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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 <a href="https://www.gutenberg.org">www.gutenberg.org</a>. 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. -</div> - -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:1em; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Title: The wonder woman</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Author: Mae Van Norman Long</p> -<p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em'>Illustrator: J. Massey Clement</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Release Date: June 25, 2022 [eBook #68407]</p> -<p style='display:block; text-indent:0; margin:1em 0'>Language: English</p> - <p style='display:block; margin-top:1em; margin-bottom:0; margin-left:2em; text-indent:-2em; text-align:left'>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)</p> -<div style='margin-top:2em; margin-bottom:4em'>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WONDER WOMAN ***</div> - -<div class="figcenter hide"><img src="images/coversmall.jpg" width="450" alt="" /></div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_0"></span></p> -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_frontispiece.jpg" alt="" /></div> -<p class="caption">THE HEART OF THE WOODS</p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="titlepage"> -<h1><i>The</i> WONDER<br /> -WOMAN</h1> - -<p><i>By</i> <span class="smcap">Mae Van Norman Long</span></p> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_title.jpg" alt="" /></div> - -<p><i>Illustrated by</i><br /> -J. MASSEY CLEMENT</p> - -<p><span class="large">THE PENN PUBLISHING<br /> -COMPANY PHILADELPHIA<br /> -1917</span></p> -</div> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="center">COPYRIGHT<br /> -1917 BY<br /> -THE PENN<br /> -PUBLISHING<br /> -COMPANY</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_publogo.jpg" alt="" /></div> - -<p class="center">The Wonder Woman</p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> -<div class="chapter"> -<p class="center">TO<br /> -LAWSON</p> -</div> - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak">CONTENTS</h2> -</div> - -<table> - -<tr><td class="tdr"><small>CHAPTER</small></td><td class="tdr" colspan="2"><small>PAGE</small></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">I</td><td> <span class="smcap">Two Women</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_9"> 9</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">II</td><td> <span class="smcap">Haidee</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_28"> 28</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">III</td><td> <span class="smcap">I Fell Some Trees</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_37"> 37</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">IV</td><td> <span class="smcap">Wanza</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_46"> 46</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">V</td><td> <span class="smcap">The Lead</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_52"> 52</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">VI</td><td> <span class="smcap">Captain Grif</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_65"> 65</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">VII</td><td> <span class="smcap">Wanza Bakes a Cake</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_80"> 80</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">VIII</td><td> <span class="smcap">Gipsying</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_95"> 95</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">IX</td><td> <span class="smcap">The Big Man</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_114"> 114</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">X</td><td> <span class="smcap">Jingles Brings a Message</span> </td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_122"> 122</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">XI</td><td> <span class="smcap">The Kickshaw</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_132"> 132</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">XII</td><td> <span class="smcap">In Shop and Dingle</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_147"> 147</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">XIII</td><td> <span class="smcap">Deficiencies</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_160"> 160</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">XIV</td><td> <span class="smcap">Jack of All Trades</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_166"> 166</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">XV</td><td> <span class="smcap">I Begin to Wonder About Wanza</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_178"> 178</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">XVI</td><td> <span class="smcap">We Have an Adventure</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_190"> 190</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">XVII</td><td> <span class="smcap">The Dream in the Dingle</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_214"> 214</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">XVIII</td><td> “<span class="smcap">Thank You, Mr. Fixing Man</span>”</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_237"> 237</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">XIX</td><td> <span class="smcap">Bereft</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_255"> 255</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">XX</td><td> “<span class="smcap">Perhaps I Shall Go Away</span>”</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_265"> 265</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">XXI</td><td> <span class="smcap">Fate’s Final Javelin</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_274"> 274</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">XXII</td><td> <span class="smcap">Renunciation</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_294"> 294</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">XXIII</td><td> <span class="smcap">When Christmas Came</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_310"> 310</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">XXIV</td><td> “<span class="smcap">The Flower Will Bloom Another Year</span>”     </td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_319"> 319</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">XXV</td><td> <span class="smcap">My Surprise</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_330"> 330</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">XXVI</td><td> <span class="smcap">The Old Swimming Hole</span> </td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_344"> 344</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td class="tdr">XXVII</td><td> <span class="smcap">My Wonder Woman</span></td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_363"> 363</a></td></tr> -</table> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<h2 class="nobreak">ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> -</div> - -<table> - -<tr><td class="tdr" colspan="2"><small>PAGE</small></td></tr> - -<tr><td>The heart of the woods</td><td class="tdr"><a href="#Page_0"> <i>Frontispiece</i></a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>“I was only taking a short cut”</td><td class="tdr"> <i>Opposite</i> <a href="#Page_22"> 22</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>The gypsy tossed back her cape    </td><td class="tdr"> “     <a href="#Page_100"> 100</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>A sudden yearning sprang up </td><td class="tdr"> “     <a href="#Page_193"> 193</a></td></tr> - -<tr><td>“I’m grateful and pleased” </td><td class="tdr"> “     <a href="#Page_328"> 328</a></td></tr> -</table> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_9">[9]</span> - -<p class="ph2">THE WONDER WOMAN</p> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER I<br /> - - -<small>TWO WOMEN</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap">“DO you see her now, Mr. David?”</p> - -<p>I nodded, pointing into the coals. -“I see a lion, and an old witch, and -a monkey. I don’t see any woman.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“And is she prettier’n Wanza, Mr. David?”</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_10">[10]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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!”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_11">[11]</span> -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!</p> - -<p>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!”</p> - -<p>And so Joey became my boy.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_12">[12]</span>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.</p> - -<p>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!”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“This place is for sale, I understand?”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_13">[13]</span> -was so overcome with awe and confusion, that I -stammered forth:</p> - -<p>“Why, no—that is, I think not! I shall sell -some time, I dare say.”</p> - -<p>Her face showed a flash of amusement and -then grew thoughtful.</p> - -<p>“It is a desirable place,” she murmured, half to -herself.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_14">[14]</span> -and slid her hand, in its riding glove, caressingly -along the smooth surface of the cedar chest -between us.</p> - -<p>“What beautiful wood,” she said softly. -“You are a carpenter—a craftsman,” she -amended. “How wonderful to work with wood -like this.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“Who told you, lad?” I queried, being used to -Joey’s terse and unexpected utterances.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_15">[15]</span> -him, and presently, my wonder woman -was tricked into speech.</p> - -<p>“Well?” she murmured, her lips relaxing.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“I’ll put the potatoes on, Mr. David,” he -vouchsafed, and vanished.</p> - -<p>The beautiful face was questioning when I -turned back. “Mr. David,” she repeated. “He -is not your boy then?”</p> - -<p>I hesitated. “No,” I said slowly. Somehow, -I was in no mood to tell her Joey’s story at that -moment.</p> - -<p>“Joey has the manners of a young Indian,” I -apologized. “I hope he did not annoy you.”</p> - -<p>“Children never annoy me,” she replied.</p> - -<p>A tiny dimple played at one corner of her<span class="pagenum" id="Page_16">[16]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>A light broke in on me.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>I saw her eyes brighten.</p> - -<p>“There is a place I can buy, then? What is it -like—this Hidden Lake?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t want to raise anything.”</p> - -<p>I fancied her lip curled.</p> - -<p>“No—no—why, I dare say not! How stupid -of me,” I murmured.</p> - -<p>She flirted her whip impatiently.</p> - -<p>“Is there a road I can take?”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_17">[17]</span>“I will show you,” I replied, and she walked -out of the shop as if anxious to be off.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_18">[18]</span> -Follow the trail, and it will take you to Hidden -Lake.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_19">[19]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_20">[20]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>Joey came and hovered near my elbow.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>Joey looked aghast. His jaw dropped, and -his eyes grew black with disappointment.</p> - -<p>“And I’ve sweetened the apple sauce with -white sugar, and gone and wasted all that butter -in those biscuits!”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_21">[21]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“I wanted her—oh, I wanted her to stay!” he -blubbered.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Wait, wait, Wanza,” I cried.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_22">[22]</span>“Were you coming to the cabin, Wanza?” I -asked, as I reached the cart.</p> - -<p>“Whoa, Rosebud! No, I wasn’t to-night, Mr. -Dale—I was only taking a short cut through -your field.”</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_022.jpg" alt="" /></div> -<p class="caption">“I WAS ONLY TAKING A SHORT CUT”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Wanza,” I cried eagerly, “come in to supper -with Joey and me.”</p> - -<p>I looked up at her pleadingly. Her charming<span class="pagenum" id="Page_23">[23]</span> -elf-face continued to smile down at me. She -shook her head slowly.</p> - -<p>“Please,” I begged.</p> - -<p>Gradually the smile left her face, a shrewd -look replaced it.</p> - -<p>“I can make you a cake,” she began hesitatingly, -“if you’ve got any brown sugar in the -cabin.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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—”</p> - -<p>“Only—Wanza?”</p> - -<p>“Only it’s great to be invited, with all the supper -ready before hand and waiting—it sure is!”</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_24">[24]</span> -she began making a funny little noise in her -throat:</p> - -<p>“Crr—crr—whrr—tr—tr—tr—”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“The chat has a variety of songs, Wanza,” I -ventured. “He is laughing at you. Unless<span class="pagenum" id="Page_25">[25]</span> -you can caw like a crow, and mew like a cat, and -bark like a dog you can’t attract him.”</p> - -<p>“I like him because he is so bouncing and -jolly,” the girl answered. “I like bouncing, -jolly people, Mr. Dale.”</p> - -<p>We walked on to the cabin. When we entered -the kitchen and Joey saw us, he gave a -shout of joy.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“What woman did Joey mean by ‘the other -woman,’ Mr. Dale?”</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_26">[26]</span>Wanza looked at me intently; an interesting -gleam came into her big eyes.</p> - -<p>“What sort of a looking person was she, Mr. -Dale?”</p> - -<p>I reached out, helped myself to a biscuit, -spread it with butter, and answered with assumed -nonchalance:</p> - -<p>“Oh—so so! She went on to Hidden Lake, -following my directions.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Why, Mr. David,” he burst forth, “I been -thinking sure she was our wonder—”</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>When we went back to our seats I was careful -to steer the conversation into safer channels.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_27">[27]</span>That night at bed-time, Joey confidentially -said to me:</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>It took me many months to answer that question -satisfactorily to myself.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_28">[28]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER II<br /> - - -<small>HAIDEE</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap">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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_29">[29]</span> -through the smoke that arose from the griddle -I was greasing with bacon rind.</p> - -<p>Joey, giving the cake batter in the yellow -pitcher furtive sly dabs with the iron spoon when -he thought me unaware, looked grave.</p> - -<p>“It don’t sound nice. It sounds like that -name you say sometimes—”</p> - -<p>“Ssh!”</p> - -<p>“When you’re mad,” finished Joey adroitly.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“It’s bad for her, ain’t it, having a name like -that?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“We’ll see her again, Mr. David, if she buys -Russell’s old ranch.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_30">[30]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“I like cold cakes,” he was saying manfully, -when I awoke to the situation.</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>“At flapjacks!” Joey cried incredulously, -making a dash for the yellow pitcher.</p> - -<p>We were half through breakfast before he -spoke again, and then he ventured tentatively: -“Suppose she’ll come to-day?”</p> - -<p>“Who, Joey?”</p> - -<p>“Her—the—woman. The one that made me -swear when I saw her in the workshop.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, I’d forgotten your behaviour in the shop, -Joey! It was reprehensible—it was rude—”</p> - -<p>Joey nodded. “I forgot I was a human -bein’.”</p> - -<p>He put his elbows on the table, sunk his chin<span class="pagenum" id="Page_31">[31]</span> -in his hands, and regarded me. I raised my -coffee-cup hurriedly, drained the contents, and -coughed spasmodically, Joey’s eyes widening -in concern.</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_32">[32]</span> -it in. This fact comforted me, when I fell to -musing on his meagre estate.</p> - -<p>“It’s a fine day, Lundquist,” I continued.</p> - -<p>He came closer, halted, and peered up at me.</p> - -<p>“Ya, it ban.”</p> - -<p>“Been to town?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>He pointed with his pipe-stem over his -shoulder.</p> - -<p>“A light? Do you mean you saw a light from -your cabin?”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_33">[33]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>It was on the most cleverly hidden of these<span class="pagenum" id="Page_34">[34]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_35">[35]</span>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_36">[36]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_37">[37]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER III<br /> - - -<small>I FELL SOME TREES</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap2">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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>I evaded Joey, slipped around to the tool-shed,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_38">[38]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“I have come to cut down every tree that endangers -the cabin,” I announced grimly.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“I came as soon as I could,” I continued, -brooding above the wonderful bent head with its -heavy ringlets of hair.</p> - -<p>A sound unintelligible answered me. I sat -there awkwardly, scarcely knowing what was expected -of me. Presently she moved, looked up<span class="pagenum" id="Page_39">[39]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“Were you alone through all that brute of a -storm?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>I got off my horse, and she took the bridle -from my hand.</p> - -<p>“I shall have to get a woman to stay with me,” -she said slowly.</p> - -<p>“An elderly woman?”</p> - -<p>“No! No! A young woman—a strapping -country girl with boisterous spirits,” she protested, -an odd husky catch in her voice.</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>“And who is Wanza Lyttle?”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_40">[40]</span> -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—”</p> - -<p>“You’re not telling me much about Wanza, -after all,” Haidee interrupted, opening her velvet -eyes wide, and favoring me with an odd glance.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“It’s on all her dresses, I suppose?”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“My name is Judith Batterly,” she said quietly, -seeing my hesitation—“Mrs. Batterly. I am a -widow.”