Adrian’s affairs were also, speedily and satisfactorily arranged. Farmer Donovan would willingly take him to the nearest stage route; thence to a railway would be easy journeying; and by steam he could travel swiftly, indeed, to that distant home which he now so longed to see.
The parting of the lads was brief, but not without emotion. Two people cannot go through their experiences and dangers, to remain indifferent to each other. In both theirhearts was now the kindliest feeling and the sincere hope that they should meet again. Pierre departed first and looked back many times at the tall, graceful figure of his comrade; then the trees intervened and the forest had again swallowed him into its familiar depths.
Then Adrian, also, stepped upon the waiting buck-board and was driven over the rough road in the opposite direction.
Three days later, with nothing in his pocket but his treasured knife, a roll of birch-bark, and the ten-dollar piece which, through all his adventures, he had worn pinned to his inner clothing, “a make-piece offering” to his mother he reached the brown stone steps to his father’s city mansion.
There, for the first time, he hesitated. All the bitterness with which he had descended those steps, banished in disgrace, was keenly remembered.
“Can I, shall I, dare I go up and ring that bell?”
A vision floated before him. Margot’s earnestface and tear-dimmed eyes. Her lips speaking:
“If I had father or mother anywhere—nothing should ever make me leave them. I would bear everything—but I would be true to them.”
An instant later a peal rang through that silent house, such as it had not echoed in many a day. What would be the answer to it?
“Nosign yet?”
“No sign.” Margot’s tone was almost hopeless. Day after day, many times each day, she had climbed the pine-tree flagstaff and peered into the distance. Not once had anything been visible, save that wide stretch of forest and the shining lake.
“Suppose you cross again, to old Joe’s. He might be back by this time. I’ll fix you a bite of dinner, and you better.Maybe——”
The girl shook her head and clasped her arms about old Angelique’s neck. Then the long repressed grief burst forth in dry sobs that shook them both, and pierced the housekeeper’s faithful heart with a pain beyond endurance.
“Pst! Pouf! Hush, sweetheart, hush! ’Tis nought. A few days more and the master will be well. A few days more and Pierre willcome——Ah! but I had my hands about his ears this minute! That would teach him, yes, to turn his back on duty, him. The ingrate! Well, what the Lord sends the body must bear.”
Margot lifted her head, shook back her hair, and smiled wanly. The veriest ghost of her old smile, it was, yet even such a delight to the other’s eyes.
“Good. That’s right. Rouse up. There’s a wing of a fowl in the cupboard, left from the master’sbroth——”
“Angelique, he didn’t touch it, to-day. Not even touch it.”
“’Tis nought. When the fever is on the appetite is gone. Will be all right once that is over.”
“But, will it ever be over? Day after day, just the same. Always that tossing to and fro, the queer, jumbled talk, the growingthinner—all of the dreadful signs of how he suffers. Angelique, if I could bear it for him! I am so young and strong and worth nothing to this world while he’s so wise and good. Everybody who ever knew him must be the better for Uncle Hughie.”
“’Tis truth. For that, the good Lord will spare him to us. Of that be sure.”
“But I pray and pray and pray, and there comes no answer. He is never any better. You know that. You can’t deny it. Always before when I have prayed the answer has come swift and sure, butnow——”
“Take care, Margot. ’Tis not for us to judge the Lord’s strange ways. Else were not you and me and the master shut up alone on this island, with no doctor near, and only our two selves to keep the dumb things in comfort, though, as for dumbness, hark yonder beast!”
“Reynard! Oh! I forgot. I shut him up because he would hang about the house andwatch your poor chickens. If he’d stay in his own forest now, I would be so glad. Yet I lovehim——”
“Aye, and he loves you. Be thankful. Even a beastie’s love is of God’s sending. Go feed him. Here. The wing you’ll not eat yourself.”
There were dark days now on the once sunny island of peace.
That day when Mr. Dutton had said: “Your father is still alive,” seemed now to Margot, looking back, as one of such experiences as change a whole life. Up till that morning she had been a thoughtless, unreflecting child, but the utterance of those fateful words altered everything.
Amazement, unbelief of what her ears told her, indignation that she had been so long deceived—as she put it—were swiftly followed by a dreadful fear. Even while he spoke, the woodlander’s figure swayed and trembled, the hoe-handle on which he rested wavered and fell, and he, too, would have fallen had notthe girl’s arms caught and eased his sudden sinking in the furrow he had worked. Her shrill cry of alarm had reached Angelique, always alert for trouble and then more than ever, and had brought her swiftly to the field. Between them they had carried the now unconscious man within and laid him on his bed. He had never risen from it since; nor, in her heart, did Angelique believe he ever would, though she so stoutly asserted to the contrary before Margot.
