctor, and -he must stay. I think, Archie, you will have to give -Mr. Carington your room and take to a tent.” Then -she went off to set the room in order, while Lyndsay -returned to the beach, still a little anxious, but also -a little amused.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_389'>389</span>Rose had gone.</p> - -<p class='c007'>By and by the guides carried the wounded man up -into the neat chamber, where Lyndsay helped him to -bed, and was easily able to ascertain that the ball -had crossed the chest beneath the skin, passed over -the left shoulder, and out again—a severe flesh-wound.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It does not bleed,” said Lyndsay, “and I think -there is no very serious hurt. Can you move your -arm?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes,—with pain.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Then the joint is safe. I have known fellows -brevetted for things no worse.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But my puzzle is, why what is only a flesh-wound -should have made me drop as if I were dead. I cannot -understand it.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“The doctors call it ’shock,’” said his host. “At -times it affects the head, and a man hit in the foot or -arm goes crazy for a time, or else it stops the heart, -and he faints.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That was it, I suppose.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>As they talked Lyndsay put on a wet compress, -and, with the skill learned long since, where bullets -were many and bigger, he made his patient reasonably -comfortable, and left him at last under Mrs. -Lyndsay’s despotic care.</p> - -<p class='c007'>In the mean time, Anne, anxious to know more, -had looked for Jack. At ease concerning Carington, -he was off somewhere, busy about the preservation -of his precious bearskin, and Rose, too, had disappeared. -Anne felt that she must wait, and, as -usual, went to her room, to rest a little before their -<span class='pageno' id='Page_390'>390</span>retarded dinner. She opened the door, and instantly -went in and shut it. Rose was lying on the bed, trying -hard to suppress her sobs, knowing well that she -would be but too easily heard.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Dear child, what is it?” said Anne.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I don’t know. Oh, do, please, let me alone!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But I must know. It is so unlike you. Mr. -Carington is in no danger.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I know. I don’t care whether he is in danger -or not. I do care! It isn’t he! It’s—it’s me—it’s -I. I can’t tell. I am ashamed. Are all women -this way? Oh, I hate to be such a fool!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Anne sat down. “I don’t quite understand, dear; -but, no matter. What is clear is that you are going -to have hysterics.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I am not going to have hysterics.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Then keep quiet, and don’t talk.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You made me talk!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I did. I am an ass.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No—no! Kiss me, aunty. I am so miserable! -Couldn’t I get to bed quietly?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes. Your mother is busy. Come.” And thus, -when at last dinner was on the table, and Mrs. Lyndsay -asked for her daughter, she was told that Rose -had a headache, and then, when she got up to go to -her, that she was asleep, which may or may not have -been true.</p> - -<p class='c007'>At dinner, between what Carington had told Lyndsay -and Jack’s very clear statement, the story came -out plainly enough. The boy was praised to his -heart’s content, and when Anne had said that this was -courage in the right place, and Carington refused to -<span class='pageno' id='Page_391'>391</span>sleep until he had thanked him, Jack felt that, including -the bearskin as a part of the day’s blessings, life -had no more to give. As for Dick, he settled the -genus and the species of the bear, and Ned sat in a -corner and meditated, seeing the whole day’s events -in pictures, with curious dramatic clearness.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Next morning the doctor arrived, and further reassured -them. Mr. Carington was in for a day or two -in bed, and then might be out in the hammock.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Of course Ellett had been informed the night before, -and had come down at once. When again, next -day, he returned, there was a long consultation, and it -was decided that the patient was so well that Ellett -might move down and take care of him, that the doctor -would come back and stay a few days, and that -Mr. Lyndsay and his family might go away on Sunday -night. To this plan Mrs. Lyndsay somewhat -eagerly assented, for reasons of which she said nothing, -an unusual course for the little lady.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Thus, on Friday and Saturday, what with fishing -and packing, every one was busy.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Preliminaries are the bane of existence,” said -Anne, “but postliminaries are worse”; and thereupon -she asked Ned if that word was in “Worcester,” and -declared for a dictionary of her own making.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Mrs. Lyndsay had no opinion of Anne’s capacities -in any practical direction, and declined for a day her -help in the care of Mr. Carington. But now she was -over-busy, and thus it chanced on the next morning, -being Saturday, that she asked Anne to look after -their wounded guest. They had purposely brought -no maids with them, and, even with all of Rose’s help, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_392'>392</span>Anne had been obliged to assist in packing, for, as -concerned her books, she was as old-maidish and precise -as are some other of her corps about what Anne -regarded as quite unimportant properties. To escape, -at last, out of the bustle of packing, and to find some -one to talk to or be talked to, was entirely to her taste.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Certainly, Margaret,” she said.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And do not let him talk.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And do not talk to him, dear.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Of course not.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“There is nothing so fatiguing.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No. That is quite the case.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And be careful about drafts.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes. Is that all?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I think so,” returned Mrs. Lyndsay, doubtfully, -and then went before Anne into Carington’s room.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I have brought you a new nurse. My sister-in-law -will look after you this morning. You must not -let her talk to you.” And having thus doubly provided -against the deadly malaria of conversation, she -went out as Anne sat down.