Mary
"Are you ready, Mary?"
"In one minute, Father. Let me see: three bags, a valise, a
hold-all, a portmanteau, two hatboxes, a camping sack, a case of
books, and a handbag. Oh dear, what a collection of things to look
after! How I wish we were like the dogs, dear creatures, which
grow their own clothes and have only their tails to hold up, or to
wag in sign of amity!"
The speaker was a girl of perhaps twenty, although she had one of
those quiet reserved faces which render difficult a correct
guessing of the age. She was standing in the porch of the Bellevue
Hotel, Temiskaming, and was garbed as if for rough travel, in coat
and skirt of heather-brown cloth, faced with brown leather, with a
brown hat on her head, and brown boots on her feet which reached
well above the ankle. Indeed her attire was so trim, and so
exceedingly suitable for rough work, that everyone at the first
glance decided she must be English.
"I fancy you would not care to wear the same coat always, nor yet
to wag the same tail," laughed her father, a genial-looking man of
fifty, who was dressed with equal fitness for rough travel, and was
just now intent on hurrying his daughter to the lake boat, which
was getting up steam at a little distance.
"Like it or not, I expect it is what I shall be reduced to by the
end of the summer," laughed Mary Selincourt, as she watched the
various bags and bundles being piled on to a barrow by the hotel
porter.
"Well, look your last on civilization and come along, for that boat
won't wait much longer," said Mr. Selincourt, adding with a laugh:
"unless indeed you are beginning to repent, in which case it is not
too late to change your mind and go back to Miss Griffith."
"Thank you! I never change my mind unless it is about the weather,
and I wouldn't turn back on this journey on any account whatever."
"Not if I turned back myself?" he enquired, as they went on board
the boat.
"No; unless, of course, you were ill, in which case, I suppose, my
sense of duty would oblige me to stop, even while my inclination
was dragging me, with both hands, as near to the North Pole as a
woman may hope to get," she said, with a nervous catching of her
breath which showed some agitation behind.
"But James Bay isn't the North Pole," objected Mr. Selincourt.
"It is nearer though than this, I suppose. And this is better than
Montreal," she answered, then turned to talk to a gentleman who had
come on board before them, and was bound for a fishing camp higher
up the lake.
Lake Temiskaming is thirty miles long, and they reached its end in
the evening. But, as Mr. Selincourt had made arrangements to keep
the boat for use as a floating hotel until the next morning, their
first night in the wilds was a very comfortable one.
At dawn next morning everyone was astir. Three river boats were
landed; these were made light enough for portage work, and strong
enough for weight carrying. With them were landed some men engaged
at a point farther down the lake, who had undertaken to work the
boats up the Abbitibbi River to Hannah Bay. The men, although
there were plenty of them, looked askance at the luggage which had
to be unladen from the steamer and packed into the boats. They
were thinking of the portages, and the numberless times those bags,
bales, bundles, and boxes would have to be carried over miles of
portages on their shoulders. But the pay was good, quite twice
what they could have earned in any other direction, and as they
were too wise to quarrel with their daily bread, which in this case
was only biscuit, they accepted the burdens in silence.
Mr. Selincourt and Mary travelled always in the second boat with
the personal luggage which had surrounded Mary in the hotel porch,
while the boat which went in front and the one which came after
were laden with the heavier luggage. For many days after this
their journey went on. Sometimes they would make not more than
seven or eight miles in a day when the portages were bad, and on
one record day the total distance covered was only four miles. The
weather was well-behaved as a whole, although occasionally the rain
came down at a pour. Being so early in the summer, the rivers were
very full, so there was never any danger of running aground,
although they had to face many risks in going down the rapids, when
they had crossed the height of land on a ten-mile portage, and
began to descend the Mattagami River. The longest journey must
come to an end at last, however, and one hot afternoon late on in
June the three boats skirted the last headland of James Bay, and
caught sight of the flag flying from the staff above the fish shed.
"Father, look, there is my flag!" cried Mary, in great excitement.
"Don't you remember I made an especial flag for the fleet, and sent
it up by Mr. Ferrars? Why, how nice it looks, and somehow I feel
just as if I were coming home."
