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diff --git a/old/68407-0.txt b/old/68407-0.txt deleted file mode 100644 index d140e45..0000000 --- a/old/68407-0.txt +++ /dev/null @@ -1,9193 +0,0 @@ -The Project Gutenberg eBook of The wonder woman, by Mae Van Norman -Long - -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 -will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before -using this eBook. - -Title: The wonder woman - -Author: Mae Van Norman Long - -Illustrator: J. Massey Clement - -Release Date: June 25, 2022 [eBook #68407] - -Language: English - -Produced by: D A Alexander, David E. Brown, and the Online Distributed - Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This file was - produced from images generously made available by - University of California libraries) - -*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WONDER WOMAN *** - - -[Illustration: THE HEART OF THE WOODS] - - - - - _The_ WONDER - WOMAN - - _By_ MAE VAN NORMAN LONG - - [Illustration] - - _Illustrated by_ - J. MASSEY CLEMENT - - THE PENN PUBLISHING - COMPANY PHILADELPHIA - 1917 - - - - - COPYRIGHT - 1917 BY - THE PENN - PUBLISHING - COMPANY - - [Illustration] - - - The Wonder Woman - - - - - TO - LAWSON - - - - -CONTENTS - - - CHAPTER PAGE - - I TWO WOMEN 9 - - II HAIDEE 28 - - III I FELL SOME TREES 37 - - IV WANZA 46 - - V THE LEAD 52 - - VI CAPTAIN GRIF 65 - - VII WANZA BAKES A CAKE 80 - - VIII GIPSYING 95 - - IX THE BIG MAN 114 - - X JINGLES BRINGS A MESSAGE 122 - - XI THE KICKSHAW 132 - - XII IN SHOP AND DINGLE 147 - - XIII DEFICIENCIES 160 - - XIV JACK OF ALL TRADES 166 - - XV I BEGIN TO WONDER ABOUT WANZA 178 - - XVI WE HAVE AN ADVENTURE 190 - - XVII THE DREAM IN THE DINGLE 214 - - XVIII “THANK YOU, MR. FIXING MAN” 237 - - XIX BEREFT 255 - - XX “PERHAPS I SHALL GO AWAY” 265 - - XXI FATE’S FINAL JAVELIN 274 - - XXII RENUNCIATION 294 - - XXIII WHEN CHRISTMAS CAME 310 - - XXIV “THE FLOWER WILL BLOOM ANOTHER YEAR” 319 - - XXV MY SURPRISE 330 - - XXVI THE OLD SWIMMING HOLE 344 - - XXVII MY WONDER WOMAN 363 - - - - -ILLUSTRATIONS - - - PAGE - - The heart of the woods _Frontispiece_ - - “I was only taking a short cut” _Opposite_ 22 - - The gypsy tossed back her cape “ 100 - - A sudden yearning sprang up “ 193 - - “I’m grateful and pleased” “ 328 - - - - -THE WONDER WOMAN - - - - -CHAPTER I - -TWO WOMEN - - -“DO you see her now, Mr. David?” - -I nodded, pointing into the coals. “I see a lion, and an old witch, and -a monkey. I don’t see any woman.” - -“There! There!” I cried. “She’s just going through the postern gate. -Oh, she’s gone, lad! Never mind! Next time you may see her.” - -“And is she prettier’n Wanza, Mr. David?” - -“Perhaps not prettier,” I responded. “Wanza looking out from beneath -the pink-lined umbrella on her peddler’s cart is very charming, indeed. -But the woman I see in the fire is--oh, she’s altogether different!” - -This was the customary tenor of my conversation with Joey as we sat -before our fire of pine knots of an evening. The lad would point out to -me queer kaleidoscopic creatures he saw deep in the heart of the pine -fire; but his young eyes never saw the face I beheld there, and so I -was obliged to describe my wonder woman to him. - -It was not strange that Joey should share my confidence in this -fashion. He had been my sole companion since the night four years -before when I had found him--poor tiny lad--sobbing on the doorstep -of a shack some three miles down the river. I had lifted him to my -shoulder and entered the shack to find there a dying woman. The woman -died that night, but before she passed away she gave the child to -me, saying: “He is only a waif! I took him from my poor brother when -he died over on the Sound, about six months ago. My brother was a -fisherman. He picked the child up on the beach one morning after a -fierce storm a year ago. I was meaning to keep the boy always, poor as -I be. But now--you take Joey, mister,--he’ll be a blessing to you!” - -A blessing! I said the words over to myself as I carried the boy home -that night. I said them to myself when I awakened in the morning and -looked down at him cradled in the hollow of my arm. I had been out of -conceit with life. For me the world was “jagged and broken” in very -truth. But looking down at the young stranger I thrilled with the -sudden desire to smooth and shape my days again. To stand sure! And -here was a companion for me! I was through with living alone! - -I went to the window, threw it wide, and saw the dawn rosy in the east. -A mountain bluebird that had a nest in a hole in a cottonwood tree hard -by was perched on a serviceberry bush beside the window. I heard its -song with rapture. I was smiling when I turned back to the bunk where I -had left the child. The child was smiling too. He sat straight up among -the blankets, his eyes were fixed on the bird, and he was holding out -his little arms. I lifted him and carried him to the window, and he -lisped: “I love birdie! I love you!” - -And so Joey became my boy. - -It was not only in the heart of the pine fire that I saw the radiant -creature I described to Joey. When I looked from my workshop door at -twilight across the shadowy river to the cool purple peaks of the -mountains, the nebular mist arising seemed the cloud-folds of her -garments. And when I lay on my back at noon time, in the cedar grove, -gazing upward through the shivering green dome at the sky, I always -dreamed of the splendor of her eyes. - -I grew to wonder how I should meet her. Someway, I always pictured -myself astride my good cayuse, Buttons, on the river road returning -from Roselake village, gay in my holiday clothes, with a freshly shaven -face, and a bag of peppermints in my pocket for Joey. - -As it fell out I was in my shop by the river at work on a cedar chest. -I was garbed in a dark-blue flannel shirt and blue overalls, and needed -a hair-cut sadly. I heard a sound and looked up. “She has come!” I said -to myself. “Out of the land of dreams she has come to me!” - -A young woman stood before me. The face I saw was oval and flawless. -The cheeks were a delicate pink. Her lips were vivid, her eyes luminous -as stars. Her silky, lustrous hair was bound with a broad band of blue -ribbon. Although her riding skirt was torn, her blouse soiled, although -she was dusty and disheveled, with shadows of weariness about her -splendid eyes, her manner was that of a young princess as she addressed -me. - -“This place is for sale, I understand?” - -I had not thought of selling the few acres that remained of the -hundred-and-sixty-acre homestead I had taken up eight years before; but -I was so overcome with awe and confusion, that I stammered forth: - -“Why, no--that is, I think not! I shall sell some time, I dare say.” - -Her face showed a flash of amusement and then grew thoughtful. - -“It is a desirable place,” she murmured, half to herself. - -I knew then she had come to the shop by the yew path--the path that -runs beneath the trailing yews and winds in and out like a purple-brown -ribbon near the spring, where the moss is downy and green, and the -bracken is high, and the breeze makes a sibilant sound in the rushes. -I straightened my shoulders, laid aside my plane, and rolled down my -sleeves. Thus far I had not fully appraised my visitor, having fallen a -prey to the creeping paralysis of shyness at my first glance, but now, -grown bolder, I stole a hardier look at her face. I saw the scarlet -lips, the brilliant eyes, and the ivory forehead beneath the midnight -hair. I saw the rose tint on her cheek, the tan on her tender throat -where the rolled-back collar left it bare. I saw--and I breathed: “God -help me!” deep in my heart; and there must have crept a warmth that was -disquieting into my gaze, for she lowered her eyes swiftly, and slid -her hand, in its riding glove, caressingly along the smooth surface of -the cedar chest between us. - -“What beautiful wood,” she said softly. “You are a carpenter--a -craftsman,” she amended. “How wonderful to work with wood like this.” - -“Christ was a carpenter,” a voice--a wee voice announced from behind -us. Joey had stolen into the shop through the rear window as was his -custom, and curled up on my work bench among the shavings. - -“Who told you, lad?” I queried, being used to Joey’s terse and -unexpected utterances. - -My wonder woman looked at him sharply. Her black brows came together -as she surveyed him, and she did not smile. Joey stared and stared at -her, until I thought he never would have done, and she continued to -scrutinize him. I saw her eyes wander over his attire. Poor lad--his -collection of wearing apparel was motley enough--an old hunting coat of -mine that almost covered him, a pair of trousers unmistakably cut over, -a straw hat that was set down so far on his brown head that his ears -had perforce to bear the weight; a faded shirt, and scuffed out shoes. -But Joey’s scrutiny was more persistent than the one accorded him, and -presently, my wonder woman was tricked into speech. - -“Well?” she murmured, her lips relaxing. - -Joey gave a great sigh, kicked up his heels like a fractious colt, -and rolled over among the shavings. “Gracious Lord!” was his comment, -delivered in awed tones. - -“Joey!” I gasped, turning. But Joey was slipping, feet first, through -the window. I caught him by the trousers and gave him a surreptitious -shake, as I lowered him wriggling to the ground. He rolled over, -rose to his knees; his brown eyes, big and soft, looked up at me -affectionately; his lips parted in a grin of understanding. - -“I’ll put the potatoes on, Mr. David,” he vouchsafed, and vanished. - -The beautiful face was questioning when I turned back. “Mr. David,” she -repeated. “He is not your boy then?” - -I hesitated. “No,” I said slowly. Somehow, I was in no mood to tell her -Joey’s story at that moment. - -“Joey has the manners of a young Indian,” I apologized. “I hope he did -not annoy you.” - -“Children never annoy me,” she replied. - -A tiny dimple played at one corner of her mouth and died suddenly as -the half smile left her face. She bent her riding-whip between her -hands and a look of distress came into her eyes. - -“I am wrong, then, about this place being for sale? I saw a sign-board -back there on the road. It said ‘For Sale’ in bold black letters. There -was a big hand that pointed this way.” - -A light broke in on me. - -“It must be Russell’s old ranch on Hidden Lake,” I said. “To be sure, -that is for sale. It has been for sale ever since I can remember.” - -I saw her eyes brighten. - -“There is a place I can buy, then? What is it like--this Hidden Lake?” - -“It is a mere pond, hidden in the thickets. It can be reached from the -river. If you can find the lead you can pole in with a canoe. It’s a -famous place for ducks. The tules almost fill it in summer. There’s a -good spring on the place, and I guess the soil is fair. One could raise -vegetables and berries.” - -“I don’t want to raise anything.” - -I fancied her lip curled. - -“No--no--why, I dare say not! How stupid of me,” I murmured. - -She flirted her whip impatiently. - -“Is there a road I can take?” - -“I will show you,” I replied, and she walked out of the shop as if -anxious to be off. - -She paused in the cedar thicket beyond, and I joined her. We could see -the river shining like silver gauze through the green latticed walls of -the grove, and the sky above the steeples of the trees was amethyst and -gray. The sun was low in the west, and the shadows lay purple along the -wood aisles. - -It was a magical May day. Hawthorn and serviceberry bushes waved snowy -arms along the river bank and dropped white petals in the stream, the -birch trees dangled long festoons of moss above the water, balm o’ -Gileads shed their pungent perfume abroad, and the honeysuckle and wild -clematis hung from the limbs of the slender young maples. - -I held aside the underbrush for my wonder woman that she might pass, -and we went through the cedar thicket, threaded our way through aspens -and buck brush, and reached the trailing yews that were bending to dip -their shining prisms in the spring. - -“This is the yew path,” I explained, breaking the silence that we had -maintained since leaving the shop. “It winds through the meadow and -joins a trail that skirts Nigger Head mountain. Follow the trail, and -it will take you to Hidden Lake.” - -The soft neighing of a horse interrupted me. I peered through the -buck brush, and glimpsed a bay mare tethered to the meadow bars. My -companion gave a soft chirrup and pushed on before me. She had the -mare’s bridle in her hand, and was stroking the animal’s nose when I -reached her side. - -I said, “Allow me,” and offered my hand for her foot. She glanced at my -hand, looked into my face, and smiled slowly as if amused. I felt the -hot blood mount to my brow, and then her foot pressed my palm, and she -was in the saddle, and her mare was wheeling. - -“Good Sonia,” I heard her murmur, and saw her gauntleted hand steal -along the arching neck. She bent to me. The grace of her supple figure, -the vital alluring face, her baffling beautiful eyes, her ripe lips -with their dimpled corners, were sweet as life to me. For a moment our -eyes met. She said gratefully: “Thank you. My ride will be splendid -beneath those whispering yews.” - -Of a sudden my hands grew cold, my tongue stiffened in my throat, -and my eyes smarted. She was going. I had no power to detain her, no -sophisticated words to cajole her. I stared after her, and saw her -ride away through the swaying meadow-grass to the yew path, the sun -dappling her blue riding skirt, and the breeze lifting and swaying her -bonny tresses. - -When I went indoors after a retrospective half hour beside the spring, -I found Joey in the grip of intense excitement. The table in the front -room was laid for three, there was a roaring fire in the kitchen stove, -and Joey’s face was crimson as he stood on a stool at the sink turning -the boiling water off a kettle of potatoes. - -“I’ve made squatty biscuits like you showed me once,” he volunteered in -a loud whisper, “and stewed apples. And, Mr. David--I’ve hung a clean -towel over the wash-bench, and scoured the basin with rushes.” - -I looked at Joey. Out in the woods I had undergone a savage battle with -my old self that had walked out of the shadows and confronted me. I -had remembered things--submerged, well-forgotten things; I had exhumed -skeletons from their charnel house--skeletons long buried; I had seen -faces I had no wish to see, heard voices, the music of whose tones I -could not sustain with equanimity; I had suffered. But as I looked -at Joey, the futile little friend who loved me, and saw his pitiful -efforts to please, the ice went out of my heart, and the fever out -of my brain. I turned aside to the window and stood looking out with -tightening throat. - -Joey came and hovered near my elbow. - -“There are only two pieces of gingerbread, Mr. David. I’ve put them on, -and you can just say you don’t believe in giving children sweets.” - -I laid my arm across the lad’s shoulders. I looked down into the honest -brown eyes seeking mine for approval. The pressure of the two small -rough hands on my arm was comforting. - -“You’re a splendid provider, Joey,” I cried. “But you may eat your -gingerbread, my boy. There will be no guest. She has gone on to Hidden -Lake.” - -Joey looked aghast. His jaw dropped, and his eyes grew black with -disappointment. - -“And I’ve sweetened the apple sauce with white sugar, and gone and -wasted all that butter in those biscuits!” - -I strolled into the front room and viewed the preparations. There was a -large bunch of lupine in the big blue bowl in the center of the table, -and all our best china was set forth in brave array. The bread-board I -had carved graced one end of the table; at the other, Joey had arranged -the two thick slabs of gingerbread on a pressed glass comport, a -paper napkin beneath. I was smiling as I stood there, but I had an -uncomfortable feeling that all was not well with Joey. A sound from the -kitchen attracted me. I went toward it. Joey leaned across the sink, -his face buried in the roller towel. His young shoulders were heaving. - -“I wanted her--oh, I wanted her to stay!” he blubbered. - -I knew not what to say to comfort my lad, and so I said nothing. I -caught up the pail and went outside to the spring for water. - -I had filled my pail and was stooping to gather a handful of cress when -I heard the sharp click of wheels in the underbrush behind me. Some one -was driving over the uneven ground that lay between the cabin and the -workshop. I looked around. A girl sitting beneath a pink-lined, green -umbrella, in a two-wheeled cart, waved her whip at me. I straightened -up, dropped the cress, and ran through the buck brush after her. - -“Wait, wait, Wanza,” I cried. - -I heard her say: “Whoa, Rosebud!” And the buckskin pony she was driving -curveted and pawed the ground and set the green paper rosettes on its -harness bobbing coquettishly as she pulled it up. - -“Were you coming to the cabin, Wanza?” I asked, as I reached the cart. - -“Whoa, Rosebud! No, I wasn’t to-night, Mr. Dale--I was only taking a -short cut through your field.” - -[Illustration: “I WAS ONLY TAKING A SHORT CUT”] - -She leaned out from beneath the shadow of her pink-lined umbrella and -smiled at me. Seldom it was that Wanza smiled at me like that. Friends -we were--friends of years’ standing--but Wanza was chary of her smiles -where I was concerned, and I must confess I found her frowns piquant -enough. - -The day that passed without Wanza whistling from her peddler’s cart at -my door seemed more cheerless than usual. Wanza peddled everything, -from shoe laces to linen dusters. She was the apple of her father’s -eye, the pride of the village, and the delight of the steamboat men -on the river. Ever since I had known her she had been her father’s -housekeeper. Her mother had died when Wanza was a baby. And she and her -father lived alone in a funny little house, flanked by a funny little -garden, on the edge of the village. - -“Wanza,” I cried eagerly, “come in to supper with Joey and me.” - -I looked up at her pleadingly. Her charming elf-face continued to -smile down at me. She shook her head slowly. - -“Please,” I begged. - -Gradually the smile left her face, a shrewd look replaced it. - -“I can make you a cake,” she began hesitatingly, “if you’ve got any -brown sugar in the cabin.” - -“We don’t want you to bake for us, Wanza--we have a good meal laid out, -and we want you to honor us by sharing it.” - -“Glory! Is that it, Mr. David Dale? Well, I’ll stay. Not,” she added -quickly, “that I wouldn’t be too tickled to make you a cake, only--” - -“Only--Wanza?” - -“Only it’s great to be invited, with all the supper ready before hand -and waiting--it sure is!” - -“You usually earn your supper with us, girl,” I said, as we walked -toward the cabin. “There is no one can bake such cakes as yours, and as -for your cherry pies--well, I have no words!” - -She tossed her head. And then catching sight of a long-tailed chat, -tumbling and rollicking above a hawthorn thicket, she stopped, her head -poised high, her delicate subtle chin lifted, her expression rapt. All -unconscious of my eyes she began making a funny little noise in her -throat: - -“Crr--crr--whrr--tr--tr--tr--” - -It was pure felicity to look at Wanza Lyttle as she stood thus. She -wore a gown of pink cotton, and her tangled maize-colored hair was -looped back from her face with a knot of vivid rose-pink ribbon. Her -wide-brimmed beribboned hat hung on her shoulders. Her collar was -rolled away from a throat of milk. Her sleeves were tucked up, exposing -brown, slender arms. Her feet were encased in white stockings and -sandals. She was a picturesque, daring figure. And her face!--it was -like a flame in a lamp of marble. - -Her father, old Griffith Lyttle, was fond of dilating on the beauty -of his daughter to me. Once he said: “She do be the prettiest young -gal astepping--but, man, I reckon she’ll see trouble with that face o’ -hers. It’s the face as goes with a hot temper.” Looking at her now it -was difficult to associate anything but loveliness of disposition with -her face, which seemed at this moment fairly angelic. - -“The chat has a variety of songs, Wanza,” I ventured. “He is laughing -at you. Unless you can caw like a crow, and mew like a cat, and bark -like a dog you can’t attract him.” - -“I like him because he is so bouncing and jolly,” the girl answered. “I -like bouncing, jolly people, Mr. Dale.” - -We walked on to the cabin. When we entered the kitchen and Joey saw us, -he gave a shout of joy. - -“Now, I’d liever have Wanza to supper than the other woman, Mr. David,” -he vouchsafed. “I like the other woman, course I do, but I ain’t used -of her yet.” - -I refrained from meeting Wanza’s eyes. I went to the stove and took the -biscuits from the oven with assiduous care. But when we were seated at -the table, Wanza in the post of honor at the head, she leaned across -the battered tea-things, rapped smartly on the table to attract my -attention and demanded: - -“What woman did Joey mean by ‘the other woman,’ Mr. Dale?” - -I coughed. “Why--er--only a strange lady who stopped at the workshop to -enquire if this place were for sale. She saw Russell’s old sign at the -crossroads, and, as she explained, thought the hand pointed to Cedar -Dale.” - -Wanza looked at me intently; an interesting gleam came into her big -eyes. - -“What sort of a looking person was she, Mr. Dale?” - -I reached out, helped myself to a biscuit, spread it with butter, and -answered with assumed nonchalance: - -“Oh--so so! She went on to Hidden Lake, following my directions.” - -Happening to glance across at Joey I surprised a peculiar expression on -his face. I saw astonishment written there and a look almost of chagrin -in his eyes. - -“Why, Mr. David,” he burst forth, “I been thinking sure she was our -wonder--” - -I saved the situation by springing from my seat and pointing out of -the window. “Look, look, Wanza and Joey! There is a willow goldfinch -on that little spruce tree yonder. See his yellow body, his black -wings and tail! Isn’t he very like a canary? I heard his song this -afternoon--I told you, did I not, lad? Hm!--he has the most charming -song--sweet as his disposition. And his flight is wonderfully -graceful!--the poetry of motion.” - -When we went back to our seats I was careful to steer the conversation -into safer channels. - -That night at bed-time, Joey confidentially said to me: - -“I won’t tell Wanza that the new woman is our wonder woman--’cause she -mightn’t like it. Anyhow, is she any more of a wonder woman than Wanza, -Mr. David?” - -It took me many months to answer that question satisfactorily to -myself. - - - - -CHAPTER II - -HAIDEE - - -ONCE, years ago, when I was a lad, in an old volume of poems in my -father’s library I came across a steel engraving of a beautiful woman. -She had a small head with raven black tresses bound smoothly about -her brow with a fillet, but twisted back over her ears and ending in -ringlets over her shoulders. She had big dark eyes, a tiny mouth, a -slim white throat, and infinitesimally small hands and feet. Her name -was Haidee. I think her feet fascinated me most; for she wore shoes -unlike any I had ever seen, ending in high curving points at the toes. -She was a most distracting, elusive personality. - -When my wonder woman placed her foot in my palm, and mounted her mare -at my meadow bars, to myself I muttered: “Haidee.” So, the following -morning, in answer to Joey’s query: “What’s her name, Mr. David?” I -answered “Haidee,” and grinned at the lad sheepishly through the smoke -that arose from the griddle I was greasing with bacon rind. - -Joey, giving the cake batter in the yellow pitcher furtive sly dabs -with the iron spoon when he thought me unaware, looked grave. - -“It don’t sound nice. It sounds like that name you say sometimes--” - -“Ssh!” - -“When you’re mad,” finished Joey adroitly. - -I shoved the stove lid into place beneath the hot griddle, and -motioned to Joey to bring the yellow pitcher. While I poured out the -foamy batter, Joey kept silence, watching the sizzling process with -fascinated eyes, but when I took the pancake-turner in hand and opened -the window to let the smoke escape, he spoke again: - -“It’s bad for her, ain’t it, having a name like that?” - -“It isn’t her real name, Joey. It’s a name I bestowed upon her. It -seemed to belong to her someway. We shall never see her again, so it -does not matter.” - -“We’ll see her again, Mr. David, if she buys Russell’s old ranch.” - -I paused midway to the table, the cake-turner heaped with steaming -cakes in my hand. I stared at Joey. Curiously I’d forgotten the -possibility of Haidee becoming my neighbor. My wrist trembled, the -cakes slipped to the floor. Joey pounced upon them, bore them to the -sink and rinsed them painstakingly in the pail of fresh spring water. - -“I like cold cakes,” he was saying manfully, when I awoke to the -situation. - -“So does the collie. No, no, lad--we may not be living in affluence, -but we don’t have to economize on corn cakes.” I laughed boisterously -and patted his shoulder. “My cedar chests are selling, and my book--my -nature story--is almost completed--why, soon we shall be turning up our -noses at flapjacks!” - -“At flapjacks!” Joey cried incredulously, making a dash for the yellow -pitcher. - -We were half through breakfast before he spoke again, and then he -ventured tentatively: “Suppose she’ll come to-day?” - -“Who, Joey?” - -“Her--the--woman. The one that made me swear when I saw her in the -workshop.” - -“Oh, I’d forgotten your behaviour in the shop, Joey! It was -reprehensible--it was rude--” - -Joey nodded. “I forgot I was a human bein’.” - -He put his elbows on the table, sunk his chin in his hands, and -regarded me. I raised my coffee-cup hurriedly, drained the contents, -and coughed spasmodically, Joey’s eyes widening in concern. - -Two days after this conversation with Joey, as, butterfly-net in hand, -I was crossing the ploughed field back of the cabin at noon returning -from a collecting trip, I saw the bent figure of a man approaching -along the river road. He carried a sack of flour on his back and he -walked with his head so far forward that his chin almost touched his -knees. I was feeling particularly jubilant, having taken four Electas, -six Zerenes and two specimens of Breuner’s Silver-spot, and I accosted -him lustily: “Good day, Lundquist.” - -He attempted to straighten up, found the effort of no avail, and -nodded. I rested on the bars and he came slowly toward me. His red -face was so knotted and twisted that his very eyes seemed warped -askew beneath his ugly freckled forehead. His old hands were horny -and purple-veined, his legs spindling and bowed. Poor old derelict! -Hapless, hard old man! He lived high up on Nigger Head mountain alone -with the birds and squirrels. How he subsisted was a mystery. But he -always had tobacco to smoke, and a corn-cob pipe to smoke it in. This -fact comforted me, when I fell to musing on his meagre estate. - -“It’s a fine day, Lundquist,” I continued. - -He came closer, halted, and peered up at me. - -“Ya, it ban.” - -“Been to town?” - -“Ya--I been to town.” He took his old black pipe from his mouth and -crept closer. “Last night,” he stuttered, in his rasping broken accent, -“last night I saw a light, Mr. Dale--a light--down thar.” - -He pointed with his pipe-stem over his shoulder. - -“A light? Do you mean you saw a light from your cabin?” - -“Ya--in the old shack on Hidden Lake.” He chuckled. “Thar been no -light thar fer three year. The wood-rats they eat up the furniture ole -Russell leave. Place sold--maybe?” - -I saw Joey watching me miserably during dinner. I ate like an -automaton, and never once did I speak. Afterward it was no better. -I took my book and sat on a bench outside the cabin. Joey’s voice -soaring high above the rattle of the dishes in the sink; a red-shafted -flicker hammering noisily on a pine tree before the door, saluting me -with his “kee-yer, kee-yer”; the whistle of the Georgie Oaks at the -draw-bridge, were all heard as in a dream. I was back in the workshop -with Haidee, I heard her eager question: “There is a place I may buy, -then?” I tried to picture to myself Russell’s old cabin metamorphosed -by that radiant presence. It required a daring stretch of the -imagination to vision anything so improbable. - -The valley which lies like an emerald-green jewel in the very lap of -the mountains in this section of Idaho, is watered by innumerable -streams which it seems presumptuous to call rivers, and honeycombed -with tiny blue lakes, their entrance from the rivers so concealed by -tangles of birches and high green thickets and clumps of underbrush -that their existence is practically unknown, save to the settlers along -the adjacent rivers and to a few zealous sportsmen who make portages -from lake to lake, dragging their canoes across the intervening marshes -and of the Georgie Oaks likens the shadowy St. Joe and the equally -shadowy but more obscure Cœur meadow-land. The tourist sitting on the -deck d’Alene river to the Rhine, and bemoans the absence of storied -castles, never dreaming of the chain of jeweled lakes that lies just -beyond. - -It was on the most cleverly hidden of these lakes that Russell’s cabin -stood. Years before I had paddled down the river and contrived to -find the lead. But the thickets were still deeper now, and I doubted -my ability to find the narrow aperture. Toward the middle of the -afternoon, therefore, I threw the saddle on Buttons, and rode away -beneath the fragrant yews, seeking the trail that skirted the mountain. - -The day was fair, the sky a soft azure, and the wheat fields rippled -in a sultry breeze; but as I left the trail and descended through a -boscage of cedars and scrub pines, following the damp clay path to -Hidden Lake, I shivered in spite of the warmth of the day. And when I -rode through the rushes that grew as high as a man’s head, and emerged -on the cozy grey beach, and gazed across the deep blue, unnatural -quiet of the water, I was weighted down by a weird depression. I -felt suddenly like a puny thing, shaken with the knowledge of my own -mutability. A bittern rose up from the tules, flapped its wings and -gave its honking note of desolation; a flock of terns on a piece of -driftwood emitted raucous cries. Russell’s cabin stood before me, -weather-beaten, warped, and unsightly; moss on the roof, bricks falling -from the chimney, the door steps rotted, the small porch sagging. - -I slid off my cayuse and stood contemplating the ravages about me. -Not a sound came from the cabin. Presently, I gathered my courage -sufficiently to mount the steps and knock with the butt of my whip -on the slatternly door that stood ajar. I received no response. I -waited. The bittern in the tules gave its pumping call, “pumper-lunk, -pumper-lunk,” and the hollow rushes droned suddenly in the wind like -ghoulish piccolos. I pushed open the door without further ado and -looked within. - -I saw a small room, dust-covered and cob-web frescoed. The floor was -littered with refuse, the fireplace held a bank of gray ashes, the -home-made furniture had fallen a prey to the savage onslaughts of -wood-rats. A damp and disagreeable odor permeated the air. “Surely she -has not been here,” I said to myself. - -I stepped to a door at the further end of the room, turned the wobbly -knob, peered within, and shrank back, confounded at what I saw. - -The light was streaming in through a window that had been recently -washed and polished until it shown, over a floor freshly scoured. A -small white-draped dressing table with all a woman’s dainty toilet -paraphernalia met my prying eyes; a small cot gleamed fresh and -spotless in a corner; and on every chair, and ranged on the floor -around the room, were canvases of various sizes with tantalizing -impressionistic bits of the outdoor world painted upon them, while -streaming from an open trunk and overflowing in sumptuous, foamy -sensuousness to the crude pine floor was the lingerie of a fastidious -woman. - -I took myself out of the house post-haste, threw myself into my saddle, -and plunged away into the enveloping shadows of the cedar thicket. That -night I climbed up Nigger Head almost to old Lundquist’s very door. I -cast my eyes down in the direction of Hidden Lake. I saw a small red -light gleaming there. I lay down on a ledge of rock and watched the -light, watched it until toward midnight it disappeared, the wind came -up with a soughing sound, the tall pines creaked and swayed above my -head, and I walked down the mountain--the rain in my face. - - - - -CHAPTER III - -I FELL SOME TREES - - -ALL night the rain pelted furiously against my window, and the wind -blew a hurricane, roaring in the pine trees, maundering in my chimney, -and rattling the loose casements. In the morning the rain had ceased. -The sky was massed with black clouds, but streaks of blue glimmered -here and there, and there was a glorious rainbow. - -“Oh, Mr. David,” Joey shouted, hanging on my arm as I opened the front -door, “the sky looks like a Bible picture!” But I was thinking of -Haidee and wondering how she had borne the storm, alone on the shore -of that black melancholy lake, through all the devastating night. A -huge pine tree lay uprooted across the path, the serviceberry bushes -were stripped bare of bloom, and a cottonwood growing on the river bank -sprawled, a shattered giant, bathing its silver head in the water. - -I evaded Joey, slipped around to the tool-shed, and taking my ax and -crosscut saw, mounted my cayuse and rode stealthily away. When I got -within sight of the cabin on Hidden Lake, I looked around me fearfully. -Smoke was coming from the chimney, and the cabin seemed unscathed. And -then I saw that one of the towering pine trees in the draw adjacent had -fallen, and in falling had barely grazed the lean-to. The cabin had -miraculously escaped. - -I rode around to the rear of the cabin and knocked with my whip on the -closed door. A figure rose up suddenly out of the bracken by the spring -and came to my horse’s head. A figure in a crumpled red cape, with big -startled tired eyes, and pale cheeks. - -“I have come to cut down every tree that endangers the cabin,” I -announced grimly. - -She looked at me, brushed her disordered hair back from her eyes, -attempted to speak, and failing, dropped her head forward against the -horse’s neck and stood with face hidden. - -“I came as soon as I could,” I continued, brooding above the wonderful -bent head with its heavy ringlets of hair. - -A sound unintelligible answered me. I sat there awkwardly, scarcely -knowing what was expected of me. Presently she moved, looked up at -me, and smiled. Her purple-black eyes were dewy. Standing there in her -jaunty cape and short skirt, with her opulent hair unbound and sweeping -her shoulders, she might have been a timid schoolgirl; and suddenly I -lost my awe of her, though my admiration deepened. - -“Were you alone through all that brute of a storm?” - -“Yes.” - -I got off my horse, and she took the bridle from my hand. - -“I shall have to get a woman to stay with me,” she said slowly. - -“An elderly woman?” - -“No! No! A young woman--a strapping country girl with boisterous -spirits,” she protested, an odd husky catch in her voice. - -I revolved this in my mind. “Wanza Lyttle is the very one for you,” I -declared jubilantly. Then I added uncertainly: “That is, if she will -come.” - -“And who is Wanza Lyttle?” - -“Oh, Wanza is a wonderful girl,” I answered, warming to my part. “She -drives a peddler’s cart. I’ve no doubt she will call on you. There -never was such a peddler’s cart as Wanza’s, I’ll give you my word. It -has a green umbrella with a pink lining, and two green wheels with -pink spokes, and Wanza’s buckskin pony is never without a green paper -rosette for his harness--” - -“You’re not telling me much about Wanza, after all,” Haidee -interrupted, opening her velvet eyes wide, and favoring me with an odd -glance. - -“Oh, but I am, I am going on to tell you that Wanza lined the green -umbrella herself, and painted her cart. She is very capable. She makes -cherry pies that melt in your mouth. And her tatting!--you should see -her tatting.” - -“It’s on all her dresses, I suppose?” - -“It is. And her dresses are pink and starchy. Yes,” I ended, “Wanza is -very capable, indeed--” I hesitated. It was awkward not knowing what to -call my wonder woman. - -“My name is Judith Batterly,” she said quietly, seeing my -hesitation--“Mrs. Batterly. I am a widow.” - -A turbulent tide of crimson swept up to her brow as she spoke. Her -eyes sought the ground. There was a silence. The sun had forsaken its -nest of feathery clouds and all the shy woodland things began to prink -and preen. A flycatcher ruffled its olive plumage on an old stump -in the spring, a blue jay jargoned stridently. Above our heads tiny -butterflies floated--an iridescent, turquoise cloud. A fragrant steam -arose from the damp earth. - -As the sound of my trusty ax rang through the woods, and I chopped -and sawed with a will all through the morning, I asked myself what it -mattered to me whether Haidee were maid, wife or widow. I asked myself -this, over and over again, and I did not answer my own question. - -By noon I was hot, streaming with perspiration, and covered with chips -and sawdust. I was inspecting a symmetrical, soaring white fir-tree -that towered some fifty feet distant from the cabin, when a voice -behind me cried: “No, no!” so peremptorily, that I started. - -I turned to see Haidee standing there. She had looped up the masses of -her black hair, and discarded the scarlet cape for a white corduroy -jacket. A white duck skirt gave her an immaculate appearance. - -“I want that fir left,” she explained. - -“Your cabin is in jeopardy while it stands,” I assured her. - -“Oh, I’ll take the risk,” she said carelessly. - -“It is foolish to take a risk,” I countered. - -She smiled. “Are all woodsmen as cautious as you?” - -Now, I am convinced she was only bantering me, but I chose to take -offense. I looked at her cool daintiness, and met her level gaze -with shifting sullen eyes. I was unpleasantly aware of the figure I -presented, with my grimy hands and soiled clothing, and red, streaming -face. I reached for my handkerchief, remembered that I had lent it to -Joey, and used the back of my hand, instead, to wipe my beaded forehead. - -“It is sometimes fortunate for the new-comer that we woodsmen are -before-handed,” I said pointedly. - -At this, a stain of carmine crept into the flawless face. Resentment -deepened in her eyes. “Thank you for your morning’s work, my man,” she -said, as if to an inferior. “How much do I owe you?” - -A vast slow anger shook me. I saw her through hot eyes. I did not -answer. She lifted her shoulders with a forebearing shrug, and tendered -me a coin on a palm that was like a pink rose petal. I snatched at the -coin. I sent it spinning into the buck brush. And I turned on my heel. - -“When you want that tree felled, send for old Lundquist back on Nigger -Head. He’s the man you want,” I growled, jerking my thumb over my -shoulder. - -By the time I reached Cedar Dale, I was overcome with chagrin and -remorse at my uncouth behavior. The more so, when on dismounting I -turned Buttons over to Joey’s eager hands; for in the saddle-bag Joey -discovered a small flat parcel addressed: “To the boy who goes to -Sunday School.” The parcel contained peppermints of a kind Joey had -never encountered before, and a gaily striped Windsor tie between the -leaves of a book of rhymes. - -Each night after that I climbed Nigger Head and lay on my ledge of -basaltic rock and watched the light down on Hidden Lake. Each time the -wind came up in the night, I turned uneasily on my pillow and thought -of Haidee alone in that ramshackle cabin. And I worried not a little -over that white fir that towered there, sentinel like, but menacing her -safety. - -Joey surprised me one day with the information that he had been to -Hidden Lake. - -“I took Jingles--the collie. Jingles carried the basket,” he added. - -“What basket?” I asked sharply, looking up from the flute I was making -for Joey out of a bit of elder. - -“The basket with the strawberries.” - -I knew of course they were berries from my vines, that were unusually -flourishing for that season of the year, but I continued: - -“What strawberries, Joey?” - -Joey’s honest eyes never wavered. He smiled at me, pursed his lips, and -attempted a whistle. - -“I’m most sure I saw a little brown owl fly out of a hole in the ground -last night, Mr. David,” he ventured, giving over the whistling after a -time. “Do owls burrow in holes--like rabbits?” - -“What strawberries, Joey?” I repeated perseveringly. - -“Our strawberries--mine and yours. I put green salmon berry leaves in -the basket. Jingles carried it so careful! Never spilled a berry.” - -I stroked the shaggy head at my knee. “He’s a good old fuss pup. Aren’t -you, Jingles?” - -“That’s what she said, Mr. David. I sat on her porch a whole hour. She -asked the most questions.” Joey reflected. “People always ask boys -questions.” - -“Do they, Joey?” - -“Gracious--goodness! I should say so! She asked me what I was agoing to -be when I grow up. I told her--” Joey came over to my knee and stroked -the flute in my hand caressingly. - -“What did you tell her, boy?” - -“I told her,” he took his hand away and looked at me slyly, “I told her -I was agoing to be a fixing man like you.” - - - - -CHAPTER IV - -WANZA - - -“WANZA,” I asked, “how would you like to earn some money?” - -Wanza’s big child eyes looked at me from beneath the curls that tumbled -distractingly about her fair face. - -“Mr. Dale,” she said solemnly, “I earn six dollars a week with my cart.” - -We were sitting on the river bank in the shade of some cottonwoods, -having met at the village post-office. We had met at three o’clock, -and it was close onto five when I propounded my query. I admitted to -myself, when I put the question, that I had been philandering. But -there was not a swain in the village of Roselake who did not philander -with Wanza. And Wanza, gay, quick-tempered, happy-hearted Wanza--who -knew if she were as guileless as she seemed with her frank camaraderie? - -“To be sure you do,” I answered her, lying back on the soft green turf -and lazily watching the skimming clouds high above the terre verte -steeples of the pines, “to be sure you do. But how would you like to -earn thirty dollars a month--and still drive your cart?” - -“Mr. Dale,” Wanza returned, solemnly as before, “it can’t be done.” - -Her eyes had grown bigger and brighter, and she rocked forward, -clasping her hands over her knees. I did not reply to this assertion, -and after a pause she spoke one word, still hugging her knees and -keeping her cornflower blue eyes fixed steadily on the river. “How?” - -“Wanza,” I asked, “did you know Russell’s old ranch on Hidden Lake had -been sold?” - -She shook her head. - -“A lady has bought it. And this lady wants a companion--some one young -and lively. I think she would pay you well for being--er--lively. And I -am almost sure she would not object to the peddler’s cart, if you would -give up your evenings to her--” - -Wanza spoke abruptly. “No! Oh, no! No, indeed!” she declared. - -I was puzzled. “Why,” I said, “I thought the plan a capital one.” - -“But it isn’t. Just think of it, Mr. Dale. Daddy at home alone every -evening, and me--all smugged up, asetting there on one side of the -kitchen table--her on the other--me asewing, and her aknitting and -asleeping in her chair. Oh, I think I have a large sized picture of -myself doing it.” - -“Wanza,” I began tactfully, “how old do you think the lady is?” - -Wanza’s lips drew down, and she shook her head. - -“She is not old,” I ventured. - -“But I hate rich ladies when they’re middle-aged, Mr. Dale. A rich -woman, middle-aged, is as bad as a poor one when she’s terrible, -squeezy old. The rich one’ll want tea and toast in bed, and a fire in -her bedroom.” - -“Well,” I said, “I can’t vouch for the lady’s personal habits, but I’m -quite certain she won’t nod over her knitting, and I shouldn’t call her -middle-aged, Wanza.” - -Wanza looked suddenly suspicious. “Is she the lady as came to your -workshop, Mr. Dale?” - -“Yes, Wanza.” - -“How old would you say she was?” - -“Not over twenty-six.” - -“Twenty-six.” A suspicious glint darkened Wanza’s blue eyes. “Pretty?” - -“Yes.” - -The eyes glowered. - -“Thirty a month would be a help, now, Wanza, wouldn’t it?” I wheedled. - -Wanza threw out both arms, dropped back on the grass and lay with -closed eyes. Presently she murmured faintly: “Did you say thirty a -month?” - -“I said thirty a month,” I repeated firmly. - -One eye opened. Wanza kicked a pine cone into the river, opened the -other eye, and stared at the tips of her copper-toed shoes fixedly. - -“Thirty a month added to twenty-four--Mm! I could go to school next -year, Mr. Dale.” - -“You could.” - -“I could learn how to talk.” - -“How to talk correctly,” I amended. - -“That’s what I meant. Well, it all depends.” - -“On what, Wanza?” - -“On her. If she’s a certain kind, I can’t go--if she isn’t, I can.” - -“It sounds simple,” I decided. - -We were silent for a time. I lay back with half closed eyes, watching -a king-bird that had a nest in a cottonwood tree on the bank hard by. -Presently Wanza spoke lazily: - -“There’s a lot of those Dotted Blue butterflies hovering about, Mr. -Dale--the gay little busy things--they look like flowers with wings.” - -I unclosed my eyes and looked at the azure cloud before us. - -“Those are the Acmon, girl. See the orange-red band on the hind wings. -Look closely. The Dotted Blue have a dusky purplish band.” - -“Of course. I don’t seem to learn very fast. But I’m getting to know -the birds, and I do know heaps about the wild flowers. I never saw such -big daisies as I saw to-day in the meadow back of our house--I don’t -suppose you call them daisies--and a yellow-throat has a nest among -’em. Yes! Oh, the meadow looks like a snow field! I been watching the -daisies--they close up at night, tight.” - -“And they open with the dawn. Daisies are not very common in the west. -I must have a look at your snow field.” - -Wanza’s luxuriant hair of richest maize color was spread out in sheeny -wealth over the pillow of pine needles on which her head rested. I -reached out negligently and separated a long curl from its fellows. -“How silky and fine it is,” I commented. Wanza lay motionless. “It -would be wonderful--washed,” I murmured, half to myself. - -Wanza kicked another pine cone into the river. - -“Plenty of soap and a thorough rinsing,” I continued musingly. - -“Let it alone,” Wanza commanded crossly, her light brows coming -together over stormy eyes. - -“I can’t,” I said teasingly. “My fingers are rough, and it clings.” - -Wanza sat up quickly, cried “Ouch!” and the next instant I received a -stinging slap on the cheek. I caught her by the elbows, got to my feet, -and pulled her up beside me. - -“I think I won’t recommend you to the lady who has bought Russell’s old -ranch, after all,” I taunted. “She wouldn’t want a virago.” - -She gave a smothered sound and put her head down suddenly into the -crook of her arm, and I felt that she was weeping. I looked down at the -sunny hair straying in beautiful disarray over the rough sleeve of my -flannel shirt, and I experienced a pang of self-reproach. I had wounded -her pride. I had offended grievously. Repentantly I attempted to lift -the burrowing chin. - -“I was only teasing, silly,” I was beginning. - -Wanza’s head came up with an abrupt jerk, and--she bit me--a nasty, -sharp little nip on my ingratiating finger. - - - - -CHAPTER V - -THE LEAD - - -I SEEMED to have cut myself off quite effectually from communication -with either Haidee or Wanza. The days went by, colorless and unlovely. -And June came at last, bringing new wonderful wild flowers, and added -tassels to the tamaracks, and browner stalks to the elder bushes. - -One unusually hot afternoon I sat in my canoe, idly drifting on the -shadowy river, marvelling at the clear cut reflections, and casting an -eye about for a certain elusive break in the screen of willow shoots -and rushes. If I once paddled my craft successfully through this meagre -opening, I knew I should find a narrow waterway that would convey me to -the shore of Hidden Lake. - -What I should do when I reached that shore was a matter of conjecture. -But after paddling along close to the high grass and floundering about -in the tules for an hour, I gave over my search, rested on my paddle, -and fell into deep thought. And my thoughts were not pleasant ones. -Like the man in the story, I realized that at a certain hour of a -certain day I had been a fool. - -A slight sound disturbed my reverie. I looked ahead. A canoe came -slipping along in the shade of the willows. As I stared and stared, a -voice hailed me, a voice compelling and shrill. Wanza sat, paddle in -hand, the thick fair hair pleached low on her brows and bound with a -crimson handkerchief, her young eyes disdainful, her lips sulky. When -she met my eyes she frowned. - -I swept my canoe close to hers. “Did you call me?” I asked, with marked -respect. - -She