146CHAPTER XA LETTER FROM DOROTHY
“It seems an age, doesn’t it, since we’ve had a real meeting,” said the founder of the Vigilantes, “and yet it’s only nine weeks ago this very identical day. I guess it’s because the places are so far apart and so different. The last time ’twas on the big rock back of the Retreat, and now it’s away out here in the Land of our Dreams. Oh, you’ll never, never know what it’s meaning to me to have you all out here, because it’s one of the things you feel inside but can never, never tell!”
“I guess we know,” cried Priscilla, “because we’re feeling it, too! Every day I think I’ll die if I get any happier, but I guess happiness is one of the things you can keep pouring into your heart like love—without its overflowing.”
“It’s the very same way about pouring it out, too,” said Mary. “There’s always plenty left like the oil in the Bible story.”147
“Aren’t the mountains way off there blue?” cried Vivian. “I think blue’s the happiest color in the world. I’ll never say that I feelblueagain now that I’ve seen the mountains.”
They had climbed to the summit of Spruce Ridge for their Vigilante meeting—the first formal one they had held since their arrival in Virginia’s country. A letter from Dorothy, coming an hour ago, bore the inscription, “To be read at a Vigilante meeting,” and in order to be honest to the letter, as well as in spirit, they had decided upon a place apart and assembled.
“After all, it’s better to come away like this, isn’t it?” asked Virginia. “There’s a queer, common feeling that doesn’t come when we just sit on the porch and talk. And I love this sweep of country from the Ridge. It’s real Vigilante land. Now let’s have the letter, Priscilla. I’m wild to hear it. It’s the very first we’ve had in a month.”
The secretary of the order broke a large amount of sealing-wax, unfolded sheets of blue stationery, and began:148
“‘A Piece of Heaven in California,“‘Aug. 11,19—.“‘Dear Fellow Vigilantes:“‘I’ve been trying desperately to write you for weeks and weeks, but you’ve no idea what the cares of a household are, especially when you have a child around.’”
“‘A Piece of Heaven in California,“‘Aug. 11,19—.
“‘A Piece of Heaven in California,
“‘Aug. 11,19—.
“‘Dear Fellow Vigilantes:
“‘I’ve been trying desperately to write you for weeks and weeks, but you’ve no idea what the cares of a household are, especially when you have a child around.’”
“A child!” cried all the Vigilantes at once. “What child?”
Priscilla continued:
“‘But before I tell you aboutVirginia Winthrop Richards, I must say that the summer is being even more wonderful than Dad and I ever dreamed. I never got so well-acquainted with my own father in all my life, and he’s been a perfect darling to devote days and days to me. The bungalow is more heavenly than ever. It’s positively buried in roses and heliotrope, and you’d never know it had a chimney. You’d think that a huge geranium was growing right out of the roof. The front porch looks out upon the sea. Oh, it’s such a dark, deep, sparkly blue! And149when the sky is blue, too, and the sand is golden, and the white gulls skim next the water—nothing could be more beautiful in all the world! I think of you a hundred times a day, and wish that you were here. So does Dad. I’ve told him all about the Vigilantes, and he’s so interested. He says he’s thankful every day that I have such fine friends at St. Helen’s. In fact, I just know he’s more pleased with me than ever before. I think he sees there’s hope ahead, and it’s a very comforting assurance.“‘Now I must tell you about Virginia Winthrop Richards. I know you’re consumed with curiosity. If you could see her, you’d be consumed with envy. She is seven years old and all pink and white and blue and gold. Her cheeks are just the color of wild roses, and her eyes deep blue—almost like the water—and her hair golden brown with lights in it. I dress her in pink or blue or white all the time. One day two weeks ago Dad and I went to Los Angeles to buy clothes for her. I don’t believe I ever had quite such a good time in all my life. ’Twas150just like shopping for one’s very own child. I put my hair up high for the occasion, and endeavored to look matronly, but I guess I failed, for when I saw a ravishing pink dress and said, “I guess it’s too small for my little girl,” the stupid clerk laughed in my face.“‘We bought the sweetest things you ever saw! Hair-ribbons and adorable shoes and socks striped like sticks of candy and little fairy night-dresses all trimmed in lace. Then Dad bought some toys. I let him do that. He bought a doll and books and a cart and horses, for we want Virginia to be a trifle boyish, too, you see. While he was doing it, his eyes just beamed and beamed. He said he felt just as he did when I was little and he bought toys for me. When we reached home and showed the things to Virginia Winthrop Richards, I thought she’d die of happiness. Really, I didn’t know but that we’d lose her after all!“‘But here I am dressing my child for you, and you don’t even know who she is! She wasn’t anybody butMinnieandNo. 31until three weeks151ago. I’ve always thought it would be a heavy cross enough to be namedMinnieanyway, even though you had a respectable surname, but to beMinniewithout any surname at all, andNo. 31in addition, seem to me the depths of misery. We found her in the Home for Friendless Children, and I’ll always believe that an angel led us there! Dad and I went to the city three weeks ago this very Sunday and walked by the Home. We didn’t even know ’twas there—just stumbled upon it while we were roaming around in search of adventure. Poor little31was sitting under a tree on the lawn holding a shingle and singing to it. I’ll never forget how she looked. Her curls were braided up tight, and tied with a shoe-string, and she was dressed in a hideous blue-checked thing, but even those drawbacks couldn’t spoil her. Dad and I just stopped and stared, and then we walked up the steps and in at the door.“‘“Whose child is that out there on the lawn?” Dad asked the matron who greeted us at the office entrance.“‘She was a tall, stern-looking person in a152shirtwaist and a high, starched collar. You just couldn’t imagine her holding a baby, or one cuddling up against her neck. She saidNo. 31was nobody’s child. She had been left in an old basket on the steps six years ago. You see, she isn’t one of those children you read about with beautifully embroidered clothes and gold lockets and one thousand dollars in bills under her pillow. She didn’t have any name or notes or requests for whoever took her to call at the bank for a fortune when she was twenty-one. She was just wrapped in an old blanket and left there. But Dad and I don’t care!“‘When the matron saw that we were interested, she asked if we didn’t want to borrowNo. 31for a few days. She said they sometimes lent children for two weeks or so. When she said it, she sounded just as though a child were a typewriter or a vacuum cleaner, sent on ten days’ free trial. I looked at Dad and Dad looked at me, and then he said, “We’ll take her!” It didn’t take long for the matron to do up her few clothes and to get her ready. She was so glad to make153the loan that she hurried. Little No. 31 was so surprised that she didn’t know whether to be happy or not. Perhaps she didn’t understand what it was to be really happy, but she knows now! She’s positively radiant!“‘I can’t explain how it seemed when we brought her home. Somehow ’twas as though we’d just begun to be arealfamily. She snuggled between Dad and me on the front seat of the car, and kept looking from one to the other of us. I think it was her name that first gave us the idea of keeping her. We couldn’t call that adorable childNo. 