“We have changed places, Angelique, dear,” the child often said. “It used to be you who was always croaking and looking for trouble. Now you see only brightness.”
“Well, good sooth. ’Tis a long lane has no turnin’, and better late nor never. Sometimes ’tis well to say ‘stay good trouble lest worser comes,’ eh? But things’ll mend. They must. Now, run and climb the tree. It might be this ver’ minute that wretch, Pierre, was on his way across the lake. Pouf! But he’ll stir his lazy bones, once he touches thisshore! Yes, yes, indeed. Run and hail him, maybe.”
So Margot had gone, again and again, and had returned to sit beside her uncle’s bed, anxious and watchful.
Often, also, she had paddled across the narrows and made her way swiftly to a little clearing on her uncle’s land, where, among giant trees, old Joseph Wills, the Indian guide and faithful friend of all on Peace Island, made one of his homes. Once Mr. Dutton had nursed this red man through a dangerous illness, and had kept him in his own home for many weeks thereafter. He would have been the very nurse they now needed, in their turn, could he have been found. But his cabin was closed, and on its doorway, under the family sign-picture of a turtle on a rock, he had printed in dialect, what signified his departure for a long hunting trip.
Now, as Angelique advised, she resolved to try once more; and hurrying to the shore, pushed her canoe into the water and paddledswiftly away. She had taken the neglected Reynard with her and Tom had invited himself to be a party of the trip; and in the odd but sympathetic companionship, Margot’s spirits rose again.
“It must be as Angelique says. The long lane will turn. Why have I been so easily discouraged? I never saw my precious uncle ill before, and that is why I have been so frightened. I suppose anybody gets thin and says things, when there is fever. But he’s troubled about something. He wants to do something that neither of us understand.Unless——Oh! I believe I do understand! My head is clearer out here on the water, and I know, I know! it is just about the time of year when he goes away on those long trips of his. And we’ve been so anxious we never remembered. That’s it. That surely is it. Then, of course, Joe will be back now or soon. He always stays on the island when uncle goes and he’ll remember. Oh! I’m brighter already, and I guess, I believe, it is as Angelique claims—Godwon’t take away so good a man as uncle and leave me alone. Though—I am not alone! I have a father! I have a father, somewhere, if I only knew—all in good time—and I’m growing gladder and gladder every minute.”
She could even sing to the stroke of her paddle and she skimmed the water with increasing speed. Whatever the reason for her growing cheerfulness, whether the reaction of youth or a prescience of happiness to come, the result was the same; she reached the further shore flushed and eager eyed, more like the old Margot than she had been for many days.
“Oh! he’s there. He is at home. There is a smoke coming out the chimney. Joseph! Oh! Joseph, Joseph!”
She did not even stop to take care of her canoe but left it to float whither it would. Nothing mattered, Joseph was at home. He had canoes galore, and he was help indeed.
She was quite right. The old man came to his doorway and waited her arrival with apparentindifference, though surely no human heart could have been unmoved by such unfeigned delight. Catching his unresponsive hands in hers she cried:
“Come at once, Joseph! At once!”
“Does not the master trust his friend? It is the time to come. Therefore I am here.”
“Of course. I just thought about that. But, Joseph, the master is ill. He knows nothing any more. If he ever needed you he needs you doubly now. Come, come at once.”
Then, indeed, though there was little outward expression of it, was old Joseph moved. He stopped for nothing, but leaving his fire burning on the hearth and his supper cooking before it, went out and closed the door. Even Margot’s nimble feet had ado to keep pace with his long strides and she had to spring before him to prevent his pushing off without her.
“No, no. I’m going with you. Here. I’ll tow my own boat, with Tom and Reynard—don’tyou squabble, pets!—but I’ll paddle no more while you’re here to do it for me.”
Joseph did not answer, but he allowed her to seat herself where she pleased and with one strong movement sent his big birch a long distance over the water.
Margot had never made the passage so swiftly, but the motion suited her exactly, and she leaped ashore almost before it was reached, to speed up the hill and call out to Angelique wherever she might be:
“All is well! All will now be well—Joseph has come.”
The Indian reached the house but just behind her and acknowledged Angelique’s greeting with a sort of grunt; yet he paused not at all to ask the way or if he might enter the master’s room, passing directly into it as if by right.
Margot followed him, cautioning, with finger on lip, anxious lest her patient should be shocked and harmed by the too sudden appearance of the visitor.
Then and only then, when her beloved child was safely out of sight did Angelique throw her apron over her head and give her own despairing tears free vent. She was spent and very weary; but help had come; and in the revulsion of that relief nature gave way. Her tears ceased, her breath came heavily, and the poor woman slept, the first refreshing slumber of an unmeasured time.