</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_41">[41]</span> -turquoise cloud. A fragrant steam arose from -the damp earth.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“I want that fir left,” she explained.</p> - -<p>“Your cabin is in jeopardy while it stands,” -I assured her.</p> - -<p>“Oh, I’ll take the risk,” she said carelessly.</p> - -<p>“It is foolish to take a risk,” I countered.</p> - -<p>She smiled. “Are all woodsmen as cautious as -you?”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_42">[42]</span>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.</p> - -<p>“It is sometimes fortunate for the new-comer -that we woodsmen are before-handed,” I said -pointedly.</p> - -<p>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?”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“When you want that tree felled, send for old -Lundquist back on Nigger Head. He’s the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_43">[43]</span> -man you want,” I growled, jerking my thumb -over my shoulder.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Joey surprised me one day with the information -that he had been to Hidden Lake.</p> - -<p>“I took Jingles—the collie. Jingles carried -the basket,” he added.</p> - -<p>“What basket?” I asked sharply, looking up -from the flute I was making for Joey out of a -bit of elder.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_44">[44]</span>“The basket with the strawberries.”</p> - -<p>I knew of course they were berries from my -vines, that were unusually flourishing for that -season of the year, but I continued:</p> - -<p>“What strawberries, Joey?”</p> - -<p>Joey’s honest eyes never wavered. He smiled -at me, pursed his lips, and attempted a whistle.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“What strawberries, Joey?” I repeated perseveringly.</p> - -<p>“Our strawberries—mine and yours. I put -green salmon berry leaves in the basket. Jingles -carried it so careful! Never spilled a berry.”</p> - -<p>I stroked the shaggy head at my knee. “He’s -a good old fuss pup. Aren’t you, Jingles?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Do they, Joey?”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_45">[45]</span>“What did you tell her, boy?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_46">[46]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER IV<br /> - - -<small>WANZA</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap">“WANZA,” I asked, “how would you -like to earn some money?”</p> - -<p>Wanza’s big child eyes looked -at me from beneath the curls that tumbled distractingly -about her fair face.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Dale,” she said solemnly, “I earn six -dollars a week with my cart.”</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_47">[47]</span> -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?”</p> - -<p>“Mr. Dale,” Wanza returned, solemnly as before, -“it can’t be done.”</p> - -<p>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?”</p> - -<p>“Wanza,” I asked, “did you know Russell’s -old ranch on Hidden Lake had been sold?”</p> - -<p>She shook her head.</p> - -<p>“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—”</p> - -<p>Wanza spoke abruptly. “No! Oh, no! No, -indeed!” she declared.</p> - -<p>I was puzzled. “Why,” I said, “I thought -the plan a capital one.”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_48">[48]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>“Wanza,” I began tactfully, “how old do you -think the lady is?”</p> - -<p>Wanza’s lips drew down, and she shook her -head.</p> - -<p>“She is not old,” I ventured.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>Wanza looked suddenly suspicious. “Is she -the lady as came to your workshop, Mr. Dale?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, Wanza.”</p> - -<p>“How old would you say she was?”</p> - -<p>“Not over twenty-six.”</p> - -<p>“Twenty-six.” A suspicious glint darkened -Wanza’s blue eyes. “Pretty?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>The eyes glowered.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_49">[49]</span>“Thirty a month would be a help, now, Wanza, -wouldn’t it?” I wheedled.</p> - -<p>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?”</p> - -<p>“I said thirty a month,” I repeated firmly.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Thirty a month added to twenty-four—Mm! -I could go to school next year, Mr. Dale.”</p> - -<p>“You could.”</p> - -<p>“I could learn how to talk.”</p> - -<p>“How to talk correctly,” I amended.</p> - -<p>“That’s what I meant. Well, it all depends.”</p> - -<p>“On what, Wanza?”</p> - -<p>“On her. If she’s a certain kind, I can’t go—if -she isn’t, I can.”</p> - -<p>“It sounds simple,” I decided.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“There’s a lot of those Dotted Blue butterflies -hovering about, Mr. Dale—the gay little busy -things—they look like flowers with wings.”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_50">[50]</span>I unclosed my eyes and looked at the azure -cloud before us.</p> - -<p>“Those are the Acmon, girl. See the orange-red -band on the hind wings. Look closely. -The Dotted Blue have a dusky purplish -band.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“And they open with the dawn. Daisies are -not very common in the west. I must have a -look at your snow field.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Wanza kicked another pine cone into the river.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_51">[51]</span>“Plenty of soap and a thorough rinsing,” I -continued musingly.</p> - -<p>“Let it alone,” Wanza commanded crossly, -her light brows coming together over stormy -eyes.</p> - -<p>“I can’t,” I said teasingly. “My fingers are -rough, and it clings.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“I was only teasing, silly,” I was beginning.</p> - -<p>Wanza’s head came up with an abrupt jerk, -and—she bit me—a nasty, sharp little nip on my -ingratiating finger.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_52">[52]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER V<br /> - - -<small>THE LEAD</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap">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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_53">[53]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>I swept my canoe close to hers. “Did you call -me?” I asked, with marked respect.</p> - -<p>She frowned still more deeply.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>She smiled ever so slightly and the heaviness -left her face.</p> - -<p>“How is business?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“I’ve sold one whisk broom, five spools of -darning cotton, a pair of cotton socks, and three<span class="pagenum" id="Page_54">[54]</span> -strings of blue glass beads, to-day,” she said -succinctly.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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!”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_55">[55]</span> -glanced apprehensively over her shoulder at the -tree shadows, “she said she saw blood on my -hands.”</p> - -<p>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!”</p> - -<p>I dipped my paddle into the water and swung -my canoe about.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>I rested on my paddle. “Oh, no,” I said, -airily, “I have not forgotten!”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>There was a brief silence. I felt her searching -eyes on my face.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_56">[56]</span>“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—”</p> - -<p>Wanza interrupted me with an impish laugh.</p> - -<p>“It sounds like that nursery rhyme you say to -Joey.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>Her eyes grew grave. She favored me with -a ruminative glance. Presently she said:</p> - -<p>“Well, go ahead—find the tricksy aperture! -I’m waiting.”</p> - -<p>I propelled my canoe forward. “I shall find -the open sesame,” I boasted.</p> - -<p>The gravity left her eyes; they grew starry -with mirth. She repeated gaily:</p> - -<p>“Go ahead!”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_57">[57]</span> -her glance and swept my canoe along close to -hers, letting the willows swing into place behind -us.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Shall I knock?” she whispered.</p> - -<p>I nodded.</p> - -<p>But her knock elicited no response.</p> - -<p>“I reckon she’s gone off into the woods sketching.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_58">[58]</span> -Old Lundquist says she sketches a lot, and -rides, and shoots at marks.”</p> - -<p>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?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>We sat very still, listening. “Pewee, Pewee,” -the bird gave its sad, plaintive cry, repeatedly.</p> - -<p>Presently I said: “So even as unconventional -a place as Roselake village makes you -restless, does it, Wanza?”</p> - -<p>“I should say so. It’s the people—and—and -church!”</p> - -<p>“Church!”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_59">[59]</span>She met my eyes somberly. “Going to church -almost kills me. It does, honest. Hats do, -too.”</p> - -<p>“Hats!”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>I laughed outright. Her eyes continued to -meet mine broodingly.</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>“The woods were God’s first temples,” I said -gently.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Nature is sanative,” I agreed.</p> - -<p>Her eyes fired. “I love every tree and every<span class="pagenum" id="Page_60">[60]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>“Heaven’s terrible bonfires, and the delicate -rainbow belt—the purple of the new day,” I -murmured dreamily.</p> - -<p>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?”</p> - -<p>“Rather long,” I answered drearily.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_61">[61]</span> -grown-up thoughts—and worries, times, when -I’m all alone.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>She looked at me, frowned, bit her lip and -then said dryly: “Do they know more about it -than we do?”</p> - -<p>“I think so, child.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, all right—I don’t care! So long as I -know I’ve got a soul it’s enough for me.”</p> - -<p>“There are people—do you know it, little -girl?—who doubt the existence of the soul.”</p> - -<p>“What?”</p> - -<p>Wanza turned on me so quickly that she almost -lost her balance on the piazza railing. I -repeated my remark.</p> - -<p>“They don’t believe—they don’t belie—why, -David Dale, how dare you sit there and tell me -such stuff as that!”</p> - -<p>“I am speaking the truth, girl.”</p> - -<p>“Did you ever know any one who thought that -way? Tell me that?”</p> - -<p>“Yes—one or two.”</p> - -<p>“Where?”</p> - -<p>“At college.”</p> - -<p>“At college!” Wanza gave a quick twitter of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_62">[62]</span> -mirth. “Well, if they was such fools as that, -why did they waste their time trying to learn -anything.”</p> - -<p>I shook my head. “I cannot answer that, -Wanza.”</p> - -<p>“Why! Couldn’t they smell the flowers, and -see the birds—and hear ’em, and look up at the -stars at night?”</p> - -<p>I shook my head again. “One would think so, -child.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps they never looked down at the -flowers, or up at the birds, or higher up at the -stars.”</p> - -<p>“Perhaps not.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>Still maintaining her position she whispered -presently:</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_63">[63]</span>“Even with my eyes shut—not being able to -see anything—I can <i>feel</i> God!”</p> - -<p>And this was Wanza—simple, ignorant -Wanza! whom I aspired to teach.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p class="center">“Wait for me at heaven’s gate—Sweet Bell Mahone.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_64">[64]</span> -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!”</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_65">[65]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER VI<br /> - - -<small>CAPTAIN GRIF</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap">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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_66">[66]</span> -good ship <i>Wanderer</i> bound for the North Seas.</p> - -<p>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 <i>Wanderer</i>, in the small cubby hole -he called his cabin.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_67">[67]</span> -“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 -<i>The Wanderer</i>. 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.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_68">[68]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“By golly, ship-mate, I thought you’d passed -me up for good and all.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“My lunch,” he explained. “That is to say—our -lunch, boy.”</p> - -<p>“But you thought I had passed you by. The -extra glass is not for the likes of me. Come now—whom -do I rob?”</p> - -<p>“It’s Father O’Shan from the Mission.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_69">[69]</span> -Here’s to him! He’s an hour late, and the man -who is an hour late had better not come at all.”</p> - -<p>“Not if he comes for cakes and ale,” I assented, -biting into a cheese cake with relish.</p> - -<p>“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’.”</p> - -<p>“But that doesn’t apply in this case,” I reminded -him, calmly helping myself to another of -Wanza’s delicious cheese cakes.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_70">[70]</span> -Father’s heart’s that s-soft he’d s-strip the coat -from his back to give it to a beggar.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” I said, “I well know that. Wanza has -told me as much.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“And we know that is considerable,” I said.</p> - -<p>“She’s quite some cook, I make no doubt. -There ain’t much Wanza don’t know about a -house.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“Well, the days are lonesome like. But she’s -hardly ever gone more’n a night or two at a time—the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_71">[71]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_72">[72]</span>Captain Lyttle seemed to be reading my -thoughts, for he said facetiously:</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_73">[73]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_74">[74]</span>“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?”</p> - -<p>“No,” I answered.</p> - -<p>“Nowhere?”</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>“Ever eat after a better cook?”</p> - -<p>“Certainly I never have.”</p> - -<p>“Ever expect to?”</p> - -<p>“No.”</p> - -<p>He gave his booming laugh, and led the way -to the porch.</p> - -<p>“Right-o, ship-mate! Have another glass -now, and we’ll drink to the gal’s health, and finish -the cheese cakes.”</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“Good afternoon, Father O’Shan, I want to -confess.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_75">[75]</span> -he laughed, a musical, clear-timbred peal, good to -hear.</p> - -<p>“I have eaten your cheese cakes,” I vouchsafed.</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>I felt my shoulder pressed. “No, David Dale. -Not you! Will you walk with me a way?” he -asked abruptly.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_76">[76]</span>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>I grinned sheepishly as I spoke, but my companion -answered earnestly:</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>I shook my head, and we walked on in silence -for awhile.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_77">[77]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>He held out his hand, mine went out to meet -it and we struck palms warmly. I said then:</p> - -<p>“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—”</p> - -<p>He caught his lip between his teeth; his eyes -flashed at me; he appraised me.</p> - -<p>“What sort of book?”</p> - -<p>“A novel. A story with a strong nature<span class="pagenum" id="Page_78">[78]</span> -atmosphere. Someway I feel it will be a success.”</p> - -<p>“Good! Success to you. Success to you—and -Wanza.”</p> - -<p>“Wanza!” I cried, starting uncontrollably. -“What has she to do with it? Wanza—that -child?” I finished smilingly.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“But I do not understand,” I parried.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_79">[79]</span> -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.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_80">[80]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER VII<br /> - - -<small>WANZA BAKES A CAKE</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap">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.</p> - -<p>In my confusion I stammered and was unable -to make a coherent reply, and after a quick -glance at my face, she exclaimed:</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_81">[81]</span>“Never mind! I have seen her for myself.”</p> - -<p>“You have seen her?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Well,” I cried, disregarding the seeming -irrelevance, “is she coming to stay with you? -That’s the main thing.”</p> - -<p>“She’s asked for a week or so in which to consider. -But—yes, I think she’s coming to stay -with me.”</p> - -<p>I breathed a sigh of relief. “Then that’s -settled.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_82">[82]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>“Lundquist?” I asked, quickly.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_83">[83]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>It seemed a strange confession. All at once -a question leaped to my lips, and I spoke hurriedly:</p> - -<p>“I wish you would tell me something of yourself—where -your home is—your real home!”</p> - -<p>“My real home?”</p> - -<p>“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.’”</p> - -<p>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?”</p> - -<p>“I can see that, of course,” I answered.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_84">[84]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_85">[85]</span>“Put on another plate, lad. Wanza is coming.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>He was off like a flash through the kitchen to -the spring as Wanza entered by the front door.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_86">[86]</span> -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:</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>She met my glance dourly. Her brows came -together and she ignored my outstretched hand.</p> - -<p>“Mr. David Dale,” she said with great dignity, -“perhaps I am wrong, but it’s my opinion you’ve -forgotten what day it is.”</p> - -<p>I smiled into the sullen face. “Oh, no,” I said -airily, “I have not forgotten! To-day is wash -day—therefore Monday.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, and whose birthday is it, Mr. Dale?”</p> - -<p>I stared at her.