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Carington liked the maiden lady, with her neat -dress and erect carriage, which no suffering had taught -the stoop of the invalid; moreover, her unusualness -pleased him. Her talk, too, was out of the common, -and full of enterprise. What she used of the learning -or sentiment of others seemed also to acquire a new -personal flavor. Mrs. Westerly had once said, “When -Miss Anne quotes Shakspere, it loses the quality of -mere quotation. She can’t say anything like the rest -of us.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_393'>393</span>As she sat down, she said demurely, “I am not to -talk to you. Let us gossip: that is not talk.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, no,” he said, joyously. “I am just about in a -state for mere chat, which involves no thinking. Mrs. -Lyndsay has been severe.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I have to fight her a little myself, dear, good, obstinate -creature as she is. I suppose she did not talk -to you at all,—not a word, I presume?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I decline, Miss Anne, to betray the weaknesses of -my nurses.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That is well. Negations often answer questions -quite sufficiently in the affirmative. I know she did -talk to you, and about that miserable tombstone. She -cannot help it, poor mother!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes. I thought it pitiable. She seemed unable to -escape from it.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It is like her; but it is not wise. Margaret is -persistent always. Her likes and dislikes are changeless. -She is obstinate in her kindness, her loves, and -her charities. As good as gold, we say; but goodness, -like gold, is not an insurance of fertile results in all -its relations. I mean that goodness can be sometimes -exasperating. But, as usual, my tongue is indiscreet. -I would like you to understand her. She is worth the -trouble.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Thank you. I never can forget her tenderness -and her kind carefulness. Never!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Our real battles are over my books. She says my -little library is a wilderness of books, and every -autumn, on my return, I find the servants have had -orders to dust my books.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“How dreadful!”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_394'>394</span>“Is it not? And the strange things that happen! -I like to arrange my books so that they shall be happy, -and when I come home and find Swinburne in among -the volumes of Jeremy Taylor, and Darwin sandwiched -between Addison and the ‘Religio Medici,’ I get frantic -and say things. It is useless.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“How sad!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I shall assure her we—you and I—were only -gossiping. She has an abiding impression that I talk -only high science, and I detest science. Talk I must.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I think it will do me no harm. I am now quite -easy. I have no fever.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“None,” said Anne, taking his hand and looking -at her watch. “Pulse good, too. I don’t think a -talk will hurt you. Tell me when you are tired.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I promise, but you shall do the talking. I will -listen.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You had better be careful how you give such -large liberty. Did you ever, by chance, know Miss -Pearson?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, yes,” and he laughed, “years ago—that -statistical lady in Germantown. I had some engineering -work near there. Oh, years ago: I was a -mere lad. I knew all those good people, Mrs. Fox -and the Mortons. But what about Miss Pearson? -Good woman, I take it?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, entirely; but she kept her religion on ice; -a sort of east-wind of a woman. She had that bloodless -propriety which passes muster for dignity. When -you gave me full discretion as to talk, I meant to tell -you her description of my conversation; I don’t -think I shall.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_395'>395</span>“Well, you are revenged, I think,” and he laughed. -“I find I must not laugh; it hurts. You will have -to be grave, if you talk at all.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I think I <em>must</em> tell you. She declared that if I -wanted to be amusing, I never hesitated to be either -inaccurate or untruthful, and that, while accidental -inaccuracy was deplorable, intended intellectual inaccuracy -was criminal!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That is surprisingly like her—or was. She is -dead, I think.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes. How it must bother her! One can’t imagine -accuracy in space, and where time is not. I don’t -suppose the angels plume themselves on punctuality.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Really, Miss Anne!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Well, I will try to be good. Now, don’t laugh! -Let us be serious. Do you suppose folks take the -seriousness of death into that other world? Not -that I personally regard it as so very grim a business. -There are many worse trials in life than dying, because -vital calamities may repeat themselves; but it -seems improbable that we shall have more than one -experience of this exit.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Who can say?” said Carington. “I have been -near it of late; but I can contribute to no wisdom.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I like to think I shall grin at the world from the -safe side of the fence,” she returned. “Miss Pearson -would have said that a due sense of the relative proportion -of things would be inconsistent in another -sphere with the minute dimensions of our earthly -jests.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And you call that serious?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I do. Don’t you?”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_396'>396</span>“No. I shall have to ‘p’int’ the talk, as Mrs. Maybrook -says.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And what shall we talk about? If I cannot put -a smile into my talk, I shall prefer silence.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>He made no answer for a time, and then spoke -gravely enough.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I have had a very narrow escape, Miss Anne, and, -but for that fine fellow, Jack, I should have been lost -to this life, or, if you like, this life to me.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, that is so. I am proud of the boy. He has -made a friend, I trust.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, and I can help him. I saw that in the talks -we had. One can tell, sometimes, when, of a sudden, -one comes into sympathetic touch with another nature. -It is like taking a key out of your pocket at need, and -finding it fit a strange lock and turn easily, and so -open a life to you. The sentence isn’t good, but you -know what I mean.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I do.” And again he was quiet a little while.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Miss Anne, may I tell you something?