31, and we wouldn’t call herMinnie. Of course we couldn’t name a borrowed child, and so after I’d given her a bath, and we’d seen how truly sweet and adorable she was, we decided that at all events she should never, never go back to that Home, which is a satire on the word. At first Dad thought he knew of a fine home for her with some friends of his who haven’t any children, but after the ten days’ free trial were over we knew we just couldn’t give her up. Best of all, Mrs. Shute, the housekeeper,154who’s been with us all summer, loves her to death, and she’s promised to stay right on with Dad, and keep house for him next winter in Los Angeles. So you see Dad has a home and another child, and he’s the happiest man in California.“‘He let me do the naming, and, of course, I consulted my child. I couldn’t think of anything lovelier than to name her for the two founders of the Vigilantes, and after I’d told her all about you she was pleased as pleased could be. I let her choose betweenPriscilla Hunter RichardsandVirginia Winthrop Richards, and she took Virginia and named her new dollPriscilla. I wish I could have named her for you and Mary, Vivian, dear, but Dad thought two names were enough.“‘We’re the very happiest family you ever saw. Virginia fits in better every day. She’s learning such sweet manners—I tell Dad it just shows she must be sweet inside! She’s learning to read and to write, too. We have a lesson every morning after breakfast. The other day I bought the pattern of a little dress, and Mrs. Shute helped155me cut it out and make it. I never felt so proud in all my life. I’m obliged to be morevigilantthan ever, because Virginia does and says everything that I do. The other day I said I should certainly die if I didn’t get a letter from some of you, and she was quite frightened. So I guess I’ll have to be more moderate in speech after this.“‘There’s one thing more I must tell you before I stop. I saw Imogene the other day. Dad and Virginia and I were walking by one of the big hotels here, when an automobile came up to the curbing. You can just imagine how surprised I was when Imogene and Mrs. Meredith stepped out. There was a young man with them whom I didn’t like very well. He had a queer way of looking at you, and was over-dressed, I thought. Imogene looked very handsome, and, oh, loads older! I felt a perfect baby beside her! Mrs. Meredith was just the same, only even more elaborately gowned than she used to be when she visited Imogene. Imogene was as surprised as I was, I think, though she didn’t show it. She and156her mother shook hands with me, and she introduced her friend. I was so excited I didn’t hear his name at all. She told me she was going to be married at Christmas time, and so wouldn’t be back at St. Helen’s, and Mr. Whoever-he-was laughed and said Imogene had been to school long enough. Dad and I asked them to tea with us, but they said they were just hurrying through and couldn’t come.“‘When they left us and went into the hotel I had the queerest feeling. ’Twas just as though I had said good-by to Imogene forever—just as though she’d gone away into a different world. And the queerest part of it all was that I didn’t care very much. It seemed years since I had cared for her—years since we had done things together at St. Helen’s. That night after I had put Virginia to bed, and come out on the porch with Dad, a big machine flew by our house. I heard some one laugh, and knew it was Imogene. She hadn’t been hurrying through; she just hadn’t cared to come. I suppose it ought to have hurt me, but it didn’t. I was glad she’d stopped caring, too,157the way I had. Then, at least, neither of us would be hurt. The only thing I’m sorry about is that Imogene has gone into that kind of a world. I don’t believe it can give the best kind of happiness, do you?“‘It’s nearly church time, and I must hurry. We’re all going together. It’s Virginia’s very first service, except for those at the Home, and I do hope she’ll be good. I’ve been instructing her for days—telling her just what to do and what not to do. I’m afraid I’ll send out many thoughts in your direction, but Miss Wallace says they’re prayers anyway—that is, the kind I’d send to you, so I guess it will be all right. There’s Virginia calling now.“‘Dearest love,“‘Dorothy.“‘P.S. After service. She was angelic! When she knelt and closed her eyes, she looked like one of Raphael’s cherubs. Dad wiped his eyes—I saw him—and I could have cried for happiness. The sermon was on “Vigilance”—wasn’t that strange? The minister spoke about watching158for opportunities to serve, for in so doing, he said, we served ourselves most of all. Dad looked at me then and smiled, and we both looked at Virginia, our opportunity. She was findingA’sin the prayer-book.“‘This is a selfish letter—all about me—but I knew you’d want to know about your namesake. Write me right away. We’ll be watching every mail.“‘Dorothy.’”
“‘But before I tell you aboutVirginia Winthrop Richards, I must say that the summer is being even more wonderful than Dad and I ever dreamed. I never got so well-acquainted with my own father in all my life, and he’s been a perfect darling to devote days and days to me. The bungalow is more heavenly than ever. It’s positively buried in roses and heliotrope, and you’d never know it had a chimney. You’d think that a huge geranium was growing right out of the roof. The front porch looks out upon the sea. Oh, it’s such a dark, deep, sparkly blue! And149when the sky is blue, too, and the sand is golden, and the white gulls skim next the water—nothing could be more beautiful in all the world! I think of you a hundred times a day, and wish that you were here. So does Dad. I’ve told him all about the Vigilantes, and he’s so interested. He says he’s thankful every day that I have such fine friends at St. Helen’s. In fact, I just know he’s more pleased with me than ever before. I think he sees there’s hope ahead, and it’s a very comforting assurance.
“‘Now I must tell you about Virginia Winthrop Richards. I know you’re consumed with curiosity. If you could see her, you’d be consumed with envy. She is seven years old and all pink and white and blue and gold. Her cheeks are just the color of wild roses, and her eyes deep blue—almost like the water—and her hair golden brown with lights in it. I dress her in pink or blue or white all the time. One day two weeks ago Dad and I went to Los Angeles to buy clothes for her. I don’t believe I ever had quite such a good time in all my life. ’Twas150just like shopping for one’s very own child. I put my hair up high for the occasion, and endeavored to look matronly, but I guess I failed, for when I saw a ravishing pink dress and said, “I guess it’s too small for my little girl,” the stupid clerk laughed in my face.
“‘We bought the sweetest things you ever saw! Hair-ribbons and adorable shoes and socks striped like sticks of candy and little fairy night-dresses all trimmed in lace. Then Dad bought some toys. I let him do that. He bought a doll and books and a cart and horses, for we want Virginia to be a trifle boyish, too, you see. While he was doing it, his eyes just beamed and beamed. He said he felt just as he did when I was little and he bought toys for me. When we reached home and showed the things to Virginia Winthrop Richards, I thought she’d die of happiness. Really, I didn’t know but that we’d lose her after all!