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_87">[87]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_88">[88]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>Joey responded chivalrously:</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_89">[89]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>I heard the sound of a kiss, and Wanza saying -in a choked voice:</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>I swung open the door, and dropping my load -of wood to the floor, cried cheerily:</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_90">[90]</span>“A dollar,” shrieked Joey with bulging eyes.</p> - -<p>“It’s yours,” I said.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“It’s going to be a perfectly grand cake,” she -breathed.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>She dashed the drop away. Her cornflower -blue eyes blazed suddenly into mine.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_91">[91]</span>“Now,” I said, challenging her, “I defy you to -say why I forgot the lad’s birthday.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Lundquist is a meddlesome, prying old idiot,” -I cried angrily.</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_92">[92]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“Why,” I replied, “I think it would be kind, -Wanza.”</p> - -<p>She bit her lip, shot a keen glance at me, and -said shortly:</p> - -<p>“Then I’ll go, as soon as I have done my own -house cleaning.”</p> - -<p>“You’re a good girl, Wanza,” I said again.</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_93">[93]</span> -hour. To lighten it in some measure I ventured -a proposal.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>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—”</p> - -<p>I broke off, catching sight of Joey’s rapt face. -It was radiant and eager and wistful all at once.</p> - -<p>“Mr. David,” he said, pushing back his plate, -“let’s go!”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_94">[94]</span>“If you don’t go after saying what you’ve just -said—” Wanza shook her head at me, and left -her sentence unfinished.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_95">[95]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER VIII<br /> - - -<small>GIPSYING</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap">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.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_96">[96]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Shall we camp here, Joey,” I asked, marking -the satisfaction on his face.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_97">[97]</span> -home-made assortment and went to the near-by -stream.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Don’t they like bird houses?” asked the small -boy.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“What can you do with those two things, Mr. -David, dear?”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“I see—it’s going to be a story!”</p> - -<p>I shook my head. “It’s warm for stories. -Try to rest, Joey.”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_98">[98]</span>He lay back obediently, and a hand stole out -and stroked my hand.</p> - -<p>“But, what, Mr. David—what can you do with -courage and patience?”</p> - -<p>The question came again, and found me still -unprepared.</p> - -<p>“What would you say, Joey?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>I gripped the small hand hard.</p> - -<p>“What about courage, Joey?”</p> - -<p>“Pooh! that’s for fighting lions and—and -coyotes. Every big man can kill lions. I’d -liever fix boys’ toys.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_99">[99]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_100">[100]</span>“Let the gipsy cook your bacon,” she said in -an odd throaty voice to Joey.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_100.jpg" alt="" /></div> -<p class="caption">THE GYPSY TOSSED BACK HER CAPE</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_101">[101]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“The poor gipsy girl can tell your fortune.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t believe you’re a Romany,” I said -sharply, “you’re much too good looking, and too -clean.”</p> - -<p>She drew back, resentment in her bearing, and -I made haste to placate her by saying:</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>She frowned, and I asked, trying to speak -pleasantly, “Where is your encampment?”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_102">[102]</span>She pointed towards the West. “There! -Way off,” she grunted.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Joey yawned finally, his head fell over heavily -against my arm, and I said, “Bed-time, Joey!”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” I replied.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_103">[103]</span>“Wanza Lyttle,” I said sternly, “uncover your -face and look at me.”</p> - -<p>She kicked out ruthlessly with both copper-toed -shoes, wriggled angrily beneath her cape, -and then lay quiet.</p> - -<p>“Do you think, Wanza, you should have followed -us in this shameless fashion,—and in this -disguise?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t see why I shouldn’t, if I wanted to,” -a surly voice replied from the folds of the cape.</p> - -<p>“You are always doing inconceivable, silly -things,” I went on. “How did you get here?”</p> - -<p>“I followed you on horseback. Rosebud is -tethered a ways back in the woods.”</p> - -<p>“What will your father say to this? What -will the entire village say when the busybodies -learn of it?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“I wish you cared more for public opinion, -Wanza.”</p> - -<p>“Public fiddlesticks,” Wanza growled, crossly.</p> - -<p>Suddenly she laughed with childlike naïveté, -her eyes grew bright with roguery.</p> - -<p>“You did not know me just at first, now did -you? The black wig, and staining my face and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_104">[104]</span> -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?”</p> - -<p>What could I say?</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Joey stood beside me when I awakened. He -had a scarlet ribbon in his hand.</p> - -<p>“The gipsy’s gone, Mr. David,” he said. “I -found this hanging on an elder bush.”</p> - -<p>I breathed a sigh of thankfulness.</p> - -<p>“So she’s gone,” I murmured, not venturing to -meet his eyes.</p> - -<p>“She was a beautiful gipsy,” he continued regretfully. -“Do you know, Mr. David, I think -she was almost—not quite—but almost as pretty<span class="pagenum" id="Page_105">[105]</span> -as Wanza. I guess there never was any one -prettier than Wanza, ’cept—” he hesitated.</p> - -<p>“Yes, Joey? Except?”</p> - -<p>“Is the wonder woman prettier?” He put the -question wistfully.</p> - -<p>“Perhaps not—I do not know, Joey.” Could -I say in truth she was? remembering the face I -had seen in the firelight.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>I went to meet her. Her manner was bashful, -and her eyes were imploring. And after I had -greeted her she was tongue-tied.</p> - -<p>“Now that you are here, come to the fire,” I -said.</p> - -<p>She shrank from me like a tristful child.</p> - -<p>“Come,” I said. “And tell me why you have -come back.”</p> - -<p>“I haven’t come back—exactly. I have been -in the woods all day near here.”</p> - -<p>“Why have you done this?”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_106">[106]</span>“I don’t know.”</p> - -<p>She hung her head and looked up from under -her curtain of hair.</p> - -<p>I threw a fresh log on the fire and she seated -herself. I stood looking down at her half in -anger, half in dismay.</p> - -<p>“Are you hungry? Have you eaten to-day?” -I asked.</p> - -<p>“I have all the food I need in the saddle bags.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_107">[107]</span> -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?”</p> - -<p>Her words aroused me somewhat rudely from -a reverie into which I had drifted, so that I -answered abstractedly: “Perhaps not, girl.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Well, I’d just like to try it for awhile!”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_108">[108]</span>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.</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="first">“Down the world with Marna!</div> -<div class="verse">That’s the life for me!</div> -<div class="verse">Wandering with the wandering wind</div> -<div class="verse">Vagabond and unconfined!</div> -<div class="verse">Roving with the roving rain</div> -<div class="verse">Its unboundaried domain!</div> -<div class="verse">Kith and kin of wander-kind</div> -<div class="verse">Children of the sea!</div> -<div class="verse">Petrels of the sea-drift!</div> -<div class="verse">Swallows of the lea!</div> -<div class="verse">Arabs of the whole wide girth</div> -<div class="verse">Of the wind-encircled earth!</div> -<div class="verse">In all climes we pitch our tents,</div> -<div class="verse">Cronies of the elements</div> -<div class="verse">With the secret lords of birth</div> -<div class="verse">Intimate and free.”</div> -</div></div> - -<p>“Go on,” Wanza breathed tensely, as I paused.</p> - -<p>“Have you never heard it?”</p> - -<p>“Never!”</p> - -<p>I sang lightly:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_109">[109]</span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="first">“Marna with the trees’ life</div> -<div class="verse">In her veins astir!</div> -<div class="verse">Marna of the aspen heart</div> -<div class="verse">Where the sudden quivers start!</div> -<div class="verse">Quick-responsive, subtle, wild!</div> -<div class="verse">Artless as an artless child,</div> -<div class="verse">Spite of all her reach of art!</div> -<div class="verse">Oh, to roam with her!”</div> -</div></div> - -<p>“Is there more?” Wanza queried as I again -paused.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“No, no! I want to hear it all. Oh, go on, -Mr. Dale, please!”</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="first">“Marna with the wind’s will,</div> -<div class="verse">Daughter of the sea!</div> -<div class="verse">Marna of the quick disdain,</div> -<div class="verse">Starting at the dream of stain!</div> -<div class="verse">At a smile with love aglow,</div> -<div class="verse">At a frown a statued woe,</div> -<div class="verse">Standing pinnacled in pain</div> -<div class="verse">Till a kiss sets free!”</div> -</div></div> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_110">[110]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“I can’t sing any more to-night, girl.”</p> - -<p>“Don’t sing—say the words.”</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="first">“Marna with the wind’s will,</div> -<div class="verse">Daughter of the sea!</div><span class="pagenum" id="Page_111">[111]</span> -<div class="verse">Marna of the quick disdain,</div> -<div class="verse">Starting at the dream of stain!</div> -<div class="verse">At a smile with love aglow,</div> -<div class="verse">At a frown a statued woe,</div> -<div class="verse">Standing pinnacled in pain</div> -<div class="verse">Till a kiss sets free!”</div> -</div></div> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>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?”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_112">[112]</span> -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:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="first">“Standing pinnacled in pain</div> -<div class="verse">Till a kiss sets free!”</div> -</div></div> - -<p>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—</p> - -<p>Ah, her soul!</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_113">[113]</span> -if we was gipsies,” I replied: “Perhaps so, -Wanza. But we are not gipsies. So let us not -even play at gipsying.”</p> - -<p>I went to the wagon for the baskets.</p> - -<p>The next morning the gipsy was gone, and -that was the last I saw of her.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_114">[114]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER IX<br /> - - -<small>THE BIG MAN</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap">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.</p> - -<p>“Oh,” he said carelessly, “she plays it on her -guitar.”</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>That night he came home radiant.</p> - -<p>“She doesn’t say ‘Come again’ to be polite,”<span class="pagenum" id="Page_115">[115]</span> -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.’”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_116">[116]</span>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.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“Pardon my intrusion, my man. Your light -attracted me. It’s blacker than Egypt outside, -and I’ve lost my way in the storm.”</p> - -<p>He rolled back the collar of his slicker coat and -shook the raindrops from the brim of his hat.</p> - -<p>“Take off your coat,” I said hospitably, “and -come up to the fire.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_117">[117]</span> -in the chimney-corner, took down a bottle -and a small glass and placed them on the table.</p> - -<p>“Have a drink,” I said, “it will save you from -a bad cold on a night like this.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“No,” I replied.</p> - -<p>“Take something lighter—‘Abbe Constantine,’ -‘Hyperion,’ ‘The Snow Man.’”</p> - -<p>His voice was thick; and as he stood resting -his hand on a chair back, he lurched slightly.</p> - -<p>“Sit down,” I said.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Now that’s kind—very kind,” he said -throatily. “I could not think—” He reeled<span class="pagenum" id="Page_118">[118]</span> -back against the chair and put his hand to his -head suddenly.</p> - -<p>I signaled to Joey, who left the room, and I -went to the man and eased him into the depth of -the chair.</p> - -<p>“Rest here awhile and have something hot to -eat,” I suggested.</p> - -<p>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!”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_119">[119]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_120">[120]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>In the middle of the night I awakened. Joey -was sitting up in bed.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_121">[121]</span>“A star’s out, Mr. David. I’m making a -wish,” he whispered.</p> - -<p>“Well, well,” I yawned drowsily, “lie down—you’ll -take cold.”</p> - -<p>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.”</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_122">[122]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER X<br /> - - -<small>JINGLES BRINGS A MESSAGE</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap">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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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 <i>hors de combat</i>. -Terrible pain here.” He touched his chest.</p> - -<p>“I’ll get a doctor at once,” I said.</p> - -<p>He thanked me, gave me a keen look, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_123">[123]</span> -asked wheezingly: “Not married? No wife -about?”</p> - -<p>I shook my head. “Unfortunately, no.”</p> - -<p>He winked at me a second time. “<i>Lascia la -moglie e tienti donzello</i>,” he cackled.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Take Buttons and ride to Roselake as fast as -you can,” I bade him. “Where’s the collie? He -may go along.”</p> - -<p>Joey, basking in the sun on the back steps, laid -aside his flute. His lips drew down, and his eyes -bulged widely.</p> - -<p>“The big man’s going to stay, then, Mr. -David?”</p> - -<p>“Run along,” I said sharply.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_124">[124]</span> -silken ribbon threaded through his collar. Well, -I knew that bit of adornment—that azure fillet -that Haidee had worn in her hair.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_125">[125]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_126">[126]</span>Joey was kneeling among the willows with his -arms clasping Jingles as I beached my canoe near -the workshop.</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>“No, no, lad,” I said hastily, “she has only -fainted.”</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>So Joey had a name for my wonder woman, -too. I could not but feel that his name was the -sweeter of the two.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_127">[127]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“Oh, Lord, keep my dear one! Deliver us -from murder and from sudden death—Good -Lord, deliver us!”</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>In the workshop Joey and I considered the -situation in all its phases, and Joey sagely counseled: -“Send for Wanza.”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_128">[128]</span>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.</p> - -<p>In my note I said:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p><i>Dear Wanza</i>:</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p class="right"><span class="indentright">Your old friend,</span><br /> - -<span class="smcap">David Dale</span>.</p> -</div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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. “<i>La<span class="pagenum" id="Page_129">[129]</span> -beauté sans vertu est une fleur sans parfum</i>,” he -said indistinctly.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>The stage stopped at Cedar Dale late that -afternoon, and set down the trained nurse. And -our curious ménage was complete.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>All through supper she discoursed of microbes -and the dangerous minerals in spring water. -She read us a lesson on cleanliness, repudiated the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_130">[130]</span> -soda in the biscuits, and looked askance at the -liberal amount of cream I took in my coffee.</p> - -<p>“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:</p> - -<p>“Why, Mr. David, do people have livers same -as chickens?”</p> - -<p>Mrs. Olds sniffed, Wanza looked out of the -window and bit her lips, and I shook my head -at Joey.</p> - -<p>“My dear Mrs. Olds,” I said cheerfully, “there -is nothing the matter with my liver, I assure you.”</p> - -<p>She looked me over critically, inquired my age, -and when I told her thirty-two, remarked darkly -that I was young yet.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_131">[131]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_132">[132]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XI<br /> - - -<small>THE KICKSHAW</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap">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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_133">[133]</span> -left her bed she would require the support of -crutches for a week or two.</p> - -<p>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?”</p> - -<p>Joey was passing through the kitchen when I -received this message. I called to him: “What -are you doing in the Dingle, Joey?”</p> - -<p>“Pooh,” he said, puffing out his cheeks, “I’m -not doing anything!”</p> - -<p>“Nothing at all, Joey?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>I received messages too, from the sick man, -but disjointed, vague outbursts that showed his -mind was still wandering in the realms of fantasy.