At sixteen-forty-five the Waring-Gaunt car was standing at the Melville Station awaiting the arrival of the train which was to bring Jane and her father, but no train was in sight. Larry, after inquiry at the wicket, announced that she was an hour late. How much more the agent, after the exasperating habit of railroad officials, could not say, nor could he assign any reason for the delay.
“Let me talk to him,” said Nora impatiently. “I know Mr. Field.”
Apparently the official reserve in which Mr. Field had wrapped himself was not proof against the smile which Nora flung at him through the wicket.
“We really cannot say how late she will be, Miss Nora. I may tell you, but we are not saying anything about it, that there has been an accident.”
“An accident!” exclaimed Nora. “Why, we are expecting—”
“No, there is no one hurt. A freight has been derailed, and torn up the track a bit. The passenger train is held up just beyond Fairfield. It will be a couple of hours, perhaps three, before she arrives.” At this point the telegraph instrument clicked. “Just a minute, Miss Nora, there may be something on the wire.” With his fingers on the key he executed some mysterious prestidigitations, wrote down some words, and came to the wicket again. “Funny,” he said, “it is a wire for you, Miss Nora.”
Nora took the yellow slip and read: “Delayed by derailed freight. Time of arrival uncertain. Very sorry, Jane.”
“What do you think of this?” cried Nora, carrying the telegram out to the car. “Isn't it perfectly exasperating? That takes off one of their nights.”
“Where is the accident?” inquired Mrs. Waring-Gaunt.
“Just above Fairfield.”
“Fairfield! The poor things! Jump in and we will be there in no time. It is not much further to Wolf Willow from Fairfield than from here. Hurry up, we must make time.”
“Now, Mrs. Waring-Gaunt, I know your driving. Just remember that I am an only son. I prefer using all four wheels on curves, please.”
“Let her go,” cried Nora.
And Mrs. Waring-Gaunt “let her go” at such speed that Larry declared he had time for only two perfectly deep breaths, one before they started, the other after they had pulled up beside the Pullman car at the scene of the wreck.
“Jane, Jane, Jane,” yelled Larry, waving his hands wildly to a girl who was seen sitting beside a window reading. The girl looked up, sprang from her seat, and in a moment or two appeared on the platform. “Come on,” yelled Larry. He climbed over a wire fence, and up the steep grade of the railroad embankment. Down sprang the girl, met him half way up the embankment, and gave him both her hands. “Jane, Jane,” exclaimed Larry. “You are looking splendidly. Do you know,” he added in a low voice, “I should love to kiss you right here. May I? Look at all the people; they would enjoy it so much.”
The girl jerked away her hands, the blood showing dully under her brown skin. “Stop it, you silly boy. Is that Nora? Yes, it is.” She waved her hand wildly at Nora, who was struggling frantically with the barbed wire fence. “Wait, I am coming, Nora,” cried Jane.
Down the embankment she scrambled and, over the wire, the two girls embraced each other to the delight of the whole body of the passengers gathered at windows and on platforms, and to the especial delight of a handsome young giant, resplendent in a new suit of striped flannels, negligee shirt, blue socks with tie to match, and wearing a straw hat adorned with a band in college colours. With a wide smile upon his face he stood gazing down upon the enthusiastic osculation of the young ladies.
“Mrs. Waring-Gaunt, this is Jane,” cried Nora. “Mrs. Waring-Gaunt has come to meet you and take you home,” she added to Jane. “You know we have no car of our own.”
“How do you do,” said Jane, smiling at Mrs. Waring-Gaunt. “I can't get at you very well just now. It was very kind of you to come for us.”
“And she has left her brother very sick at home,” said Nora in a low voice.
“We won't keep you waiting,” said Jane, beginning to scramble up the bank again. “Come, Larry, I shall get father and you shall help with our things.”
“Right you are,” said Larry.
“Met your friends, I see, Miss Brown,” said the handsome giant. “I know it is mean of me, but I am really disgusted. It is bad enough to be held up here for a night, but to lose your company too.”
“Well, I am awfully glad,” said Jane, giving him such a delighted smile that he shook his head disconsolately.
“No need telling me that. Say,” he added in an undertone, “that's your friend Nora, ain't it? Stunning girl. Introduce me, won't you?”
“Yes, if you will help me with my things. I am in an awful hurry and don't want to keep them waiting. Larry, this is Mr. Dean Wakeham.” The young man shook hands with cordial frankness, Larry with suspicion in his heart.
“Let me have your check, Jane, and I will go and get your trunk,” said Larry.
“No, you come with me, Larry,” said Jane decidedly. “The trunk is too big for you to handle. Mr. Wakeham, you will get it for me, won't you, please? I will send a porter to help.”
“Gladly, Miss Brown. No, I mean with the deepest pain and regret,” said Wakeham, going for the trunk while Larry accompanied her in quest of the minor impedimenta that constituted her own and her father's baggage.
“Jane, have you any idea how glad I am to see you?” demanded Larry as they passed into the car.
Jane's radiant smile transformed her face. “Yes, I think so,” she said simply. “But we must hurry. Oh, here is Papa.”
Dr. Brown hailed Larry with acclaim. “This is very kind of you, my dear boy; you have saved us a tedious wait.”
“We must hurry, Papa,” said Jane, cutting him short. “Mrs. Waring-Gaunt, who has come for us in her car, has left her brother ill at home.” She marshalled them promptly into the car and soon had them in line for the motor, bearing the hand baggage and wraps, the porter following with Jane's own bag. “Thank you, porter,” said Jane, giving him a smile that reduced that functionary to the verge of grinning imbecility, and a tip which he received with an air of absent-minded indifference. “Good-bye, porter; you have made us very comfortable,” said Jane, shaking hands with him.
“Thank you, Miss; it shuah is a pleasuah to wait on a young lady like you, Miss. It shuah is, Miss. Ah wish you a prospec jounay, Miss, Ah do.”
“I wonder what is keeping Mr. Wakeham,” said Jane. “I am very sorry to keep you waiting, Mrs. Waring-Gaunt. Larry, would you mind?”