frowned still more deeply. - -“Wanza,” I cried, with swift cajolery, “washed or unwashed your hair is -wonderful. It is the color of corn silk, and your eyes are surely blue -as the cornflowers. Will you forgive my rudeness when last we met?” - -She smiled ever so slightly and the heaviness left her face. - -“How is business?” I asked. - -“I’ve sold one whisk broom, five spools of darning cotton, a pair of -cotton socks, and three strings of blue glass beads, to-day,” she said -succinctly. - -“Glass beads are the mode, then? It is shocking how out of touch I am -with the world of fashion beyond Cedar Dale.” I smiled across at the -flushed face. “Now who among the rancher’s wives, I wonder, could have -had the temerity to pay the price of three strings of blue glass beads.” - -Wanza drew her paddle from the water, giving her head a backward toss. -“And it isn’t to ranchers’ wives or town folks I’ve been selling the -beads. It’s to the gipsies at the gipsy encampment beyond the village.” -Of a sudden her face crumpled with an expression of sly reflection. “A -gipsy woman told my fortune too, Mr. Dale; oh, a great fortune she told -me!” - -“What did she tell you, child?” I asked, anxious to appear friendly and -interested. “It must have been something exceptionally good, since you -are so vastly pleased.” - -Her light brows came together. She shook her head until her hair spun -out riotously like fine zigzag flames about her damask cheeks. “It was -not a bit good. It was as bad as bad could be. Hm! It made me shiver, -Mr. Dale. She said she saw,” Wanza lowered her voice and glanced -apprehensively over her shoulder at the tree shadows, “she said she saw -blood on my hands.” - -In spite of myself I felt myself grow cold, sitting there with the warm -sun on my back. And I cried out angrily: “Have you no better sense -than to listen to a pack of foolish lies from the tongue of a vagabond -gipsy? I am surprised at you, Wanza. Surprised--yes, and ashamed of -you!” - -I dipped my paddle into the water and swung my canoe about. - -“Wait,” I heard a surprisingly meek voice entreat. “I thought you was -going to get me a place with the lady as has bought Russell’s old -place. Have you forgotten, Mr. Dale?” - -I rested on my paddle. “Oh, no,” I said, airily, “I have not forgotten!” - -“I believe you’ve been hunting for the opening in the willows and -haven’t been able to find it, either! And here was I hoping you could -help me! I been looking for it for an hour. I was going to see this -woman at Hidden Lake, myself. After a while when I get to a slack time -with my peddling I may take the place with her.” - -There was a brief silence. I felt her searching eyes on my face. - -“To be sure,” I said then, “I can find the tricksy aperture that leads -to the narrow water route that runs between this river and Hidden -Lake--” - -Wanza interrupted me with an impish laugh. - -“It sounds like that nursery rhyme you say to Joey.” - -“Yes,” I went on with the air of weighing the matter, “I can find the -opening very easily, I dare say, when I come to look for it.” - -Her eyes grew grave. She favored me with a ruminative glance. Presently -she said: - -“Well, go ahead--find the tricksy aperture! I’m waiting.” - -I propelled my canoe forward. “I shall find the open sesame,” I boasted. - -The gravity left her eyes; they grew starry with mirth. She repeated -gaily: - -“Go ahead!” - -After all it was through sheer good luck that I found the entrance to -the slight channel that led to the lake. Wanza gave me a surprised -glance as I held aside the willow shoots lest the branches rake her -head, as her canoe slipped through the leafy opening in the wall of -high growing greenery. My blood flowed smoothly and deliciously through -my veins as I answered her glance and swept my canoe along close to -hers, letting the willows swing into place behind us. - -Oh, the secretive charm of the weaving, ribbon-like waterway, as -it glided in and out between the high willow-fringed banks of the -meadows! Oh, the flowered border-ways past which the curling stream -ran turbidly, oily and dark and shadow-flecked, beneath the shivering -grey-green tree arcade. Oh, the perfume of the syringa, the pipe of -mating birds, the bee droning that made the air sensuous with sound. -We were borne along silkenly. We scarcely spoke. We drifted thus for -a time, and then the channel, gradually widening, conveyed us through -leafy growths and over-arching green to the lake, snug in its frame of -cedars. - -Ten minutes later I stood on the crumbling steps of the old cabin and -looked up at Wanza, where she stood, leaning against the door frame, -a waving curtain of woodbine casting delicate shadows on her face. -Glancing down and meeting my eyes she smiled. - -“Shall I knock?” she whispered. - -I nodded. - -But her knock elicited no response. - -“I reckon she’s gone off into the woods sketching. Old Lundquist says -she sketches a lot, and rides, and shoots at marks.” - -My heart sank. I sat down on the top step. Wanza seated herself on the -piazza railing. “Quiet here, isn’t it?” she said musingly. “I think -I’d like living here. It’s wild and free. Why, the village just seems -to cramp me sometimes! What’s that funny bird making that screeching -noise, Mr. Dale? And where is he?” - -“In the pine tree yonder. High up on one of the topmost branches. -That’s our western wood pewee, Wanza. Listen and you will hear the true -pewee note. He gives it occasionally. But his customary note is a very -strident unlovely one, almost like the cry a hawk makes--there! He is -giving his pewee call, now.” - -We sat very still, listening. “Pewee, Pewee,” the bird gave its sad, -plaintive cry, repeatedly. - -Presently I said: “So even as unconventional a place as Roselake -village makes you restless, does it, Wanza?” - -“I should say so. It’s the people--and--and church!” - -“Church!” - -She met my eyes somberly. “Going to church almost kills me. It does, -honest. Hats do, too.” - -“Hats!” - -“Thinking about ’em. Seeing ’em on other people--in front of you--at -church--knowing they can’t afford ’em--but wishing you’d skimped Dad a -little more on his white sugar and got a better one.” - -I laughed outright. Her eyes continued to meet mine broodingly. - -“Why don’t we have church outdoors, Mr. Dale? And why don’t we just -kneel down in our work clothes, bareheaded? I’d like to know! The -trouble with church is that we only have it once a week and in the -house. If we had it in the woods or fields and we didn’t go dressed -up--oh, a body’d feel so much nearer to heaven!” - -“The woods were God’s first temples,” I said gently. - -“I’d like to go to church in the woods, and to school in the woods. -When I am sick--even sick-hearted--the out of doors seems to cure me, -Mr. Dale.” - -“Nature is sanative,” I agreed. - -Her eyes fired. “I love every tree and every shrub, and every rose and -every trillium--yes, even the weeds--yarrow ain’t so bad! It’s got a -fine nutty flavor, hasn’t it now? I love the scarred old mountains, and -I love the dew on fine mornings, and the sky on stormy nights.” - -“Heaven’s terrible bonfires, and the delicate rainbow belt--the purple -of the new day,” I murmured dreamily. - -Wanza drew her feet up beneath her gown, and clasped her knees with her -hands. Looking across them she put a wistful question: “Does it seem -long to you since you were a little boy, Mr. Dale?” - -“Rather long,” I answered drearily. - -“I feel still as if I was a little girl. Funny, ain’t it? I like such -wee things--flowers and birds, and kittens and puppies.” - -“You seem very childlike, Wanza--your mind is like that of a child--I -mean--you think like a child.” Here I broke off, catching an indignant -flash in her eye. - -“How do you know I think like a child? I may act like one. And a very -bad one, too, sometimes! I don’t deny that. But my thoughts--well, they -are my own! I’d be willing sometimes to have them child-thoughts.” She -sighed ponderously. “Hm! I have some pretty grown-up thoughts--and -worries, times, when I’m all alone.” - -“I intended to say, Wanza girl, that you have a young soul--students of -Oriental literature tell us that some souls are younger than others.” - -She looked at me, frowned, bit her lip and then said dryly: “Do they -know more about it than we do?” - -“I think so, child.” - -“Oh, all right--I don’t care! So long as I know I’ve got a soul it’s -enough for me.” - -“There are people--do you know it, little girl?--who doubt the -existence of the soul.” - -“What?” - -Wanza turned on me so quickly that she almost lost her balance on the -piazza railing. I repeated my remark. - -“They don’t believe--they don’t belie--why, David Dale, how dare you -sit there and tell me such stuff as that!” - -“I am speaking the truth, girl.” - -“Did you ever know any one who thought that way? Tell me that?” - -“Yes--one or two.” - -“Where?” - -“At college.” - -“At college!” Wanza gave a quick twitter of mirth. “Well, if they -was such fools as that, why did they waste their time trying to learn -anything.” - -I shook my head. “I cannot answer that, Wanza.” - -“Why! Couldn’t they smell the flowers, and see the birds--and hear ’em, -and look up at the stars at night?” - -I shook my head again. “One would think so, child.” - -“Perhaps they never looked down at the flowers, or up at the birds, or -higher up at the stars.” - -“Perhaps not.” - -“Law!” Disgust was painted on her speaking face. “I knew there was all -kinds of people in the world!--siwashs, and cannibals, and heathen as -never had a chance--but I never knew before that there was educated -white men who didn’t believe folks has got souls.” She uncramped her -knees, let her feet down until they touched the floor, and rose to her -full height, stretching her arms high over her head. Standing thus, she -raised her face and closed her eyes, I saw her lips move. - -Still maintaining her position she whispered presently: - -“Even with my eyes shut--not being able to see anything--I can _feel_ -God!” - -And this was Wanza--simple, ignorant Wanza! whom I aspired to teach. - -We sat on the steps, side by side till sundown, waiting for the -mistress of the cabin to appear. But she did not come. And in the -twilight Wanza and I paddled back through the narrow lead, and parted -where it joins the river. Her song floated back to me as I swept along -in my canoe,--an old, old song I had often heard my father sing: - - “Wait for me at heaven’s gate--Sweet Bell Mahone.” - -In the east I saw the thin curve of the new moon; the departing sun -had left the west purple and gold, the water was streaked with color. -I heard the whistle of the thrush, and the weird, “Kildee-Kildee” -of the Kildeer from the marshy shore of the lake. The hour was rich -with charm. Old Indian legends leaped to my mind as the fascinating -“Kildee-Kildee” note continued. I thought of myself as a little chap -listening to Leather Stocking bed-time tales told to me by my father, -while I lay watching with charmed eyes the shadow of the acacia tree -on the opposite wall. Memories stirred. My throat tightened. Before -I could grip my thoughts and turn them aside to safer channels, tears -rolled down my cheeks. “Dad, Dad,” I whispered, over and over, as if he -might hear me, “anything for you--anything!” - - - - -CHAPTER VI - -CAPTAIN GRIF - - -WANZA’S father had always been an interesting personality to me. He was -a portly, ponderous-speaking man, with a rubicund visage, a twinkling -eye, and a jovial smile. There was a humourous twist to each sentence -he turned, and this in connection with an undeniable stutter made -conversation with him an unending source of joy. - -He had been a sea captain in his youth. He could spin me yarns by the -hour. And many a snug winter evening I had spent in the little room -under the eaves of his comfortable cottage, listening to tales of the -high seas, and songs of the rolling main. His room with its slanting -ceiling, its built-in bunks, its nautical equipment of compass and -sextant, charts and logbook and maps, smacked pleasantly of the sea; -and when the wind roared in the chimney and the snow and sleet twanged -on the window panes, I used to shut my eyes and fancy myself aboard -the good ship _Wanderer_ bound for the North Seas. - -There was always a glass on the table, and a bottle of home-made root -beer was always forthcoming, and though I was not over fond of this -drink a glass of it had a grateful tang, when I drank with Old Grif -Lyttle, the captain of the bonny brig _Wanderer_, in the small cubby -hole he called his cabin. - -The captain invariably wore a blue jacket with brass buttons. His -nether garments might be what one would call shabby and uncouth, but -the jacket was always neatly brushed, the buttons burnished. Wanza -was like the Hebe in Pinafore--she kept his buttons bright. And had -he owned a sword to polish I am well satisfied it would have been -immaculate. Wanza’s pride in her father was unbounded. It was equaled -only by his pride in her. - -“The smartest gal--and the prettiest,” he would say, “you’ll f-find in -the whole state. Jest like her dead mother, Mr. Dale, jest like her. -Smart as a s-sand piper. Named herself--she did. Did I ever tell you -about that now?” Here he would pause and look at me sharply. And though -the tale was a familiar one to me I would always affect deep interest -and bid him proceed. “It was this a-way,” he would continue, “when her -mother was my sweetheart, being of a fanciful turn, and with a decided -hankerin’ after me,--as was to be expected, when I was gone for months -on the sea and everything uncertain like,--she called me her wanderer. -I was her wanderer, and her wandering boy, and finally her wandering -husband. So when I got my ship at last it was natural--although I was -in favor of naming the craft after her--for us to decide that the -name should be _The Wanderer_. In due time Wanza was born. Well, it -had been easy enough naming the ship, but there warnt no name good -enough for the babe! ‘Let her alone,’ I used to say, ‘she’s a s-smart -child, she’ll name herself.’ And sure enough when she was old enough -to prattle she began calling herself Wanzer, from hearing her mother -and me speak of the craft, sir. I reckon sometimes hearing us call it -endearin’ titles she thought we was referrin’ to her babyship. At least -my wife she allowed as much. Howsoever, from Wanzer she got it changed -to Wanza, and my wife allowed that Wanza was a genteel enough name, so -we stuck by it.” - -The small, four-roomed cottage where Wanza and her father lived was -at the edge of the village. It stood on a slight rise of ground, -overlooking the lake. From the narrow front porch one could look -abroad and see fertile fields, stretches of smooth, glossy meadow-land, -and the craggy grey-blue mountains in the distance. In summer Grif -Lyttle could be found customarily on his porch. And it was here I -discovered him, when in my new restlessness I thought of him and -wondering how he fared, sought him out. - -He made me welcome. His ruddy face broke into smiles at the sight of -me, and he rose from his rocker, and shoved me, with a playful poke in -the ribs, into the seat he had vacated, saying: - -“By golly, ship-mate, I thought you’d passed me up for good and all.” - -He sat down in a red-cushioned Boston rocker opposite me. A small table -stood between us, and as he spoke he gave me a sly wink, and whisked -off a white cloth that covered a tray that reposed there. A bottle and -two glasses stood revealed, a plate of pretzels, and one of cheese -cakes. - -“My lunch,” he explained. “That is to say--our lunch, boy.” - -“But you thought I had passed you by. The extra glass is not for the -likes of me. Come now--whom do I rob?” - -“It’s Father O’Shan from the Mission. Here’s to him! He’s an hour -late, and the man who is an hour late had better not come at all.” - -“Not if he comes for cakes and ale,” I assented, biting into a cheese -cake with relish. - -“No--nor if he comes for nothing. Punctuality is my hobby. Yes, it be, -s-ship-mate. There’s twice the spice to an adventure if it’s pulled -off when it should be. Cool your heels fifteen minutes, or a half -hour, waiting for the party of the second part, and you don’t give -a--ahem!--what becomes of the expedition. Yes, sir! the keen whet has -gone if you have to wait over long for the other fellow. That chap is -a borrowin’--no! he’s stealin’ your time. And I don’t borrow--and I -don’t like to lend--and you can’t respect a thief. So there you are!” -He looked at me, grinned mendaciously, and continued: “The other fellow -gets the cream of the whole adventure. He’s probably takin’ a drink -with some other old crony while you’re waitin’.” - -“But that doesn’t apply in this case,” I reminded him, calmly helping -myself to another of Wanza’s delicious cheese cakes. - -“Not in this case. No, sir! Father O’Shan’s probably been held up by -some one with a long-winded yarn of how the poor wife’s adyin’ of -consumption, and the kids of starvation. The Father’s heart’s that -s-soft he’d s-strip the coat from his back to give it to a beggar.” - -“Yes,” I said, “I well know that. Wanza has told me as much.” - -“Wanza knows she hasn’t any better friends than Father O’Shan and -the sisters at the old Mission up De Smet way.” The smiling face -lengthened, he filled his pipe from the tobacco jar at his elbow, -and tamped down the weed with a broad forefinger. “Wanza’s a high -strung girl, Mr. Dale, she’s peppery, and she’s headstrong, but Sister -Veronica can do almost anything with her, ay! since the time when -I brought her out to the river country with me, a poor, sick, wee, -motherless lass, pretty nigh sixteen years ago. She’s larned all she -knows of the sisters about cooking and sewing and the like.” - -“And we know that is considerable,” I said. - -“She’s quite some cook, I make no doubt. There ain’t much Wanza don’t -know about a house.” - -“How do you manage during Wanza’s busy season when she is absent so -much in her cart? She seems to be a very busy saleswoman these days,” I -remarked. - -“Well, the days are lonesome like. But she’s hardly ever gone more’n -a night or two at a time--the gal never neglects her old dad. Once -a week she tidies and bakes regular. I am used to bachin’ it too, it -seems natural to cook vittles, and sweep--jest like old times. I allow -it’s great. The most bothersome thing I have to do nowadays is ’tendin’ -the flowers. Wanza’s got such a posy garden it sure gets to be a -nuisance some days when my joints be stiffer than common.” - -He chuckled and waved in the direction of the garden plot at the side -of the house. “Not but what I take a pride in it myself,” he added as -he caught my interested and not wholly unappreciative glance. - -To glance at Wanza’s garden was to receive a dizzying impression of -pink and white bloom, pranked round by shining smooth rocks of uniform -size and whiteness. The flash and dazzle of it struck blindingly on the -eyes. It was Wanza-like. I got up, descended the porch steps, and went -to the garden, the better to inspect its glamour and richness. Rows of -pink holly-hocks, clusters of sweet William, trellises of sweet peas, -fluffy red peonies, pink and white poppies bordering beds of tea roses -breathed of Wanza. And yet--the wild things at Cedar Dale pleased her -best, I knew. - -Captain Lyttle seemed to be reading my thoughts, for he said -facetiously: - -“It’s a fairly purty garden, to my notion, but there ain’t anything in -it as good as the swamp laurel and lupine at Cedar Dale, accordin’ to -Wanza. She don’t hold by cultivated flowers no more, she says. Give -her the wood-flowers as grows wild and hides away, she says. And that -reminds me, Mr. Dale, I got that bird you give her at Christmas on my -hands, too. ‘Poor old Dad,’ she says, ‘will have him for company. He’s -mine,’ she says, ‘he’s mine. But, Dad, what’s mine is yours.’ Meanin’ -I’m to take care ’o him.” He put his hand on my shoulder. “Come along -in to Wanza’s room and have a look at him.” - -I was getting new side lights on Wanza’s character to-day. Even her -room was an elucidation. It was small, with a long narrow window on -the south side and a door that opened into the garden. The walls were -bright with gay sprigged paper, the bed was white as a snow heap, -the curtain at the window was spotless and looped with pink ribbon. -Wood-work and floor were painted green, also the wooden bed and small -dresser. There was a green tissue paper shade on the lamp on the -table; and green paper rosettes were wreathed around cheap prints -and fastened with gilt headed tacks to the walls. But in spite of its -tawdriness the room had a fragrance of lavender, a nicety that was -comforting. It was a little girl’s room. Indeed, I spied a fat-faced -wax doll in one corner seated on a balloon-like pink silk cushion; and -on a shelf with an impossible beaded lambrequin stood a Dresden-china -lamb and a wax cupid in a glass case. - -The canary’s cage hung in the window, clouded in folds of pink mosquito -bar. But the canary itself was on the limb of a flowering currant bush -outside the window. I chirruped to it, but it contented itself with -chirruping back, and I left it unmolested. As I looked around the room -again my eye was arrested by a snap-shot picture of Joey and myself -framed in bark and covered with the inevitable pink mosquito netting, -standing on a small table at the head of Wanza’s bed. Above it on -the wall hung a Christmas card I had given Wanza, bearing Tiny Tim’s -message “God bless us every one.” - -Grif Lyttle evinced considerable pride as he showed me the room. His -genial face beamed, and his eyes shone as he looked about him from the -green rosettes to the beaded lambrequin and back to me. - -“Snug little nest, eh?” he hazarded. Meeting my appraising eye his face -twisted into an odd look of whimsical interrogation. “Some girl--what? -Know any finer--ever see a prettier?” - -“No,” I answered. - -“Nowhere?” - -“No.” - -“Ever eat after a better cook?” - -“Certainly I never have.” - -“Ever expect to?” - -“No.” - -He gave his booming laugh, and led the way to the porch. - -“Right-o, ship-mate! Have another glass now, and we’ll drink to the -gal’s health, and finish the cheese cakes.” - -Passing along the main street of the village some two hours later, I -saw Father O’Shan, climbing out of a ramshackle gig at the door of -the post-office. I went up to him and placed my hand on his shoulder, -saying: - -“Good afternoon, Father O’Shan, I want to confess.” - -His fine, ascetic face turned round to me with a wave of quick sympathy -overspreading it; then when he saw who it was who had accosted him he -laughed, a musical, clear-timbred peal, good to hear. - -“I have eaten your cheese cakes,” I vouchsafed. - -He wrung my hand. “Good! Captain Grif doesn’t have much sympathy -with the delinquent. I fancy his comments were characteristic.” A -shadow fell athwart his face. “I was called to the bedside of a -sick man--a dying man--a homesteader. He is dying in poverty and -distress--alone--but for me, yonder in the mountains.” - -My mood veered suddenly. “I know the man--if I can help,--” I began, -and stumbled on; “In like straits I may find myself, some day.” - -I felt my shoulder pressed. “No, David Dale. Not you! Will you walk -with me a way?” he asked abruptly. - -I turned with him and we left the dusty street, and took the road that -bordered the river. Already the sun was slipping behind the western -mountains, and the water ran rainbow colored, between its high, -shelving banks. Father O’Shan took off his hat and bared his head to -the breeze that was springing up. - -“A day for gods to stoop--ay, and men to soar,” he quoted, favoring me -with his warm smile. “I’ve had a hard day, Dale, a hard day.” - -I think I have never seen so rare a face as his. Rugged and yet womanly -sensitive and fine. He was a man ten years my senior, I dare say, and -in his glance there was something gripping and compelling, something at -once stern and gentle, whimsical and austere. - -“A hard day--but you’ve been equal to it, Father O’Shan,” I cried -impulsively. “When the day comes that I am broken in health, and old -and friendless, I shall ask for no other physician, no truer companion, -no more sympathetic assuager of pain than you.” - -I grinned sheepishly as I spoke, but my companion answered earnestly: - -“You speak as if you expected always to remain in your small corner, -Dale. If I could prophesy I would say two years hence will not find you -here.” - -I shook my head, and we walked on in silence for awhile. - -“You may marry,” he was beginning, but at the black cloud apparent on -my face he caught himself up, saying: “I can’t believe you have no -future ahead of you, man.” He went on, gravely: “Dale, I want to be -assured that you look upon me as a friend. We know each other rather -well, and I think we find each other congenial. We have had some rather -interesting arguments during our jovial evenings with Captain Grif. At -first I thought you were a genius. But I know you better now. I have -studied you. You’re normal, splendidly balanced, healthy, resistant. -You’re clever and plodding--you’ll make good. But you are not a genius. -I like you immensely. Certain things I have gathered from Wanza make -me feel that at times you need a friendly hand--that you are breasting -treacherous currents, even now. Come, Dale, I’d be your friend.” - -He held out his hand, mine went out to meet it and we struck palms -warmly. I said then: - -“I have not been a black sheep. It’s a shadow on my past that keeps -me here, of course. But the story is not my own--it must be kept -inviolate. But my present troubles and ambitions are for your ear--if -you will have them. There’s my sordid, pinching poverty--you know of -that--and--I am writing a book--” - -He caught his lip between his teeth; his eyes flashed at me; he -appraised me. - -“What sort of book?” - -“A novel. A story with a strong nature atmosphere. Someway I feel it -will be a success.” - -“Good! Success to you. Success to you--and Wanza.” - -“Wanza!” I cried, starting uncontrollably. “What has she to do with it? -Wanza--that child?” I finished smilingly. - -“A child, is she?” He came to a halt in front of me. “David Dale, be -careful in your dealings with that child. Forgive me--I asked you to -bear me company that I might say this to you. Be careful.” - -“But I do not understand,” I parried. - -He said nothing more, meeting my eyes gravely and extending his hand. -And so we parted. And I went home and smiled to myself over his last -words as I reviewed them. No one so well as I knew what an incorrigible -child Wanza was. I thought of the wax doll on the pink silk cushion and -was convinced. - -Father O’Shan was the first person to whom I had confided my ambition -concerning the novel I was engaged on. I had labored at it many -months. It was progressing satisfactorily to me. By autumn I hoped to -complete it. I had a fond hope that Christmas would find it sold to -the publishing firm in the East to whom I proposed to send it. If it -sold--if it sold!--my plan was to support myself and Joey by the sale -of my cedar chests and wood carvings until I could make good in the -world of literature. - - - - -CHAPTER VII - -WANZA BAKES A CAKE - - -ONE sunny afternoon in the following week I again took my canoe and -slipped down the river to the small aperture in the willows. This time -I did not hesitate, but entered the lead boldly. And I was no sooner -afloat upon the green-fringed waterway than my temerity was rewarded. A -canoe appeared around a bend ahead of me, and in the craft sat Haidee -plying the paddle. She was almost a dazzling vision as she approached -me. She was in white, and the shadows were green all about her, and the -ribband snood on her head was blue, and blue flowers were heaped around -her feet. When she saw me she called out: “Have you forgotten that you -were to send me Wanza Lyttle?” and there was an amused light in her -brilliant eyes. - -In my confusion I stammered and was unable to make a coherent reply, -and after a quick glance at my face, she exclaimed: - -“Never mind! I have seen her for myself.” - -“You have seen her?” - -“Yes. I rode into Roselake village this morning and enquired right -and left for Miss Lyttle. Every one smiled and said: ‘Who? Wanza?’ -Then I met her in her cart on the river road. I knew her by the green -umbrella.” Haidee paused and ruminated, wrinkling her brows. “I know -why she lined her umbrella with pink.” - -“Well,” I cried, disregarding the seeming irrelevance, “is she coming -to stay with you? That’s the main thing.” - -“She’s asked for a week or so in which to consider. But--yes, I think -she’s coming to stay with me.” - -I breathed a sigh of relief. “Then that’s settled.” - -She went on evenly: “Now that you have found the waterway I hope, very -often, after I have secured the services of that distracting girl of -the green umbrella--when I am lonely--and you are lonely too--you will -take your canoe and seek us out. Not,” she amended quickly, “that I -mind my solitude. All my life I have hungered for the quiet places. -But I must confess I have an eerie feeling--at times--on moonless -nights--and sometimes just at twilight--and always when a coyote howls -in the night.” Her bright face clouded, then she shrugged. “Never mind! -We all have our haunted hours. In the daytime I am gloriously happy and -carefree. I take my mare and follow any casual, wee road I can find. I -sketch in the woods, and along the river. I tramp too, and climb the -hills. But Sonia, my mare, and I are good company. I have hired that -funny bent man who lives back on the mountain to take care of my mare -for me.” - -“Lundquist?” I asked, quickly. - -“Yes. He has been very neighborly,” she replied, with a slight emphasis -on the pronoun. She smiled, meeting my eyes, and I said quickly: “I -shall be only too happy to call on you and Wanza. I can understand how -one not accustomed to solitude would find the environs of Hidden Lake -depressing.” - -Her face grew thoughtful. “I have been wondering lately what attracted -me so strongly to the place. It is a drab, unlikely spot, I know. The -lake is like a black tarn at night, the dense growth of cedars and -pines is repellant, at times. In the moonlight the trees stand up so -threatening and ghostly. And when the wind blows they wave gaunt, -bearded arms abroad as if warning the too venturesome wayfarer against -intruding here. I have roughhewn my life, Mr. Dale, but I must believe -some force beyond me is shaping it. I have been fascinated against my -better judgment by Hidden Lake! I had to pitch my tent here, for a -time! I had no choice.” - -It seemed a strange confession. All at once a question leaped to my -lips, and I spoke hurriedly: - -“I wish you would tell me something of yourself--where your home -is--your real home!” - -“My real home?” - -“I can picture you with surroundings better suited to you. Even I say -to myself, ‘God grant that this be not my house and my homestead, but -decree it to be only the inn of my pain.’” - -The quick carmine stained her cheeks. She lifted the blue flowers and -held them, plucking nervously at the petals. Then she looked up at -me, and uttered something like a little cry of scorn. “Why, it’s a -painter’s paradise--in spite of the loneliness that abounds! Can’t you -see that?” - -“I can see that, of course,” I answered. - -“And I am an artist. So you are answered. Years ago, with my father, -who had mining interests in this section, I spent one whole summer on -the Swiftwater, painting. Since then I have hungered to get back to -this adorable river country. I have always wanted a painting retreat in -this marvelous lake-jeweled meadow-land, where the mountains shift and -merge their colors, and the rivers have such cameo-like reflections. -No matter where I may wander,” she went on with enthusiasm, “I shall -always be glad of this place of inspiration to work in and dream in--I -don’t look upon it as a permanent habitation, simply as a delightful -camp in the wilderness I love.” - -Paddling home I recalled Haidee’s enthusiasm with a smile. And then I -bethought me that she had not after all told me the slightest thing -concerning herself or any recent home. - -Some two hours later as I bent over the stove in the kitchen, intent -on frying some thick slices of cornmeal mush for Joey’s supper, I -heard the whir and grind of wheels and the creaking of harness through -the open window. I glanced out. A buckskin pony and two-wheeled cart -were skirting the ploughed field and approaching the cabin. I glimpsed -a familiar figure beneath the pink glow of the lining of the green -umbrella. When the buckskin pony was near enough for me to see the -green paper rosettes on its harness, I called out to Joey, who was -laying the table in the front room: - -“Put on another plate, lad. Wanza is coming.” - -Something was amiss with Joey. His face had displayed unmistakable -signs of perturbation during the day, and there was something -infinitely pathetic about the droop of his brown head, usually held so -gallantly. I had thought best to disregard his melancholy attitude, -knowing that bed-time would bring an unburdening of his heart. In -response to my announcement, he gave a fairly frenzied shriek of joy. - -“Good--ee!” he shouted, with such a clatter of hob nails as he crossed -to the cupboard that I could picture in my mind the jig steps that -carried him thither. “There’s a wee bit of molasses in the jug,” he -called to me, “I was saving it for taffy--you said I might. I’ll just -put it on. And the spring is ’most full of cress, Mr. David,--I’ll -scoot out and get a panful before she gets here.” - -He was off like a flash through the kitchen to the spring as Wanza -entered by the front door. - -I went to meet her. I found her standing in the centre of the living -room. The door was open behind her, and her hair was like a pale silver -flame in the light. As I drew near to her I saw that her cheeks were -splashed with crimson, her eyes dark with some tempestuous stress of -feeling. There was something unfriendly in her bearing. But I held out -my hand and cried blithely: - -“You are just in time to have a bite of supper with us, Wanza. We heard -the rattle of your cart, and Joey has gone to the spring for cress.” - -She met my glance dourly. Her brows came together and she ignored my -outstretched hand. - -“Mr. David Dale,” she said with great dignity, “perhaps I am wrong, but -it’s my opinion you’ve forgotten what day it is.” - -I smiled into the sullen face. “Oh, no,” I said airily, “I have not -forgotten! To-day is wash day--therefore Monday.” - -“Yes, and whose birthday is it, Mr. Dale?” - -I stared at her. - -“Whose birthday, whose? Just his--his--as never had a birthday that’s -known of! Except that you vowed he should keep a day for his own every -year, and named a day for him, which I thought you meant to keep sacred -as Christmas, ’most.” - -A light dawned on me. Some years before Wanza and I had decided that -Joey must keep one day each year as his birthday, and I had dedicated -the fifth of June to my little lad; planning to keep each fifth of -June as if it were indeed the anniversary of his birth, as it was -the anniversary of his coming to me. A week since I had bethought me -of this, yes, even yesterday I had remembered it. But to-day I had -visited a charmed spot, I had seen a radiant being, I had listened to a -seraphic voice--I had forgotten. I hung my head. - -Wanza spoke again. “The poor boy,” she said, “poor Joey!” There was a -break in her accusing tones. “I didn’t think that you’d be the one to -forget him, Mr. Dale.” - -“I’m ashamed of it, Wanza,” I confessed. My heart turned heavy within -me. I felt a traitor to my trusting lad who would never in his most -opulent moment have forgotten me. “I am heartily ashamed of it,” I -repeated. - -After an uncomfortable pause I ventured to raise my eyes from the -floor. I saw then that Wanza’s arms were filled with mysterious weighty -looking bundles. As I would have taken them from her she shook her -head, then nodded in the direction of the kitchen. - -“You’ve got a good fire going, I see. Let’s get busy! Split up some -good dry wood. I want a hot oven in ten minutes. I’ve brought raisins -and spices and brown sugar--I’ll stir up a birthday cake. And as for -you--” she paused in her progress kitchenward to favor me with an -ominous frown--“as for you, Mr. David Dale, don’t let that boy know you -went and forgot his birthday or--or I’ll never speak to you again.” - -She passed on to the kitchen and I seized the ax and betook myself to -the chopping block. I had just laid my hand on a piece of resinous wood -when I heard a joyous confused babble of tongues in the kitchen I had -quitted. Joey had entered by the front door and shouted Wanza’s name -gleefully. And then I heard: - -“Bless your old heart! Have you a birthday kiss for Wanza? Well I am -late getting round this birthday--I usually come at noon, don’t I, -Joey?--but better late than never! It’s getting too hot to eat in the -middle of the day. We thought--Mr. Dale and me--that we would change -the doings this year. We didn’t want you to imagine, Master Joey, that -we couldn’t think up anything new for your celebration. We ’lowed -as how you were getting a big boy now, and would like more grown-up -doings.” - -Joey responded chivalrously: - -“You’re terrible good to me, Wanza. I like any doings, ’most. I’ll -remember this birthday forever and ever, I know. Why, it’s been the -funniest birthday! Mr. David has been on the river ’most all afternoon. -I was ’most sure he’d forgot what day it was. But soon as I heard your -cart, Wanza, I knew what it was--a surprise party! Like folks give -ministers. And that was why Mr. David would not let on. I guess not -many boys have spice cake on their birthday, and can help bake it, too.” - -I heard the sound of a kiss, and Wanza saying in a choked voice: - -“There’s a bit of store candy in that brown paper sack, Joey. My, the -heat of the oven smarts my eyes! See, Joey! You can stone the raisins -for me while I beat the eggs for the frosting.” - -“Of course Mr. David wouldn’t forget my birthday,” I heard my loyal -lad resume as I stole forward to the door with my armful of wood, “I’m -’bout the same as his boy, ain’t I, Wanza?” - -I swung open the door, and dropping my load of wood to the floor, cried -cheerily: - -“Here’s the wood to cook the boy’s birthday supper, Wanza. Come and -give me a hug, Joey. I think you’re old enough to have a few nickels to -spend, boy,--put your hand in my pocket, the pocket where we keep our -jack-knife. There! What do you find?” - -“A dollar,” shrieked Joey with bulging eyes. - -“It’s yours,” I said. - -His eyes opened wide, gazed incredulously into mine; his face grew -white; and then tears gushed forth. “And I thought--I thought you’d -forgot my birthday,” he sobbed. - -Wanza’s nose was pink when I turned to hold the oven door open for her. -But her eyes were friendly, and her full, exquisite lips were smiling. - -“It’s going to be a perfectly grand cake,” she breathed. - -Joey had run whooping out of doors to bathe his face in the spring. -Emboldened by the girl’s smile I touched her smooth round cheek lightly. - -“There’s a tear here still, Wanza,” I teased, though my voice was -somewhat husky. “You’re April’s lady--sunshine and shadow--tears and -laughter; but you’re a good girl, Wanza, a fine staunch friend to Joey -and me. Don’t hold my thoughtlessness of to-day against me, please.” - -She dashed the drop away. Her cornflower blue eyes blazed suddenly into -mine. - -“I ’most hated you a little while ago, Mr. David Dale, when I knew why -you’d forgotten poor Joey’s birthday--” she hesitated, then repeated -defiantly, “when I knew why you’d forgotten.” - -“Now,” I said, challenging her, “I defy you to say why I forgot the -lad’s birthday.” - -“And I’ll tell you why. Because you’re thinking so much about the woman -as has taken old Russell’s cabin you haven’t got time to remember other -folks. Old Lundquist says you watch her light o’ nights from Nigger -Head.” - -“Lundquist is a meddlesome, prying old idiot,” I cried angrily. - -Seeing me aroused, Wanza’s anger cooled. “I dare say he is,” she -admitted, as she stepped to the oven door. “Why should you be taken -with a creature like her, I should like to know! Such a flabby, -white-faced, helpless moon-calf.” - -She laughed, shut the oven door, straightened her fine shoulders and -went to the window to cool her cheeks. I looked at her as she stood -there, I saw her smile and wave her hand to Joey, who was performing -sundry ablutions at the spring. She was wearing a collarless pink -cotton frock, spotless and fresh as water and starch and fastidious -ironing could make it; her face was as ardent as a flame, her eyes -glowed deep and impassioned, her lips were smooth as red rose petals. -Her mop of fine, blond curls was massed like a web of silk about her -colorful face. I looked at her with appreciation. But as I looked I -sighed. Hearing my sigh she gave me an odd glance, then crossed the -room and stood before me. - -“Mr. Dale,” she said soberly, “I am sorry I told you what old Lundquist -said. I allow you’ve a right to watch a light on Hidden Lake if you’ve -a mind to. Look ahere, do you want I should go and stay with her?” - -“Why,” I replied, “I think it would be kind, Wanza.” - -She bit her lip, shot a keen glance at me, and said shortly: - -“Then I’ll go, as soon as I have done my own house cleaning.” - -“You’re a good girl, Wanza,” I said again. - -She turned from me, sniffing the air. “That cake’s about done, I’ll -warrant. Call Joey, Mr. Dale, and I’ll put the mush on the table, and -see to the icing.” - -Somehow the meal did not pass off with the degree of festivity I had -hoped for. Wanza watched me from under her thick lashes in a most -disconcerting manner as we chatted desultorily, and my little lad was -unusually silent. I felt that I had not atoned to Joey for the long, -arduous day through which he had passed, that its memory lay like a -shadow over the present gala hour. To lighten it in some measure I -ventured a proposal. - -“Joey,” I said, speaking abruptly as a silence threatened to engulf us, -“how would you like to go gipsying with me for a few days?” - -“Gipsying,” Joey repeated. His face was illumined as he caught my -eye and partially sensed my meaning. “Does gipsying mean living in a -covered wagon, Mr. David, and cooking bacon on sticks over a camp fire?” - -I nodded. “All that and more, Joey. It means wonderful things, lad. It -means faring forth into the greenwood in a caravan in the rosy dawn -of a summer day, finding the most alluring trail that leads to the -most secretive of trout streams, lounging in the shade of spreading -trees at noon time, eating a snack of bread and cheese, poring over a -treasured book for an hour while you drowse back half dreaming to all -the pleasant happenings of your youth. Then when it’s cooler faring -on again, till the sun begins to drop behind the mountains and hunger -seizes you by the throat--” - -I broke off, catching sight of Joey’s rapt face. It was radiant and -eager and wistful all at once. - -“Mr. David,” he said, pushing back his plate, “let’s go!” - -“If you don’t go after saying what you’ve just said--” Wanza shook her -head at me, and left her sentence unfinished. - -“I could not have found it in my heart to paint such a picture, Wanza -girl,” I replied, “had I not intended to give Joey the opportunity to -compare it with the reality. We will stretch the old tarpaulin over -the ranch wagon in the morning, stow away some bacon and cornmeal and -a frying pan, harness Buttons to the caravan, and go out into the -greenwood to tilt a lance with fortune.” - -I laughed as I spoke; but a weariness of spirit that I had been -struggling all the evening to combat lay heavily upon me. Well, would -it be for me, I said to myself, to get away from Cedar Dale for a few -days. I had felt an impelling hunger to see my wonder woman again; -I had been restless for days consumed with the hunger; now I had -seen her, and a new strange pain had been born to replace the former -craving. I was in worse stress than before. - - - - -CHAPTER VIII - -GIPSYING - - -IT was into the sunshine of a cloudless June morning that Joey and I -fared in quest of adventure. Our caravan was well provisioned with -necessities, well equipped with cooking utensils, stocked liberally -with fishing tackle. And with a lively rattle and bang--we rolled out -on to the river road and wheeled away at a goodly pace. I held the -reins and Joey alternately piped on his flute and sang a lusty song -about a “Quack with a feather on his back.” - -Despite the depression that obsessed me my spirits rose as we went -on, and by noon when we were well into the heart of the deep lush -woods beyond Roselake, I am sure Joey could have had no cause to -complain of the gravity of his companion. Surely there is balm for -wounded souls in the solitude of the greenwood. We found a spot where -bracken waved waist high, where moss was green-gold and flowers were -sprouting on rocks, where the very air was dreamful. I felt a sudden -electrification. My feet felt young and winged again; I lost all -desires, all hopes, all fears; I only realized that I was unweighted. -In this meeting with nature I was stripped and unhampered--unexpectedly -free from the dragging bondage of the past few days. - -We were on the mountain side, and waters poured down into the valley -below us, waters that hinted of trout. Heights were to left and -right of us, the sky stretched azure-blue between, all about us were -sequestered nooks where singing brooks played in and out among the -green thickets. - -“Shall we camp here, Joey,” I asked, marking the satisfaction on his -face. - -“Oh, Mr. David, I was ’most afraid to ask! Seems as if we hadn’t gone -far enough. I should think gipsies would camp near trout streams, -though.” - -He was already lifting our cooking kit from the caravan, his small -brown face alert, his stout little hands trembling with their eagerness -to assist in the unloading. We gave an hour to making camp. I built a -fire between two flat stones, and Joey filled a kettle with water and -placed it over the blaze, while I put my trout rod together, chose a -fly carefully from my meagre home-made assortment and went to the -near-by stream. - -I whipped the stream carefully for half an hour and succeeded in -landing a half dozen trout. They made a meal fit for a king. And -afterward Joey and I lay on the grass half dozing and watching a pair -of violet-green swallows that had a nest in a hole in a cottonwood tree -on the bank of the stream. - -“Don’t they like bird houses?” asked the small boy. - -“They do,” I replied. “They will welcome almost any tiny opening. They -will go through a hole in any gable or cornice. They are industrious -and painstaking; they have courage and patience. It is fine to have -courage and patience, Joey.” I was almost asleep, but thought it well -to point a moral while I had his ear. - -“What can you do with those two things, Mr. David, dear?” - -“Almost anything, lad.” I thought of Santa Teresa’s book-mark: -“Patient endurance attaineth to all things,” and I clenched my hands -involuntarily, and sat up. - -“I see--it’s going to be a story!” - -I shook my head. “It’s warm for stories. Try to rest, Joey.” - -He lay back obediently, and a hand stole out and stroked my hand. - -“But, what, Mr. David--what can you do with courage and patience?” - -The question came again, and found me still unprepared. - -“What would you say, Joey?” - -“Well,” the clear, light tones ran on, “if you have patience you can -make things--like cedar chests and tables and bird houses; you can fix -things too--same as you do, Mr. David. Fixing is harder than making, I -guess. ’Most anybody can make things--perhaps--I don’t know for sure; -but everybody can’t fix things, like you can.” - -I gripped the small hand hard. - -“What about courage, Joey?” - -“Pooh! that’s for fighting lions and--and coyotes. Every big man can -kill lions. I’d liever fix boys’ toys.” - -I dozed after a time, and from a doze drifted into refreshing slumber. -I awoke to see silver shadows drawing in around me, overhead a half-lit -crescent moon, tender colors streaking the mountains. There was an -appetizing smell of cooking on the air, and casting my eyes about I -spied Joey very red-faced and stealthy, kneeling beside the camp fire, -holding a forked stick in his hand on which was impaled a generous -strip of sizzling bacon. I saw a pan of well-browned potatoes hard by, -and I rose on my elbow prepared to shout “Grub-pile,” after the fashion -of camp cooks, when I heard a strange, sibilant sound from a clump of -aspens on the other side of the stream. - -I listened. Tinkle, tinkle went the stream; swish, swish whispered the -aspens and young maples; but surely that was a human voice droning a -curious, lazy chant. I fixed my eyes on the aspen thicket. Presently -there came a strange rustling, a vague movement beyond the leafy -screen. I waited. Soon a brown hand parted the branches, two bright -eyes peered through. As I rose to my feet a slight wiry figure in the -fantastic garb of a gipsy darted from the bushes, leaped the stream, -and