When she waked at length, Joseph was crossing the room. The fire had died out, twilight was falling, she was conscious of duties left undone. Yet there was light enough left for her to scan the Indian’s impassive face with keen intensity, and though he turned neither to the right nor left but went out with no word or gesture to satisfy her craving, she felt that she had had her answer:
“Unless a miracle is wrought my master is doomed.”
Fromthe moment of his entrance to the sick room, old Joe assumed all charge to it, and with scant courtesy banished from it both Angelique and Margot.
“But he is mine, my own precious uncle. Joe has no right to keep me out!” protested Margot, vehemently.
Angelique was wiser. “In his own way, among his own folks, that Indian good doctor. Leave him be. Yes. If my master can be save’, Joe Wills’ll save him. That’s as God plans; but if I hadn’tbroke——”
“Angelique! Don’t you ever, ever let me hear that dreadful talk again! I can’t bear it. I don’t believe it. I won’t hear it. I will not. Do you suppose that our dear Lord is—will——”
She could not finish her sentence andAngelique was frightened by the intensity of the girl’s excitement. Was she, too, growing feverish and ill? But Margot’s outburst had worked off some of her own uncomprehended terror, and she grew calm again. Though it had not been put into so many words, she knew from both Angelique’s and Joseph’s manner that they anticipated but one end to her guardian’s illness. She had never seen death, except among the birds and beasts of the forest, and even then it had been horrible to her; and that this should come into her own happy home was unbearable.
Then she reflected. Hugh Dutton’s example had been her instruction, and she had never seen him idle. At times when he seemed most so, sitting among his books, or gazing silently into the fire, his brain had been active over some problem that perplexed or interested him. “Never hasting, never wasting,” time, nor thought, nor any energy of life. That was his rule and she would make it hers.
“I can, at least, make things more comfortable out of doors. Angelique has let even Snowfoot suffer, sometimes, for want of the grooming and care she’s always had. The poultry, too, and the poor garden. I’m glad I’m strong enough to rake and hoe, even if I couldn’t lift uncle as Joe does.”
Her industry brought its own reward. Things outside the house took on a more natural aspect. The weeds were cleared away, and both vegetables and flowers lifted their heads more cheerfully. Snowfoot showed the benefit of the attention she received, and the forgotten family in the Hollow chattered and gamboled in delight at the reappearance among them of their indulgent mistress. Margot herself grew lighter of heart and more positive that, after all, things would end well.
“You see, Angelique dismal, we might as well take that broken glass sign to mean good things as evil. That uncle will soon be up and around again; Pierre be at home; and the ‘specimen’ from the old cave provecopper or something just as rich; and—everybody be as happy as a king.”
Angelique grunted her disbelief, but was thankful for the other’s lighter mood.
“Well, then, if you’ve so much time and strength to spare, go yonder and clean up the room that Adrian left so untidy. Where he never should have been, had I my own way; but one never has that in this world; hey, no. Indeed, no. Ever’thin’ goes contrary, else I’d have cleared away all trace long sin’. Yes, indeed, yes.”
“Well, he is gone. There’s no need to abuse him, even if he did not have the politeness to say good-bye. Though, I suppose, it was my uncle who put a stop to that. What uncle has to do he does at once. There’s never any hesitation about uncle. But I wish—I wish—Angelique Ricord, do you know something? Do you know all the history of this family?”
“Why should I not, eh?” demanded the woman, indignantly. “Is it not my ownfamily, yes? What is Pierre but one son? I love him, oh! yes.But——”
“You adore him, bad and trying as he is. But there is something you must tell me. If you know it. Maybe you do not. I did not, till that awful morning when he was taken ill. But that very minute he told me what I had never dreamed. I was angry; for a moment I almost hated him because he had deceived me, though afterward I knew that he had done it for the best and would tell me why when he could. So I’ve tried to trust him just the same and be patient. But—he may never be able—and I must know. Angelique, where is my father?”
The housekeeper was so startled that she dropped the plate she was wiping and broke it. Yet even at that fresh omen of disaster she could not remove her gaze from the girl’s face nor banish the dismay of her own.
“He told—you—that—that——”
“That my father is still alive. He would, I think have told me more; all that theremay be yet to tell, if he had not so suddenly been stricken. Where is my father?”
“WHERE IS MY FATHER?”“WHERE IS MY FATHER?”
“Oh! child, child! Don’t ask me. It is not forme——”
“If uncle cannot and you can, and there is no other person, Angelique—you must!”
“This much, then. It is in a far, far away city, or town, or place, he lives. I know not, I. This much I know. He is good, a ver’ good man. And he have enemies. Yes. They have done him much harm. Some day, in many years, maybe when you have grown a woman, old like me, he will come to Peace Island and forget. That is why we wait. That is why the master goes, once each summer, on the long, long trip. When Joseph comes, and the bad Pierre to stay. I, too, wait to see him though I never have. And when he comes, we must be ver’ tender, me and you, for people who have been done wrong to, they—they——Pouf! ’Twas anger I was that the master could put the evil-come into that room, yes.”
