Happy were the days that followed. Pats, uplifted with his own joy, became a lavish dispenser of cheerfulness and folly. Elinor, with unclouded eyes and a warmer color in her cheeks, seemed to have drifted into the Harbor of Serenity. Both were at peace with creation.
In pleasant weather they strolled among the pines, worked in the little garden behind the house, fished, played upon the beach, or explored the neighborhood. When it rained, which was seldom, they cleaned up the house, read books and old letters, ransacking trunks and drawers trying to discover the secret of the departed owner. But in vain. The departed owner had been careful to leave no clew to his identity135or of his reason for abiding there. They did find, however, between the leaves of a book, a little chart of the point done by his own hand apparently, and beneath it was written
La Pointe de Lory.
La Pointe de Lory.
So they felt they had learned the name of the place, but whether it was the official name or one given by the old gentleman for his private use they could not discover.
“There is a town of St. Lory in the south of France,” said Pats. “I knew a man who came from there. Perhaps our host was from that vicinity.”
The days went by and no sail appeared. This, however, was of slight importance. In fact, during that first ecstatic period, nothing was important,–that is, nothing like a ship. It was during this period they forgot to keep tally of time, and they either lost or gained a day, they knew not which–nor cared.
All days were good, whatever the weather. Time never dragged. With a companion of another temperament Elinor could easily have passed moments of depression. For a girl in her position there certainly was abundant material for regret. But the courage and the unwavering136cheerfulness of Pats were contagious. He and melancholy were never partners. A discovery, however, was made one morning on the little beach that, for a moment at least, filled Elinor with misgivings.
Midway along this beach they found a bucket, rolling about on the sand, driven here and there by the incoming waves.
“That is worth saving,” and Pats, watching his opportunity, followed up a receding breaker and procured the prize. It resembled a fire-bucket; and there were white letters around the centre. Elinor ran up and stood beside him, and, as he held it aloft, turning it slowly about to follow the words, both read aloud:
“Of–the–North–Maid.”
“Maid of the North!” exclaimed Elinor, grasping Pats by the arm. “Oh, I hope nothing has happened to her!”
“Probably not. More likely some sailor lost it overboard.” Then, looking up and down the beach, “There is no wreckage of any kind. If she had blown up or struck a rock there would surely be something more than one water-bucket to come ashore and tell us. I guess she is all right.”
137“But how exciting! It seems like meeting an old friend.”
She held it in her own hands. “Poor thing! You did look so melancholy swashing about on this lonely beach.”
When they returned to the house they carried the bucket with them.
Pats had his own misgivings, however. One or two other objects he had discerned floating on the water farther out, too far away to distinguish what they were. And the fact that no search had been made for Elinor was in itself disquieting. But as his chief aim at present was to bring contentment to the girl beside him, he carefully refrained from any betrayal of these doubts. Nothing else, however, that might cause alarm was washed ashore.
And Pats, all this time, was growing fat. His increasing plumpness was perceptible from day to day, and it proved a constant source of mirth to his companion. One morning he appeared in a pair of checkered trousers purchased in South Africa during his skeleton period. They seemed on the verge of exploding from the outward pressure of the legs within. Elinor made no effort to suppress her merriment. She called him “Fatsy.” And to the dog, who138regarded the trousers with his usual solemnity, she remarked:
“O, Solomon!See him grow fat!Our erstwhile skinny,Diaphanous Pat.”
“O, Solomon!See him grow fat!Our erstwhile skinny,Diaphanous Pat.”
But with “Fatsy’s” flesh came increase of strength, and he proved a hard worker. As soon as he was strong enough he began to build the raft by which they hoped to cross the river. But progress was slow for his endurance had limits, and he could work but an hour or two each day. Their plan was to paddle across the river on this raft as they floated down. Owing to the swiftness of the current they built the raft nearly a mile farther up the stream. With the walk to and fro, which also taxed the builder’s strength, the month of July brought little progress. One afternoon, they sauntered home, the broad, swift, silent river on their right, the sun just above the trees on the opposite bank. Close at hand, on their own side of the river the nearest pines stood forth in strong relief against the mysterious depths behind. Near the river’s bank long shadows from these towering trunks lay in purple bars across the smooth, brown carpet. It was about139half-way home that the man, with an air of weariness, seated himself upon a fallen tree. Elinor regarded him with an anxious face.
