THE GIRL OF THE WOOD LOT
June, and the sun flooding with a golden shimmer a land of tawny
prairie, billowy hills, wooded valleys and mountain peaks white with
eternal snows, touching with silver a stream which, glacier-born,
hurled itself down mountain sides in fairy films of mist, rushed through
canyons in a mad torrent, hurried between hills in a swollen flood,
meandered along wide valleys in a full-lipped tide, lingered in a placid
lake in a bit of lowland banked with poplar bluffs, and so onward past
ranch-stead and homestead to the great Saskatchewan and Father Ocean,
prairie and hills, valleys and mountains, river and lake, making a
wonder world of light and warmth and colour and joyous life.
Two riders on rangey bronchos, followed by two Russian boarhounds,
climbed the trail that went winding up among the hills towards a height
which broke abruptly into a ridge of bare rock. Upon the ridge they
paused.
“There! Can you beat that? If so, where?” The lady swept her gauntletted
hand toward the scene below. Mrs. Waring-Gaunt was tall, strongly made,
handsome with that comeliness which perfect health and out-of-doors life
combine to give, her dark hair, dark flashing eyes, straight nose,
wide, full-lipped curving mouth, and a chin whose chiselled firmness
was softened but not weakened by a dimple, making a picture good to look
upon.
“There!” she cried again, “tell me, can you beat it?”
“Glorious! Sybil, utterly and splendidly glorious!” said her brother,
his eyes sweeping the picture below. “And you too, Sybil,” he said,
turning his eyes upon her. “This country has done you well. By jove,
what a transformation from the white-faced, willowy--”
“Weedy,” said she.
“Well, as it's no longer true, weedy--woman that faded out of London,
how many--eight years ago!”
“Ten years, ten long, glorious, splendid years.”
“Ten years! Surely not ten!”
“Yes, ten beautiful years.”
“I wish to God I had come with you then. I might have been--well, I
should have been saved some bumps and a ghastly cropper at last.”
“'Cut it out,' Jack, as the boys say here. En avant! We never look back
in this land, but ever forward. Oh, now isn't this worth while?” Again
she swept her hand toward the scene below her. “Look at that waving
line in the east, that broad sweep; and here at our left, those great,
majestic things. I love them. I love every scar in their old grey faces.
They have been good friends to me. But for them some days might have
been hard to live through, but they were always there like friends,
watching, understanding. They kept me steady.”
“You must have had some difficult days, old girl, in this awful land.
Yes, yes, I know it's glorious, especially on a day like this and in a
light like this; but after all, you are away from the world, away from
everybody, and shut off from everything, from life, art--how could you
stick it?”
“Jack are you sympathising with me? Let me tell you your sympathy is
wasted. I have had lonely days in this land, of course. When Tom was
off on business--Oh! that man has been perfectly splendid. Jack! He's
been--well, I can't tell you all he has been to me--father, mother,
husband, chum, he's been to me, and more. And he's made good in the
country, too. Now look again at this view. We always stop to look at it,
Tom and I, from this point. Tell me if you have ever seen anything quite
as wonderful!”
“Yes, it's glorious, a little like the veldt, with, of course, the
mountains extra, and they do rather finish the thing in the grand
style.”
“Grand style, well, rather! A great traveller who has seen most of the
world's beautiful spots told me he had never looked on anything quite so
splendid as the view from here--so spacious, so varied, so majestic. Ah,
I love it, and the country has been good to me!
“I don't mean physically only, but in every way--in body, soul and mind.
And for Tom, too, the country has done much. In England, you know, he
was just loafing, filling in time with one useless thing after another,
and on the way to get fat and lazy. Here he is doing things, things
worth while. His ranch is quite a success. Then he is always busy
organising various sorts of industries in the country--dairying,
lumbering and that sort of thing. He has introduced thoroughbred stock.
He helps with the schools, the churches, the Agricultural Institutes. In
short, he is doing his part to bring this country to its best. And this,
you know, is the finest bit of all Canada!”
Her brother laughed. “Pardon me,” he said, “there are so many of these
'finest bits.' In Nova Scotia, in Quebec, I have found them. The people
of Ontario are certain that the 'finest bit' is in their province, while
in British Columbia they are ready to fight if one suggests anything to
the contrary.”