“Angelique! Is that my father’s room? Is it? Is that why there are the very best things in it? And that wonderful picture? And the fresh suits of clothing? Is it?”
Angelique slowly nodded. She had been amazed to find that Margot knew thus much of a long withheld history, and saw no harm in adding these few facts. The real secret, the heart of the matter—that was not yet. Meanwhile, let the child accustom herself to the new ideas and so be prepared for what she must certainly learn, should the master’s illness be a fatal one.
“Oh! then, hear me. That room shall always now be mine to care for. I haven’t liked the housewifery, not at all. But if I have a father and I can do things for him—that alters everything. Oh! you can’t mean that it will be so long before he comes. You must have been jesting. If he knew uncle was ill he would come at once, wouldn’t he? He would, I know.”
Poor Angelique turned her face away tohide its curious expression, but in her new interest concerning the “friend’s room,” as it had always been called, Margot did not notice this. She was all eagerness and loving excitement.
“To think that I have a father who may come, at any minute, for he might, Angelique, you know that, and not be ready for him. Your best and newest broom, please; and the softest dusters. That room shall, indeed, be cleaned better than anybody else could do it. Just hurry, please, I must begin. I must begin right away.”
She trembled so that she could hardly braid and pin up her long hair out of the way, and her face had regained more than its old-time color. She was content to let all that was still a mystery remain for the present. She had enough to think about and enjoy.
Angelique brought the things that would be needed and, for once, forbore advice. Let love teach the child—she had nought to say.In any case she could not have seen the dust, herself, for her dark eyes were misty with tears, and her thoughts on matters wholly foreign to household cares.
Margot opened the windows and began to dust the various articles which could be set out in the wide passage, and did not come round to the heavy dresser for some moments. As she did so, finally, her glance flew instantly to a bulky parcel, wrapped in sheets of white birch-bark, and bearing her own name, in Adrian’s handwriting.
“Why, he did remember me, then!” she cried, delightedly, tearing the package open. “Pictures! the very ones I liked the best. Xanthippé and Socrates, and oh! that’s Reynard! Reynard! Reynard, ready to speak! The splendid, beautiful creature! and the splendid, generous boy to have given it. He called it his ‘masterpiece’ and, indeed, it was by far the best he ever did here. Harmony Hollow—but that’s not so fine. However, he meant to make it like,and——Why, here’s a note.Why didn’t I come in here before? Why didn’t I think he would do something like this? Forgive me, Adrian, wherever you are, for misjudging you so. I’m sorry uncle didn’t like you and sorry—for lots of things. But I’m glad, glad you weren’t so rude and mean as I believed. If I ever see you I’ll tell you so. Now, I’ll put these in my own room and then get to work again. This room you left so messed shall be as spotless as a snowflake before I’m done with it.”
For hours she labored there, brushing, renovating, polishing; and when all was finished she called Angelique to see and criticise—if she could! But she could not; and she, too, had something now of vital importance to impart.
“It is beautiful’ done, yes, yes. I couldn’t do it more clean myself, I, Angelique, no. But, my child! Hear, hear, and be calm! The master is himself! The master has awoke, yes, and is askin’ for his child! True, true. Old Joe, he says, ‘Come. Quick, soft,no cry, no laugh, just listen.’ Yes. Oh! now all will be well.”
Margot almost hushed her very breathing. Her uncle awake, sane, asking for her! Her face was radiant, flushed, eager, a face to brighten the gloom of any sick room, however dark.
But this one was not dark. Joe knew his patient’s fancies. He had forgotten none. One of them was the sunshine and fresh air; and though in his heart he believed that these two things did a world of harm, and that the ill-ventilated and ill-lighted cabins of his own people were more conducive to recovery, he opposed nothing which the master desired. He had experimented, at first, but finding a close room aggravated Mr. Dutton’s fever, reasoned that it was too late to break up the foolish habits of a man’s lifetime; and as the woodlander had lived in the sunlight so he would better die in it, and easier.
If she had been a trained nurse Margot could not have entered her uncle’s presencemore quietly, though it seemed to her that he must hear the happy beating of her heart and how her breath came fast and short. He was almost too weak to speak at all, but there was all the old love, and more, in his whispered greeting:
“My precious child!”
“Yes, uncle. And such a happy child because you are better.”
She caught his hand and covered it with kisses, but softly, oh! so softly, and he smiled the rare sweet smile that she had feared she’d never see again. Then he looked past her to Angelique in the doorway and his eyes moved toward his desk in the corner. A little fanciful desk that held only his most sacred belongings and had been Margot’s mother’s. It was to be hers some day, but not till he had done with it, and she had never cared to own it since doing so meant that he could no longer use it. Now she watched him and Angelique wonderingly.