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Why not?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You may not like it.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Perhaps not. That is of no moment. I want to -hear. I always want to hear. My appetite for the -unknown is like that of a ghost for realities.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“This is real enough.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Well?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I care—oh, a great deal—for Miss Lyndsay.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Do you call that a secret? It was arithmetically revealed -to me by five roses, which should have been six.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You are a terrible woman, Miss Anne! The -witches were a trifle to you!”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_397'>397</span>“They had the insight of wickedness. I have the -sagacity of love. Rose is very, very dear to me.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Do you think it possible—”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That Rose should care for you? Yes. It is possible. -But, frankly, yours is a three weeks’ acquaintance, -ripened by unusual events. Neither she nor we -know you as we should know a man to whom—”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Let me interrupt you. I am thinking of the future. -One does not win a woman like Miss Lyndsay in a -day.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You are right. I think, were I you, I would assist -the future to take care of itself.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Thank you. I should like, much as I care for her, -to have her get quite away from any sense of obligation -to me. I almost wish she could entirely forget it. -Any man could have done the little I did, and, after -all, you are quite out of my debt.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No one can pay another’s debts. The heart has no -clearing-house. Rose must know that. You feel, as -I do, that no manly nature should want to be taken -for granted, as altogether what is best for life, just on -the chances of a minute of decisive action. You want -her to know you in many relations, and to know herself -also. Isn’t that so?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It could not be better stated.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“If you had saved her life a dozen times, she would -still reflect before she said ‘yes,’ and be the more apt -to hesitate because of the obligation. It is a strong -nature.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But I don’t want her to let—”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No. I understand, and don’t misunderstand me. -We are quite at one.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_398'>398</span>“And you will be my friend?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes. I like you. If you are good enough for my -Rose—I doubt— Come and see us; and be prudent -now. I never could hold my own tongue. Therefore, -much conversational adversity makes me a good adviser. -If you see Rose at all before we leave, be on -your guard.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Thank you again,” and he took her hand.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Now I must go. What a pity we were ordered not -to talk!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Dreadful, was it not? And how good we have -been! I assure you, Miss Anne, I am worlds the better -for your visit. Good-by. I am to be up on the -lounge on Sunday afternoon. Indeed, I am to be carried -out to the porch. I could walk well enough. -Don’t you think I shall have a chance to say good-by?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“To me? Oh, yes.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Please, Miss Anne, you know I mean Miss Rose!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Why not? And now I must go.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>She did not calculate on Mrs. Margaret, who was -now once more uneasy about this business, and had a -maternal mind to put in its way enough obstacles to -make the stream of love run anything but smooth. -As I have said, she was conservative. The unusual -distressed her. Rose’s other love-affairs had been conducted -after the conventional manner, and had caused -her no great discomfort. There was too much abrupt -romance in this courtship, and she feared for the -effect on Rose of its singularity, believing it might -unsettle her good sense and bring about a too hasty -result. She did not understand her daughter; few -mothers do.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_399'>399</span>It was late in the afternoon of Sunday, almost twilight, -when the canoes were loaded and ready. Rose -came down last and stood with the rest on the beach. -Mrs. Lyndsay, her husband, Anne, and the boys had -said good-by to Ellett and Carington, but the mother, -on this or that excuse, kept the men busy, until at -last, Ellett, seeing Carington’s impatience, called one -of his own people, and with his help lifted his friend -out on the porch.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The cliff hid from view the little group on the shore -below.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Confound it,” said the sick man, “they are gone! -No, I hear them. I think I shall walk to the steps, -Ellett.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You will do nothing of the kind!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Hang it all!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No. Keep still.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>At this moment, as Lyndsay was busy putting his -people in the boats, and Tom was thundering advice -and orders to the men, Anne said:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Really, Archie, Rose ought to say good-by to Mr. -Carington.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What is that?” exclaimed Margaret from her -canoe, which had just been shoved off from the strand.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Nothing, dear,” said Anne. “It is really ungracious, -Archie.” This in an aside.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But Margaret thinks—”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Margaret will make mischief by wanting not to.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Well, perhaps you are right. Run up, Rose,” he -said aloud, “and say good-by to Mr. Carington. He -is on the porch now.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I will go up with you,” said Anne; “I forgot to -<span class='pageno' id='Page_400'>400</span>say good-by myself,” and, with this mild prevarication -to assist her, Rose followed her aunt.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I came up to say good-by, Mr. Carington.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And I,” said Anne.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Good-by,” he said, putting out his hand. Whether -his eyes were as prudent as his tongue, may be -doubted.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You will write to me, Miss Anne?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I will, and Mr. Ellett will let us hear.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No, I shall do that myself.