“Certainly not,” said Larry, hurrying off toward the baggage car. In a few minutes Mr. Wakeham appeared with the doleful news that the trunk was not in the car and must have been left behind.
“I am quite sure it is there,” said Jane, setting off herself for the car, the crestfallen Mr. Wakeham and the porter following behind her.
At the door of the car the baggage man met her with regretful apologies. “The trunk must have been left behind.”
He was brusquely informed by Jane that she had seen it put on board.
“Then it must have been put off by mistake at Calgary?” This suggestion was brushed aside as unworthy of consideration. The trunk was here in this car, she was sure. This the baggage man and Mr. Wakeham united in declaring quite impossible. “We have turned the blasted car upside down,” said the latter.
“Impossible?” exclaimed Jane, who had been exploring the dark recesses of the car. “Why, here it is, I knew it was here.”
“Hurrah,” cried Larry, “we have got it anyway.”
Mr. Wakeham and the baggage man went to work to extricate the trunk from the lowest tier of boxes. They were wise enough to attempt no excuse or explanation, and in Jane's presence they felt cribbed, cabined and confined in the use of such vocabulary as they were wont to consider appropriate to the circumstances, and in which they prided themselves as being adequately expert. A small triumphal procession convoyed the trunk to the motor, Jane leading as was fitting, Larry and Mr. Wakeham forming the rear guard. The main body consisted of the porter, together with the baggage man, who, under a flagellating sense of his incompetence, was so moved from his wonted attitude of haughty indifference as to the fate of a piece of baggage committed to his care when once he had contemptuously hurled it forth from the open door of his car as to personally aid in conducting by the unusual and humiliating process of actually handling this particular bit of baggage down a steep and gravelly bank and over a wire fence and into a motor car.
“Jane's a wonder,” confided Larry to Mr. Wakeham.
“She sure is,” said that young man. “You cannot slip anything past her, and she's got even that baggage man tamed and tied and ready to catch peanuts in his mouth. First time I have seen that done.”
“You just wait till she smiles her farewell at him,” said Larry, hugely enjoying the prospect.
Together they stood awaiting the occurrence of this phenomenon. “Gosh-a-mighty, look at him,” murmured Mr. Wakeham. “Takes it like pie. He'd just love to carry that blasted trunk up the grade and back to the car, if she gave him the wink. Say, she ain't much to look at, but somehow she's got me handcuffed and chained to her chariot wheels. Say,” he continued with a shyness not usual with him, “would you mind introducing me to the party?”
“Come along,” said Larry.
The introduction, however, was performed by Jane, who apparently considered Mr. Wakeham as being under her protection. “Mrs. Waring-Gaunt, this is Mr. Wakeham. Mr. Wakeham is from Chicago, but,” she hastened to add, “he knows some friends of ours in Winnipeg.”
“So you see I am fairly respectable,” said Mr. Wakeham, shaking hand with Mrs. Waring-Gaunt and Nora.
When the laughter had ceased, Mr. Wakeham said, “If your car were only a shade larger I should beg hospitality along with Dr. and Miss Brown.”
“Room on the top,” said Mrs. Waring-Gaunt with a smile, “but it seems the only place left. You are just passing through, Mr. Wakeham?”
“Yes, I am going on to Manor Mine.”
“Oh, that's only twenty miles down the line.”
“Then may I run up to see you?” eagerly asked Mr. Wakeham.
“Certainly, we shall be delighted to see you,” said the lady.
“Count on me, then,” said the delighted Mr. Wakeham, lifting his hat in farewell.
Dr. Brown took his place in the front seat beside Mrs. Waring-Gaunt, the three young people occupying the seat in the rear.
“Who is he?” asked Larry when they had finally got under way.
“A friend of the James Murrays in Winnipeg. You remember them, don't you? Ethel Murray was in your year. He is very nice indeed, don't you think so, Papa?” said Jane, appealing to her father.
“Fine young chap,” said Dr. Brown with emphasis. “His father is in mines in rather a big way, I believe. Lives in Chicago, has large holdings in Alberta coal mines about here somewhere, I fancy. The young man is a recent graduate from Cornell and is going into his father's business. He strikes me as an exceptionally able young fellow.” And for at least five miles of the way Dr. Brown discussed the antecedents, the character, the training, the prospects of the young American till Larry felt qualified to pass a reasonably stiff examination on that young man's history, character and career.
“Now tell me,” said Larry to Jane at the first real opening that offered, “what does this talk about a three days' visit to us mean. The idea of coming a thousand miles on your first visit to your friends, some of whom you have not seen for eight years and staying three days!”
“You see Papa is on his way to Banff,” explained Jane, “and then he goes to the coast and he only has a short time. So we could plan only for three days here.”
“We can plan better than that,” said Larry confidently, “but never mind just now. We shall settle that to-morrow.”
The journey home was given to the careful recital of news of Winnipeg, of the 'Varsity, and of mutual friends. It was like listening to the reading of a diary to hear Jane bring up to date the doings and goings and happenings in the lives of their mutual friends for the past year. Gossip it was, but of such kindly nature as left no unpleasant taste in the mouth and gave no unpleasant picture of any living soul it touched.
“Oh, who do you think came to see me two weeks ago? An old friend of yours, Hazel Sleighter. Mrs. Phillips she is now. She has two lovely children. Mr. Phillips is in charge of a department in Eaton's store.”
“You don't tell me,” cried Larry. “How is dear Hazel? How I loved her once! I wonder where her father is and Tom and the little girl. What was her name?”
“Ethel May. Oh, she is married too, in your old home, to Ben—somebody.”
“Ben, big Ben Hopper? Why, think of that kid married.”
“She is just my age,” said Jane soberly, glad of the dusk of the falling night. She would have hated to have Larry see the quick flush that came to her cheek. Why the reference to Ethel May's marriage should have made her blush she hardly knew, and that itself was enough to annoy her, for Jane always knew exactly why she did things.