For the woman knew exactly what was required.Without question or hesitation she answered the command of his eyes by crossing to the desk and opening it with a key she took from her own pocket. Then she lifted a letter from an inner drawer and gave it into his thin fingers.
“Well done, good Angelique. Margot—the letter—is yours.”
“Mine? I am to read it? Now? Here?”
“No, no. No, no, indeed! Would you tire the master with the rustlin’ of paper? Take it else. Not here, where ever’thin’ must be still as still.”
Mr. Dutton’s eyes closed. Angelique knew that she had spoken for him and that the disclosure which that letter would make should be faced in solitude.
“Is she right, uncle, dearest? Shall I take it away to read?”
His eyes assented, and the tender, reassuring pressure of his hand.
“Then I’m going to your own mountain top with it. To think of having a letter fromyou, right here at home! Why, I can hardly wait! I’m so thankful to you for it, and so thankful to God that you are getting well. That you will be soon; and then—why, then—we’ll go a-fishing!”
A spasm of pain crossed the sick man’s wasted features and poor Angelique fled the place, forgetful of her own caution to “be still as still,” and with her own dark face convulsed with grief for the grief which the letter would bring to her idolized Margot.
But the girl had already gone away up the slope, faster and faster. Surely a letter from nobody but her uncle and at such a solemn time must concern but one subject—her father. Now she would know all, and her happiness should have no limit.
But it was nightfall when she, at last, came down from the mountain, and though there were no signs of tears upon her face neither was there any happiness in it.
“Themaster.”
“He wants me?”
Joe nodded and went out of doors. But it was noticeable that he merely walked around to the rear of the sick room and stationed himself beside the open window. Not that he might overhear the conversation within, but to be near if he were needed. He cast one stern look upon Margot, as he summoned her, and was evidently reassured by her own calmness.
Three days had passed since she had been given that fateful letter, and she had had time to think over its startling contents in every connection. There was now not the slightest blame of her guardian for having so long kept her in ignorance of her father’s existence; and, indeed, her love had beenstrengthened, if that were possible. The sick man had gained somewhat, though he was yet very weak and recovery was still a question. But, with improvement, came again the terrible restlessness and impatience with the circumstances which kept him a prisoner in bed, when, of all times in the year, he would be up and abroad.
When the child entered the room he was watching for her, eagerly, anxiously. How had she borne his news? How would she greet him?
Her first glance answered him. It was so tender, so pitiful, so strong.
“My darling! My own Margot! I—need not—have feared.”
“There is nothing to fear, dearest uncle. Fear must have been done with years ago, when—when—it happened. Now, now, it is time for hope, for confidence.”
He shook his head mournfully. Then he asked:
“You will let it make no difference in yourlove, your loyalty to him, when—when he comes? If he lives to come?”
“If he had been a father who did not come because he would not, then, maybe, I don’t know. But a father who could not come, who has been so cruelly, frightfully wronged—why, uncle! all my life, no matter how long, all my care and devotion, no matter how great, will never, never be able to express one-half of my love. And I bless you more for your faithfulness to him than for all you’ve ever done for me—yet even my debt to you is boundless.”
“My own impulsive, overgrateful Margot! As if it had not been also all my life, my happiness. Well, since I cannot go, you must write to him. For me and for yourself. Explaining why I cannot come, just yet, but that I will as soon as may be. Make it a letter such as you have talked just now and it will be better to his hungry heart than even a sight of his old friend and brother.”
“I will write as many letters for you as youplease, but—I will deliver them in person.”
He did not get the full import of her words, at first, but when he did he frowned. It hurt him beyond expression that she should jest on such a subject, even for the laudable purpose of cheering himself.
Then he felt her cool hand on his wrist.
“Uncle, I mean it. I have thought it over and over. I have thought of nothing else, except that you were getting better, and I know I am right. I am going to see my father. I am going to get my father. I shall never come back without him. But I shall certainly come, and he with me. You cannot go. I can, I want to, beyond telling. I must.”
A thousand objections flashed through his mind and the struggle to comprehend just what were and were not valid ones wearied him. For some time neither of them spoke again, but clasped hands until he fell into a sudden sleep. Even then Margot did not release her hold, though her cramped positionnumbed her arm, and her impatience to make him see matters from her point of view was hard to control. But he awoke almost as suddenly as he had dozed, and with a clear idea of her meaning. After all, how simple it was! and what an infinite relief to his anxiety.
“Tell me what you think.”