“Patsy, you have done too much again.” As he looked up, she saw in his eyes an expression she had learned to associate with levity and foolishness. “Be serious. You are very tired, now aren’t you?”
“Just pleasantly tired. But if I were suddenly kissed by a popular belle it would give me new strength.”
When, a moment later, he arose, fresh life and vigor seemed certainly to have been acquired. Catching her by the waist, he hummed a waltz and away they floated, over the pine-needles, he in gray and she in white, like wingless spirits of the wood. When the waltz had ended and they were walking hand in hand, and a little out of breath, the lady remarked:
“When I am frivolous in these woods I feel very wicked. They are so silent and reserved themselves, so solemn and so very high-minded that it seems a desecration.”
“All wrong,” said Pats. “This is a temple built for lovers: shady, spacious, and jammed full of mystery–and safe.”
140“But it’s the spaciousness and mystery that make it so like a temple and suggest serious thoughts.”
“Not to a healthy mind. Oh, no! This gloom is here for a purpose. Pious thoughts should seek the light, but lovers need obscurity. They always have and they always will.”
A few steps farther on he stopped and faced her, still holding her hand: “If you will feed the hens to-night, bring in the wood and wash the dishes, you may embrace me once again–now, right here.”
She snatched away her head. He sprang forward to catch her–but she was away, beyond his reach. She ran on ahead and Pats, after a short pursuit, gave up the chase, for his fallible legs were still unfit for speed. With a mocking laugh and a wave of the hand she hastened on toward the cottage. Following more leisurely he watched the graceful figure in the white dress hurrying on before him until it was lost among the pines.
Just at the edge of the woods, not a hundred feet from the house, he stopped. Standing behind a tree so that Elinor, if she came to the door, could not see him, he whistled three notes. These notes, clear and full, were in imitation of141a quail. And he did it exceedingly well. The imitation was masterly.
But no one appeared at the cottage door, and after a short silence he repeated the call.
“Perfect!”
Pats started and turned about.
“A very clever hoax!”
And as Elinor stepped forth from behind a neighboring tree, there was a look in her eyes that caused the skilful deceiver to bow his head. With a slight movement of the hands, the palms turned outward, as if in surrender, he offered a mute appeal for mercy.
“So you are that quail!” And slowly up and down she moved her head as if realizing with reluctance the bitterness of the discovery. “What fun you must have had in fooling me so often and so easily! And the many times that I have hurried to that door and waited to hear it again! What was my offence that you should pay me back in such a fashion?”
“Oh, don’t put it that way! Don’t speak like that!”
“And my sentiment about it! My saying that I loved the sound because it took me back to my own home in Massachusetts–all that must have been very amusing.”
142“Listen. Let me explain.”
“And to keep on making me ridiculous, day after day, when I was on the verge of collapse from pure exhaustion–yes, it showed a nice feeling.”
“Elinor, you are very unjust. Let me tell you just how it happened. The first morning that I could walk as far as this, you left me here at this very spot, and you went back to the house. I was told to whistle if I wanted anything. You remember?”
Almost perceptibly and with contempt she nodded.
“Well, when I did whistle, I whistled in that way–like a quail. You thought it was a real quail and you didn’t come out. When finally you helped me back you spoke of hearing a quail, and of how much pleasure it gave you. You hoped he would not go away.” And he smiled humbly, as he added: “And you made me promise not to shoot him.”
She merely turned her eyes away, over the river, toward the sunset.
“And I thought then that if it gave you so much pleasure, why not keep on with it? The Lord knows the favors a helpless invalid can bestow are few enough! And the Lord also143knows that I have no accomplishments. I cannot sing, or play, or recite poetry. At that time I could not even start a fire or bring in water. In fact, my sole accomplishment was to imitate a bird. ’Tis a humble gift, but I resolved to make the most of it.”
She stood facing him, about a dozen feet away, a striking figure, with the light from the setting sun on her white dress, the dark recesses of the wood for a background. Into her face came no signs of relenting. But he detected in her eyebrows a slight movement as if to maintain a frown, and he ventured nearer, slowly, as a dog just punished manœuvres for forgiveness. Removing his straw hat he knelt before her, his eyes upon the ground.