“And Mr. and Mrs. Sleighter,” said Jane, continuing her narrative, “have gone to Toronto. They have become quite wealthy, Hazel says, and Tom is with his father in some sort of financial business. What is it, Papa?”
Dr. Brown suddenly waked up. “What is what, my dear? You will have to forgive me. This wonderful scenery, these hills here and those mountains are absorbing my whole attention. So wonderful it all is that I hardly feel like apologising to Mrs. Waring-Gaunt for ignoring her.”
“Don't think of it,” said Mrs. Waring-Gaunt.
“Do you know, Jane,” continued Dr. Brown, “that at this present moment you are passing through scenery of its kind unsurpassed possibly in the world?”
“I was talking to Larry, Papa,” said Jane, and they all laughed at her.
“I was talking to Jane,” said Larry.
“But look at this world about you,” continued her father, “and look, do look at the moon coming up behind you away at the prairie rim.” They all turned about except Mrs. Waring-Gaunt, whose eyes were glued to the two black ruts before her cutting through the grass. “Oh, wonderful, wonderful,” breathed Dr. Brown. “Would it be possible to pause, Mrs. Waring-Gaunt, at the top of this rise?”
“No,” said Mrs. Waring-Gaunt, “but at the top of the rise beyond, where you will get the full sweep of the country in both directions.”
“Is that where we get your lake, Nora,” inquired Jane, “and the valley beyond up to the mountains?”
“How do you know?” said Nora.
“I remember Larry told me once,” she said.
“That's the spot,” said Nora. “But don't look around now. Wait until you are told.”
“Papa,” said Jane in a quiet, matter-of-fact voice, “what is it that Tom is doing?” Larry shouted.
“Tom, what Tom? Jane, my dear,” said Dr. Brown in a pained voice, “does Tom matter much or any one else in the midst of all this glory?”
“I think so, Papa,” said Jane firmly. “You matter, don't you? Everybody matters. Besides, we were told not to look until we reached the top.”
“Well, Jane, you are an incorrigible Philistine,” said her father, “and I yield. Tom's father is a broker, and Tom is by way of being a broker too, though I doubt if he is broking very much. May I dismiss Tom for a few minutes now?” Again they all laughed.
“I don't see what you are all laughing at,” said Jane, and lapsed into silence.
“Now then,” cried Nora, “in three minutes.”
At the top of the long, gently rising hill the motor pulled up, purring softly. They all stood up and gazed around about them. “Look back,” commanded Nora. “It is fifty miles to that prairie rim there.” From their feet the prairie spread itself in long softly undulating billows to the eastern horizon, the hollows in shadow, the crests tipped with the silver of the rising moon. Here and there wreaths of mist lay just above the shadow lines, giving a ghostly appearance to the hills. “Now look this way,” said Nora, and they turned about. Away to the west in a flood of silvery light the prairie climbed by abrupt steps, mounting ever higher over broken rocky points and rocky ledges, over bluffs of poplar and dark masses of pine and spruce, up to the grey, bare sides of the mighty mountains, up to their snow peaks gleaming elusive, translucent, faintly discernible against the blue of the sky. In the valley immediately at their feet the waters of the little lake gleamed like a polished shield set in a frame of ebony. “That's our lake,” said Nora, “with our house just behind it in the woods. And nearer in that little bluff is Mrs. Waring-Gaunts home.”
“Papa,” said Jane softly, “we must not keep Mrs. Waring-Gaunt.”
“Thank you, Jane,” said Mrs. Waring-Gaunt. “I fear I must go on.”
“Don't you love it?” inquired Larry enthusiastically and with a touch of impatience in his voice.
“Oh, yes, it is lovely,” said Jane.
“But, Jane, you will not get wild over it,” said Larry.
“Get wild? I love it, really I do. But why should I get wild over it. Oh, I know you think, and Papa thinks, that I am awful. He says I have no poetry in me, and perhaps he is right.”
In a few minutes the car stopped at the door of Mrs. Waring-Gaunt's house. “I shall just run in for a moment,” said Mrs. Waring-Gaunt. “Kathleen will want to see you, and perhaps will go home with you. I shall send her out.”
Out from the vine-shadowed porch into the white light came Kathleen, stood a moment searching the faces of the party, then moved toward Dr. Brown with her hands eagerly stretched out. “Oh, Dr. Brown,” she cried, “it is so good to see you here.”
“But my dear girl, my dear girl, how wonderful you look! Why, you have actually grown more beautiful than when we saw you last!”
“Oh, thank you, Dr. Brown. And there is Jane,” cried Kathleen, running around to the other side of the car. “It is so lovely to see you and so good of you to come to us,” she continued, putting her arms around Jane and kissing her.
“I wanted to come, you know,” said Jane.
“Yes, it is Jane's fault entirely,” said Dr. Brown. “I confess I hesitated to impose two people upon you this way, willy-nilly. But Jane would have it that you would be glad to have us.”
“And as usual Jane was right,” said Larry with emphasis.
“Yes,” said Kathleen, “Jane was right. Jane is a dear to think that way about us. Dr. Brown,” continued Kathleen with a note of anxiety in her voice, “Mrs. Waring-Gaunt wondered if you would mind coming in to see her brother. He was wounded with a gunshot in the arm about ten days ago. Dr. Hudson, who was one of your pupils, I believe, said he would like to have you see him when you came. I wonder if you would mind coming in now.” Kathleen's face was flushed and her words flowed in a hurried stream.
“Not at all, not at all,” answered the doctor, rising hastily from the motor and going in with Kathleen.
“Oh, Larry,” breathed Jane in a rapture of delight, “isn't she lovely, isn't she lovely? I had no idea she was so perfectly lovely.” Not the moon, nor the glory of the landscape with all its wonder of plain and valley and mountain peak had been able to awaken Jane to ecstasy, but the rare loveliness of this girl, her beauty, her sweet simplicity, had kindled Jane to enthusiasm.
“Well, Jane, you are funny,” said Larry. “You rave and go wild over Kathleen, and yet you keep quite cool over that most wonderful view.”