“This: My father must not be disappointed. Your visit, the one link that connects him with his old life and happiness, is impossible. Each year you have taken him reports of me and how I grew. I’m going to show him whether you represented me as I am or as your partial eyes behold me. More than that, I must go. I must see him. I must put my arms about his neck and tell him that I love him, as my mother loved him, with all his child’s affection added. I must. It is my right.”
“But—how. You’ve never been beyond the forest. You are so young and ignorant of—everything.”
“Maybe I shall do all the better for that reason. ‘Know nothing, fear nothing,’ and I certainly am not afraid. We are looking for Pierre to come home, any day. He should have been here long ago. As soon as he comes I will start. Old Joseph shall go with me. He knows what I do not, of towns and routes, and all those troublesome things. You will give us the money it will cost; and enough to pay for my father’s coming home. I have made his room ready. There isn’t a speck or spot in it, and there are fresh flowers every day. There have been ever since I knew that room was his. I shall go to that city of New York where—where it happened, and I shall find out the truth. I shall certainly bring him home with me.”
It was absurd. He said that to himself, not once but many times; yet despite his common sense and his bitter experience, he could not but catch something of her hopefulness. Yet so much the more hard to bear would be her disappointment.
“Dear, I have no right, it may be, to stop you. It was agreed upon between us that, when you were sixteen years old, if nothing happened to make it unnecessary, you should be told. That is, if I believed you had a character which could endure sorrow and not turn bitter under it. I do so believe, I know. But though you may make the journey, if you wish and it can be arranged safely, you must not even hope to do more than see your father and that only for a brief time.”
Margot smiled. The same bright, unconvinced smile with which she had always received any astonishing statement. When, not much more than a baby, she had been told that fire would burn, she had laughed her unbelief that fire would burn, and had thrust her small hand into the flame. The fire had burned, but she had still smiled, and bravely, though her lips trembled and there were tears upon her cheeks.
“I must go, uncle. It is my right, and his. I must try this matter for myself. I shallnever be happy else and I shall succeed. I shall. I trust in God. You have taught me that He never fails those who trust in Him.”
“Have I not trusted? Have I not prayed? Did I not labor till labor was useless? But, there, child. Not for me to darken your faith. His ways are not as our ways, else this had never come. But you shall go. You are right; and may He prosper your devotion!”
She saw that he was tired and, having gained his consent, went gladly away to Angelique, to consult with that disturbed person concerning her journey.
Angelique heard this strange announcement with incredulity. The master was delirious again. That was the explanation. Else he would never, never have consented for this outrageous journey from Pontius to Pilate, with only a never-say-anything old Indian for escort.
“But you’re part Indian yourself, sweet Angelique, so don’t abuse your own race. Asfor knowing nothing, who but Joe could have brought my uncle through this dreadful sickness so well? I believe it is all a beautiful plan.
“Well, we’ll see. If Adrian had not come, maybe my uncle would never have told me all he has. The letter was written, you know that, because he feared he might not live to tell it with his lips. And even when he was getting better he thought I still should learn the truth, and the written pages held it all. I’m so glad I know. Oh! Angelique, think! How happy, how happy we shall be when my father comes home!”
“’Tis that bad Pierre who should be comin’, yes. Wait till I get my hands about his ears.”
“Pierre’s too big to have his ears boxed. I don’t wonder he hates it. I think I would—would box back again if anybody treated me to that indignity.”
“Pst. Pouf! you are you, and Pierre is Pierre; and as long as he is in the world andI am, if his ears need boxin’, I shall box them. I, his mother.”
“Oh! very well. Suit yourself. But now, Angelique!”
“Well? I must go set the churn. Yes, I’ve wasted too much time, already, bein’ taught my manners by a chit of a thing like you. Yes. I have so. Indeed, yes.”
“Come, Angelique. Be good. When you were young, and lived in the towns, did the girls who went a-journeying wear bonnets?”
“Did they not? And the good Book that the master reads o’ nights, sayin’ the women must cover their heads. Hmm. I’ve thought a many time how his readin’ and his rearin’ didn’t go hand in glove. Bonnets, indeed! Have I not the very one I wore when I came to Peace Island. A charmin’ thing, all green ribbons and red roses. I shall wear it again, to my Pierre’s weddin’. ’Tis for that I’ve been savin’ it. And, well, because a body has no need to wear out bonnets on this bit of land in water. No.”
But Angelique was a true woman; and once upon the subject of dress her mind refused to be drawn thence. She recalled items of what had been her own trousseau, ignoring Margot’s ridicule of the clumsy Pierre as a bridegroom, and even her assertion that: “I should pity his wife, for I expect her ears would have to be boxed, also.”
“Come yon. I’ve that I will show you. ’Tis your mother’s own lovely clothes. Just as she wore them here, and carefully folded away for you till you needed them. Well, that is now, I suppose, if you’re to be let gad all over the earth, with as good a home as girl ever had right here in the peaceful woods.”