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Come, Rose,” called Lyndsay.</p> - -<p class='c007'>She turned and went away with her aunt. In a -few moments Carington saw the little fleet of canoes -scattering, as the paddles rose and fell. Then they -entered the swift current, and were lost to view -around the bend in the river,—the boys calling out a -loud “good-by,” and then breaking out into their -favorite song:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Seven braw sons had gude Lord James,</div> - <div class='line'>Their worth no Scot will gainsay;</div> - <div class='line'>But who shall match the bonny eyes</div> - <div class='line'>Of gentle Rose a Lyndsay?”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>“Who, indeed!” said Carington, as he shut his -field-glass with a snap.</p> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_401'>401</span> - <h2 class='c005'>CHAPTER XXXI</h2> -</div> - -<div class='c006'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/dropcap_r.jpg' width='100' height='99' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi1_0'> -Rose was in the boat alone with her -aunt. Neither being in the mood -for talk, they ran silently down the -broadening stream without a word. -The paddles dipped and rose; the -evening shadows crept forth, as it -were, out of the earlier darkness of the woods, and -again, as once before, they sped along in the gloom -of an overcast night.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The same soft odors of earth and spruce, the peculiar -smell of broken water, were as they had been. -Once more the hills seemed closing in upon them. -The clouded skies overhead appeared to be almost -within touch. Then the white flash and roll and -strange voices of the rapids went by them like the -mysterious uncertainties of a dream.</p> - -<p class='c007'>All was as it had been three weeks before: all but -Rose herself. She was under other skies, in the -strong tide of a mightier current. She locked her -hands, and set herself to put it all aside, and to win -again the mood of peace and serenity which these -three weeks had so disturbed. It would not come -back.</p> - -<p class='c007'>As for Anne, she lay against the piled-up luggage, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_402'>402</span>silent and thought-bound. She was in the dreary -company of pain, and smiled sadly as she glanced -back over the years in which it had been her foe or -friend, and again, as often before, wondered how long -it would last, and she be called upon to bear it with -ever-weakening physical power to make the fight less -easy.</p> - -<p class='c007'>At the landing, and while they were arranging to -go to the station, a man came down the bank and -asked for Mr. Lyndsay.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That is my name. How are you, Carstairs? What -is it?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“This way, sir, a moment. Could you let Michelle -come with me for half an hour,—or Tom. The body -of a man has come ashore on Caribou Bar. They -have taken it up to my barn. Some of the men say -it is Joe Colkett. We think one of your people -would know.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Lyndsay called Michelle, and, leaving proper directions, -went away with him.</p> - -<p class='c007'>In the barn, after twenty minutes’ walk, he found a -number of men, and the local magistrate. Two lanterns -lit dimly the threshing-floor.</p> - -<p class='c007'>The men stood about silent; the horses in the stalls -beyond changed feet, and the noises of the never-quiet -river came up through the night.</p> - -<p class='c007'>On the floor lay the body. Lyndsay took the lantern, -and bent over it.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, it is Joe! Poor fellow!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“He is badly cut up by them rocks,” said Michelle, -“and his foot.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Was it rocks?” asked Lyndsay. “The skull seems -<span class='pageno' id='Page_403'>403</span>broken. Poor fellow!” Then he took the magistrate -aside, and they talked long and earnestly.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, I got your message. Thursday night one of -the wardens hailed a dugout, and got no answer. -That was below your camp.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I passed it also, farther up—two people. It must -have been that woman and Joe. They fired their -house,—why, I do not know,—and got off with their -plunder.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“We shall catch her. Do you think she killed -Joe?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Perhaps! As like as not. But, if that woman is -alive, you will not catch her.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I shall wire to Quebec.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And you will let me know?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Certainly.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Carington’s evidence you can get, of course. I -really have none to give myself. The woman you will -never get.” And they did not. No dugout was found, -and whether she too was lost or escaped to breed further -mischief, none know.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Lyndsay walked swiftly back, and rejoined his people -at the station. When at last they were running -at speed between Quebec and Montreal, Anne said:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Archie, what was it last <a id='corr404.25'></a><span class='htmlonly'><ins class='correction' title='night?”'>night?</ins></span><span class='epubonly'><a href='#c_404.25'><ins class='correction' title='night?”'>night?</ins></a></span> Why did they -want you?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Then he told her, as he had already told his wife, -the sad ending of poor, simple Joe.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It is a miserable business,” she returned. “Really, -Archie, the morals which come at the end of life’s -fables are pretty useless for those most concerned.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_404'>404</span>On reaching home, Anne found a letter from Carington. -He wrote:</p> - -<p class='c011'>That astonishing woman—Dorothy Maybrook—has spent -most of her time with me. She calmly told Ellett to go a-fishing. -He went. I have been admirably nursed, and, as you may suppose, -have not lacked conversation. Who ‘p’ints’ Hiram, in -her absence, I do not know.</p> - -<p class='c012'>There has been no news of the Colketts. It is but too probable -that she killed the man, and got away in safety. I shall -hereafter entertain a profound respect for the intelligence of -crime.</p> - -<p class='c012'>It is great fun to hear Ellett and Dorothy. Do write to -me—and say pleasant things to all of those dear, good people -of yours. Tell Miss Rose I am not too badly crippled to ask for -a new place as bowman.</p> - -<div class='c013'>Yours, etc.</div> - -<div class='chapter'> - <span class='pageno' id='Page_405'>405</span> - <h2 class='c005'>CHAPTER XXXII</h2> -</div> - -<div class='c006'> - <img class='drop-capi' src='images/dropcap_t.jpg' width='100' height='101' alt='' /> -</div><p class='drop-capi1_0'> -The winter days went by, and, although -the bridge was built, it -seemed to need later much inspection, -until, by ill fortune, there were -bridges to build in Cuba, and -thither Carington went in haste. It -was therefore not until mid-June that he reached -home again.