sprang into the little clearing by the fire. I saw a brown face, -poppy red lips, and a pair of dancing eyes, shadowed by hair black as -midnight. I bent a sharp scrutiny upon the intruder as she stood there -in the uncertain light, but with a petulant movement she drew the -peaked scarlet cap she wore lower over her face, and wrapped the long -folds of her voluminous cape more closely about her. - -“Let the gipsy cook your bacon,” she said in an odd throaty voice to -Joey. - -Joey with big-eyed wonder relinquished the forked stick and dripping -bacon strip, and the gipsy tossed back her cape, freeing her arms, -and began a deft manipulation of the primitive implement, turning it -round and round, now plunging it almost into the heart of the fire, -now drawing it away and waving it just beyond the reach of the leaping -flames. When I drew near with the coffee pot in my hand, and essayed -another glance at her face, it was too dark for me to see her features -plainly. I had only a dizzying glimpse of wonderful liquid orbs, white -teeth and wreathed berry-red lips. - -[Illustration: THE GYPSY TOSSED BACK HER CAPE] - -When the meal was ready she ate ravenously, almost snatching at the -food with which Joey plied her. The light from the fire played over -her picturesque attire, shone in her eyes and danced on the tawdry -ornaments she wore. She had seated herself with her back against a -log; her cape had fallen away, disclosing a coarse white blouse and -short skirt of green; about her slim waist she wore a sash of red. In -her ears were hoops of gold; each time she tossed her head they danced -riotously; and with every movement of her brown arms the bracelets on -her wrists jangled. I glanced at her suspiciously from time to time. -But Joey’s delight was beyond bounds. He was so frankly overjoyed at -the gipsy’s presence that once or twice he giggled outright when she -looked at him. I saw an answering flash in her eyes. Of speech she was -chary, and all my efforts to draw her into conversation were futile. - -She made no attempt to assist Joey and me with the clearing away of -the remains of the repast, watching us from under sleepy lids without -changing her position against the log; but when we came back to the -fire after our work was finished, and I stretched out with a luxurious -yawn, she smiled at me and mumbled: - -“The poor gipsy girl can tell your fortune.” - -“I don’t believe you’re a Romany,” I said sharply, “you’re much too -good looking, and too clean.” - -She drew back, resentment in her bearing, and I made haste to placate -her by saying: - -“The fact is, I have had my fortune told so often by gipsies in the -vicinity of Roselake that there is no novelty in it.” - -She frowned, and I asked, trying to speak pleasantly, “Where is your -encampment?” - -She pointed towards the West. “There! Way off,” she grunted. - -We sat for a long while in silence. The darkness was like a glorious, -blurred, mist-hung web, closing in beyond the circle of light cast by -our camp fire. The crescent moon shone palely, but the stars were like -crimson fires in the nest of night. There was a smell of honey on the -wind, a pungency of pine, a mingling of mellow odors; and over all this -the cleanness of the woods that was like a tonic. - -Joey yawned finally, his head fell over heavily against my arm, and I -said, “Bed-time, Joey!” - -“As for me,” the gipsy muttered, rolling over with an indolent, -cat-like movement on the soft moss, “I sleep here. This is a good bed. -You sleep in the wagon?” - -“Yes,” I replied. - -“Good! The encampment is far away. I will not go through the woods -to-night. Not me.” She covered her face with her cape. I heard a -prodigious yawn. “Good night,” she said, in a muffled tone. - -I stowed Joey away on a bed of hemlock boughs in the wagon, and after -I had satisfied myself that he slept, I returned to the fire. I knelt -beside the shrouded figure. - -“Wanza Lyttle,” I said sternly, “uncover your face and look at me.” - -She kicked out ruthlessly with both copper-toed shoes, wriggled angrily -beneath her cape, and then lay quiet. - -“Do you think, Wanza, you should have followed us in this shameless -fashion,--and in this disguise?” - -“I don’t see why I shouldn’t, if I wanted to,” a surly voice replied -from the folds of the cape. - -“You are always doing inconceivable, silly things,” I went on. “How did -you get here?” - -“I followed you on horseback. Rosebud is tethered a ways back in the -woods.” - -“What will your father say to this? What will the entire village say -when the busybodies learn of it?” - -“Father isn’t at home; he’s at Harrison. As for the others,--” Wanza -sat up, and cast the cape from her--“little I care for their talk.” - -“I wish you cared more for public opinion, Wanza.” - -“Public fiddlesticks,” Wanza growled, crossly. - -Suddenly she laughed with childlike naïveté, her eyes grew bright with -roguery. - -“You did not know me just at first, now did you? The black wig, and -staining my face and hands fooled you all right for awhile. Don’t -I look like a gipsy? I did it to please Joey--partly--and partly -because--oh, Mr. Dale, I wanted to come with you! It sounded so -fine--what you said about the greenwood and the caravan. Do you hate me -for following?” - -What could I say? - -I made her as comfortable as I could there on the soft moss, with a -couple of blankets, heaped fresh wood on the fire, and then I crawled -in beside Joey and lay pondering on this latest prank of madcap Wanza. -I saw the moon grow brighter and pass from my vision, I saw the stars -wheel down the sky towards the west, and dawn come up like a delicate -mincing lady, and then I slept. - -Joey stood beside me when I awakened. He had a scarlet ribbon in his -hand. - -“The gipsy’s gone, Mr. David,” he said. “I found this hanging on an -elder bush.” - -I breathed a sigh of thankfulness. - -“So she’s gone,” I murmured, not venturing to meet his eyes. - -“She was a beautiful gipsy,” he continued regretfully. “Do you know, -Mr. David, I think she was almost--not quite--but almost as pretty as -Wanza. I guess there never was any one prettier than Wanza, ’cept--” he -hesitated. - -“Yes, Joey? Except?” - -“Is the wonder woman prettier?” He put the question wistfully. - -“Perhaps not--I do not know, Joey.” Could I say in truth she was? -remembering the face I had seen in the firelight. - -But that night after Joey was tucked away in the covered wagon the -gipsy came again. I raised my eyes from the fire to see her coming -through the long grass toward me. She came springing along, her bare -arms thrusting back the low hanging tree branches, her short skirt -swirling above her bare feet. - -I went to meet her. Her manner was bashful, and her eyes were -imploring. And after I had greeted her she was tongue-tied. - -“Now that you are here, come to the fire,” I said. - -She shrank from me like a tristful child. - -“Come,” I said. “And tell me why you have come back.” - -“I haven’t come back--exactly. I have been in the woods all day near -here.” - -“Why have you done this?” - -“I don’t know.” - -She hung her head and looked up from under her curtain of hair. - -I threw a fresh log on the fire and she seated herself. I stood looking -down at her half in anger, half in dismay. - -“Are you hungry? Have you eaten to-day?” I asked. - -“I have all the food I need in the saddle bags.” - -I seated myself then, and as there seemed nothing more to say I was -silent. But I looked at her in deep perplexity from time to time. She -was flushed, and her eyes were burning. Her hair was tangled about her -neck and veiled her bosom. She faced me, wide-eyed and silent. - -It was deeply dark in the hill-hollows by now, but the sky was a -lighter tone, and the stars seemed to burn more brightly than usual. -There was no faintest stirring of wind. The silence was intense, bated, -you could feel it, vibrating about you. The trees were heavy black -masses, shadowing us. I heard a coyote yelp away off on some distant -hill side, and the sound but made the ensuing silence more pronounced. - -Presently Wanza spoke: “I wish I was a real gipsy,” she said. Her tone -was subdued, there was something softened and wistful in it. “All day -long I have had the time I’ve always wanted, to do nothing in. I waded -in the spring. I slept hours in the shade. I drank milk and ate bread. -I bought the milk at a ranch house way up on the side of the mountain. -Glory! It was great! I hadn’t a single dish to wash. It’s all right -when you’re rich--everything is, I guess. But when you’re squeezy poor -and uneducated and of no account, and you’re housekeeper and peddler -and Lord knows what! You don’t get no chance to have a good time. Now, -do you, Mr. David Dale?” - -Her words aroused me somewhat rudely from a reverie into which I had -drifted, so that I answered abstractedly: “Perhaps not, girl.” - -“Well, you don’t. What chance do I get?” She stared fixedly at the -fire. “I have to work, work, work, when all the time I feel like -kicking up my heels like a colt in a pasture.” There was a strained, -uneven quality in her tone that was foreign to it. I saw that she was -terribly in earnest. - -“A gipsy’s life isn’t all play, Wanza. It’s all right in poetry! And -it’s all right for a gipsy. But Wanza Lyttle is better off in her -peddler’s cart.” - -“Well, I’d just like to try it for awhile!” - -I remembered a song I had heard in Spokane--at Davenport’s roof -garden--on a rare occasion when an artist chap who had spent some -weeks at my shack had insisted on putting me up for a day or two while -I visited the art shops in the city. It was a haunting thing, with -a flowing happy lilt. I had been unable to forget it, and without -thinking now, I sang it. - - “Down the world with Marna! - That’s the life for me! - Wandering with the wandering wind - Vagabond and unconfined! - Roving with the roving rain - Its unboundaried domain! - Kith and kin of wander-kind - Children of the sea! - Petrels of the sea-drift! - Swallows of the lea! - Arabs of the whole wide girth - Of the wind-encircled earth! - In all climes we pitch our tents, - Cronies of the elements - With the secret lords of birth - Intimate and free.” - -“Go on,” Wanza breathed tensely, as I paused. - -“Have you never heard it?” - -“Never!” - -I sang lightly: - - “Marna with the trees’ life - In her veins astir! - Marna of the aspen heart - Where the sudden quivers start! - Quick-responsive, subtle, wild! - Artless as an artless child, - Spite of all her reach of art! - Oh, to roam with her!” - -“Is there more?” Wanza queried as I again paused. - -“Oh, yes! It’s rather long.” I bent forward and gave the fire a poke. -“That’s about enough for one evening, isn’t it?” - -“No, no! I want to hear it all. Oh, go on, Mr. Dale, please!” - - “Marna with the wind’s will, - Daughter of the sea! - Marna of the quick disdain, - Starting at the dream of stain! - At a smile with love aglow, - At a frown a statued woe, - Standing pinnacled in pain - Till a kiss sets free!” - -Wanza was very silent as I finished. I felt strangely silent, too, and -weighted with a slight melancholy. But the singing of the song had put -an end to Wanza’s plaint. Her face had lost its peevish lines and grown -normal again. The fire burned low, a wind came up from the west and -blew the ashes in our faces, there was a weird groaning from the pine -trees. The quiet of the night had changed to unrest, overhead the sky -had grown darker, the stars brighter. We continued to sit side by side -in brooding quiet, until the fire had burnt its heart out, and the air -became more chill, and drowsiness began to tug at our eyelids. - -I arose then. “Light of my tent,” I said with gay camaraderie, “I will -bring the blankets from the wagon for you, and since you are to sleep -here you may as well stay and breakfast with Joey and me.” - -She looked up at me oddly, sitting cross-legged close to the fire, the -light spraying over her dusky carmined cheeks. “Say the words of that -gipsy thing again,” she urged. - -“I can’t sing any more to-night, girl.” - -“Don’t sing--say the words.” - -The evening had been so frictionless, that I made haste to comply with -this very modest demand; but when I came to the last verse I stumbled, -and in spite of myself my voice softened and fired at the witchery of -the words: - - “Marna with the wind’s will, - Daughter of the sea! - Marna of the quick disdain, - Starting at the dream of stain! - At a smile with love aglow, - At a frown a statued woe, - Standing pinnacled in pain - Till a kiss sets free!” - -Wanza rose and came close to me as I finished. Her black elf-locks -brushed my shoulder. “If I was a gipsy and you was a gipsy,” she -whispered, “things would be different.” - -I saw her eyes. Some of the tenderness of the last few lines of the -song was in my voice as I whispered back, “How different, child?” - -I stood looking down at her, and her eyes--burningly blue--sank into -mine. The wind tossed her hair out. A strand brushed my lips. She -seemed an unknown alien maid, in her disguise, and in the shifting pink -light from the low burning fire. I took a bit of her hair in my hand -and I looked into her face curiously. I stood thus for a long moment, -catching my breath fiercely, staring, staring--her hands held mine, her -scarf of red silk whipped my throat--how strangely beautiful her face, -the full lids, the subtle chin, the delicate yet warm lips! Had I ever -seen as beautiful a girl-face? The soft wind swept past us sweet with -balm o’ Gilead; the brook was awake and singing to the rushes; but -the birds were asleep, and a sweet solitude was ours. This girl was of -my world, all gipsy she, wilder than most. And I--was I not as wide a -wanderer as any gipsy? as homeless? I smiled into the eyes that smiled -into mine, and I hummed below my breath: - - “Standing pinnacled in pain - Till a kiss sets free!” - -Yes, the face of this girl was a marvelous thing, a perfect bit of -chiselling. Brow, cheeks, nose, chin, shell-like ears--exquisitely -modelled. Had I ever looked at her before? What rare perfection there -was in her face. And her nature was rich--rich! Her soul-- - -Ah, her soul! - -Suddenly it was Wanza, my comrade, Joey’s staunch friend and playmate, -into whose eyes I looked. The gipsy was gone. The glamour was gone. -Enchantment and madness were gone. I stood by a dying fire in a -wind-stirred forest, with the roughened hands of a country wench in -mine. But though she was only a country wench I admired and respected -her. And when she whispered again as I moved away from the touch of -her hands: “Things would be different if we was gipsies,” I replied: -“Perhaps so, Wanza. But we are not gipsies. So let us not even play at -gipsying.” - -I went to the wagon for the baskets. - -The next morning the gipsy was gone, and that was the last I saw of -her. - - - - -CHAPTER IX - -THE BIG MAN - - -SOME two weeks later Joey informed me that he could play “Bell Brandon” -on his flute. I doubt if any one familiar with the piece would have -recognized it as rendered by Joey on the futile instrument I had -carved. The air being unfamiliar to me I asked him where he had picked -it up. - -“Oh,” he said carelessly, “she plays it on her guitar.” - -I was growing accustomed to the sight of Joey, followed by the collie, -marching sturdily away down the yew path each day as soon as the dinner -dishes were done, and I had more than once remonstrated with him on the -frequency of his visits to Hidden Lake. His answer was invariably the -same. “She says, ‘Come again,’ every time, Mr. David.” - -“That’s only a way people have of being polite,” I protested at last, -and was surprised to see the hurt tears in his eyes. - -That night he came home radiant. - -“She doesn’t say ‘Come again’ to be polite,” he announced, throwing -his cap in a corner and speaking blusteringly. “She didn’t ask Mr. -Lundquist to come again. She only said, ‘When I need you again I’ll let -you know.’” - -The perfect weather changed about this time, and sultry nights, -alternating with days like hot coals, ensued, until, suddenly, one -evening at dusk, the wind came up with a roar, and scurrying leaves -and particles of dust filled the air. The dust storm enveloped us. It -sang and poured and hissed up and down the river, the temperature kept -dropping lower and lower, rain and hail descended, and the wind grew -more tempestuous as darkness came on. - -As I pored over a volume of Tacitus that evening, glowing with the -sense of well being that the warmth of the fire and the cheer of the -light cast by my green-shaded light imparted in contrast to the storm -without, there came a vigorous knocking at the cabin door. - -Joey, dozing on his stool before the fire, sat upright with a start, -and the collie growled and ruffled his back. A curious prescience of -disaster assailed me with that knock; a grim finger seemed laid on my -heart-strings--I seemed to feel the touch of a cold iron hand arresting -me on a well-ordered, dearly familiar path. - -Joey sprang to the door, opened it wide, and a gust of wind tore it -from his hand. The rain swept into the cabin, and a man carrying a -suitcase came quickly forward from the darkness beyond, crossed the -threshold, and stood in the glare of the firelight. - -He was a tall man, powerfully built, but he walked with a slovenly -gait, and something pompous and hard and withal insincere rang in his -tones as he set down his suitcase and spoke: - -“Pardon my intrusion, my man. Your light attracted me. It’s blacker -than Egypt outside, and I’ve lost my way in the storm.” - -He rolled back the collar of his slicker coat and shook the raindrops -from the brim of his hat. - -“Take off your coat,” I said hospitably, “and come up to the fire.” - -He thanked me, favored me with a patronizing glance from his -full-lidded light eyes, and stood rocking back and forth on the -bearskin rug before the fire, rubbing his hands. - -“I shall have to hurry on to Roselake if I am to get there to-night. -Perhaps you will show me the trail, my man.” - -I assured him that I would direct him, then realizing that the man -was chilled through, I threw a fresh log on the fire, and going to a -cupboard in the chimney-corner, took down a bottle and a small glass -and placed them on the table. - -“Have a drink,” I said, “it will save you from a bad cold on a night -like this.” - -“Thanks. Don’t mind if I do.” He filled his glass, and as he did so -his glance fell on the book I had been reading. His manner changed. -“‘Tacitus’! Rather grim reading for a wild night like this.” He turned -a page unsteadily, and followed a line with his finger. “Mm! Nero, the -fiddler--it’s ghastly reading--bestial, rather. Cramming for anything?” - -“No,” I replied. - -“Take something lighter--‘Abbe Constantine,’ ‘Hyperion,’ ‘The Snow -Man.’” - -His voice was thick; and as he stood resting his hand on a chair back, -he lurched slightly. - -“Sit down,” I said. - -He sank into the armchair and raised his glass, waving it in my -direction, then he rose to his feet, bowed, and said: “Your health, -sir,” and drank thirstily. I saw then that he had been imbibing more -than was good for him, but I could also see that he was literally -sodden with fatigue, and something impelled me to offer him food. - -“Now that’s kind--very kind,” he said throatily. “I could not think--” -He reeled back against the chair and put his hand to his head suddenly. - -I signaled to Joey, who left the room, and I went to the man and eased -him into the depth of the chair. - -“Rest here awhile and have something hot to eat,” I suggested. - -His head sank on his chest, his lids dropped over his prominent eyes. -“Yes--‘Abbe Constantine’--or ‘Hyperion’--‘Hyperion,’ preferably,” he -mumbled. “Weak, disgusting fool--Nero!” - -He roused sufficiently to eat a few mouthfuls when Joey and I served -him royally with good corned-beef and hominy, and a steaming pot of -coffee. But he sank again into lethargy, and I saw that he was in no -condition to push on to Roselake in the storm. - -I told him so frankly, and pointed to a built-in bunk covered with -hemlock boughs in the corner. “Turn in here,” I said, giving him a -couple of blankets. “I’ll bunk with the lad to-night.” - -I had taken great pains with Joey’s room, and the narrow cedar strips -with which I had paneled it shone with a silver lustre in the light -of the two candles Joey insisted on lighting in my honor. Joey’s bed -was a boxed-in affair, but I had contrived to make it comfortable by -stretching stout bed-cord from the head to the foot and interlacing it -across from side to side. This served in lieu of springs. The mattress -was a crude one of straw, but the straw was sweet and clean, and Wanza -had pieced a wonderful bed quilt of shawl-flower pattern calico, and -presented it to Joey the year before when he had the measles. The bed -had a valance of blue burlap, and I had painstakingly stenciled it with -birds and beasts and funny fat clowns and acrobatic ladies in short -skirts and tights, after a never-to-be-forgotten circus-day parade Joey -had witnessed in the village. - -There was a gaily striped Indian blanket for covering, and pillows -stuffed with the feathers of many a mallard slaughtered in the marshes. -I had converted a couple of barrels into chairs and covered them with -tea matting. For floor covering there were the skin of a mountain lion -that had prowled too close to my cabin one night, and the skins of a -couple of coyotes that had ventured within shooting distance. - -In one of the windows hung the wooden cage I had made for Joey’s -magpie. But the windows themselves were my chief pride. I had procured -them from an old house-boat that had been abandoned by a party of -fishermen, and had drifted down the river to anchor itself before my -workshop. There were four of these windows, with tiny mullioned panes, -and I had hung them, two on either side of a door that opened out on -a rustic pergola I had erected. The pergola led to a bosky dell of -green--a veritable bower--where wild honeysuckle hung its bells in the -sweet syringa bushes, and wild forget-me-not and violets and kinnikinic -gemmed the emerald banks of a limpid pool so hedged in by high green -thickets that no eye save the initiated ever rested on its crystal -clarity. We called this spot the Dingle Dell, and the Dingle was a rare -retreat for Joey on the occasion of any embarrassing caller. - -As I blew out the candles that night and lay down beside the little -lad, he murmured sleepily: “Bell Brandon ain’t so terrible hard to -play on the flute--but it’s terrible hard on a guitar; a guitar makes -blisters on your fingers.” - -He spoke again almost unintelligibly. “I don’t like that man. He never -spoke to me once, Mr. David. Any one, ’most, speaks to a boy.” - -In the middle of the night I awakened. Joey was sitting up in bed. - -“A star’s out, Mr. David. I’m making a wish,” he whispered. - -“Well, well,” I yawned drowsily, “lie down--you’ll take cold.” - -He cuddled obediently beneath the blankets. “I’m wishing the big man -would go, but I’m wishing you’d sleep with me just the same, Mr. David. -I sleep tighter when the coyotes holler.” - - - - -CHAPTER X - -JINGLES BRINGS A MESSAGE - - -JOEY did not get his wish concerning the departure of the big man, for -the next morning the big man was in no condition to go anywhere. He -was still lying in his bunk when I went through the room to build the -kitchen fire; and when breakfast was ready, he had not roused even to -the strains of “Bell Brandon” played on Joey’s flute. - -I stood over him, and he looked up at me with lack-lustre eyes, -attempted to rise and rolled back on his pillow like a log. - -“Morning, stranger,” he muttered. He winked at me slyly. His face was -puffy and red, his eyes swollen, his breathing irregular and labored. -“What’s matter?” he protested thickly, then he smiled, with a painful -contortion of his fever-seared lips, “I seem to be _hors de combat_. -Terrible pain here.” He touched his chest. - -“I’ll get a doctor at once,” I said. - -He thanked me, gave me a keen look, and asked wheezingly: “Not -married? No wife about?” - -I shook my head. “Unfortunately, no.” - -He winked at me a second time. “_Lascia la moglie e tienti donzello_,” -he cackled. - -I went from the room pondering on the strange personality of this man, -who was unquestionably a scholar, and who, no doubt, considered himself -a gentleman. I dispatched Joey for a doctor. - -“Take Buttons and ride to Roselake as fast as you can,” I bade him. -“Where’s the collie? He may go along.” - -Joey, basking in the sun on the back steps, laid aside his flute. His -lips drew down, and his eyes bulged widely. - -“The big man’s going to stay, then, Mr. David?” - -“Run along,” I said sharply. - -As I let down the meadow bars, Joey turned in his saddle and gave his -clear boyish whistle. But no Jingles answered the call, and a moment -later the lad rode away with a clouded face. - -A few moments later, as I plied my ax at the rear of the cabin, the -cold muzzle of the collie was thrust against my hand. I stooped to -caress him, and as he leaped up to greet me, I smiled as my eyes -caught the color and the sheen of a silken ribbon threaded through -his collar. Well, I knew that bit of adornment--that azure fillet that -Haidee had worn in her hair. - -I touched the inanimate thing with tender fingers, and started suddenly -to find a jeweled pendant hanging there, glowing like a dewdrop -against the dog’s soft fur. I stood agape, feeling my face soften as -my fingers stroked the bauble; and then I straightened up with a swift -presentiment. It was in no playful mood that Haidee had placed that -costly gewgaw about the collie’s neck. - -I turned toward the stable, and then remembered that Joey had taken the -horse. My only recourse was the canoe. I ran to the willows where the -craft was secreted. I had it afloat in a twinkling, and was paddling -away down the river, the collie barking furiously on the shore. - -Poor pale, beautiful Haidee! She lay like a crumpled white rose in -the bracken beside the spring. The white fir-tree that, in falling, -had crushed the lean-to of the frail cabin had swept her beneath its -branches as she bent for water at the spring. This was the story I read -for myself as I bent above my prostrate girl. But it was many days -before I learned the whole truth. How, close onto midnight, she had -heard a man hallooing from the lake shore; how she had stolen out from -the cabin in the storm, fearing an intrusion from some drunken reveler -from the village tavern; how, after the tree had fallen and pinned her -fast with its cruel branches, she had lain unconscious until with the -first streak of light she had felt the touch of the collie’s muzzle -against her face; how she had roused, and, her hands being free, had -torn the ribbon from her hair and bound it about the collie’s neck, -and, as an afterthought, attached the pendant from her throat, thinking -the ribbon alone might not occasion surprise. - -She told me all this, days afterward; but when I reached her side, she -was incapable of speech, and only a flutter of her white lids denoted -that she was conscious. - -I had a bad half hour alone there in the bracken, watching her face -grow grayer and grayer as I worked to dislodge the branches that were -pinning her down. And, at last, as I lifted her in my arms, I saw the -last particle of color drain from her lips, and realized that she had -fainted. But I had her in my arms, and her heart was beating faintly. -And, someway, hope leaped up and I felt courageous and strong, as I -bore her to the river and placed her in the canoe. - -Joey was kneeling among the willows with his arms clasping Jingles as I -beached my canoe near the workshop. - -“I knew something had happened to Bell Brandon,” he declared, in -big-eyed misery. “I knew it! I knew it!” He took the crumpled bit of -ribbon from the dog’s neck with hands that trembled, and came forward -slowly. I was unprepared for the look of abject misery on his small -face. “Oh, Mr. David,” he quavered, “don’t tell me she is dead!” - -“No, no, lad,” I said hastily, “she has only fainted.” - -He looked at me uncertainly, tried to smile, and a tear dropped on the -ribbon in his hands. Then a look of joy made his face luminous. “The -doctor’s here, Mr. David. I didn’t know I was abringing him for Bell -Brandon. I thought it was just for the big man.” - -So Joey had a name for my wonder woman, too. I could not but feel that -his name was the sweeter of the two. - -I bore Haidee through the room where the doctor was in attendance -on the big man, who was by this time raving and incoherent in his -delirium, passed swiftly through the small hallway that separated the -cedar room from the main one, and laid Haidee on Joey’s bed. Then I -brought the doctor. I left Haidee in his hands, and Joey and I passed -outside to the Dingle, and stood there silently, side by side, by the -pool. - -I saw the green mirror flecked with the white petals of the syringa, -and I heard a squirrel chattering in the hemlock above my head, and -was conscious of a calliope humming-bird that pecked at the wool of my -sweater. But my whole soul was in that cedar room, where Haidee lay -white and suffering, and I was repeating a prayer that had been on my -mother’s lips often when I was a child as she had bent over me in my -small bed: - -“Oh, Lord, keep my dear one! Deliver us from murder and from sudden -death--Good Lord, deliver us!” - -But Haidee’s condition was not serious. The doctor came out to us, Joey -and me, with the assurance, and at once the world began to wag evenly -with me. “All she needs now is rest,” he said suavely. “She will now -be able to rest for some time. You’d better get a woman here, Dale, to -help out. Mrs. Batterly mentioned it. There’ll have to be a trained -nurse for the man.” - -In the workshop Joey and I considered the situation in all its phases, -and Joey sagely counseled: “Send for Wanza.” - -The suggestion seemed a wise one, so I penned a careful note, and Joey -rode away to the village for the second time that day. - -In my note I said: - - _Dear Wanza_: - - I am in trouble. Mrs. Batterly has met with an accident, and is here - at my cabin, unable to be moved. I have also a very sick man--a - stranger--on my hands. Joey and I need you--will you come? - - Your old friend, - DAVID DALE. - -Wanza responded gallantly to my call for aid. In a couple of hours I -heard the rattle of her cart and the jingle of harness, and the sound -of Buttons’ hoof-beats on the river road, and emerged from my workshop -to greet her. - -She stepped down from the shelter of the pink-lined umbrella, and -answered my greeting with great circumspection. I lifted down her bag -and a big bundle, Joey carried her sweater and a white-covered basket, -and together we escorted her to the cabin and made an imposing entrance. - -The big man, tossing about in his bunk in the front room, ceased his -confused mutterings as we crossed the threshold, struggled up to his -elbow, stared, and pointed his finger at Wanza. “_La beauté sans vertu -est une fleur sans parfum_,” he said indistinctly. - -Wanza stared back at him, ignorant of the import of his words; and as -I frowned at him, he threw up both hands and drifted into dribbling -incoherence. I pointed to the door at the end of the room, and Wanza -went to it swiftly, opened it quietly, and passed through to Haidee. - -When I went to the kitchen, after giving the big man a spoonful of the -medicine the doctor had left, I found Joey on the floor, with his arms -about the collie’s neck. - -“I can trust you,” he was saying, “I can trust those eyes, those -marble-est eyes! Why, if it hadn’t been for you, Jingles, Bell Brandon -could never a let Mr. David know.” - -The stage stopped at Cedar Dale late that afternoon, and set down the -trained nurse. And our curious ménage was complete. - -The nurse proved to be a sandy-haired, long-nosed pessimist, a woman -of fifty, capable, but so sunk in pessimism that Joey’s blandishments -failed to win her, and Jingles stood on his hind legs, and pawed his -face in vain. - -All through supper she discoursed of microbes and the dangerous -minerals in spring water. She read us a lesson on cleanliness, -repudiated the soda in the biscuits, and looked askance at the liberal -amount of cream I took in my coffee. - -“Cream has a deleterious effect on the liver,” she informed me, looking -down her nose sourly, while Joey wrinkled his small face, appeared -distressed at the turn the conversation was taking, and gasped forth: - -“Why, Mr. David, do people have livers same as chickens?” - -Mrs. Olds sniffed, Wanza looked out of the window and bit her lips, and -I shook my head at Joey. - -“My dear Mrs. Olds,” I said cheerfully, “there is nothing the matter -with my liver, I assure you.” - -She looked me over critically, inquired my age, and when I told her -thirty-two, remarked darkly that I was young yet. - -When Wanza and I were left alone in the kitchen, I had time to observe -Wanza’s hair. It made me think of the flaxen curls on the heads of the -French dolls I had seen displayed in the shop-windows at Christmas -time. Each curl was crisp and glossy, and hung in orderly, beauteous -exactness, and the little part in the centre of her head was even, and -white as milk. Palely as her hair was wont to gleam, it shone still -paler now, until in some lights it was almost of silvery fairness and -indescribable sheen. Beneath it, her blue eyes looked almost black, her -complexion had the rare whiteness of alabaster. There could be no two -opinions on the subject--Wanza had washed her hair. - -I knocked together a crude cot covered with a bit of canvas, on which -Mrs. Olds and Wanza were to take turns sleeping in the kitchen, and I -soldered an old canteen to be used as a hot-water bottle at the big -man’s feet. And I did sundry small errands that Mrs. Olds required of -me before I was dismissed for the night. But when Joey and I closed the -kitchen door behind us and stole away in the darkness beneath the yews -to our new sleeping quarters in the workshop, I went with an effulgent -glow and rapture at my heart. She was beneath my roof. She was eating -my bread. The room on which I had labored through many an arduous day -out of love and compassion for Joey had become a haven of refuge for my -wonder woman. - - - - -CHAPTER XI - -THE KICKSHAW - - -THE doctor came early the next morning and he rendered me incredibly -favorable reports of both his patients; so that I was able to buoy -myself up with the hope of seeing Haidee before many days had passed. -She sent me a series of charming messages by Wanza throughout the day. -The first message was to the effect that the room was delicious and -the bed like down. Again--the air through the open windows and door -was sweet as the breath of asphodel. And the last message said that -the outlook through the windows was so sylvan that almost she expected -to hear the pipes of Pan, or see a faun perched upon the rocks, or a -Psyche at the pool. - -I hugged these gracious words to my heart, and began work at once on a -reclining-chair in which Haidee could rest during her convalescence, -and the fashioning of two little crutches of cedar, the doctor having -confided to me that when Haidee left her bed she would require the -support of crutches for a week or two. - -The second day, the message from the cedar room thrilled me: “Tell Mr. -Dale that I have been lifted high on my pillows where I can watch Joey -at work in the Dingle.” Later on the question came: “Joey is making -something. What is it?” - -Joey was passing through the kitchen when I received this message. I -called to him: “What are you doing in the Dingle, Joey?” - -“Pooh,” he said, puffing out his cheeks, “I’m not doing anything!” - -“Nothing at all, Joey?” - -“I’m just covering a cedar round for a--a hassock for her--Bell -Brandon’s feet when she sits up. I’m covering it with the skin of that -mink you trapped last fall.” - -I duly reported this to Wanza. She looked at me, tossed her head, -and went quickly back to the cedar room. I began to think Mrs. Olds’ -pessimism was infecting her. Certainly my bright, insouciant Wanza -seemed changed to me since her installation at Haidee’s bedside. - -I received messages too, from the sick man, but disjointed, vague -outbursts that showed his mind was still wandering in the realms of -fantasy. - -“Tell my host,” he begged Mrs. Olds, “that I’m a sick man--a very sick -man. Tell him I say I’m a gentleman--a perfect gentleman. Tell him he’s -a gentleman, too. _Noblesse oblige_--and all that sort of thing, you -know.” - -Mrs. Olds gathered that he was a mining man from Alaska, with interests -in the Cœur d’Alenes, and that his name was Bailey. She had discovered -a leather wallet in his coat pocket with the name in gold letters on -the flap, and his linen was marked with a B. Pending absolute certainty -that his name was Bailey, we all, with the exception of Mrs. Olds, -continued to designate him “the big man”; and as days went on, Joey -added to this and called him the big bad man, for his language waxed -coarser. He was almost violent at times, and I was glad that the tiny -corridor separated Haidee’s room from the one in which he lay. - -The doctor diagnosed his case as typhoid, and promised us a speedy -convalescence. He looked at me significantly and added: “He’ll recover. -But when he goes to that unknown bourne, finally, he may not depart by -a route as respectable by far. He’s a periodical drinker--about all in. -Can’t stand much more.” - -A few days after this I received an unexpected order for a cedar chest -from a writer who signed herself Janet Jones, and directed that the -chest when completed, should be sent to Spokane. - -“I have seen your cedar chests,” she wrote. “And how I want one! I am -a shut in--and I want the beauty chest in my boudoir, because it will -remind me of the cool, green cedars in the depth of the forest, of wood -aisles purpling at twilight, of ferns and grass and all the plushy, -dear, delightful things that bend and blow and flaunt themselves in the -summer breeze. When I look at it, I am sure I can hear again the voice -of the tortuous, swift-running, shadowy river on whose banks it was -made. And I long to hear that sound again.” - -The check she enclosed was a generous one. The letter seemed almost a -sacred thing to me. I folded it carefully and laid it away, and not -even to Joey did I mention the order I had received. But I began work -at once on the cedar chest. And I labored faithfully, and with infinite -relish. The check was a material help to me, and something prompted me -to lay bare my heart and tell my new friend so in the note of thanks I -penned her that night. - -“The wood paths are overrun with kinnikinic, lupine, and Oregon grape -just now,” I wrote, “and the woods are in their greenest livery. -The paint brushes are just coming into bloom and the white flowers -on the salmon berry bushes were never so large before, or the coral -honeysuckle so fragrant. My senses tell me this is so; but there is -a deeper green in the heart of the woods, a tenderer purple on the -mountains, because of one who bides temporarily beneath my roof. And -because of her--oh, kind benefactress, I thank you for your order, for -your praise, and for your check! I am poor--miserably poor. And for the -first time in eight years ashamed of it.” - -The answer came back in a few days: - -“Don’t be ashamed! Tell me of her, please.” - -Because the hour of Haidee’s convalescence when I could greet her face -to face, was postponed from day to day, and because my thoughts were -full of her, I was glad to answer this letter. But after all I told -Janet Jones very little of Haidee, except that she was my guest, and -that Joey and I called her our Wonder Woman, and that my own name for -her was Haidee. - -Each day that followed was well rounded out with work. The workshop -proved to be a veritable house of refuge to Joey and me, whither we -fled to escape Mrs. Olds’ whining voice and bickering, and the big -man’s unsavory language. Here with windows wide to the breeze that -swept cool and clean from the mountains we labored side by side, -forgetting the discord within the cabin, realizing only that it is good -to live, to labor and to love. - -In addition to my work on the cedar chest I was carving a design of -spirea on a small oak box, which when completed was to hold Joey’s few -but highly prized kickshaws. As the design approached completion I -observed the small boy eyeing it almost with dissatisfaction from time -to time. - -I was unused to this attitude in Joey, and one day I asked, “Don’t you -like it, lad?” - -A spray of the graceful spirea lay on my work bench. He picked it up, -caressed it gently, and laid it aside. - -“Oh, Mr. David,” he said, “I do think spirea, the pink kind, is the -cunningest bush that grows!” - -“I had reference to the box, Joey.” - -His eyes met mine honestly. A flush crept up to his brow through the -tan. - -“I almost say Gracious Lord! every time I look at it, and you asked me -not to say that any more, Mr. David. It must be ’most as beautiful as -that fairy box you told me about one day, that the girl carried in her -arms when the boatman poled her across that black river. I do think -you’re most too good to me.” - -I knew then that my boy liked the box beyond cavil. - -But I reached the heart of his feeling with regard to the trifle the -following day. As I bent over my work he said tentatively: - -“I think we ought to do something for Wanza. She’s doing a lot for us, -isn’t she, Mr. David?” - -I glanced up. Joey was sitting cross-legged on my work bench, engaged -in putting burrs together in the shape of a basket. - -“Yes,” I replied, “Wanza is very kind.” - -“Then if you don’t mind, Mr. David--really truly don’t mind--I’d like -to give the kickshaw box to her.” - -The brown eyes that came up to mine were imploring, the small tanned -face was suddenly aquiver with emotion. I laid my tools aside, and -looked thoughtfully out of the window. - -“Wanza’s awfully good to me, Mr. David,” the small boy continued. -“She’s put patches on my overalls, and sewed buttons on my shirts, and -darned my stockings--and the other day she made me a kite. And she -plays cat’s cradle with me, and brings me glass marbles. And when she -gets rich she’s going to buy me a gold-fish.” - -“What a formidable list of good deeds. The box is Wanza’s,” I declared, -facing around. “We will present it to her this evening.” - -“Do you ’spose she has any kickshaws to put in it, Mr. David?” - -“Why--I don’t know, lad, I don’t know,” I replied musingly. “It seems -to me very probable.” - -“Do girls have kickshaws, Mr. David?” - -“Almost every one has some sort of keepsake, Joey lad.” - -He surveyed his burr basket with disfavor, tore it apart and began -hurriedly to build it over. - -“Say the kickshaw verse for me, Mr. David, please, and after that the -‘Nine Little Goblins,’ and after that a little bit of ‘Tentoleena.’” - -It was very pleasant there in the shop. The perfume of summer was -about us, and bird-song and bee-humming and the mellow sound of the -brook blended into a delicate wood symphony. I looked out upon the -swift-running, sparkling, clear river. To dip boyishly in it was my -sudden desire. The leafy green of the banks was likewise inviting. -Across the river the grey-blue meadows stretched away to meet the -purple foot hills. I hung halfway out of the window and recited the -tuneful little rhyme for Joey: - - “Oh, the tiny little kickshaw that Mither sent tae me, - ’Tis sweeter than the sugar-plum that reepens on the tree, - Wi’ denty flavorin’s o’ spice an’ musky rosemarie, - The tiny little kickshaw that Mither sent tae me. - - Oh I love the tiny kickshaw, and I smack my lips wi’ glee, - Aye mickle do I love the taste o’ sic a luxourie, - But maist I love the lovin’ hands that could the giftie gie - O’ the tiny little kickshaw that Mither sent tae me.” - -Joey was a rare listener, his face had a sparkle in concentration -seldom seen. It was an inspiration to the retailer. Wherever this is -found, to my notion, it gives to a face an unusual distinction and -charm. As I finished he drew a deep breath. - -“Mothers gives kickshaws to their girls and boys ’most always, I -’spose,” he murmured questioningly. His eyes were wistful, and hurt me -in a strange way. - -“Almost always, I think, Joey.” - -I smiled at him, and he smiled back bravely. - -“I’m your boy--almost really and truly your boy--ain’t I, Mr. David?” - -I nodded. - -“Pooh,” he said with a swagger, “I’d liever be your boy than--than -anything! You give me kickshaws and make me magpie cages, and--and -flutes and bow-guns, and you builded me a bed--” - -He broke off suddenly, and without seeming to look at him I saw that -his eyes were tear filled, and that he was winking fast and furiously -to keep the drops from falling. - -“Now then,” I said, speaking somewhat huskily, “I shall give you ‘Nine -Little Goblins.’” Clearing my throat I began: - - “They all climbed up on a high board fence, - Nine little goblins with green-glass eyes-- - Nine little goblins who had no sense - And couldn’t tell coppers from cold mince pies.” - -I finished the poem and went on to “Tentoleena,” saying: - -“I think Mr. Riley has intended this a bit more for girls than for -boys, however, we love its tinkle, don’t we, Joey?” - - “Up in Tentoleena Land-- - Tentoleena! Tentoleena! - All the dollies, hand in hand, - Mina, Nainie, and Serena, - Dance the Fairy fancy dances, - With glad songs and starry glances.” - -“If I was a girl--and had a doll--I’d never let her get up alone at -Moon-dawn and go out and wash her face in those great big dew-drops -with cream on ’em. Why--she might get drownded! I wouldn’t call her -Christine Braibry, anyway--” Joey delivered himself of this ultimatum -quite in his usual manner. And feeling somewhat relieved I inquired: - -“What name would you choose, boy--Wanza or--” - -“Not Wanza--no girl’s name! I wouldn’t have a girl-doll! I’d fix it up -in pants and call it Mr. David.” - -After supper that evening I asked Wanza to come to the workshop with -Joey and me. She gave me a laughing glance as I held open the kitchen -door for her, and stood teetering in indecision at the sink with Joey -clinging to her skirt. - -“There are the dishes to be washed, and Mrs. Batterly’s tea to be -carried to her, and the milk pans to scald, and--” - -“Wanza,” Joey cried, “you must come! It’s a surprise.” - -She danced across the room, tossed her apron on to a chair, and rolled -down her sleeves. Her eyes glowed suddenly black with excitement, her -red lips quirked at the corners. She tossed her head, and all her -snarled mop of hair writhed and undulated about her spirited face. She -sprang outside with the lightness of a kitten followed by Joey, and I -closed the door carefully at Mrs. Olds’ instigation, and followed her -to the yew path. - -The heavy-blossomed service bushes hedged the path like a flowered -wall, silver shadows lay around us, but through the fretwork of tree -branches we saw a mauve twilight settling down over the valley. The -river was a twisting purple cord. In the violet sky a half-lit crescent -moon was swimming like a fairy canoe afloat on a mythical sea. All -objects were soft to the sight--thin and shadowy. The spike-like leaves -above our heads glistened ghostily, the trunks of trees bulked like -curling ominous shapes in the vista before us. Puffs of wind caused the -maples to make faint, pattering under-breaths of sound. - -We stood on the miniature bridge for a moment. The reeds were shooting -up in the bed of the spring; and as we stood on the bridge they were -almost waist high about us. A tule wren flew from among them, perched -on a nearby cottonwood, and gave a series of short wild notes for our -edification. It flirted about on its perch, with many a bob and twitch -as we watched it, apparently scolding at us for daring to approach so -close to its habitat. - -And we stood there in the musical, colorful twilight, my thoughts flew -to Haidee, and I asked Wanza how she was faring. - -“Well enough,” she retorted, with a swift back flinging of her blonde -head. - -“Well enough means very well, does it, Wanza?” - -“If you can’t make me out, Mr. Dale, I guess I better quit talking. -Seems like you never used to have no trouble.” - -“I believe I am growing obtuse,” I replied lightly. And led the way -across the bridge to the shop without further ado. - -Had I dreamed that Wanza would have been so affected by the simple gift -I tendered, I doubt if I would have had sufficient temerity to present -it to her. I did this with a flourish, saying: - -“You have been so kind to Joey and me, Wanza, that we beg you to accept -this little kickshaw case in token of our appreciation. Joey hunted out -the finest specimens of spirea for me, and I carved the lid, as you -see, and cut your initials here in the corner.” - -Ah, the light in the brilliant deep blue eyes raised to mine! the smile -on the tender lips, the sobbing breath with which she spoke. I was -stirred and vaguely abashed. - -“You did this for me--for me,” she repeated, laughing, and shaking her -head, and all but weeping. She clasped the box close to her girlish -breast with a huddling movement of her arms, sank her chin upon it, -caressed the smooth wood with her cheek. “It’s beautiful, beautiful! -Oh, thank you, Mr. Dale, thank you!” Joey was cuddling against her -shoulder and she put her arm out after a moment, took him into her -embrace and kissed him with a soft lingering pressure of her lips -against his. - -When she stood upright at length her face was wreathed in smiles, and -though I spied a tear on her lashes, it was with a ringing laugh that -she said: - -“I know what a box is, and I guess I know a case when I see it, but -you’ll have to tell me what a kickshaw is, Mr. Dale.” - -I laughed heartily. And then Joey would have me recite Riley’s -delicious little rhyme. The evening ended pleasantly for us all. -But it left me with food for musing. Yes, I said to myself, Wanza -was kind--she had ever been kind to Joey and me. Had I been too -cavalier in my treatment of her? Remembering her sudden softening, -her appreciation of my small gift, I decided this was so. In future, -I assured myself, I would show her every consideration. Wanza was -growing up. She was no child to be hectored, and bantered, cajoled and -then neglected. No! My treatment of her must be uniformly courteous -hereafter. - - - - -CHAPTER XII - -IN SHOP AND DINGLE - - -IT seemed to me during the next few days that Wanza bloomed magically; -as she worked she chirruped, her feet were light, a bird seemed to sing -in her breast. I knew not to what to attribute the change. She was -still the debonair girl, but she was wholly woman; and she was vital as -a spirit, beautiful as a flower. We grew vastly companionable. - -We walked together along the flowery riverways in the twilight; at -night we watched the ribbons of clouds tangle into pearly folds across -the moon’s face, and the stars grow bright in the purple urn of heaven. -Mornings we climbed the heights and gathered wild strawberries for -Haidee’s luncheon, and often in the late afternoon Wanza would come to -the shop and I would help her with her studies. - -It was pleasant, too, to take the glasses, and penetrate deep into -the heart of the greenwood and sit immovable among the shrubbery, -bird-spying, as Joey called it. It was Wanza’s delight to see me -stand perfectly still in a certain spot near the shop, where a bed of -fragrant old-fashioned pinks frequently absorbed my attention, and wait -for the sparrows and nuthatches that often came to alight on my head. -Inside my shop I was tending a young cedar waxwing that had dropped at -my feet from a cherry tree near the cabin one morning. Joey had given -the bird assiduous attention, and was overjoyed when a few days later -he found it friendly enough to sit on his hand. We named the bird, -Silly Cedar. And I made him a roomy cage of slender cedar sticks. He -seldom inhabited the cage, however, choosing rather to flutter freely -about the workshop. - -Wanza’s joy in the birds was a pleasure to witness. I was at my work -bench one morning, when chancing to glance through the open window I -saw a charming picture. The girl stood by the bed of clove pinks, a -veritable pink and white Dresden shepherdess in one of the stiffest, -most immaculate of her cotton frocks, her hair an unbound, pale-flaming -banner about her shoulders. On her head was poised a nuthatch. - -It was the expression of her face that captivated me,--smiling, rapt, -almost prayerful, as if invoking the spirit of all aerial things. -Both arms were out as though she were balancing the dainty object -that perched so delicately upon her head. In every fibre she appeared -electrified, as though about to soar with the birds. Again I had that -sensation of glimpsing beneath the girl’s casual self and finding a -transfigured being. - -The bird fluttered away as I gazed, Wanza stooped, gathering the -flowers, and I went out to her. - -She flirted the pinks beneath her chin as she looked up at me. - -“I’ve been up since five,” she laughed. Even her laugh was subdued. - -“And what have you been doing since five?” I asked idly. - -She opened a box that lay on the grass at her side. - -“I’ve been up on Nigger Head after these. I saw them yesterday when I -went to old Lundquist’s to take him a bit of cottage cheese I’d made. -See!” - -I looked as she bade me. Within the box were some fine specimens of -ferns and swamp laurel, and a rare white blossom that I had never seen -in western woods. An airy, dainty, frosty-white, tiny star-flower. - -“They are for you. I heard you wishing for swamp laurel.” - -“You are very, very kind, Wanza,” I replied. - -I lifted the laurel, but my eyes were on the white flower, and my heart -was overcharged, and as I looked a blur crossed my vision and I could -not see the waxen petals. But I saw another woods, lush and sweet, hard -by a southern homestead, I heard the darkies singing in the fields -adjoining, and the sound of the river running between red clay banks. I -saw my mother’s smile. - -I felt weak at that moment. I needed to grip hard a friendly hand. -“Nothing, not God, is greater to one than one’s self is, and whoever -walks a furlong without sympathy walks to his own funeral drest in his -shroud.” Walt Whitman spoke truly. Someway I knew that Wanza’s sympathy -was true and exquisite, that her understanding was profound. I had -never before thought of this, but suddenly I knew that it was so. She -tendered me the little white flower on her open palm, and I reached out -and took it and I took her hand, saying: - -“You are a good girl, Wanza Lyttle.” - -My tongue was ineffectual to say what I would have said, and so I said -nothing. The white of her face crimsoned as I held her hand. Her blue -eyes said a thousand things I could not sense. But her lips merely -murmured, “What is the swamp laurel for, Mr. Dale?” - -“I want to make a design of laurel for a tray I intend to carve. You -see, Wanza, I am beginning already to think of the holiday trade. At -Christmas I shall send some of my work to the city to an art store -there.” - -We passed on to the workshop, and presently Joey joined us there. - -“It seems to me, Mr. David,” he said as he entered, “that to-day is -yesterday.” - -I smiled at him appreciatively. I had come to call Joey my philosopher -in knee breeches. He resumed, puffing out his cheeks in his -characteristic way, “’Cause I been so busy. I guess if a body was busy -enough there wouldn’t be no time.” - -“We make our own limitations, Joey,” I said, bending over my cedar -chest that was all but finished. “The Now is the principal thing, boy.” - -“Mrs. Olds is the queerest lady,” he went on, “always watching the -clock. An’ she don’t like our ways, Mr. David--she said so! She says -we’re slip-shod. Hit and miss, she says, that’s the way we live. My, -she’s funny! At night she says, ‘Well, I’m glad this day is over,’ -an’ in the morning she says, ‘Dear me! I thought it would never come -morning! I’m glad the night is gone.’ I said to her--I said to her--” -Joey paused, having used up his breath, and requiring a fresh supply. - -“Go slowly,” I advised. “What did you say, Joey? Get a good breath and -tell Wanza and me.” - -“I said: ‘How can you hate both times? It keeps you busy hating, don’t -it?’ An’ if you’re busy hating, Mr. David, what time do you get to feed -the birds, an’ watch the squirrels, an’ make burr baskets and cedar -chests, an’ bow-guns and flutes?” - -Joey put his head on one side and looked up at me inquiringly out of -his bright shrewd eyes. - -“Not much time, I’m afraid, Joey,” I responded, knowing that he -expected a reply. - -“Of course not. Come here, Silly Cedar,” he called softly to the -Waxwing. He gave a musical whistling note, and the bird, that was -perched on the work bench, flew to him and alighted on his outstretched -hand. He made a picture that I was to remember in other sadder days, -standing thus, holding the bird, scarce moving, so great was his -ecstasy. - -Very soon after this the chair reached completion. Upholstered in -burlap and stuffed with moss, it stood in the small rustic pergola -outside the cedar room, awaiting Haidee. Joey’s hassock rested beside -it. And at last one day after I had worked myself into a state of fine -frenzy at the delay I was told that she was sitting in state in the new -chair awaiting me. I hurried to the Dingle, parted the underbrush, and -stood gazing at my wonder woman before she was aware of my coming. - -She sat leaning back in the big chair. She looked very weary and pale -as she reclined there. The rough silk of her robe was blue--the rare -blue sometimes seen in paintings of old Madonnas. Her lovely throat was -bare. Her creamy hands with their pink-tinted nails lay idly clasped in -her lap; and her feet, resting on Joey’s hassock, were shod in strange -Oriental flat-heeled slippers with big drunken-looking rosettes on the -toes. - -“You are quite recovered?” I asked, stepping forward. - -“Oh, Mr. Dale!” she cried, and seemed unable to proceed. And I found -myself bending above her with both of her hands in mine, looking down -into her shadowy, mysterious eyes. - -I summoned my voice at last, and spoke rather indistinctly: “Joey and I -have been awaiting your convalescence impatiently. Joey has been very -anxious about his Bell Brandon, as he calls you.” - -She still sat with her hands in mine, and she looked up at me with a -strangely quiet gaze and replied gravely: “I like Joey’s name for me. -Does he really call me that?” - -“Why,” I said, “I have even ventured to call you so in mentioning you -to Joey.” - -I released her hands and seated myself on the steps below her. There -was a silence. The sun slipped behind a cloud. The shadows in the -Dingle deepened to invisible green velvet. In the perfume and hush I -could hear my heart beat. It was very still. A cat-bird called from the -thicket, the hum of bees buzzing among the clover in the meadow came to -us with a sabbath sound. - -Haidee looked at me and smiled. “It is very restful here. How is your -other patient progressing?” - -“Very well, I believe.” - -“This is a splendid sanatorium. I had some wonderful dreams in that -cedar room.” - -“I should like to hear about them. I am curious to know what dreams -the room induced,” I answered, with rather too much impressment, I’m -afraid. - -She leaned her head against the burlapped chair back and lowered her -lashes against her cheek. I studied her face. During her illness she -seemed to have undergone a subtle transformation. There were lines -about her drooping eyes, something cold and almost austere in the -expression of her face that I had not noticed before. She seemed -farther from me than she had yet seemed--immeasurably remote. - -“The dreams were very good dreams--restful dreams.” - -“Yes,” I said gently. - -“They were dreams of homey things--simple, plain things--and yet there -was a zest in them--a repose--a complete forgetfulness.” - -“Forgetfulness?” - -“Yes. Isn’t forgetfulness the Nirvana of the Hindu? If we remember -we may regret. If we have no thought backward or forward, we are -blissfully quiescent.” - -I watched a yellow warbler preening itself on a swinging bough of a -tamarack. “It is easier to have no thought forward--perhaps,” I said -slowly after a pause. - -“You think so, too? I am sure of it. The past is an insistent thing--a -ghoulish thing--waving shrouded arms over the present. To forget!--ah, -there’s the rub.” - -She spoke precipitately, turning her head restlessly this way and that -on the rough cushion. The line of her throat, the tiny fluffy ringlets -at the roots of her hair, the curve of her lovely cheek, stirred my -blood strangely. - -“Tell me something more of yourself,” I blurted out abruptly. - -She started. Her eyes grew bleak, worn with memories, it seemed; her -face that had shone warmly pale, changed and stiffened to marble. She -answered in a cold, slight voice: “There is so little to tell.” After -awhile she added: “Perhaps some day you will tell me your story.” - -I sat and watched the yellow warbler, reflecting on the strange relief -it would be to recite to sympathetic ears my pent-up dreary tale, my -baleful tale of a scourging past, of present loneliness and hard plain -living. It was the sort of tale that is never told--unless the teller -be a driveller. I laughed cheerlessly, and someway the brightness of -the hour was clouded by the phantom of the past that Haidee’s words -had invoked. And the phantom dared to stand even at the gate of the -future and demand toll, so that neither past, present nor future was a -thing to rejoice in. - -My face must have grown grim. I clenched and unclenched my hand on my -knee. Haidee’s voice continued: “But in the meantime you don’t know -me--the real every day me--and I don’t know you--the real you; and it’s -interesting, rather, to speak to each other, like sliding wraith-like -ships that pass to opposite ports. We fling our voices out--then -darkness again--and a silence.” - -“I am what I am,” I answered quickly. - -She nodded concurrence. “Dear me! Of course. But you were not always -what you are now. That’s the point. And, some day, I shall persuade you -to tell me all.” - -I answered pointedly: “In the words of Olivia, ‘you might do much.’” - -She laughed oddly, almost amusedly, at my vehemence, and swayed back a -little from me as I held out my hand. “Good-bye,” I said, “for to-day.” -And when she yielded me her hand I pressed it lightly and let it go. - -I had never tried, until that moment, to analyze the quality of my -sentiment for Haidee. I had been filled with a vague romantic idealism -where my wonder woman was concerned, but suddenly I was restless, and -dissatisfied with idealising. I wanted to know Judith Batterly--the -real woman. I wanted to pierce the veil of mysticism in which she was -wrapped. I was not content with the artificiality of our discourse. It -seemed to me I failed to strike a note truly sound in any of our talks. -The real woman eluded me. I could not bring Haidee down to my plane -from the dream-world where only she seemed to function. She was ever -remote. And I wanted to understand fully my feeling for her. - -When I fell asleep that night, dreams of Haidee and Wanza were -commingled. Once I awoke, dressed completely, and walked outside the -workshop in the clear, balmy air of the night. I lay down on the river -bank and watched a particularly big bright star that hung just over -the crest of Nigger Head. I thought of Wanza--of her new and gentler -ways that were replacing the old crisp brightness of demeanor--and I -smiled. I thought of Haidee--and I sighed. Then my thoughts flew to the -kickshaw case I had given Wanza and her reception of it, and to the -swamp laurel she had risen at daybreak to gather for me, and thinking -of these things I went back to the workshop and crept in beside Joey, -and with my arm about the lad slept dreamlessly till morning. - - - - -CHAPTER XIII - -DEFICIENCIES - - -ABOUT this time I wrote in my diary: “A man in love is an oaf. How -awkward and lumbering he is in the presence of his Dulcinea. How -undesirable and like a clod away from her. He is a churl to every one -but the one woman. I have been out in the sun-splashed forest searching -for rare specimens of the wood anemone for my wonder woman. My search -absorbed my morning, and I quite forgot that I had promised Wanza to -ride to town for flour for the weekly baking. I dreamed and mused the -hours away among the basaltic boulders in a strange grove of twisted -yews, where nereid green pools lie in little hollows and maiden hair -springs up through the gold-brown moss carpet. This grove has long been -a favorite of mine. It has a classical aspect; there is something about -it that suggests a train of mythological conceptions. I feel sure that -the great God Pan must be fashioning his flute among the rushes in -the bed of the spring. In the wind’s sibilance I hear the skirl of the -Pandean pipes. I recall the divine huntress, and summon up visions of -Iris, the goddess of many colors.” - -This morning the wood spaces were filled with visions of Haidee. She -smiled at me from behind the clumps of bracken and huckleberry, her -eyes beamed at me from the hearts of the flowers. The clouds were her -garments, the blue sky her soul. As Dante walked dreaming of Beatrice -so went I with Haidee ever before me. - -Love is a rejuvenating precious thing. Even a hopeless love softens -the fibres of one’s entire being, and straightens the warped soul of -one. But I must not reach out toward Love! I must renounce. I must go -on alone, like a battered, wrecked, drifting derelict. I have thought -the blackest part of my life behind me. I have come to look forward too -much. I have vented my heavy heart, and found solace in work and books. -And now! I must live through the culminating sorrow. Is all my life to -be one great renunciation? I find myself rebelling. I have been too -much the helpless victim of circumstances. For me Ossa has been heaped -on Pelion. - -I have said, “If I can but avoid comparing my lot with what it might -have been, I can be a man.” I have repeated: “I swear the earth shall -surely be complete to him or her who shall be complete. The earth -remains jagged and broken only to him or her who remains jagged and -broken.” I have said all this to myself times innumerable. And now what -shall I say to myself? I can scarcely whisper to myself, “Courage!” I -am baffled, balked, stunned. Oh, what do I signify in the scheme of -things! I am a bit of washed spindrift. Glad should I be to surrender -the quick of being. If it were not for work!-- Through labor only -I come near to God, the master artizan, who labors tirelessly and -marvelously. - -After making this entry in my diary I gained an unexpected surcease -from wearied thoughts. I went on with my life calmly enough, doing -the things nearest to hand, eating three good meals a day as a man -will, writing on my novel evenings, and sleeping normally, with Joey -curled into a warm little ball at my side. In some strange way after my -descent into Avernus I became tranquil in every pulse. After brooding -over much I sat back, figuratively speaking, and thought of nothing, -but the simple joy of being. Sunlight was pure gold, the dew silver, -each twilight a benediction, each dawn a natal hymn. I managed so that -I saw very little of Haidee, paying my respects to her once a day, and -pleading work as an excuse if invited to linger in the shady Dingle -where she sat with her work or a book. I contemplated sending Joey to -school in the autumn, and a portion of each day I devoted to teaching -the small lad spelling. His remarks concerning the rite were often -pungent. He persevered to please me, but I could see that in his heart -he pitied me for my zealous attempts on his behalf. - -“When people can say things what’s the use of spelling?” he asked -one day. He held his book upside down, his eyes fixed longingly on a -skimming prismatic cloud of butterflies beyond the workshop door. “I -can say God--what’s the good of spelling it?” I did not respond, and -evidently anxious to convince me further, he added: “Yes. And one time -once--oh, when I was teenty, Mr. David, I thought I saw him.” - -“Do you think now that you saw him, Joey?” I questioned, half smiling. - -“Well,” he replied slowly, as if pondering the matter, “I was sure -then, Mr. David.” - -“Where did you see the--er--person whom you believed to be God?” I -asked. - -“In the village.” - -“Did he speak to you, Joey?” - -Joey looked at me slyly. - -“Oh, Mr. David,” he whispered deprecatingly, “do you ’spose I’d ’spect -him to--when I’m a worm?” - -I went on with the lesson, vaguely wondering what sort of mind the lady -who taught Joey at Sunday School was possessed of. - -At the conclusion of the lesson, Joey observed: “Mrs. Olds says our -cabin is full of de--deficiencies, Mr. David. What do de--deficiencies -do?” - -“Deficiencies let flies in, and permit mice to molest the flour -barrel,--deficiencies make chimneys smoke, and floors creak.” - -“Hm! Are de--deficiencies holes, Mr. David?” - -“In a sense, lad.” - -“Where’d be the fun, though,” my loyal lad cried out, “if there weren’t -no holes in cabins. There’d be nothing to patch. An’ you’d never see a -rat poke his cunning head through the wall cold nights when you sit by -the fire. Pooh! I like de--deficiencies.” - -That very day I went about setting what traps I had to catch the -rodents that were destroying Mrs. Olds’ peace of mind. And I began the -manufacture of others. I also mended the screen doors, and purchased a -package of mosquito netting from Wanza’s cart, for the windows. - -It was a curious ménage I captained. I found myself grinning from time -to time as I took orders from Mrs. Olds. Although I was in love with -Haidee, and although Joey was an entertaining companion, and although -I found Mrs. Olds’ pessimism a curious study, it was to Wanza that I -turned most frequently for comfort and advice during these trying days. -We had many a rueful laugh together at Mrs. Olds’ expense. - -“The whole thing with her, I do think,” Wanza said, one day, “is -drawing her pay.” - -But Wanza maligned her. Mrs. Olds was a rare nurse, conscientious to -a fault. And she received little enough pay from the big man, I knew. -Wanza had a cot in the cedar room now, and Mrs. Olds was able to rest -the greater part of the night, as her patient’s condition improved. - - - - -CHAPTER XIV - -JACK OF ALL TRADES - - -IN due time I received another communication from my unknown friend. -Very brief it was. It said: - - “I appreciate your confidence. I am glad to know of Haidee. But I - want still more to know of yourself. Can you trust me?” - -I did not answer this at once, revolving it in my mind. A few days -later I wrote in this wise: - - “There is little to know, kind friend. Eight years ago, when I was - twenty-four, I came to Idaho. I took up a homestead on the Cœur - d’Alene River. I proved up on it, and I have sold all but sixteen - acres. I have worked hard. I have grown horny-handed, weather-beaten - and a bit gray. I live in a flannel shirt and corduroy trousers, - and I eat off a pine table in the kitchen of a three-roomed shack. - Lately, I have developed into a craftsman. It is a sordid enough - tale--is it not?” - -Conversations with Haidee were still infrequent. Wanza ordinarily -shared them, and Joey was nearly always present. - -We were seated in a group about the pool in the Dingle, one morning, -Haidee in her chair, Joey at her feet with Jingles asleep at his side, -Wanza on the brink of the pool with her tatting, gazing in from time to -time at the reflection of her pale blonde loveliness, while I, seated -on a stump of a pine tree, was carving a bow-gun for Joey. - -There was a white syringa bush above Haidee that was dropping pale -flowers on her head. They seemed to me like perfumed petals of -Paradise. I caught one as it fell, smiling into her tranquil eyes. -I said to myself that with each succeeding day Haidee’s voice grew -lighter, her laughter more frequent, her expression brighter. - -As we sat there, an entrancing harmony arose about us. Waves of -ecstatic melody swelled and softened and swelled again through the -green fragrant woods. Trills on one hand, deep throaty mellow carolings -on the other. The thrush, the warbler, the sparrow joined in a mighty -chorus. - -“What a magnificent orchestra,” Haidee cried. “The birds are holding -high carnival.” - -The pearl-like, throbbing symphony grew sweeter and sweeter. We sat -spellbound drinking in the enchantment with hungry ears. Suddenly I -cried: - -“Look! There is a lazuli-bunting.” - -I pointed to the feathered blue beauty that was winging its way to a -nearby maple. - -“Lazuli-bunting?” Haidee echoed. “What a cosy name. I suppose the baby -birds are called baby buntings, Joey.” - -Joey looked up in her face with adoration in his brown eyes, and she -moved a little forward and pressed his head gently back against her -knee. They contemplated each other with a sort of radiant satisfaction. - -“No one ever told me about baby buntings,” Joey declared at last. - -“What a shame! Mr. Dale, do you know you have neglected Joey’s -education?” - -Very slowly and prettily Haidee repeated the old rhyme, her fingers -stroking the lad’s sunburnt cheek. Wanza’s eyes were very big and -strangely burning as they rested on her. And her lips were drawn into -a straight, unlovely red line as she finally dropped her regard to her -tatting. I carved in silence, and the lazuli-bunting was forgotten as -the recital of the nursery rhyme led to the demand for others. - -“Wanza,” I teased, going up behind her in the kitchen later, and -reaching round to tickle her chin with a ribbon grass as she bent over -the ironing board. “Wanza, why so pensive? Where are your smiles?” - -“She smiles enough for both,” Wanza retorted, giving an angry flirt -to the ruffle she was ironing. “I don’t know which is the worst--your -smiley kind or your everlasting scolds. Mrs. Olds would sour the -cream--and Mrs. Batterly’s eternal smirk makes me think of a sick calf. -And when I feel like rushing around and biting the furniture it’s just -enough to kill me, so it is, to have her so purry and mealy-mouthed.” - -“But why should you want to rush around and bite the furniture?” I -asked in bewilderment. - -“Oh, just because I’m a great big rough, mean-tempered country girl! -I’ve never had real bringing up.” Tears stood in Wanza’s stormy eyes. -“No perfect lady ever felt like biting anything. Oh, please go away, -Mr. Dale, and leave me be--I’m cross and tired--and not fit to be -noticed!” - -I saw Mrs. Olds smiling palely at me from the door of the sick room. -She tiptoed forward. - -“Hush,” she whispered. “My patient is asleep. He is quite rational, Mr. -Dale. In a few days he will be able to sit up.” - -With Mrs. Olds’ permission I went in and stood at the bedside and -looked down at the sleeping man. He was thin and his face was lean and -white. He looked a very different being from the man who had staggered -into the cabin that night in the storm. He looked more nearly a man as -God intended him to look. His brow was high, his jaw clean cut, his -hair grew luxuriantly on his well-shaped head. But his mouth beneath -the brown moustache was loose-lipped, self indulgent, and obstinate. -And there was something hateful to me in the set of his thick neck on -his big shoulders. - -I returned to the kitchen. It was very hot in the small room, and the -steam that arose from a kettle of soup on the stove as Wanza lifted the -lid assailed my nose and eyes unpleasantly. I opened the door to allow -the steam to escape, and Wanza spoke hastily: - -“Shut the door, Mr. Dale, please, you’re cooling off the oven, and I’m -baking this morning.” - -“Does a whiff of air like that cool your oven?” I asked curiously. - -“Well, I should say so. My, it’s hot in here!” I looked at her red -face, and as I did so an inspiration came to me. “Wanza,” I said, “why -should I not make you a fireless cooker?” - -She stared at me. - -“Is there any reason why you would not like one?” I queried. - -“Glory! I’d like one right enough.” - -“Come to the workshop after dinner,” I rejoined, “and we will discuss -it.” - -Wanza came to the shop later in the afternoon and I convinced her that -the construction of a fireless cooker was a bagatelle to a skilled -craftsman such as I considered myself to be. Her face flamed with the -fire of her enthusiasm. She caught my hand, and cried: - -“You’re a fixing man, all right! You sure are.” - -I had never seen her blue eyes so softly grateful before. They were -like humid flowers. Her voice was full and low. Her hand pressed my -hand, and clung. Seeing her thus moved I stammered: - -“Why, I seem to be a sort of Jack of all trades. A Jack of all trades -is master of none, usually.” Her face was very close to mine, and what -with her strange witchery and her appealing wistfulness I might have -said more; but as I gazed at her my senses untangled, and I locked -my lips. I shook my head at her, and I smiled a little deprecatingly -and loosed my hand as she murmured: “I think you’re just grand--just -grand! You’re kind as kind can be. Oh, Mr. David Dale, you sure are a -good, good fellow!” - -“All of this because I am going to try to turn out some sort of -fireless cooker,” I remonstrated. - -“You’re always trying to do something--for somebody--trying to help -along--that’s it. It ain’t so much just this.” - -Wanza was rather incoherent as she turned and walked out of the shop. -And someway instead of her words of commendation heartening me they -left me dejected. But the cooker was a success. A stout box, lined -with asbestos, a receptacle of tin, and sawdust for packing turned -the trick. And the corned-beef and cabbage that Wanza, the conjurer, -straightway evolved from this crude contrivance left nothing to be -desired. - -The chicken Wanza cooked one day soon after was so unusually succulent -that we decided at once to ride to the village before supper and carry -Captain Grif a generous portion. - -“He’ll relish a bit of chicken after so much pork and corn bread, and -such living. I can warm it up on the stove for him, and stir up some -biscuits, while you and him are having a game of chess on the porch,” -Wanza announced. - -Accordingly we rode away over the ploughed field together at about five -o’clock, Mrs. Olds watching us dourly from the kitchen doorway, and -Joey yelling after us: “I’ll see to Bell Brandon while you’re away.” - -Captain Grif’s was the warmest of welcomes. - -“Well, well, well,” he said, rising from his rocker on the front porch -as we mounted the steps, “and here you be, the two of ye--and better -than a crowd, I say! By golly, s-ship-mate, you’re a sight for sore -eyes. You looked peaked, too, and Wanza ain’t at her best. But sit -right down--Wanza, there’s the hammock--the hammock I slept in many a -night at sea--plump into that now.” - -He beamed at his daughter. It was good to see his pride and delight in -her. - -“Dad,” Wanza said, wagging her bright head at him, “something told us -you was pining for chicken--chicken with dumpling, Dad. It’s in this -pail. You sit here with Mr. Dale, and I’ll get out the chessmen, and -while you’re playing I’ll warm up the stew. Then when you’ve had your -bite with us, I’ll play on the melodeon--I’ll play ‘Bell Mahone’--and -you and Mr. Dale can sit on the porch and watch the moon come up, and -you can tell him stories; and pretty soon I’ll come out, after I have -tidied up, and go to sleep in the hammock.” - -It all fell out as Wanza planned. We had our bite together; I helped -carry the dishes to the sink in the kitchen while Captain Grif filled -his pipe; and then Wanza played on the melodeon and sang “Bell Mahone,” -and “Wait for the Wagon,” and “Bonnie Eloise,” while Captain Grif and -I chatted on the porch. The moon came up later, and Wanza swung in the -hammock and dozed, or pretended to, while her father told me one story -after another. The central figure of many of his tales was Dockery--the -ship’s steward--whom he described as a bald-pated, middle-aged man, -with a round face, a Mephistophelean smile, and the helpless frown -of a baby. “A curious m-mixture that feller! I was some time readin’ -him--but I read him. He wa’n’t very sharp--that was his trouble mostly. -It’s a trouble lots of us is afflicted with. Them as knows it I have a -sort o’ respect for--them as don’t I ’bominate, I sure do, s-ship-mate. -Ignorance itself is bad enough, but when it’s mixed proper with -conceit, they’s no standin’ it.” In this wise old Grif would discourse -much to our edification. - -To-night he was hugely interested in dissecting the big man’s character -from bits concerning him Wanza and I had dropped. - -“I don’t take no stock in him, boy--I’ve told Wanza so from the -first--with all his nightshirts embroidered like an old lady’s -antimacassar! And when he gets to settin’ up, and needs waitin’ on, I -want Wanza should make herself scarce. The gal tells me she thinks he -is a rich man. Well, may be--may be; that don’t mend matters if he’s a -rascal.” - -At this juncture Wanza yawned, tossed her arms abroad, and said -sleepily: - -“He’s a gentleman, Dad.” - -Old Grif chuckled. - -“Now, what do you mean by that? A gentleman! Ump! I’ve never knowed the -time I ain’t heard somebody called a gentleman that hadn’t any more -call to be considered a gentleman than your pap here. A gentleman, hey? -you mean he has clothes made by a tailor and money in his pockets, and -goes to the barber frequent, probably takes a bath every day--runnin’ -water in his room at home, you guess? Hum--well--yes--he’s a gentleman -’cording to them standards. I got my own standard I measure men by, -thank God.” - -In his excitement Captain Grif rose from his chair and limped back and -forth on the porch, thumping his cane down hard at each step. He went -on: - -“Now, Dale, here--_he’s_ a gentleman. You bet he is. He ain’t got no -initial embroidered on _his_ shirts--ain’t got mor’n two, likely. He -ain’t got no runnin’ water in _his_ house--but he douses himself in the -river every day; and he shaves himself. It’s some work for _him_ to get -himself up presentable. Tain’t no credit to a feller to keep clean when -he has a shower bath in his closet.” He was chuckling again, and Wanza -ventured to say: - -“I call him a gentleman because--he’s different--that’s what he is. He -don’t talk or look or act like any one in these parts. I like him. I -think I could earn a bit amusing him when he is able to sit up, Dad.” - -“You’ll march right back home here if I hear of your tryin’ it, gal, -mark me, now!” - -“But, Dad, you’re not fair! Why, he may be the best man living. You -haven’t ever laid your eyes on him.” - -“I knows it--I knows it, Wanza. I may sound a leetle mite prejudiced; -but I ain’t--oh, no! I’m fair-minded; but I’m a reader of character, -and I can tell as much by a man’s nightshirts as some of these here -phrenologists can tell by the bumps on his head. The minute you said he -had flowers and initials worked on his nightshirts that minute I said -to myself, ‘He ain’t no good’; and you mark my words, he ain’t.” - -Going home, Wanza said to me: - -“Poor Dad, he’s terribly suspicious, ain’t he, Mr. Dale?” - -“A little, Wanza, perhaps.” - -“You’re suspicious, too, David Dale. You don’t think the big man is a -gentleman.” - -I considered. - -“I think he would be called a gentleman, Wanza.” - -She tossed her head. - -“I do think he’s the handsomest man--and the smartest man, seems! And I -like embroidered underclothes. So there!” - - - - -CHAPTER XV - -I BEGIN TO WONDER ABOUT WANZA - - -SOMETIMES I grew perverse, and went about the tedious common round of -my tread-mill existence doggedly, taking umbrage at Mrs. Olds for the -many unnecessary, trivial services she exacted. She seemed to delight -in keeping my neck under the yoke. There was always a door sagging -on its hinges, a knife that needed a new handle, a lamp or two that -she or Wanza had forgotten to fill. The mice that I took from the -traps each morning were legion. They were Mrs. Olds’ favorite topic -of conversation at breakfast time. How one small cabin could harbor -so fierce and vast a horde I could scarce conceive. I believe I half -suspected Mrs. Olds of emulating the pied piper, and rounding them up -from the fields and woods. I was appointed custodian of the wood-rats’ -traps, as well. These were taken alive; and one morning I slyly let one -escape beneath my tormentor’s chair. Jingles saved the situation by -pouncing on the rodent and snapping his teeth together on its neck. I -came to have small appetite for breakfast. - -I began each day by carrying water from the spring to fill the barrel -outside the kitchen door. Mrs. Olds was apt to mount guard over the -barrel during this period, to see that no earwigs or bits of leaves -went into it from the pail. She was very particular to have the barrel -kept sweet and clean, and every second day I scrubbed and rinsed -the inside. She required very fine wood for the kitchen stove for -quick fires when she desired to heat her patient’s food; and for the -fireplace in the front room she asked me to select other wood than -cedar, cedar being prone to crackle and snap. I was well nigh staggered -with the knowledge of how a woman’s housekeeping differs from a man’s. -Joey and I had felt no lack in the good old days. I smiled to see -my lad’s eyes open widely at Mrs. Olds’ occasional reference to our -“pitiful attempts at housekeeping.” - -“Are our housekeeping pitiful?” he invariably asked me later. - -But though I swallowed my rising gorge, and managed to work under Mrs. -Olds’ coercion, there was ample time left in which to labor at the -simple tasks I loved. - -Joey and I had discovered that a pair of martins were nesting in a -hollow tree near the cabin, and in order to induce other pairs to pass -the summer with us I had decided to erect a few bird houses on the -premises. I was in the Dingle one evening, therefore, in the act of -hoisting a martin house on a cedar pole, when Joey came through the -elder bushes with his inquisitive small face in a pucker. - -“Mrs. Olds says birds don’t like bird houses,” he hazarded. - -“Indeed?” I murmured. - -“Do they, Mr. David?” - -“I think so, lad.” - -“She says she guesses p’haps martins do, mor’n other birds. Why do -martins like bird houses ’specially, Mr. David?” - -“Why, lad,” I replied, straightening, and taking my pipe from between -my lips, “I think it is because the Indians, long ago, before the white -man’s time, made snug houses for the martins out of bark and fastened -them to their tent poles; and accordingly the martins have grown -friendly, and they like us to be hospitable and prepare a home for -them.” - -“I don’t like to have to coax them,” Joey decided. “You’re awful good -to things, Mr. David--sometimes when you coax me, I know I’d ought to -get whipped instead.” - -It was the purple gloaming of an unusually sultry day; and as Joey -finished, I looked at my watch. - -“Bed-time, boy,” I announced. - -“Hoo--hoo! Hoo--hoo!” he called suddenly, throwing back his head. His -eyes went to the windows of the cedar room. Soon a faint answering -“Hoo--hoo!” resounded. He sprang up the steps, and grew hesitant -before the closed door. But in another moment it swung open and Haidee -appeared. She put her arms about the boyish visitant. - -“I’ll kiss you on each eyelid,” I heard her say. “That means happy -dreams. Go to sleep and dream of ‘Mina, Nainie, and Serena’--oh, I -forgot! They are for little girls’ dreams. What shall I tell you to -dream of?” - -“P’r’aps I’ll dream of ‘Dwainies’ and ‘Winnowelvers’--what lives in -Spirkland--an’ all them things you telled me about, shall I?” Joey -responded chivalrously. - -“I think it would be very lovely if you would,” Haidee’s tender tones -replied. And then the kiss was given--a kiss “like the drip of a drop -of dew.” - -I heard Joey’s abashed, “Good night--good night, Bell Brandon.” Then -he beat a hasty crashing retreat through the underbrush, and my wonder -woman came down the steps and stood at my side. - -“What a glorious sky!” she exclaimed. “Soon there’ll be a trail of star -dust across that mauve vastness up yonder. I wish I might go down to -the river and see the reflections.” - -There was a wistful young note in her voice. - -“Nothing easier,” I assured her. “You seem quite at home on your -crutches. I think we can manage.” - -And so it happened that we watched the sun set together, sitting side -by side on the green plush river bank. It was a gorgeous setting, and a -more gorgeous afterglow. The meadows across the river were like a wavy -robe of pink silk. The stars crept out and floated low like skimming -butterflies. The river was amber and gold. Haidee wore the blue robe -that I found so distracting. As she talked, from time to time, she -turned her head and gazed, pensive-eyed, across the water, and I saw -the black loop of her hair, the line of cheek and throat that moved me -to such profound rapture. I sat there awkward and tongue-tied while she -told me that old Lundquist and a couple of hands from the village had -begun repairs at Hidden Lake. - -“I have enjoyed your hospitality,” she said earnestly, “but I must go -as soon as the cabin is in condition. Wanza will go with me. You are -hospitable even to the birds,” she finished smilingly. “I think you -must have Finnish ancestry.” - -“My people are Southerners,” I answered, scarcely thinking of my words. - -“How interesting. Did you live in the South?” - -“Yes.” - -“Oh! Shall you return some day?” - -I shrank from her open look. I answered, “No,” quietly. - -Her black-tressed head dipped forward on her chest and her lips grew -mute as if my quick denial had silenced them. After a long while she -said: - -“What grand horizons you have in the West. I grow happier with each -sunset that I see. Look at that fleet of pinkish cloudlets--those -cloud-chariots of fire racing in those pearly streets.” - -“The South cannot compare with the West,” I said. “Could any -one describe this valley? Only a poet could do it. The summers -here!--crisp, cool nights for sleep, clear bracing days for work--” - -“And what for relaxation?” - -“What do you think?” - -“The twilights for relaxation, surely. The twilights--purple and -mysterious. See those weird trees that leap like twisting flames into -the sky. Look at the river, lovingly clasped in mountain arms. Listen -to the bird-twitterings. Mr. Dale, what is the bird that sings far into -the night?” - -“The bird that says: ‘Sweet, sweet, please hark to me, won’t you?’” - -She laughed. “Something equally plaintive, at any rate.” - -“It’s the white-crowned sparrow. You’ll hear it through the darkest -nights. Its song has all the sombre quality of the dark hours. It’s our -American nightingale.” - -“Mr. Audubon. You know tomes of bird lore, don’t you? Joey says you -are writing a nature story. I didn’t know the sparrows sang like -nightingales before.” - -I smiled down into the engaging face, and then I threw back my head -and whistled. I began with a rich bell-clear note, this merged into a -well defined melody, and terminated in a pealing chanson. “The meadow -lark,” I said, “which is not a lark at all, but belongs to the oriole -family. It is an incessant singer.” - -“Joey said you whistled like the birds. Why, you’re a wonder! A -craftsman--a fixing man--and--a bird boy.” - -“A bird in the heart is worth more than a hundred in the note book,” I -quoted. - -The evening ended all too soon. - -Two days later Joey brought me the information that Haidee was walking -about in the Dingle with the aid of a single crutch. - -“An’ she could easily go without that, she says, Mr. David. An’ she -says soon she can send them to the children’s hospital in the city.” - -“Give Bell Brandon my congratulations,” I bade Joey as I rode away. - -I had been to the cabin on Hidden Lake but once since the accident to -my wonder woman. I had gone there the following day to fetch Haidee’s -mare. Wanza had gone with me and had brought away a few essential -articles of clothing for her employer. - -On my arrival I found that old Lundquist and the village hands had -cleared away the debris, and that the work of restoring the lean-to was -well under way. - -I made a rough draft of the improvements Haidee and I had planned for -the cabin, and drew up some specifications for the men, and then I -strolled down to the lake. I was saying to myself that the cabin should -be tight and sound for the fall rains, and that if Haidee would allow -me I would further embellish it with a back porch and a rustic pergola -like the one I had built for Joey at Cedar Dale, when I heard a splash -in the water, a sudden swishing sound in the rushes, and saw a movement -in the tules. I sprang to the water’s edge. Soon a canoe emerged from -the green thickets. - -Wanza sat in the canoe, plying the paddle. A triumphant light was -on her face, her hands shone bronze in the sun, her red lips smiled -mischievously. She called to me: - -“I’ve run away! I had to get out on the river, I just had to! Mr. Dale, -do you hear the yellow-throat singing ‘witchery--witchery--witchery’?” - -I straightened my shoulders with a quick uplift of spirit. Her -unexpected presence set my pulses beating a livelier measure. Her -cornflower blue eyes rested on me, then wandered to the birch thickets -along the shore, and she sat leaning slightly forward, her gaze remote, -a charming figure in the sunlight. - -“Would you like to hear me recite my little piece about the -yellow-throat?” - - “While May bedecks the naked trees - With tassels and embroideries, - And many blue-eyed violets beam - Along the edges of the stream, - I hear a voice that seems to say, - Now near at hand, now far away, - ‘Witchery--witchery--witchery.’” - -Her glance came back to me. - -“I wish, Mr. Dale, that we had blue violets in these woods--they all -seem to be yellow. Why do you stare at me so?” - -“I had no idea you were coming; it is a stare of surprise.” - -“But you’re glad to see me, now, aren’t you? I’ll paddle you home. -How’s the cabin getting on?” - -“It is scarcely habitable yet. But I think the men are getting on as -well as could be expected.” - -Her face was dappled with light and shadow as she sat there. An -exquisite, happy radiance emanated from her. She looked inquiringly -into my eyes and swept her paddle. - -“You _are_ surprised to see me, you sure are! But now that I am here I -want to see the improvements. Give me your hand, David Dale.” - -She beached her canoe, stood up, and placed her hand on my shoulder -as I bent to her. Very lightly I passed my arm about her. She flashed -a laughing side glance at me, and put one foot over the side of the -craft. “I don’t need that much help,” she said, grimacing. - -The canoe rocked, suddenly. She stumbled. I caught her. She was against -my breast. “You see you needed that much help,” I laughed boyishly. - -“Let me go, Mr. David Dale.” - -She shook herself free and stood apart from me. The sunlight slanted on -her face as she stood there, flushing wildly, gilded her white neck, -flashed on her bare arms. She held her head down for a moment, and then -she raised it and looked at me. Her eyes were soft and wet. “What a -goose I was,” she cried softly. “Come on, I’ll race you to the cabin!” - -I paddled home in the canoe with Wanza, after directing Lundquist -to ride my horse back to Cedar Dale. The river purred to us all the -way, the meadow larks and warblers chanted roundelays of joy and love -from the thickets, and the birch trees shook their silver, tinkling -leaves in elfish music above the sun-kissed water. We were very -silent drifting down the river, and my thoughts were strange, strange -thoughts. I had begun to wonder about Wanza--Wanza, who understood my -rapture at the sight of the new day, who felt the same tightening of -the throat at the song of the birds, the same breathlessness beneath -the stars. I had begun to ask myself if, after all, she were not as -fine as another, even though through long association her rareness for -me was impaired. - - - - -CHAPTER XVI - -WE HAVE AN ADVENTURE - - -ABOUT this time I began to hear strange stories in the village of -a silver-tip bear that was committing grave depredations in the -community. I recounted exploits of grizzlies to Haidee and Wanza as we -sat in the Dingle now and then, smiling at Haidee’s delicate shiver of -horror, and glorying in Wanza’s bravado which led her into all sorts of -bombastic declarations as to what her line of conduct would be should -she meet Mr. Silvertip face to face. - -“Of course,” she was fond of repeating, “if I was carrying a gun I -would shoot him.” - -Joey kept me awake long after we both should have been soundly sleeping -to tell me how he would meet the bear in the woods some fine day when -alone, and summarily dispose of him with the twenty-two calibre rifle -he called his own, but which needless to say, he had never been allowed -to use much. We were all pleasantly excited anent the grizzly. - -“I feel sure that it will be my happy fortune to fire the shot that -will bring to an inglorious end old big foot’s career,” I said -dramatically one morning. - -We had foregathered in the Dingle--Haidee’s mare, Buttons, and -Wanza’s Rosebud were neighing just beyond in the pine thicket--for we -were going to ride. Some days since we had taken our first jaunt on -horseback, and Haidee had found that the excursion wearied her not at -all. The crutches were infrequently used now. Haidee explained that -her continued use of them was simply a manifestation of fear-thought. -I little meant the words I said, but when we rode away I carried my -thirty-thirty slung on my shoulder. - -As we went through the village we met Captain Grif Lyttle mounted on -his piebald broncho. It required no little urging to induce him to join -our expedition. But eventually he was won over. - -“If it was goin’ to ride only, I’d be for it. But I see you’re toting -your dinner. I don’t hold with picnics. This carryin’ grub a few -miles--an’ there be _nothin’_ heavier than grub--settin’ down and -eatin’ it, and beatin’ it back home, is all tomfoolishness, ’pears to -me. But you young folks sees things different; and if so be I’ll be -any acquisition whatsoever to your party, I stand ready to go along.” -He looked hard at Haidee as he spoke, and I was half prepared for the -remark he addressed to her: “’Pears to me, young lady, you ain’t got up -for a picnic, exactly. That there gauzy waist’ll snag on the bushes, -and your arms’ll burn to a blister--there’s no protection in such -sleazy stuff. Look at Wanza now--she’s rigged up proper!