“View!” said Jane contemptuously. “No, wait, Larry, let me explain. I do think it all very wonderful, but I love people. People after all are better than mountains, and they are more wonderful too.”
“Are they?” said Larry dubiously. “Not so lovely, sometimes.”
“Some people,” insisted Jane, “are more wonderful than all the Rocky Mountains together. Look at Kathleen,” she cried triumphantly. “You could not love that old mountain there, could you? But, Kathleen—”
“Don't know about that,” said Larry. “Dear old thing.”
“Tell me how Mr. Romayne was hurt,” said Jane, changing the subject.
In graphic language Nora gave her the story of the accident with all the picturesque details, recounting Kathleen's part in it with appropriate emotional thrills. Jane listened with eyes growing wider with each horrifying elaboration.
“Do you think his arm will ever be all right?” she inquired anxiously.
“We do not know yet,” said Nora sombrely.
“Nonsense,” interrupted Larry sharply. “His arm will be perfectly all right. You people make me tired with your passion for horrors and possible horrors.”
Nora was about to make a hot reply when Jane inquired quietly, “What does the doctor say? He ought to know.”
“That's just it,” said Nora. “He said yesterday he did not like the look of it at all. You know he did, Larry. Mrs. Waring-Gaunt told me so. They are quite anxious about it. But we will hear what Dr. Brown says and then we will know.”
But Dr. Brown's report did not quite settle the matter, for after the approved manner of the profession he declined to commit himself to any definite statement except that it was a nasty wound, that it might easily have been worse, and he promised to look in with Dr. Hudson to-morrow. Meantime he expressed the profound hope that Mrs. Waring-Gaunt might get them as speedily as was consistent with safety to their destination, and that supper might not be too long delayed.
“We can trust Mrs. Waring-Gaunt for the first,” said Larry with confidence, “and mother for the second.” In neither the one nor the other was Larry mistaken, for Mrs. Waring-Gaunt in a very few minutes discharged both passengers and freight at the Gwynnes' door, and supper was waiting.
“We greatly appreciate your kindness, Mrs. Waring-Gaunt,” said Dr. Brown, bowing courteously over her hand. “I shall look in upon your brother to-morrow morning. I hardly think there is any great cause for anxiety.”
“Oh, thank you, Dr. Brown, I am glad to hear you say that. It would be very good of you to look in to-morrow.”
“Good-night,” said Jane, her rare smile illuminating her dark face. “It was so good of you to come for us. It has been a delightful ride. I hope your brother will be better to-morrow.”
“Thank you, my dear,” said Mrs. Waring-Gaunt. “I should be glad to have you come over to us. I am sure my brother would be glad to know you.”
“Do you think so,” said Jane doubtfully. “You know I am not very clever. I am not like Kathleen or Nora.” The deep blue eyes looked wistfully at her out of the plain little face.
“I am perfectly certain he would love to know you, Jane—if I may call you so,” said Mrs. Waring-Gaunt, impulsively kissing her.
“Oh, you are so kind,” said Jane. “I will come then to-morrow.”
The welcome to the Gwynne home was without fuss or effusiveness but had the heart quality that needs no noisy demonstration.
“We are glad to have you with us at Lakeside Farm,” said Mr. Gwynne heartily, as he ushered Dr. Brown and Jane into the big living room, where his wife stood waiting.
“You are welcome to us, Dr. Brown,” said the little lady. And something in the voice and manner made Dr. Brown know that the years that had passed since his first meeting with her had only deepened the feeling of gratitude and affection in her heart toward him. “We have not forgotten nor shall we ever forget your kindness to us when we were strangers passing through Winnipeg, nor your goodness to Larry and Kathleen while in Winnipeg. They have often told us of your great kindness.”
“And you may be quite sure, Mrs. Gwynne,” said Dr. Brown heartily, “that Larry brought his welcome with him, and as for Kathleen, we regard her as one of our family.”
“And this is Jane,” said Mrs. Gwynne. “Dear child, you have grown. But you have not changed. Come away to your room.”
Once behind the closed door she put her arms around the girl and kissed her. Then, holding her at arm's length, scrutinised her face with searching eyes. “No,” she said again with a little sigh of relief, “you have not changed. You are the same dear, wise girl I learned to love in Winnipeg.”
“Oh, I am glad you think I am not changed, Mrs. Gwynne,” said Jane, with a glow of light in her dark blue eyes. “I do not like people to change and I would hate to have you think me changed. I know,” she added shyly, “I feel just the same toward you and the others here. But oh, how lovely they are, both Kathleen and Nora.”
“They are good girls,” said Mrs. Gwynne quietly, “and they have proved good girls to me.”
“I know, I know,” said Jane, with impulsive fervour, “and through those winters and all. Oh, they were so splendid.”
“Yes,” said the mother, “they never failed, and Larry too.”
“Yes, indeed,” cried Jane with increasing ardour, her eyes shining, “with his teaching,—going there through the awful cold,—lighting the school fires,—and the way he stuck to his college work. Nora's letters told me all about it. How splendid that was! And you know, Mrs. Gwynne, in the 'Varsity he did so well. I mean besides his standing in the class lists, in the Societies and in all the college life. He was really awfully popular,” added Jane with something of a sigh.
“You must tell me, dear, sometime all about it. But now you must be weary and hungry. Come away out if you are ready, and I hope you will feel as if you were just one of ourselves.”
“Do you know, that is just the way I feel, Mrs. Gwynne,” said Jane, putting the final touch to her toilet. “I seem to know the house, and everything and everybody about it. Nora is such a splendid correspondent, you see.”
“Well, dear child, we hope the days you spend here will always be a very bright spot in your life,” said Mrs. Gwynne as they entered the living room.
The next few days saw the beginning of the realisation of that hope, for of all the bright spots in Jane's life none shone with a brighter and more certain lustre than the days of her visit to Lakeside Farm.
By arrangement made the previous evening Jane was awake before the family was astir and in Nora's hands preparing for a morning ride with Larry, who was to give her her first lesson in equitation.