</p> - -<p class='c007'>While busy with his bridge, and later, he had found -himself often at Lyndsay’s table, and had come to be -a welcome guest. And yet he seemed no nearer to -the end he desired. One day, just after he had gone -to the West Indies, Anne Lyndsay had said to Rose:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I think that is a too patient man: I hate a man to -be as patient as that. If I were he, I would go away -and stay away.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“He won’t.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“How long will this state of things go on?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I do not know. I cannot be sure. I—aunty, one -ought to be so very sure. It is for life! I think he -understands me.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“If he were to leave you, my dear, you would cry -your eyes out.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I should.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“How many bears go to a wooing?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Let me alone, Aunt. I had better be let alone.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_406'>406</span>Then Aunt Anne, who was feebler than ever, said -to herself, “Love is the only fruit which ripens in -the spring.” But meanwhile Carington was away in -Cuba, as we have said, and the spring came and went -without results.</p> - -<p class='c007'>He found in his rooms in Boston, on his return, a -letter from Miss Anne Lyndsay. He was depressed -in spirits; the town was empty of all he knew, and -more than ever he felt the want of a home. When -last he saw Miss Rose, she was still, as always, pleasant, -gay, and friendly. He had never yet seen fully -the emotional side of a nature resolute by construction, -and perfectly mistress of all the protective ways -of the world of woman. Now and then the dim past -of their life on the river seemed to him as if it had -never been. More and more time, and the world appeared -to be widening the distance between them, -and yet once she had looked to be so near.</p> - -<p class='c007'>He sat a minute or two with Anne’s letter in his -hand. The maiden lady,—“Mistress Anne” he liked -to call her, after the Southern fashion his youth remembered,—Mistress -Anne had, as the months went -by, taken him quietly into the wide circle of her -friendships. Her letters, however, were rare enough. -She wrote many, but not often to Carington, although -from Cuba he had written frequently.</p> - -<p class='c007'>He put aside all the other notes and, lighting a -pipe, sat down with Anne’s letter, honestly glad of -the kindly relation it suggested.</p> - -<p class='c011'><span class='sc'>Dear Mr. Carington</span>: I have had a number of letters from -you of late, and this is all I have been able to give in return. I -have now to limit myself even as to this indulgence.</p> - -<p class='c012'><span class='pageno' id='Page_407'>407</span>You won’t want to hear about the new books, and you will -have, I presume, some quite absurd desire to know about my -good people. A man would say, “Everybody quite well, thank -you”; but, being a woman, I know better the masculine wants: -only women write satisfactory letters.</p> - -<p class='c012'>My good brother is well, and shamefully busy at the game -of the law. Mrs. Lyndsay is just now in bed. Dr. North -comes daily; but Margaret’s maladies, which I must say are -rare, are obstinate when they arrive. She has to read a report -next week at a society for the prevention of something to something. -If she lets that day go by in bed, I shall be alarmed. A -dose of duty will cure her at any time. She requires large doses -of pity when ill, and as to that I am grimly homeopathic.</p> - -<p class='c012'>Dick is at school—and Ned. They both want what no schools -give, some man who will know how to educate the peculiar, and -not insist that it be like the unpeculiar. As for Jack, he has -begun to work, and takes it hard, and has more rows than ever. -One envies England her India for these restless young Vikings. -In a week we join Lyndsay on the river.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Carington looked at the date. It was two weeks old.</p> - -<p class='c011'>My niece is very well; as handsome as ever; rather too serious, -as I think: one wants a little foolish vagueness in the -young. It gives to the human landscape atmosphere, as the -painters say. If you don’t know what I mean, I am sorry for -you. I tell Col. Fox that is what the Quakers lack—atmosphere. -(<em>I</em> call that <em>very</em> clever: <span lang="la" xml:lang="la"><em>vide</em></span> Ellett.) Fox says Friends -<em>are</em> rather definite,—think of the arrogance of calling themselves -Friends, and a big <em>F</em> also. This is the great and lovely -liberty of the letter. It may wander like a gipsy. I think really -I must go back and look. I meant to tell you what North said -about tombstone biography. He called it “epitaffy.” Isn’t that -lovely? Also, it has no manner of connection with the rest of -this meandering screed.</p> - -<p class='c012'>I was saying that Rose has become too grave. Do not be -alarmed. It is only a mood elongated. And now I am going to -do a very silly thing. No, I won’t! A word to the wise is said -<span class='pageno' id='Page_408'>408</span>to be enough; sometimes the silence of wisdom is better. I -dreadfully hunger after a chance to give you a dose of advice. -I write a big ℞, like the doctors’, in due form, with that stupid -flourish below, which is, I believe, their invocation to Jupiter -for luck (they need it); and then—I hesitate. Be so good as to -fill in this blank with what I shall only think, not say:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>I advise most positively—</div> - <div class='line'>...........?</div> - <div class='line'>...........?</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>I can hear your anathema.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I should think so, indeed!” exclaimed Carington; -“and what next?”</p> - -<p class='c011'>We shall be in camp before this reaches you. I had some -doubt about going myself, but I mean to have all the joys life -offers, or that I can decently lay hands on. When the thing is -over, I shall just say to my dear people, “By-by; see you again -shortly,” and laugh a little, and go to sleep. I never could see -why folks make such a fuss about dying. The way some people -think of it rises to the gravity of a jest. What <em>would</em> the -goody-goody world say to that—or my dear Margaret Lyndsay?</p> - -<p class='c012'>I hear that you are to be on hand soon. Mr. Ellett has gone -up the river, and promises to be very attentive to me. I am all -of a flutter. Read with care what I have not written, and -believe me,</p> - -<div class='c014'>Mysteriously your friend,</div> -<div class='c015'><span class='sc'>Anne Lyndsay</span>.</div> - -<p class='c012'>L’envoi.</p> - -<p class='c012'>If you are fond of Scotch literature the poems of Montrose -might be of interest.