--stout skirt -and high shoes and a right thick waist.” - -We had gone some distance before I noticed that Wanza was carrying my -twenty-two. I was not over civil when I saw it in her hands. - -“I like to shoot things,” she explained, with a deprecatory glance. - -Captain Grif chuckled. - -“Wanza do be the beatenest gal with a gun, if I do say it,” he remarked. - -The glance he leveled at his daughter was pleased and proud; and there -was a depth of affection in it that was touching. - -“Well,” Wanza repeated lightly, “I sure do like to shoot things.” - -“Things!--squirrels, rabbits, birds--what?” I winked at Captain Grif. - -“You know me better than that!” she stormed. - -“What then?” - -“Well--the bear, if I meet him alone.” - -“With a twenty-two!” - -[Illustration: A SUDDEN YEARNING SPRANG UP] - -I turned my back on her and spurred forward to Haidee’s side. Haidee -sat her mount superbly. She wore the blue riding skirt and white blouse -she had worn on the occasion of her first visit to Cedar Dale. She -was hatless. Her hair was loosely braided. She swayed lightly in her -saddle. There was something bonny, almost insouciant in her bearing -this morning. Wanza rode beside her father with Joey on the saddle -before her, and they lagged behind Haidee and me persistently, stopping -so often that once or twice we lost sight of them completely when -the road curved or we dipped down into a hollow. Whenever I glanced -around at Wanza I saw her riding with her face upturned to the trees, -a detached look on her face. Once I heard her whistle to a bluebird -and once I heard her sing. The pathos of her song clutched me by the -throat. In the midst of a speech to Haidee I stopped short. In my -heart a sudden yearning sprang up, a yearning only half understood; I -longed to help, to lift Wanza--to make her more like the woman at my -side--more finished, less elemental. In spite of my wonder and worship -of Haidee the pathos of Wanza’s simple, ignorant life stirred me--yes, -and hurt me! - -Nevertheless I was still facetious to Wanza when we dismounted beneath -the shade of some giant pines at noon. She winced as she unslung the -rifle from her shoulder, and I said teasingly: - -“I thought you’d feel the weight of that by noon.” - -Haidee murmured: “You poor thing! Why did you insist on bringing it?” - -I looked across at her sharply. Something in her manner of speaking -caused me to say chivalrously: “Wanza is welcome to the rifle--it isn’t -that.” - -With a quick glance from one to the other Wanza turned to the saddle -bags and began with Joey’s help, to unpack mysterious looking bundles. -I gathered dry twigs, built a fire between two flat rocks, and went to -a distant spring for water. Then, a half hour later, the blue smoke -from our fire drifted away among the pines, and the wind bore the -mingled odors of coffee and sizzling bacon. We sat in a group around -the red tablecloth Wanza spread on the ground. Captain Grif ate but -little, but he discoursed at large. - -We finished our meal, and lay back on the grass, and saw the sky, blue -above the dark tapestry of the forest. From reclining I dropped flat -on my back and lay staring up through the chinks in the green roof, -while Haidee read Omar aloud, Wanza threw pine cones at the chipmunks, -Captain Grif snoozed, and Joey took his bow-gun and went off on a still -hunt for Indians. - -An hour passed. When Haidee ceased reading Wanza sighed and said: - -“Why didn’t we eat our lunch closer to the spring, I’d like to know. -I’ll need more water to wash the forks and spoons before we go.” - -I rose with a resigned air. “I will go to the spring,” I said, taking -the small tin pail that had been used as a coffee boiler. “But -understand we are to have another hour of Omar before we go--this is an -intermission merely.” - -The captain opened one eye, and half closing his big hand made an -ineffectual attempt to scoop a fly into his palm. - -“I ’low I don’t understand that fellow Omar--he don’t sound lucid to -me,” he complained. “I don’t know as I relish bein’ called a Bubble, -exactly, either.” He settled back more comfortably. “But he was a -philosopher, and I’m a philosopher, so I admire him, and I’ll stand -by him. All them old chaps was all right ’ceptin’ the lubber that -poured treacle on himself to attract the ants--he was sure peculiar! -Get away there, you fly! Golly, s-ship-mate, _flies_ is bad enough, but -_ants_!--” - -I made quick work of reaching the spring in spite of the dense -underbrush that impeded my steps. But once there I became enamored -of a reddish-yellow butterfly--Laura, of the genus Argynnis--and I -followed it into a hawthorn thicket, through the thicket to a tangle -of moss-festooned birches, and eventually lost the specimen in a -dense growth of bramble. I went back to the spring, filled my pail -and was stooping to drink when I thought I heard a shot. I could not -be certain, as the noise of the water running over a rock bed filled -my ears. But I had gone only a few yards from the spring and out into -a clearing when I heard unmistakably a shot from my thirty-thirty. I -dropped the pail and ran. - -When I came to the pine grove where I had left Haidee and Wanza and -the captain, I saw a strange sight. Wanza, white-faced and apparently -unconscious, lay in a huddled heap on the ground, the twenty-two at -her side; Haidee bent over her; the captain stood, wild-eyed, holding -my thirty-thirty in his hand; and near them a silver-tip lay bleeding -from a wound in his heart. Even as I went forward to ascertain that the -bear had received his quietus, I spoke to the captain. - -“Good work, Captain Grif.” - -When I saw that the bear had been dispatched, I ran back to Wanza’s -side. The captain had lifted her in his arms, her head was against his -breast. The color was coming back to her face. - -“Don’t try to shoot a bear again with a twenty-two, Wanza,” I said, as -she unclosed her eyes. She looked at me strangely and shuddered. “Some -one had to shoot quick, and I had the twenty-two in my hand.” I would -have said more, but Joey crept out of the bushes, looked at the bear, -then at me, and said: - -“Let’s go home, Mr. David.” - -When I was preparing Joey for bed that night, he piped out suddenly: “I -saw Wanza shoot the bear.” - -“Wanza?” I turned on him. - -“Yep! Sure. I was in the bushes playing Indian. The bear came out -of the huckleberry bushes in the draw, rolling his head awful. Bell -Brandon she screamed. Whew, she grabbed Wanza, she did! Captain Grif -woke up, and got only on to his knees--he wobbled so!--and then Wanza -up with the twenty-two and shot--just like that! And then she grabbed -the big gun and shot again. Then her father he took the gun away from -her, and Wanza just fell down on the ground. And then you came.” - -That same evening I said to Wanza: - -“I was very stupid not to understand that you shot first with the -twenty-two, and then dispatched the bear with the thirty-thirty. I -thought your father killed the bear. Why did you not tell me?” - -“It didn’t make any difference as I could see who killed the bear. The -main thing was to kill it,” was the reply I received. - -The next day Wanza informed me that Mrs. Olds’ patient was able to sit -up in bed. “I’ve been talking to him,” she added, with a flirt of her -head. “If I was a good reader, now, I’d be glad to read to him a bit.” - -“I think you are doing very well as you are, Wanza,” I replied. - -There surged through me the instinctive dislike, almost aversion, I had -felt on the night of his coming to Cedar Dale, and my tone was stern. - -“He wants me to talk to him though, he says. He says he needs perking -up. My, he knows a lot, don’t he, Mr. Dale? Seems like he knows -everything, ’most. And I do think he’s handsome. He’s got the finest -eyes! Though there’s something odd about them, too, if you stop to -think. The worst with handsome eyes is that you _don’t_ stop to think! -I’m going out now to get some hardhack for him. He says he don’t -remember ever seeing the pink kind. What do you call it, Mr. Dale?” - -“Spiraea tomentosa. Wait a bit, Wanza,” I said, “I’ll go with you.” - -We went to the woods. It was morning, and the freshness of the hour -was incomparable. The birds were singing with a sort of rapture. And -our way through the silent greenwood aisles was wholesome and sweet -with the breath of pine and balm o’ Gilead. The vistas were rosy with -pink hardhack; on either side feathery white clusters of wild clematis -festooned the thickets, and here and there the bright faces of roses -peeped out at us from tangles of undergrowth. - -I know not what spirit of willfulness possessed Wanza. I think she had -it in her mind to arouse my jealousy by praise of the big man. Her talk -was all of him. Finally I had my say. - -“I know nothing of him, Wanza. He may be a splendid chap, of course, -and he may be a rascal. Frankly, I do not like him. Admire him, if you -want to. But I would rather you did not chat with him unless Mrs. Olds -is present.” - -“Dear me! How can a little friendly chat hurt any one.” - -Wanza tucked a wild rose into her curls, and it hung pendent, nodding -at me saucily, as she tossed her head and laughed in my face. Her -cheeks matched the flower in color. I looked at her admiringly, but my -voice was still firm as I said: “I hope you will be careful to give -very little of your time to Mrs. Olds’ patient.” - -“Ha, ha,” laughed Wanza, crinkling her eyelids and giving me an elfish -glance from beneath tawny lashes. - -“In a measure,” I continued, “you are in my care, and I feel -responsible for your associates while you are with me.” - -“Well,” drawled Wanza, “if I’m with an angel ’most all day and all the -night--meaning Mrs. Batterly--it sure won’t hurt me to talk some to -a sinner like the big man. Besides, it’ll help out a lot. It’ll keep -me from getting glum, Mr. Dale.” She favored me with another roguish -glance. “You wouldn’t have me getting glum, would you?” - -“I wish the big man were well, and on his way, so that we might use -the front room again. Mrs. Batterly has only her room and the Dingle -as it is, and she must grow tired of having her meals in her room,” I -complained. - -“I carried her breakfast to her this morning in the Dingle.” There was -something defiant in the girl’s tone. - -“Famous!” I cried. - -After a short silence Wanza said provokingly: - -“If I want to talk to the big man and Mrs. Olds is out of ear shot I -don’t see as it can matter.” - -“Please, Wanza,” I insisted, “talk with him as little as possible.” - -Her eyes were laughing, and teasing and pacifying all at one and the -same time. I held out my hand. - -“Say you will do as I ask, and give me your hand on it,” I implored. - -Her eyes were only teasing now. She shook her head, and I dropped my -hand and turned away. I heard a rustling among the grasses and thought -she had gone. But when after taking a few steps I looked around, there -she was, perched on a boulder, her feet drawn up beneath her pink -gingham skirt, her arms crossed on her breast, her eyes surveying me -steadfastly. I did not smile as I faced her. I merely glanced and swung -on my heel. - -“Come here,” she called. - -When I was close beside her again she shook her head more vehemently -than before, until all her tiny tight curls bobbed up and down -distractingly. - -“It won’t do,” she said. - -“What won’t do?” I asked. - -“Your trying to boss me won’t do, my trying to pretend won’t do.” - -“What are you trying to pretend, Wanza?” - -“That I’m crazy about the big man. I ain’t.” - -“Oh? Well, I really would have no right to object if you found him -attractive. I dare say I have seemed rather dictatorial,” I answered -chivalrously. - -“And something else won’t do.” - -“Pray tell me what it is.” - -“It won’t do for you to pretend, either.” - -“I? What do I pretend?” - -She eyed me gravely, pulled a blade of grass, blew on it, and cast it -aside. - -“Lot of things,” she said then. - -“Do I, Wanza?” - -“But I can stand anything--anything,” she threw out both hands, “except -being bossed. I can’t stand that.” - -“No one could,” I agreed. - -“And you mustn’t try it on, because if you do!--me and you will part -company.” - -I was surprised at the hard glint in her eyes, the inflexible tone of -her voice. Her face was quite unlovely at that moment. - -“Child, child,” I began impulsively, but I hesitated and said nothing -more, for her eyes with their strange hardness seemed the eyes of a -stranger. - -The crisp, blue morning paved the way to a hot, still day. I drove to -the village for supplies in the afternoon, and after supper I was glad -to rest on the river bank, with Joey sprawling on the grass at my side. -The moon rose early and climbed into the purple pavilion above us, -spraying the world with a wash of gold. The night became serene, almost -solemn; one big, bright star burst upon our sight from the top of a -low ridge of hills opposite, and threw a linked, sliding silver bridge -from one plush river bank to the other. It looked like some strange -aerial craft fired with unearthly splendor, and propelled by unguessed -sorcery. I was glad to forget the tawdry, painted day that was slipping -into the arms of night. It had been a fretting day in many particulars. -My morning with Wanza had irked me, I had had almost no conversation -with Haidee, and Mrs. Olds had been exceedingly arbitrary during the -evening meal in the hot, stuffy little kitchen. The calm evening hour -was like a benediction to me, and Joey’s tender little hand stroking -mine soothed me inexpressibly. - -I was hoping to escape without the usual sleep-time story, but one -glance at the eager face showed me that the lad was eagerly expecting -its spinning. And his first words were evidently meant to act as an -impetus. - -“If you was to tell me a story, Mr. David, would it be a fairy one, do -you think? Or would it be about a bear, do you ’spose, or a--a tiger?” - -I am afraid I spoke rather impatiently. - -“Aren’t you tired of bears and tigers yet, Joey?” - -A wistful voice replied: - -“Did you get tired of ’em when you was little, Mr. David?” - -“No, no,” I answered hastily, “of course, I did not.” - -The lad rolled over until his brown head rested against my knee. - -“To-night I’d liever hear about fairies.” - -“Honestly, Joey?” - -“Yep! Criss cross my heart and hope to die. I like to hear about -Dwainies.” - -“Who calls them Dwainies?” - -“Her--Bell Brandon.” - -The dear homey name! I smiled down into the boy’s brown eyes. Suddenly -it seemed to me that I should enjoy a talk about Dwainies. - -“Well,” I began, “I shall tell you a story of a Dwainie called -Arethusa. Say it after me, Joey. Arethusa.” - -“Arethusa,” he repeated painstakingly. - -“Arethusa was a nymph. She lived in a place called Arcadia. And -she slept on a couch of snow in the Acroceraunian mountains. Don’t -interrupt, please, Joey!--” - -“I was only trying to say that big word--it’s hard enough to say the -name of our own mountains--but Ac--Acro--” - -“Never mind. It is not necessary for you to remember all the names in -my stories, only the names I ask you to remember.” - -“Bell Brandon says you’re teaching me funny that way. She says you’re -teaching me stories of the old world before you teach me to speak good -English. What’s good English, Mr. David?” - -“Never mind, lad,” I murmured confusedly. My wonder woman was quite -right, Joey’s English was reprehensible; but I confess I secretly -enjoyed it--there was something eminently Joeyish about it--a -quaintness that I found irresistible. I smiled, and sighed, and -continued, “Arethusa’s hair was rainbow colored, and her eyes were -sky blue, and her cheeks coral. Gliding and springing she went, ever -singing; you see, she was not only beautiful, but light hearted and -pure. The Earth loved her, and the Heaven smiled above her. Now Alpheus -was a river-god. He sat very often on a glacier--a cold, cold glacier, -and whenever he struck the mountains with his trident great chasms -would open, and the whole world about would shake. He saw the Dwainie -Arethusa, one day, and as she ran he followed the fleet nymph’s flight -to the brink of the Dorian sea.” - -“Oh, oh,” breathed my listener, eyes distended, and lips apart. “Did he -catch her?” - -“He followed her to the brink--the edge, Joey--of the sea. Arethusa -cried: ‘Oh, save me! Oh, guide me! And bid the deep hide me, for he -grasps me now by the hair--’” - -“Her rainbow hair?” - -“Yes, yes,--don’t interrupt.” - -“Who did she yell to?” - -“The loud Ocean heard. It stirred, and divided--parted, boy--and ‘under -the water the Earth’s white daughter fled like a sunny beam.’” - -“Hm! What did the river-god do then?” - -“He pursued her. He descended after her. ‘Like a gloomy stain on the -emerald main.’” - -“But did he get her, Mr. David?” - -“Well, Arethusa was changed into a stream by Diana, and the stream -was turned into a fountain in the island of Ortygia, and Alpheus -the river-god still pursuing her, finally won her, and they dwelt -single-hearted in the fountains of Enna’s mountains.” - -There was a burst of roguish laughter behind me. - -“What a classic tale for a child mind,” a light voice cried. - -Haidee stood among the shadows of the cottonwoods, swaying between her -crutches. - -“Mrs. Olds has sent me in search of you. The canteen you soldered for -her patient’s use has come unsoldered, the tin lining of the fireless -cooker has sprung a leak, the big man has to be lifted while his bed -is being changed, and she wants to know if you forgot to purchase the -malted milk this afternoon--she can’t find it anywhere. She said, too, -that you had signified your intention of rubbing soap on the doors to -prevent their squeaking. She also said something about procrastination, -but it sounded hackneyed--quite as if I had heard it somewhere -before--so I left rather precipitately.” - -All the while I was soldering the canteen for the big man’s feet, I -could hear Wanza chattering blithely with the patient in the front -room. She came out to me after awhile, and stood at my elbow as I -examined the cooker. I frowned at her, and received a moue in return. - -“I’ve been telling the big man about my peddler’s cart,” she ventured -finally. “He’s so set on seeing it, soon as he’s well enough! Seems he -never saw one. He can’t talk much, he’s that weak yet--like a baby! But -I can talk to him.” - -“I shall not ask you not to talk with him, again, Wanza,” I announced. - -“It’s just as well, seeing as I know what I’m about. Land! the poor -man! He needs some one to talk to him. I don’t notice you hurting -yourself seeing after him, Mr. David Dale!” - -I felt very weary and intolerably disgusted with everything, and I -answered sharply, “That’s my own affair.” The next minute I saw the -blood spurt from my palm, and realized even as Wanza cried out that I -had cut myself rather badly on the tin lining of the cooker. I turned -faint and dizzy, and opening the door I plunged out into the night air -followed closely by Wanza. - -“It’s nothing,” I kept saying, keeping my hand behind me as she would -have examined it. - -“Please--please, Mr. Dale, let me look at it.” - -She pressed forward to my side and reached around behind me for my -hand. I could feel her quivering in every limb. - -“It’s nothing,” I maintained, though the pain was intense, and the -rapid flow of blood was weakening me. - -“It is something. Oh, if only to be kind to me, Mr. Dale, let me have -your hand!” - -We struggled, my other arm went around her, and I attempted to draw -her back and sweep her around to my uninjured side. I was obstinate -and angry, and she was persistent and tearful, and we wrestled like -two foolish children. “Please, please,” she kept repeating, and I -reiterated, “No.” It must have looked uncommonly like a love scene to a -casual onlooker, and Haidee’s voice speaking through the dusk gave me -an odd thrill. - -“I have called and called you, Wanza,” she was saying. “Will you go -to Mrs. Olds, please? I think she wants water from the spring, or the -malted milk prepared, or--or something equally trivial.” - -I released my prisoner and she sped away. I was left to peer through -the darkness at Haidee and vainly conjure my mind for something to say. -The drip, drip of the blood from my cut on to the maple leaves at my -feet, gave me a disagreeable sensation. I felt weakened, and slow in -every pulse. I thought of words, but had no will to voice them, and -so I stood staring stupidly at the vision before me. She spoke with a -strange little gasp in her voice at last. - -“I think I have been mistaken in you, Mr. Dale.” - -“You are making a mistake now,” I replied hoarsely. There was a -peculiar singing in my ears, and a buzzing in my brain where small -wheels seemed to be grinding round, so that my tone was not convincing, -and as I spoke I leaned my shoulder against a tree from sheer weakness. -In my own ears my words sounded shallow and ineffectual. I tried to -speak again but succeeded in making only a clicking sound in my throat. -I felt myself slipping weakly lower and lower, though I dug my feet -into the turf and braced my knees heroically. Faster and faster the -wheels went round. I felt that Haidee was moving toward the cabin away -from me. I tried to call her name. But I was floundering in a quagmire -of unreality; I groped in a dubious morass darkly, straining toward -the light. My knees felt like pulp, they yielded completely and I slid -ignominiously to the ground, rolled over, and lay inert, waves of -darkness washing over me. - -It was Joey who found me, whose tears on my face aroused me. His grief -was wild. His lamentations echoed around me. He was moaning forth: “Mr. -David, Mr. David,” in a frenzy, laying his face on mine, patting my -cheeks, lifting my eyelids with trembling fingers. “Are you killed? Are -you killed?” I heard him wail. “Oh dear, dear, my own Mr. David, please -open your eyes and speak to Joey!” - -A light from a lantern struck blindingly into my eyes as I unclosed -them and I quickly lowered my lids. But my lad had seen the sign of -life and I heard him call: “Wanza, Wanza, come quick! Mr. David is -laying here all bloody and hurted.” - -I struggled to a sitting posture as Wanza came forward at a run, -swinging her lantern. A few minutes later I sat on a bench in the -workshop while Wanza bathed and dressed my hand and gave me a sip -of brandy from a bottle she found in the cupboard over one of the -small windows. I was ashamed of my weakness and I apologized for it, -explaining that I had never been able to endure the sight of blood with -fortitude, and admitting that the tin had cut rather deep. - -“Now you just crawl into bed and go to sleep and forget all about it,” -she crooned, mothering me, with a gentle hand on my hair. She went -to my bunk in the corner, shook up the pillows and straightened the -blankets, and catching up the pail of water filled the basin on the -wash-bench. “Wash your face and hands, you Joe,” she ordered. “Then -come outside and I’ll hear you say your prayers.” - -I was lying in my bunk half asleep, though tortured by the remembrance -of Haidee’s words, when I heard the following oddly disjointed prayer -from the river bank. - -“Now I lay me--Oh, God, thank you for not letting Mr. David bleed to -death--I pray the Lord--’Cause if he had bled to death I’d want to die -too--my soul to keep--he’s all I got, and I want to thank you for him, -God-- Wait, Wanza, this is a new prayer I’m saying! I am going to ask -God to bless you, too. Bless Wanza, please, God,--but bless Mr. David -the most,--oh, the most of anybody in the whole world! Amen.” - -Soon Joey came pattering in to the shop and very gingerly crawled in -beside me. He was asleep, and I was lying miserably brooding, when -Wanza called softly just outside the window: “Mr. Dale--hoo-hoo!” - -“Yes, Wanza?” I answered. - -“I’ve been to the cabin--in the cedar room--talking with Mrs. Batterly. -I told her all about your cutting your hand, and--and how you would not -let me look at it--and how silly I was, trying to make you--when she -come up. I told her how I found you on the ground--and--and everything. -Go to sleep now.” - -“I shall, Wanza. Thank you,” I cried gratefully. - - - - -CHAPTER XVII - -THE DREAM IN THE DINGLE - - -A FEW days later I was summoned to the big man’s side as he sat, fully -dressed for the first time, outside the cabin in the shade of a cedar. -I sat beside him while he thanked me for my hospitality, and said it -was his intention to push on to Roselake and thence to Wallace that -very afternoon. - -“I have business to transact there for my partner, Dick Bailey, who -died in Alaska last winter,” he said, and stopped short, looking at me -with a sudden question in his eyes. “By the bye, you people seem to be -laboring under the impression that my name is Bailey,” he added. - -“Mrs. Olds found the name on a pocketbook you carried,” I explained. - -“To be sure--I was carrying an old wallet of Bailey’s. Our initials are -the same, too.” He fell to musing, wrinkling his brows. But instead -of telling me his name, he went on presently: “You are master of a -somewhat unusual household, Dale. I am vastly interested. You’re a -lucky dog to have such a Hebe for a protégée as the girl Wanza, such -an infant prodigy as that young scamp, who shows fine discrimination, -and glowers at me from the kitchen door, for an adopted son,--and who -is the interesting lady patient on whom Wanza waits and who is shut up -in a Blue Beard’s closet next my room? I have a sly sure instinct that -tells me she is the most wonderful of the lot.” - -The blood rushed to my face. The leer with which he accompanied his -words was rakish, and his handsome face smirked disgustingly. - -“She is an unfortunate neighbor of mine, who was crippled by a falling -tree the night of the storm,” I answered coldly. - -He gave me a quizzical glance, shrugged his shoulders, and exclaimed -laughingly: - -“Beauty in distress! Don Quixote to the rescue. You’re the sort of -chap, I fancy, Dale, who goes about tilting at windmills. You belong to -a past generation. But it is lucky for me I stumbled across you. Well, -I care not to pry into your Blue Beard’s closet--the girl Wanza is a -piquant enough little devil for me--” - -“Just speak more respectfully of her, if you must speak at all,” I -interrupted with heat. - -“Don Quixote, Don Quixote,” he murmured, wagging a broad finger at me, -and shaking his head playfully. - -I said something beneath my breath, and rose from my chair hastily. - -“Wait! Wait!” he cried. “Don’t let your choler rise. Sit down. We will -not discuss the ladies. I was about to tell you my name, and give you -my credentials--” - -He broke off abruptly. Joey was issuing from the elder bushes piping -on his flute. As I listened, a voice from the Dingle caught up the -refrain, a voice high and sweet and clear. - - “Bell Brandon was the birdling of the mountains--” - -The line ended in a ripple of laughter. The man before me half raised -in his seat. Then sweeter and lower: - - “And I loved the little beauty, Bell Brandon-- - And she sleeps ’neath the old arbor tree.” - -The underbrush parted and Haidee came toward us, leaning slightly on -one crutch. In her hand she carried a great bunch of pink spirea. Each -cheek was delicately brushed with color, her star-eyes were agleam, her -lips curved with laughter. - -And then, all suddenly, the dimples and laughter and life fled from her -beautiful face, her eyes turned dull and anguished. She was looking -at the big man, and he was looking at her. His pasty face was gray as -ashes. His little eyes contracted to pin-points. - -Haidee’s dry lips writhed apart. One word dropped from them: - -“You!” - -She crouched forward, peered at him intently through the soft green -shadows of the cedars, her eyes growing bigger as if wild with a sudden -hope that they might have played her a trick. And then gradually the -intentness left them, they hardened, and her whole face stiffened, and -grew white and grim. - -The big man had risen. He took a step forward now. There was something -bullying in his attitude, something implacable in his altered face. His -light eyes had a sinister gleam, but his _savoir-faire_ did not desert -him. He spoke to me, but his eyes never left the marble face of the -woman who confronted him. - -“Mr. Dale,” he said with a wave of the hand, “pardon our agitation. I -am Randall Batterly. This is the first time my wife and I have met in -five years.” - -I reached Haidee’s side just in time, for the crutch slipped from her -grasp, and she would have fallen but for my steadying arm. - -Joey, the dauntless, sprang forward and menaced the big man with -threatening, childish fist. “You leave my Bell Brandon alone!” he -screamed, “you leave her alone--you big, bad man! I wish we’d let you -die, I do.” - -I placed Haidee in a chair. I took Joey’s hand and led him indoors. I -heard a wild cry ring out: - -“I thought you were dead in the Yukon, Randall Batterly, I thought you -were dead. I hate you! I hate you!” - -I closed the door on her agonized weeping. - -Before the big man left that day he sent Wanza to ask me to come to him -in the living room. I was in my workshop, and I shook my head when the -message was delivered. In the mood I was in then it was well for me not -to go to him. I shall never forget the expression on Mrs. Olds’ face -when she sought me in the shop a half hour later to bid me good-bye. -She had found, at last, food for her prying, suspicious mind. - -“I am that shocked and surprised, Mr. Dale!” she gasped, all of a -flutter. “Why, I’m just trembly! I heard high voices, and I stole -out on the porch, and there they were, saying such dreadful, dreadful -things to each other! And isn’t it odd, Mr. Dale, that they should come -together here in this remote--I was going to say God forsaken--spot, -this way? Now, don’t you suppose they will patch up their differences? -I should think they might--they’re young folks--it seems a pity -the amount of domestic infelicity nowadays--and they are a likely -fine looking couple.” She drew breath, shook her head, and paused -dramatically. - -I felt her fish-eyes searching my face. - -Then she broke out, as I maintained an apparently unruffled front: - -“Of course, Mr. Dale, it is not for me to say all I think--not for -me to say whose is the fault. But I must say I am surprised and -disappointed--yes, and shocked--shocked, Mr. Dale, that Mrs. Batterly, -a married woman, should proclaim herself a widow. When a woman will do -that--why, what is one to think! I can’t abide duplicity. To my notion -there is absolutely no excuse for that, Mr. Dale. And if she did not -know her husband was alive--well, I have no words.” - -I was sullen-hearted enough, God knows, and Mrs. Olds’ inane, arrogant -drivel was like tinder on a blown fire. I was wild as an enraged bull -who has the red scarf flaunted in his long suffering face. I thrust out -my chin and I squared my shoulders, and I know my face must have grown -ugly with my red-eyed anger. - -If I had spoken then, I am sure Mrs. Olds could have guessed most -accurately at the state of my heart with regard to Haidee. But just at -that moment the cedar waxwing left its cage, circled about my head, -and descended to settle in the crook of my arm. I straightened my arm, -and it hopped to my outspread palm, looking up at me with pert, bright -eyes. In that short space during which the bird poised there, I thought -of a hundred poignant things to say to Mrs. Olds. But the bird flew -away and I said not one of them. - -After I had bidden good-bye to Mrs. Olds there was Wanza still to be -reckoned with. I had just seen from my window the flurried departure -of the nurse and her patient on the afternoon stage when I heard a -tentative voice at my elbow, murmur: “Mr. Dale.” - -I am sure there must have been a certain fierceness in my bearing as I -wheeled about. But I was all unprepared for the fervid face that my -lips almost brushed as I turned, the depth of emotion in the burningly -blue eyes. - -“Don’t!” she breathed, as I faced her. “Don’t, please!” - -“Don’t what, child?” I articulated. - -“Don’t look at me so sharp--so awful!” Her voice thinned, as if she -were going to cry. Her brown, pleading hands came out to me. “I only -want to say good-bye.” - -As I still stood woodenly, looking at her, she moved back with a swift -jerk of her slim body and put her hands behind her. Her face altered. -It whitened, and she let her lids droop over eyes suddenly hot with -resentment. Feeling like a brute I made haste to intercept the hands. -I slipped my arms about her, caught the hands, and drew them around -against my chest. I think I had never liked Wanza better than at that -moment in her hurt pride, and womanliness. - -“Dear Wanza,” I said, “my dear child--” - -She pressed against me suddenly, and put her soft cheek against my -sleeve. - -“What is it, child, what is it?” I begged. I put my hand gently on her -hair. - -“I’m going away, Mr. Dale--I’m going! I been so happy here--with you -and Joey and the birds.” - -Her breaths were sobs. - -It was my turn to say “Don’t!” I said it imploringly, and I added: “I -cannot bear to see you cry, Wanza.” - -“Oh, let me cry! I’m upset, and nervous, and--and sad--I guess you’d -call it. I’m going on home now, and set things to rights a bit, and -to-night I’m going to Hidden Lake to stay with Mrs. Batterly. I -promised.” - -“She needs you, Wanza,” I said. - -“I was to ask you if you would ride through the woods with her, in a -half hour. She’s not quite fit to go alone, Mr. Dale.” Suddenly Wanza -broke into a tempest of tears, and sobbed and shook, huddled against -my shoulder, stammering: “Everything is upside down--upside down! -But--yes, Mr. Dale, I am glad--glad--that Mrs. Batterly has got a -husband living. He’s probably a bad man, and if she wanted to run away -it was all right and nobody’s business. But it had to come out that -she had a husband, and I’m glad it’s come--that’s all! I’m glad it’s -come--now--afore--” - -I looked down at the opulent fleece of hair spinning into artless -spirals of maze against my shoulder, and I threaded a curl through my -fingers absently before I probed this significant, stumbling final -sentence. Then I caught at the lost word. “Before, Wanza? Before--what!” - -“Before you got to thinking too much of her.” - -I laughed. I stood away from the child and laughed ironically. The -laugh saved the situation. Wanza raised her head, gave a watery smile, -and flung out. - -“You needn’t laugh. You were thinking too much of her--you know you -was.” - -“Please, Wanza,--don’t!” - -“Now your face is black again.” Wanza’s mood changed swiftly. “Oh, Mr. -Dale, I have a weight here,” she laid her hand on her chest. “I feel -things pressing,--awful things! What’s going to happen, do you think, -that I feel so queer and blue and bad?” - -I shook my head. She went on quickly: - -“Of course I’m broke up about leaving Cedar Dale just now, I just can’t -bear to quit you and Joey--and the birds--and squirrels--and flowers--” - -The tears were brimming up again in the velvet-blue eyes. I walked over -to the waxwing’s cage, snapped shut the door on the tiny prisoner, and -handed the cage to Wanza. - -“Take him with you,” I bade her. - -With the cage clasped in her arms, her eyes flooded with tears, but -with smiles on her mobile lips, she went from the shop, backward, step -by step. - -After Wanza came Joey. A transfigured Joey. Wild with rage at the big -man, threatening, and bombastic. Then softening into plaintive grief, -wailing: - -“Oh, Mr. David, my Bell Brandon’s going! She’s going! She won’t be here -to-night for my sleep-time story. She won’t be here when I wake up -to-morrow. She won’t ever stay here again.” - -“No, lad,” I replied. - -“Won’t she, don’t you ’spose? P’r’aps if she don’t like it at Hidden -Lake she’ll come back. Don’t you think she’ll come again, Mr. David?” - -“No,” I repeated, sadly. - -He sniffled. Then he said, in a frightened tone, “Wanza ain’t going -too, is she?” - -“Yes, Joey.” - -He drew his sleeve across his eyes. He swallowed. Then he said, winking -hard, “I’ll miss Bell Brandon, but I’ll miss Wanza most.” - -After a moment, I ventured: - -“You have me, Joey.” - -He drew his sleeve across his eyes again, gulped, and muttered: - -“I’m ’shamed. I love you most! But she’s mothery--Wanza is, that’s it!” - -Mothery--Wanza of the wind’s will--mothery! - -I keep a picture still in my mind of that last day on which I rode -through the forest with Haidee to Hidden Lake. Rain had drenched the -earth the previous night, and though the sun smiled from a cloudless -sky, the roads were heavy and our horses’ progress slow. There was a -languid drowsiness in the air, enhanced by the low, incessant singing -of cat-bird, robin and lark, and the overpowering scent of syringa -and rose. We chose a shadowy trail, and our heads were brushed by -white-armed flowery hawthorns, while honeysuckle threw fragrant -tendrils across our way. The woods glowed emerald-green, and dappled -gray, gemmed here and there with dogwood; great plumes of spirea rose -like pink clouds in the purple vistas. Small hollows held crystal-clear -water, and up from these hollows floated swarms of azure butterflies. -We crossed a swift-running stream; and before us, between smooth, mossy -banks fern-topped, lay a cup-like dell, shut in by shrubs and vines. I -drew rein, and dismounted, and Haidee with a swift glance at my face -drew in her mare. - -I went to her side. - -She held some purple flowers in the bend of her arm, flowers that Joey -had given her, she fingered the petals with a caressing touch. Her -head drooped slightly, but her eyes met mine questioningly. The pallor -of her face but made it more exquisite. Her gown was gray. Its folds -rippled about her slight form. She seemed like some grave-eyed spirit. -Her hair was in braids, outlining the ivory of her face. A scarf of -white muslin left her warm throat bare. - -I strove for words. But I could only whisper: - -“I am your friend. Never forget. If danger ever threatens you--” - -“If danger ever threatened me, I believe that you would intervene--you -are a brave man, David Dale. But I shall live safely--going on with -my even life--in my little cabin, with good Wanza for a companion. I -have had a shock, Mr. Dale,” her voice quivered, her lips whitened with -the words, “oh, such a shock! It is better not to speak of it. Not at -least unless I tell you all there is to tell, and I am not ready as -yet to do that.” She struggled with herself. She drew a deep breath. -“But I came here to work! I shall work as I have planned until autumn, -then--well, I do not know what then. You heard much yesterday--you -know my attitude toward the man who is my husband. I dare say you are -shocked, and shaken in your chivalrous estimate of me. I cannot help -that. I do not feel that I can explain--it goes too deep. It is not to -be laid bare before--forgive me--a stranger.” - -She smiled at me sadly as if to soften the last words. But hurt and -amazed, I cried: - -“A stranger! Am I that?” - -A light sprang into her eyes, the red came into her cheeks. - -“Forgive me,” she said again. - -“I am your friend--your true friend--no stranger.” I held out my hand. -“I thought you understood.” - -She kept her eyes upon me, but did not seem to see me. They were -hunted, weary eyes; weary to indifference, I saw suddenly. And seeing -this I took her slim fingers in mine and pressed them very gently and -let them go. - -Suddenly her composure broke. She turned whiter, she could scarcely -breathe. She moved her head restlessly. “I can’t bear it--I can’t--I -can’t! I wish I might fly to the ends of the earth--but there’s no -escape.” She brushed her hand across her face. She cowered in her -saddle. “It’s awful! I thought he was gone forever--forever, do you -understand? Oh, the freedom, the rest--the peace! With his return has -come the shadow of an old, old grief. It blots out the sunshine.” - -My lips twitched as I attempted soothing words. I took her cold hands -and chafed them. “Courage,” I whispered. She shook her head, quivering, -panting and undone. - -“Oh, I was born to live! Courage? I have none!” - -She leaned forward and sunk her head on the pommel of the saddle. After -a time she swung toward me. Her hair swept about her flaming cheeks, -and veiled her burning eyes. She looked like some hunted wild thing. - -“I hate him,” she hissed. “He knows I hate him. He does not care.” - -We looked at each other. - -“But he cares for you,” I stated. - -“No, no,” she said, hastily, “don’t say that.” - -Again we scanned each other’s faces. I spoke impetuously: - -“You believe in Destiny. Well, so do I! But we are not weak -instruments. You know what I mean. What law of society compels you to -a bondage such as you hint at? You are a strong-minded woman. Now that -you know the worst you have weapons to fight with. As soon as you -look about you--when you come to face the facts, you will see this.” I -struggled with my thoughts, then I threw wide my arms. “God knows what -I am to say to you!” - -She lifted up her head. “I have promised him to do nothing--to go on as -I have been--he will not molest me.” - -I half shrugged. “He loves you; of course, you believe that.” - -“He may. He protested that he did, when I told him I must go my way.” - -I heard her dully, my eyes on her face. She said a few more words -brokenly, that I scarce gave ear to. At the conclusion of them I looked -away to the purple wood vista. “Why did it please God,” I said, “to -have you cross my path!” - -Tears filled her eyes. “Those words did not sound like the words of a -friend.” - -“But they are said.” I moved away, she sat brooding. I mounted, and -came to her side. “We are friends, we may be friends, surely! May I -come to see you?” - -“Indeed you must come. Your visits will be welcome.” She smiled, but -her smile was twisted and dubious. “I expect great things of Wanza. She -will be my entertainer. She will cheer me. Have Joey come to me--” Her -voice failed her utterly. She was pale again as the syringa blooms at -her side. - -“We must push on, now,” I said. - -She gathered up her reins. - -And so we rode side by side to the little shack on the shore of Hidden -Lake. But when she gave me her hand at parting, I stumblingly cried: -“If he had not come--if he had not come, I should have tried to win -your love!” Something in her eyes caused me to add: “I wonder if I -should have succeeded.” - -She paled and drew her hand from mine. “I could have loved you, David -Dale,” she whispered. - -That night when Joey was preparing for bed in the cedar room, I spied a -bit of ribbon the color of the gowns Wanza wore, wreathed in among the -grasses in the magpie’s cage. And at the sight Joey cried out: - -“That’s Wanza’s. I want her! I want her to come back and stay, I do.” - -Holding the ribbon in my hand, I passed out to the Dingle. - -Here I sat down on the stump by the pool, in a ring of black shadow -cast by the cedars, and lifted my face to the stars that were shining -through the wattled green roof above my head. I was worn, physically -and mentally, by the experiences of the day. I sat there stupidly, -scarce moving, letting my pipe go out as I fed my grief with memories. -Joey called out at intervals: “Good night, Mr. David, dear.” Each -time I responded: “Good night, Joey.” At last no sound came from the -cedar room. I knew he slept. It was very still in the Dingle. A toad -hopped across the stone walk and a grass-snake flashed through the -rose hedge, like a quick flame. Close to the pool’s brink the big -flag-flowers vacillated in a faint, upspringing breeze, and the rushes -swayed and shuddered above the timorous bluebells. The moon came up -slowly, and I saw its face through the tree spaces. I wondered if -Haidee were watching it from the shore of Hidden Lake. And then a naked -Desolation crept up out of an unknown void, and I saw the gleam of its -whitened bones. It gibed me. It trailed its bleached carcass across -my arid path. The hour grew hideous. I felt myself alone--grievously -alone--on the verge of utmost solitude, reaching out ineffectual hands -toward emptiness. I recoiled, my senses whirling, from the limitless -nothingness into which my vision pored. - -I was clammy, with a cold sweat. My throat was dry. But the horror -passed and I grew apathetic at length, and sodden. Then calm, merely. -Soon I grew strangely somnolent. I nodded. But after a space I sat -tense, my chin sunk, listening. A vague stirring in the night chilled -my blood, and at the same time thrilled me. I listened and watched, -breathing heavily, alert and narrow-eyed. - -And then! - -I saw Wanza part the tangles of syringa, and stand pink-robed, framed -in white blossoms. Her face, rose-tinted and impassioned, was curtained -on either side by her unbound resplendent hair. Her eyes, laughing and -bright like happy stars, shone through the wilderness of locks. Her -lips, smooth and pink as polished coral, smiled freshly as the lips of -a tender child. Her arms were bare. In her strong brown hands she bore -a wooden cage, and the waxwing slept within, its head beneath its wing. -She hesitated, apparently saw no one--listened and heard no sound. She -spurned her flowered frame, and came springing forward, her short skirt -fluttering above her bare knees, her pink feet gleaming in the long -grasses. - -She passed close to me. Noiselessly she swept to the steps of the -cedar room. She mounted. I saw her pass through the open doorway, where -there was a pale nimbus of light. I saw her at the window. She took the -magpie’s cage from its hook, and hung the waxwing there instead. Soon -she reappeared. She carried the magpie in its cage. She came down the -steps, and I heard a voice like a “moon-drowned” dream murmur roguishly: - -“I have left them the waxwing. But I have taken away the magpie, lest -it tell my secrets.” - -I would have stopped her. But she had sprung with fluttering, perfumed -haste through the syringa frame and vanished. - -I dropped to the turf, clasped my arms about my head, and slept, -a deep, refreshing sleep. It was dawn when I awakened, a pink, -sweet-smelling dawn, scintillant with promise. I went to the cedar -room, Joey slept, one arm thrown out above his tousled head, the -shawl-flower quilt tossed aside. I covered him, and crossed to the -window. - -The magpie’s cage swung in its accustomed place. - -As I approached, the bird fixed me with its quick, bright eye, and -chortled: - -“Mr. David Dale! Fixing man! Mr. David--dear.” - -How strange that I should dream of Wanza! - - * * * * * - -Dreary days followed for Joey and me. - -As the days began to shorten I rode frequently to Captain Grif’s in -the cool of the evening, taking Joey on the saddle behind me. And -each night Joey dropped asleep on the small bed in Wanza’s room while -I played a rubber of chess with the captain. When Father O’Shan was -present a new zest was given our evenings. - -One stormy night Father O’Shan, Joey and I were belated at the cottage, -and the father and I kept our good host up to an unconscionable hour in -the room beneath the eaves, while Joey slept peacefully on the lower -floor. Father O’Shan was in fine fettle, and his stories were pungent, -his drollery inimitable. As the storm began I rolled into the captain’s -bunk and lay there in vast contentment. The port hole was open, framing -an oval of purple sky and drifting cloud rack. My fantasy was so keen -that I could fairly smell the odor of bilge and stale fish and tar, and -hear the tramp of feet on the deck over my head. When the storm was at -its fiercest, and the little cottage shook and the lightning flashed -through the port hole, it was easy to cheat myself into the belief -that I was experiencing all the wild delights of a storm at sea. - -The talk had turned on the superstitions of men who go down to the sea -in ships. “Lonely men are superstitious men,” the father said. “There -is something about aloneness that engenders visions and superstitions. -People who dwell apart all have their visions.” - -“And their madnesses,” I interjected. “People who live at the edge of -things are entitled to their superstitions. During the first months of -my life on my homestead, before Joey’s advent, I had one or two narrow -squeaks--came within an ace of insanity, I believe now. I went so far -that like the man in the story I met myself coming round the corner of -the cabin one day. I pulled up then and went to the city for a month -and took a rather menial position.” - -Father O’Shan was looking at me curiously. - -“I never heard of that before,” he said. “You pulled through all right.” - -“Oh, yes! If it had not been for my dog I might have gone under the -first year. But the dog was understanding.” - -“A dog,” Captain Grif explained carefully, “is the instinctinest animal -there be--and the faithfulest.” - -I caught Father O’Shan’s eyes fixed on me ruminatingly from time to -time during the evening. Once or twice, meeting my eyes, he favored -me with his rare, heart-warming smile. When I said good night to him -in the village, leaning from the saddle and shifting Joey’s sleeping -figure somewhat, in order that I might offer him my hand, he pressed -close to my horse’s side and peered up at me with friendly glance -through the semi-darkness of the dimly lighted street. - -“Too bad, Dale--too bad,” he said in his winning tones. - -“Eh? Just what is too bad?” I asked. - -He gripped my hand. - -“Man, I’m sorry I did not know you in the darkest days--when the dog -was understanding. I’d have tried to be understanding, too. A pity, -Dale--a pity!” - -“Never mind!” - -“I shall pass through this world but once, you know--I don’t want to -leave more things undone than I have to. But the unguessed things--that -lurk quite obscure--they have a way of unearthing themselves--they -hurt, Dale! Why, my boy, I rode past your cabin when you were putting -the roof on! But I was busy. I did not stop. Oh, well--I’m glad you had -your dog!” - - - - -CHAPTER XVIII - -“THANK YOU, MR. FIXING MAN” - - -THE bathing and dressing of Joey on Sunday morning, with Sunday school -in prospect, had always been an indeterminate process, a sort of blind -bargain. But with each week that was added to his age it became not -only precarious, but downright fagging, and nerve racking to a degree. -When he was a wee urchin and could go into the wash tub in the kitchen -for his weekly scouring, the process was comparatively simple, but -now that his long legs precluded that possibility, a liberal soaping -and sponge bath beside the tub was the alternative, and I found the -operation decidedly ticklish. - -He knew the minutiæ of the bath so well that if I neglected the least -detail, or varied the prescribed form, I was called to severe account. - -On the Sunday morning following our late evening at Captain Grif’s we -arose late, and consequently there was a scramble to get our breakfast -over and the water heated for the bath. But in due time all the -preliminaries were adjusted and Joey, stripped to the waist, knelt down -beside the tub according to our usual custom, that I might first give -his hair a thorough washing. - -“You shouldn’t rub soap on it,” he demurred, as I turned to the soap -dish. “Bell Brandon says so. She says that’s what makes my hair so -brash and funny.” - -“Brash, Joey?” - -“That’s what she said.” - -My jaw dropped. “How shall we get it clean, boy?” - -“You make a lather. Shave off little chunks of soap and put ’em in a -bottle and shake ’em up with water.” - -These directions were followed, and both Joey and I were gratified with -the result, but precious moments were consumed in the process. - -After that Joey got water in his ear, and had to dance like a Piute, -on one leg, and shake his head until it was dislodged. Next he sat on -the side of the tub and tipped it sufficiently to deluge the floor with -half the contents. This necessitated a scurry for the mop, and when -I rather curtly declined the lad’s services, tears came to the brown -eyes, his head drooped, and quite a quarter of an hour was expended -in salving his feelings, submitting to bear hugs and listening to -assurances that he had not meant to spill his bath water. - -After that we got down to business, and I stood Joey in the tub, soaped -him well, soused him with the sponge quickly, and rubbed him with a -coarse towel until his small body was in a glow. As I was drying his -feet, he said gently: - -“I guess I’m a little boy yet, ain’t I, Mr. David? I guess it’s a good -thing you know how to take care of me.” - -He rubbed his cheek against my arm. - -“Where’s your shirt, boy?” - -He pointed. - -Oh, such a pitiful, faded, abject blue and white rag it seemed, -hanging on the chair back! I turned it this way and that, regarding it -dubiously. - -“Will it do, Joey?” - -“Why, yes, sure it’ll do. My, course it’ll do.” - -I sighed. “We’ll have to get some new ones when you start to school, -boy.” - -“Well, but when I wear the tie Bell Brandon gave me, who sees the -shirt,” he said absently. - -I looked around at him. He was inspecting a red, angry looking mark -on his chest. “Will that always be there, Mr. David?” he asked -plaintively, touching it. “It always has been there. What makes it?” - -“It’s a birth mark, Joey. If ever you should get stolen, and when I -found you a bad man should say: ‘He’s not your boy,’ I could answer: -‘My boy has a round red mark on his chest.’ See how fine that would be.” - -Joey laughed, and held out his arms for the shirt. - -A few minutes later I was arranging the gaily striped Windsor tie -beneath the turn down collar of the worn shirt, when the familiar sound -of creaking harness and whirring wheels reached my ear. Wanza had not -paid Cedar Dale a visit since the day she went away in tearful silence -bearing the waxwing with her. - -When I opened the door and saw her radiant face my spirits lightened -suddenly, and a spray of sunshine seemed to sweeten the dingy kitchen -as she stepped over the threshold. - -“Am I in time?” she breathed. - -“In time? In time for what, Wanza?” I asked. - -She dropped a bundle on to the table. - -“In time for Joey to wear one of these to Sunday school?” she said, -portentously. - -Joey crept closer. Her eyes as they turned to him were blue as summer -skies and as shining. She snapped the string that held the bundle -intact. Joey and I saw an amazing array of small shirts--checked -shirts, striped shirts, white shirts. - -“Where--where did they come from, Wanza?” stammered Joey. - -But I had guessed. - -“Well, it’s the first real present I’ve ever made you, Joey. It sure -won’t be the last! Hustle into the cedar room now, and get into the -white one with the frills--the white ones are for Sunday school.” - -I could say nothing. And as for Joey, he gathered the shirts in his -arms and went away to the cedar room snivelling. Wanza and I were left -to look into each other’s faces questioningly. “How is it with you, -Wanza?” I asked, just as she put the query, “How do you get along, Mr. -Dale?” - -We both laughed, and the awkwardness of the situation was relieved. - -“I miss you terribly, Wanza,” I confessed. “My sour dough bread turns -to dust and ashes in my mouth.” - -Her soft eyes were commiserating. “I’ll fetch you a good sweet loaf of -my baking, now and then,” she volunteered quickly. - -“And don’t drive by as you have been doing. Are you too busy to stop as -you used to do, girl?” I asked. - -“I’m busy, all right.” She lifted the cover from a small tin pail on -the back of the stove, and sniffed with the air of a connoisseur at the -yeast it contained. “That needs more sugar!” - -“It needs doctoring,” I conceded ruefully. “I set it last night and it -has not risen.” - -“Has Joey been having his bath here?” - -“Yes.” - -She looked about her. - -“I’ll straighten around a bit, I believe. Empty that tub, and open the -windows, Mr. Dale, and I’ll get the broom and give the cabin a thorough -cleaning. And then before I go I’ll set some yeast for you that’ll -raise the cover off the pail in no time.” - -Later as I was holding the dust pan for Wanza, Joey came from the cedar -room fresh and smiling in the white shirt, the Windsor tie in his hand. -Wanza laid aside her broom, and with deft fingers fastened the tie into -a wonderful bow beneath the boy’s chin. He kissed us both, and we went -with him to the meadow bars where Buttons was tethered. I lifted him -to the saddle and stood looking after him with a thrill of pride as -he rode away. In his new white shirt and clean corduroy trousers, with -his hair carefully brushed and his adorable brown face aglow and his -big bright eyes radiant with happiness he was a charming enough picture -of boyhood; and a prick of pleasure so sharp as to be almost pain ran -through me as he jauntily blew me a kiss, and cried: - -“I have my penny for the cradle-roll lady, and I have not forgot my -handkerchief.” - -That night I dropped asleep in the Dingle and again I dreamed of Wanza. -She came in her pink gown and bare feet as she had come before; but -this time she carried loaves of steaming, sweet-smelling bread in her -arms; and she came straight to my side, saying: “This bread is sweet -and wholesome, you poor, poor fellow.” It seemed to me that she knelt -and fed me portions of the bread with pitying fingers. And never had -morsel tasted more sweet. - -As the days went by, in spite of Wanza’s promises, the girl came but -seldom to Cedar Dale. And when I met her on the river road or in the -village, she seemed distrait and strangely shy and awkward, and vastly -uncommunicative, so that I felt forlorn enough; and I was wholly out of -touch with my wonder woman. - -I applied myself feverishly to my writing. All day long I labored in my -shop, in order to earn the daily bread for Joey and myself, but each -night I wrote. The novel was almost finished; and something told me it -was good. - -The weeks passed, and August was waning. The foliage was yellowing -along the river that crawled like a golden, sluggish serpent in and -out among the brittle rushes. September was waiting with lifted paint -brush. The beauty of the dreamy, ripe hours made my senses ache. The -earth seemed to lie in a trembling sleep, folded in fiery foliage. The -hills were plumed with trees of flame. At night the moon’s face was -warm and red, all day the sun burned copper colored through a light -blue haze. - -There was something melting and dreamy in the days as they slipped -past--days when I found it hard to labor in the shop--the woods were -melodious still with bird voices, and all outdoors called to me. - -I took a week’s vacation and fished hard by the village, where the -stream threads the meadows; companioned by Father O’Shan, I rode -along the river bank in the sunset and tramped the illumined fields -starred with sumach, and in the moonlight during that week, I sometimes -allowed myself to drift in my canoe on the river, thinking, thinking, -of Haidee--of the narrow oval of her face curtained in dark hair -streams, of the shadowy eyes of her, of her sweet warm smile. - -And then one day I made up my mind suddenly to go to her. - -At the first glimpse I had of her cabin, standing a crude, warped, -misshapen thing on the slight rise of ground beneath the cedars, all my -former resolves to give to this habitation some slight air of comfort -and refinement rose up and confronted me, and I saw myself a weak -fellow, who had nursed his despair and disappointment and failed in -his duty to the woman he loved, and who in his cowardice had absented -himself from his loved one, when he might have brought her comfort and -neighborly assistance. - -On the back of an old envelope with a stub of a pencil I made a rough -sketch of the improvements I had long since planned, and when Haidee -and Wanza came to the door, I greeted them calmly and showed them the -sketch. Haidee stood there, without her crutches, her hair unbound -about her ivory face. Her gown was white, and a scarf of rose color -swung from her shoulders. She looked at me for a long moment with eyes -dull and faded as morning stars, and then gradually the old familiar -light came back into her face, her eyes warmed and grew human. She -stepped outside, and joined me on the porch. - -“You have laid aside your crutches?” I ventured. - -“Yes.” - -“You are well?” I asked. - -“Oh, yes! I work--hard--at various things. Do I not, Wanza? I sleep. I -have a splendid appetite. And you?” - -“I work. I sleep well, too. I drop asleep in the Dingle occasionally -after a hard day’s work. The Dingle is Wanza’s retreat--she walks -there. Do you know it, Wanza?” - -She came to my side quickly. Her face displayed signs of perturbation. -“I walk there! What do you mean? Have you seen me?” - -“You come on tip-toe. It is hardly walking.” - -Her eyes questioned me. - -“I’ve seen you only a few times. But I suspect you come frequently.” - -“I am sure I don’t, Mr. David Dale.” - -She came closer, her cheeks like crimson roses, her bright eyes angry, -her lips scornful. - -“You come to visit Joey, I think. You came the first night after your -departure from Cedar Dale. And you went into the cedar room.” I smiled -into her troubled face. - -“And what did I do there?” - -“You took the magpie’s cage from its hook. You carried it away with -you. But you were like a little trade rat--you left the cedar waxwing -for Joey and me.” - -But just here Wanza flung me an odd look and ran into the house, saying -over her shoulder: “That was a funny, funny dream.” - -Haidee favored me with a rather intent look, and dropped her gaze to -the envelope in her hand. We walked around the cabin, and I explained -how I planned to build a small rustic pergola with a trellis for wild -honeysuckle at the back door to serve as a breakfast room next summer, -and timidly at last, I told her that I wished that I might cover the -rough walls of her sleeping room with cedar strips and build a pergola -outside the door like the one I had built at Cedar Dale for Joey. - -“We’ll plant some woodbine roots this fall, and set out a crimson -rambler. We may as well have the place blooming like an Eden,” I said. - -“And the wilderness shall blossom like the rose,” murmured Haidee. -“Thank you, Mr. Fixing Man.” - -I rode home happier than I had been in many a long day. When I told -Joey of the proposed improvements at Hidden Lake he shouted with glee, -and a few moments later I heard him tooting on his neglected flute -that had lain strangely mute since the day when Haidee had sung “Bell -Brandon” to its accompaniment, and we had seen the smile die from her -curling lips and the light of joy go out in her sparkling eyes. - -After this my days were trances. Through the glowing flame-like -hours I worked to transform the sordid little cabin into a fitting -habitation for my wonder woman. Together we planned the rustic porch -at the rear of the kitchen, and when the foundation was laid I dug up -wild honeysuckle roots and we planted them with a lavish hand, bending -shoulder to shoulder above the sweet, moist earth, our hands meeting, -Haidee’s breath on my face, her unsteady laughter in my ear, the charm -of her rare, compelling personality stirring my senses to ecstasy. - -I labored each day till the sun was well down behind Nigger Head; and -then came a half hour of blissful idleness on the front porch with -Haidee behind a tea tray facing me, Wanza handing around cheese cakes -and sandwiches, and master Joey sitting on a three-legged stool, the -picture of smug, well-fed complacency. - -Wanza’s conduct puzzled me sorely during these days. At times she -jested with me in her old bright rollicking way, but oftener her mood -was fitful, and she was hot-tempered, difficult and distrait. - -One evening I rode to the village with her in her cart on a special -errand for Haidee. It was a mellow, moonlight evening. The air was ripe -with a frosted sweetness, a tang that only autumn evenings hold. I was -in boisterous spirits; and as Wanza drove I relapsed into my old way of -alternately bantering and teasing and flattering my companion. - -“When you no longer line your umbrella with pink, Wanza,” I said, “I -will know that vanity and you have parted company.” - -The blonde head turned restlessly. - -“I ain’t half as vain as I used to be.” - -“Oh, that’s bad, Wanza--very bad! A pretty girl is naturally vain. And -as for the pink lining--it’s as natural for a fair, pale girl like you -to line her umbrella with pink as it is for a fruit dealer to stretch -pink gauze over his sallow fruit.” - -“What do you mean by that?” Wanza demanded fiercely. She dropped the -lines. “Now, what do you mean by that, I say?” - -“Dear Wanza,” I said, soothingly, “I don’t mean anything--except that -pink lends a pretty glow to an alabaster skin like yours.” - -Her eyes gleamed at me savagely in the moonlight, and she made a -strange sound in her throat that sounded like a sob. - -“I don’t understand,” I continued, “why you’re so sensitive, of late. -Why, it’s so hard to talk to you! You’re so difficult I feel like -putting on a mental dress-suit and kid gloves when I converse with you. -What’s come over you, Wanza?” - -“Nothing’s come over me. It’s you,” she answered in a low tone. - -“Oh, no,” I responded, “Wanza girl, I treat you just the same as I ever -did, my dear!” - -“But you don’t treat me the same as you do her--you don’t treat me just -the same--” her voice sounded husky. She turned her head away. - -What could I reply? - -I ventured finally: “I don’t know exactly what you mean, child! But -I hope I show by my manner to you how very much you count in my -life,--how dear you are to Joey and me--how fine and staunch a friend -we have ever found you--I hope I show this, Wanza. If I do not I am -sorry indeed.” - -There was a slight movement towards me on the girl’s part. Her hand -crept out shyly and touched mine. I heard her whisper chokingly: - -“If I mean a good deal to you and Joey I sure ought to be satisfied. -It oughtn’t to matter--really matter--if you smile different when you -speak to her.” - -I took her hand. I was moved. Again I marveled that Wanza had the power -to shake me so. “You have your own place, child,” I said. And when -she questioned, “But what is my place, Mr. Dale?” I asked myself what -indeed was her place. “I shall tell you some time,” I answered, which -was not at all the remark I desired to make, and I spoke in palpable -confusion. - -After a short interval she took her hand from mine, and gathered up -the lines, not looking at me as she said: “Mr. Batterly is back in -Roselake.” - -I caught her by the shoulder. I drew her quickly to me till I could see -her face in the moonlight. - -“When did he come back?” I asked, thickly. - -She tugged at my restraining hand and shrugged away from me. “He’s been -back two weeks, I calculate--may be more.” - -“Don’t speak to him, Wanza--don’t look at him!” I implored quickly. - -She faced me proudly at this. “Do you think I would,” she cried -scornfully, “except to answer him when he speaks to me on the road?” - -“I did not know, Wanza,” I murmured humbly. - -“Did not know! It’s little you know me any way, David Dale, I am -thinking. If you know me so little as not to know that, why should I -care indeed how you treat me, or what my place is with you? Why should -I care? Sometimes I think, David Dale, I think that I hate you. I’m -thinking it now. Yes, yes, yes!” - -“Please, please, Wanza--” - -“Stop! I will ask a few questions, myself. I will put them to you, -although I never--in loyalty to you--put them to myself. But it is not -for you to tell me how to behave--how to walk so and so--say and do so -and so! This is the question I will put: Is it right for you to spend -each and every day at Hidden Lake? Is it? Answer that to yourself--not -to me--before you tell me not even to speak civilly to Mrs. Batterly’s -husband. I don’t want to speak to him! I don’t want him to speak to me! -No, nor look at me. Can you say as much for her, David Dale?” - -“I don’t know what to say,” I stammered, taken by surprise. - -“You don’t have to say nothing--not to me. I’m not your judge. But -answer the questions to yourself, quick, before you tell me what to do -and what not, again! Go on, Rosebud, you’re a-getting to be slower and -slower!” - -I glanced at her face. It was pale, and her lips were unsteady. - -About this time Joey began to take sudden trips down the river in the -flat-bottomed swift-water boat, poling away industriously each morning -with a fine show of mystery--unconsciously admonishing me to appear -indifferent and uninterested. I carried my apathy too far, I imagine, -for one day he said to me: - -“Mr. David, do you mind the old hollow stump in the willows on the -river bank--where the flycatcher’s left a funny big nest?” - -I answered yes. I had marked it well. The secret waterway which led to -Hidden Lake was close by. - -“Well,” Joey continued, looking very important, and puffing out his -chest like a pouter pigeon, “Bell Brandon and me have a post-office -there. She leaves the most things for me there under the flycatcher’s -nest in a box--cut-out pictures, and cookies, and fludge.” - -“Fudge, Joey boy.” - -“Yes--fludge. And say, Mr. David--any time you’re passing, look in, -won’t you? ’Cause there might be something there would spoil.” - - - - -CHAPTER XIX - -BEREFT - - -I HAD not heard from Janet Jones again and I was beginning to think -that I might never have another letter from her when a missive came. - - Thank you for my cedar chest (she wrote). It reached me safely, - but I have been ill in body and mind and unable to write sooner. - Oh, the joy my bit of cedar wood is to me. When I look at it, I am - transported at once to the heart of the clean woods. And I shut my - eyes and vision the tree hosts in their tawny brown, like Khaki-clad - soldiers marshalling at the trumpet call of the rushing September - winds. What a sparkle and spirited flavor there is in the wine-like - air. How the leaves swirl in the paths like gilded cups, and winnow - through the air like painted galleons, and rustle and unroll beneath - the tread, like cloth of gold. Oh, I love the summer. But the fall - with its shining sumptuous days--its melancholy grandeur surpasses - it. Only--the birds are gone--are they not? And the dear clever - nests--“half-way houses on the road to Heaven”--sway tenantless. - While the wood aisles seem hushed and solemn, I know, like vast - cathedral spaces after the organ has ceased to reverberate. - -I read this letter with delight, and I wrote and thanked Janet Jones as -cordially as I knew how for the pleasure it had given me. I began to -look forward to her next missive, and I was beginning to experience no -small satisfaction from our peculiar, unconventional friendship, when a -strange thing happened. - -Joey and I were tearing out the straw from his mattress one day, intent -on our usual fall house-cleaning, when my fingers closed over a bit of -cardboard. I drew it forth, unrolled it, and smoothed it in my hand. It -was the small square visiting card that had been attached to the parcel -that Haidee had placed in my saddle-bag for Joey, on the day that now -seemed so long ago, when I had gone to fell the trees at Hidden Lake -and had ridden so ungallantly away. - -Joey sprang at me and seized my wrist. “That’s mine! That’s mine!” he -shouted. “Give it here, Mr. David--please.” - -But I was staring at the writing on the back of the card. “For the -boy who goes to Sunday school,” Haidee had written in strong, clear -characters. Surely, the hand that had penned that line had more -recently penned other lines to me and beneath them signed the name of -Janet Jones. - -I had a letter in my pocket, and later I compared the writing on -the envelope with that on Joey’s card. And I smiled to myself; but -wonderingly. Still a doubt assailed me. I grew wary. And fate favored -me. When Wanza stopped her cart at the meadow bars en route to Roselake -one day, to pick up Joey, I saddled Buttons and rode to the village in -their wake. At the post-office I swung out of my saddle. - -“Give me your letters, Wanza,” I suggested. “Don’t get down. I’ll post -them.” - -Once inside the office I ran the letters through my fingers. There were -two letters addressed to Miss Janet Jones, Spokane, Washington, and -the writing was that with which I had grown familiar in Janet Jones’ -letters to me. - -I was completely mystified. I rode home in a brown study. And then -suddenly I reached a solution. That night I wrote a letter. I took -great pains with its construction. And after Joey was in bed I paddled -away down the river in the light of the moon to the hollow stump among -the willows on the bank. I placed my letter to Haidee within the recess -on a soft bed of ferns and dried grass that I found there; and then I -paddled stealthily home. - -I kept an even face when I greeted Haidee the following day, and she -did not betray by word or glance that she had received a communication -from me. But as I opened my lunch pail that night to give Joey some -doughnuts that Wanza had sent him, there on top was a small white -envelope addressed to me. - -I read the letter after Joey was in bed and I had built up a fire of -pine cones on the hearth. It was a characteristic Janet Jones letter: - - _Dear Mr. Craftsman_: - - Once upon a time--which is the way I begin my fairy tales to - Joey--there was a certain foolish woman, whom we will call Haidee, - who lived all alone in the heart of a forest. She was a very - headstrong young woman, full of whims and insane impulses, or she - never would have gone into the forest to live alone. But she loved - Nature passionately and she had suffered and known heartache--and she - felt that Nurse Nature could assuage pain. - - A big-hearted woodsman lived nearby in this same forest. He swung - his ax, and befriended her. He labored in the hot sun felling trees - that the headstrong woman might be safe in her flimsy shack. But - the woman taunted him, and when he would have felled every tree - that endangered her habitation she stayed his hand. Then, one day, - retribution overtook her. A tree fell, and she was hewn down in her - conceit and foolhardiness. She was taken to the woodsman’s cabin by - the kind-hearted woodsman who rescued her. There she was cared for - tenderly, and the coals of fire burned her poor silly head--so much - so that, knowing she was a burden and an expense to the woodsman, - who, like most big-hearted honest woodsmen, was desperately poor, - she lay awake nights planning how best to recompense him without - wounding his proud spirit. At last, she thought of a plan. And with - the connivance of a dear old-time friend in Spokane, carried it out. - Her friend gave her permission to sign her name to the letters she - wrote the woodsman. After the letters were written, they were sent to - the original Janet Jones, who forthwith mailed them to the woodsman - at Roselake. Janet Jones also, naturally, received the letters which - the woodsman wrote, and in due time they were put into envelopes and - addressed to the headstrong woman, whom they did not fail to reach. - The cedar chest was the headstrong woman’s gift to Janet Jones, who - is an invalid, and a romanticist who enjoys beyond all words any - departure from the commonplace. - - Am I forgiven, Mr. Fixing Man? And now, one word more. You will not - receive another letter from Janet Jones. And--I pray you, come not - too often to Hidden Lake--it is better so. - -This was the missive which I read in the firelight. As I finished I -suddenly felt bereft. And I lay back in my chair and stared into the -coals with unseeing eyes, brooding miserably, groping in a misty sea of -doubt and unrest and feeble desire. Then Joey called me in his sleep. -Just as I was sinking utterly, I heard, “Mr. David, Mr. David,” and the -cry of appeal braced me, strengthened the man in me. I went in to him -as a sinner into a sanctuary, and the kiss he gave me sleepily was a -salve that solaced and sustained me throughout the trying night. - -I had finished the improvements on Haidee’s cabin at this time; so -I gave over going to Hidden Lake in prompt obedience to the request -my wonder woman had made in her letter. But I wrote an answer to the -letter and placed it in the old stump. I assured her that I would -respect her wishes, and I begged her to let me know the instant I -could serve her in any way, promising her that never a day should pass -without my going to the secret post-office. - -I had advertised my cedar chests in the magazines during the summer, -and orders began to pour in, so that I was kept busy in my workshop. -Those were busy days in the house as well, for, with the beginning of -September, Joey had started to school at Roselake, and many of the -small duties he had taken upon his young shoulders devolved upon me. - -Oh, the day on which Joey started to school! - -I dressed him carefully that morning, with all the trepidation of an -over-fond parent, and I admonished him concerning his demeanor in the -school-room until I am sure his small head must have been in a whirl, -and his little heart in a flutter of apprehension. - -“I’ll do my best, Mr. David, dear,” he said bravely. “You said yourself -they can’t no one do more.” He hesitated and looked at me, reddening -painfully. “And if the teacher asks me who am I--and who’s--who’s my -father--what am I to tell her?” - -My hand closed on his shoulder fiercely. “Tell her you are Mr. Dale’s -boy, from Cedar Dale--tell her your name is Joey Dale,” I cried. The -look on his face had stabbed me. - -He considered, looking into my eyes awesomely as I took his chin in my -hand. - -“If I have the Dale part, couldn’t I have the David, too?” he -suggested. “Hm! Then we’d be big David and little David.” - -“David Dale, the second,” I said, poking him in the ribs. - -“But there couldn’t be any David Dale, the second. There couldn’t never -be but one real David Dale. But there could be a little David.” - -A little David! - -That was a dragging day. I missed the lad which ever way I turned. And -his words to me, when he leaped to my arms from old Buttons’ back that -night! “It was fine! I liked it, really and truly. But, oh, Mr. David, -I ’most knew you was lonely and missing me!” - -Every morning I walked to the edge of the meadow, let down the bars -for old Buttons, and watched Joey ride away, his sturdy little figure -jouncing up and down in the saddle, his brave, bright face turned back -to me over his shoulder, with rare affection beaming from big big brown -eyes, as he waved and waved to me until a bend of the road hid him from -my sight. - -One memorable morning in the latter part of September, as I was -tightening the saddle girths, he bent down to me, and as I lifted my -head he surprised me with a quick shame-faced salute of moist lips on -my forehead. - -“You’re a good Mr. David,” he said patronizingly. “And I ain’t yours -either--not blood kin.” - -I hugged the little lad to me--a sudden fierce warmth of affection -stirring my sluggish halting heart that had grown weary lately of -life’s complexities. - -“You’re my boy, just the same,” I assured him. - -“They can’t anybody get me away from you--can they?” he asked -anxiously, and I saw genuine consternation in his eyes. - -I laughed and hugged him tighter. “I guess not,” I bragged. “Let them -try. Jingles would eat them up.” - -“And we’d hide, wouldn’t we?” - -“We surely would.” - -“And--and we’d shoot at them from the rushes.” - -I know not why Joey’s words should have irked me, but the day seemed -long, and I was glad when I heard the soft thud of Buttons’ hoofs on -the turf outside the cabin promptly at the accustomed hour. I was -building the kitchen fire, but I straightened up, stepped to the door, -and threw it wide. - -Buttons stood with his bridle over his head, his nose sniffing the -ground, but no Joey sprang from the saddle into my eager arms. The -horse was riderless. - -All Roselake joined in the search for Joey, after I had ascertained -that the lad was not with Haidee, and the search was prolonged far -into the night. The school-master had seen Joey ride away at the close -of school, and I argued that Buttons must have come straight home. At -dawn the search was resumed. For miles in each direction the searching -party spread out, but at night, totally disheartened, the kindly -neighbors disbanded, and Joey’s case was left in the hands of the -police. - - - - -CHAPTER XX - -“PERHAPS I SHALL GO AWAY” - - -ALONE the next day I took up the search for Joey, beating back and -forth between Roselake and Cedar Dale, and penetrating to Wallace and -Wardner. It was to Wanza that I spoke my conviction at last, sitting my -cayuse on the river road, while she sat stiff and tearful-eyed in her -cart, pale even beneath the pink-lined umbrella. - -“It looks to me, Wanza girl,” I said wearily, “like a plain case of -kidnapping.” - -“But who would kidnap him, Mr. Dale?” Wanza queried pitifully. - -“Why--that’s the question,” I returned. “Have you ever seen him talking -to any one--any stranger--when you have met him going and returning -from school?” - -She shook her head. “Once,” she replied, “Joey was with me, and Mr. -Batterly stopped us. He asked me all about Joey--seeming so keen! And I -told him--thinking it no harm--just how a dying woman gave him to you, -saying he was a waif that had been picked up after a storm over on the -Sound by her dead brother, who had been a fisherman.” - -“Where is Batterly now,” I asked. - -“Gone away--this week past.” - -“Oh, well,” I sighed, “we’ll acquit him. I’m sure he was not over fond -of Joey.” After a pause I asked brusquely: “Where has he gone?” - -“I don’t know--sure I don’t, Mr. Dale. The last I heard of him he was -going to hire a swift-water boat and a poler, and try the swift-water -fishing above St. Joe.” - -“Then he hasn’t left the country,” I said. And my heart sank leaden and -my hate of the man boiled up in my veins fiercely, as I pictured him -still skulking about, a menace to Haidee’s peace of mind. - -The time went very heavily past. All my days and many nights were -spent in the saddle, and the evenings that I passed at Cedar Dale were -consumed in feverish plans for the scoutings that I made. I did not -even now attempt to visit Haidee at Hidden Lake; but one morning, at -sunrise, hearing a soft tap on my door, I opened to see Wanza standing -there with a covered basket on her arm. - -“I saw your light last night,” she quavered. “I have brought you some -good nourishing food. I can see you’re not cooking for yourself. You’re -growing white and thin.” - -Her womanly act in coming thus to offer me comfort stirred me -strangely, appealed to the finest fibre in my nature. Her simplicity, -her self-forgetfulness made me falter at her feet. - -But at last I gave over my scoutings. I made a cedar chest for Joey’s -room, and in this I placed all his little kickshaws, his few clothes, -and his flute, along with the gay Indian blanket he had reveled in, and -the quilt Wanza had pieced for him. The room thus became to me a sort -of shrine. And finding me here at the close of a long day with tears of -which I was not ashamed in my eyes, Wanza broke down and sobbed beside -me. - -“I’d like to kill whoever it is as has taken Joey away,” she cried, -brandishing a resentful fist. - -“If we knew any one had taken him,” I said, thoughtfully. “Sometimes I -think--I think, Wanza, that Joey is dead.” - -“I don’t think so! No, indeed!” Wanza returned with thrilling -earnestness. “Oh, I feel sure he ain’t dead! He’ll be found--some day. -He sure will, Mr. Dale.” - -She helped me by her sturdy optimism. - -Soon after this Wanza and I fell into the habit of tramping through the -gleaming golden woods together almost daily, breathing the crisp sweet -autumn air. Wanza in her bright sweater, with her tawny hair, and the -carmine in her cheek flitted in and out of the wood paths like a forest -dryad, exclaiming at every frost-touched leaf, and reveling in the -painted glory about us. - -“But the birds are gone,” she said, a tear in her tones, as we looked -into an empty king-bird’s nest one day. “I love the king-birds--they’re -sleek dandies--that’s what they are! Oh, Mr. Dale, what a heartache an -empty nest gives me! The dear little birds are gone--” - -“And Joey is not here,” I ended sadly. - -After awhile I went on: “Yes, summer has gone. It is the most -evanescent time of the year. It slips and slips away--and just as you -grasp it and thrill to its sweetness it melts into--this--as happiness -merges into sorrow.” - -Her face quivered, and her eyes came to mine. “I guess that is so,” she -said in a low tone. - -Looking in Wanza’s face lately I always turned away. I did so -now. The look of questioning I found there--the mute appeal--the -suffering--these unmanned me. But it grew to be a strange satisfaction -to be with her, through long crisp daylight hours, in the hush of pink -sunsets, in the gilded autumn twilights, while we rested after a meagre -supper cooked over a camp fire, chatting desultorily, and watching the -big pale stars came out to lie like white-tipped marguerites on the -purple bosom of the sky above our heads. - -One day I spoke my thought. - -“I am thinking, Wanza--perhaps I shall go away.” - -We were in the heart of the woods. A tinkling, sly little brook made -the forest musical, the rustle and purr of the pines sounded about -us like fluty organ notes. Wanza’s eyes were lifted to the sprightly -shivering leaves of a cottonwood, and her face was very still. She did -not move as I spoke, and I repeated my sentence. - -“I thought you’d go,” she said. She spoke harshly. - -“I can’t stop on here without Joey. I can’t bear it,” I said, haltingly. - -“But I’ve got to stay on without either of you--and bear it.” - -I saw her eyes. I recoiled at the depth of pain revealed. - -“Mr. Dale,” she said gropingly, after a pause, “where are you going?” - -“I don’t know, Wanza. But inaction is intolerable. I must be doing -something. I must get away for awhile, at least. It is better.” - -Wanza’s eyes were very bright. Her hands that were smoothing a maple -leaf were trembling. Her voice sounded dry and hard as she asked: - -“When do you reckon you’ll go?” - -“Why, child, I do not know! Each day I say to myself I cannot bear -another.” - -“It’ll be the same wherever you are.” - -“Perhaps so, Wanza,” I sighed. And then because I knew the tears were -on her cheeks, I sprang to my feet, saying: “This may be our last day -in the woods together, who knows? Come, let us try to forget--let us -make the best of what we have.” - -Wanza rose. She came close to me. When our eyes met she gave a cry: “If -you go you may never come back!” - -“Never fear. I have no home but Cedar Dale,” I replied, and I am afraid -my voice was bitter. And when she put her hand on my arm I shook it -off and would have strode away, but again as in the woods on the -occasion of our gipsying I saw her face close to my own, and caught -my breath in marvel. No, there was never such a girl-face! Such an -elf-face! I stooped suddenly and framed the face with my hands. What -were her wonderful eyes saying, back of all the tears, all the mystery? -Why--when I was in love with Haidee--did they draw me like a lodestar? -Why now and then did she stir me in this strange fashion till I gazed -and gazed, and needs must curb my will to keep from taking her in my -arms and crushing her against my heart? - -I had never faced the question. I did not care to face it now. I put -it away for some future time, feeling vaguely that it remained to be -reckoned with. - -“I have no home but Cedar Dale,” I repeated. - -“And I am glad of that,” she whispered. - -She pressed nearer to me, and I released her face, and drew her slowly -within the circle of my arms. But when I held her so, when the floating -hair meshes were just beneath my chin, and her face brushed my sleeve, -I steadied myself. - -“Wanza,” I said, “I am almost glad, too, that I have no other home. -When I think of the good friends I have here--you and your father and -Father O’Shan--I realize that I am ungrateful to despise my humble -place among you. Keep it for me, little girl, and I shall come back. -Yes, I shall come back better equipped for the future among you. If it -must be without Joey--” I hesitated and bit my lip--“without Joey,” -I continued more firmly, “I shall at least try to earn your respect -by holding up my head, and forging on to some goal. I shall attain -to something at last, I hope. And I hope I shall be able to serve my -neighbors in many ways, and make myself needed in the community.” - -I held her for a moment after saying this, and then I bent down and -for the first time in my life kissed her. But it was on the brow that -I kissed her. And I am sure no brother could have saluted her more -respectfully. - -She drew back. Her head fell against my shoulder. I saw deep into her -splendid eyes,--deep, deep. Back of all the tears and the smiles and -the mystery I read at last what they were saying. I read--and I was -humbled and abashed. I knew the truth at last. Wanza loved me. - -I saw clearly now, indeed. I recalled Father O’Shan’s words: “Be -careful in your dealings with that child.” I had been blind, and a -fool. I blamed myself, and I hated myself. I stood stupidly staring -into the face so near my own until with a sudden wrench Wanza jerked -away from me, and ran on down the purpling wood-aisle before me, -dashing the tears from her eyes as she fled. - -I walked home slowly, astounded and perplexed by the revelation I had -had. - - - - -CHAPTER XXI - -FATE’S FINAL JAVELIN - - -THAT night in my lonely cabin I fell ill, and burned with fever, and -shook with ague so that I was unable to drag myself about the cabin, -but lay all the next day and the next in my bunk. The following day my -fever left me magically; and late in the afternoon I arose, fed and -curried my half-starved cayuse and, mounting, rode away beneath the -berry-reddened yews to the trail that led to Haidee. - -I dismounted at the rustic pergola at the rear of the cabin, tethered -my cayuse and walked around to the front door. The door was closed, and -a silence that was almost oppressive brooded over the place. I ran up -the steps, and a curious premonition that Haidee had gone away sickened -me as I rapped on the panel. Terrified at receiving no response, I -turned the handle, pressed forward, and caught at the casement for -support in my weakness. I peered in, and at the sight I saw my knees -all but gave way so that I swung about like a loose sail in a sudden -breeze. - -On the floor lay Randall Batterly in a ghastly pool of blood. His -face was upturned to the cold October sunlight. His lips were opened -in a half snarl, his full lids were wide apart over his rolled back, -terrible eyes. He was bleeding from a wound in his chest. And Haidee -stood above him, gazing down upon him, gray horror painted on her face. - -She heard my step and turned, and I caught the metallic thud as the -revolver she had been holding dropped to the bare floor. She stared at -me, put out her hand as if to thrust me back. I saw fear in her face. - -“It is you! It is you!” she breathed. - -She continued to stare at me with big gaunt eyes. - -“Yes,” I replied, trying to keep the horror out of my tones. “It is I.” - -She shuddered and collapsed to her knees, clinging to the door frame -as a drowning man clutches and grips a bulwark. The pupils of her -eyes were dilated with terror and despair until the purple iris was -eclipsed, and they stared black and empty as burnt-out worlds. - -“He is dead--dead,” she whispered. “He can’t speak, or move.” - -I picked up the revolver and laid it on the table, and then I crossed -to the rigid form on the floor. I knelt and pressed my ear to his -heart. I lifted his hand; it fell back inertly. Yes, it was true. -Randall Batterly was gone past recall, facing the great tribunal above, -with who knew what black secret in his heart. - -“We must get a physician,” I murmured dully. - -Haidee crept to my side. Her poor face was blanched and twisted till -she looked like a half-dead thing. - -“Who could have done this--” I stammered, in a voice that sounded -driveling and uncertain in my own ears. - -Again that dumb look of distress in her eyes, and she stood as if -carved in granite. - -“My dear--my dear, you must come away--this is too much for you,” I -continued hoarsely. I took her poor cold hands in mine. And then I -turned and faced the door with a curious certainty that some one was -looking at me, and I saw old Lundquist’s rat eyes peering in on us from -the doorway. - -He said not one word--only stared and stared at the dead man on the -floor, and at the abject living creatures standing over him; and then -he crept away like a sliding shadow, and the sunlight brightened the -place again. But in that grim room Haidee had fallen face downward, -stark and stiff, and her wild scream as she sank echoed and re-echoed -in my ears for days. - -I brought water, I bathed her face, I chafed her hands; but the moments -passed and she did not revive, and twilight fell, as alone, in the -presence of death I wrestled with the stupor that held her. And there -they found me--the sheriff and old Lundquist. - -“For God’s sake, lend a hand here,” I cried imploringly. And then I -stood up. “Gentlemen,” I said, “this--dead man is Mrs. Batterly’s -husband. I believe this to be a suicide--I found him lying just as you -see him a short while ago. Mrs. Batterly had just discovered him, I -believe. She is--as you see--in no condition to be questioned.” - -The sheriff hesitated. I had known the man for years, and I saw a swift -scepticism darken his keen eyes as they searched my face. He glanced at -Haidee and then at the revolver lying on the table. He reached over, -picked up the weapon and examined it. - -“This revolver is loaded in only four of its chambers. The fifth has a -discharged cartridge. Was this lying on the table when you came in, -Dale?” - -I spoke hoarsely. “I put it there. It had fallen to the floor.” - -Old Lundquist crawled closer. “That ban Mrs. Batterly’s revolver,” he -mumbled, “I see her have it--it ban on the table most o’ the time. Thar -be a letter on it--to mark it like.” - -The sheriff’s finger traced the outline of the shining letter on the -polished surface of the weapon. He stood irresolutely, ruminating. - -“Come!” I ordered brusquely. “This lady must be seen to.” And as -neither man made a move to assist me, I lifted Haidee in my arms. I -felt her stir. Her eyes opened suddenly. She looked at old Lundquist -and the sheriff, then up at me affrightedly. Her hand clutched my arm. -She cowered, and a tremor shook her from head to foot. - -“These men--why are they here?” she asked faintly. - -“Gentlemen--” I was beginning, when the sheriff stopped me. - -“Mrs. Batterly,” he said, clearing his throat, and speaking raspingly, -“this is your revolver?” - -“Why, yes--” Haidee drew in her breath sharply--“why, yes,” she -admitted. - -I felt her hand tighten its hold on my arm. - -“It is mine, surely,” she continued, as no one spoke. She looked from -one to the other appealingly. “I am fond of shooting at a mark. I used -it only this noon. I left it on the table after lunch when I went into -the woods to sketch. I heard a shot fired soon after I left--but I -thought nothing of it--rabbit hunters pass the cabin daily. When I came -back to the cabin after a time I--I found my--husband on the floor, as -you see him--” She halted, something in the eyes she saw fixed upon -her caused her face to whiten. “Why,” she stammered--“why--you don’t -think--think I--” - -“Mrs. Batterly,” the sheriff broke in quickly, “I arrest you for the -murder of your husband, Randall Batterly.” - -I shall never forget the groping look she turned on me; the dumb -appeal that struck to the center of my heart and set it quivering--the -question in the big deep eyes, clear and pure as a rillet in the sun. - -I don’t know how I gave her into the sheriff’s custody. I recall that -my fists were doubled and that I mouthed useless imprecations, and that -old Lundquist strove to reason with me, his lank arms wrapped about me -restrainingly, as the sheriff bore Haidee away in his gig. I recall -climbing into my saddle and riding away, the echo of Haidee’s parting -injunction in my ears: “Find Wanza for me, please. She may be able to -help me.” - -And I recall that old Lundquist stood shaking his fist after me in the -pergola. - -Little I cared for old Lundquist or the pummeling I gave him. I dug my -heels into Buttons’ sides. His hoofs fell with soft thuds on the fallen -leaves that, imbedded in the damp soil, made a brown mosaic of my path. -The bracing air was in my face, but I rode limp and flaccid, with cold -beads of sweat upon my brow. “Oh, God,” I groaned, “Oh, God! Oh, God!” -But I could not pray. I only raised my eyes. Overhead the afterglow -shot the sky with rose and silver, and an apricot moon was rising over -the mountains hooded in white mist. I kept my eyes lifted as I rode on -through the soft dusk to Roselake in quest of Wanza. - -But Wanza was not at her father’s house. When questioned Captain Grif -said she had not been home since noon. He had supposed she was with -Mrs. Batterly at Hidden Lake. I left a note for the girl to be given -her as soon as she came in, saying nothing to old Grif of the tragedy -at Hidden Lake, and then, thoroughly disheartened, I took the road for -Cedar Dale. - -I made short work of reaching home. I put Buttons into a gallop, and -rode like Tam o’ Shanter through the night, whipped on by the witches -of adversity. I reached the meadow. I rode through the stubble. The -unlighted cabin seemed to exhale an almost inexorable malevolency as I -came upon it. It greeted me--empty and pitiless. Even my cupboard was -bare. - -Toward midnight, unable to breathe the atmosphere of the cabin, racked -with despair, and agog with restlessness, I stole out, clumsy footed, -to the willows on the river bank. Here I found my canoe. I slid it -into the water, stepped in and paddled away, seeking surcease from my -thoughts beneath the tent of night. - -The friendly current bore me on. Soon I came opposite the old -cottonwood stump, gleaming white among the shadows. I laid aside my -paddle and drifted along close to the high willow-bordered banks, the -cold, clear stars above me. The silence and the motion of the canoe -were soporific. I was weak and worn from