“I know. I know. It is perfectly splendid of them. You know we Canadians
are quite foolish about our country.”
“WE Canadians!”
“Yes. WE Canadians. What else? We are quite mad about the future of our
country. And that is why I wanted you to come out here, Jack. There is
so much a man like you might do with your brains and training. Yes. Your
Oxford training is none too good for this country, and your brain
none too clever for this big work of laying the foundations of a great
Empire. This is big enough for the biggest of you. Bigger, even, than
the thing you were doing at home, Jack. Oh, I heard all about it!”
“You heard all about it? I hope not. I hope you have not heard of the
awful mess I made of things.”
“Nonsense, Jack! 'Forward' is the word here. Here is an Empire in
the making, another Britain, greater, finer, and without the hideous
inequalities, injustices and foolish class distinctions of the old.”
“My God! Sybil, you sound like Lloyd George himself! Please don't recall
that ghastly radicalism to me.”
“Never mind what it sounds like. You will get it too. We all catch it
here, especially Old Country folk. For instance, look away to the left
there. See that little clump of buildings beside the lake just through
the poplars. There is a family of Canadians typical of the best, the
Gwynnes, our closest neighbours. Good Irish stock, they are. They came
two years after we came. Lost their little bit of money. Suffered, my!
how they must have suffered! though they were too proud to tell any of
us. The father is a gentleman, finely educated, but with no business
ability. The mother all gold and grit, heroic little woman who kept the
family together. The eldest boy of fifteen or sixteen, rather delicate
when he came, but fearfully plucky, has helped amazingly. He taught the
school, putting his money into the farm year after year. While teaching
the school he somehow managed to grip hold of the social life of this
community in a wonderful way, preached for Mr. Rhye, taught a
Bible Class for him, quite unique in its way; organised a kind of
Literary-Social-Choral-Minstrel Club and has added tremendously to the
life and gaiety of the neighbourhood. What we shall do when he leaves,
I know not. You will like them, I am sure. We shall drop in there on our
way, if you like.”
“Ah, well, perhaps sometime later. They all sound rather terribly
industrious and efficient for a mere slacker like myself.”
Along the trail they galloped, following the dogs for a mile or so until
checked by a full flowing stream.
“I say, Willow Creek is really quite in flood,” said his sister. “The
hot sun has brought down the snows, you know. The logs are running, too.
We will have to go a bit carefully. Hold well up to the stream and watch
the logs. Keep your eye on the bank opposite. No, no, keep up, follow
me. Look out, or you will get into deep water. Keep to the right. There,
that's better.”
“I say,” said her brother, as his horse clambered out of the swollen
stream. “That's rather a close thing to a ducking. Awfully like the
veldt streams, you know. Ice cold, too, I fancy.”
“Ice cold, indeed, glacier water, you know, and these logs make it very
awkward. The Gwynnes must be running down their timber and firewood. We
might just run up and look in on them. It's only a mile or so. Nora will
be there. She will be 'bossing the job,' as she says. It will be rather
interesting.”
“Well, I hope it is not too far, for I assure you I am getting quite
ravenous.”
“No, come along, there's a good trail here.”
A smart canter brought them to a rather pretentious homestead with
considerable barns and outbuildings attached. “This is the Switzers'
place,” said Mrs. Waring-Gaunt. “German-Americans, old settlers and
quite well off. The father owned the land on which Wolf Willow village
stands. He made quite a lot of money in real estate--village lots and
farm lands, you know. He is an excellent farmer and ambitious for his
family--one son and one daughter. They are quite plain people. They live
like--well, like Germans, you know. The mother is a regular hausfrau;
the daughter, quite nice, plays the violin beautifully. It was from her
young Gwynne got his violining. The son went to college in the States,
then to Germany for a couple of years. He came back here a year ago,
terribly German and terribly military, heel clicking, ram-rod back, and
all that sort of thing. Musical, too, awfully clever; rather think he
has political ambitions. We'll not go in to-day. Some day, perhaps.
Indeed, we must be neighbourly in this country. But the Switzers are a
little trying.”