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Of all the nonsense ever I read!” said Carington; -but he went to the side of the room, where the long -bookcases overflowed with volumes on which the -dust had gathered in his absence. He looked them -over, and at last found the one he sought. “Montrose—Graham—James, -<span class='pageno' id='Page_409'>409</span>Marquis of, etc., author of -certain songs once popular.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>By and by he chanced upon a volume of Scotch -ballads, and sat down. Very soon he laid the book, -back up and open, on the table, and went on smoking. -After a half-hour he discovered that his pipe had -long been out. It was, in fact, cold.</p> - -<p class='c007'>He went forth at once, and assured his partners -that Cuban malaria necessitated Canadian air. In -twenty-four hours he was on his way to the river.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Three days later saw him on the waters he loved. -Toward five in the afternoon he heard voices singing. -He knew them well, and in a few minutes was ashore -at a bend of the stream.</p> - -<p class='c007'>For a few moments he stood, unseen, a little below -the lads, who lay back of a rock, caroling their -songs, having killed many trout, and filled themselves -with a mighty luncheon.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Carington listened a little, and then cried out, -“Any bears here?” and walked round the rocks. He -was noisily made welcome. “Give me a bit of something,” -he said. “I pushed on, and have had nothing -since nine o’clock.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“There isn’t much left,” said Jack. “Rufus ate -the big pie. There was only one little one for Ned -and me.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“They said they didn’t want it, and I wish I -hadn’t,” said Dick. “Pie’s an awful different thing -when it’s outside of you and when it’s inside.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I have observed that,” said Carington. “That -will do, Jack. A little marmalade, please. Bad, -Dick?”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_410'>410</span>“Very.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“When we get our deserts, we don’t always escape -whipping.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That’s so!” exclaimed Ned. “Just remember that, -Red Head.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Shut up!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Behave yourselves,” said Jack. “Fact is, sir, we -are all about ready for a row.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Bad as ever?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Worse—those two, I mean. I am like a lamb.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Or a bear-cub,” said Ned.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You wait a bit, old rhyme-snarler.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Halloa!” said Carington. “Not now, please. How -is everybody? and Miss Anne?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“We are all first-rate. Rose she is up there above -us on the point. She wanted to be alone; she loves -that. She told the big Indian to come down here and -wait till we go up. You can see her red umbrella. -She’s sketching. We are to stop for her at six. More -bread?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes. Bless me, it is five o’clock! I must get -away. What was that song? I thought I knew your -whole repertory.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh,” said Ned, “we found that last winter. Tune -up, Jack. Dick’s got colic in his bagpipes: he’s no -good.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I didn’t catch it quite. No, don’t sing it; say it -for me.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Well, here it is,” said Ned:</p> - -<div class='lg-container-b c008'> - <div class='linegroup'> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“It was a lorde of the North Countree</div> - <div class='line'>Cam’ wooing a lady of high degree.</div> - <div class='line'><span class='pageno' id='Page_411'>411</span>She wad nae listen, she would nae hear;</div> - <div class='line'>Till a wee bird sang in that lorde’s ear:</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“‘When spring-tide leaves are fair to see</div> - <div class='line'>Brave little wooers we birdies be.</div> - <div class='line'>Give me for love-luck bannocks three,</div> - <div class='line'>And I will pay a fairy fee.’</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“‘Ye shall hae bannocks fair and free</div> - <div class='line'>For all the birds in the North Countree.’</div> - <div class='line'>Up and whistled the little bird friend,</div> - <div class='line'>‘Wise folks begin where ither folk end.’</div> - </div> - <div class='group'> - <div class='line'>“Gay laughed that lorde. Nae more said he,</div> - <div class='line'>But thrice he kissed that fair ladye,</div> - <div class='line'>He kissed till she was red to see;</div> - <div class='line'>And they’re awa’ to the North Countree.”</div> - </div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>“And is that your notion of wooing, Mr. Ned?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Rose she says it’s a horrid song.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You just ask her,” said Dick. “Hang that pie!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Carington, laughing, stepped into his canoe, and -settled himself in easy comfort against the baggage -piled up behind him. “See you soon, boys.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Then he said, “Michelle, you may drop me at the -point where Miss Lyndsay is. I shall walk up.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Well!” he said to himself. “The family seem -unanimous. It would be rather funny if—if it wasn’t -something else.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>After this he gave himself up to his thoughts, and -what fair cheer the June evening offered. The good -mother-nature was all in sympathy, and, foreseeing in -her prophetic heart the drama about to be, had set out -the stage and its scenery with pleasant prevision.</p> - -<p class='c007'>For here was a stretch of rippled river, where the -hidden stones set the waters a-dancing, and there they -<span class='pageno' id='Page_412'>412</span>rolled high, and anon were possessed of a coy quietness -in nooks below the trees, where red and white -tangles of rootlets swayed in the current and had their -fill as a reward of adventurous growth. The sun was -just over a far hill, and low, so that all the long broad -reach was aglow with many colors, to which the sky -above and the stones below lent variety of help, that -none might hope to explain or paint it, and that only -the pure joy of it should be left in the heart of man.</p> - -<p class='c007'>And for it all this young fellow in the canoe was -open enough, glad to get from the sensual tropic -zone to the cool wholesomeness of that he saw. Now -and then he caught sight of the red shelter on the -point, and tingled, for this love had been fed with -mere memories these many months, and now he had -won the sweet courage which is a thing native to the -wild woods, and wilts in the hordes of men.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Across the waters a mighty wreckage of vast rocks -lay, where untold years since they fell in some elemental -strife from the granite fortress which still -towered high in air. Along its battlements a few -grim warder pines kept their centuried watches.