my recent illness. My head -kept nodding. I closed my eyes. After a time I slept. - -The hoot-hoot of an owl awakened me. I raised my head and looked about -me. The darkness had deepened. The stars had a redder glow and the -mountains stood up like invincible agate gates against the black sky, -shutting in this little bit of the great world. The night air was cold. -I shivered and jerked my arms mightily to induce circulation. And then -hunger assailed me and I began to think of food. - -I took my paddle and swung my canoe about. Suddenly, as one remembers -a feast when hard pressed for sustenance, I recalled the doughnuts and -goodies that Haidee had been wont to place in the hollow stump for -Joey. Well, I knew the cache was empty now. - -I reached the stump. I thrust my hand gropingly within the recess, -smiling whimsically at my fatuous impulse. My fingers encountered a -small object, smooth and heavy to the touch. I drew it forth. It was -a six-chambered revolver, loaded in five of its chambers. The sixth -chamber contained a discharged cartridge. - -A tremor ran over me. Slow horror chilled my veins. I sickened as my -fingers passed over the cold polished surface, recalling the livid face -of the dead man in the cabin. Mechanically, at last, I slipped the -weapon into my pocket and took up the paddle. - -I slept no more that night. The next morning with an attorney I visited -Haidee in her cell in the village jail. My poor friend was stricken. -Her pallor was marked, and her great soft eyes held the pitiful appeal -of a hunted deer. She told the attorney her story straight. A tear -rolled down her cheek, and she faced me with the question, barely -voiced: - -“You believe in my innocence?” - -And I, shaken and undone, could only cry: “Believe in you? Oh, my -child--do I believe in myself? I know you are innocent.” - -I produced the revolver I had found in the hollow stump, and the -attorney pounced on it eagerly. “Here is the evidence, indeed,” he -said, thoughtfully. “I think we shall prove that the bullet that killed -Randall Batterly was fired from this very weapon. Mrs. Batterly’s -revolver is of a different caliber.” - -As I left the jail I met Captain Grif. He plucked at my sleeve. His -face worked. “Wanza ain’t come home yet, Mr. Dale,” he quavered. - -I was startled. “That is strange,” I said. - -“She’s always stayed to Hidden Lake nights. I warn’t surprised when -she didn’t s-show up last night thinkin’ she’d gone peddlin’ in the -afternoon, and then gone on to Hidden Lake about the time you was -askin’ for her, may be. But I jest heard about Mrs. Batterly bein’ -arrested yesterday.” His voice broke. “For God’s sake, Mr. Dale, -w-where can Wanza be?” - -“Where can she be?” I echoed to myself. - -Two days passed. Wanza did not return. To find her became my chief -object in life, but all my inquiries were fruitless. And then on the -third day, Captain Grif came to Cedar Dale. - -“I been thinkin’ that Wanza may be with Sister Veronica at the old -Mission near De Smet,” he quavered, tears standing in his poor dim eyes. - -“Have you seen Father O’Shan?” I asked quickly. - -He shook his head. “Not for days, Mr. Dale, for God’s sake f-find my -gal! F-find her, my boy, find her! The Mission’s the place to look for -her. Why, when Wanza was a little girl, and we l-lived at Blue Lake, -she used to run to Sister Veronica with everything, jest l-like a child -to its mother.” - -Acting on this information I set out post-haste that very morning for -the old Mission. The stage had passed an hour before, Buttons had -fallen lame, but I was in a desperate mood and would brook no delay. -The current was with me, and I slid down the river seven miles and made -a portage to Blue Lake before noon. A creek flows into Blue Lake, and -I followed the creek to its head. It was well past the noon hour by -then, and I secreted my craft in a tangle of birches and struck across -country on foot. I had a map in my pocket and a compass, and I went -forward hopefully. - -The old Mission stands on an elevation overlooking a pastoral valley. -Gray and solitary it looms, a gilded cross shining on its blue dome. -But the way to it, unless one follows the main traveled road, I found -to be as hard as the narrow path that leads to righteousness. Ever -and anon I glimpsed the gilded cross between the pine tops, but I -floundered on through thickets, waded streams, and beat about in bosky -jungles, without striking the road I sought. - -Toward evening when I lifted my eyes, the shining cross had eluded me. -It had comforted me to have it set like a sign against the sky. But -I kept on doggedly. The thoughts that went with me were long, hard -thoughts. It seemed to me that through all my unfortunate life I had -been faring on to meet this final javelin of fate--to have the woman I -adored held in the leash of the law--to realize my helplessness--to -suffer a thousand deaths a day in my impotency--this was the denouement -prepared for me--awaiting me--when, as a lad of twenty-four, I had -accepted the stigma of a crime of which I was not guilty and hidden -away as a guilty man may hide! The only green oasis in the arid waste -of my life had been Joey, and suddenly my heart cried out for the lad -who had been my solace and delight. I dropped down on a log, and lay -supine through long moments. I thought of Wanza and hoped and prayed -I might find her. Haidee’s face came before me with its look of pure -white courage. I opened the book of my life still wider and turned -to earlier pages. I grew bitter and morose. But, gradually, as I lay -there, the searing hurts and perplexities and injustices sank back into -the hush of my soul’s twilight, and I tore out the blurred pages and -treasured only the white ones on which the names of Joey and Wanza and -Haidee were written. Hope stirred in my heart. - -It was sunset when I roused at last, crawled to a nearby stream that -came slipping along with endless song, and drank thirstily, and laved -my face. As I knelt, I saw what seemed to be a deserted cabin, half -hidden among scrub pines in the draw below me. I hailed it, stumbled -down the overgrown trail, and approached it. - -The door was closed, the solitary window boarded over. I tried the -door, found it fast, and rattled it tentatively. A voice cried: “Who is -there?” - -My heart gave a violent leap. - -I pressed against the door, and swallowed hard before I could control -my tones. - -“It is a--a man who is in need of food and shelter,” I answered. - -“It is Mr. David! Mr. David!” the voice shrieked. And such a lusty -shout arose that the rafters of the old shack fairly trembled. - -As for me I leaned in dazed suspense against the door, impatiently -waiting for my lad to open to me. - -“Mr. David--dear, dear Mr. David--I can’t open the door! He’s taken the -key.” I heard then. - -“Who has taken the key, Joey?” - -“The big man. He locked me in. Mr. David--can’t you get me out?” - -I placed my shoulder against the door. With all my strength I gave -heave after heave until the rotten old boards gave way. They splintered -into fragments, and through the jagged opening crept Joey, my lad--to -throw himself into my arms and cling and cling about my neck, biting -his lips to keep the tears from falling. But my tears wet the boyish -head I pressed against my breast. I sank to my knees and gathered him -into my arms, and rocked back and forth, crooning over him, womanishly: - -“Joey--Joey! Little lad--dear little lad!” - -Soon after I lay in the bunk in the interior of the one-room shack and -Joey cooked a substantial meal for me; and when it was ready, I ate -ravenously while he hung over me, his hand stealing up to close about -my hand from time to time. - -When I had finished I dropped back into the bunk. “Now then, lad,” I -said. - -And Joey began his tale by asking: “Mr. David, am I the big man’s boy?” - -“What do you mean, Joey?” - -“He says I’m his boy. He says I was lost in a shipwreck--when I was a -teenty baby.” - -I covered my face with my hand. “Go on,” I bade him, hoarsely. - -“One day he saw the mark on my chest. I’d been fightin’ at school, Mr. -David--and coming home I was crying and sorry, and Wanza, she came -along, in her cart, and she washed my face and neck and tidied me. -The big man came up--and said: ‘Good day, young man?’ And when he -saw the funny red mark on my chest he asked Wanza, ‘Who is this boy?’ -And Wanza, she told him how you took me just a three year old when a -woman a few miles down river died, and how the woman got me over on the -Sound of her brother who was a fisherman and had picked me up on the -beach one time after a storm. The big man kept asking questions and -questions, and Wanza told him the woman’s brother was dead, too. And, -at last, Wanza got tired of talking and she just said: ‘Good day, Mr. -Batterly,’ and told me to get in the cart, and we drove off.” - -Joey paused and his soft eyes flashed. I was too greatly overcome to -make any comment, and I lay back, feeling that my world was crashing in -chaos about my head. After awhile the lad continued: - -“That day when he--he stole me, Mr. David, I was coming home from -school along the river road. He stopped me and he said he was my father -and I must go with him. ‘Get off your horse,’ he said. I got off -Buttons, but I said: ‘No, I’ll not go with you. I’ll ask Mr. David, -first!’ The big man laughed and said you’d find out soon enough. I -kicked and kicked, Mr. David, when he grabbed me by the arm. And then -another big man came out of the bushes, and they tied up my mouth and -they carried me to a boat and locked me up in a funny little cupboard. -By and by I went to sleep. Then one morning I woke up and I was here. I -heard the big man say to the other man: ‘I’ve got him, Bill. My wife’ll -have to come to terms now.’” - -Again Joey paused, and I writhed and was silent. Joey looked at me -commiseratingly and went on: - -“’Most a week ago he told me he was going to fetch Bell Brandon. ‘You -be a good boy,’ he said, ‘and I’ll bring her.’ And he went away; but -he locked the door, ’cause he said he couldn’t trust me. I ’most knew -you’d come, Mr. David! The minute you knocked I knew you’d come for me. -And I’m going away with you--and you’ll punish the big man, won’t you? -And I’m not his boy, am I, Mr. David?” - -“If you are his boy,” I said huskily, “you belong to Bell Brandon, -too.” And with my words a terrible blinding despair swept over me. I -was too steeped in lassitude and despondency to reason, too greatly -fatigued to wonder. I closed my eyes and turned my face to the wall. - -After awhile a blanket was drawn carefully over me. I felt a warm -breath on my face. My eyes opened straight into Joey’s, and I reached -out and took his hand in mine. “Joey,” I whispered, seeing shining -drops on his cheeks, “Joey, I’m in trouble. I must think, lad! The big -man won’t be back, lad--he’ll not return at all--I know that--you will -never see him again. But after awhile you and Bell Brandon will be very -happy together--after awhile.” - -“What do you mean, Mr. David? Ain’t I going to live at Cedar Dale -again, with you, and Jingles and Buttons, same as ever? Oh, ain’t I, -Mr. David?” my little lad cried out, and his tears fell fast. - -I slept that night with Joey at my side in the narrow bunk, and I -awoke at intervals, and stared out through the glimmering casement at -the moon-silvered trees. Weary as I was, my cogitations kept me from -repose. I promised myself that I would push on to the Mission in the -morning. Joey should go with me, and the stage should bear us back to -Roselake, although this would necessitate a delay. I moved, and Joey’s -hand fluttered out toward me in his sleep. He whispered my name. - -I slept again, waking to see the curtain at the window I had opened, -pushed aside, and a face peering in at me in the cold gray light of -morning. It was withdrawn and a hand fell on the door. I looked down -at Joey’s tousled head pillowed on my arm. Laying him gently down on -the pillow, I arose and took my revolver from my pocket. - -“What do you want?” I demanded, throwing open the door. - -The man standing there put out his hand quickly. It was Father O’Shan. - -“You have come from the Mission?” I gasped. - -“Yes.” - -“Can you give me news of Wanza, then? Is she at the Mission?” - -He took the revolver from my grasp, looked at me curiously, and placed -his hand on my shoulder. - -“Yesterday, when I passed here, I thought I heard a child sobbing. I -was too greatly overwrought at the time to attach importance to it. In -the night I recalled the boarded over window and I could not rest. I -came to investigate.” - -He hesitated. I waited, and he came a step closer. - -“David Dale,” he said, with evident reluctance, “Wanza Lyttle has -confessed to being implicated in the murder of Randall Batterly. I -took her to Roselake myself yesterday. She has given herself up. Mrs. -Batterly was set at liberty a few hours later.” - -I reeled, and sat down weakly on the steps. “Not Wanza! Not Wanza!” I -kept repeating over and over. - -Something gripped me by the throat, tears in my eyes smarted them. I -clasped my head with my arms, hiding my face. I felt drowning in deep -currents. That brave girl--insouciant, cheery, helpful Wanza! What had -she to do with the murder of Randall Batterly? - - - - -CHAPTER XXII - -RENUNCIATION - - -JOEY and I slept that night at Cedar Dale, and the next morning as -early as might be I obtained permission to visit Wanza in the village -jail. We looked into each other’s eyes for a beating moment, and then I -had her hands in mine and was whispering, “Courage, courage, Wanza.” - -The color surged into her white cheeks, and her eyes blazed. - -“Do you think I did it, David Dale?” she whispered painfully. - -“Wanza--child--what sort of confession have you made?” - -“I told them I was the only one who knew anything about it. I told them -it was a shot from my revolver that killed Mr. Batterly. They showed me -the revolver Mrs. Batterly’s attorney had, that you found in the hollow -stump, and I swore it was mine. And so they put me in here to wait for -a trial. But they let her go. It was on her account that I told what I -did. I never said I killed him--never!” - -“My poor, poor, girl!” - -“Hush! Please don’t! Don’t say a word! Oh, I don’t want to break -down--I been through a lot--a lot! I’ll tell you all now--all, Mr. -Dale! It was like this. That day at Hidden Lake Randall Batterly found -me there alone. He was drunk--very drunk. I had just come in and I -thought Mrs. Batterly had gone to Roselake as she had intended. I told -him so when he asked for her. And--when he thought there was no one -about he began saying all sorts of silly things. Truly, Mr. Dale, I -had never spoken to him but just three times in the village--just to -be civil. But he said some downright disgusting things that day, and -he put his arms around me, and he held me tight, and he--he kissed me -twice--oh, so fierce like! though I struck him hard. I got frightened. -I saw he was so drunk he could scarcely stand. Mrs. Batterly’s revolver -was lying on the table. I motioned to it. ‘Don’t touch me again, Mr. -Batterly,’ I screamed, ‘or I’ll shoot myself.’ I think I was almost out -of my head with fright. I turned to run from the room when he caught -my arm. I had my own revolver in the pocket of my sweater coat, and I -pulled it out quick as a flash. ‘Come,’ he said, looking ugly, ‘give -me that revolver! Give it here! Don’t be a fool.’ We had a scuffle and -he had just wrenched the revolver away from me, when, oh, Mr. Dale, -it slipped from his hands and struck the floor hard, and went off. He -had been grinning at me because he had got the revolver in his own -hands, and he stood there still grinning for a second--oh, an awful -second--and then he just crumpled up and dropped on the floor at my -feet, dead, dead, dead!” - -It was impossible for Wanza to go on for a moment or two. And when she -continued, at length, after a paroxysm of sobbing, my arm was around -her, and her poor drooping head was against my shoulder. - -“When I saw that he was dead, Mr. Dale, I picked up my revolver, and I -ran as fast as I could out of the cabin and hid in the underbrush by -the lake. By and by I spied Mrs. Batterly’s canoe, and I got in and -paddled away as fast as I could. I remembered the hollow stump, because -I’d gone there for Mrs. Batterly with fudge for Joey; and when I saw -it I just popped the revolver inside. Then I hid the canoe among the -willows and started to walk to Roselake. I kept to the woods along the -river road until I heard the stage coming, and then I thought ‘I’ll go -to Sister Veronica at the Old Mission.’ And I ran out and hailed it, -and got in. When the stage got to De Smet that evening a man got in, -and I heard him tell the driver that Mrs. Batterly had been arrested -for the murder of her husband. So then I knew I had to tell the truth -and take the blame or they’d keep her in jail and drag her through an -awful trial, and I knew what that would mean to you, Mr. Dale.” - -I pressed her head closer against my shoulder. “Wanza,” I said, “you -are a noble girl.” - -The tears welled up in the cornflower blue eyes. - -“Oh, Mr. Dale, you do believe that Mr. Batterly was most respectful -to me whenever I met him in the village! He was very polite and -respectful. I never spoke to him but three times. Once dad was with me, -and once Joey, and once I was alone.” - -There was something piteous in her asseveration. - -“I am sure he was respectful, child.” - -“I wanted to die the minute he spoke too bold to me when he found me -there alone at Hidden Lake.” - -“I well know that, Wanza.” - - “Marna of the quick disdain, - Starting at the dream of stain!” - -I cleared my throat and spoke as hopefully as I could. “Let us forget -as well as we can, little girl. Let us look forward to your release. -You will tell the truth at the trial, and you will be believed. And -then--you will forget--you will start all over again! You must let me -help you, Wanza, in many ways. I have a piece of good news for you even -now. I have found Joey.” - -But I did not tell her Joey’s story, until my next visit. - -I learned from Haidee’s attorney that Randall Batterly had been buried -in Roselake cemetery, and that Mrs. Olds had been sent for and was -staying with Haidee. That afternoon Buttons carried a double burden -over the trail to Hidden Lake. I went in alone to Haidee, leaving Joey -in the woods. My heart was too overcharged for free speech, but I told -Haidee that I had found Joey in an abandoned cabin and I told her all -that Wanza had told me of the part she had played in the accidental -shooting of Randall Batterly, and later I said to her: - -“I have something strange to communicate to you. But first, I am going -to ask you if you will tell me the story of your life after you became -Randall Batterly’s wife.” - -Haidee lifted her head at my request and straightened her shoulders -with an indrawn spasmodic breath. “I have always intended to tell you -my story, some day,” she answered. Lines of pain etched themselves upon -her brow. - -“I think if you will tell me you will not regret it,” I replied. - -“I have always intended to tell you,” she repeated. Her voice shook but -she lifted brave eyes to mine, and began her story. - -“I married Randall Batterly eight years ago, when I was eighteen, soon -after my father died. He took me to Alaska, and--and Baby was born -there. When my little one was two years old, I had a very severe attack -of pneumonia. While I was still ill Mr. Batterly was obliged to make a -trip to Seattle, and it was decided that Baby was to go with him, and -be left with my mother there until I was stronger,--I think the good -nurse I had scarcely expected me to recover. Mr. Batterly had always -been a drinking man, though I was unaware of this when I married him. -On the steamer he drank so heavily that he was in his stateroom in a -drunken stupor most of the time, he afterwards confessed. Then--there -was a storm and a collision in the night--and the ship Mr. Batterly -was on went down off Cape Flattery. Mr. Batterly was rescued by a man -who shared his stateroom--a man he had known for years. But my little -boy--my Baby--was never seen again.” - -In the silence that followed, Haidee shuddered and closed her eyes, -biting her lips that were writhing and gray. After a short interval she -went on in a low, strained tone: - -“Mr. Batterly and I parted soon after. My mother died that summer and -I went to Paris to study art. While in Paris last winter, in a Seattle -paper, I read of Mr. Batterly’s death at Nome. His name was probably -confused with that of his partner. I did not know he had a partner. -This spring I returned to America, and with a sudden longing for the -West I came out to visit Janet Jones in Spokane. It was then I was -obsessed with the desire to paint this beautiful river country. Janet -Jones aided and abetted me. I purchased a riding horse and went to -board on a ranch near Kingman. It was deadly. When I walked into your -workshop I had ridden all day, fully determined to find a habitation of -my own.” - -I had glanced at Haidee once or twice to find that her eyes were still -closed. But now, as she finished, she opened them wide, and at the look -of misery I saw in them I cried out quickly: - -“Don’t tell me any more--please--please--” - -“There is nothing more to tell,” she answered dully. - -“Thank you for your confidence. Before I told you all I have to tell I -thought it best to ask it of you.” - -“You have something to tell me? For you things are righting--you have -found your boy! For me everything seems wrong in the world--everything! -But now--may I see Joey, please, before long?” - -“Mrs. Batterly,” I asked, “may I tell you Joey’s short history?” - -At my abrupt tone she turned her eyes to mine, wonderingly. “Surely,” -she replied. - -“It is a pitifully meagre one. I found him sobbing on the doorstep of -a humble cabin, one night, four years ago last June. I took him in my -arms and entered the place, to find within a dying woman. She told me -that the child was a waif, picked up on the beach after a storm on -Puget Sound, by her brother, who was a fisherman, a year before. Her -brother had died six months previous and she had taken the child. -The woman passed away that night, and I carried the child home. Mrs. -Batterly, your husband gleaned this story from Wanza. He took Joey and -secreted him in a cabin, thinking the lad his child and yours--” - -Haidee broke in on my recital with a gasping cry: “My child--mine?” - -“Mrs. Batterly, was there a mark on your baby’s chest--a mark you could -identify him by?” - -“Yes, yes!--a bright red mark--oh, not large--the size of a -quarter--just over his heart.” - -“Joey has such a mark, though it is a mark considerably larger than a -quarter--and it is higher than his heart.” - -A doubt that I was ashamed of stirred my breast, seeing the eagerness -on the face before me. A doubt that returned later during forlorn -hard days to haunt me. I said to myself that I knew not even on what -shore of the great Sound Joey was discovered. But Haidee was speaking -impetuously: - -“He has grown--the mark has grown too, and is higher up! I have a scar -on my forehead almost hidden by my hair that was much lower down when -I was a child.” She rose, her face working, her whole slight figure -quivering. “Oh, Mr. Dale, give me my child!” - -I went to the door and gave my whistle and Joey responded. Haidee took -him in her arms, and he told his story to her much as he had told it to -me. But when he finished, he looked up in her face questioningly: - -“I won’t have to leave Mr. David, will I?” he queried. “He’s my only -really, truly daddy. He’d be terrible lonesome without me. Why, I most -guess he couldn’t get along without me, Bell Brandon!” - -“Dear, dear little boy, don’t you understand? You have a mother, now.” -Haidee’s arms held him close. Her cheek rested against his. Looking at -her I hated myself for the pang I felt. - -And so my little lad went out of my keeping. I left him with Haidee and -went back to take up my niggardly existence at Cedar Dale. - -Anxious days ensued. My heart was heavy with thoughts of Wanza, I -could not eat nor sleep. And every day Griffith Lyttle and I consulted -together, and held wearing conclaves in the office of Wanza’s attorney. -And someway I found myself distrait and unnatural in Haidee’s presence -and consumed with bitter melancholy when alone. - -What had come over me? When I was with Haidee all my speech was of -Wanza. When I was alone all my thoughts were of her. Haidee was -free--but I realized this but dimly. The thought of Wanza’s position -was paramount. In the long night vigils I saw her face. I recalled -the look I had surprised on it once--the secret never intended for my -reading--and my compassion and wonder overpowered me. That Wanza should -care for me!--I felt like falling on my knees in humbleness. - -My loneliness was intense. I began to realize that Joey had gone out of -my life--that his place was henceforth not with me--never with me again. - -The love of a man for a small boy is composed of various ingredients, -it has spice in it, and tenderness, and pride, and hope, and -fellowship--and a lilt of melody goes through it that lightens the most -rigid days of discipline. So when the small boy goes out of the home, -the man is bereft of joy and inspiration and companionship. At first -I went daily to Hidden Lake, and Joey came daily to Cedar Dale. But -one day when Joey was begging me to make him a bow-gun I surprised a -wistful gleam in Haidee’s soft eyes. She drew the lad into her arms. - -“Mother will buy you a wonderful gun,” she promised. - -“But I’d rather have Mr. David make it, Bell Brandon. I guess women -don’t know what boys like--just.” - -The hurt look in the purple-black eyes went to my heart. After that I -went not so often to Hidden Lake. - -I took to using Joey’s room as a sort of study. I fitted up a desk near -the window, and here I wrote on my novel, and wrought at wood carving -for the Christmas trade. Finding me here one day carving a frame for an -old photograph of Wanza, Haidee looked at me oddly, turned swiftly and -went from the room, while Joey stared eagerly, and whispered: - -“Oh, Mr. David, some day I’m coming back to stay in my dear old room. -Tain’t nice at Bell Brandon’s for a boy. They’s a white spread on the -bed, and blue ribbons to tie back the curtains. And when the coyotes -holler Bell Brandon’s frightened too.” - -Later on the porch at parting, Haidee said to me: - -“Have you worked long on the frame you are carving for Wanza’s picture?” - -“Since--oh, I began it about the time Joey was lost,” I answered. - -She looked at me curiously. - -“Wanza is very lovely in that picture.” - -“She is. She is growing more beautiful every day,” I answered -thoughtfully; “her soul shines in her face. I realize each time I see -her how her character is rounding--how sturdy and fine she is in her -trouble.” - -After Haidee had gone I recalled the look she had flung at me as she -turned and went down the steps, saying: - -“Wanza is very fortunate to have you for a friend, very fortunate -indeed.” - -I asked myself what her look had meant. - -Another week passed. I finished my novel. And one day soon after I rode -to Roselake, expressed the manuscript to a publishing firm, and rode -homeward feeling that my affairs were on the knees of the gods. - -Not far from Cedar Dale I left the road and took the trail that led -through the woods. In the woods I dismounted and went forward slowly, -my horse’s bridle on my arm. It was a gray day, lightened by a yellow -haze. I was enraptured with the peculiar light that came through the -trees. The foliage about me was copper and flame. Presently I heard -voices, and looking through the trees I saw Haidee and Joey. They were -kneeling in a little open space, gathering pine cones. Haidee was -bareheaded and her sleeves were rolled back, exposing her round, white -arms. Her figure was lithe and supple as she knelt there, her drooping -face full of witchery and charm. - -I had an opportunity to observe Joey well. His face was thinner, his -carriage not so gallant as formerly. There was less buoyancy in his -voice. Something sprightly was missing in his whole aspect,--a certain -confidence and dare. He was not the Cedar Dale elf I had known. What -had changed him so? - -I went forward and Joey cried out and hurled himself into my arms. -Haidee stood up and drew the lad to her with a nervous motion. - -“Joey,” I said, “run away and see what Jingles is barking at so -furiously. A fat rabbit has just escaped him.” - -Joey bounded away shrieking with excitement. I studied Haidee -deliberately as her eyes followed the childish figure. Her eyes were -brooding and solemn and sweet as she watched, but there was a shadow on -her brow. - -“Too bad,” I said speaking out my thought, “for Joey’s mother to be -jealous of me.” - -“Do you think that of me?” she faltered. - -“He is all yours--no one on the face of the earth has the slightest -claim on him excepting yourself.” - -Our eyes met; hers were startled yet defiant; and I am afraid mine were -a trifle accusing. - -“Do not speak to me like this--do not dare!” Then suddenly she -softened. “But you are right--perhaps. When I think of the days and -months you had him and I was bereft--when I think how much you mean to -him--more than I mean--oh, it hurts! I am a wretch.” - -“No, no,” I said hastily. “I did not understand, that is all.” - -“You have not understood--and it has altered your manner to me, that is -it, is it not? You have thought me weak, and selfish, and ungrateful. -Well, I am not ungrateful; but I have been selfish. I have thought not -enough of you and Joey. But now I have confessed, and I shall be more -considerate.” Her hand came out to me. “Let us shake hands.” Tears were -in her eyes. - -I took her hand with shame and contrition. I reached home utterly -miserable. Had Haidee changed or had I changed? What had come over us? -The spontaneity and warmth had seeped from our friendship. There seemed -to be a shadow between us that each was futile to lift. - -I said to myself that when I heard from my novel--if the word was -favorable--I should go to her--I could at least tell her of my hopes -for the future--I could lay my love at her feet. All should be made -plain; the cloud should be dispersed. - -And so the weeks went past. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIII - -WHEN CHRISTMAS CAME - - -ONE day close on to Christmas, Wanza was tried for the murder of -Randall Batterly, and after a record-breaking trial that lasted but -five hours, acquitted. The verdict said that Randall Batterly was -killed by the accidental discharge of a revolver dropped by his own -hand. - -In the twilight of that strange day I drove Wanza to her home, where -old Grif Lyttle awaited her. It was a gray twilight, the snow was -drifted into gleaming heaps on either side of the road, the river -crawled darkly along between its fleecy banks. We found no words to say -at first, but when I heard a sob in Wanza’s throat I turned and put my -arm across her shoulders. - -“There, there, Wanza!” I whispered, soothingly. - -She wept quietly. Presently she said, between smiles and tears: - -“It will soon be Christmas. I will try to give father a good Christmas, -Mr. Dale.” - -“There, there, Wanza,” I said, again. - -She drew away, and with both hands pushed back the hood that she had -drawn over her face on leaving the jail. - -“Mrs. Batterly wants to send me away, soon after Christmas--away back -East to school--where I can forget,” she faltered. - -Her blue eyes widened to great round wells of misery, the tears rained -down her altered cheeks. - -“You will forget,” I soothed her; “it was an accident, my dear.” - -“Oh, but Mr. Dale, I _felt_ that I could kill him--for being so -disrespectful to me--for speaking so bold--for kissing me! I had -murder in my heart! I remember one night in the woods when we were -gipsying--do you mind it, Mr. Dale?--you took my hands, and I thought -you was going to kiss me, you looked at me so long, but you didn’t--you -respected me too much! Why if you had ’a kissed me--not loving me--Mr. -Dale, it would’a killed me. And I think I could almost ’a killed you.” - -I looked into her face, and suddenly I was back again in the -wind-stirred forest with the black elf-locks of a gipsy wench brushing -my lips, her hands held close, her eyes, burningly blue, lifted to -mine in the firelight. I heard her voice whispering: “If I was a gipsy, -and you was a gipsy things would be different.” I recalled the words of -the song I had sung: - - “Marna of the wind’s will, - Daughter of the sea--” - -I sighed. Marna of the wind’s will, indeed! - -This conversation left a sore spot in my heart. I was dejected and -miserable for days. The day before Christmas arrived and late in the -afternoon I rode into Roselake. I purchased some bolts for a sled I was -making for Joey, got my mail, and returned home at dusk. - -I built a fire at once in the fireplace in the front room, and went -over my mail eagerly by the light of my green-shaded lamp. One envelope -bore the New York postmark, and I opened it with nervous fingers. I -read the communication it contained, and sat, a warm, surging joy -transfusing my whole being. The publishing firm in New York had -accepted my novel for publication, and the terms mentioned were -generous beyond my wildest visionings. - -There was another communication that I read over and over; and as I -read I knew that I was free at last--yes, free forever--free to ask -any woman in the world to be my wife; I knew that the search light of -justice could be turned on a folded page of my past that had long been -hidden, and that there would be no tarnish on the page. For the letter -said that my poor old father was dead, and in dying had confessed to a -forgery committed eight years ago--a crime which his son had tacitly -admitted himself to be guilty of when he had stolen away under cover of -the night and disappeared, rather than face an investigation. - -The daily papers had blazoned abroad the shooting of Randall Batterly, -and the subsequent trial of Wanza Lyttle, and my name had appeared in -the account, the writer who was my father’s lawyer explained. A letter -to the postmaster at Roselake had resulted in further establishing my -identity. - -The writer had the honor to inform me that my father had left a -snug little fortune--the result of some recent fortunate mining -ventures--that would accrue to me, and he begged me to come back to my -southern home and take my rightful place among the people. I shook my -head at this. Who was there in the old home who would welcome me? My -mother was long since dead--my father gone. There was no one belonging -to me left in the old place. It would be more strange and forlorn than -an entirely new community. I should like to visit it again. But that -was all. - -I dropped the letter to the floor, and sat thinking of Haidee. And as -I thought I smiled tenderly. After a time I decided that Haidee should -see these important letters--that I should go to her. And on a sudden -impulse I rose up. - -As I opened the door the snow was falling, and there was a ring around -the moon. I left the door open and stepped back into the house, going -to the cedar room to get my sweater. When I returned, a woman with -snow-powdered hair was stepping hesitatingly across the threshold. -Haidee! - -“It is you! Out so late--alone!” I began. “And in this storm.” - -But the big eyes only smiled at me, and she stood there like a -beautiful wraith in her long gray cloak. - -“Let me take your cloak,” I said. - -I went to her, and she put both hands on my shoulders impulsively. - -“I haven’t thought of the weather. Ever since I saw you last I’ve -thought of you,--and thought, and thought. It’s Christmas Eve, you -know. I have come to wish you a Merry Christmas, and I have brought you -a Christmas gift--one to keep till spring, at least.” - -“Come to the fire,” I urged. - -She sat down and I sat down opposite her. The firelight caressed her, -played in her eyes, ruddied her cheeks that were glowing from her walk -through the wintry air. - -“In all the time I have known you this is the first time I have ever -shared your fire,” she whispered. - -There was a silence. I could hear my heart-beats. How fine of her to -come to me in this womanly fashion! I sat and watched her. A lock of -hair had fallen over her ivory brow. She had dropped her head forward -on to her hand, and her dewy lips were parted. I stooped closer, closer -still. A tear slipped down on her smooth cheek and glistened in the -firelight as I gazed. She turned her face away. - -“What gift have you brought me?” I whispered. - -There was a movement in the shadows beyond the circle of light cast -by the green-shaded lamp--a rustle and a stir--then a swift hurtling -of a small lithe figure across the open space--a pause--a swooping, -frantic clutch of young strong arms about my neck, and Joey, all wet -and steaming in his snowy coat, had me fast, shouting in my ear, over -and over again: - -“I’m your Christmas gift, Mr. David! I’m your Christmas gift.” - -He was in my arms, and Haidee had drawn back and was smiling at me, her -eyes like great luminous pools of fire. - -“What a wonderful, wonderful present,” I responded shakily. “Now, who -could have sent me this very best present in the world?” - -“Bell Brandon,” shrieked my little lad. “She did not send me--she -brought me.” - -“Then--she must have another gift for me,” I said boldly, and held out -my hand to Haidee. - -She shook her head, her eyes grave, but her lips still smiling. - -“I have brought Joey to you--but--I cannot stay. I am going away. Will -you keep my boy until I return?” - -“You are going away?” - -She bent her head. - -“I am going to take Wanza back East. I want to go away for a time--it -is best for me to go. But--you must not be separated from Joey all this -long winter, David Dale. My boy shall stay with you--and in the spring -I shall come for him--or come back to stay at Hidden Lake.” - -“You are going away--soon--after Christmas?” - -“To-morrow. We are going to-morrow--Wanza and I--we decided it only -to-day. I have some matters to attend to in New York. I must go at -once.” - -“Christmas Day?” - -“Yes.” - -“Wait--do not go--stay with me as my wife, my wife! I have sold my -book--I am free too, of an old, old shadow. Oh, I have much to tell -you--much to talk over with you. Wait--let me read to you some letters.” - -My voice was rough with emotion. She held up her hand. - -“When I come back, David Dale, my friend--not now. We need to gain -perspective--you and I. I have been through an ordeal--I am shaken--I -am not myself. I don’t see clearly. And as for you--David Dale, there -is much for you to learn.” - -“What do you mean?” I cried brusquely. - -She smiled at me sweetly and a little sadly. - -“Oh, you are a stupid blundering David.” She shook her head. “But--wait -till spring.” - -“There is so much I want to say--explain,” I stammered. - -“Wait till spring.” - -“But I cannot keep Joey. I cannot let you go without your boy.” - -“He will be better off with you.” - -“I cannot accept such a sacrifice.” - -On this point I remained firm. We argued. Haidee entreated, and Joey -begged to be allowed to stay. I would not listen to either voice. I -arose at last. - -“Joey,” I said, speaking slowly, in order to steady my voice, “I have -one more bolt to put in the sled I am making for you. Will you come to -the workshop with me?” - -And in the shop away from every eye, I said good-bye to my lad. And as -I kissed him the old doubt stirred. Was I so sure he was Haidee’s child? - -Old Lundquist came for Haidee; and we said a conventional good-bye -beneath his prying eyes. - -Until twelve I waited and watched for Wanza, expecting every instant to -hear Captain Grif’s voice at the door, and to see Wanza step over the -threshold. Surely she would not go without some last word to me. But -she came not. - - - - -CHAPTER XXIV - -“THE FLOWER WILL BLOOM ANOTHER YEAR” - - -I SAT by my fire throughout the long night. When dawn came I rose, went -to the door and threw it wide and stepped outside into the unstained -air of the morning. There was a carpet of snow on the ground, the -bushes were like gleaming teepes, and the limbs of the pine trees were -weighted with icicles. I repeated to myself Thoreau’s words: “God -exhibits himself in a frosted bush to-day, as much as he did in a -burning one to Moses.” - -The light was purple and cold and solemn, the moon still hung in the -gray of the western sky, but in the East there was a glorious band of -crimson and the mountain tops looked as if aflame with little bonfires. -As I stood there a ruby-crowned kinglet fluttered from twig to twig -of the elderberry bush hard by, emitting its bright “zei, zei,” and -a chickadee answered with a merry “chickadee-a-dee, dee, dee,” from -the yew grove. I waited. I was praying the kinglet would sing. And -presently the tiny thing began. It poured forth its strong sweet notes -in a succession of trills. - -“Bird,” I said, “you are a wonder. I know that the muscles in your -throat are almost microscopic. I have always told Joey--” But here I -ceased to admonish the bird, I went back up the porch steps. - -As I was closing the door I heard the rattle of the stage as it passed -along the river road on its way to the village. The driver shouted a -merry Christmas to some one on the road. I threw a fresh log on the -fire and sat down heavily in my chair. It was Christmas morning--and -they had gone! - -I drowsed after a time, lying back in my great chair with the collie -asleep at my feet. When I awakened the sun was high, and the world -outside my window was so sparkling and bright that it dazzled my sight. -I went to the kitchen, kindled a fire, and opened the kitchen door to -let the collie out. I was washing my hands at the wash-bench in the -corner, when I heard the latch of the door click. Footsteps crossed the -floor, some one was coming up behind me saying: - -“I have brought a chicken pie for your dinner, Mr. Dale--Dad’ll be -along soon--and I wish you a Merry Christmas.” - -It was Wanza. - -She stood there as she had so often stood before, a white-covered -basket on one arm, the other filled with bundles. But her face was -pale to-day, and her glorious hair was swept straight back from her -brow and tucked away beneath a net, and her apparel was sober gray. I -stared at her and stared and stared, until the pink ran up in her cheek -and she dropped the bundles and set down the basket, that she might -put her hands over her abashed face. I stood there and felt shaken and -dumbfounded, not attempting to speak, afraid indeed of the sound of my -own voice. - -The fire crackled. Cheerily through the door Wanza had left open behind -her, came the chickadee’s note. The sunlight was dazzling as it struck -into my eyes from the white oilcloth on the kitchen table. The room -seemed suddenly illumined, the air electric and revitalized. At length -I stammered out: - -“Thank you, thank you!” - -“It’s only chicken pie,” she whispered. - -“Thank you for not going.” - -At that she threw up her head, her hands dropped. She said proudly: - -“Did you think I’d go on Christmas Day? Did you think I’d have the -heart to go, Mr. Dale?” - -“Yes,” I said wearily, “I thought you had gone, Wanza. Why not?” - -“And I’ll tell you why not! It’s because you decided Joey was to go -that I could _not_ go. I could not go and leave you when I found Joey -was to go--oh, no!” - -“But you must go some day, Wanza,” I said, scarce knowing what I said. - -“And why must I go some day? Why must I? I tell you what I’m going to -do, Mr. David Dale, I’m going to stay on here in Roselake, and I am -going to live up to the very best there is in me. I am going to improve -and grow big and fine and womanly. I’m going to do it right here. And -then maybe some day,” she sighed, “when Dad does not need me any more, -and you do not need me any more, I will have enough money saved up, and -I will go away and get educated.” - -In her excitement she had pressed closer to me and laid one hand -against my chest. I placed my own hand over it as I said very gently: - -“Let me teach you, Wanza--be my pupil. I will become your tutor in -earnest, if you will have me. Yes! I will go to your father’s house -every day to instruct you,--and it will give me great happiness. Ah, -Wanza, now that Joey has gone I feel so futile--so useless! Let me -undertake your education, child.” - -The burning eyes came up to mine, and questioned them. The pale face -flushed. There was a pathetic tremulousness about the lips. - -“Say yes,” I urged. - -Her head drooped, lowered itself humbly until her hair brushed my arm, -and suddenly she kissed my hand, passionately, gratefully. “Oh, Mr. -David Dale,” she breathed, “you’re grand! That’s what you are. Yes and -yes, and yes!” - -And so I ate my dinner with Wanza and Captain Grif sitting opposite me -at the table, and Wanza flouted me when I would have served her too -liberally with the most succulent bits of the pie, and Captain Grif -rallied me when I confessed that I had small appetite, and produced a -bottle of root beer and a bag of cheese cakes from the basket. - -Night came down at last to my weary soul and soon after it grew dark -Wanza and her father departed. I locked the door behind them and I -threw myself, dressed as I was, on my bunk and buried my head in the -pillows. The evening wore on. The fire sputtered and burned low, the -wind came up and hissed around the cabin. A coyote howled from some -distant hill. The room grew dark. A pall was on my heart. - -As the winter wore on I became vastly interested in Wanza’s education. -I gave two hours each day to her lessons. And not many evenings passed -without lessons in the snug little room beneath the eaves of the -cottage she called home. There with our books open before us, beneath -the light from the swinging lamp, we pored over tedious pages shoulder -to shoulder, smiled on by old Grif and encouraged by Father O’Shan, who -ofttimes shared our evenings. - -It was wonderful the improvement I marked in Wanza as the weeks -slipped past. Her English improved markedly. She was painstaking and -indefatigable. She applied herself so assiduously that I began to fear -lest she should overwork, as the warm spring days came on. - -“Don’t study too hard,” I cautioned her one day. - -“I can’t study too hard,” she flashed back at me. And then she smiled. -But I knew she was terribly in earnest. - -It was that same day that Father O’Shan quoted to me, as we were -walking along the river road together: - - “Shed no tear--Oh, shed no tear! - The flower will bloom another year. - Weep no more--Oh, weep no more! - Young buds sleep in the root’s white core.” - -“Do you mean that for me, Father?” I asked. - -“For you--yes. And many like you.” - -My heart swelled. I looked about me. Buttercups were gilding the -sod--the pussy willows were in bloom along the river. It was the spring. - -I went home and raked the dead leaves and pine needles away from under -the trees in the Dingle. A few yellow violets were springing up. From -beyond the syringa thicket a faint “witchery, witchery, witchery,” -greeted my ears. - -I went forward cautiously. Peering through the interlaced branches -I saw the songster. He was swinging on a thorn bush, a wonderfully -brilliant little chorister in his black cap and yellow stole. I -whistled. He cocked his head on one side, fixed me with his bright -eye, then flew to a willow tree and favored me with another burst of -song. This time he seemed to oft repeat, “Which way, oh?” He sang it so -persistently that presently I replied, “Straight on, sir.” - -I went to the cabin and consulted the calendar. It was the last day of -March. - -My spirit, that had seemed earthward crushed for months, grew lighter -in the sweet spring days that followed. I took the return of April as -a long-fore-gone right. I ploughed and planted, I made bird houses and -arranged bird-baths in the groves hard by the cabin. I paddled in my -canoe on the river, and fished in the adjacent creeks. And I went with -Wanza through the woods on many a trillium hunt. - -Sometimes almost to breathlessness I felt Wanza’s charm, the galvanism -she could always transmit to those with her intensified by some new -strange quality I could not name. It was like a fillip given my -dispassion. When she laughed and chirped to the squirrels, when she -carried a wounded bird in her breast, when she stood on tip-toe, her -face like a taper-flame, to greet the whole outdoors with wide-flung -arms, I caught my lip between my teeth and watched her with observant -eyes. Her beauty grew. Even Father O’Shan remarked it. The gowns of -pink she wore once served to deepen the rose tint in her fair cheeks; -but her cheeks needed no such service now; they were like a red-rose -heart. She had taken to smoothing and banding her hair and twisting -it back behind her small ears with big shell pins. Her head seen thus -was as lovely a shape as any Greuze ever painted. She frequently wore -thin blouses of white, and I seldom saw her feet in sandals--she had a -sleeveless black gown that she wore to a country dance one evening when -I was her escort. Looking at her that night I could scarcely believe it -was Wanza, my old friend and playmate whom I was in attendance upon, -and I paid her some rather silly compliments and was promptly rebuked -for my gallantry. - -It was a tidy enough fortune my dear old father had left me. I had -been able to do many things to make Wanza and Captain Grif comfortable -and happy during the long winter. Among other things I had purchased a -piano for Wanza to replace the old melodeon, and delighted Captain Grif -with the gift of a phonograph. And last, but not least, I had made the -last payment on the little cottage in which they lived and presented -the deed to Captain Grif on his sixty-fifth birthday. - -Dear Captain Grif! His manner of accepting this last gift was -characteristic. - -“Tain’t for myself I’d take it. I’d just about as lief worry along and -save and scrimp toward makin’ the final payment-- I ’low I’d _sooner_; -I like the glory, and when you have a soft thing handed to you there -ben’t nothin’ achieved. I’m meanin’ it, s-ship-mate. Things we earn -is the things we ’preciate. But I take it kindly of you. And for -Wanza’s sake I thank you and accept. ’Tis hard on the gal--pinchin’ and -scrimpin’--and peddlin’ in winter is about played out--the roads is in -bad shape for gettin’ about, you’ll ’low. Now with the house paid for, -the gal’ll have what she earns for ribbons and furbelows and trinkets. -And ownin’ sech a face as hern, Mr. Dale--though it don’t need no -adornin’--sure makes a gal long for fixin’s. I’m grateful and pleased -for her sake--I sure be.” Tears dimmed his kind old eyes. His hand came -out to me. “Shake hands, David Dale, man; you’re a friend--a friend. -We need friends--the gal and I--seems like we need ’em more’n we used -since all we been through,--and I want to say right here that Wanza -never would’a perked up if it hadn’t a been for your helpin’ her this -winter. She was pretty well down, Wanza was. Well, in my youth, young -folks was different. I used to think--I used to think one time--well, -there, by golly, s-ship-mate, it makes no difference _what_ I used to -think! I was mistook, I ’low. It sure is great for a man and gal to be -such friends as you and Wanza--no foolishness--no tomfoolery!