“‘But here I am dressing my child for you, and you don’t even know who she is! She wasn’t anybody butMinnieandNo. 31until three weeks151ago. I’ve always thought it would be a heavy cross enough to be namedMinnieanyway, even though you had a respectable surname, but to beMinniewithout any surname at all, andNo. 31in addition, seem to me the depths of misery. We found her in the Home for Friendless Children, and I’ll always believe that an angel led us there! Dad and I went to the city three weeks ago this very Sunday and walked by the Home. We didn’t even know ’twas there—just stumbled upon it while we were roaming around in search of adventure. Poor little31was sitting under a tree on the lawn holding a shingle and singing to it. I’ll never forget how she looked. Her curls were braided up tight, and tied with a shoe-string, and she was dressed in a hideous blue-checked thing, but even those drawbacks couldn’t spoil her. Dad and I just stopped and stared, and then we walked up the steps and in at the door.
“‘“Whose child is that out there on the lawn?” Dad asked the matron who greeted us at the office entrance.
“‘She was a tall, stern-looking person in a152shirtwaist and a high, starched collar. You just couldn’t imagine her holding a baby, or one cuddling up against her neck. She saidNo. 31was nobody’s child. She had been left in an old basket on the steps six years ago. You see, she isn’t one of those children you read about with beautifully embroidered clothes and gold lockets and one thousand dollars in bills under her pillow. She didn’t have any name or notes or requests for whoever took her to call at the bank for a fortune when she was twenty-one. She was just wrapped in an old blanket and left there. But Dad and I don’t care!
“‘When the matron saw that we were interested, she asked if we didn’t want to borrowNo. 31for a few days. She said they sometimes lent children for two weeks or so. When she said it, she sounded just as though a child were a typewriter or a vacuum cleaner, sent on ten days’ free trial. I looked at Dad and Dad looked at me, and then he said, “We’ll take her!” It didn’t take long for the matron to do up her few clothes and to get her ready. She was so glad to make153the loan that she hurried. Little No. 31 was so surprised that she didn’t know whether to be happy or not. Perhaps she didn’t understand what it was to be really happy, but she knows now! She’s positively radiant!
“‘I can’t explain how it seemed when we brought her home. Somehow ’twas as though we’d just begun to be arealfamily. She snuggled between Dad and me on the front seat of the car, and kept looking from one to the other of us. I think it was her name that first gave us the idea of keeping her. We couldn’t call that adorable childNo. 31, and we wouldn’t call herMinnie. Of course we couldn’t name a borrowed child, and so after I’d given her a bath, and we’d seen how truly sweet and adorable she was, we decided that at all events she should never, never go back to that Home, which is a satire on the word. At first Dad thought he knew of a fine home for her with some friends of his who haven’t any children, but after the ten days’ free trial were over we knew we just couldn’t give her up. Best of all, Mrs. Shute, the housekeeper,154who’s been with us all summer, loves her to death, and she’s promised to stay right on with Dad, and keep house for him next winter in Los Angeles. So you see Dad has a home and another child, and he’s the happiest man in California.
“‘He let me do the naming, and, of course, I consulted my child. I couldn’t think of anything lovelier than to name her for the two founders of the Vigilantes, and after I’d told her all about you she was pleased as pleased could be. I let her choose betweenPriscilla Hunter RichardsandVirginia Winthrop Richards, and she took Virginia and named her new dollPriscilla. I wish I could have named her for you and Mary, Vivian, dear, but Dad thought two names were enough.
“‘We’re the very happiest family you ever saw. Virginia fits in better every day. She’s learning such sweet manners—I tell Dad it just shows she must be sweet inside! She’s learning to read and to write, too. We have a lesson every morning after breakfast. The other day I bought the pattern of a little dress, and Mrs. Shute helped155me cut it out and make it. I never felt so proud in all my life. I’m obliged to be morevigilantthan ever, because Virginia does and says everything that I do. The other day I said I should certainly die if I didn’t get a letter from some of you, and she was quite frightened. So I guess I’ll have to be more moderate in speech after this.
“‘There’s one thing more I must tell you before I stop. I saw Imogene the other day. Dad and Virginia and I were walking by one of the big hotels here, when an automobile came up to the curbing. You can just imagine how surprised I was when Imogene and Mrs. Meredith stepped out. There was a young man with them whom I didn’t like very well. He had a queer way of looking at you, and was over-dressed, I thought. Imogene looked very handsome, and, oh, loads older! I felt a perfect baby beside her! Mrs. Meredith was just the same, only even more elaborately gowned than she used to be when she visited Imogene. Imogene was as surprised as I was, I think, though she didn’t show it. She and156her mother shook hands with me, and she introduced her friend. I was so excited I didn’t hear his name at all. She told me she was going to be married at Christmas time, and so wouldn’t be back at St. Helen’s, and Mr. Whoever-he-was laughed and said Imogene had been to school long enough. Dad and I asked them to tea with us, but they said they were just hurrying through and couldn’t come.
“‘When they left us and went into the hotel I had the queerest feeling. ’Twas just as though I had said good-by to Imogene forever—just as though she’d gone away into a different world. And the queerest part of it all was that I didn’t care very much. It seemed years since I had cared for her—years since we had done things together at St. Helen’s. That night after I had put Virginia to bed, and come out on the porch with Dad, a big machine flew by our house. I heard some one laugh, and knew it was Imogene. She hadn’t been hurrying through; she just hadn’t cared to come. I suppose it ought to have hurt me, but it didn’t. I was glad she’d stopped caring, too,157the way I had. Then, at least, neither of us would be hurt. The only thing I’m sorry about is that Imogene has gone into that kind of a world. I don’t believe it can give the best kind of happiness, do you?
“‘It’s nearly church time, and I must hurry. We’re all going together. It’s Virginia’s very first service, except for those at the Home, and I do hope she’ll be good. I’ve been instructing her for days—telling her just what to do and what not to do. I’m afraid I’ll send out many thoughts in your direction, but Miss Wallace says they’re prayers anyway—that is, the kind I’d send to you, so I guess it will be all right. There’s Virginia calling now.
“‘Dearest love,“‘Dorothy.
“‘Dearest love,
“‘Dorothy.
“‘P.S. After service. She was angelic! When she knelt and closed her eyes, she looked like one of Raphael’s cherubs. Dad wiped his eyes—I saw him—and I could have cried for happiness. The sermon was on “Vigilance”—wasn’t that strange? The minister spoke about watching158for opportunities to serve, for in so doing, he said, we served ourselves most of all. Dad looked at me then and smiled, and we both looked at Virginia, our opportunity. She was findingA’sin the prayer-book.
“‘This is a selfish letter—all about me—but I knew you’d want to know about your namesake. Write me right away. We’ll be watching every mail.
“‘Dorothy.’”
“‘Dorothy.’”
They looked at one another with shining eyes as Priscilla folded the letter. Mary was the first to speak.
“Isn’t it the loveliest thing in all the world for Dorothy to do?” she said.
“Wonderful!” cried the two who possessed a namesake.