“Why know them at all?”
“There you are!” cried his sister. “Fancy living beside people in this
country and not knowing them. Can't you see that we must not let things
get awry that way? We must all pull together. Tom is fearfully strong on
that, and he is right, too, I suppose, although it is trying at times.
Now we begin to climb a bit here. Then there are good stretches further
along where we can hurry.”
But it seemed to her brother that the good stretches were rather fewer
and shorter than the others, for the sun was overhead when they pulled
up their horses, steaming and ready enough to halt, in a small clearing
in the midst of a thick bit of forest. The timber was for the main part
of soft woods, poplar, yellow and black, cottonwood, and further up
among hills spruce and red pine. In the centre of the clearing stood a
rough log cabin with a wide porch running around two sides. Upon this
porch a young girl was to be seen busy over a cook stove. At the noise
of the approaching horses the girl turned from her work and looked
across the clearing at them.
“Heavens above! who is that, Sybil?” gasped her brother.
Mrs. Waring-Gaunt gave a delighted little cry. “Oh, my dear, you are
really back.” In a moment she was off her horse and rushing toward the
girl with her arms outstretched. “Kathleen, darling! Is it you? And you
have really grown, I believe! Or is it your hair? Come let me introduce
you to my brother.”
Jack Romayne was a young man with thirty years of experience of the
normal life of the well-born Englishman, during which time he had often
known what it was to have his senses stirred and his pulses quickened by
the sight of one of England's fair women, than whom none of fresher and
fairer beauty are to be found in all the world; yet never had he found
himself anything but master of his speech and behaviour. But to-day,
when, in obedience to his sister's call, he moved across the little
clearing toward the girl standing at her side, he seemed to lose
consciousness of himself and control of his powers of action. He was
instead faintly conscious that a girl of tall and slender grace, with
an aura of golden hair about a face lovelier than he had ever known, was
looking at him out of eyes as blue as the prairie crocus and as shy
and sweet, that she laid her hand in his as if giving him something of
herself, that holding her hand how long he knew not, he found himself
gazing through those eyes of translucent blue into a soul of unstained
purity as one might gaze into a shrine, and that he continued gazing
until the blue eyes clouded and the fair face flushed crimson, that
then, without a word, he turned from her, thrilling with a new gladness
which seemed to fill not only his soul but the whole world as well.
When he came to himself he found his trembling fingers fumbling with the
bridle of his horse. For a few moments he became aware of a blind rage
possessing him and he cursed deeply his stupidity and the gaucherie of
his manner. But soon he forgot his rage for thinking of her eyes and of
what he had seen behind their translucent blue.
“My dear child,” again exclaimed Mrs. Waring-Gaunt, “I declare you have
actually grown taller and grown--a great many other things that I may
not tell you. What have they done to you at that wonderful school? Did
you love it?”
The girl flushed with a quick emotion. “Oh, Mrs. Waring-Gaunt, it was
really wonderful. I had such a good time and every one was lovely to me.
I did not know people could be so kind. But it is good to get back home
again to them all, and to you, and to all this.” She waved her hand to
the forest about her.
“And who are up here to-day, and what are you doing?” inquired Mrs.
Waring-Gaunt.
“In the meantime I am preparing dinner,” said the girl with a laugh.
“Dinner!” exclaimed Jack Romayne, who had meantime drawn near,
determined to rehabilitate himself in the eyes of this girl as a man
familiar with the decencies of polite society. “Dinner! It smells so
good and we are desperately hungry.”
“Yes,” cried Mrs. Waring-Gaunt. “My brother declared he was quite faint
more than an hour ago, and now I am sure he is.”
“Fairly ravenous.”
“But I don't know,” said the girl with serious anxiety on her face.
“You see, we have only pork and fried potatoes, and Nora just shot a
chicken--only one--and they are always so hungry. But we have plenty of
bread and tea. Would you stay?”
“It sounds really very nice,” said Mrs. Waring-Gaunt.
“It would be awfully jolly of you, and I promise not to eat too much,”
said the young man. “I am actually faint with hunger, and a cup of tea
appears necessary to revive me.”