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_134">[134]</span>“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. <i>Noblesse oblige</i>—and -all that sort of thing, you know.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>A few days after this I received an unexpected<span class="pagenum" id="Page_135">[135]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“The wood paths are overrun with kinnikinic, -lupine, and Oregon grape just now,” I wrote,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_136">[136]</span> -“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.”</p> - -<p>The answer came back in a few days:</p> - -<p>“Don’t be ashamed! Tell me of her, please.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_137">[137]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>I was unused to this attitude in Joey, and one -day I asked, “Don’t you like it, lad?”</p> - -<p>A spray of the graceful spirea lay on my work -bench. He picked it up, caressed it gently, and -laid it aside.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Mr. David,” he said, “I do think spirea, -the pink kind, is the cunningest bush that grows!”</p> - -<p>“I had reference to the box, Joey.”</p> - -<p>His eyes met mine honestly. A flush crept up -to his brow through the tan.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_138">[138]</span> -boatman poled her across that black river. I do -think you’re most too good to me.”</p> - -<p>I knew then that my boy liked the box beyond -cavil.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“I think we ought to do something for Wanza. -She’s doing a lot for us, isn’t she, Mr. David?”</p> - -<p>I glanced up. Joey was sitting cross-legged -on my work bench, engaged in putting burrs together -in the shape of a basket.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” I replied, “Wanza is very kind.”</p> - -<p>“Then if you don’t mind, Mr. David—really -truly don’t mind—I’d like to give the kickshaw -box to her.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_139">[139]</span>“What a formidable list of good deeds. The -box is Wanza’s,” I declared, facing around. -“We will present it to her this evening.”</p> - -<p>“Do you ’spose she has any kickshaws to put -in it, Mr. David?”</p> - -<p>“Why—I don’t know, lad, I don’t know,” I -replied musingly. “It seems to me very -probable.”</p> - -<p>“Do girls have kickshaws, Mr. David?”</p> - -<p>“Almost every one has some sort of keepsake, -Joey lad.”</p> - -<p>He surveyed his burr basket with disfavor, tore -it apart and began hurriedly to build it over.</p> - -<p>“Say the kickshaw verse for me, Mr. David, -please, and after that the ‘Nine Little Goblins,’ -and after that a little bit of ‘Tentoleena.’”</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_140">[140]</span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="first">“Oh, the tiny little kickshaw that Mither sent tae me,</div> -<div class="verse">’Tis sweeter than the sugar-plum that reepens on the tree,</div> -<div class="verse">Wi’ denty flavorin’s o’ spice an’ musky rosemarie,</div> -<div class="verse">The tiny little kickshaw that Mither sent tae me.</div> -</div> -<div class="stanza"> -<div class="verse">Oh I love the tiny kickshaw, and I smack my lips wi’ glee,</div> -<div class="verse">Aye mickle do I love the taste o’ sic a luxourie,</div> -<div class="verse">But maist I love the lovin’ hands that could the giftie gie</div> -<div class="verse">O’ the tiny little kickshaw that Mither sent tae me.”</div> -</div></div></div> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“Almost always, I think, Joey.”</p> - -<p>I smiled at him, and he smiled back bravely.</p> - -<p>“I’m your boy—almost really and truly your -boy—ain’t I, Mr. David?”</p> - -<p>I nodded.</p> - -<p>“Pooh,” he said with a swagger, “I’d liever be -your boy than—than anything! You give me<span class="pagenum" id="Page_141">[141]</span> -kickshaws and make me magpie cages, and—and -flutes and bow-guns, and you builded me a -bed—”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Now then,” I said, speaking somewhat -huskily, “I shall give you ‘Nine Little Goblins.’” -Clearing my throat I began:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="first">“They all climbed up on a high board fence,</div> -<div class="verse">Nine little goblins with green-glass eyes—</div> -<div class="verse">Nine little goblins who had no sense</div> -<div class="verse">And couldn’t tell coppers from cold mince pies.”</div> -</div></div> - -<p>I finished the poem and went on to “Tentoleena,” saying:</p> - -<p>“I think Mr. Riley has intended this a bit more -for girls than for boys, however, we love its tinkle, -don’t we, Joey?”</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="first">“Up in Tentoleena Land—</div> -<div class="indent2">Tentoleena! Tentoleena!</div> -<div class="verse">All the dollies, hand in hand,</div> -<div class="indent2">Mina, Nainie, and Serena,</div> -<div class="verse">Dance the Fairy fancy dances,</div> -<div class="verse">With glad songs and starry glances.”</div> -</div></div> - -<p>“If I was a girl—and had a doll—I’d never let<span class="pagenum" id="Page_142">[142]</span> -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:</p> - -<p>“What name would you choose, boy—Wanza -or—”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“There are the dishes to be washed, and Mrs. -Batterly’s tea to be carried to her, and the milk -pans to scald, and—”</p> - -<p>“Wanza,” Joey cried, “you must come! It’s -a surprise.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_143">[143]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_144">[144]</span> -scolding at us for daring to approach -so close to its habitat.</p> - -<p>And we stood there in the musical, colorful -twilight, my thoughts flew to Haidee, and I asked -Wanza how she was faring.</p> - -<p>“Well enough,” she retorted, with a swift back -flinging of her blonde head.</p> - -<p>“Well enough means very well, does it, -Wanza?”</p> - -<p>“If you can’t make me out, Mr. Dale, I guess -I better quit talking. Seems like you never used -to have no trouble.”</p> - -<p>“I believe I am growing obtuse,” I replied -lightly. And led the way across the bridge to the -shop without further ado.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>Ah, the light in the brilliant deep blue eyes -raised to mine! the smile on the tender lips, the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_145">[145]</span> -sobbing breath with which she spoke. I was -stirred and vaguely abashed.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_146">[146]</span> -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.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_147">[147]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XII<br /> - - -<small>IN SHOP AND DINGLE</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap">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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_148">[148]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>It was the expression of her face that captivated -me,—smiling, rapt, almost prayerful, as if<span class="pagenum" id="Page_149">[149]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>The bird fluttered away as I gazed, Wanza -stooped, gathering the flowers, and I went out -to her.</p> - -<p>She flirted the pinks beneath her chin as she -looked up at me.</p> - -<p>“I’ve been up since five,” she laughed. Even -her laugh was subdued.</p> - -<p>“And what have you been doing since five?” -I asked idly.</p> - -<p>She opened a box that lay on the grass at her -side.</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_150">[150]</span>“They are for you. I heard you wishing for -swamp laurel.”</p> - -<p>“You are very, very kind, Wanza,” I replied.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“You are a good girl, Wanza Lyttle.”</p> - -<p>My tongue was ineffectual to say what I would -have said, and so I said nothing. The white of<span class="pagenum" id="Page_151">[151]</span> -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?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>We passed on to the workshop, and presently -Joey joined us there.</p> - -<p>“It seems to me, Mr. David,” he said as he -entered, “that to-day is yesterday.”</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_152">[152]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“Go slowly,” I advised. “What did you say, -Joey? Get a good breath and tell Wanza and -me.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>Joey put his head on one side and looked up -at me inquiringly out of his bright shrewd eyes.</p> - -<p>“Not much time, I’m afraid, Joey,” I responded, -knowing that he expected a reply.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_153">[153]</span>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“You are quite recovered?” I asked, stepping -forward.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_154">[154]</span>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.”</p> - -<p>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?”</p> - -<p>“Why,” I said, “I have even ventured to call -you so in mentioning you to Joey.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Haidee looked at me and smiled. “It is very -restful here. How is your other patient progressing?”</p> - -<p>“Very well, I believe.”</p> - -<p>“This is a splendid sanatorium. I had some -wonderful dreams in that cedar room.”</p> - -<p>“I should like to hear about them. I am<span class="pagenum" id="Page_155">[155]</span> -curious to know what dreams the room induced,” -I answered, with rather too much impressment, -I’m afraid.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“The dreams were very good dreams—restful -dreams.”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” I said gently.</p> - -<p>“They were dreams of homey things—simple, -plain things—and yet there was a zest in them—a -repose—a complete forgetfulness.”</p> - -<p>“Forgetfulness?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_156">[156]</span>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Tell me something more of yourself,” I -blurted out abruptly.</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_157">[157]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>“I am what I am,” I answered quickly.</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>I answered pointedly: “In the words of -Olivia, ‘you might do much.’”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>I had never tried, until that moment, to analyze<span class="pagenum" id="Page_158">[158]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_159">[159]</span> -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.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_160">[160]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XIII<br /> - - -<small>DEFICIENCIES</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap2">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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_161">[161]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>I have said, “If I can but avoid comparing my<span class="pagenum" id="Page_162">[162]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_163">[163]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Do you think now that you saw him, Joey?” -I questioned, half smiling.</p> - -<p>“Well,” he replied slowly, as if pondering the -matter, “I was sure then, Mr. David.”</p> - -<p>“Where did you see the—er—person whom -you believed to be God?” I asked.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_164">[164]</span>“In the village.”</p> - -<p>“Did he speak to you, Joey?”</p> - -<p>Joey looked at me slyly.</p> - -<p>“Oh, Mr. David,” he whispered deprecatingly, -“do you ’spose I’d ’spect him to—when I’m a -worm?”</p> - -<p>I went on with the lesson, vaguely wondering -what sort of mind the lady who taught Joey at -Sunday School was possessed of.</p> - -<p>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?”</p> - -<p>“Deficiencies let flies in, and permit mice to -molest the flour barrel,—deficiencies make chimneys -smoke, and floors creak.”</p> - -<p>“Hm! Are de—deficiencies holes, Mr. -David?”</p> - -<p>“In a sense, lad.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>That very day I went about setting what traps -I had to catch the rodents that were destroying<span class="pagenum" id="Page_165">[165]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“The whole thing with her, I do think,” Wanza -said, one day, “is drawing her pay.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_166">[166]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XIV<br /> - - -<small>JACK OF ALL TRADES</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap">IN due time I received another communication -from my unknown friend. Very brief -it was. It said:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“I appreciate your confidence. I am glad to know -of Haidee. But I want still more to know of yourself. -Can you trust me?”</p> -</div> - -<p>I did not answer this at once, revolving it in -my mind. A few days later I wrote in this wise:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“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?”</p> -</div> - -<p>Conversations with Haidee were still infrequent. -Wanza ordinarily shared them, and Joey -was nearly always present.</p> - -<p>We were seated in a group about the pool in<span class="pagenum" id="Page_167">[167]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“What a magnificent orchestra,” Haidee cried. -“The birds are holding high carnival.”</p> - -<p>The pearl-like, throbbing symphony grew -sweeter and sweeter. We sat spellbound drinking -in the enchantment with hungry ears. Suddenly -I cried:</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_168">[168]</span>“Look! There is a lazuli-bunting.”</p> - -<p>I pointed to the feathered blue beauty that was -winging its way to a nearby maple.</p> - -<p>“Lazuli-bunting?” Haidee echoed. “What a -cosy name. I suppose the baby birds are called -baby buntings, Joey.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“No one ever told me about baby buntings,” -Joey declared at last.</p> - -<p>“What a shame! Mr. Dale, do you know you -have neglected Joey’s education?”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_169">[169]</span> -board. “Wanza, why so pensive? Where -are your smiles?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“But why should you want to rush around and -bite the furniture?” I asked in bewilderment.</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>I saw Mrs. Olds smiling palely at me from the -door of the sick room. She tiptoed forward.</p> - -<p>“Hush,” she whispered. “My patient is -asleep. He is quite rational, Mr. Dale. In a -few days he will be able to sit up.”</p> - -<p>With Mrs. Olds’ permission I went in and -stood at the bedside and looked down at the sleeping<span class="pagenum" id="Page_170">[170]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“Shut the door, Mr. Dale, please, you’re cooling -off the oven, and I’m baking this morning.”</p> - -<p>“Does a whiff of air like that cool your oven?” -I asked curiously.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>She stared at me.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_171">[171]</span>“Is there any reason why you would not like -one?” I queried.</p> - -<p>“Glory! I’d like one right enough.”</p> - -<p>“Come to the workshop after dinner,” I rejoined, -“and we will discuss it.”</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“You’re a fixing man, all right! You sure -are.”</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_172">[172]</span> -grand! You’re kind as kind can be. Oh, Mr. -David Dale, you sure are a good, good fellow!”</p> - -<p>“All of this because I am going to try to turn -out some sort of fireless cooker,” I remonstrated.</p> - -<p>“You’re always trying to do something—for -somebody—trying to help along—that’s it. It -ain’t so much just this.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>Accordingly we rode away over the ploughed -field together at about five o’clock, Mrs. Olds<span class="pagenum" id="Page_173">[173]</span> -watching us dourly from the kitchen doorway, -and Joey yelling after us: “I’ll see to Bell -Brandon while you’re away.”</p> - -<p>Captain Grif’s was the warmest of welcomes.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>He beamed at his daughter. It was good to -see his pride and delight in her.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_174">[174]</span>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.</p> - -<p>To-night he was hugely interested in dissecting -the big man’s character from bits concerning him -Wanza and I had dropped.</p> - -<p>“I don’t take no stock in him, boy—I’ve told<span class="pagenum" id="Page_175">[175]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>At this juncture Wanza yawned, tossed her -arms abroad, and said sleepily:</p> - -<p>“He’s a gentleman, Dad.”</p> - -<p>Old Grif chuckled.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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:</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_176">[176]</span>“Now, Dale, here—<i>he’s</i> a gentleman. You bet -he is. He ain’t got no initial embroidered on <i>his</i> -shirts—ain’t got mor’n two, likely. He ain’t got -no runnin’ water in <i>his</i> house—but he douses himself -in the river every day; and he shaves himself. -It’s some work for <i>him</i> 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:</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“You’ll march right back home here if I hear -of your tryin’ it, gal, mark me, now!”</p> - -<p>“But, Dad, you’re not fair! Why, he may be -the best man living. You haven’t ever laid your -eyes on him.”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_177">[177]</span> -that minute I said to myself, ‘He ain’t no -good’; and you mark my words, he ain’t.”</p> - -<p>Going home, Wanza said to me:</p> - -<p>“Poor Dad, he’s terribly suspicious, ain’t he, -Mr. Dale?”</p> - -<p>“A little, Wanza, perhaps.”</p> - -<p>“You’re suspicious, too, David Dale. You -don’t think the big man is a gentleman.”</p> - -<p>I considered.</p> - -<p>“I think he would be called a gentleman, -Wanza.”</p> - -<p>She tossed her head.</p> - -<p>“I do think he’s the handsomest man—and the -smartest man, seems! And I like embroidered -underclothes. So there!”</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_178">[178]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XV<br /> - - -<small>I BEGIN TO WONDER ABOUT WANZA</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap">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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_179">[179]</span> -rodent and snapping his teeth together on its -neck. I came to have small appetite for breakfast.</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>“Are our housekeeping pitiful?” he invariably -asked me later.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_180">[180]</span>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.</p> - -<p>“Mrs. Olds says birds don’t like bird houses,” -he hazarded.</p> - -<p>“Indeed?” I murmured.</p> - -<p>“Do they, Mr. David?”</p> - -<p>“I think so, lad.”</p> - -<p>“She says she guesses p’haps martins do, mor’n -other birds. Why do martins like bird houses -’specially, Mr. David?