“I think we ought to make Virginia Winthrop Richards a present,” proposed Priscilla. “I never felt so important in all my life, did you, Virginia?”
“Never!” said Virginia. “Why so quiet, Vivian?”
“I was thinking about Imogene,” said Vivian.159“I’m wondering why I don’t care much either. It’s strange when I cared so much for her—only four months ago.”
In their excitement over Dorothy’s child, the others had for the moment forgotten Imogene.
“I guess it’s because we went as far as the crossroads together,” explained Virginia, “and then chose different paths. I feel the same way Dorothy does. I’m sorry for Imogene, but I don’t feel any great loss myself.”
“I propose we adjourn,” said the excited Priscilla, “and go down and tell the news to Aunt Nan and Mr. Hunter. That is, if there’s no more business,” she added, looking toward the president.
The president declared the meeting adjourned, and they started homeward. By a large spruce they stopped for a moment. The ground beneath the tree was a garden, glad with blossoming flowers. Virginia’s gray eyes looked at them, then sought the distant mountains.
“I never thought,” she said softly, “that I’d love to come up here the way I do. Of course I know Jim isn’t here. He’s gone on to make others happy160Somewhere Else. But I like to remember how we used to climb up here and look off at the country. He always loved it so. I used to be so lonely without him, but now I’m glad—glad he’s having all the wonderful things that just must happen after we—go on! That’s why I like William’s flowers so! They’re so glad, too!”
“I like William for taking such good care of them,” said Mary. “I saw him coming up here yesterday with his garden tools.”
“William!” cried Virginia gladly. “Why, William’salwaysbeen next best to Jim!”
161CHAPTER XI“EVER VIGILANT”
“There’s no reason in the world why more than three of us should go back,” said Virginia. “I know just exactly where she left it. It’s on the table just back of the jars of raspberries. All right, Vivian, if you insist and are sure you’re not too tired. It’s all of six miles there and back, you know. It’s not a bit necessary, Carver, but we’d love to have you come if you want to. Sagebrush Point, Don—at the open place? All right, we’ll be there.”
“Be sure to make the Canyon Path before dusk,” warned Donald. “It’s bad there, you know. Signals all right? Better take my revolver. Malcolm has his.”
Virginia examined the revolver before securing the holster to her saddle.
“Two, if we need you; three, if everything’s all right. You probably won’t hear either. We’ll see you by six o’clock. Good luck!”162
She turned Pedro, and, followed by Carver and Vivian, rode back up the trail, while the others kept on down the mountain side toward Sagebrush Point where they were to meet Malcolm and Aunt Nan.
They had ridden far up Bear Canyon, miles beyond the farthest bear-trap, to the Forest Ranger’s cabin. The trail was wilder than six of them had ever imagined a trail could be. Sometimes it was almost obliterated, but the blaze of the rangers with its U.S. brand told them that human beings had traversed it, and that they might safely follow. At noon they had reached the cabin—a lonely eyrie looking down into the gorge of the river. Behind it unbroken forests stretched for miles.
The ranger was away upon his beat, but his door stood hospitably open, and they had gladly entered, sure that a welcome was intended. In his little kitchen they had eaten dinner, leaving some of their bacon as a gift. Then an idea had seized Aunt Nan. Why not pick some of the raspberries which grew in profusion near by, and cook a quart of them as winter preserves for the ranger? It did not take163very long for nine pair of hands to pick three quarts instead of one, and within an hour, sugar having been found in the pantry, the berries were cooking on the little stove. Jars, too, were discovered, and at three o’clock when the boys had brought the horses, five cooks in khaki surveyed their gift with proud eyes. They had ridden hurriedly away, realizing that they were already late if they wanted Sagebrush Point for a camping-place; and three miles below the cabin Vivian had discovered the loss of her wrist-watch, a birthday gift from her father.
“Don’t you worry a bit, Vivian,” Virginia said, reassuringly, as she urged Pedro up the steep trail. “We’d just as soon ride back as not, and I wouldn’t have you lose the watch for the world. Of course the ranger would keep it safe for us, but there’s no knowing when we could get away up here again. It’s best to go now when we’re only three miles away.”
“I’m dead sure it’s right on the table,” said Carver. “I saw you put it there, Vivian, when you got ready to wash the dishes.”164
Carver Standish was right. The watch was on the table where she had left it. The cabin seemed more lonely than ever as they hurried away. The rush of the river hundreds of feet below, the drowsy hum of the August insects, and the sound of their horses’ feet upon the stones alone broke the silence. Vivian shivered.
“I hate it here, now,” she said. “Let’s hurry back to the others.”
But it was impossible to hurry down the steep, rocky trail. The horses were tired, and a misstep or a stumble would be dangerous. Pedro, sure of himself on any trail, led the way, and Vivian and Carver followed, weaving right and left down the mountain side. More than once Carver glanced apprehensively at his watch. It was growing late—nearly five already!—and Virginia had told Donald they would be at Sagebrush Point at six! It was impossible. They could never make it!
Vivian was worried, too. She hated the shadows that began to creep in among the trees, the lonely call of a bird in the timber, the coolness that came as the afternoon waned. She shivered again, when165at the first ford, where they had separated more than an hour before, the rawhide thongs in one of her stirrups broke, and caused a second delay.
Carver’s none too agile fingers laced and re-tied the thong. Virginia allowed Pedro to nibble at the quaking-asps and tried to be patient while she watched the repairing. More than once she was tempted to jump from her saddle and do the work herself, but she knew that Carver would resent the intrusion. Carver Standish III heartily disliked any intimation that he was a tenderfoot. Safe and satisfied in the citadel of New England birth and ancestry, he still was averse to any suggestion of inferiority in Wyoming. Virginia liked Carver, though she knew him far better now than she had ever dreamed she should. She liked him in spite of the tinge of snobbishness which would creep in now and then, try as he did to conceal it. She even liked him during the ten minutes he took to lace the thong when she could have done it in three.
It was growing dark when they at last swung into the easier, grass-grown trail of the lower mountains—dark and cold. The realization that they were166already two miles from supper and the others, together with the knowledge that there was still the Canyon Path to cross, made them all silent and very grave. They hurried their horses through the last of the tallest timber and out upon the bare summit of a mountain, which looked down across the valley and the river to a point beyond. As they gazed, flames shot up from the point where a newly-kindled fire was welcoming the first star. Dark specks were visible about the fire—persons moving here and there. Sagebrush Point—a mile across the valley, two by the trail!
Carver looked questioningly at Virginia, and found his answer in the smile she gravely gave him. They would go no farther. Carver knew it before Virginia discovered the paper. Vivian suspected, but would not know. They sat quietly in their saddles while she rode Pedro close to a great pine which bore a ranger’s sign, burned in a piece of wood.
“Two miles to Sagebrush Point,” read the sign.