“I confess to a guilty feeling every time I did it. I knew a day of reckoning would come. But I was postponing it. I am ashamed, really ashamed; but on my honor my motive was good. Please be merciful.”
“Are you serious?–or trying to be funny, and not really caring much about it?”
“I am serious; very serious.”
“Do you realize what a contemptible trick it was–how mean-spirited and ungrateful?”
Lower still sank his head. “I do.”
144“And you promise never to deceive me again?”
“I swear it.”
“You value my good opinion, I suppose.”
“I would rather die than lose it!”
“Well, you have lost it, and forever.”
From the bowed head came a groan. At this point Solomon approached the kneeling figure and placed his nose inquiringly against the criminal’s ear. And the criminal involuntarily shrank from the cold contact. At this the lady smiled, but unobserved by the kneeling man.
“Are you sincerely and thoroughly ashamed?”
“Yumps.”
“What?”
“Yes, oh, yes!”
“I don’t like your manner.”
“Please like it. I am honest now. I shall always be good.”
“You couldn’t. It isn’t in you.”
“There is going to be a mighty effort.”
“Get up!”
He obeyed. As their eyes met, he smiled, but with a frown she pointed toward the cottage. “Turn around and walk humbly with your head down. You are not to speak until spoken to. And you are to be in disgrace for three days.”
145“Oh! Three days?”
“Go ahead.”
And again he obeyed.
Elinor was firm. For three days the disgrace endured. But it was not of a nature to demolish hope or even to retard digestion. And Solomon, who was a keen observer, displayed no unusual sympathy, and evidently failed to realize that his master was in any serious trouble.
On pleasant evenings Pats and Elinor often went to the beach below and sat upon the rocks, always attended by Solomon, the only chaperon at hand. Here they were nearer the water. And one evening they found much happiness in watching a big, round moon as it rose from the surface of the Gulf. The silence, the shimmer of the moonlight on the waters–all tended to draw lovers closer together. Already the heads of these two people were so near that the faintest tone sufficed. And they murmured many things–things strictly between themselves, that would appear of an appalling foolishness if repeated here–or anywhere. They also talked on serious subjects; subjects so transcendentally serious as to be of interest only by night. Like all other lovers they exchanged146confidences. Once, when Pats was speaking of his family she suddenly withdrew her hand. “By the way, there is something to be explained. Tell me about that interview with your father.”
“Which interview?”
“The disgraceful, murderous one.”
Pats reflected. “There were several.”
“Oh, Patsy! Are you so bad as that?”
“As what?”
“But you did not mean to do him injury, did you?”
“Idohiminjury?” he inquired, in a mild surprise. “Why, what are you driving at, Elinor?”
“I mean the quarrel in the arbor.”
“And what happened?”
“You know very well.”
“Indeed I do! But there were several quarrels. Which one do you mean?”
“I mean the one when you were violent–and murderous.”
“But I wasn’t.”
“Yes, you were. I know all about it.”
“If you know all about it, what do you want me to tell?”
“Tell about the worst quarrel of all.”
147“That must have been the last one.”
“Well, tell me about that.”
Pats took a long breath, then began: “The old gentleman was a hot Catholic. There was no harm in that, you will think. And I am not such a fool as to spoil a night like this by a religious discussion.”
“Go on.”
“Well, he insisted upon my becoming a Catholic priest. Now, for a young man just out of college–and Harvard College at that–it was a good deal to ask. Wasn’t it?”
“Continue.”
“One day in that summer-house he sailed away into one of his tempers–did you ever happen to see him in that condition?”
“No, but I have heard of them.”
“Well, my mother was a Unitarian. So was I. And the gulf between a Unitarian and a Catholic priest is about as wide as from here to that moon. It was like asking me to become a beautiful young lady–or a green elephant–I simply couldn’t. Perhaps you agree with me?”
“Go on. Don’t ask so many questions.”
“I told him, respectfully, it was impossible. Then as he made a rush for me I saw, from his148eyes and his white face, that murder and sudden death were in the air. Being younger I could dodge him and get away, and that so increased his fury that he fell down on the gravel walk in a sort of convulsion–or fit. I ran into the house for assistance, and while Sally and Martha tried to bring him to I went for the doctor.”
A silence followed this story. At last Elinor inquired if his father persisted.