“Oh! show them to me, Angelique. Quick. Why have you never before? Of course, I shall need them now. And, Angelique! That is some more of the beautiful plan. The working out of the pattern. Else why should there be the clothes here when I need clothes? Answer me that, good Angelique, if you can.”
“Pst. ’Twas always a bothersome child for questions. But answer one yourself. If you had had them before would you have had them ready now, and the pleasure of them? No. No, indeed. But come. The clothes and then the churnin’. If that Pierre were here, ’twould not be my arms would have to ache this night with the dash, dash, dashin’. No. No, indeed, no. But come.”
Alas! Of all the carefully preserved and dainty garments there was not one which Margot could wear.
“Why, Angelique! What a tiny thing she must have been! I can’t get even my hand through the wrist of this sleeve. And look here. This skirt is away up as short as my own. If I’ve to wear short ones I’ll not change at all. In the pictures, I’ve seen lovely ladies with skirts on the ground and I thought that was the way I should look if I ever went into the world.”
“Eh? What? Lovely? You? Hmm. Lovely is that lovely does. Vanity is a disgraceto any woman. Has not the master said that often and often?”
Margot flushed. She was not conscious of vanity, yet she did not question Angelique’s opinion. But she rallied.
“I don’t think I should feel at all vain if I put on any of these things. That is, if I could even get them on. I should all the time be thinking how uncomfortable I was. Well, that’s settled. I wear my own clothes, and not even my dear mother’s. Hers I will always keep for her sake; but to her great daughter they are useless. And I’ll go bareheaded just as here. Why not? I certainly don’t need a bonnet, with all this hair.”
Now Margot’s hair was Angelique’s especial pride. Indeed, it was a wonderful glory upon that shapely young head; but again this was not to be admitted.
“Hair! What’s hair? Not but you’ve enough of it for three women, for that matter. But it will not do to go that way. It must be braided and pinned fast. Here is abonnet, not so gay as mine, and I would trust you with that—only——”
“I wouldn’t wear it, dear Angelique. It’s lovely and kind for you to even think of offering. You must keep that for Pierre’s wife,and——”
“I should like to see her with it on! Huh! Indeed! Pouf!”
“There are hats enough of my own mother’s, and to wear one may be another piece of your ‘good luck.’ I shall wear this one. It is all blue like my frocks, and the little brown ribbon is the color of my shoes. Adrian would say that was ‘artistic,’ if he were here. Oh! Angelique! When I go to that far city, do you suppose I shall see Adrian? Do you?”
“Do you go there to break your uncle’s heart again? ’Tis not Adrian you will see, ever again, I hope. No. Indeed, no. See. This shawl. It goes so;” and Angelique adjusted the soft, rich fabric around her own shoulders, put a hat jauntily upon her head,and surveyed the effect with undisguised admiration, as reflected in the little mirror in the lid of the big trunk.
“Angelique! Angelique, take care! ‘Vanity is a disgrace to any woman!’ What if that misguided Pierre should see you now? What would he think ofhis——”
Hark! What was that? How dared old Joseph tramp through the house at such a pace, with such a noise? and the master still so weak.Why——
The indignant house-mistress disappeared with indignation blazing in her eyes.
Margot, also, stood still in the midst of her finery, listening and almost as angry as the other; till there came back to her another sound so familiar and reassuring that her fears were promptly banished, while one more anxiety was lifted from her heart.
“Pierre! and Angelique is boxing his ears! My, what a whack, that I can hear it way in here! I must to the rescue, but his coming makes right for me to go. Angelique, Angelique, don’t! Heigho, Pierre! I’m glad you’re back!”
But if he heard this welcome he did not heed it, and Margot stood amazed at the ridiculous scene upon which she had entered.
There was Angelique, still arrayed in her own flower-bedecked bonnet and her mistress’ India shawl, being whirled about the big kitchen in a crazy sort of waltz which seemed to suit the son’s excited mood. Her bonnet sat rakishly on one side and the rich shawl dragged over the floor, which, fortunately,was too clean to harm it; but amidst her enforced exercises, the mother continued to aim those resounding blows at her son’s great ears. Sometimes they hit the mark, but at others fell harmlessly upon his broad shoulders. In any case, they seemed not to disturb him but rather to add to the homelikeness of his return.
At length, however, he released his irate parent and held out his hand to Margot.
“Done the old lady heap of good. How’s things? How’s the menagerie? and the master?”
“Hey? Where’s the manners I’ve always taught you? Askin’ for the master last when ’tis he is always first. Yes. Yes, indeed. But, Pierre, ’twas nigh no master at all you came home to. He’s been at death’s door for weeks. Evenyet——”
Then Angelique turned and saw Margot, whose presence she had not before observed. But she rallied instantly, turning her sentence into a brisk command:
“Even yet, the churnin’ not done and it goin’ on to measure nine o’clock. Get to the dasher, lad, and tie this big apron round your neck. Then change that dirty shirt. That a child of mine should wear such filthy things. Pouf! you were always the torment; that is so.”