“Of course, stay,” said the girl with quick sympathy. “We can't give you
much, but we can give you something.”
“Oh----ho!”
“O-h-o-o-o-h! O-h-o-o-o-h!” A loud call came from the woods.
“There's Nora,” said Kathleen. “O-o-o-o-o-h! O-o-o-o-o-h!” The girl's
answering call was like the winding of a silver horn. “Here she is.”
Out from the woods, striding into the clearing, came a young girl
dressed in workmanlike garb in short skirt, leggings and jersey, with
a soft black hat on the black tumbled locks. “Hello, Kathleen, dinner
ready? I'm famished. Oh, Mrs. Waring-Gaunt, glad to see you.”
“And my brother, Nora, Mr. Jack Romayne, just come from England, and
hungry as a bear.”
“Just from England? And hungry? Well, we are glad to see you, Mr.
Romayne.” The girl came forward with a quick step and frankly offered
her brown, strong hand. “We're awfully glad to see you, Mr. Romayne,”
she repeated. “I ought to be embarrassed, I know, only I am so hungry.”
“Just my fix, Miss Nora,” said the young man. “I am really anxious to
be polite. I feel we should decline the invitation to dinner which your
sister has pressed upon us; we know it is a shame to drop in on you like
this all unprepared, but I am so hungry, and really that smell is so
irresistible that I feel I simply cannot be polite.”
“Don't!” cried the girl, “or rather, do, and stay. There's enough of
something, and Joe will look after the horses.” She put her hands to her
lips and called, “J-o-o-e!”
A voice from the woods answered her, followed by Joe himself. “Here,
Joe, take the horses and unsaddle them and tether them out somewhere.”
Despite Kathleen's fears there was dinner enough for all.
“This is perfectly stunning!” said Romayne, glancing round the little
clearing and up at the trees waving overhead, through the interstices of
whose leafy canopy showed patches of blue sky. “Gorgeous, by Jove! Words
are futile things for really great moments.”
“Ripping,” said Nora, smiling impudently into his face. “Awfully
jolly! A-1! Top hole! That's the lot, I think, according to the best
authorities. Do you know any others?”
“I beg pardon, what?” said Romayne, looking up from his fried pork and
potatoes.
“Those are all I have learned in English at least,” said Nora. “I am
keen for some more. They are Oxford, I believe. Have you any others?”
Mr. Romayne diverted his attention from his dinner. “What is she talking
about, Miss Gwynne? I confess to be entirely absorbed in these fried
potatoes.”
“Words, words, Mr. Romayne, vocabulary, adjectives,” replied Nora.
“Ah,” said Romayne, “but why should one worry about words, especially
adjectives, when one has such divine realities as these to deal with?”
“Have some muffles, Mr. Romayne,” said Nora.
“Muffles? Now what may muffles be?”
“Muffles are a cross between muffins and waffles.”
“Please elucidate their nature and origin,” said Mr. Romayne.
“Let me show you,” said Kathleen. She sprang up, dived into the cabin
and returned with a large, round, hard biscuit in her hand. “This is
Hudson Bay hard tack, the stand-by of all western people--Hudson Bay
freighters and cowboys, old timers and tenderfeet alike swear by it.
See, you moisten it slightly in water, fry it in boiling fat, sugar it
and keep hot till served. Thus Hudson Bay hard tack becomes muffles.”
“Marvellous!” exclaimed Mr. Romayne, “and truly delicious! And to think
that the Savoy chef knows nothing about muffles! But now that my first
faintness is removed and the mystery of muffles is solved, may I
inquire just what you are doing up here to-day, Miss Gwynne? What is the
business on hand, I mean?”
“Oh, Nora is getting out some logs for building and firewood for next
winter. The logs, you see, are cut during the winter and hauled to the
dump there.”
“Dump!” exclaimed Mr. Romayne faintly.
“Yes. The bank there where you dump the logs into the creek below.”
“But what exactly has Miss Nora to do with all this?”
“I?” enquired Nora, “I only boss the job.”
“Don't you believe her,” said Mrs. Waring-Gaunt. “I happen to remember
one winter day coming upon this young lady in these very woods driving
her team and hauling logs to the dump while Sam and Joe did the cutting.