“A good camping-place. Dangerous trailing!”
Below the sign was a folded piece of paper,167fastened by Donald’s scarf-pin to the tree, and bearing Virginia’s name. She read it silently and with difficulty in the fast-fading light.
“It’s just as I thought,” she explained. “When Donald reached here and saw what a long time it had taken, he knew we couldn’t make the Point. He says not to attempt it if it’s after six, and it’s a quarter of seven now. I wouldn’t try the Canyon Path for anything in this light, and there’s no other way to go. We’ll just have to camp here, that’s all! We’ve our blankets and matches and plenty of bacon and bread, and there’s a spring near by. It won’t be so bad. Quite an adventure!”
Her last words were spoken in an attempt to reassure Vivian, who was staring at her—the epitome of horror.
“Camp—here—Virginia! Alone! Here! In—this—wilderness!” Vivian was monosyllabic from terror.
Carver did not share Vivian’s fear, but he was a trifle overbearing in his judgment of those about the fire at Sagebrush Point.
“If Donald thought we weren’t going to make it,168why didn’t he camp here himself?” he asked. “Of course it’s all right for me, but it’s rather tough on you and Vivian. I should think he’d have thought of that.”
Virginia was quick to champion Donald. Indeed Carver Standish III would have given much for the place Donald held in Virginia’s estimation.
“Why, Carver,” she said, frank in her displeasure, “Donald’s one of the most thoughtful persons in the world. Malcolm and Aunt Nan were over at Sagebrush, and he couldn’t get word to them before dark. Besides, he knows I’m not afraid to camp by ourselves. They’re right across on Sagebrush, and there’s nothing in this world to harm us. Of course he wouldn’t have gone on for anything if you hadn’t been here, but he knew he could depend on you.”
The knowledge of New England ancestry could not keep Carver Standish from feeling small as he unsaddled the horses, and tied them in among the trees. Then, considering work a good antidote, he cut brush and brought dry sticks for a fire. A dead cedar promised logs enough for the night, and these169Carver cut, trimmed, and piled. Vivian, unable as yet to comprehend the situation, stood looking off toward the fire on the point, and wished with all her heart that she had wings. Virginia unstrapped the blankets and laid them upon a fallen log. Then, the big revolver in her hand, she waited only for the fire to give those watching on Sagebrush the signals agreed upon. At last the flame-colored smoke burst into tongues of fire, leaping, crackling tongues which told the anxious watchers on Sagebrush that the note had been found and that all was well. A moment later three shots from the mountain opposite tore away the stillness. Donald sent back an answering three. Then five in quick succession came from Virginia’s revolver.
“It’s the old signal we’ve always used in hunting,” Donald explained to Mary, Priscilla, and Jack who were standing beside him. “It means, ‘We’re going to camp here.’ I knew Virginia would decide on that. She always does the sensible thing anyway,” he added proudly.
Malcolm and Aunt Nan, standing near the170water’s edge, watched the flames of Virginia’s fire as they blazed skyward.
“I’ve never quite realized before what Virginia’s made of,” said Aunt Nan thoughtfully. “If her Grandmother Webster were here this minute, I think perhaps she’d realize that therearequalities which balance being born in New England.”
“Perhaps,” returned Malcolm, a little doubtfully. “Perhaps she would. I’ve known New Englanders to realize several things. The trouble is they’re very much averse to admitting it.”
Meanwhile the three on the summit across the valley had dined, frugally to be sure, and somewhat silently on bread and bacon. Now sweater-clad they sat before the fire, and munched at some sweet chocolate which Carver had discovered in his coat pocket. With every nibble Vivian peered among the trees behind her, glanced fearfully right and left, and ended by gazing with longing eyes at the fire on Sagebrush Point. Carver hugged his knees, and rocked idly to and fro. Virginia gazed thoughtfully into the flames. To her a night in a mountain forest was a privilege, whether three171or nine shared its glories. To be sure, a tent would be a distinct addition, but since they had none they must do without it. Its absence was but an incident, and gave her little anxiety—far less, in fact, than the fear which she detected in the blue eyes of Vivian. For to Vivian the approaching night was a terrible ordeal through which she must go. Her reason fled away to parts unknown, and only imagination remained to create a mountain lion in every thicket, and mysterious, unearthly, disembodied presences in the air, behind her back, at her very elbow. She was grateful when Carver came to sit beside her. With Virginia on the other side, two less avenues of approach were opened. At all events she would not talk about her fear; and, acting upon her resolve, she did her best to join in the conversation on school and books and athletics.
Ten o’clock came, and Carver brought wood for the fire. Then he unrolled their blankets, spreading them over pine boughs already cut and placed upon the ground. The ground itself was a good enough mattress for him, he said, as he172rolled in his blanket Indian-fashion, and lay down under a great pine. They need have no anxiety as to the fire. He probably should sleep but little, and would replenish it whenever wood was needed. If they wanted a thing or became frightened in the night, they should speak to him.
Vivian, sleepy in spite of her fears, lay down upon the boughs, her head in Virginia’s lap. She knew she should not close her eyes, but she might as well rest. If a bear or a mountain lion came, it would make little difference whether she were sitting or reclining. Virginia was not sleepy. She preferred to sit up.
In half an hour a long, resigned snore from the neighborhood of the great pine proved that Carver Standish had forgotten all about fires and protection. Virginia smiled to herself as she reached for more wood. There was bacon in camp and undoubtedly bears on the mountain. The combination made a big fire desirable. Moreover, she was determined that the Sagebrush Point fire, replenished from time to time by a black dot, should not eclipse her own.173
“Sit up a minute, Vivian,” she whispered, trying to rise. “I want to get one of those big logs which I can’t reach from here. I’ll be back in a moment.”
But when she returned with the log, Vivian’s head had dropped upon the blankets, and the flames which leaped up a moment later showed her, to Virginia’s joy, to be fast asleep.
So the founder of the Vigilantes was the only one left to guard the fortunes of the camp. She took her station near the edge of the slope, a little distance from the fire, drew her blanket close around her, and began her vigil. There was so much to see and to think about! She was glad she felt wide-awake.
Deep in the gorge below her, the river called with a thousand voices. Down in the valley the pine trees reared their heads—little spear points pricking the purple blackness of the night. The fire on Sagebrush sparkled like a single jewel in a vast setting. Far above and beyond the valley rose the opposite height, dark and indistinct—a bridge between two worlds. To Virginia she was like an eagle, secure174in his nest on the topmost pinnacle of a cliff, and looking forth upon his domain.