"That is how I feel," responded Mr. Selincourt. "It is pretty
country too, but it makes me feel downright bad to think of all
these square miles of territory going to waste, so to speak, with
no one but a few Indians for population, and then to remember the
land hunger in England and----"
But Mary had put her hands over her ears, and cried: "Oh, if you
love me, spare me hearing any more about that land hunger just now!
I am very sorry for all the poor people who want to own three acres
and a cow, but can't afford the luxury; only just for a little
while I want to forget them, and to enjoy all this beauty without
any drawbacks if I can."
"I am afraid you will find the drawbacks, though, in spite of your
eagerness to escape them," said Mr. Selincourt, who had been
quietly examining Seal Cove through a glass. Then he handed the
glass to Mary, and said in a tone too low for the boatmen to hear:
"If I mistake not, the first drawback is there on the shore,
mending a net."
Mary took the glass and looked through it for a couple of minutes
without speaking; then she gave it back, saying, with a shudder:
"What a horrid-looking man!"
"Rather a low type by the look of him. But you must not judge all
the population by your first glimpse of it. Because one man is a
rogue does not prevent all the rest being honest," Mr. Selincourt
said, putting the glass to his eye to get another look at the place
they were approaching.
"Will our hut be down here on the shore?" asked Mary, who was
straining her eyes for a first glimpse of the house they were to
live in.
"No; Graham, who was one of the directors of the old company, you
know, told me I should be wise to have it built farther up the
river, at Roaring Water Portage, as it is so much more sheltered
there than down here on the coast."
"Ah! that was real wisdom, for if we make up our minds to stay the
winter, a sheltered position may make a great difference in our
comfort," she said quickly, then stretched out her hand for the
glass to have another look.
"You still think you want to spend next winter so far north?" said
her father, in a questioning tone.
"Why not?" she replied, with a weary note coming into her voice.
"One place is as good as another, only this would be better than
some, if only there is work of some sort to do."
"We shall see how we like it," he answered, then was silent, gazing
at the scene before him, which was looking its fairest on this June
afternoon.
The man mending nets on the shore, who was no other than Oily Dave,
had by this time become aware of the approaching boats, and was
rushing to and fro in a great state of bustle and excitement. They
could hear him calling to someone out of sight, and the sound of
his raucous voice only served to deepen the unpleasant impression
given by his appearance.
"Father, don't say much to that man, I don't like him," Mary said
in a low tone; and Mr. Selincourt nodded in reply, as the boats
drew in to the landing by the fish shed, and Oily Dave came
hurrying forward to greet them.
"Where is Mr. Ferrars?" asked Mr. Selincourt, and for all that he
was a genial, kindly man, thinking evil of none, he could not keep
a hard note out of his voice as he gazed at the mean, shifty face
of Oily Dave.
"He's away somewhere, over to Fort Garry, or perhaps he's crossed
to Akimiski Island. The fleet have been mostly round that way this
week past. Shall I show you round a bit, sir? I'm the acting
manager, formerly sole manager." Oily Dave contrived to throw a
withering emphasis on the latter adjective, and rolled up his eyes
in a manner meant to imply injured innocence, which, however, only
expressed low-down meanness and cunning.
"Ah, yes, I remember Mr. Graham spoke of you!" replied the new
owner, in a strictly non-committal tone. "But why did you say you
are acting manager? I only appointed Mr. Ferrars."
Oily Dave contracted his features into an unpleasant grin. "It
takes them as knows these waters to understand the fishing of them,
sir, and your grand drawing-room, bandbox manager would have been
pretty hard put to it many a time to know what to do for the best,
if it hadn't been for Oily Dave, which is me."
"I see," remarked Mr. Selincourt in a calm and casual tone, then
continued with quiet authority: "Please tell Mr. Ferrars when he
comes back that I have arrived, and ask him if he will come up to
Roaring Water Portage as soon as it is convenient for him to do so."
"Wouldn't you like me to come and guide you up the river?" demanded
Oily Dave, his jaw dropping in a crestfallen manner, for he had
thought what a fine chance he would have of getting ahead of Jervis
Ferrars.
"No, thank you, we have travelled too many strange waters these
last few days to need guidance up the last two miles of our
journey. It is two miles, is it not?"
"Nearer three, sir, but we mostly call it two, because it sounds
better," said Oily Dave. Then he took his greasy old hat off with
a flourish to Mary, and the boats started on again up the main
channel of the river.