“Persisted! That question, oh, Angel Cook, shows how little you knew my father! As soon as he recovered he lost no time in telling me to leave the house and never see him again.”
“And what happened?”
“I vanished.”
“Oh!” A sympathetic pressure of his hand and the girl beside him leaned closer still. “Horrible! So you wandered out into the world and this is your home-coming. Well, Patsy, I shall never treat you in that way. When you are very obstinate I shall just put my arms around your neck and treat you very differently.”
“Well,” said Pats, “I think it safer for you to be doing that most of the time, anyway. It might stave off any inclination to obstinacy.”
Here followed a snug, celestial silence, broken149at last by Pats. “Would you mind telling me, O Light of the North, where you heard I was the attacking party at that interview?”
“No, I must not tell.”
“Did Father Burke make you promise?”
“Why do you mentionhim?”
“For lots of reasons. One is that he is the only person on earth who could possibly have told you. But it was clever of him to warn you against me. I knew from his expression when he said good-by, on the boat, that he thought he had settled my prospects, and to his perfect satisfaction. However, I don’t ask you to betray him. And I bear no malice. He did his best to undo me, but Love and all the angels were on my side.”
She laughed gently. “And you all made a strong combination, Patsy.”
Then another long silence, and soon he felt the lady leaning more heavily against him. The head drooped and he knew she slumbered. Having no wish to disturb her, he sat for a while without moving, and watched the moon and thought delectable thoughts of the creature by his side. And as his thoughts, involuntarily, and in an amiable spirit, travelled back to Father Burke, he smiled as he pictured quite a different150expression on the face of the priest when he should learn what had happened. And the smile seemed reflected in the radiant countenance of the big, round moon mounting slowly in the heavens. She appeared to beam approval upon him and upon the precious burden he supported. But with the drowsiness which soon came stealing over him he saw–or dreamed he saw–out in the glistening path of light between the moon and him, not far from where he sat, an object like a human face, upturned, moving gently with the waves. And mingling among the quivering moonbeams around the head was a silvery halo that might be the hair of Father Burke; for the face resembled his.
Pats was startled and became wide awake. Even then, he thought he had a glimpse of the face with its silver hair, as it drifted out of the bar of light into the darkness, slowly, toward the sea.
There came, with August, a perceptible shortening of the days. Cooler nights gave warning that the brief Canadian summer was nearing its end.
Pats labored on the raft, but the work was long. A float that would bear in safety two people down the river’s current–and possibly out to sea–demanded size and strength and weight. Felling trees, trimming logs, and steering them down the river to the “ship-yard,” proved a slower undertaking than had been foreseen. But nobody complained. The air they breathed and the life they led were in themselves annihilators of despair. It was an exhilarating, out-of-door life,–a life of love and labor and of ecstatic repose.
Both Elinor and Pats were up with the sun, and the days were never too long. To them it152mattered little whether the evenings were long or short or cold or warm, for by the time the dishes were washed and the chores were done, they became too sleepy to be of interest to each other. And when the lady retired to her own chamber behind the tapestries, Pats, at his end of the cottage, always whistled gently or broke the silence in one way or another as a guarantee of distance, that she might feel a greater security.
As for lovers’ quarrels none occurred that were seriously respected by either party. In fact there was but little to break the monotony of that solid, absolute content with which all days began and ended.
“’Tis love that makes the world go round.”
“’Tis love that makes the world go round.”
There is no doubt of that, but two lovers, with unfailing appetites, however exalted their devotion, are sure, in time, to produce conspicuous results with any ordinary store of provisions. In the present instance the discovery–or realization–of this truth was accidental. It came one morning as Elinor, in a blue and white apron, with sleeves rolled up, was preparing corn-bread at the kitchen table–so they called the table near the fireplace at the end of153the room. Pats came up from the cellar with a face of unusual seriousness.
“I have been an awful fool!”
She looked up with her sweetest smile:
“And that troubles you, darling?”
Without replying, he laid three potatoes on the table.
“I told you to get four.”
“These are the last.”
“Isn’t there a second barrel?”
“No.”
“Why, Patsy! We both saw it!”
“That’s where I was a fool. I took it for granted the other barrel held potatoes because it looked like the first one.”
“But it was full of something.”
“Yes, but not potatoes. It is crockery, glassware, a magnificent table-set. Old Sèvres, I should say.”