Now she turned her face upward toward the deep, almost transparent blue of the midnight sky. It was set with myriads of stars—great arc-lights, beacons at sea, flickering candle-flames. A star fell—it was one of the beacons—and came earthward, trailing glory in its wake. Then, the path blazed, another followed, and a third. The last was a little candle-flame, almost too tiny to find its way alone. The Milky Way was a great, golden trail across the sky. If souls traversed it on their way to the Great Throne, as she had believed when she was a little girl, they would have no difficulty to-night in finding their way. She traced its triumphant course across the heavens. It seemed to begin on earth, she thought to herself, and come back to earth again after its journey skyward. That might break in pieces her childhood dream. But perhaps there were Great Thrones on earth, too, if one only searched far enough. Who knew that there were not?
After all, Life was a search. She was beginning to realize that more every day. It meant a175seeking after the best things. What were those best things, she wondered? Had she discovered the trail which, like the Milky Way, led to them? Friendship was one, she concluded—the real friendship which never demanded more than it was willing to give. And Service was another—the desire to help people over the hard, rocky places—to be a comrade, not just a spectator. Dorothy had discovered that. Then the Love of Beautiful Things must surely be a third—the love of books and pictures and of all the wonderful treasures of the out-of-doors. These were not all. There were others to be found far ahead, Virginia knew—treasures more wonderful than any yet discovered—if one searched and were worthy of finding them.
At least she knew she had discovered the key which would open the gate to the trail. She felt of it upon her waist. To be “Ever Vigilant” would open the door. To be watchful of one’s opportunities; never to scorn a chance to serve; to guard against the cheap and the unlovely in books and thoughts; to keep the windows of one’s soul shining and clean, so that the light of all things176beautiful might shine in. She held the little pin close in her hand. She and Priscilla and Dorothy and Mary and Vivian would keep to the trail together.
Life was such a great, big thing she said to herself. Her breath sobbed in her throat at the thought. It was like a day in April—cloudy and sunny and wind-blown and rainy. She wanted her own life to be like that. Then she could understand the storms and clouds in other lives, and prove she was a comrade and not just an onlooker!
The fire died down and she went for more wood. As she placed a big log on the glowing embers and turned away from the heat as it burst into flame, she saw that the fire on Sagebrush was rekindled also. She could discern a shadowy shape in the light of it. Donald, perhaps. He loved the night, too. She had forgotten Donald for the moment when she chose her comrades for the Long Trail, but he must go. She had followed trails with Donald all her life, and on this great journey she needed his comradeship more than ever.177
It was one o’clock, her little watch said—time to sleep. The great log with another added would last till morning. She rolled the second against the first, and lay down beside Vivian. The heat from the fire made her drowsy, and she soon slept. The flames leaped against the darkness; Pedro awakened and neighed questioningly; another star fell from the sky. Carver, Virginia, and Vivian were all in lands of their own. All at once a hideous yell shattered the night silence. It shrieked and quavered and moaned, and at last died away in an echo that encircled the valley. Virginia, mounting a rocky hill with Donald, sat up suddenly. A figure enshrouded in blankets stood beside her. Vivian mercifully slept on.
“Gee!” screamed the half-asleep and wholly frightened Carver Standish III. “What was that?”
“A mountain lion,” said Virginia, shaking in spite of herself. “But he’s miles away across the valley. I’m glad Vivian didn’t wake up. She’d have been scared to death.”
“I shouldn’t blame her!” replied Carver in a stentorian whisper. “I never heard anything like it178in my life. My! I’m sleepy! It’s most eleven, isn’t it?”
Virginia smiled into the darkness. Not for worlds would she have told Carver of his unsuccessful vigil.
“Yes, Carver,” she said. “It’s—it’s past eleven!”
Alone she watched the day come as she had watched it go. She saw the last stars fade away, and the half-light of early morning greet the eastern mountains. She felt in a strange silence the mystery and majesty of dawn. A mourning dove in a far-away thicket said farewell to the night; an early morning wind stirred the quaking-asps; an orange and yellow bird left his nest and mate to fly across the valley toward a sky-line of his own hue. The trees stood expectant. Then the light came in long, golden rays. It was day.
By six they were on their way to breakfast with their fellow-campers at Sagebrush—Vivian, incredulous that the night was really over and that she had slept; Carver, secretly much disturbed over his protecting powers; Virginia, eager, radiant, buoyant.179Donald waited for them on the other side of the Canyon Path, and watched their safe transit. Aunt Nan and the others were ready at the camp with welcomes and words of genuine admiration.
“I’d have been worried to death about you,” said Priscilla with her arm around Virginia, “if it hadn’t been for Carver’s being there. Yes, I would, Virginia. I don’t care how much you know about camping. A man’s being around makes a heap of difference. You know it does!”
“Of course,” agreed the loyal Virginia.
But Carver Standish III drank his coffee in silence, glad for once that the cup was large enough to hide his face.
180CHAPTER XIITHE ROMAN EMPEROR
The late August days came relentlessly on, each in turn being seized by the Vigilantes and placed in a treasure-house of never-to-be-forgotten joys. The month which they had planned in June was lengthening into six weeks. Mr. Hunter and Virginia had insisted and Aunt Nan seemed very loath to go. Already they were quite Westernized. They “rustled” and “cached” and “packed” things without even stopping to think, andr’swere unmistakably creeping into Priscilla’s strictly Bostonian speech. Whatwouldthe Winthrop family say?
Every day the country grew lovelier. A veil of bronze and purple was being laid softly over the foot-hills, and the waiting wheat stood golden. Day after day the sun rose in glory, and after a cloudless journey set in a golden sea. In the woods the berries of the kinnikinnick grew red, and on the181lawn the mountain ash trees stood clothed in holiday attire. The air was clear and bracing; the nights were cold. One morning the highest mountain was white with snow, which, when the sun rose higher, hurried away, as though it had told a secret. September was on the way, and these were her forerunners.
“I never supposed,” announced Priscilla one morning at breakfast, “that weeks could go so fast. It makes old age seem awfully close. And still I know how slowly they go sometimes, like January at St. Helen’s, for instance. Just sixteen more days, and we’ll be going back East, Virginia. Dad says if I’m not back by the tenth, they’ll motor to the White Mountains without me. I’m afraid I can’t help feeling superior when I view the White Mountains after seeing these!”
Virginia was busily counting on her fingers.
“I’m trying to remember just what we’ve done and what we haven’t done,” she said. “Then we can see what’s left. We’ve ridden hundreds of miles, and we’ve climbed mountains, and trapped a bear, and shot gophers, and fished, and homesteaded, and182camped, and visited Aunt Deborah and Jean MacDonald. I’m so glad Jean went to Aunt Deborah’s with us. It was such fun having her along. Then we’ve been up to Mystic Lake, and out on the range with Joe and William, and——”
“But you haven’t visited the Roman Emperor,” interrupted her father. “I stopped at his place yesterday on my way home from Willow Creek, and found him at home, flag out and all. He promised me some water-cress, but I couldn’t wait for it. You see,” he added, smiling at the puzzled faces around him, “it isn’t every one who can see the Emperor. It takes a special errand. In this case, it’s water-cress.”