“Your habit will be too big for me, Nora, I am afraid,” she said.
“Habit!” cried Nora. “My pants, you mean. You can pull them up, you know. There they are.”
“Pants!” gasped Jane. “Pants! Nora, pants! Do you mean to say you wear these things where all the men will see you?” Even in the seclusion of her bedroom Jane's face at the thought went a fiery red. Nora laughed at her scornfully. “Oh, but I can't possibly go out in these before Larry. I won't ride at all. Haven't you a skirt, a regular riding habit?”
But Nora derided her scruples. “Why, Jane, we all wear them here.”
“Does Kathleen?”
“Of course she does, and Mrs. Waring-Gaunt, and everybody.”
“Oh, she might, but I am sure your mother would not.”
Nora shouted joyfully. “Well, that is true, she never has, but then she has never ridden out here. Put them on, hurry up, your legs are straight enough, your knees don't knock.”
“Oh, Nora, they are just terrible,” said Jane, almost in tears. “I know I will just squat down if Larry looks at me.”
“Why should he look at you? Don't you ever let on but that you have worn them often, and he will never think of looking at you.”
In face of many protests Jane was at length arrayed in her riding apparel.
“Why, you look perfectly stunning,” said Nora. “You have got just the shape for them. Pull them up a little. There, that is better. Now step out and let me see you.”
Jane walked across the room and Nora rocked in laughter. “Oh, Nora, I will just take them off. You are as mean as you can be. I will pull them off.”
“Not a bit,” said Nora, still laughing, “only stretch your legs a bit when you walk. Don't mince along. Stride like a man. These men have had all the fun in the matter of clothes. I tell you it was one of the proudest moments of my life when I saw my own legs walking. Now step out and swing your arms. There, you are fine, a fine little chap, Jane, round as a barrel, and neat as a ballet dancer, although I never saw one except in magazines.”
Trim and neat Jane looked, the riding suit showing off the beautiful lines of her round, shapely figure. Shrinking, blushing, and horribly conscious of her pants, Jane followed Nora from her bedroom. A swift glance she threw around the room. To her joy it was empty but for Mrs. Gwynne, who was ready with a big glass of rich milk and a slice of home-made bread and delicious butter.
“Good morning, my dear,” said Mrs. Gwynne, kissing her. “You will need something before you ride. You will have breakfast after your return.”
Jane went close to her and stood beside her, still blushing. “Oh, thank you,” she cried, “I am really hungry already. I hope I won't get killed. I never was on a horse before, you know.”
“Oh, never fear, Lawrence is very careful. If it were Nora now I would not be so sure about you, but Lawrence is quite safe.”
At this point Larry came in. “Well, Jane, all ready? Good for you. I like a girl that is always on time.”
“How do you like her pants, Larry?” said Nora, wickedly.
“Perfectly splendiferous,” cried Larry.
“Oh, you mean thing, Nora,” cried Jane, dropping hurriedly into a chair with scarlet face and indignant eyes.
“Come along, Jane, old chap, don't mind her. Those pants never looked so well before, I assure you. We are going to have a great time. I guarantee that in a few minutes you will be entirely oblivious of such trivial things as mere pants.”
They all passed out into the front yard to see Jane mount and take her first lesson.
“This is Polly,” said Larry. “She has taught us all to ride, and though she has lost her shape a bit, she has still 'pep' enough to decline to take a dare.”
“What do I do?” said Jane, gazing fearfully at the fat and shapeless Polly.
“There is just one rule in learning to ride,” said Larry, “step on and stick there. Polly will look after the rest.”
“Step on—it is easy to say, but—”
“This way,” said Nora. She seized hold of the horn of the saddle, put her foot into the stirrup and sprang upon Polly's back. “Oh, there's where the pants come in,” she added as her dress caught on to the rear of the saddle. “Now up you go. Make up your mind you are going to DO it, not going to TRY.”
A look of serious determination came into Jane's face, a look that her friends would have recognised as the precursor of a resolute and determined attempt to achieve the thing in hand. She seized the horn of the saddle, put her foot into the stirrup and “stepped on.”
The riding lesson was an unqualified success, though for some reason, known only to herself, Polly signalised the event by promptly running away immediately her head was turned homeward, and coming back down the lane at a thundering gallop.
“Hello!” cried Nora, running out to meet them. “Why, Jane, you have been fooling us all along. You needn't tell me this is your first ride.”
“My very first,” said Jane, “but I hope not my last.”
“But, my dear,” said Mrs. Gwynne, who had also come out to see the return, “you are doing famously.”
“Am I?” cried Jane, her face aglow and her eyes shining. “I think it is splendid. Shall we ride again to-day, Larry?”
“Right away after breakfast and all day long if you like. You are a born horsewoman, Jane.”
“Weren't you afraid when Polly ran off with you like that?” inquired Nora.
“Afraid? I didn't know there was any danger. Was there any?” inquired Jane.
“Not a bit,” said Nora, “so long as you kept your head.”
“But there really was no danger, was there, Larry?” insisted Jane.
“None at all, Jane,” said Nora, “I assure you. Larry got rattled when he saw you tear off in that wild fashion, but I knew you would be all right. Come in; breakfast is ready.”
“And so am I,” said Jane. “I haven't been so hungry I don't know when.”
“Why, she's not plain-looking after all,” said Nora to her mother as Jane strode manlike off to her room.
“Plain-looking?” exclaimed her mother. “I never thought her plain-looking. She has that beauty that shines from within, a beauty that never fades, but grows with every passing year.”
A council of war was called by Nora immediately after breakfast, at which plans were discussed for the best employment of the three precious days during which the visitors were to be at the ranch. There were so many things to be done that unless some system were adopted valuable time would be wasted.
“It appears to me, Miss Nora,” said Dr. Brown after a somewhat prolonged discussion, “that to accomplish all the things that you have suggested, and they all seem not only delightful but necessary, we shall require at least a month of diligent application.”