“What a shame!” And with the back of a hand whose fingers were covered with corn-meal, she brushed a stray lock from her face.
“Yes,” he went on, “it’s a calamity, for we cannot afford it. I took an account of stock while I was down there, and all we have now in the way of vegetables is the dried apples. Of154course, there’s the garden truck,–the peas, beans, and the corn,–if it ever ripens.”
After further conversation on that subject, Elinor said, with a sigh: “Well, we did enjoy those baked potatoes! We shall have to eat more eggs, that’s all.”
“Eggs!” and his face became distorted. “I am so chock full of eggs now that everything looks yellow. I dream of them. I cackle in my sleep. My whole interior is egg. I breathe and think egg. I gag when I hear a hen.”
“But you are going to eat them all the same. We have a dozen a day, and you must do your share.”
“I won’t.”
“Yes, you will.”
As Pats’s eyes fell on Solomon, he brightened up. “There’s that dog eats only the very things we are unable to spare. Why shouldn’theeat eggs?”
“You might try and teach him.”
“Tell me,” said Pats, “why hens should lay nothing but eggs, always eggs? Why shouldn’t they lay pears, lemons, tomatoes,–things we really need?”
In silence the lady continued her work.
“Angel Cook?”
155“Well?”
“What do you think?”
“I think, considering your years, that your conversation is surprising. Eggs are very nourishing, and we are lucky to have them. Didn’t I make you a nice omelette only a few days ago?”
“You did, and I never knew a better for its purpose. I still use it for cleaning the windows.”
“Really! Well, you had better make it last, for you won’t get another.”
“Oh, don’t be angry! I thought you meant it as a keepsake.”
He approached with repentant air, but when threatened with her doughy hands, he retreated, and sat on the big chest by the window. This chest had served for his bed since his convalescence.
Elinor frowned, and pointed to the fire. Pats arose and laid on a fresh stick, then knelt upon the hearth and, with a seventeenth-century bellows, inlaid with silver, that would have graced the drawing-room of a palace, he coaxed the fire into a more active life.
“Now go out and bring in some wood. More small sticks. Not the big ones.”
During dinner, which occurred at noon, there were fewer words that day, and with somewhat more reflection than was usual. The store of provisions now rapidly disappearing, together with no prospect of immediate escape, furnished rich material for thought. Both knew the raft might prove a treacherous reliance. Instead of landing them on the opposite bank of the river there were excellent chances of its carrying them out to sea. And the prevailing westerly wind was almost sure to drive them backward to the east again. Pats had been all over this so many times in his own mind, and with Elinor, that the subject was pretty well exhausted. But still, from habit, he speculated.
157“A penny for your thoughts.”
He raised his eyes, and as they met her own his habitual cheerfulness returned. “My thoughts are worth more than that, for I was thinking of you.”
“Something bad?”
“I was wondering how many days you could foot it through the wilderness before giving out.”
“For ever, little Patsy, if you were with me.”
“Then we have nothing to fear. We can both march on for ever. You are not only food and drink to me,–that is, the equivalent of corncake, potatoes, marmalade, and claret,–but your presence is life and strength and a spiritual tonic.”
“That is a good sentiment,” and she reached forth a hand, which he took.
“Merely to look at you,” he continued, “will be exhilarating on a long march. And to hear your voice, and touch you–why, my soul becomes drunk in thinking of it.”
“Then you expect to be in a state of intoxication during the whole journey?”
“That is my hope.”
It happened, a few minutes later, that she herself became preoccupied, her eyes fixed158thoughtfully upon the little portrait on the opposite chair.
“A dollar for your thoughts.”
“Why so much?”
“Because any thought of yours,” said Pats, “is worth at least a dollar.”
“Thanks.”
“You are thinking, as usual, of that woman. The woman who has my place.”
“It isherplace; she had it before we came.”
“But you ought to be looking atmeall this time. I am the person for you to think about. I shall end by hating the woman.”
“Oh, you mustn’t be jealous. Youcan’thate her. Such a gentle face! And then all the mystery that goes with her! I would give anything to know who she was.”
Pats scowled: “You would give Solomon and me, among other things.”
“No, never!” And again she extended the hand, but he frowned upon it and drew back into the farther corner of his chair. She laughed. “And is Fatsy really jealous?”