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t like to have to coax them,” Joey decided. -“You’re awful good to things, Mr. David—sometimes<span class="pagenum" id="Page_181">[181]</span> -when you coax me, I know I’d ought -to get whipped instead.”</p> - -<p>It was the purple gloaming of an unusually -sultry day; and as Joey finished, I looked at my -watch.</p> - -<p>“Bed-time, boy,” I announced.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_182">[182]</span>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>There was a wistful young note in her voice.</p> - -<p>“Nothing easier,” I assured her. “You seem -quite at home on your crutches. I think we can -manage.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_183">[183]</span> -and a couple of hands from the village had -begun repairs at Hidden Lake.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“My people are Southerners,” I answered, -scarcely thinking of my words.</p> - -<p>“How interesting. Did you live in the -South?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Oh! Shall you return some day?”</p> - -<p>I shrank from her open look. I answered, -“No,” quietly.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_184">[184]</span> -cool nights for sleep, clear bracing days for -work—”</p> - -<p>“And what for relaxation?”</p> - -<p>“What do you think?”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“The bird that says: ‘Sweet, sweet, please -hark to me, won’t you?’”</p> - -<p>She laughed. “Something equally plaintive, -at any rate.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_185">[185]</span> -chanson. “The meadow lark,” I said, “which is -not a lark at all, but belongs to the oriole family. -It is an incessant singer.”</p> - -<p>“Joey said you whistled like the birds. Why, -you’re a wonder! A craftsman—a fixing man—and—a -bird boy.”</p> - -<p>“A bird in the heart is worth more than a hundred -in the note book,” I quoted.</p> - -<p>The evening ended all too soon.</p> - -<p>Two days later Joey brought me the information -that Haidee was walking about in the -Dingle with the aid of a single crutch.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Give Bell Brandon my congratulations,” I -bade Joey as I rode away.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_186">[186]</span>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.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“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’?”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_187">[187]</span>“Would you like to hear me recite my little -piece about the yellow-throat?”</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="first">“While May bedecks the naked trees</div> -<div class="verse">With tassels and embroideries,</div> -<div class="verse">And many blue-eyed violets beam</div> -<div class="verse">Along the edges of the stream,</div> -<div class="verse">I hear a voice that seems to say,</div> -<div class="verse">Now near at hand, now far away,</div> -<div class="verse">‘Witchery—witchery—witchery.’”</div> -</div></div> - -<p>Her glance came back to me.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“I had no idea you were coming; it is a stare of -surprise.”</p> - -<p>“But you’re glad to see me, now, aren’t you? -I’ll paddle you home. How’s the cabin getting -on?”</p> - -<p>“It is scarcely habitable yet. But I think the -men are getting on as well as could be expected.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“You <i>are</i> surprised to see me, you sure are! -But now that I am here I want to see the improvements.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_188">[188]</span> -Give me your hand, David Dale.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>The canoe rocked, suddenly. She stumbled. -I caught her. She was against my breast. -“You see you needed that much help,” I laughed -boyishly.</p> - -<p>“Let me go, Mr. David Dale.”</p> - -<p>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!”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_189">[189]</span> -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.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_190">[190]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XVI<br /> - - -<small>WE HAVE AN ADVENTURE</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap2">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.</p> - -<p>“Of course,” she was fond of repeating, “if I -was carrying a gun I would shoot him.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_191">[191]</span>“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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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 <i>nothin’</i> 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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_192">[192]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“I like to shoot things,” she explained, with a -deprecatory glance.</p> - -<p>Captain Grif chuckled.</p> - -<p>“Wanza do be the beatenest gal with a gun, if -I do say it,” he remarked.</p> - -<p>The glance he leveled at his daughter was -pleased and proud; and there was a depth of -affection in it that was touching.</p> - -<p>“Well,” Wanza repeated lightly, “I sure do -like to shoot things.”</p> - -<p>“Things!—squirrels, rabbits, birds—what?” I -winked at Captain Grif.</p> - -<p>“You know me better than that!” she stormed.</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_193">[193]</span>“What then?”</p> - -<p>“Well—the bear, if I meet him alone.”</p> - -<p>“With a twenty-two!”</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_192.jpg" alt="" /></div> -<p class="caption">A SUDDEN YEARNING SPRANG UP</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_194">[194]</span> -my wonder and worship of Haidee the pathos of -Wanza’s simple, ignorant life stirred me—yes, -and hurt me!</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“I thought you’d feel the weight of that by -noon.”</p> - -<p>Haidee murmured: “You poor thing! Why -did you insist on bringing it?”</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_195">[195]</span>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.</p> - -<p>An hour passed. When Haidee ceased reading -Wanza sighed and said:</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>The captain opened one eye, and half closing -his big hand made an ineffectual attempt to scoop -a fly into his palm.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_196">[196]</span> -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, <i>flies</i> is bad -enough, but <i>ants</i>!—”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_197">[197]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“Good work, Captain Grif.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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:</p> - -<p>“Let’s go home, Mr. David.”</p> - -<p>When I was preparing Joey for bed that night, -he piped out suddenly: “I saw Wanza shoot the -bear.”</p> - -<p>“Wanza?” I turned on him.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_198">[198]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>That same evening I said to Wanza:</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>“I think you are doing very well as you are, -Wanza,” I replied.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_199">[199]</span> -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 -<i>don’t</i> 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?”</p> - -<p>“Spiraea tomentosa. Wait a bit, Wanza,” I -said, “I’ll go with you.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_200">[200]</span> -chat with him unless Mrs. Olds is present.”</p> - -<p>“Dear me! How can a little friendly chat -hurt any one.”</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>“Ha, ha,” laughed Wanza, crinkling her eyelids -and giving me an elfish glance from beneath -tawny lashes.</p> - -<p>“In a measure,” I continued, “you are in my -care, and I feel responsible for your associates -while you are with me.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_201">[201]</span> -is, and she must grow tired of having her meals -in her room,” I complained.</p> - -<p>“I carried her breakfast to her this morning in -the Dingle.” There was something defiant in -the girl’s tone.</p> - -<p>“Famous!” I cried.</p> - -<p>After a short silence Wanza said provokingly:</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Please, Wanza,” I insisted, “talk with him as -little as possible.”</p> - -<p>Her eyes were laughing, and teasing and pacifying -all at one and the same time. I held out -my hand.</p> - -<p>“Say you will do as I ask, and give me your -hand on it,” I implored.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_202">[202]</span>“Come here,” she called.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“It won’t do,” she said.</p> - -<p>“What won’t do?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“Your trying to boss me won’t do, my trying -to pretend won’t do.”</p> - -<p>“What are you trying to pretend, Wanza?”</p> - -<p>“That I’m crazy about the big man. I ain’t.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“And something else won’t do.”</p> - -<p>“Pray tell me what it is.”</p> - -<p>“It won’t do for you to pretend, either.”</p> - -<p>“I? What do I pretend?”</p> - -<p>She eyed me gravely, pulled a blade of grass, -blew on it, and cast it aside.</p> - -<p>“Lot of things,” she said then.</p> - -<p>“Do I, Wanza?”</p> - -<p>“But I can stand anything—anything,” she -threw out both hands, “except being bossed. I -can’t stand that.”</p> - -<p>“No one could,” I agreed.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_203">[203]</span>“And you mustn’t try it on, because if you -do!—me and you will part company.”</p> - -<p>I was surprised at the hard glint in her eyes, -the inflexible tone of her voice. Her face was -quite unlovely at that moment.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_204">[204]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>I am afraid I spoke rather impatiently.</p> - -<p>“Aren’t you tired of bears and tigers yet, -Joey?”</p> - -<p>A wistful voice replied:</p> - -<p>“Did you get tired of ’em when you was little, -Mr. David?”</p> - -<p>“No, no,” I answered hastily, “of course, I did -not.”</p> - -<p>The lad rolled over until his brown head rested -against my knee.</p> - -<p>“To-night I’d liever hear about fairies.”</p> - -<p>“Honestly, Joey?”</p> - -<p>“Yep! Criss cross my heart and hope to die. -I like to hear about Dwainies.”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_205">[205]</span>“Who calls them Dwainies?”</p> - -<p>“Her—Bell Brandon.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Well,” I began, “I shall tell you a story of a -Dwainie called Arethusa. Say it after me, Joey. -Arethusa.”</p> - -<p>“Arethusa,” he repeated painstakingly.</p> - -<p>“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!—”</p> - -<p>“I was only trying to say that big word—it’s -hard enough to say the name of our own mountains—but -Ac—Acro—”</p> - -<p>“Never mind. It is not necessary for you to -remember all the names in my stories, only the -names I ask you to remember.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_206">[206]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, oh,” breathed my listener, eyes distended, -and lips apart. “Did he catch her?”</p> - -<p>“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—’”</p> - -<p>“Her rainbow hair?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, yes,—don’t interrupt.”</p> - -<p>“Who did she yell to?”</p> - -<p>“The loud Ocean heard. It stirred, and divided—parted, -boy—and ‘under the water the -Earth’s white daughter fled like a sunny beam.’”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_207">[207]</span>“Hm! What did the river-god do then?”</p> - -<p>“He pursued her. He descended after her. -‘Like a gloomy stain on the emerald main.’”</p> - -<p>“But did he get her, Mr. David?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>There was a burst of roguish laughter behind -me.</p> - -<p>“What a classic tale for a child mind,” a light -voice cried.</p> - -<p>Haidee stood among the shadows of the cottonwoods, -swaying between her crutches.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_208">[208]</span> -as if I had heard it somewhere before—so I left -rather precipitately.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“I shall not ask you not to talk with him, again, -Wanza,” I announced.</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_209">[209]</span>“It’s nothing,” I kept saying, keeping my -hand behind me as she would have examined it.</p> - -<p>“Please—please, Mr. Dale, let me look at it.”</p> - -<p>She pressed forward to my side and reached -around behind me for my hand. I could feel her -quivering in every limb.</p> - -<p>“It’s nothing,” I maintained, though the pain -was intense, and the rapid flow of blood was -weakening me.</p> - -<p>“It is something. Oh, if only to be kind to -me, Mr. Dale, let me have your hand!”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>I released my prisoner and she sped away. I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_210">[210]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“I think I have been mistaken in you, Mr. -Dale.”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_211">[211]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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!”</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_212">[212]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_213">[213]</span>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!”</p> - -<p>“Yes, Wanza?” I answered.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“I shall, Wanza. Thank you,” I cried gratefully.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_214">[214]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XVII<br /> - - -<small>THE DREAM IN THE DINGLE</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap">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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“Mrs. Olds found the name on a pocketbook -you carried,” I explained.</p> - -<p>“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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_215">[215]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>The blood rushed to my face. The leer with -which he accompanied his words was rakish, and -his handsome face smirked disgustingly.</p> - -<p>“She is an unfortunate neighbor of mine, who -was crippled by a falling tree the night of the -storm,” I answered coldly.</p> - -<p>He gave me a quizzical glance, shrugged his -shoulders, and exclaimed laughingly:</p> - -<p>“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—”</p> - -<p>“Just speak more respectfully of her, if you -must speak at all,” I interrupted with heat.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_216">[216]</span>“Don Quixote, Don Quixote,” he murmured, -wagging a broad finger at me, and shaking his -head playfully.</p> - -<p>I said something beneath my breath, and rose -from my chair hastily.</p> - -<p>“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—”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p class="center">“Bell Brandon was the birdling of the mountains—”</p> - -<p>The line ended in a ripple of laughter. The -man before me half raised in his seat. Then -sweeter and lower:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="first">“And I loved the little beauty, Bell Brandon—</div> -<div class="verse">And she sleeps ’neath the old arbor tree.”</div> -</div></div> - -<p>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.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_217">[217]</span>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.</p> - -<p>Haidee’s dry lips writhed apart. One word -dropped from them:</p> - -<p>“You!”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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 <i>savoir-faire</i> -did not desert him. He spoke to me, but -his eyes never left the marble face of the woman -who confronted him.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_218">[218]</span>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.</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>I placed Haidee in a chair. I took Joey’s -hand and led him indoors. I heard a wild cry -ring out:</p> - -<p>“I thought you were dead in the Yukon, Randall -Batterly, I thought you were dead. I hate -you! I hate you!”</p> - -<p>I closed the door on her agonized weeping.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“I am that shocked and surprised, Mr. Dale!” -she gasped, all of a flutter. “Why, I’m just<span class="pagenum" id="Page_219">[219]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>I felt her fish-eyes searching my face.</p> - -<p>Then she broke out, as I maintained an apparently -unruffled front:</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>I was sullen-hearted enough, God knows, and<span class="pagenum" id="Page_220">[220]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_221">[221]</span> -lips almost brushed as I turned, the depth of -emotion in the burningly blue eyes.</p> - -<p>“Don’t!” she breathed, as I faced her. “Don’t, -please!”</p> - -<p>“Don’t what, child?” I articulated.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Dear Wanza,” I said, “my dear child—”</p> - -<p>She pressed against me suddenly, and put her -soft cheek against my sleeve.</p> - -<p>“What is it, child, what is it?” I begged. I -put my hand gently on her hair.</p> - -<p>“I’m going away, Mr. Dale—I’m going! I -been so happy here—with you and Joey and the -birds.”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_222">[222]</span>Her breaths were sobs.</p> - -<p>It was my turn to say “Don’t!” I said it imploringly, -and I added: “I cannot bear to see -you cry, Wanza.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“She needs you, Wanza,” I said.</p> - -<p>“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—”</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_223">[223]</span> -stumbling final sentence. Then I caught at the -lost word. “Before, Wanza? Before—what!”</p> - -<p>“Before you got to thinking too much of her.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“You needn’t laugh. You were thinking too -much of her—you know you was.”</p> - -<p>“Please, Wanza,—don’t!”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>I shook my head. She went on quickly:</p> - -<p>“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—”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Take him with you,” I bade her.</p> - -<p>With the cage clasped in her arms, her eyes<span class="pagenum" id="Page_224">[224]</span> -flooded with tears, but with smiles on her mobile -lips, she went from the shop, backward, step by -step.</p> - -<p>After Wanza came Joey. A transfigured -Joey. Wild with rage at the big man, threatening, -and bombastic. Then softening into plaintive -grief, wailing:</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“No, lad,” I replied.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“No,” I repeated, sadly.</p> - -<p>He sniffled. Then he said, in a frightened -tone, “Wanza ain’t going too, is she?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, Joey.”