“We’ll go this very day!” cried Virginia. “Cottonwood Canyon can wait! Don and I’ve been planning it all along, but he said Mr.—the Emperor, I mean—was away up in the mountains. I’ll telephone over for the boys this minute.”
Not to question had become a Vigilante principle; and not to appear too curious, another. Still the mystery which filled their minds concerning the Emperor was ill-concealed. They knew Patrick183Sheehan, the old Vigilante, who lived on the Lone Mountain trail, and queer Aunt Susan Nevitt, who was reputed to have a bag of gold nuggets in the cellar of her tumble-down cabin. But of this personage, the Roman Emperor, they had surely never heard! Curiosity lent haste to their fingers, and in half an hour they were ready to start.
“His ca—estateis off the road to Willow Creek,” Virginia explained as they went out to greet the boys. “We’ve ridden by the driveway loads of times, but I knew he wasn’t at home by his flag not being out. That’s the sign. It’s that way in England, you know, at the king’s and dukes’ palaces. When they’re at home, the flag is flying.”
“I see,” said Priscilla, as she mounted Cyclone. “Is the Emperor old?”
“Rather. He’s nearly eighty. You see, he’s been reigning twenty-five years, hasn’t he, Don?”
“Yes, he commenced when Malcolm was of no account—twenty-five years or so ago. He’s met with lots of reverses, too. He was telling me just before you got home how the Senate wouldn’t vote him any money to fix up the estate. He’ll probably184apologize. Everybody ready? Come on!” commanded Don.
They rode for a mile across the open prairie, then turned south into the Willow Creek road, which followed the foot-hills. Conversation regarding the Emperor was tantalizing, and questioning was forbidden. Accordingly, they pocketed their curiosity, and devoted their time to one another, and to the signs of approaching autumn upon the brown hillsides. Pedro and MacDuff, eager for a gallop, left the other horses, and dashed along a three-path, grass-grown trail which encircled the hill and met the road again a mile beyond.
“It’s just the chance I wanted,” said Donald, reining in MacDuff to ride beside Virginia. “I want to ask you about Carver. I can’t make him out lately. I don’t know what’s the matter. He’s been queer ever since that night on the mountain—last Tuesday, wasn’t it? Of course he’s all right to the folks, and all that, but he’s stuck by himself more or less, and seemed stirred up over something. Dave, the man we got last winter, complained to Dad yesterday about Carver’s being rather officious185with the men. Dad smoothed it over, of course, and explained how Carver didn’t understand that that sort of thing doesn’t go out here. But it kind of worries me. Everything went all right up there, didn’t it, Virginia—on the mountain, I mean?”
Not even Donald could detect hesitation in Virginia’s reply. If Carver still chose to keep the ill-gotten rôle of protector, it was not up to her to take it from him.
“Why, of course, Don,” she said promptly. “Everything was perfectly all right. I guess Carver wasn’t awfully pleased at first when he found we had to stay. You see, he—he hasn’t much patience with Vivian when she’s nervous. But she did splendidly, and tried her best not to show how she felt inside. And I couldn’t see why Carver didn’t enjoy himself. He certainly seemed to!”
Donald was plainly puzzled.
“Well,” he said, “it gets me! He’s not a fellow you can reach very easily either. If it were Jack, I’d ask him just what the matter was, but somehow it’s different with Carver. There’s always something186in the way. I believe it’s—too much New England!”
Virginia laughed.
“Too much of it’s a dreadful barrier,” she observed. “Grandmother Webster had too much when I first went to Vermont, but I found a little path that led around it after I’d searched a long time. I think part of the trouble with Carver is that he’s just one of us out here. He isn’t looked up to the way he is at home. Priscilla knew him last summer, you know, and she’s told me about him. We were talking about it just last night, because we’ve noticed he’s queer lately. Priscilla says he’s always been looked up to by boys and girls of his age because his family’s so old, and his father so wealthy, and his grandfather a colonel. In New England, you know, those things count, especially the family and the colonel. Then, besides, Carver’s bright and fine-looking and an only son. Out here, you see, Don, we don’t care so much about colonels and old families and money. They’re all right, of course, if you have them, but you’ve an equal chance if you don’t.”187
“Maybe Carver’s learning that we’re right after all,” said Donald thoughtfully. “Maybe he’s seeing that ancestry won’t make a man. It’s hard to admit those things, I know that. I hated to admit that the Eastern fellows at school had better manners than we cow-punchers from this part of the country. But ’twas so all the same.”
Virginia allowed Pedro to nibble at the quaking-asps before she spoke.
“He’ll come out all right, Don,” she said. “Don’t let’s worry! Sometimes I think he’s like Captain Myles in the poem. Priscilla does, too. He gets angry all at once, and then hates himself for it. By and by he’ll be all right again, and as nice as ever the Captain was at John Alden’s wedding. Come on, let’s round the hill! We’re nearly at Mr. Livy’s, and they’ll think we’re too exclusive for worlds!”
The Emperor’s flag was out—a diminutive and tattered Old Glory, whose shreds fluttered in the wind. It was tacked to a wooden box, which, mounted on a log at the entrance to a narrow,188winding path, served as the Emperor’s mail-box. The name
A. C. Levinsky
was painted upon the side facing the road. As they turned into the path, Priscilla halted Cyclone. There was a decided tinge of stubbornness in her voice as she spoke.
“I’m not going another step,” she announced, “until I know about this Emperor business. I’m not going to embarrass any poor old thing who may live in this wilderness by not knowing anything about him. Come, Donald! You’ve got to tell!”
“I intended to all along just as soon as we reached the bridge,” said Donald. “I know the Emperor, and I wouldn’t have him hurt for anything. His real name is Augustus Cæsar Levinsky—at least, his last name is Levinsky, and I guess he hitched on the first. He’s a poor old prospector who’s been in this valley fifty years. He claims he was the very first to come, and perhaps he was. He’s dug holes all over these mountains looking for gold, and you’re always coming on him panning out gravel189in some creek. Some one grub-stakes him up here to get his land. By that, I mean,” he added, noting the puzzled faces of his listeners, “that some one gives him food and clothes and a promise to bury him for the sake of the land he’s homesteaded. That’s the way with old Pat Sheehan, and a lot of fellows around here.”
“And now he thinks he’s the Emperor of Rome,” said Virginia, continuing the Emperor’s story. “He’s been thinking that for twenty-five years, Father says. Some one gave him an old Roman History years ago, and he knows it all by heart. We all call him Mr. Livy around here. He says he doesn’t feel like asking his friends to title him. He sounds pathetic, but he isn’t at all. He’s the happiest man you ever saw. He’s like the verse at the beginning of Emerson’sEssay on History. He believes he’s Cæsar, and so he is. You’ll be surprised at the way he speaks, and the fine manners he has. It’s believing he’s the Emperor that’s done those things, I’m sure.”