“No, not jealous; but hurt, disgusted, outraged, and upset.”
“Because I insist upon treating our hostess with respect and recognizing her rights?”
159“Our hostess! More likely some female devil who beguiled the old man. Probably he was so ashamed of her he never dared go home again.”
“Oh, Pats! I blush for you.”
“It’s a silly face.”
“It is a face full of character.”
“Oh, come now, Elinor! It would pass for a portrait of the full moon.”
“Well, the full moon has character. And I love those big merry eyes with the funny little melancholy kind of droop at the outer corners. Poor thing! She must have had a sad life out here in the wilderness.”
“Thank you.”
As their eyes met he frowned again, and she, for the third time, extended the hand. “A sad life, because she had no Pats.”
But he refused the hand. “That is very clever, but too late. The stab had already reached home.”
She smiled and began to fold her napkin.
“To return to business, Miss Marshall, of Boston, the provisions are so low that we really must decide on something.”
“How long will they last?”
“Perhaps a month or six weeks. Could you160pull through the winter on eggs and dried apples–and candles?”
“If necessary.”
He laughed. “I believe you could! You are an angel, a Spartan, and a sport. Your nature is simply an extravagant profusion of the highest human attributes. And the worst of it is, you look it. You are too beautiful–in a superior, overtopping way. You scare me.”
She pushed back her chair. “You have said all that before.”
“You remember the frog who was in love with the moon?”
She regarded him from the corners of her eyes, but made no reply.
“He used to sit in his puddle and adore her. One pleasant evening she came down out of the sky and kissed him.”
“That was very good of her. And then what happened?”
“It killed him.”
Elinor pushed back her chair, arose from the table and stood beside him. “Do you think it was a happy death?”
“Of course it was! Lucky devil!”
“Well, close your eyes and dream that I am the moon looking down at you.”
161With face upturned, just enough to make it easier for the moon, Pats closed his eyes. In serene anticipation he awaited the delectable contact that never failed to send a thrill of pleasure through all his being. But the tranquil, beatific smile changed swiftly to a very different expression as he felt against his lips–a slice of dried apple. And the cold moon stepped back beyond his reach, and laughed.
When the table had been cleared and the dishes washed Pats, Elinor, and Solomon went out behind the house and stood near the edge of the cliff. Eastward, across the bay, Pats pointed to a distant headland running out into the Gulf, the highest land in sight.
“As near as I can guess that hill is about twenty miles away. If there is nothing between to hinder I can walk it in a day. Now, from that highest point I can probably get a view for many miles. Who knows what lies beyond? There may be a settlement very near. In that case we are saved.”
“And suppose there is none?”
“Then I return, and we are no worse off than we were before.”
Elinor stood beside him, regarding the distant162promontory with thoughtful eyes. He put his arm around her waist. “You see the sense of it, don’t you?”
“Yes, I suppose so. How long would you be gone?”
“Not over three days.”
“That is, three days and two nights.”
“Yes.”
“And if the ground is very rough, and there are swamps, and divers things, it might be longer still.”
“Hardly likely.”
“And what am I to do while you are gone?”
“Oh, just wait.”
She moved away and stood facing him.
“Yes, that is like a man. Just wait! Just wait and worry. Just watch by day and lie awake at night. Just be sick with anxiety for four or five days. You would find me dead when you returned. Why should not I go with you?”
He seemed surprised. Into the ever-cheerful face came a look of anxiety. “I am afraid it would be a hard tramp for you, Angel Cook. And there would be twice as much luggage to carry, and we should be a longer time away.”
“I will carry my own luggage.”
“Never!”
163“But I shall go with you.”
“Is that a final decision?”
She nodded, an emphatic, half-fierce little nod, and frowned.
Pats smiled. “Miss Elinor Marshall, I am, as I have before remarked, your humble and adoring slave. Your will is law. When shall we start?”
“Whenever you say.”
“To-morrow?”
She nodded, this time with a smile.
“Early?”
“As early as you please.”
“Then at crack o’ dawn we go.”
And the next morning, at crack o’ dawn, they started off, Pats with a knapsack so voluminous that he resembled a pedler.
Elinor thought it too much for him to carry. “You can never walk all day with that on your back. Pedestrians that I have seen never carry such loads.”
“Then you have never seen pedestrians who carry their food and lodgings with them. And you forget that we are not in the zone of large hotels.”