“At the very least,” cried Nora.
“So what are we going to do?” said the doctor.
It was finally decided that the Browns should extend their stay at Lakeside House for a week, after which the doctor should proceed to the coast and be met on his return at Banff by Jane, with Nora as her guest.
“Then that's all settled,” said Larry. “Now what's for to-day?”
As if in answer to that question a honk of a motor car was heard outside. Nora rushed to the door, saying, “That's Mrs. Waring-Gaunt.” But she returned hastily with heightened colour.
“Larry,” she said, “it's that Mr. Wakeham.”
“Wakeham,” cried Larry. “What's got him up so early, I wonder?” with a swift look at Jane.
“I wonder,” said Nora, giving Jane a little dig.
“I thought I would just run up and see if you had all got home safely last night,” they heard his great voice booming outside to Larry.
“My, but he is anxious,” said Nora.
“But who is he, Nora?” inquired her mother.
“A friend of Jane's, and apparently terribly concerned about her welfare.”
“Stop, Nora,” said Jane, flushing a fiery red. “Don't be silly. He is a young man whom we met on the train, Mrs. Gwynne, a friend of some of our Winnipeg friends.”
“We shall be very glad to have him stay with us, my dear,” said Mrs. Gwynne. “Go and bring him in.”
“Go on, Jane,” said Nora.
“Now, Nora, stop it,” said Jane. “I will get really cross with you. Hush, there he is.”
The young man seemed to fill up the door with his bulk. “Mr. Wakeham,” said Larry, as the young fellow stood looking around on the group with a frank, expansive smile upon his handsome face. As his eye fell upon a little lady the young man seemed to come to attention. Insensibly he appeared to assume an attitude of greater respect as he bowed low over her hand.
“I hope you will pardon my coming here so early in the morning,” he said with an embarrassed air. “I have the honour of knowing your guests.”
“Any friend of our guests is very welcome here, Mr. Wakeham,” said Mrs. Gwynne, smiling at him with gentle dignity.
“Good morning, Mr. Wakeham,” said Jane, coming forward with outstretched hand. “You are very early in your calls. You could not have slept very much.”
“No, indeed,” replied Mr. Wakeham, “and that is one reason why I waked so early. My bed was not so terribly attractive.”
“Oh,” exclaimed Nora in a disappointed tone, as she shook hands with him, “we thought you were anxious to see us.”
“Quite right,” said the young man, holding her hand and looking boldly into her eyes. “I have come to see you.”
Before his look Nora's saucy eyes fell and for some unaccountable reason her usually ready speech forsook her. Mr. Wakeham fell into easy conversation with Mr. Gwynne and Dr. Brown concerning mining matters, in which he was especially interested. He had spent an hour about the Manor Mine and there he had heard a good deal about Mr. Gwynne's mine and was anxious to see that if there were no objections. He wondered if he might drive Mr. Gwynne—and indeed, he had a large car and would be glad to fill it up with a party if any one cared to come. He looked at Mrs. Gwynne as he spoke.
“Yes, Mother, you go. It is such a lovely day,” said Nora enthusiastically, “and Jane can go with you.”
“Jane is going riding,” said Larry firmly.
“I am going to Mrs. Waring-Gaunt's,” said Jane. “I arranged with her last night.”
While they were settling Mrs. Gwynne's protests, and covered by the noise of conversation, Mr. Wakeham managed to get close to Nora. “I want you to come,” he said in a low voice. “That's what I came for.”
Startled and confused by this extraordinary announcement, Nora could think of no answer.
“I think you were to show me the mine,” he added. Then while Nora gasped at him, he said aloud, “My car is a seven passenger, so we can take quite a party.”
“Why not Kathleen?” suggested Jane.
“Yes, indeed, Kathleen might like to go,” said Mrs. Gwynne.
“Then let's all go,” cried Nora.
“Thank you awfully,” murmured Mr. Wakeham. “We shall only be two or three hours at most,” continued Nora. “We shall be back in time for lunch.”
“For that matter,” said Mr. Gwynne, “we can lunch at the mine.”
“Splendid,” cried Nora. “Come along. We'll run up with you to the Waring-Gaunts' for Kathleen,” she added to Mr. Wakeham.
At the Waring-Gaunts' they had some difficulty persuading Kathleen to join the party, but under the united influence of Jack and his sister, she agreed to go.
“Now then,” said Mrs. Waring-Gaunt, “you have your full party, Mr. Wakeham—Mr. and Mrs. Gwynne, Dr. Brown, and the three girls.”
“What about me?” said Larry dolefully.
“I shall stay with you,” cried Nora, evading Mr. Wakeham's eyes.
“No, Nora,” said Jane in a voice of quiet decision. “Last night Mrs. Waring-Gaunt and I arranged that I should visit her to-day.”
There was a loud chorus of protests, each one making an alternative suggestion during which Jane went to Mrs. Waring-Gaunt's side and said quietly, “I want to stay with you to-day.”
“All right, dear,” said Mrs. Waring-Gaunt. “Stay you shall.” And, then to the company announced, “We have it all arranged. Jane and I are to have a visit together. The rest of you go off.”
“And what about me, Jane?” again said Larry.
“You are going with the others,” said Jane calmly, “and in the afternoon we are to have our ride.”
“And this is Jane,” said Jack Romayne as Mrs. Waring-Gaunt ushered the girl into his room. “If half of what I have heard is true then I am a lucky man to-day. Kathleen has been telling me about you.”
Jane's smile expressed her delight. “I think I could say the same of you, Mr. Romayne.”
“What? Has Kathleen been talking about me?”
“No, I have not seen Kathleen since I came, but there are others, you know.”
“Are there?” asked Jack. “I hadn't noticed. But I know all about you.”
It was a hasty introduction for Jane. Kathleen was easily a subject for a day's conversation. How long she discoursed upon Kathleen neither of them knew. But when Mrs. Waring-Gaunt had finished up her morning household duties Jane was still busy dilating upon Kathleen's charms and graces and expatiating upon her triumphs and achievements during her stay in Winnipeg the previous winter.