--it’s -unusual--I ain’t sayin’ that it tain’t--but it’s fine, s-ship-mate, -it’s fine.” - -[Illustration: “I’M GRATEFUL AND PLEASED”] - -Through the winter I had had frequent letters from Haidee--frank, -friendly letters, filled with stories of Joey--and a few printed -epistles from the lad; one in particular that impressed me; “Joey is -all rite,” it said. - -I discussed this with Wanza, who said tearfully: - -“His saying that makes me think he isn’t. He is such a plucky little -chap. He would not have you worrying. Not that I think he’s sick--sure -enough sick, you know; but I just feel sure he’s pining.” - -“Please--please, Wanza, don’t put that thought into my mind,” I said -hastily. “If I thought Joey were happy I could more easily bear his -absence.” - -She looked at me and shook her head. Then she smiled. - -“He’ll do well enough till spring. But he will be counting the days, -all right.” - - - - -CHAPTER XXV - -MY SURPRISE - - -WHEN May came I began to look forward in earnest to the return of -Haidee and Joey. Every day since the beginning of spring I had gone to -Hidden Lake to tend the vines and shrubs that I had set out with so -much care the previous fall. I had also made a flower bed and planted -the seeds of many old-fashioned flowers--larkspur, Sweet William, -marigolds, phlox, lobelia, clove pinks and mignonette, sweet peas and -rosemary. In another few weeks the little cabin would be surrounded by -bloom. - -A Vigor’s wren was building a nest in the pergola, and a calliope -humming-bird’s nest hung on a pine limb near the kitchen door, not more -than eight feet above the ground. I could scarcely wait for Joey to see -the latter. The hours I spent at Hidden Lake were filled with strange -anticipations, and unanswered questions and grim wonderment. - -But Fate had a surprise in store for me. - -One day as I stood looking at the humming-bird’s nest a man approached -the cabin from the wood path beyond the garden. He was a hard-faced -man, a grizzled, uncouth figure of a man. I took an instant dislike to -him without even waiting to see his features. When he saw me he halted -irresolutely. I nodded to him carelessly, and stooped to pull a stray -weed from the bed of thyme beside the kitchen door. When I looked up he -stood beside me. - -“Good day, sir,” he said. - -“Good day,” I returned. - -“Is Mrs. Batterly to home?” - -“No,” I replied, “Mrs. Batterly is in the East.” - -“Is her cabin shut up?” - -“It is,” I said curtly. - -“Well, I swan! Say, did she take the kid with her?” - -“She took the little boy with her, certainly.” - -He grinned, showing blackened teeth and unsightly gums. “Um,” he said, -half shutting his red-lidded eyes, “um, um--you’re Mr. Dale, I take it; -I have seen you in the village.” - -“Yes, I am David Dale,” I answered straightening up. “Is there anything -I can do for you?” - -He guffawed. “No,” he chuckled, “you can’t do a darn thing for me, but -you bet your gosh darned boots I can do something for you.” - -I turned away in disgust. - -“Say, partner,” he pulled me round to him by the sleeve, “I reckon that -Mrs. Batterly took the kid with her thinking the kid was hern. Well, he -ain’t!” - -I gaped at him. He grinned at me in a would-be friendly manner. - -“My name’s Bill Jobson. I’m a miner,” he volunteered. - -“That means nothing to me,” I told him sharply. - -“Well, now, I don’t suppose it does! See here! I’m the man as helped -Randall Batterly kidnap your boy, Joey-- Wait a minute, wait a minute! -Don’t get excited. It was a frame up--the whole darn thing! Batterly -never had no idea the kid was his. He framed the whole thing up to get -a rise out of his wife. He was set on getting her back, and he took -that way of doing it. He knew mighty well the kid warn’t his. His own -boy died from an over-dose of medicine Batterly gave it one night when -he was drunk, on board the ship him and me was on going from Alaska -to Seattle. The boy died in my arms, and was buried at sea. Batterly -wouldn’t go back to Alaska and face his wife and tell her the truth -about the child. He made me swear not to squeak. And he went back, and -he let on to his wife that the child was never seen after the collision -between our ship and another, in the fog, off Cape Flattery. He told -his wife as how a nurse on board ship had the babe in her stateroom, -caring for it, the night of the wreck. There was a nurse on board who -was drowned that night, so the story passed muster.” - -I watched the man with fascinated eyes as he sat down on the doorstep, -filled his pipe leisurely, and struck a match on his boot heel. The -full import of his statement did not sink into my brain at once. When -it did I said, speaking with dry lips: - -“But what about the mark on the lad’s chest?” - -“That’s what you call a coincidence, partner--that and their age -seeming to be the same. When Batterly saw the mark on the kid’s chest -the whole blame plan came to him quick as lightning, he said. And when -the girl, Wanza Lyttle, told him as how he was picked up by a fisherman -over on the Sound, that settled it. He took a chance on his wife’s not -remembering the mark on her kid’s chest was just over his heart. This -kid’s is higher up.” - -Completely unmanned, I sat down on the step beside my visitor, and -rested my head in my hands. “It does not seem possible your story is -true,” I groaned. - -Bill Jobson brought his hand down hard on my knee. “Look ahere, Mr. -Dale, do you think I tramped way over here from Roselake to see Mrs. -Batterly just because I wanted a country stroll? Well, I didn’t! Get -that through your head--quick! I’m a busy man-- I oughtn’t to have took -the time to come and say my say as I have--” - -“Will you write a statement and have it witnessed, and send it to Mrs. -Batterly?” I interrupted. - -“I will that. And I’ll tell you why I’m doing it. I’m doing it because -I used to see the little chap with you in the village last summer and I -saw him after that in the fall with Mrs. Batterly, and he never run and -skipped as he did with you. It just got me for fair--it did! I’ve been -intending all this winter to see Batterly’s widder and tell her the -gosh darned truth, but I been working in the Alice mine, a good fifty -mile from Roselake, and I ain’t been down but once before since fall, -and that time I--well, I got pickled, partner, I sure did! I wa’n’t -exactly up to holding lucid conversation with folks, you might say.” - -I was silenced. - -That night the statement was written in the presence of Captain Grif, -Wanza, and Father O’Shan, and it went forward with a letter from me to -Haidee. - -Wanza and I waited impatiently for a return letter from Haidee. But the -days went past like shadows, and no letter came. I had been climbing -upward toward the summit of comparative peace, I had almost reached it -when Bill Jobson came with his disclosure. But now, hearing nothing -from my wonder woman, the valley closed around me. I walked in a -stagnant marsh, the atmosphere was that of the lowland. - -One night some three weeks after the letter from Haidee should have -reached me, I found myself unable to sleep. I arose and dressed, and -went outside and walked along the river road toward the village. After -going some distance I lay down beneath a tree in a pine grove. It was -about two o’clock. A purple darkness lay all around me. The stars were -like pale gems, clear and cool and polished. The Milky Way was like -a fold of silver gauze. The pines stood up very black and silent in -my grove. I began to wonder why I ever slept indoors, when out in -the woods I felt as though I were in God’s house, a partaker of his -hospitality. - -I relished my bed of pine needles extremely. I began to ponder many -things, the silence and the stars served to give my thoughts a strange -turn, and I recalled what a well-loved writer has said: “To live out of -doors with the woman a man loves is of all lives the most complete and -free.” - -Yes, I said to myself: - - “Wandering with the wandering wind, - Vagabond and unconfined.” - -Slowly I said over to myself the last verse of the song--the verse I -had not given to Wanza: - - “Marna of the far quest - After the divine! - Striving ever for some goal - Past the blunder-god’s control! - Dreaming of potential years - When no day shall dawn in fears! - That’s the Marna of my soul, - Wander-bride of mine!” - -Wander-bride of mine! Was it a woman like Haidee who had suggested -those lines to the poet?-- Haidee with her narrow, oval face, and brow -of ivory, and slow, bell-like voice. Or had it been some elf-girl, some -girl of flame with a temperament wilder than most--a gipsy thing of -changing moods, and passionate phases of self-will, alternating with -abnegation and tenderness,--with a face like a wind-blown flower, and a -nature very human, very lovable and rare!--a girl like Wanza--say? - -After a time I slept. When I awakened the horizon showed a silvery -light. The purple darkness still mantled the woods and the stars still -shone, but day was coming on apace. As I lay there, half dozing, and -gradually becoming tranquil and restored, I heard faint footfalls and -a modulated whistling on the road beyond. There was a mellowness about -the whistle that was infinitely piquant, some quality that stirred me -as a bird’s song stirs. Doubtless some ranch hand thus early astir, I -said to myself. - -I had not long to speculate, for the whistler approached, left the -road, and entered the grove wherein I lay. I could hear a light -crackling as the invader of my solitude brushed through the growth of -young scrub pines. The whistle changed to a low song, and the song was -sung in a woman’s voice. - -It was Wanza who was coming through the pines toward me! - -When she was comparatively near I spoke from my couch beneath the tree. - -“Hist! Hist! Wanza!” - -The song ceased. I knew she was standing stock still. - -“Who--who--where are you?” her voice sounded frightened. - -“I’m David Dale. And I’m not ten feet from you--follow my voice. Don’t -trip on the tree roots.” - -She came towards me slowly. I stood up and went to meet her. As I -advanced a strange glee took possession of me. I was elated at this -unexpected encounter, this beautiful rendezvous between darkness and -dawn in the pine forest. And at the thought of a companion to watch -with me the coming in of day. - -I took her hand silently. We went forward to the pine tree and sat down -together beneath it. Wanza did not speak. I was enchanted because she -did not. I could just dimly see her face. Her head was thrown back, and -I knew her eyes were lifted. - -The light began to spread over the east. Soon the mountain tops were -touched with orange fire. A cool breeze sprang up, and the young -hemlocks on the hillsides swayed and tossed their fringes. But the -pines in our grove stood immovable and black, and the wood vistas were -unlit. I heard the river, and the babble of a rillet in a draw hard by. -The dulcet sounds were the only sounds we heard. The whole world seemed -waiting. We sat thus for perhaps ten minutes, while the light spread -over the east and the purple darkness of our grove gradually gave way -to a cool gray aspect. And then the sun came up, a spurt of liquid -amber in the urn of the sky, and its light trickled far out over the -hills, and the stars grew pale and disappeared. The day had come. - -I was exhilarated. I was filled with full measure of good will and -gratification. And I glanced at my companion, to read in her face her -appreciation of the miracle. She was smiling ineffably, and as I turned -fully towards her, she closed her eyes. I became conscious then that -I was holding out my hand to her. I looked down at it curiously, and -I looked at her face, bent forward and peered at it again. Who was -this companion who had shared my solitude, and by her understanding -made it perfect?--who had given me quiet fellowship, sat near me in -the starlight, watched the day come in with me, and now rested within -reach of my hand? Who should it be, I answered myself wonderingly, but -my old friend and companion, Wanza? - -She opened her lids and I saw the wonder of the sunrise in her eyes, -and something mysterious and deep blended with the languor of sleep. -And when she smiled at me and whispered my name, I quivered suddenly -and the blood surged unbidden into my face. “Wanza,” I said, “Wanza!” - -“Yes?” she breathed. - -“Hasn’t it been wonderful, Wanza? Hasn’t it been miraculous? ‘Every -hour of the light and dark’ is a miracle, but the sunrise is the -greatest one of all. It is arresting. I can never drop off to sleep -again if I waken and see the sky rosy.” I spoke with a fluttered haste, -my words tumbling over each other in a way not at all characteristic, -and when Wanza whispered: “Why, neither can I,” I laughed outright -joyously. - -“I found a wonderful wake-robin in the woods yesterday,” I began -after a pause; “the petals were pink and strongly veined, and it was -monstrous--monstrous! petals two inches--well, almost two inches. It -must be a large-flowered wake-robin. The trilliums have been profuse -this spring. This fellow was belated--its companions are all gone.” - -“The robins woke up two months ago,” Wanza said, shyly eager. “And they -have finished their courting.” - -“Yes, they are very wide-awake, and business-like. But they have not -finished their courting,--I am sure I witnessed a love scene yesterday.” - -“Not really, Mr. Dale?” - -“It looked uncommonly like one.” - -In the growing light I saw that her face had kindled. It was lifted -to mine, and she was drinking in every word. The emotion the sight of -that kindled face aroused in me started a train of thought, and checked -the words on my lips. Oh, in very truth there was something puzzlingly -complex about my feeling for Wanza! I recoiled as from some revelation -that I did not care to face as she continued to smile at me. But her -eyes drew me, and I leaned forward and peered into them; and as once -before I read their message, but I continued to gaze this time until -the lashes swept down and the light was hid. - -I walked back to the village with Wanza, and there was the tinkle of -bells on cattle awake in the meadows, and the stir of sheep milling on -rocky hillsides, and the crowing of cocks and the chirp of birds to -proclaim that morning had come. We were almost at the village when she -put a question to me. - -“Mr. Dale, do you know what day to-morrow is?” - -I had been expecting the question and dreading it. - -“Yes,” I answered, “I know well that it is the day we have been -accustomed to celebrate as Joey’s birthday.” - -I spoke impatiently. But when I saw the tears in her eyes, I stopped -there in the road and took her by the shoulders and turned her around -to me ruthlessly, crying: - -“Listen to me! You must be hurt, if you will, at my surliness, Wanza -Lyttle! I cannot keep my tongue smooth when my nerves are ragged. We go -on and on, and bear much--stoically--for weeks, months, years, indeed, -and then--suddenly, we can bear no more! We reach the pinnacle of pain. -We cry out--with the poignancy of it. But after that, I have a fancy, -we can never suffer so much again. I am at the pinnacle. There is no -last straw for me. It has been placed. After to-morrow the worst will -be over. God! let me get through the day and play the man.” - -She said not a word. We parted silently. But after I had gone a little -way she came running after me. - -“I only wanted to say, David Dale,” she breathed, “I only wanted to -say--” - -“Yes, Wanza?” - -“I only wanted to say, ‘God bless you.’” - - - - -CHAPTER XXVI - -THE OLD SWIMMING HOLE - - -AND so I came to the day that was sacred to Joey! - -I began it by ploughing in the field back of the cabin. I went not -near the shop. I did not venture into the cabin for lunch at noon. I -had made up my mind to work doggedly till sundown and then go to the -village inn for supper, and later join Father O’Shan at Captain Grif’s. -Someway it comforted me to think of the evening; of the snug little -nook beneath the eaves; and of the welcome that awaited me there. I saw -Wanza’s face, in fancy--solicitous, pleased; I saw her figure there in -the centre of the room, clasped by the yellow light of the swinging -lamp, her hair gilded by its rays, on her cheek an eager flush. -Kind heart! Dear, helpful girl! Cheerful, buoyant, valiant little -wander-friend! - -The sun for a June sun was unduly fervid, so that by four o’clock I -was weary and dripping with perspiration, and longing for a dip in -the river. I rested, and leaning on my plough, looked away through -the cedars and cottonwoods to the green of the river flashing in the -sunlight. I heard the rattle of the stage on the road, and when I was -certain it had passed I went to the cabin and put on my bathing suit. -I went in at the back door of the cabin, and out at the front, passed -through the yew grove, crossed the bridge to the shop, and so gained -the river bank and my favorite swimming hole beneath the cedar trees. - -The spreading trees threw a deep shade over the pool. It was almost -twilight beneath their network of branches. And I was on the bank -prepared for a dive before I saw a small figure below me seated on a -boulder at the edge of the water, half hidden from view by the steep -slope of the bank. I saw the flash of bare feet in the water. Poised -ready to spring I gave a shout, “Look out,” and shot out over the small -figure and into the pool. - -When I came up, blowing like a porpoise, the figure was standing waist -deep in water and waving thin excited arms abroad. I saw the face. It -was gaunt, fever-bright, and not like my lad’s as I had seen it last, -but it was Joey who stood there. - -I lifted him up and he clasped my neck almost to strangulation, -wrapping his long legs around me, and I raced with him to the house. -Once inside I stripped him, seized a towel and rubbed his cold little -body until it glowed, and he laughed and cried and laughed again, and -clutched my neck and finally stammered: - -“I got--got here! I come for my birthday--all the way from the East -alone.” - -“Alone!” - -“Yep! And I’m going to stay. Going to stay forever--Bell Brandon said -so. They’s a letter in my satchel for you.” - -I hugged him to my breast. - -“But what were you doing in the swimming hole, Joey?” - -He looked at me, smiled his shrewd young smile, and said: - -“Washing off the dust and--and tidying myself. Let’s see the cake, now, -Mr. David.” - -“The cake?” - -He nodded. “Hasn’t Wanza baked it yet?” - -“Why, Joey lad, we haven’t any ready to-day! Can’t you understand?” - -His face grew blank, his eyes filled, and he shivered suddenly; he -seemed to shrivel in my arms, and he turned his head away from me. - -“What is it, Joey?” - -“I--I--don’t anybody want me?” - -“Want you?” I was aghast. “There, and there, and there,” I cried, -giving him a rapid succession of hugs. “Doesn’t this look as though I -wanted you?” - -“Is Wanza sick?” There was something hopeful in his tone. - -“No,” I said, “Wanza is very well, lad.” - -Again that blank look, that delicate shiver. - -“We’ll have a fire going in no time, lad, and a cake in the oven, -and the blue dishes on the table. And say the word and I’ll slap the -saddle on Buttons and ride post-haste to Wanza and tell her I have a -wonderful, wonderful surprise for her--that Joey has come back, after -we had given up hoping. I’ll bring her here--shall I, Joey?--to help -bake the cake. Oh, dear, dear lad!--” I cried, and broke down. - -Such a shout as he gave. He had me by the neck and was clinging to me -like a wild young savage. “You didn’t get my letter--you didn’t, you -didn’t!” - -“Did you write, Joey?” - -“Yep, sure I wrote. Course I wrote. Soon as Bell Brandon told me I -belonged to you really and truly I wrote and I let Bell Brandon put a -letter in the envelope with mine. I put your name on the outside. I -printed Mr. David, as careful, and Bell Brandon watched me. She made -me write Dale on it, too. But when she wasn’t looking I rubbed out the -Dale part, and I mailed it myself on the corner. I told you to spect me -on my birthday, and Bell Brandon told you to meet me at Spokane ’cause -I was coming all alone from Chicago.” - -Poor lad! Poor disappointed lad! He gave a strange, tired sigh, but -meeting my somber eyes, brightened. “I like traveling alone. Pooh! I’d -liever travel alone than--than anything. But when you didn’t meet me -at Roselake even, I thought--I thought p’r’aps you didn’t want me! And -when I got out of the stage at the meadow and cut across, and peeked at -the cabin and you wasn’t around, I was ’most sure you didn’t want me. -And then I saw how dirty I was, and I thought I’d tidy up first before -you saw me, anyhow.” - -I went back to the river bank, sought for and found Joey’s traveling -bag and carried it to the house. Joey brought out of its depths a -letter and handed it to me. But I did not read it at once. I put my lad -in a big chair in the kitchen, and I built a fire in the stove and I -set out flour and sugar and molasses, all the while praying that Wanza -would appear. I laid the table in the front room with the best blue -china, and I got out the pressed glass comport; and I gathered handfuls -of syringa and honeysuckle, and brought them in the big yellow pitcher -to Joey, saying: - -“You may arrange these, Joey, for the table.” - -But to my surprise he took the flowers listlessly, and when I glanced -around after a few moments I saw that he had set the pitcher down on -the floor and was leaning back in the chair with closed eyes. I went -and stood at his side, but he did not open his eyes. - -“Tired, Joey?” - -He yawned. “Terrible tired, Mr. David.” - -I looked at him irresolutely, then gathered him up in my arms. - -“Come along, old fellow, lie down on your bed in the cedar room, and -sleep till supper’s ready,” I suggested. - -His hand stroked my cheek with the old caress. He yawned again. I -lifted him and carried him to the cedar room and placed him on the bed. -I took off his shoes and drew the shawl-flower quilt over him. He spoke -then: - -“Tell Wanza when she comes, to wake me first thing. I love Bell -Brandon--but I love Wanza best. I guess--I’ll--sleep pretty good--with -this dear old quilt over me--” his voice grew indistinct, he stretched, -blinked once or twice, closed his eyes, and snuggled luxuriously into -his pillows. I tiptoed from the room. - -In the front room I sat down by the window, took Haidee’s letter from -my pocket and read it. - - “I hope nothing will prevent you from meeting Joey in Spokane,” I - read. “I have heard nothing from you on that point. But I am almost - sure you received my letter telling you of my illness and inability - to travel, and asking you to meet Joey on the fifth. I cannot but - believe Bill Jobson’s story--strange as it seems. My own little boy - is gone forever. - - “When you receive this Joey will be with you--there in the old place - that he loves so dearly. And you--how you will rejoice to have your - lad again. Bless you both! David Dale, I shall not visit Hidden - Lake this summer,--I have learned much in these past months. Do you - not know your own heart yet? I have read carefully, searchingly - all the letters you have written me this past winter, and I find - Wanza, Wanza, between the lines. She is the true mate for you--can - you not see this? Do you not feel it? Do you not know you love - her--as she loves you? I knew I should reach a happy solution of - our problem--given the much needed perspective; and the solution is - this--you love Wanza Lyttle, and I care for you only as a dear, kind - friend. - - “No, I shall not visit Hidden Lake this year. Perhaps next - summer--but ‘To-morrow is a day too far to trust whate’er the day - be.’ I shall never forget Joey or you, or your wonderful kindness and - friendship. Good-bye, Mr. Fixing Man,--or not good-bye! au revoir. - Oh, all the good wishes in the world I send to you and Joey--and - Wanza. - - “JUDITH BATTERLY.” - -When I finished this letter I sat quietly, watching curiously a white -butterfly--a Pine White--skimming back and forth above a flowering -currant bush that grew close to the window. I found myself strangely -impassive. I said to myself that Haidee was mistaken about my feeling -for Wanza; but I experienced no sense of bereavement because she had -found that her own feeling for me was that of a friend, merely. I was -not even surprised. “I have Joey,” I kept repeating over and over to -myself, hugging this comfort to my breast. There was a fear back of -my exultation in the lad’s possession. A fear that was strong enough -to force the full significance of Haidee’s communication into the -background of my mind. Was my lad ill? Was he really ill? I asked -myself. He was thin, and his cheeks were feverishly bright, and his -voice sounded tired,--but, was he a sick child? - -I went back to the kitchen, looked at the ingredients set forth on the -table and then out of the window anxiously. If only Wanza would come -and a wonderful spice cake could be in the oven when Joey awakened. If -only-- But here I broke off in my musings, for I heard a strange sound -from the cedar room. - -I went as fast as my feet could carry me to the room where I had left -my boy. I found him lying, face downward on the floor, where he had -evidently fallen when he attempted to walk from his bed to the door. I -lifted him, turned his face to me, and examined it. It was flushed so -deep a red as to be almost purple. His eyes were open, but he did not -seem to see me, his lips were parted, the breath was hot on my face. I -placed him on the bed, and he murmured unintelligibly. - -I knew then that my lad was ill, indeed, and when I heard a step behind -me and saw Wanza on the threshold, I ran and caught her hand. “Thank -God, you have come,” I exclaimed. - -“They told me in Roselake Joey was back,” she cried, and brushed past -me to the bed. - -I turned and went from the room. A few moments later she came to me. - -“What has she done to him? What has she done to him?” she burst forth. - -“She has done nothing, Wanza.” - -“Why did you say, ‘Thank God’?” she cried, fiercely. “Do you think _I_ -can save him? Mr. Dale, he is sick--he is very sick--he has pined and -pined--for a sight of you, and Jingles and Buttons. What do you think -he said just now?--raving as he is. ‘Will I go back soon, Bell Brandon? -No, thank you, I can’t eat--I guess I want Mr. David, and Jingles and -Buttons, and my own little cedar room.’ If he dies--David Dale--if he -dies!--” - -“Please--please, Wanza--” - -She looked into my face, her eyes were black with emotion. - -“Saddle Buttons and go at once for a doctor! I’ll put Joey in a cold -pack while you’re gone; he’s burning with fever.” - -“Practical, capable, ever ready to serve; lavish of her affection, -staunch in her friendship, ‘steel true,--blade straight,’--that is -Wanza,” I said to myself as I rode away. - -The outcome of the doctor’s visit was that I sent for Mrs. Olds. Wanza -and I got through the night somehow, and the next day Mrs. Olds came. I -think this strange being entertained some slight tenderness for Joey, -for when she saw him lying among his pillows with heavy-lidded eyes -and fever-seared cheeks, she stooped and touched his brow very gently -with her lips. Joey recognized her when she entered the room late at -night in her heelless slippers and flannel dressing-gown, and set -her small clock on the shelf above the bed. “Mrs. Olds,” he ordered -distinctly, “take that clock out to the kitchen.” - -Taken by surprise, Mrs. Olds protested: “There, there, Joey, don’t -bother with me--that’s a good boy. Just close your eyes and go to sleep -again.” - -“I don’t watch the clock! Mr. David says the Now is the thing. Take it -out! When the birds sing I’ll get up.” - -But the birds sang and Joey did not awaken. He slept heavily all that -day. And when he aroused toward midnight he did not know me. The -following day he was worse, and that night I despaired. In his delirium -he said things that well nigh crazed me. His mutterings were all of me, -with an occasional reference to the collie and Buttons. “I don’t like -to leave Mr. David alone, so long,” he kept repeating. “I ’most know he -wants me back again--I been his boy so long.” - -Presently when he sobbed out shrilly: “I just got to go back to Mr. -David!” I arose precipitately, quitted the room and went out to the -bench in the Dingle. - -But some one already was sitting there. I could see her in the light -from the room. A girl in a rose-colored dressing-gown with long braids -down her back, sat there, looking up at the star-filled sky through -the tree branches. I advanced and she made room for me at her side. I -sat down, too stunned, too grief stricken for words. We sat there in -silence. Presently her uneven breathing, her sobbing under-breaths, -disturbed me. - -“Please--please, Wanza--don’t,” I begged. - -“I’ve been praying,” she stammered. - -“That is well, dear girl.” - -“Praying that Joey will live.” - -“It seems a small thing for God to grant--in his omnipotence. It is -everything in the world to me,” I murmured brokenly. “Why, girl, if my -boy lives I shall be the happiest man on God’s footstool! I shall be -immeasurably content. I shall ask nothing beside--nothing!” - -She stirred. “Nothing, Mr. Dale--nothing?” - -“Nothing.” - -“Oh, Mr. Dale, you think so now--but you’ll be wanting _her_ to come -back--you can’t help wanting that!” - -“I am very sure I shall never ask for that, Wanza. Joey brought me a -letter. She is not coming back this year.” - -“Not coming back?” - -“She may never come again to Hidden Lake, Wanza. We may never see her -again.” - -“But I don’t understand, David Dale!--oh, I thought some day you would -marry--you and she.” - -Her voice was uneven and very low. - -“Child,” I said gravely, “it is not to be. She cares for me only as a -friend. And I--” - -“You love her--you know you do!” - -She spoke passionately. - -“Wanza,” I said thoughtfully, “it has been a long winter, hasn’t it?” - -“Pretty long,” she answered, surprised. - -“You have learned much this winter.” - -“Yes, Mr. Dale.” - -“And I have learned, too--without knowing it. I have learned very -gradually that I do not love Judith Batterly--so gradually, indeed, -that I did not realize until to-day the extent of my knowledge. She -told me in her letter it was so--then I knew.” - -She sat very still, her head thrown back, her eyes on the sky. The -stirring leaves made shadows on her gown, the moonlight flicked -through the vines above her, and her hair glittered like gilt. Her eyes -were big and shining, and something on her cheek was shining, too. - -“Praying--still, Wanza?” I whispered, after a time. - -She put out her hand. - -“Please, Wanza, say a prayer for me.” - -“I am praying that what you told me is true.” - -“It is true. Pray that I be forgiven for being a stupid, clumsy fellow, -unable to appreciate your true worth--” I stopped. I was being carried -on and I knew not where I desired to pause. I checked myself, and bit -my lip. - -“I could not offer such a prayer,” I heard her say. “I am not worth -anything to anybody, Mr. Dale, except to Father. I am going to try, -though, to make myself all over--knowing you want me to improve, and -to show you I take your kindness to heart. I think I am improving a -little, don’t you? I don’t talk so loud, and I dress quieter--more -quietly--and I speak better. Can’t you see an improvement, Mr. Dale?” - -“Someway, Wanza,” I replied, speaking musingly, “I like you as you -are--as you have always been. It is only for your own sake that I care -to have you improve.” And as I said the words I realized that this -thought had been in the back of my mind for some time, and that Wanza’s -piquant utterances and lapses in English had never jarred on me--that -it was strictly true that it was only for Wanza’s own sake I would have -her changed. - -“You like me as I am?” - -The voice was incredulous. - -“As well as I shall when you have finished your education, child.” - -“As well?” - -“Yes.” - -“You won’t like me better then?” - -“No, no better, Wanza.” - -She rose and stood before me. The light from the open door of the -cedar room was on her face, and I saw hopelessness in her eyes, and a -tremulousness about her lovely child-mouth. - -“You will never like me very, very much, then, I guess,” she said in a -low tone. - -She did not give me a chance to respond to this, but turned and went -away through the cedars, and I sat still, saying over to myself: “Very, -very much.” - -And as I said the words I thrilled; my blood seemed to surge into my -eyes and blind me. Something had me by the throat. It was a strange -moment. In that moment I had a glimpse of the truth--a white light -illumined my seeking, groping senses. Then it was gone. I was in -darkness again. But in that brief lightning space I had stood on the -brink of a revelation. In the weeks and months past, through the -blinding--the fervid--gleam of my feeling for Haidee I had seen Wanza -but obscurely--Wanza--tried day after day by homeliest duties, and not -found wanting; I had seen that she had her own bookless lore as she had -her own indisputable charm; I had known that at times she swayed me; -but I had never come so near to knowing my heart as in that evanescent, -stabbing, revealing, moment. - -As I sat there I felt a sudden sense of rest, almost of emancipation. -I was weary of cob-webbed dreams, sick of straining after the -unattainable. My thoughts reverted to life as it had been in the old -days before the coming of the wonder woman, to the days when Joey and -Wanza and I had managed to go through the tedium of our hours placidly -enough. I longed to take up the old, sane routine. I was impatient with -suffering that chafed and gnawed the heart-strings. - -I said to myself that all that was left of my former feeling for -Haidee was admiration, reverence for her goodness, and a wonder--she -was a dream woman--she would remain a dream woman always--an elusive, -charming personality, something too fine for the common round of -daylight duties. I thought of the poet’s lines: - - “I love thee to the level of every day’s most quiet need, by sun and - candle light.” - -Had I thought of Haidee so? - -When I turned back to the cedar room, Mrs. Olds met me at the door with -a whispered, “Joey is lucid--he is asking for you.” I crossed swiftly -to the bed, knelt down and took my lad’s hand. He smiled at me in his -old way, but his eyes went past me to Mrs. Olds. His voice was distinct -as he ordered, “Go, get Wanza, Mrs. Olds, please.” - -I heard Wanza’s step at that moment. She came softly forward and -crouched beside me. “I am here, Joey,” she said in her rich young voice. - -“That’s all right then! Wanza; if I don’t get well you got to marry Mr. -David.” - -The troubled face bending down over the gray one on the pillow, flamed. -“Joey--dear!” - -“Yes, Wanza,” pleadingly, “cause who’ll take care of him?” - -I cleared my throat. “Come, lad, you will be well in a few days--up and -around in the woods, feeding the squirrels.” - -“Yes--but if I ain’t!” Tender, wistful, questioning, his loyal brown -eyes sought Wanza’s. “You got to, Wanza. Say yes.” - -The girl’s voice whimpered and broke. “I can’t!” - -“Why, yes you can! They’s no one can cook like you, Wanza. Mr. David -can’t live here alone when he’s old--he can’t live here alone no -more--say you’ll come and take care of him. Why, you like the birds and -the squirrels--you know you do, Wanza--and you like Mr. David, too. -Will you, Wanza?” The soft wheedling accents wrung my heart. - -At the girl’s head-shake he whispered to me, “You ask her, Mr. David.” - -My hand groped for hers, closed over it, gripped it hard. - -“If I ask her now--if she says yes, lad--it will be for your sake--all -for your sake, Joey.” - -The big eyes were understanding. “Go on, ask her.” - -“Will you, Wanza?” - -She was weeping. - -“Because Joey asks it--because it will ease his mind,” I heard her -choked voice stammer, “only because of that, Mr. Dale--only for Joey’s -sake as you say--I promise if--if you need me--” she came to a dead -stop. - -“To marry me, Wanza.” - -“For Joey’s sake, Mr. Dale.” - -“There, Joey!” I shook up his pillow and laid him gently back. “It is -all settled, lad. Go to sleep now.” - -“Kiss me, once, Mr. David.” - -I kissed him. - -“Kiss Wanza, now.” - -Weariness was heavy in his eyes, his voice was quavering and weak; -and forgetting all else but his gratification, forgetting Mrs. Olds, -propriety, the consequences of so rash an act, I took Wanza in my arms -and kissed her lips, then stumbled blindly from the room. - - - - -CHAPTER XXVII - -MY WONDER WOMAN - - -WHEN I saw Master Joey smiling at me wanly from his pillow the next -morning, his fever gone, his eyes without the abnormal brightness -of the previous two days, and heard his modest request for cornmeal -flapjacks to be stirred up forthwith in the old yellow pitcher, my -heart leaped into my throat for joy. I was so riotously happy that I -went outside to the Dingle, and almost burst my throat with whistling -a welcome to a lazuli-bunting, newly arrived from his winter sojourn -in the south land. He was so azure-blue on his head and back, so tawny -breasted, so clear a white on his underparts that he seemed like some -wondrous jewel dropped from Paradise into the syringa thicket. - -I had answered his “here, here--” until I was sure he understood -the cordiality of my welcome, when I heard a fluttering among the -serviceberry bushes and turned to see a sage thrasher fly out and soar -aloft to a hemlock tree. I whistled. He answered with a beautiful song, -and went on to imitate other birds’ songs, ending by emitting a sound -that was strangely like the wail of a naughty youngster. I laughed -outright, and it seemed to me he was attempting to imitate my laughter -as I walked away. The birds were coming back in earnest. How glorious -the early summer was! Was there ever such a rose-gold morning? I was -overflowing with happiness. But when on my way to the spring I hailed -Wanza, who was dipping water out of the big barrel by the kitchen door, -and received a delicately frigid “good morning,” something rather -strange came over me, my glowing heart congealed, and I went out to the -yew grove, and sat down soberly on the railing of the small bridge that -spanned the narrow mountain stream. - -I had no quarrel with Wanza for her averted face. But I had a feeling -that the blunder-god had unwarrantably interfered again, and a wish to -lift my affairs up off the knees of the gods once and for all and swing -them myself. I felt big enough to swing them, this morning. Only--I -did not exactly understand the state of my own mind, and this was some -slight detriment to clean swinging. - -For one thing--after I had touched Wanza’s unwilling lips last night at -Joey’s bidding, I had sat on the edge of my bunk in the darkness unable -to forget the feeling of those warm lips against my own--feeling myself -revitalized--made new. What had happened to me when I held the girl in -my arms for that brief space? What was the answer? - -I sat in deep thought, starting when a water ouzel swooped suddenly -down past my face, and plunged into the water at my very feet. I -watched it emerge, perch on a boulder further down stream, and spread -its slaty wings to dry. The day was languorous, and very sweet. One -of those perfect days that come early in June when the woods are -flower-filled, and the trees full-leaved. The air was tangy with -smells, the honeysuckle and balm o’ Gilead dripped perfume, the clover -was bursting with sweetness, and the wild roses were faintly odorous; -all the “buds and bells” of June were dewy and clean-scented. The -nutty flavor of yarrow was in the air--Achillea millefolium--the -plant which Achilles is said to have used in an ointment to heal his -myrmidons wounded in the siege of Troy. I marked this last flavor -well, separating it from the others. “Poor yarrow,” I said to myself, -“content with spurious corners and waste portions of the earth, what a -splendid lesson of perseverance you teach.” I thought of myself and of -my struggle of the last eight years, and compared myself with the weed. -I had not been content with the neglected corners of the earth; but I -had honestly tried to make the best of the corners; I had attempted to -improve them, and in so doing improve myself. - -From that I came to Joey and the two women who had helped to make the -waste places bloom; and like Byron I had a sigh for Joey and Wanza -who loved me; and I had a tender smile for my dream woman--Haidee. -She had come when, steeped in idealism, I was all prepared for the -advent of the radiant creature who was to work a metamorphosis in my -life. She had come, and I had hailed her Wonder Woman. It had been a -psychological moment, and she had appeared. And I had loved her--let -me not cheat myself into any contrary belief--surely I had loved -her--surely; let me admit that. But no--I need not admit even that, -since it was not the truth--since she knew it was not the truth. I had -loved an ideal; not Judith Batterly, indeed, but a vague dream woman. - -“There is no wonder woman,” I said to myself, thoughtfully. - -Restless with my cogitations, I rose, left the bridge, and went through -the yews to the workshop. - -When in sight of the bed of clove pinks I pulled myself up smartly; -Wanza knelt there. I was not too far away to see the glitter of tears -on her cheeks; but in spite of the tears, she was smiling; her face -was downbent, rose-flushed, to the new buds, her hands were clasped on -her breast, she seemed lost in ecstatic revery, and on her head rested -delicately a nuthatch. - -“What a wonderful way Wanza has with the birds,” I said to myself. I -turned this over in my mind. “I’ve long marked it,” I added. Presently -still watching her, I decided, “She is a rather wonderful child.” - -I continued to watch her. - -She began to croon a soft little song; she unclasped her hands and held -them out before her. A second nuthatch left the branch of a pine tree -nearby and descended to settle on her left hand. She gave an indistinct -gurgle of joy, and put her right hand over it. - -“Why, she’s a wonder,” I said to myself, “a wonder--girl!” I -hesitated, and then exultantly I murmured: “A wonder woman!” and turned -and beat a hasty retreat to the cabin. - -Arrived there I sat down rather breathlessly on the steps. I saw light -at last! - -It was under the stars that night that I told Wanza of my discovery. -Joey was sleeping peacefully indoors, watched over by Mrs. Olds, the -doctor had just left, after assuring me that my lad would soon be -convalescent, and Wanza and I walked on the river bank. - -“Wanza,” I said, “is that a russet-backed thrush singing?” - -“I think so, Mr. Dale.” - -“His notes are wonderfully liquid and round, aren’t they?” I gave a -sigh of pure happiness. “I feel like a ‘strong bird on pinions free,’ -myself to-night. I feel emancipated--as though life were beginning all -over for me. I am in love with life, Wanza. I want to awake to-morrow -and begin life all over.” - -“Do you, Mr. Dale?” - -“Isn’t the world beautiful washed in this moonlight! The sky seems so -near--like a purple silk curtain strung with jewels. But it is quite -dark here beneath the pines, isn’t it, Wanza? I have to guess at the -flowers under our feet. There is white hawthorn nearby, I swear, and -the yellow violets are in the grass, and the wild forget-me-not, and I -smell the wild roses--” - -“How you go on, Mr. Dale!” - -“Wanza,” I said, “look up at the stars through the pine branches.” - -“I like to watch them in the river.” - -“Yes, but look up, Wanza.” - -She looked as I bade her. - -“The moonlight in your eyes is wonderful, child.” - -“Please don’t, Mr. Dale.” - -“Keep looking at the stars, Wanza--your face is like an angel’s seen -thus. Your hair is like silver starshine, your lips are flowers--you -are very wonderful--my breath fails me, Wanza. You are very -wonderful--a wonder woman--and I love you. Will you marry me?” - -“Joey isn’t going to die, Mr. Dale.” - -“I know it.” - -She spoke with a sobbing breath: “Then why do you say this?” - -“Because I love you with my whole soul.” - -“Oh!” - -“Turn your eyes to me, dear. Don’t look at the stars any more. Do you -love me?” - -“Yes.” - -“Then at last I shall be blessed--I shall have a wander-bride--a wonder -woman--some one who understands me, and whom I understand, to share -with me the coming in of day, the mystery of the night and stars, the -saneness of the moon--I shall have--Wanza! Do you remember, child: - - “‘Down the world with Marna! - That’s the life for me! - Wandering with the wandering wind, - Vagabond and unconfined!’ - -“Do you remember the song I sang to you in the woods one night? There -is another verse--listen! - - “‘Marna of the far quest - After the divine! - Striving ever for some goal - Past the blunder-god’s control! - Dreaming of potential years - When no day shall dawn in fears! - That’s the Marna of my soul, - Wander-bride of mine!’” - -The beautiful face was on my breast, the cornflower blue eyes were -raised to mine, the maize-colored hair was like a curtain about us, -shutting out the moonlight, the night, the world. I drew her closer, -closer still, silently, breathlessly, until I heard her give a shaken -cry: - -“It’s in your eyes--I can read it! You do love me, you do, you do! -David Dale! David Dale!” - - * * * * * - -After an interval, I said: - -“I am writing another book, Wanza. I am sure it will sell. We will go -away from here, child--we can live where we choose--we will go south to -my old home. There is some property there that is mine. You will love -the old home, and the river with its red clay banks--my childhood’s -home. We will travel, too. Life seems very full, Wanza.” - -“But we’ll always come back to Cedar Dale, won’t we, David Dale? We’ll -come back to Dad--dear Dad--he’ll always be waiting. And the birds and -the flowers--and the squirrels and woodsy things will be waiting. And -Joey will want to come.” - - -THE END - - - - -TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES: - - - Italicized text is surrounded by underscores: _italics_. - - Obvious typographical errors have been corrected. - - Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized. - - Archaic or variant spelling has been retained. - -*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WONDER WOMAN *** - -Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions will -be renamed. - -Creating the works from print editions not protected by U.S. copyright -law means that no one owns a United States copyright in these works, -so the Foundation (and you!) can copy and distribute it in the -United States without permission and without paying copyright -royalties. Special rules, set forth in the General Terms of Use part -of this license, apply to copying and distributing Project -Gutenberg-tm electronic works to protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm -concept and trademark. 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