</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>After a moment, I ventured:</p> - -<p>“You have me, Joey.”</p> - -<p>He drew his sleeve across his eyes again, -gulped, and muttered:</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_225">[225]</span>“I’m ’shamed. I love you most! But she’s -mothery—Wanza is, that’s it!”</p> - -<p>Mothery—Wanza of the wind’s will—mothery!</p> - -<p>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.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_226">[226]</span>I went to her side.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>I strove for words. But I could only whisper:</p> - -<p>“I am your friend. Never forget. If danger -ever threatens you—”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_227">[227]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>She smiled at me sadly as if to soften the last -words. But hurt and amazed, I cried:</p> - -<p>“A stranger! Am I that?”</p> - -<p>A light sprang into her eyes, the red came into -her cheeks.</p> - -<p>“Forgive me,” she said again.</p> - -<p>“I am your friend—your true friend—no -stranger.” I held out my hand. “I thought you -understood.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_228">[228]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Oh, I was born to live! Courage? I have -none!”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“I hate him,” she hissed. “He knows I hate -him. He does not care.”</p> - -<p>We looked at each other.</p> - -<p>“But he cares for you,” I stated.</p> - -<p>“No, no,” she said, hastily, “don’t say that.”</p> - -<p>Again we scanned each other’s faces. I spoke -impetuously:</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_229">[229]</span> -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!”</p> - -<p>She lifted up her head. “I have promised him -to do nothing—to go on as I have been—he will -not molest me.”</p> - -<p>I half shrugged. “He loves you; of course, -you believe that.”</p> - -<p>“He may. He protested that he did, when I -told him I must go my way.”</p> - -<p>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!”</p> - -<p>Tears filled her eyes. “Those words did not -sound like the words of a friend.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_230">[230]</span> -Have Joey come to me—” Her voice failed her -utterly. She was pale again as the syringa -blooms at her side.</p> - -<p>“We must push on, now,” I said.</p> - -<p>She gathered up her reins.</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>She paled and drew her hand from mine. “I -could have loved you, David Dale,” she -whispered.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“That’s Wanza’s. I want her! I want her to -come back and stay, I do.”</p> - -<p>Holding the ribbon in my hand, I passed out -to the Dingle.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_231">[231]</span> -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.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_232">[232]</span>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.</p> - -<p>And then!</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>She passed close to me. Noiselessly she<span class="pagenum" id="Page_233">[233]</span> -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:</p> - -<p>“I have left them the waxwing. But I have -taken away the magpie, lest it tell my secrets.”</p> - -<p>I would have stopped her. But she had -sprung with fluttering, perfumed haste through -the syringa frame and vanished.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>The magpie’s cage swung in its accustomed -place.</p> - -<p>As I approached, the bird fixed me with its -quick, bright eye, and chortled:</p> - -<p>“Mr. David Dale! Fixing man! Mr. David—dear.”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_234">[234]</span>How strange that I should dream of Wanza!</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>Dreary days followed for Joey and me.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_235">[235]</span> -myself into the belief that I was experiencing all -the wild delights of a storm at sea.</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>Father O’Shan was looking at me curiously.</p> - -<p>“I never heard of that before,” he said. “You -pulled through all right.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes! If it had not been for my dog I -might have gone under the first year. But the -dog was understanding.”</p> - -<p>“A dog,” Captain Grif explained carefully, -“is the instinctinest animal there be—and the -faithfulest.”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_236">[236]</span>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.</p> - -<p>“Too bad, Dale—too bad,” he said in his winning -tones.</p> - -<p>“Eh? Just what is too bad?” I asked.</p> - -<p>He gripped my hand.</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>“Never mind!”</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_237">[237]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XVIII<br /> - - -<small>“THANK YOU, MR. FIXING MAN”</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap">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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_238">[238]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Brash, Joey?”</p> - -<p>“That’s what she said.”</p> - -<p>My jaw dropped. “How shall we get it clean, -boy?”</p> - -<p>“You make a lather. Shave off little chunks -of soap and put ’em in a bottle and shake ’em up -with water.”</p> - -<p>These directions were followed, and both Joey -and I were gratified with the result, but precious -moments were consumed in the process.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_239">[239]</span> -to bear hugs and listening to assurances -that he had not meant to spill his bath water.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>He rubbed his cheek against my arm.</p> - -<p>“Where’s your shirt, boy?”</p> - -<p>He pointed.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Will it do, Joey?”</p> - -<p>“Why, yes, sure it’ll do. My, course it’ll -do.”</p> - -<p>I sighed. “We’ll have to get some new ones -when you start to school, boy.”</p> - -<p>“Well, but when I wear the tie Bell Brandon -gave me, who sees the shirt,” he said absently.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_240">[240]</span> -touching it. “It always has been there. -What makes it?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>Joey laughed, and held out his arms for the -shirt.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Am I in time?” she breathed.</p> - -<p>“In time? In time for what, Wanza?” I -asked.</p> - -<p>She dropped a bundle on to the table.</p> - -<p>“In time for Joey to wear one of these to Sunday -school?” she said, portentously.</p> - -<p>Joey crept closer. Her eyes as they turned to<span class="pagenum" id="Page_241">[241]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“Where—where did they come from, Wanza?” -stammered Joey.</p> - -<p>But I had guessed.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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?”</p> - -<p>We both laughed, and the awkwardness of the -situation was relieved.</p> - -<p>“I miss you terribly, Wanza,” I confessed. -“My sour dough bread turns to dust and ashes in -my mouth.”</p> - -<p>Her soft eyes were commiserating. “I’ll fetch -you a good sweet loaf of my baking, now and -then,” she volunteered quickly.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_242">[242]</span>“And don’t drive by as you have been doing. -Are you too busy to stop as you used to do, girl?” -I asked.</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>“It needs doctoring,” I conceded ruefully. “I -set it last night and it has not risen.”</p> - -<p>“Has Joey been having his bath here?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>She looked about her.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_243">[243]</span> -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:</p> - -<p>“I have my penny for the cradle-roll lady, and -I have not forgot my handkerchief.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_244">[244]</span>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_245">[245]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>And then one day I made up my mind suddenly -to go to her.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_246">[246]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“You have laid aside your crutches?” I -ventured.</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“You are well?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“Oh, yes! I work—hard—at various things. -Do I not, Wanza? I sleep. I have a splendid -appetite. And you?”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>She came to my side quickly. Her face displayed -signs of perturbation. “I walk there! -What do you mean? Have you seen me?”</p> - -<p>“You come on tip-toe. It is hardly walking.”</p> - -<p>Her eyes questioned me.</p> - -<p>“I’ve seen you only a few times. But I suspect -you come frequently.”</p> - -<p>“I am sure I don’t, Mr. David Dale.”</p> - -<p>She came closer, her cheeks like crimson roses, -her bright eyes angry, her lips scornful.</p> - -<p>“You come to visit Joey, I think. You came -the first night after your departure from Cedar<span class="pagenum" id="Page_247">[247]</span> -Dale. And you went into the cedar room.” I -smiled into her troubled face.</p> - -<p>“And what did I do there?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>But just here Wanza flung me an odd look -and ran into the house, saying over her shoulder: -“That was a funny, funny dream.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“And the wilderness shall blossom like the -rose,” murmured Haidee. “Thank you, Mr. Fixing -Man.”</p> - -<p>I rode home happier than I had been in many<span class="pagenum" id="Page_248">[248]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_249">[249]</span>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“When you no longer line your umbrella with -pink, Wanza,” I said, “I will know that vanity -and you have parted company.”</p> - -<p>The blonde head turned restlessly.</p> - -<p>“I ain’t half as vain as I used to be.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“What do you mean by that?” Wanza demanded -fiercely. She dropped the lines. “Now, -what do you mean by that, I say?”</p> - -<p>“Dear Wanza,” I said, soothingly, “I don’t<span class="pagenum" id="Page_250">[250]</span> -mean anything—except that pink lends a pretty -glow to an alabaster skin like yours.”</p> - -<p>Her eyes gleamed at me savagely in the moonlight, -and she made a strange sound in her throat -that sounded like a sob.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“Nothing’s come over me. It’s you,” she answered -in a low tone.</p> - -<p>“Oh, no,” I responded, “Wanza girl, I treat -you just the same as I ever did, my dear!”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>What could I reply?</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_251">[251]</span>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:</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>I caught her by the shoulder. I drew her -quickly to me till I could see her face in the moonlight.</p> - -<p>“When did he come back?” I asked, thickly.</p> - -<p>She tugged at my restraining hand and -shrugged away from me. “He’s been back two -weeks, I calculate—may be more.”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_252">[252]</span>“Don’t speak to him, Wanza—don’t look at -him!” I implored quickly.</p> - -<p>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?”</p> - -<p>“I did not know, Wanza,” I murmured -humbly.</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>“Please, please, Wanza—”</p> - -<p>“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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_253">[253]</span> -nor look at me. Can you say as much for her, -David Dale?”</p> - -<p>“I don’t know what to say,” I stammered, -taken by surprise.</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>I glanced at her face. It was pale, and her -lips were unsteady.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>I answered yes. I had marked it well. The -secret waterway which led to Hidden Lake was -close by.</p> - -<p>“Well,” Joey continued, looking very important, -and puffing out his chest like a pouter<span class="pagenum" id="Page_254">[254]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>“Fudge, Joey boy.”</p> - -<p>“Yes—fludge. And say, Mr. David—any -time you’re passing, look in, won’t you? ’Cause -there might be something there would spoil.”</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_255">[255]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XIX<br /> - - -<small>BEREFT</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap">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.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>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.</p> -</div> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_256">[256]</span>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Joey sprang at me and seized my wrist. -“That’s mine! That’s mine!” he shouted. -“Give it here, Mr. David—please.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_257">[257]</span>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.</p> - -<p>“Give me your letters, Wanza,” I suggested. -“Don’t get down. I’ll post them.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>I kept an even face when I greeted Haidee the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_258">[258]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p><i>Dear Mr. Craftsman</i>:</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_259">[259]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> -</div> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_260">[260]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Oh, the day on which Joey started to school!</p> - -<p>I dressed him carefully that morning, with all -the trepidation of an over-fond parent, and I admonished<span class="pagenum" id="Page_261">[261]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>He considered, looking into my eyes awesomely -as I took his chin in my hand.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“David Dale, the second,” I said, poking him -in the ribs.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>A little David!</p> - -<p>That was a dragging day. I missed the lad -which ever way I turned. And his words to me,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_262">[262]</span> -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!”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“You’re a good Mr. David,” he said patronizingly. -“And I ain’t yours either—not blood -kin.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“You’re my boy, just the same,” I assured -him.</p> - -<p>“They can’t anybody get me away from you—can<span class="pagenum" id="Page_263">[263]</span> -they?” he asked anxiously, and I saw genuine -consternation in his eyes.</p> - -<p>I laughed and hugged him tighter. “I guess -not,” I bragged. “Let them try. Jingles would -eat them up.”</p> - -<p>“And we’d hide, wouldn’t we?”</p> - -<p>“We surely would.”</p> - -<p>“And—and we’d shoot at them from the -rushes.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_264">[264]</span> -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.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_265">[265]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XX<br /> - - -<small>“PERHAPS I SHALL GO AWAY”</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap2">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.</p> - -<p>“It looks to me, Wanza girl,” I said wearily, -“like a plain case of kidnapping.”</p> - -<p>“But who would kidnap him, Mr. Dale?” -Wanza queried pitifully.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_266">[266]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>“Where is Batterly now,” I asked.</p> - -<p>“Gone away—this week past.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_267">[267]</span>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“I’d like to kill whoever it is as has taken -Joey away,” she cried, brandishing a resentful -fist.</p> - -<p>“If we knew any one had taken him,” I said, -thoughtfully. “Sometimes I think—I think, -Wanza, that Joey is dead.”</p> - -<p>“I don’t think so! No, indeed!” Wanza returned -with thrilling earnestness. “Oh, I feel<span class="pagenum" id="Page_268">[268]</span> -sure he ain’t dead! He’ll be found—some day. -He sure will, Mr. Dale.”</p> - -<p>She helped me by her sturdy optimism.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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—”</p> - -<p>“And Joey is not here,” I ended sadly.</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>Her face quivered, and her eyes came to -mine. “I guess that is so,” she said in a low -tone.</p> - -<p>Looking in Wanza’s face lately I always<span class="pagenum" id="Page_269">[269]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>One day I spoke my thought.</p> - -<p>“I am thinking, Wanza—perhaps I shall go -away.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“I thought you’d go,” she said. She spoke -harshly.</p> - -<p>“I can’t stop on here without Joey. I can’t -bear it,” I said, haltingly.</p> - -<p>“But I’ve got to stay on without either of you—and -bear it.”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_270">[270]</span>I saw her eyes. I recoiled at the depth of pain -revealed.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Dale,” she said gropingly, after a pause, -“where are you going?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“When do you reckon you’ll go?”</p> - -<p>“Why, child, I do not know! Each day I say -to myself I cannot bear another.”</p> - -<p>“It’ll be the same wherever you are.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>Wanza rose. She came close to me. When -our eyes met she gave a cry: “If you go you -may never come back!”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_271">[271]</span> -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?</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“I have no home but Cedar Dale,” I repeated.</p> - -<p>“And I am glad of that,” she whispered.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_272">[272]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_273">[273]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>I walked home slowly, astounded and perplexed -by the revelation I had had.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_274">[274]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXI<br /> - - -<small>FATE’S FINAL JAVELIN</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap">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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_275">[275]</span> -swung about like a loose sail in a sudden breeze.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“It is you! It is you!” she breathed.</p> - -<p>She continued to stare at me with big gaunt -eyes.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” I replied, trying to keep the horror out -of my tones. “It is I.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“He is dead—dead,” she whispered. “He -can’t speak, or move.”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_276">[276]</span>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.