</p> - -<p class='c007'>On the beach opposite To-Day sat, and mocked -with colors the massive ruin, untroubled by its mystery. -To-Day was a maid in a pink gown, for prettiness—standing, -sketch in hand, to see, with head on -one side, if her sketch had got the vigor of these -fallen rocks.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Nature, liking love-affairs, had decoyed the maid -into a moment of statuesque repose, and, knowing -well her business, had set back of her a bold gray -rock, deep sunk in ferns. Against its sternness the -<span class='pageno' id='Page_413'>413</span>strength of virginal curves stood out, very fair to see. -Meanwhile the canoe drew nearer, running close to -shore.</p> - -<p class='c007'>At last Carington leaped on the beach, and came -straight to where she stood, flushed of a sudden, and -with downward hands holding the picture.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Good evening.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, Mr. Carington!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That will do, Michelle. Don’t wait. I shall -walk.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>The canoe was off and away as she said:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It must be four miles. Isn’t it a rather rough -walk?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It is nearer five. How are you? How is every -one? I can’t tell you how glad I am to see you.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“How dreadfully brown you are!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Cuban sun, Miss Lyndsay. I am told it is becoming.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Indeed! Who told you?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“A young woman on the steamer.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Indeed.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Here she glanced down the river, and resumed her -place on the rock.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You may sit down there. Please give me that -color-box. Those pines are so hard to get in.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Thank you. I shall sit when I am made welcome. -You have not said so much as that you are glad to -see me.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“That was stupid of me. Of course I am glad to -see you. How did you like Cuba?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It was very hot.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Was that the extent of your observation? It -<span class='pageno' id='Page_414'>414</span>seems rather limited. Do you think that lower stone -is purple enough? Purple is such a difficulty!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I wish you would not paint now.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Why not? But I must. I shall never get just -this light again. It is the most important thing in -life—that rock.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Let me see.” He took the sketch and put it aside, -out of her reach.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Please,” she said.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But I shall—I shall be angry.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You have had your way too long. You get whatever -you want. It is very demoralizing.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But I never got my gold dollar.” This was unwise.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No; you never will.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>She was silent now, foreseeing trouble.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Meanwhile he sat on the ferns at her feet. As she -spoke, her color-box fell. Carington set it aside. She -made no further remonstrance.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What o’clock is it, Mr. Carington?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You are here till six. You can’t get away. What -is the use of asking the time?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I don’t know.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I do. It is my hour, Rose Lyndsay.” And he -looked up. “For a year we have been seeing one -another in the midst of a fog of conventionalities, -and the game has been all in your hands. One cannot -love and respect a woman and wish to force her -to abrupt decisions, and she can always escape. I -have waited.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Please—it is dreadful! I beg of you.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_415'>415</span>“No. I have been very patient, but I am so no -longer. We are here alone: a man and a woman. -The world of defense and excuses is far away.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, if you only knew! It is so hard! If you -think I have been happy this winter, you little know.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“How long is this indecision to last?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I do not know.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“It is a simple question: Do you care for me? -Care! No! I want you to say that you love me! -Oh, plainly, Rose Lyndsay, as I have said it until you -are weary of it, I dare say.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“How cruel you are! I cannot. I ought to be so -sure about such a thing; and I am not—I am not!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Then I think I will go.” He spoke slowly, with -measured distinctness.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I am sorry,” said Rose. “I am more sorry than -you can think.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>He made no reply for a moment; but, still seated -below her on the ferns, put his hands to his head and, -looking down at the pebbles, said:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I came here resolute to force you to say ‘Yes’ or -‘No.’ It seemed easy, away from you. Now that -you are beside me, I am helpless. If I loved you less, -I could do it. I find it easier to carry my weariness -of waiting still longer. You are all my life to me. -You have a home and constant loves: I have no -one—I am alone! What others have in life—sisters, -brothers—I lack, as you know. And yet—and yet, -I cannot force you to a decision. If you are just to -my great love, Rose, I must ask you to say— It -might be wiser, both for you and for me, if I were to -be positive.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_416'>416</span>“Oh, no! no!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You shall have your way. I will not trouble you -again: but, I know you well—you are a woman of -sense and courage. If I go, have I not the honest -right to expect that some day you will be brave enough -just to write to me, yes—or no? I leave it with you. -That ought to set you at ease.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“But it does not,—it will not. Life is so hard—and -I do—I do want to do what is right!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Have I been too hard? Well, good-by.” And, so -saying, he rose and stood beside her. She glanced -up at him, uneasy, pitiful, timid. He put out his -hand, “Good-by.” She took it, rising as she did so. -As she held it, he added:</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I shall go back to-morrow; a telegram will explain -it. I must not spoil your holiday. Good-by.