“Just the same, Angelique, dear, your eyes are shining like stars, and you are happier than you have been a single minute since that bad boy of yours paddled away in the night. If he’s to churn I’m to sit beside him and hear all his long story first. Come on, Pierre! Oh! how good it is to have you back!”
It was, also, most delightful to the mother, even though her happiness expressed itself in a peculiar way, by grumbling and scolding as she had not done once since real trouble fell upon that home, with the illness of its master.
The churn stood outside the kitchen door, for Angelique would allow no chance of spilled cream on her scoured boards; so Margotsettled herself on the door-step and listened while the wanderer gave her a long and detailed account of his journey. Meanwhile, and at every few minutes, his mother would step to his side, take the dasher from his hand and force a bit of food within it. He devoured this greedily, though he made no comment, and resumed his churning as soon as the tid-bit was consumed. Through all, Angelique’s face was beaming and her lips fretting, till Margot laughed aloud.
“Oh! Angelique Ricord! Of all the odd people you are the oddest!”
“So? Well, then. How many odd people have you seen, my child that you should be so fine a judge? So that evil-come departed to his own, he did? May his shadow never darken this door again! ’Twas all along of him the trouble came.”
“No, Angelique, you forget. It must have been the broken glass! How could it possibly have been anything else? Never mind, sweetheart; when I come home from my long journeyI will bring you a new one, big and clear, and that has the power to make even plain folks look lovely. If my uncle will let me. Dear, but I do wish you had a bit, this minute, to see how silly you look with that big bonnet on!”
Angelique’s hand flew to her head in comic dismay. She had carefully removed and refolded the beautiful shawl, but had quite forgotten her other adornment, which she now tore off in a haste that threatened damage to the precious possession.
“Pierre, bid her be careful. That is your wife’s bonnet!”
Even the housekeeper had to smile at this and listen patiently while Margot made much of the incident. Indeed, she would have willingly been laughed at indefinitely, if thus she could herself hear these young voices gay with the old-time unconcern.
“And Adrian was good to the poor, wild things. Well, I have hopes of Adrian. He didn’t have the right sort of rearing to knowhow the forest people feel, but he learned fast. I’m thankful, thankful, Pierre Ricord, that you had to lose those fine antlers. If you’d sold them and made a lot of money by it, you would have forgotten that the moose could suffer and have killed many more. As it is, better one should die than many. And Pierre, I’m going away myself. Now that you’ve come home, I’m going at once. Old Joseph and I. Clear to that far away New York where Adrian has gone, and to many other places, too.”
Pierre dropped the dasher with such force that the “half-brought” butter, which Angelique was opening the churn to “scrape down together,” splashed out over the step, Margot’s lap, and the ground.
Angelique was too indignant to speak, but Margot cried:
“Oh! Pierre! How careless and wasteful. We’ve none too much butter, anyway.”
The lad still stared, open-mouthed. After a minute he asked:
“What’s that you said? About that New York?”
“I’m going to New York. I’m going in my uncle’s place, to attend to my uncle’s business. Old Joe is to go with me to take care of me—or I of him—and you are to stay here with the master and your mother. You may bring King Madoc over if you wish; and, by the way, how did you get here, if you have lost your own canoe?”
“Helped myself to one of Joe’s. Helped myself to a breakfast, too. Joe’s stocked up for winter, already. But, I say, Margot. He’s no use in a big city. Better take me. I was goin’ anyway, only after that—well, that grave, I made up my mind I’d just step back here a spell and take a fresh start. I’m ready, any minute, and Joe hates it. Hey?”
“I wouldn’t trust myself with you a dozen miles. You’re too foolish and fickle. Joe is steady and faithful. It’s settled. I think, Angelique, that we can start to-morrow. Don’t you?”
Angelique sighed. All her happiness was once more overclouded. Why couldn’t well enough be let alone? However, she answered nothing. She had sometimes ventured to grumble even at the master but she had never questioned his decisions. If it was by his will that her inexperienced darling was to face the dangers of an unknown world, with nobody but a glum old Indian to serve her, of course, there was nothing for it but submission.
At daybreak the next morning, Margot stood beside her uncle’s bed, clasping his thin hands in parting. His eyes were sad and anxious, but hers were bright and full of confidence. He had given his last advice; she had ample money for all possible needs, with directions upon whom to call for more, should anything arise for which they had not prepared, and she had, also, her route marked out on paper, with innumerable suggestions about this or that stop; and now, there was nothing more to do or say but add his blessing and farewell.