</p> - -<p>“We must get a physician,” I murmured -dully.</p> - -<p>Haidee crept to my side. Her poor face was -blanched and twisted till she looked like a half-dead -thing.</p> - -<p>“Who could have done this—” I stammered, in -a voice that sounded driveling and uncertain in -my own ears.</p> - -<p>Again that dumb look of distress in her eyes, -and she stood as if carved in granite.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_277">[277]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“This revolver is loaded in only four of its -chambers. The fifth has a discharged cartridge.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_278">[278]</span> -Was this lying on the table when you came in, -Dale?”</p> - -<p>I spoke hoarsely. “I put it there. It had -fallen to the floor.”</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>The sheriff’s finger traced the outline of the -shining letter on the polished surface of the -weapon. He stood irresolutely, ruminating.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“These men—why are they here?” she asked -faintly.</p> - -<p>“Gentlemen—” I was beginning, when the -sheriff stopped me.</p> - -<p>“Mrs. Batterly,” he said, clearing his throat, -and speaking raspingly, “this is your revolver?”</p> - -<p>“Why, yes—” Haidee drew in her breath -sharply—“why, yes,” she admitted.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_279">[279]</span>I felt her hand tighten its hold on my arm.</p> - -<p>“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—”</p> - -<p>“Mrs. Batterly,” the sheriff broke in quickly, -“I arrest you for the murder of your husband, -Randall Batterly.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_280">[280]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>And I recall that old Lundquist stood shaking -his fist after me in the pergola.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_281">[281]</span> -at Hidden Lake, and then, thoroughly disheartened, -I took the road for Cedar Dale.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>The hoot-hoot of an owl awakened me. I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_282">[282]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_283">[283]</span>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:</p> - -<p>“You believe in my innocence?”</p> - -<p>And I, shaken and undone, could only cry: -“Believe in you? Oh, my child—do I believe in -myself? I know you are innocent.”</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>I was startled. “That is strange,” I said.</p> - -<p>“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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_284">[284]</span> -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?”</p> - -<p>“Where can she be?” I echoed to myself.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“Have you seen Father O’Shan?” I asked -quickly.</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_285">[285]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_286">[286]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_287">[287]</span> -draw below me. I hailed it, stumbled down the -overgrown trail, and approached it.</p> - -<p>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?”</p> - -<p>My heart gave a violent leap.</p> - -<p>I pressed against the door, and swallowed hard -before I could control my tones.</p> - -<p>“It is a—a man who is in need of food and -shelter,” I answered.</p> - -<p>“It is Mr. David! Mr. David!” the voice -shrieked. And such a lusty shout arose that the -rafters of the old shack fairly trembled.</p> - -<p>As for me I leaned in dazed suspense against -the door, impatiently waiting for my lad to open -to me.</p> - -<p>“Mr. David—dear, dear Mr. David—I can’t -open the door! He’s taken the key.” I heard -then.</p> - -<p>“Who has taken the key, Joey?”</p> - -<p>“The big man. He locked me in. Mr. David—can’t -you get me out?”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_288">[288]</span> -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:</p> - -<p>“Joey—Joey! Little lad—dear little lad!”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>When I had finished I dropped back into the -bunk. “Now then, lad,” I said.</p> - -<p>And Joey began his tale by asking: “Mr. -David, am I the big man’s boy?”</p> - -<p>“What do you mean, Joey?”</p> - -<p>“He says I’m his boy. He says I was lost in -a shipwreck—when I was a teenty baby.”</p> - -<p>I covered my face with my hand. “Go on,” I -bade him, hoarsely.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_289">[289]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_290">[290]</span> -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.’”</p> - -<p>Again Joey paused, and I writhed and was -silent. Joey looked at me commiseratingly and -went on:</p> - -<p>“’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?”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>After awhile a blanket was drawn carefully -over me. I felt a warm breath on my face. My<span class="pagenum" id="Page_291">[291]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_292">[292]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“What do you want?” I demanded, throwing -open the door.</p> - -<p>The man standing there put out his hand -quickly. It was Father O’Shan.</p> - -<p>“You have come from the Mission?” I gasped.</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“Can you give me news of Wanza, then? Is -she at the Mission?”</p> - -<p>He took the revolver from my grasp, looked -at me curiously, and placed his hand on my -shoulder.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>He hesitated. I waited, and he came a step -closer.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_293">[293]</span> -herself up. Mrs. Batterly was set at liberty a -few hours later.”</p> - -<p>I reeled, and sat down weakly on the steps. -“Not Wanza! Not Wanza!” I kept repeating -over and over.</p> - -<p>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?</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_294">[294]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXII<br /> - - -<small>RENUNCIATION</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap">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.”</p> - -<p>The color surged into her white cheeks, and her -eyes blazed.</p> - -<p>“Do you think I did it, David Dale?” she whispered -painfully.</p> - -<p>“Wanza—child—what sort of confession have -you made?”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_295">[295]</span> -account that I told what I did. I never said I -killed him—never!”</p> - -<p>“My poor, poor, girl!”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_296">[296]</span> -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!”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_297">[297]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>I pressed her head closer against my shoulder. -“Wanza,” I said, “you are a noble girl.”</p> - -<p>The tears welled up in the cornflower blue -eyes.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>There was something piteous in her asseveration.</p> - -<p>“I am sure he was respectful, child.”</p> - -<p>“I wanted to die the minute he spoke too bold -to me when he found me there alone at Hidden -Lake.”</p> - -<p>“I well know that, Wanza.”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_298">[298]</span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="first">“Marna of the quick disdain,</div> -<div class="verse">Starting at the dream of stain!”</div> -</div></div> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>But I did not tell her Joey’s story, until my -next visit.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“I have something strange to communicate to -you. But first, I am going to ask you if you will<span class="pagenum" id="Page_299">[299]</span> -tell me the story of your life after you became -Randall Batterly’s wife.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“I think if you will tell me you will not regret -it,” I replied.</p> - -<p>“I have always intended to tell you,” she repeated. -Her voice shook but she lifted brave -eyes to mine, and began her story.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_300">[300]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>I had glanced at Haidee once or twice to find<span class="pagenum" id="Page_301">[301]</span> -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:</p> - -<p>“Don’t tell me any more—please—please—”</p> - -<p>“There is nothing more to tell,” she answered -dully.</p> - -<p>“Thank you for your confidence. Before I -told you all I have to tell I thought it best to ask -it of you.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“Mrs. Batterly,” I asked, “may I tell you -Joey’s short history?”</p> - -<p>At my abrupt tone she turned her eyes to mine, -wonderingly. “Surely,” she replied.</p> - -<p>“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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_302">[302]</span> -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—”</p> - -<p>Haidee broke in on my recital with a gasping -cry: “My child—mine?”</p> - -<p>“Mrs. Batterly, was there a mark on your -baby’s chest—a mark you could identify him by?”</p> - -<p>“Yes, yes!—a bright red mark—oh, not large—the -size of a quarter—just over his heart.”</p> - -<p>“Joey has such a mark, though it is a mark considerably -larger than a quarter—and it is higher -than his heart.”</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_303">[303]</span>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:</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>What had come over me? When I was with -Haidee all my speech was of Wanza. When I<span class="pagenum" id="Page_304">[304]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Mother will buy you a wonderful gun,” she -promised.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_305">[305]</span>“But I’d rather have Mr. David make it, Bell -Brandon. I guess women don’t know what boys -like—just.”</p> - -<p>The hurt look in the purple-black eyes went to -my heart. After that I went not so often to Hidden -Lake.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>Later on the porch at parting, Haidee said to -me:</p> - -<p>“Have you worked long on the frame you are -carving for Wanza’s picture?”</p> - -<p>“Since—oh, I began it about the time Joey -was lost,” I answered.</p> - -<p>She looked at me curiously.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_306">[306]</span>“Wanza is very lovely in that picture.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>After Haidee had gone I recalled the look she -had flung at me as she turned and went down the -steps, saying:</p> - -<p>“Wanza is very fortunate to have you for a -friend, very fortunate indeed.”</p> - -<p>I asked myself what her look had meant.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_307">[307]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Joey,” I said, “run away and see what Jingles -is barking at so furiously. A fat rabbit has just -escaped him.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Too bad,” I said speaking out my thought, -“for Joey’s mother to be jealous of me.”</p> - -<p>“Do you think that of me?” she faltered.</p> - -<p>“He is all yours—no one on the face of the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_308">[308]</span> -earth has the slightest claim on him excepting -yourself.”</p> - -<p>Our eyes met; hers were startled yet defiant; -and I am afraid mine were a trifle accusing.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“No, no,” I said hastily. “I did not understand, -that is all.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>I said to myself that when I heard from my<span class="pagenum" id="Page_309">[309]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>And so the weeks went past.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_310">[310]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXIII<br /> - - -<small>WHEN CHRISTMAS CAME</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap">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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“There, there, Wanza!” I whispered, soothingly.</p> - -<p>She wept quietly. Presently she said, between -smiles and tears:</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_311">[311]</span>“It will soon be Christmas. I will try to give -father a good Christmas, Mr. Dale.”</p> - -<p>“There, there, Wanza,” I said, again.</p> - -<p>She drew away, and with both hands pushed -back the hood that she had drawn over her face -on leaving the jail.</p> - -<p>“Mrs. Batterly wants to send me away, soon -after Christmas—away back East to school—where -I can forget,” she faltered.</p> - -<p>Her blue eyes widened to great round wells of -misery, the tears rained down her altered cheeks.</p> - -<p>“You will forget,” I soothed her; “it was an -accident, my dear.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, but Mr. Dale, I <i>felt</i> 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.”</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_312">[312]</span> -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:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="first">“Marna of the wind’s will,</div> -<div class="verse">Daughter of the sea—”</div> -</div></div> - -<p>I sighed. Marna of the wind’s will, indeed!</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>There was another communication that I read -over and over; and as I read I knew that I was<span class="pagenum" id="Page_313">[313]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_314">[314]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>“It is you! Out so late—alone!” I began. -“And in this storm.”</p> - -<p>But the big eyes only smiled at me, and she -stood there like a beautiful wraith in her long -gray cloak.</p> - -<p>“Let me take your cloak,” I said.</p> - -<p>I went to her, and she put both hands on my -shoulders impulsively.</p> - -<p>“I haven’t thought of the weather. Ever since -I saw you last I’ve thought of you,—and thought,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_315">[315]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>“Come to the fire,” I urged.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“In all the time I have known you this is the -first time I have ever shared your fire,” she whispered.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“What gift have you brought me?” I whispered.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_316">[316]</span> -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:</p> - -<p>“I’m your Christmas gift, Mr. David! I’m -your Christmas gift.”</p> - -<p>He was in my arms, and Haidee had drawn -back and was smiling at me, her eyes like great -luminous pools of fire.</p> - -<p>“What a wonderful, wonderful present,” I responded -shakily. “Now, who could have sent -me this very best present in the world?”</p> - -<p>“Bell Brandon,” shrieked my little lad. “She -did not send me—she brought me.”</p> - -<p>“Then—she must have another gift for me,” -I said boldly, and held out my hand to Haidee.</p> - -<p>She shook her head, her eyes grave, but her -lips still smiling.</p> - -<p>“I have brought Joey to you—but—I cannot -stay. I am going away. Will you keep my boy -until I return?”</p> - -<p>“You are going away?”</p> - -<p>She bent her head.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_317">[317]</span> -stay with you—and in the spring I shall come for -him—or come back to stay at Hidden Lake.”</p> - -<p>“You are going away—soon—after Christmas?”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Christmas Day?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>My voice was rough with emotion. She held -up her hand.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“What do you mean?” I cried brusquely.</p> - -<p>She smiled at me sweetly and a little sadly.</p> - -<p>“Oh, you are a stupid blundering David.” -She shook her head. “But—wait till spring.”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_318">[318]</span>“There is so much I want to say—explain,” I -stammered.</p> - -<p>“Wait till spring.”</p> - -<p>“But I cannot keep Joey. I cannot let you -go without your boy.”</p> - -<p>“He will be better off with you.”</p> - -<p>“I cannot accept such a sacrifice.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>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?</p> - -<p>Old Lundquist came for Haidee; and we said -a conventional good-bye beneath his prying eyes.</p> - -<p>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.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_319">[319]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXIV<br /> - - -<small>“THE FLOWER WILL BLOOM ANOTHER YEAR”</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap">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.”</p> - -<p>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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_320">[320]</span> -It poured forth its strong sweet notes in a succession -of trills.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“I have brought a chicken pie for your dinner, -Mr. Dale—Dad’ll be along soon—and I wish you -a Merry Christmas.”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_321">[321]</span>It was Wanza.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“Thank you, thank you!”</p> - -<p>“It’s only chicken pie,” she whispered.</p> - -<p>“Thank you for not going.”</p> - -<p>At that she threw up her head, her hands -dropped. She said proudly:</p> - -<p>“Did you think I’d go on Christmas Day?<span class="pagenum" id="Page_322">[322]</span> -Did you think I’d have the heart to go, Mr. -Dale?”</p> - -<p>“Yes,” I said wearily, “I thought you had -gone, Wanza. Why not?”</p> - -<p>“And I’ll tell you why not! It’s because you -decided Joey was to go that I could <i>not</i> go. I -could not go and leave you when I found Joey -was to go—oh, no!”</p> - -<p>“But you must go some day, Wanza,” I said, -scarce knowing what I said.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_323">[323]</span> -happiness. Ah, Wanza, now that Joey has gone -I feel so futile—so useless! Let me undertake -your education, child.”</p> - -<p>The burning eyes came up to mine, and questioned -them. The pale face flushed. There was -a pathetic tremulousness about the lips.</p> - -<p>“Say yes,” I urged.</p> - -<p>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!”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_324">[324]</span> -coyote howled from some distant hill. The room -grew dark. A pall was on my heart.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Don’t study too hard,” I cautioned her one -day.</p> - -<p>“I can’t study too hard,” she flashed back at -me. And then she smiled. But I knew she was -terribly in earnest.</p> - -<p>It was that same day that Father O’Shan -quoted to me, as we were walking along the river -road together:</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_325">[325]</span></p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="first">“Shed no tear—Oh, shed no tear!</div> -<div class="verse">The flower will bloom another year.</div> -<div class="verse">Weep no more—Oh, weep no more!</div> -<div class="verse">Young buds sleep in the root’s white core.”</div> -</div></div> - -<p>“Do you mean that for me, Father?” I asked.