Ask the boys there? And why shouldn't she?” continued Mrs. Waring-Gaunt.
“She can run a farm, with garden, pigs and poultry thrown in; open a
coal mine and--”
“Nonsense!” exclaimed Nora, “the boys here do it all. Mother furnishes
the head work.”
“Oh, Nora!” protested Kathleen, “you know you manage everything. Isn't
that true, boys?”
“She's the hull works herself,” said Sam. “Ain't she, Joe?”
“You bet yeh,” said Joe, husky with the muffles.
“She's a corker,” continued Sam, “double compressed, compensating, forty
horsepower, ain't she, Joe?”
“You bet yeh!” adding, for purpose of emphasis, “By gar!”
“Six cylinder, self-starter,” continued Sam with increasing enthusiasm.
“Self-starter,” echoed Joe, going off into a series of choking chuckles.
“Sure t'ing, by gar!” Joe, having safely disposed of the muffles, gave
himself up to unrestrained laughter, throwing back his head, slapping
his knees and repeating at intervals, “Self-starter, by gar!”
So infectious was his laughter that the whole company joined in.
“Cut it out, boys,” said Nora. “You are all talking rot, you know; and
what about you,” she added, turning swiftly upon her sister. “Who runs
the house, I'd like to know, and looks after everything inside, and does
the sewing? This outfit of mine, for instance? And her own outfit?”
“Oh, Nora,” protested Kathleen, the colour rising in her face.
“Did you make your own costume?” inquired Mr. Romayne.
“She did that,” said Nora, “and mine and mother's, and she makes
father's working shirts.”
“Oh, Nora, stop, please. You know I do very little.”
“She makes the butter as well.”
“They're a pair,” said Sam in a low growl, but perfectly audible to the
company, “a regular pair, eh, Joe?”
“Sure t'ing,” replied Joe, threatening to go off again into laughter,
but held in check by a glance from Nora.
For an hour they lingered over the meal. Then Nora, jumping up quickly,
took Mrs. Waring-Gaunt with her to superintend the work at the dump,
leaving Mr. Romayne reclining on the grass smoking his pipe in abandoned
content, while Kathleen busied herself clearing away and washing up the
dishes.
“May I help?” inquired Mr. Romayne, when the others had gone.
“Oh, no,” replied Kathleen. “Just rest where you are, please; just take
it easy; I'd really rather you would, and there's nothing to do.”
“I am not an expert at this sort of thing,” said Mr. Romayne, “but at
least I can dry dishes. I learned that much on the veldt.”
“In South Africa? You were in the war?” replied Kathleen, giving him a
towel.
“Yes, I had a go at it.”
“It must have been terrible--to think of actually killing men.”
“It is not pleasant,” replied Romayne, shrugging his shoulders, “but it
has to be done sometimes.”
“Oh, do you think so? It does not seem as if it should be necessary at
any time,” said the girl with great earnestness. “I can't believe it
is either right or necessary ever to kill men; and as for the Boer War,
don't you think everybody agrees now that it was unnecessary?”
Mr. Romayne was always prepared to defend with the ardour of a British
soldier the righteousness of every war in which the British Army has
ever been engaged. But somehow he found it difficult to conduct an
argument in favour of war against this girl who stood fronting him with
a look of horror in her face.
“Well,” said Mr. Romayne, “I believe there is something to be said
on both sides. No doubt there were blunders in the early part of the
trouble, but eventually war had to come.”
“But that's just it,” cried the girl. “Isn't that the way it is
always? In the early stages of a quarrel it is so easy to come to an
understanding and to make peace; but after the quarrel has gone on, then
war becomes inevitable. If only every dispute could be submitted to the
judgment of some independent tribunal. Nations are just like people.
They see things solely from their own point of view. Do you know, Mr.
Romayne, there is no subject upon which I feel so keenly as upon the
subject of war. I just loathe and hate and dread the thought of war.
I think perhaps I inherit this. My mother, you know, belongs to the
Friends, and she sees so clearly the wickedness and the folly of war.
And don't you think that all the world is seeing this more clearly
to-day than ever before?”