“I feel very guilty. If I were not along you would have less to carry.”
164“Have no fears, Light of the North. If one of us three falls by the wayside it will be neither Solomon nor myself.”
This knapsack consisted of three blankets,–two of flannel, one of rubber,–some claret bottles filled with water, and food for five days. There was also coffee and a little brandy.
As they started off, along their own little beach, the sun was just appearing over the strip of land ahead. Solomon, in high spirits, galloped madly about on the hard sand, with an occasional plunge among the breakers. But Pats and Elinor, although similarly affected by the morning air, economized their steps, for a long day’s tramp was before them.
At the eastern end of the beach, before entering the woods, both stopped and took a final look toward home. A rosy light was on sea and land. Beyond the beach, with its tumbling waves all aglow from the rising sun, stood the Point of Lory, and their eyes lingered about the cottage. Nestling peacefully among the pines, it also caught the morning light.
“Adieu, little house,” said Elinor. And then, turning to Pats, “Why, I am really sorry to leave it.”
165“So am I, for it has given me the happiest days of my life–or of anybody’s life.”
In and out among the trees they tramped, three hours or more, with intervals for rest, generally through the woods, but always keeping near the coast unless for a shorter cut across the base of some little peninsula. Elinor stood it well and enjoyed with Pats the excitement of discovery. After a long nooning they pushed on until nearly sunset. When they halted for the night both explorers were still in good condition; but the next morning, in starting off, each confessed to a stiffness in the lower muscles. This disappeared, however, after an hour’s walking.
Early in the afternoon of this second day’s march they stood upon the top of the hill which, from a distance, had promised a commanding view. But they found, as so often happens to every kind of climber, that another hill, still higher and farther on, was the one to be attained. So they pushed ahead. Just before reaching the summit of this final hill Pats halted.
“Now comes a critical moment. What do you think we shall see?”
Elinor shook her head sadly. “I am prepared for the worst; for the wilderness, without a sign of human life.”
166Pats’s ever-cheerful face took on a smile. “I suspect you are right, but I am not admitting it officially. I prophesy that we shall look down upon a large and very fashionable summer hotel.”
“Awful thought!” And she smiled as she surveyed her own attire and that of Pats. “What a sensation we should create! You with that faded old flannel shirt, your two days’ beard, and those extraordinary South African trousers; and I, sunburnt as a gypsy, with my hair half down–”
“No hair like it in the world–”
“And this weather-beaten dress. What would they take us for?”
“For what we are–tramps, happy tramps.”
Five minutes later they stood upon the summit. To the eastward, as far as sight could reach, lay the same wild coast. For several miles every detail of the shore stood clearly out beneath a cloudless sky. Of man or his habitation they saw no sign. To the vast sweep of pines–like an ocean of sombre green–there was no visible limit either to the east or north. And southward, over the blue expanse, no sail or craft of any kind disturbed the surface of the sea. Here and there along the coast shone a strip of yellow beach with its fringe of glistening foam. Not far away167an opening among the trees, extending inland for several miles, showed the grasses of a salt marsh.
In silence Pats and Elinor gazed upon this scene. Beautiful it was, grand, indescribably impressive; but it brought to both observers the keenest sense of their isolation. The vastness of it, and the stillness, brought a vague despair, and, to the girl, a sort of terror. Tears came to her eyes.
Pats turned and saw them. His own face had taken on a sadder look than was often allowed there, but his eyes met hers with their customary cheerfulness. For the first time since their acquaintance, Elinor wept–very gently, but she wept. All that a sympathetic and unskilful lover could do was done by Pats. He patted her back, kissed her hair, and suggested brandy. Her collapse, however, was of short duration. She drew back and smiled and apologized for her weakness.
“I am ashamed of myself for breaking down. But it’s the first time, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is; and I have wondered at your courage. But do it all the time if you feel the least bit better.”
She smiled and shook her head. “No, I shall168not collapse again. I shall follow your example. You are always in good spirits.”
“I? Well, I should think I might be! Here I am alone in the wilderness with the girl that all men desire,–and not a rival in sight! Why, I am in Heaven! I had never dreamed that a fellow could have such an existence.”
When they descended the hill and started leisurely on the homeward march two smiling faces were illumined by the western sun.