</p> - -<p>“For you—yes. And many like you.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>I went to the cabin and consulted the calendar. -It was the last day of March.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_326">[326]</span>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_327">[327]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>Dear Captain Grif! His manner of accepting -this last gift was characteristic.</p> - -<p>“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 <i>sooner</i>; -I like the glory, and when you have a soft thing<span class="pagenum" id="Page_328">[328]</span> -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 <i>what</i> -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.”</p> - -<div class="figcenter"><img src="images/i_328.jpg" alt="" /></div> -<p class="caption">“I’M GRATEFUL AND PLEASED”</p> - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_329">[329]</span>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.</p> - -<p>I discussed this with Wanza, who said tearfully:</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>She looked at me and shook her head. Then -she smiled.</p> - -<p>“He’ll do well enough till spring. But he will -be counting the days, all right.”</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_330">[330]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXV<br /> - - -<small>MY SURPRISE</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap">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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_331">[331]</span>But Fate had a surprise in store for me.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Good day, sir,” he said.</p> - -<p>“Good day,” I returned.</p> - -<p>“Is Mrs. Batterly to home?”</p> - -<p>“No,” I replied, “Mrs. Batterly is in the East.”</p> - -<p>“Is her cabin shut up?”</p> - -<p>“It is,” I said curtly.</p> - -<p>“Well, I swan! Say, did she take the kid with -her?”</p> - -<p>“She took the little boy with her, certainly.”</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, I am David Dale,” I answered -straightening up. “Is there anything I can do -for you?”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_332">[332]</span>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.”</p> - -<p>I turned away in disgust.</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>I gaped at him. He grinned at me in a would-be -friendly manner.</p> - -<p>“My name’s Bill Jobson. I’m a miner,” he -volunteered.</p> - -<p>“That means nothing to me,” I told him -sharply.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_333">[333]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“But what about the mark on the lad’s -chest?”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_334">[334]</span> -mark on her kid’s chest was just over his heart. -This kid’s is higher up.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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—”</p> - -<p>“Will you write a statement and have it witnessed, -and send it to Mrs. Batterly?” I interrupted.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_335">[335]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>I was silenced.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_336">[336]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>Yes, I said to myself:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="first">“Wandering with the wandering wind,</div> -<div class="verse">Vagabond and unconfined.”</div> -</div></div> - -<p>Slowly I said over to myself the last verse of -the song—the verse I had not given to Wanza:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="first">“Marna of the far quest</div> -<div class="verse">After the divine!</div> -<div class="verse">Striving ever for some goal</div> -<div class="verse">Past the blunder-god’s control!</div> -<div class="verse">Dreaming of potential years</div> -<div class="verse">When no day shall dawn in fears!</div> -<div class="verse">That’s the Marna of my soul,</div> -<div class="verse">Wander-bride of mine!”</div> -</div></div> - -<p>Wander-bride of mine! Was it a woman like -Haidee who had suggested those lines to the<span class="pagenum" id="Page_337">[337]</span> -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?</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_338">[338]</span>It was Wanza who was coming through the -pines toward me!</p> - -<p>When she was comparatively near I spoke -from my couch beneath the tree.</p> - -<p>“Hist! Hist! Wanza!”</p> - -<p>The song ceased. I knew she was standing -stock still.</p> - -<p>“Who—who—where are you?” her voice -sounded frightened.</p> - -<p>“I’m David Dale. And I’m not ten feet from -you—follow my voice. Don’t trip on the tree -roots.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>The light began to spread over the east. Soon -the mountain tops were touched with orange fire.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_339">[339]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_340">[340]</span> -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?</p> - -<p>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!”</p> - -<p>“Yes?” she breathed.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_341">[341]</span> -wake-robin. The trilliums have been profuse -this spring. This fellow was belated—its companions -are all gone.”</p> - -<p>“The robins woke up two months ago,” -Wanza said, shyly eager. “And they have -finished their courting.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Not really, Mr. Dale?”</p> - -<p>“It looked uncommonly like one.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_342">[342]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“Mr. Dale, do you know what day to-morrow -is?”</p> - -<p>I had been expecting the question and dreading -it.</p> - -<p>“Yes,” I answered, “I know well that it is the -day we have been accustomed to celebrate as -Joey’s birthday.”</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_343">[343]</span> -over. God! let me get through the day and play -the man.”</p> - -<p>She said not a word. We parted silently. -But after I had gone a little way she came running -after me.</p> - -<p>“I only wanted to say, David Dale,” she -breathed, “I only wanted to say—”</p> - -<p>“Yes, Wanza?”</p> - -<p>“I only wanted to say, ‘God bless you.’”</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_344">[344]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXVI<br /> - - -<small>THE OLD SWIMMING HOLE</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap2">AND so I came to the day that was sacred -to Joey!</p> - -<p>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!</p> - -<p>The sun for a June sun was unduly fervid, so -that by four o’clock I was weary and dripping<span class="pagenum" id="Page_345">[345]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_346">[346]</span>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:</p> - -<p>“I got—got here! I come for my birthday—all -the way from the East alone.”</p> - -<p>“Alone!”</p> - -<p>“Yep! And I’m going to stay. Going to -stay forever—Bell Brandon said so. They’s a -letter in my satchel for you.”</p> - -<p>I hugged him to my breast.</p> - -<p>“But what were you doing in the swimming -hole, Joey?”</p> - -<p>He looked at me, smiled his shrewd young -smile, and said:</p> - -<p>“Washing off the dust and—and tidying myself. -Let’s see the cake, now, Mr. David.”</p> - -<p>“The cake?”</p> - -<p>He nodded. “Hasn’t Wanza baked it yet?”</p> - -<p>“Why, Joey lad, we haven’t any ready to-day! -Can’t you understand?”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_347">[347]</span>“What is it, Joey?”</p> - -<p>“I—I—don’t anybody want me?”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“Is Wanza sick?” There was something -hopeful in his tone.</p> - -<p>“No,” I said, “Wanza is very well, lad.”</p> - -<p>Again that blank look, that delicate shiver.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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!”</p> - -<p>“Did you write, Joey?”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_348">[348]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_349">[349]</span> -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:</p> - -<p>“You may arrange these, Joey, for the table.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Tired, Joey?”</p> - -<p>He yawned. “Terrible tired, Mr. David.”</p> - -<p>I looked at him irresolutely, then gathered him -up in my arms.</p> - -<p>“Come along, old fellow, lie down on your bed -in the cedar room, and sleep till supper’s ready,” -I suggested.</p> - -<p>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:</p> - -<p>“Tell Wanza when she comes, to wake me first<span class="pagenum" id="Page_350">[350]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>In the front room I sat down by the window, -took Haidee’s letter from my pocket and read it.</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_351">[351]</span>“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.</p> - -<p class="right">“<span class="smcap">Judith Batterly.</span>”</p> -</div> - -<p>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?</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_352">[352]</span>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“They told me in Roselake Joey was back,” -she cried, and brushed past me to the bed.</p> - -<p>I turned and went from the room. A few -moments later she came to me.</p> - -<p>“What has she done to him? What has she -done to him?” she burst forth.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_353">[353]</span>“She has done nothing, Wanza.”</p> - -<p>“Why did you say, ‘Thank God’?” she cried, -fiercely. “Do you think <i>I</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!—”</p> - -<p>“Please—please, Wanza—”</p> - -<p>She looked into my face, her eyes were black -with emotion.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_354">[354]</span> -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.”</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>Presently when he sobbed out shrilly: “I just -got to go back to Mr. David!” I arose precipitately,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_355">[355]</span> -quitted the room and went out to the -bench in the Dingle.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Please—please, Wanza—don’t,” I begged.</p> - -<p>“I’ve been praying,” she stammered.</p> - -<p>“That is well, dear girl.”</p> - -<p>“Praying that Joey will live.”</p> - -<p>“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!”</p> - -<p>She stirred. “Nothing, Mr. Dale—nothing?”</p> - -<p>“Nothing.”</p> - -<p>“Oh, Mr. Dale, you think so now—but you’ll -be wanting <i>her</i> to come back—you can’t help -wanting that!”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_356">[356]</span>“I am very sure I shall never ask for that, -Wanza. Joey brought me a letter. She is not -coming back this year.”</p> - -<p>“Not coming back?”</p> - -<p>“She may never come again to Hidden Lake, -Wanza. We may never see her again.”</p> - -<p>“But I don’t understand, David Dale!—oh, I -thought some day you would marry—you and -she.”</p> - -<p>Her voice was uneven and very low.</p> - -<p>“Child,” I said gravely, “it is not to be. She -cares for me only as a friend. And I—”</p> - -<p>“You love her—you know you do!”</p> - -<p>She spoke passionately.</p> - -<p>“Wanza,” I said thoughtfully, “it has been a -long winter, hasn’t it?”</p> - -<p>“Pretty long,” she answered, surprised.</p> - -<p>“You have learned much this winter.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, Mr. Dale.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>She sat very still, her head thrown back, her -eyes on the sky. The stirring leaves made<span class="pagenum" id="Page_357">[357]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“Praying—still, Wanza?” I whispered, after -a time.</p> - -<p>She put out her hand.</p> - -<p>“Please, Wanza, say a prayer for me.”</p> - -<p>“I am praying that what you told me is true.”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_358">[358]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“You like me as I am?”</p> - -<p>The voice was incredulous.</p> - -<p>“As well as I shall when you have finished -your education, child.”</p> - -<p>“As well?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - -<p>“You won’t like me better then?”</p> - -<p>“No, no better, Wanza.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“You will never like me very, very much, then, -I guess,” she said in a low tone.</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_359">[359]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>I said to myself that all that was left of my<span class="pagenum" id="Page_360">[360]</span> -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:</p> - -<div class="blockquot"> - -<p>“I love thee to the level of every day’s most quiet -need, by sun and candle light.”</p> -</div> - -<p>Had I thought of Haidee so?</p> - -<p>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.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“That’s all right then! Wanza; if I don’t get -well you got to marry Mr. David.”</p> - -<p>The troubled face bending down over the gray -one on the pillow, flamed. “Joey—dear!”</p> - -<p>“Yes, Wanza,” pleadingly, “cause who’ll take -care of him?”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_361">[361]</span>I cleared my throat. “Come, lad, you will be -well in a few days—up and around in the woods, -feeding the squirrels.”</p> - -<p>“Yes—but if I ain’t!” Tender, wistful, questioning, -his loyal brown eyes sought Wanza’s. -“You got to, Wanza. Say yes.”</p> - -<p>The girl’s voice whimpered and broke. “I -can’t!”</p> - -<p>“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.</p> - -<p>At the girl’s head-shake he whispered to me, -“You ask her, Mr. David.”</p> - -<p>My hand groped for hers, closed over it, -gripped it hard.</p> - -<p>“If I ask her now—if she says yes, lad—it will -be for your sake—all for your sake, Joey.”</p> - -<p>The big eyes were understanding. “Go on, -ask her.”</p> - -<p>“Will you, Wanza?”</p> - -<p>She was weeping.</p> - -<p>“Because Joey asks it—because it will ease his<span class="pagenum" id="Page_362">[362]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>“To marry me, Wanza.”</p> - -<p>“For Joey’s sake, Mr. Dale.”</p> - -<p>“There, Joey!” I shook up his pillow and -laid him gently back. “It is all settled, lad. -Go to sleep now.”</p> - -<p>“Kiss me, once, Mr. David.”</p> - -<p>I kissed him.</p> - -<p>“Kiss Wanza, now.”</p> - -<p>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.</p> -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<span class="pagenum" id="Page_363">[363]</span> - -<h2 class="nobreak">CHAPTER XXVII<br /> - - -<small>MY WONDER WOMAN</small></h2> -</div> - -<p class="drop-cap">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.</p> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_364">[364]</span> -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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_365">[365]</span>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?</p> - -<p>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,<span class="pagenum" id="Page_366">[366]</span> -“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.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_367">[367]</span>“There is no wonder woman,” I said to myself, -thoughtfully.</p> - -<p>Restless with my cogitations, I rose, left the -bridge, and went through the yews to the workshop.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>I continued to watch her.</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Why, she’s a wonder,” I said to myself, “a<span class="pagenum" id="Page_368">[368]</span> -wonder—girl!” I hesitated, and then exultantly -I murmured: “A wonder woman!” and turned -and beat a hasty retreat to the cabin.</p> - -<p>Arrived there I sat down rather breathlessly -on the steps. I saw light at last!</p> - -<p>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.</p> - -<p>“Wanza,” I said, “is that a russet-backed -thrush singing?”</p> - -<p>“I think so, Mr. Dale.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“Do you, Mr. Dale?”</p> - -<p>“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.<span class="pagenum" id="Page_369">[369]</span> -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—”</p> - -<p>“How you go on, Mr. Dale!”</p> - -<p>“Wanza,” I said, “look up at the stars through -the pine branches.”</p> - -<p>“I like to watch them in the river.”</p> - -<p>“Yes, but look up, Wanza.”</p> - -<p>She looked as I bade her.</p> - -<p>“The moonlight in your eyes is wonderful, -child.”</p> - -<p>“Please don’t, Mr. Dale.”</p> - -<p>“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?”</p> - -<p>“Joey isn’t going to die, Mr. Dale.”</p> - -<p>“I know it.”</p> - -<p>She spoke with a sobbing breath: “Then why -do you say this?”</p> - -<p>“Because I love you with my whole soul.”</p> - -<p>“Oh!”</p> - -<p>“Turn your eyes to me, dear. Don’t look at -the stars any more. Do you love me?”</p> - -<p>“Yes.”</p> - - - -<p><span class="pagenum" id="Page_370">[370]</span>“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:</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="first2">“‘Down the world with Marna!</div> -<div class="verse">That’s the life for me!</div> -<div class="verse">Wandering with the wandering wind,</div> -<div class="verse">Vagabond and unconfined!’</div> -</div></div> - -<p>“Do you remember the song I sang to you in -the woods one night? There is another verse—listen!</p> - -<div class="poetry-container"> -<div class="poetry"> -<div class="first2">“‘Marna of the far quest</div> -<div class="verse">After the divine!</div> -<div class="verse">Striving ever for some goal</div> -<div class="verse">Past the blunder-god’s control!</div> -<div class="verse">Dreaming of potential years</div> -<div class="verse">When no day shall dawn in fears!</div> -<div class="verse">That’s the Marna of my soul,</div> -<div class="verse">Wander-bride of mine!’”</div> -</div></div> - -<p>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<span class="pagenum" id="Page_371">[371]</span> -her closer, closer still, silently, breathlessly, until -I heard her give a shaken cry:</p> - -<p>“It’s in your eyes—I can read it! You do -love me, you do, you do! David Dale! David -Dale!”</p> - -<hr class="tb" /> - -<p>After an interval, I said:</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - -<p>“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.”</p> - - -<p class="center">THE END</p> - - -<hr class="chap x-ebookmaker-drop" /> - -<div class="chapter"> -<div class="transnote"> -<p class="ph1">TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES:</p> - -<p>Obvious typographical errors have been corrected.</p> - -<p>Inconsistencies in hyphenation have been standardized.</p> - -<p>Archaic or variant spelling has been retained.</p> -</div></div> -<div style='display:block; margin-top:4em'>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE WONDER WOMAN ***</div> -<div style='text-align:left'> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -Updated editions will replace the previous one—the old editions will -be renamed. -</div> - -<div style='display:block; margin:1em 0'> -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. 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