LIFE IN THE WOODS
It was wonderful how quickly they adapted themselves to their new mode
of life. A few days later Phyllis, with a rifle slung over one shoulder
and a dead rabbit over the other, was striding along through a dense
thicket of trees. Her face was tanned, her cheeks were crimson. She was
whistling cheerily.
"Won't Madge be proud of me?" she murmured half aloud. "Ten days ago I
had never fired a gun in my life. Now I have killed this poor little
bunny. Beg your pardon, bunny, I never would have shot you, but we
really had to have something to eat for dinner to-night. It was your
life or ours."
The woods were brown and gold. A heavy frost had fallen early in the
autumn. The little spot of earth through which Phyllis Alden wandered
was empty of other human beings; it looked as though it might have been
created for her alone.
A sudden sound in the underbrush startled Phyllis. She clutched her
rifle and brought it to position. There was no further movement.
"I ought not to have come so deep into the woods alone," she thought.
"I believe I am beginning to suppose that we are living in the Garden
of Eden, and that there is no one alive in the world except Miss Jenny
Ann and we four girls."
Phil moved on. Something stirred again. Phil felt her gaze drawn by a
pair of big, soft, brown eyes that surveyed her with a fixed stare of
horror. It was a wistful, penetrating gaze. Phil had never seen
anything like it before.
"Who's there?" called Phil. There was no answer, and no movement in the
underbrush. Phil moved cautiously toward the pair of eyes, that never
ceased to stare at her. Still the figure back of them made no movement.
The underbrush was so thick that Phyllis could not possibly see what
she was approaching. When she was within a short distance of it the
little creature collapsed and dropped with a soft flop on the ground at
her feet. It was a tiny baby fawn.
"You poor, pretty thing!" exclaimed Phil impulsively, stooping to look
more closely at the fawn, which was shivering with terror and hunger.
Then Phil, in spite of her lately acquired skill with the rifle, looked
fearfully about her.
The girls in their long rambles through the woods had observed several
times, from afar, the antlers of a red deer, with her hind grazing
quietly beside her. They had never gone near enough to be in any
danger. And they had seen no other animals in the woods in the daytime
except the wild hare and the squirrels. Only at night the screech of
the wildcats in the forests had penetrated behind the closed doors of
their sleeping lodge.
Phyllis knew that a deer will seldom risk an attack, but that it will
make a tremendous fight in defence of its young. Phil had no idea of
being sacrificed, so she edged carefully away, gazing in every
direction through the trees. There was no sign of any other deer.
By some chance the mother deer must have wandered off in the forest
after food and died. Nothing else could have made her leave her fawn
long enough to cause it so nearly to perish from cold and hunger.
What could Phil do? She was afraid to pick the fawn up for fear she had
been mistaken in her surmise. Yet it seemed too cruel to leave the
beautiful little creature to perish. If Phil wished to save it, how
could she manage it? She already carried their beloved rifle, which,
with a supply of ammunition, had been their lucky discovery in the
hunting lodge. Bunny was not to be thrown away. He meant dinner for the
houseboat party. The deer was small and thin, yet it was a good armful.
Phil might have shot the tiny fawn and so spared it the misery of
slowly starving to death. Hunters, who care little for the lives of the
creatures in the woods, declare that it is difficult to shoot a deer,
once it has gazed with its wistful, trusting look into one's eyes. What
chance had tender-hearted Phil, with her dread of having anything in
the world suffer, against the appeal of the forsaken creature?
"Oh, me, oh, my! I suppose I must take you home to our lodge to take
care of," relented Phil, "though I am sure that Miss Jenny Ann will not
rejoice at another mouth to feed."
Phil carefully emptied the barrels of her rifle so as not to endanger
her own life. She took some stout twine out of her pocket and swung her
rabbit around her neck. She fastened her gun to her side in awkward
fashion with another piece of cord, so as to leave both arms almost
free.
Then Phil stooped and picked up the poor little fawn. It struggled at
first and kicked its feeble legs. But after a little it was too weak
and feeble for further resistance. It lay quite still.
In spite of this, Phil's return home began to grow difficult. She had
never carried such an uncomfortable baby before. Yet she had often
shouldered the twins at home, and had borne them both, kicking and
wriggling with delight, about the garden. But this burden was such an
odd and unaccustomed shape!
Phyllis sat down on a log under a chestnut tree and regaled herself
with chestnuts while she rested. She was beginning to be afraid she
would be late for luncheon at their lodge and she was ravenously
hungry. Perhaps one of the girls would come out to look for her.
Miss Jenny Ann and her girls had been living an enchanted life for the
past fortnight. Not a single human being had they seen since their
strange arrival on the unknown island. They had been deep into the
woods on both sides of their lodges. They had wandered up and down the
shore that sheltered their deserted "Merry Maid." But they had not yet
crossed to the opposite side of the island. The way was jungle-like and
untrodden. Miss Jenny Ann feared that, once lost, they would never find
their way back to their shelter again. So far she hoped for rescue from
a ship that must some day pass within range of the island. She believed
the other shore to be as deserted as the one on which the "Merry Maid"
had landed.
"Madge and Lillian must have finished with their fishing hours ago,"
reflected Phil. "I must not be so lazy; I must hurry along home."