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>The hand she gave stayed passive in his grasp.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Let me see you once, Rose, before I go. I mean, -look up.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>She lifted her gaze, and, as his eyes met hers, he -saw.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Rose!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“What is it?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“You love me!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No—no. Oh, I don’t know!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Then he caught her in his arms and kissed her, and -all her soul went out to him in one great sob of joy and -love; and in the sweet pain of it she fell to crying, -the fair head on his shoulder.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, Fred! Fred!” It was all that she could say.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Are you sorry?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No! No!”</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_417'>417</span>“And you are sure?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Then don’t cry any more.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I can’t—can’t help it. I am so—so glad.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>She stood and took his two hands, and said, “I was -afraid, I was not sure. Now I know; it is for always!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes, Rose. Sit down, dear.” And again he fell -on the ferns beside her, and they talked in the tongue -of the new land they had found, looking before and -after, and asking no more of life than the golden-freighted -minutes brought.</p> - -<p class='c007'>Meanwhile the sun fell behind the hill, and the glow -of blue and orange light on the waters faded to dusky -brown. Tree and rock grew slowly less distinct as -the shadows crossed the stream; but on their world -another sun arose, and with touch of hands they -stayed, talking of the life of love and duty and common -helpfulness which lay broad and beautiful before -their eyes.</p> - -<p class='c007'>At last they heard the paddles, and their hands fell -apart.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“How late you are, boys!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes; the trout were rising. I’m awful sorry,” said -Ned.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“So are we,” returned Carington. “We have been -horribly bored—Miss Rose and I. I will go up in -your boat, Miss Lyndsay, if I may. It is late to walk.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Certainly.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>She had now a little gold dollar in her shut hand, and -was silent enough, till he left her at the Cliff Camp.</p> - -<p class='c007'>She went up the steps slowly. What had an hour -done with and for her? She was very happy.</p> - -<p class='c007'><span class='pageno' id='Page_418'>418</span>“Pleasant, isn’t it?” said Anne. “Get a good -sketch, dear? Mama and your father are still out. -Come here, nearer; what is the matter with you?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Nothing.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Wasn’t that Mr. Carington I heard on the -beach?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes. He stopped when he saw me sketching.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes. Come and kiss me, Rose.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>The girl bent over her.</p> - -<p class='c007'>“I am so glad!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Glad? Why?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Go and wash your face, and change that ribbon, -Miss Ostrich; but, for heaven’s sake, don’t let Margaret -know I guessed it.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“No! no! Dear Aunt Anne! I am so very -happy!”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And I, my darling.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Will Pardy like it?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Very much.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“And Mardy?”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Yes.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Oh, here they come,—I must run. I want—I -want to be alone, just a little.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>“Kiss me again, Rose.”</p> - -<p class='c007'>Then the girl fled in haste; but Anne said, “And -now I should like to live a little longer.”</p> - -<p class='c007'><a id='endnote'></a></p> -<div class='tnotes'> - -<div class='nf-center-c0'> - <div class='nf-center'> - <div><span class='large'>Transcriber’s Note</span></div> - </div> -</div> - -<p class='c007'>Errors deemed most likely to be the printer’s have been corrected, and -are noted here. The references are to the page and line in the original.</p> - -<table class='table0' summary=''> -<colgroup> -<col width='12%' /> -<col width='69%' /> -<col width='18%' /> -</colgroup> - <tr> - <td class='c016'><a id='c_18.3'></a><a href='#corr18.3'>18.3</a></td> - <td class='c016'>[‘]The Mystery of Pain[’], my poor Anne!</td> - <td class='c017'>Added.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c016'><a id='c_43.20'></a><a href='#corr43.20'>43.20</a></td> - <td class='c016'>and by and by you will have it.[’]”</td> - <td class='c017'>Added.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c016'><a id='c_98.3'></a><a href='#corr98.3'>98.3</a></td> - <td class='c016'>[‘/“]I think my own curiosity collapses in hot weather,”</td> - <td class='c017'>Replaced.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c016'><a id='c_142.20'></a><a href='#corr142.20'>142.20</a></td> - <td class='c016'>[“/‘]The bowman, fully prepared, replied at once:</td> - <td class='c017'>Replaced</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c016'><a id='c_146.18'></a><a href='#corr146.18'>146.18</a></td> - <td class='c016'>We don’t know those people, and I wish to be careful.[”]</td> - <td class='c017'>Added.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c016'><a id='c_185.28'></a><a href='#corr185.28'>185.28</a></td> - <td class='c016'>“[‘]Gracious! How numerically interesting!’</td> - <td class='c017'>Added.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c016'><a id='c_200.32'></a><a href='#corr200.32'>200.32</a></td> - <td class='c016'>more joy than the beggar, saith El Din Attar.’[”]</td> - <td class='c017'>Added.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c016'><a id='c_211.5'></a><a href='#corr211.5'>211.5</a></td> - <td class='c016'>“Yes,” said Lyndsay, “these Gasp[e/é] men</td> - <td class='c017'>Replaced.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c016'><a id='c_378.28'></a><a href='#corr378.28'>378.28</a></td> - <td class='c016'>“I’ll fetch the money.[”] And, seizing the ax, she thrust him aside</td> - <td class='c017'>Added.</td> - </tr> - <tr> - <td class='c016'><a id='c_404.25'></a><a href='#corr404.25'>404.25</a></td> - <td class='c016'>“Archie, what was it last night?[”] Why did they</td> - <td class='c017'>Removed.</td> - </tr> -</table> - -</div> - - - - - - - - -<pre> - - - - - -End of Project Gutenberg's When All the Woods are Green, by S. 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