There was nothing new in this argument or in this position to Mr.
Romayne, but somehow, as he looked at the girl's eager, enthusiastic
face, and heard her passionate denunciation of war, he found it
difficult to defend the justice of war under any circumstances whatever.
“I entirely agree with you, Miss Gwynne, that war is utterly horrible,
that it is silly, that it is wicked. I would rather not discuss it with
you, but I can't help feeling that there are circumstances that make it
necessary and right for men to fight.”
“You don't wish to discuss this with me?” said Kathleen. “I am sorry,
for I have always wished to hear a soldier who is also”--the girl
hesitated for a moment--“a gentleman and a Christian--”
“Thank you, Miss Gwynne,” said Romayne, with quiet earnestness.
“Discuss the reasons why war is ever necessary.”
“It is a very big subject,” said Mr. Romayne, “and some day I should
like to give you my point of view. There are multitudes of people in
Britain to-day, Miss Gwynne, who would agree with you. Lots of books
have been written on both sides. I have listened to hours and hours of
discussion, so that you can easily see that there is much to be said on
both sides. I always come back, however, to the point that among nations
of similar ethical standards and who are equally anxious to preserve the
peace of the world, arbitration as a method of settling disputes ought
to be perfectly simple and easy. It is only when you have to deal with
nations whose standards of ethics are widely dissimilar or who are
possessed with another ambition than that of preserving the peace of the
world that you get into difficulty.”
“I see your point,” replied Kathleen, “but I also see that just there
you allow for all sorts of prejudice to enter and for the indulgence in
unfair argument and special pleading. But there, we are finished,” she
said, “and you do not wish to discuss this just now.”
“Some time, Miss Gwynne, we shall have this out, and I have some
literature on the subject that I should like to give you.”
“And so have I,” cried the girl, with a smile that rendered Mr. Romayne
for some moments quite incapable of consecutive thought. “And now shall
we look up the others?”
At the dump they found Joe and Sam rolling the logs, which during the
winter had been piled high upon the bank, down the steep declivity or
“dump” into the stream below. Mrs. Waring-Gaunt and Nora were seated on
a log beside them engaged in talk.
“May I inquire if you are bossing the job as usual?” said Mr. Romayne,
after he had watched the operation for a few moments.
“Oh, no, there's no bossing going on to-day. But,” said the girl, “I
rather think the boys like to have me around.”
“I don't wonder,” said Mr. Romayne, enthusiastically.
“Are you making fun of me, Mr. Romayne?” said the girl, her face
indicating that she was prepared for battle.
“God forbid,” replied Mr. Romayne, fervently.
“Not a bit of it, Nora dear,” said his sister. “He is simply consumed
with envy. He has just come from a country, you know, where only the men
do things; I mean things that really count. And it makes him furiously
jealous to see a young woman calmly doing things that he knows quite
well he could not attempt to do.”
“Quite true,” replied her brother. “I am humbled to the ground at my own
all to obvious ineptitude, and am lost in admiration of the marvellous
efficiency of the young ladies of Canada whom it has been my good
fortune to meet.”
Nora glanced at him suspiciously. “You talk well,” she said. “I half
believe you're just making fun of us.”
“Not a bit, Nora, not a bit,” said his sister. “It is as I have said
before. The man is as jealous as he can be, and, like all men, he hates
to discover himself inferior in any particular to a woman. But we must
be going. I am so glad you are home again, dear,” she said, turning to
Kathleen. “We shall hope to see a great deal of you. Thank you for the
delightful lunch. It was so good of you to have us.”
“Yes, indeed,” added the young man. “You saved my life. I had just about
reached the final stage of exhaustion. I, too, hope to see you again
very soon and often, for you know we must finish that discussion and
settle that question.”
“What question is that,” inquired his sister, “if I may ask?”
“Oh, the old question,” said her brother, “the eternal question--war.”
“I suppose,” said Nora, “Kathleen has been giving you some of her peace
talk. I want you to know, Mr. Romayne, that I don't agree with her in
the least, and I am quite sure you don't either.”
“I am not so sure of that,” replied the young man. “We have not
finished it out yet. I feel confident, however, that we shall come to an
agreement on it.”