Phyllis had placed her burden on the ground. She leaned over to pick it
up. A sound of human voices smote her ear. The voices were not those of
any member of the houseboat party. They were the voices of men.
Phil was startled--the sound was so unexpected and surprising. Without
an instant's hesitation she slipped behind the giant chestnut tree and
crouched low on the ground. The men were coming nearer. She had not
been dreaming. It occurred to Phyllis at once that these men must be
game-keepers, who had been sent to explore the island to see if any one
had been shooting the game before the hunting season opened. And here
was Phyllis Alden with a dead rabbit swung over one shoulder and a live
fawn in her arms!
Had Phil stopped to consider she might have known that she could easily
explain her presence to the men. But she did not stop to think, for she
was much too frightened.
One of the men had a dark, uncompromising face. The other Phil did not
see distinctly.
The men evidently believed the island as deserted as Phyllis had
thought it before their appearance.
"It's a forsaken hole," one of the men said to the other. "For my part,
I'll be glad when we are through with this business. I've no taste for
it. I wish it were finished."
"Oh, the job's easy, if it is slow," the other man answered. "You ain't
used to the things I am."
The men tramped on without dreaming of Phil or of her hiding place.
Once they were out of sight, Phyllis realized how foolish she had been.
She called after them, but they were now out of hearing. Phil felt
ashamed of herself. Why had she been afraid of these two men? Could she
go to the lodge and say to Miss Jenny Ann that she had let a possible
chance of rescue pass by them?
Phil decided to linger in the woods no longer. No matter if her arms
and her back did ache she must hurry back to tell Madge of the
apparition she had seen.
"Phil Alden! Phil Alden!" Phyllis heard a clear voice calling to her.
Then she heard the violent ringing of their cherished dinner-bell.
"Here I am to the left," she shouted back. "Come here and help me carry
these things."
Madge pushed her way through the bushes, radiant and glowing with
health.
"For mercy's sake, Phil Alden, what have you there?" she demanded,
taking Phil's rifle and the dead rabbit, but looking askance at her
live offering.
"I am ashamed of myself," apologized Phil, "but I found this beautiful
little thing starving to death, in the woods. Do you think Miss Jenny
Ann will mind if I take care of it and feed it until it is old enough
to look after itself?"
"Of course not, Phil. But what do you expect to feed your adopted deer
on? It seems to me that a little fawn like that must prefer milk as an
article of diet, and we have found no cows on the island--up to the
present." Madge patted the top of the fawn's soft head while she teased
her chum.
Phil was thrown into consternation. "Gracious, Madge, you are right!"
she agreed. "I never thought of it. But you know we are still having
oatmeal for our breakfast. I'll ask Miss Jenny Ann to let me give my
share to the fawn. Before the porridge gives out I expect we shall be
rescued, or my baby will be grown-up enough to take care of itself."
Phil pronounced the word "rescued" in such fashion that Madge stopped
in her forward march to question her.
"Out with it, Phil! You have something on your mind," she declared.
"You might as well tell me."
After Phil had finished her story of seeing the men the two girls
agreed not to mention Phil's encounter in the woods to Miss Jenny Ann
or to the other two girls until they had had more time to think things
over.
"I love our woods and sometimes I think I would like to live here
always, Phil," returned Madge, "but it is our duty to get away when we
can. It may be best for you and me to search over this whole island
until we find those two men again."
The door of one of the hunting lodges stood wide open. Phil put down
her fawn on a mound of soft grass and flashed cheerfully in. "Here I am
at last, hungry as a bear!" she exclaimed. "I'm so glad to be at home
again."
Eleanor and Miss Jenny Ann were bending over the fireplace, stirring
something savory in a big iron pot.
Lillian was putting the finishing touches to the small kitchen table,
which had been transferred from the houseboat to the center of one of
the cabin rooms. In the middle she had placed a great bunch of scarlet
berries and wild sumach leaves. At one end was a dish of roasted
chestnuts, cracked hickory nuts and walnuts. On the other, piled on a
plate of leaves, were a few wild fruits that Eleanor had been able to
find that morning.
The single dirty room which the houseboat party discovered had now been
transformed. This lodge was now used for the living quarters of the
houseboat derelicts, the other little house for their sleeping
apartment. The hemlock beds had been swept away, and the whole place
scrubbed as clean as possible.
The room was bright with the October sunlight. The walls were hung with
trophies of the woods, branches of scarlet leaves and vines of wild
clematis. In one corner of the room the big wood basket was filled with
nuts of every kind, gathered after the first frost, the girls' sole
provision against the winter. A string of fresh fish, Madge's and
Lillian's morning catch, was floating about in a bucket of fresh water.
The girls gathered around the table. Miss Jenny Ann lifted up the great
iron pot and poured a savory stew into a great bowl.
"Guess what it is, Phil?" cried Madge. The dish was filled with
potatoes, brought over from the houseboat larder, and big pieces of a
dark, rich looking meat.
Phil shook her head. "I can't guess. I'd rather eat," she replied.
"It's old 'Marse Terrapin.' Don't you remember him in the story of
Uncle Remus? Lillian and I found him strolling along the shore. Who
says we are not full-fledged Crusoes?"