“Still upon Kathleen?” inquired Mrs. Waring-Gaunt.
“Oh, I am learning a great deal and enjoying myself immensely,” said Jack.
“You must be careful, Jane. Don't tell Jack everything about Kathleen. There are certain things we keep to ourselves, you know. I don't tell Tom everything.”
Jane opened her eyes. “I have not told Jane yet, Sybil,” said Jack quietly. “She doesn't know, though perhaps she has guessed how dear to me Kathleen is.”
“Had you not heard?” inquired Mrs. Waring-Gaunt.
“No, I only came last night, you see.” Then turning to Jack, she added, “And is—is Kathleen going to marry you?” Her astonishment was evident in her voice and eyes.
“I hope so,” said Jack, “and you are no more astonished than I am myself. I only found it out night before last.”
It was characteristic of Jane that she sat gazing at him in silence; her tongue had not learned the trick of easy compliment. She was trying to take in the full meaning of this surprising announcement.
“Well?” said Jack after he had waited for some moments.
“Oh, I beg your pardon,” she said hurriedly. “I congratulate you. I think you are a very lucky man.”
“I am, indeed,” said Jack with emphasis. “And Kathleen? You are not so sure about her luck?”
“Well, I don't know you yet,” said Jane gravely, “and Kathleen is a very lovely girl, the very loveliest girl I know.”
“You are quite right,” said Jack in a tone as grave as her own. “I am not good enough for her.”
“Oh, I did not say that. Only I don't know you, and you see I know Kathleen. She is so lovely and so good. I love her.” Jane's face was earnest and grave.
“And so do I, Jane, if I may call you so,” said Jack, “and I am going to try to be worthy of her.”
Jane's eyes rested quietly on his face. She made up her mind that it was an honest face and a face one could trust, but to Jane it seemed as if something portentous had befallen her friend and she could not bring herself immediately to accept this new situation with an outburst of joyous acclaim such as ordinarily greets an announcement of this kind. For a reason she could not explain her mind turned to the memory she cherished of her own mother and of the place she had held with her father. She wondered if this man could give to Kathleen a place so high and so secure in his heart. While her eyes were on his face Jack could see that her mind was far away. She was not thinking of him.
“What is it, Jane?” he said gently.
Jane started and the blood rushed to her face. She hesitated, then said quietly but with charming frankness, “I was thinking of my mother. She died when I was two years old. Father says I am like her. But I am not at all. She was very lovely. Kathleen makes me think of her, and father often tells me about her. He has never forgotten her. You see I think he loved her in quite a wonderful way, and he—” Jane paused abruptly.
Mrs. Waring-Gaunt rose quietly, came to her side. “Dear Jane, dear child,” she said, kissing her. “That's the only way to love. I am sure your mother was a lovely woman, and a very happy woman, and you are like her.”
But Jack kept his face turned away from them.
“Oh, Mrs. Waring-Gaunt,” cried Jane, shaking her head emphatically, “I am not the least bit like her. That is one of the points on which I disagree with father. We do not agree upon everything, you know.”
“No? What are some of the other points?”
“We agree splendidly about Kathleen,” said Jane, laughing. “Just now we differ about Germany.”
“Aha, how is that?” inquired Jack, immediately alert.
“Of course, I know very little about it, you understand, but last winter our minister, Mr. McPherson, who had just been on a visit to Germany the summer before, gave a lecture in which he said that Germany had made enormous preparations for war and was only waiting a favourable moment to strike. Papa says that is all nonsense.”
“Oh, Jane, Jane,” cried Mrs. Waring-Gaunt, “you have struck upon a very sore spot in this house. Jack will indorse all your minister said. He will doubtless go much further.”
“What did he say, Jane?” inquired Jack.
“He was greatly in earnest and he urged preparation by Canada. He thinks we ought at the very least to begin getting our fleet ready right away.”
“That's politics, of course,” said Mrs. Waring-Gaunt, “and I do not know what you are.”
“I am not sure that I do either,” she replied, “but I believe too that Canada ought to get at her fleet without loss of time.”
“But what did he say about Germany?” continued Jack.
“I can't tell you everything, of course, but he assured us that Germany had made the greatest possible preparation, that the cities, towns and villages were full of drilling men; that there were great stores of war material, guns and shells, everywhere throughout Germany; that they were preparing fleets of Zeppelins and submarines too; that they were ready to march at twenty-four hours' notice; that the whole railroad system of Germany was organised, was really built for war; that within the last few years the whole nation had come to believe that Germany must go to war in order to fulfil her great destiny. Father says that this is all foolish talk, and that all this war excitement is prompted chiefly by professional soldiers, like Lord Roberts and others, and by armament makers like the Armstrongs and the Krupps.”
“What do you think about it all, Jane?” inquired Jack, looking at her curiously.
“Well, he had spent some months in Germany and had taken pains to inquire of all kinds of people, officers and professors and preachers and working people and politicians, and so I think he ought to know better than others who just read books and the newspapers, don't you think so?”
“I think you are entirely right, and I hope that minister of yours will deliver that lecture in many places throughout this country, for there are not many people, even in England, who believe in the reality of the German menace. But this is my hobby, my sister says, and I don't want to bore you.”
“But I am really interested, Mr. Romayne. Papa laughs at me, and Larry too. He does not believe in the possibility of war. But I think that if there is a chance, even the slightest chance, of it being true, it is so terrible that we all ought to be making preparation to defend ourselves.”
“Well, if it won't bore you,” said Jack, “I shall tell you a few things.”
“Then excuse me,” said Mrs. Waring-Gaunt. “I have some matters to attend to. I have no doubt that you at least, Jack, will have a perfectly lovely time.”
“I am sure I shall too,” cried Jane enthusiastically. “I just want to hear about this.”