Less curious but more interested, they followed the cool, shady path that led toward the imperial190estates. They crossed a bridge over a creek, green with fresh water-cress, their open sesame. Upon the railing was tacked a second flag—this one new and untorn.
“The Emperor must have had a present,” observed Virginia. “You catch your first glimpse of the palace around this curve.”
Around the curve they went, and into an open, path-cut field through which the creek meandered. The palace lay in the farthest corner. It did not even stand. Its old logs, disjoined and askew, were all but on the ground. How the roof managed to hold the chimney was a mystery. Perhaps, after all, it was the chimney which acted as a prop to the roof. A lean-to of poles, sod, and bark served as an entrance, and boasted a door. Mountain-fringe and other vines had taken root in the sod, and were undoubtedly helping to hold the structure together.
An undisturbed, unbroken silence reigned over the imperial residence. The Emperor was doubtless busy with affairs of state, if indeed he were not away upon official business. Still the flag191disproved his absence. He might be simply viewing the domain.
Suddenly from the lean-to came such fierce barking that more than one Vigilante made a hasty return to the safety of her saddle. Then the door opened, and, preceded by his dogs, the Emperor came out into the sunshine. He had doubtless been too absorbed to note their coming.
“Down, Nero! Down, Trajan!” they heard him say. “Is this the way you receive my guests?”
The dogs ceased barking, and stood on either side of him as he surveyed his visitors. They in turn surveyed him. They saw a tall, slight old man, still unbent. It seemed as though dignity defied time and kept him upright. His frayed white shirt was spotless, and his gray trousers, held up by thongs of skin, were neatly darned and clean. The lines in his smoothly shaven face vied in intricacy with the streets of Boston; his thin hair was neatly brushed; his faded blue eyes were gentle. He was the kind of an old man to whom one instinctively showed deference. Moreover, he was the Roman Emperor.192
The hats of Jack, Carver, and Donald came off as they greeted him.
“These are our friends, Mr. Livy,” Donald explained. “You remember I told you some time ago that they were coming. And you know Virginia Hunter?”
Mr. Livy did know Virginia. He and Nero and Trajan came forward all together to greet her.
“It’s good to see your face again, Miss Virginia,” said the Emperor. “Your father was here day before yesterday. He mentioned water-cress. Was that your errand?”
“That, and to see you, Mr. Livy,” answered Virginia. “My friends wished to come. I hope you’re not too busy to show them around a little.”
The Emperor was not too busy. He said this with a bow, which was many times repeated as he was presented to the others.
“I regard you as friends,” he said with dignity, “otherwise I should hesitate to show you the palace. There is a sad lack of funds of late—a sad lack! All the Senate’s appropriations are being expended on the new aqueduct, and on new roads193through the provinces. The roads hold our great possessions together, and the Emperor’s home can wait. But next year all will be different. Then I shall again plead my case, and money will be forthcoming. This way, please, young ladies and gentlemen. We will first view the grounds.”
His guests in respectful silence followed him down a path toward the creek over which he had placed a little foot-bridge. A fish jumped as they stepped upon the logs, and swam away to the safe shelter of the water-cress.
“The stream is well-stocked with the best of trout,” explained their host. “It is my pastime to catch them in other streams and to bring them here. You remember Horace upon his Sabine farm? Such pleasures as he enjoyed are mine. Yes, there is an abundance of cress. We will wait until later to gather it that it may be fresh and crisp.”
They followed the stream in its meandering course through the fields. Their guide pointed out to them this and that beauty—the fringed gentians in a thicket near the water’s edge; a late wild rose which saw its pink reflection in the still, amber194water. It was as though he, aided by the Senate’s money, had laid out the grounds himself, such was his pride in them. Another foot-bridge brought them back to the other side, and to the field-path which led to the house.
The Emperor felt called upon to apologize again before opening the door of the lean-to.
“The Senate still appropriates for conquests,” he said gravely. “I am much opposed. The Empire is large enough.”
They went within. The lean-to was a chaotic place, filled to overflowing with pick-axes, spades, elk-horns, musk-rat traps, mining tools, samples of coal, and curiously-colored pieces of rock. Some skins, stretched on boards, were drying on the wall; some rude fishing-rods stood in one corner. The little room was strangely like the Emperor’s poor, befuddled brain.
The room in the main house was hardly imperial. A small, rickety stove, bearing corn-meal porridge in a tin basin, stood in the center. In one corner was the Emperor’s bed, piled high with skins; in another, a scarred and battered table. Some ragged195articles of clothing hung about the room. By the one window was his chair, and on the floor close by lay a soiled and tattered book—Smith’sHistory of Ancient Rome!The Emperor picked it up eagerly and showed it to his guests.
“I was reading over again all that my reign has accomplished when you came,” he said. “There are the fire department, and the police, and the new roads, and the patronage of poets. I feel encouraged when I think it all over.”
“I should think you would,” complimented Virginia. “And then think of all the things you did before you were Emperor! Think of the early days out here—the Vigilantes and all!”
Mr. Livy’s faded blue eyes gleamed. Epochs had become as nothing to him. Now he was Emperor of Rome, and then he had fought against robbers and road-agents in a new country. It was all one.
“Don’t I remember it!” he cried. “Don’t I remember how we hung seven robbers in one night from a single cottonwood! Don’t I remember how old Jim Gillis said to me: ‘For God’s sake, Levinsky,196get me one last drink before I die!’ I got it for him, and in a minute more he was dead!”
Jack and Carver’s eyes shone. They thought old tales were forthcoming, but they did not know the Emperor. He said no more of Vigilante days, but turned toward the stove to stir the porridge.
“I’ll get the water-cress for you directly,” he said with a return to his old dignity. “Give it to your father with my compliments, Miss Virginia. I sent some but recently to the censor. No payment, I insist!”
Thus dismissed, his guests passed reluctantly outside. Ten minutes later they were making their farewells. The Emperor stood between Nero and Trajan, and watched them go. He was glad of occasional visitors, but more glad to return to the knotty problems which were before the Empire.
“Good-by,” he called as they rode away. “Don’t forget to notice the statue of Athena just within the gate. It’s a recent gift from the Governor of Gaul.”
Then he went within the palace, passed through the lofty atrium, and entered his private room,197where he sat down to continue the story of his glorious reign.
Meanwhile his guests searched for the Athena. There might be something—a post, perhaps—that signified the goddess of wisdom to the plastic mind of poor Mr. Levinsky. But they could find nothing.
“She’s only a dream like all the other things,” said Priscilla. “Poor man! I can’t see how he can reconcile things in his own mind!”
“He doesn’t,” explained Virginia. “That’s the lovely part of it! He’s the happiest Emperor I’ve ever known of in all my life!”