“I hope not,” replied Nora, “for in that case you would become a
pacifist, for Kathleen, just like mother, you know, is a terrible peace
person. Indeed, our family is divided on that question--Daddy and I
opposed to the rest. And you know pacifists have this characteristic,
that they are always ready to fight.”
“Yes,” said her sister. “We are always ready to fight for peace. But do
not let us get into that discussion now. I shall walk with you a little
way.”
Arm in arm she and Mrs. Waring-Gaunt walked down the steep trail, Mr.
Romayne following behind, leading the horses. As they walked together,
Mrs. Waring-Gaunt talked to the girl of her brother.
“You know he was in the Diplomatic Service, went in after the South
African War, and did awfully well there in the reconstruction work, was
very popular with the Boers, though he had fought them in the war. He
got to know their big men, and some of them are really big men. As a
matter of fact, he became very fond of them and helped the Government at
Home to see things from their point of view. After that he went to
the Continent, was in Italy for a while and then in Germany, where, I
believe, he did very good work. He saw a good deal of the men about the
Kaiser. He loathed the Crown Prince, I believe, as most of our people
there do. Suddenly he was recalled. He refused, of course, to talk about
it, but I understand there was some sort of a row. I believe he lost
his temper with some exalted personage. At any rate, he was recalled,
chucked the whole service, and came out here. He felt awfully cut up
about it. And now he has no faith in the German Government, says they
mean war. He's awfully keen on preparation and that sort of thing. I
thought I would just tell you, especially since I heard you had been
discussing war with him.”
As they neared the Switzer place they saw a young man standing on the
little pier which jutted out into the stream with a pike-pole in his
hand, keeping the logs from jambing at the turn.
“It's Ernest Switzer,” cried Kathleen. “I have not seen him for ever so
long. How splendidly he is looking! Hello, Ernest!” she cried, waving
her hand and running forward to meet him, followed by the critical eyes
of Jack Romayne.
The young man came hurrying toward her. “Kathleen!” he cried. “Is it
really you?” He threw down his pole as he spoke and took her hand in
both of his, the flush on his fair face spreading to the roots of his
hair.
“You know Mrs. Waring-Gaunt,” said Kathleen to him, for he paid no
attention at all to the others. Mrs. Waring-Gaunt acknowledged Switzer's
heel clicks, as also did her brother when introduced.
“You have been keeping the logs running, Ernest, I see. That is very
good of you,” said Kathleen.
“Yes, there was the beginning of a nice little jamb here,” said Switzer.
“They are running right enough now. But when did you return?” he
continued, dropping into a confidential tone and turning his back upon
the others. “Do you know I have not seen you for nine months?”
“Nine months?” said Kathleen. “I was away seven months.”
“Yes, but I was away two months before you went. You forget that,”
he added reproachfully. “But I do not forget. Nine months--nine long
months. And are you glad to be back, Kathleen, glad to see all your
friends again, glad to see me?”
“I am glad to be at home, Ernest, glad to see all of my friends,
of course, glad to get to the West again, to the woods here and the
mountains and all.”
“And you did not come in to see us as you passed,” gazing at her with
reproachful eyes and edging her still further away from the others.
“Oh, we intended to come in on our way back.”
“Let's move on,” said Romayne to his sister.
“We must be going, Kathleen dear,” said Mrs. Waring-Gaunt. “You will
soon be coming to see us?”
“Yes, indeed, you may be sure. It is so good to see you,” replied the
girl warmly, as Mrs. Waring-Gaunt kissed her good-bye. “Good-bye, Mr.
Romayne; we must finish our discussion another time.”
“Always at your service,” replied Mr. Romayne, “although I am rather
afraid of you. Thank you again for your hospitality. Good-bye.” He held
her hand, looking down into the blue depths of her eyes until as
before the crimson in her face recalled him. “Good-bye. This has been a
wonderful day to me.” He mounted his horse, lifted his hat, and rode off
after his sister.
“What sort of a chap is the Johnnie?” said Jack to his sister as they
rode away.
“Not a bad sort at all; very bright fellow, quite popular in this
community with the young fellows. He has lots of money, you know, and
spends it. Of course, he is fearfully German, military style and all
that.”