“Will you please pass me that green book?” said Jack, after Mrs. Waring-Gaunt had left the room. “No, the next one. Yes. The first thing that it is almost impossible for us Britishers to get into our minds is this, that Germany, not simply the Kaiser and the governing classes, but the whole body of the German people, take themselves and their empire and their destiny with most amazing seriousness. Listen to this, for instance. This will give you, I say, the psychological condition out of which war may easily and naturally arise.” He turned the leaves of the book and read:
“'To live and expand at the expense of other less meritorious peoples finds its justification in the conviction that we are of all people the most noble and the most pure, destined before others to work for the highest development of humanity.'
“One of their poets—I haven't got him here—speaks of the 'German life curing all the evils of humanity by mere contact with it.' You see that row of books? These are only a few. Most of them are German. They are all by different authors and on different subjects, but they are quite unanimous in setting forth the German ideal, the governing principle of German World politics. They are filled with the most unbelievable glorification of Germany and the German people, and the most extraordinary prophecies as to her wonderful destiny as a World Power. Unhappily the German has no sense of humour. A Britisher talking in this way about his country would feel himself to be a fool. Not so the German. With a perfectly serious face he will attribute to himself and to his nation all the virtues in the calendar. For instance, listen to this:
“'Domination belongs to Germany because it is a superior nation, a noble race, and it is fitting that it should control its neighbours just as it is the right and duty of every individual endowed with superior intellect and force to control inferior individuals about him.'
“Here's another choice bit:
“'We are the superior race in the fields of science and of art. We are the best colonists, the best sailors, the best merchants.'
“That's one thing. Then here's another. For many years after his accession I believe the Kaiser was genuinely anxious to preserve the peace of Europe and tried his best to do so, though I am bound to say that at times he adopted rather peculiar methods, a mingling of bullying and intrigue. But now since 1904—just hand me that thin book, please. Thank you—the Kaiser has changed his tone. For instance, listen to this:
“'God has called us to civilise the world. We are the missionaries of human progress.'
“And again this:
“'The German people will be the block of granite on which our Lord will be able to elevate and achieve the civilisation of the world.'
“But I need not weary you with quotations. The political literature of Germany for the last fifteen years is saturated with this spirit. The British people dismiss this with a good-natured smile of contempt. To them it is simply an indication of German bad breeding. If you care I shall have a number of these books sent you. They are somewhat difficult to get. Indeed, some of them cannot be had in English at all. But you read German, do you not? Kathleen told me about your German prize.”
“I do, a little. But I confess I prefer the English,” said Jane with a little laugh.
“The chief trouble, however, is that so few English-speaking people care to read them. But I assure you that the one all-absorbing topic of the German people is this one of Germany's manifest destiny to rule and elevate the world. And remember these two things go together. They have no idea of dominating the world intellectually or even commercially—but perhaps you are sick of this.”
“Not at all. I am very greatly interested,” said Jane.
“Then I shall just read you one thing more. The German has no idea that he can benefit a nation until he conquers it. Listen to this:
“'The dominion of German thought can only be extended under the aegis of political power, and unless we act in conformity to this idea we shall be untrue to out great duties toward the human race.'”
“I shall be very glad to get those books,” said Jane, “and I wish you would mark some of these passages. And I promise you I shall do all I can to make all my friends read them. I shall begin with Papa and Larry. They are always making fun of me and my German scare.”
“I can quite understand that,” replied Jack. “That is a very common attitude with a great majority of the people of England to-day. But you see I have been close to these things for years, and I have personal knowledge of many of the plans and purposes in the minds of the German Kaiser and the political and military leaders of Germany, and unhappily I know too the spirit that dominates the whole body of the German people.”
“You lived in Germany for some years?”
“Yes, for a number of years.”
“And did you like the life there?”
“In many ways I did. I met some charming Germans, and then there is always their superb music.”
And for an hour Jack Romayne gave his listener a series of vivid pictures of his life in Germany and in other lands for the past ten years, mingling with personal reminiscences incidents connected with international politics and personages. He talked well, not only because his subject was a part of himself, but also because Jane possessed that rare ability to listen with intelligence and sympathy. Never had she met with a man who had been in such intimate touch with the world's Great Affairs and who was possessed at the same time of such brilliant powers of description.
Before either of them was aware the party from the mine had returned.
“We have had a perfectly glorious time,” cried Nora as she entered the room with her cheeks and eyes glowing.
“So have we, Miss Nora,” said Jack. “In fact, I had not the slightest idea of the flight of time.”
“You may say so,” exclaimed Mrs. Waring-Gaunt. “These two have been so utterly absorbed in each other that my presence in the room or absence from it was a matter of perfect indifference. And how Jane managed it I don't know, but she got Jack to do for her what he has never done for me. He has actually been giving her the story of his life.”
Jane stood by listening with a smile of frank delight on her face.
“How did you do it, Jane?” asked Kathleen shyly. “He has never told me.”
“Oh, I just listened,” said Jane.
“That's a nasty jar for you others,” said Nora.
“But he told me something else, Kathleen,” said Jane with a bright blush, “and I am awfully glad.” As she spoke she went around to Kathleen and, kissing her, said, “It is perfectly lovely for you both.”
“Oh, you really mean that, do you?” said Jack. “You know she was exceedingly dubious of me this morning.”
“Well, I am not now,” said Jane. “I know you better, you see.”
“Thank God,” said Jack fervently. “The day has not been lost. You will be sure to come again to see me,” he added as Jane said good-bye.
“Yes, indeed, you may be quite sure of that,” replied Jane, smiling brightly back at him as she left the room with Nora.
“What a pity she is so plain,” said Mrs. Waring-Gaunt when she had returned from seeing Jane on her way with Nora and Mr. Wakeham.
“My dear Sybil, you waste your pity,” said her brother. “That young lady is so attractive that one forgets whether she is plain or not. I can't quite explain her fascination for me. There's perfect sincerity to begin with. She is never posing. And perfect simplicity. And besides that she is so intellectually keen, she keeps one alive.”
“I just love her,” said Kathleen. “She has such a good heart.”
“You have said it,” said Mrs. Waring-Gaunt, “and that is why Jane will never lose her charm.”