“Seems to own that girl, eh?” said Jack, glancing back over his shoulder
at the pair.
“Oh, the two families are quite intimate. Ernest and his sister were in
Larry's musical organisations and they are quite good friends.”
“By Jove, Sybil, she is wonderful! Why didn't you give me a hint?”
“I did. But really, she has come on amazingly. That college in
Winnipeg--”
“Oh, college! It is not a question of college!” said her brother
impatiently. “It's herself. Why, Sybil, think of that girl in London in
a Worth frock. But no! That would spoil her. She is better just as she
is. Jove, she completely knocked me out! I made a fool of myself.”
“She has changed indeed,” said his sister. “She is a lovely girl and so
simple and unaffected. I have come really to love her. We must see a lot
of her.”
“But where did she get that perfectly charming manner? Do you realise
what a perfectly stunning girl she is? Where did she get that style of
hers?”
“You must see her mother, Jack. She is a charming woman, simple, quiet,
a Quaker, I believe, but quite beautiful manners. Her father, too, is a
gentleman, a Trinity man, I understand.”
“Well,” said her brother with a laugh, “I foresee myself falling in love
with that girl in the most approved style.”
“You might do worse,” replied his sister, “though I doubt if you are not
too late.”
“Why? That German Johnnie?”
“Well, it is never wise to despise the enemy. He really is a fine chap,
his prospects are very good; he has known her for a long while, and he
is quite mad about her.”
“But, good Lord, Sybil, he's a German!”
“A German,” said his sister, “yes. But what difference does that make?
He is a German, but he is also a Canadian. We are all Canadians here
whatever else we may be or have ever been. We are all sorts and classes,
high and low, rich and poor, and of all nationalities--Germans, French,
Swedes, Galicians, Russians--but we all shake down into good Canadian
citizens. We are just Canadians, and that is good enough for me. We are
loyal to Canada first.”
“You may be right as far as other nationalities are concerned, but,
Sybil, believe me, you do not know the German. I know him and there is
no such thing as a German loyal to Canada first.”
“But, Jack, you are so terribly insular. You must really get rid of all
that. I used to think like you, but here we have got to the place where
we can laugh at all that sort of thing.”
“I know, Sybil. I know. They are laughing in England to-day at Roberts
and Charlie Beresford. But I know Germany and the German mind and the
German aim and purpose, and I confess to you that I am in a horrible
funk at the state of things in our country. And this chap Switzer--you
say he has been in Germany for two years? Well, he has every mark
characteristic of the German. He reproduces the young German that I have
seen the world over--in Germany, in the Crown Prince's coterie (don't
I know them?), in South Africa, in West Africa, in China. He has every
mark, the same military style, the same arrogant self-assertion, the
same brutal disregard of the ordinary decencies.”
“Why, Jack, how you talk! You are actually excited.”
“Did you not notice his manner with that girl? He calmly took possession
of her and ignored us who were of her party, actually isolated her from
us.”
“But, Jack, this seems to me quite outrageous.”
“Yes, Sybil, and there are more like you. But I happen to know from
experience what I am talking about. The elementary governing principle
of life for the young German of to-day is very simple and is easily
recognised, and it is this: when you see anything you want, go for it
and take it, no matter if all the decencies of life are outraged.”
“Jack, I cannot, frankly, I cannot agree with you in regard to young
Switzer. I know him fairly well and--”
“Let's not talk about it, Sybil,” said her brother, quietly.
“Oh, all right, Jack.”
They rode on in silence, Romayne gloomily keeping his eye on the
trail before him until they neared the Gwynne gate, when the young man
exclaimed abruptly:
“My God, it would be a crime!”
“Whatever do you mean, Jack?”
“To allow that brute to get possession of that lovely girl.”
“But, Jack,” persisted his sister. “Brute?”
“Sybil, I have seen them with women, their own and other women; and,
now listen to me, I have yet to see the German who regards or treats
his frau as an English gentleman treats his wife. That is putting it
mildly.”
“Oh, Jack!”
“It ought to be stopped.”
“Well, stop it then.”
“I wish to God I could,” said her brother.