There was plenty to interest the travellers now on the left bank of
the river; the fish shed showed a weather-beaten front to the broad
waters of the bay, while beyond it, perched on a high bluff, was a
funny brown house, with a strange-looking wing built out at the
side.
"Father, look at that house, and the queer building at the side;
what is it?" cried Mary, who was flushed and eager; for to her this
entrance to Roaring Water River was like coming into her kingdom,
although it was not land her father owned in these parts, but
water, or at least the privilege to fish in the water, and the
right to cut the timber needed for the making of his boats.
"It looks uncommonly like part of an old boat. Well, if it is
Astor M'Kree's work, it would seem as if I have got a man who will
make the best use of the materials at hand," Mr. Selincourt
replied, in a tone of satisfaction.
"Here comes a woman; oh, please, we must stop and speak to her!"
said Mary, as a slatternly figure emerged from the house on the
bluff, and came running down the steep path to the water's edge,
gesticulating and shouting.
"Welcome, sir, and welcome, Miss, to Seal Cove!" cried Mrs. Jenkin
in a breathless tone. "We are all most dreadfully delighted to
have you here, and you will be sure to come and have tea with me on
your first spare afternoon," she panted, in hospitable haste, the
sun shining down on her dusty, unkempt hair, and revealing the rags
in her dress.
Mr. Selincourt looked at his daughter in quiet amusement; but Mary
rose to the occasion in a manner worthy of the country in which she
was living, and answered with sweet graciousness:
"Oh! I will be sure to come; thank you so much for asking me: but
I have got to get my house straight, you know, and that may take me
a few days, so perhaps I will drop down the river some morning
while it is cool, and let you know how I am getting on. Then you
must promise to come and see me."
"Oh, I'll come! I shall be just delighted! You won't mind if I
bring the babies, will you? There are only three of them, and the
oldest isn't five yet; so when I go out I'm forced to take them
with me, don't you see," Mrs. Jenkin said, smiling at the young
lady from England, and serenely oblivious of the defects in her own
toilet.
"I shall be charmed to entertain the babies, and I will be sure to
come and see you very soon," called Mary, as the boat moved on,
leaving Mrs. Jenkin smiling and waving from the bank.
"What a nice little woman, and how friendly and kind in her
manner!" exclaimed Mary, whereat Mr. Selincourt laughed.
"Has Canada bewitched you already? What is to become of class
distinctions if you are just going to hobnob with anyone who may
happen along?" he asked, his eyes twinkling with fun, for he was
quoting from her own past utterances.
Mary reddened, but she laughed too, then said apologetically: "It
sounds the most fearful snobbery to even mention class distinctions
in these wilds, where the only aristocracy that counts is nobility
of endeavour. But I could not reckon myself that woman's superior,
Father, because under the same circumstances I might have been even
more untidy and down-at-heel than she is."
"It is hard to realize that you could be untidy under any
conditions, but perhaps you might be if you had all the work of a
house and the care of three babies on your hands," Mr. Selincourt
replied with a shake of his head. Then he applied himself to a
careful study of the river banks, which were mostly solitary,
although at intervals rough loghouses showed among the trees.
"Listen to that noise; we are getting near to some rapids," Mary
said, putting up her hand.
"Near to the end of our journey as well, for we stop below the
portage," Mr. Selincourt said, and then the boat swept round the
bend, and they saw before them a long, straight stretch of river,
with houses visible at the far end where the milky hue of the water
showed the river boiling over the rocks.
"So that is Roaring Water Portage! Well, the place is as pretty as
the name is musical. I am very glad," Mary said with a deep sigh
of content, and then she sat in silence while the boats swept up
the last stretch of river, and the long, long journey was done.
The boatmen drew to the left bank, leaving the store and its
outbuildings on the right. Oily Dave had told them that their
house stood to the left of the falls, and although they did not see
it at the first moment of landing, the well-trodden path up from
the water's edge showed that it must be near at hand.
"There it is. But it does not look a bit new. Oh, I am glad!"
exclaimed Mary, as a long, low hut came in sight, with glass
windows and an unpainted front door, which just now stood wide
open, while two small girls occupied the doorstep, and were making
dolls' bonnets from leaves and plaited grass.
"I'm afraid that is not our house; someone is living there," said
Mr. Selincourt: and the two small girls, becoming at this moment
aware of the approach of strangers, sprang to their feet and fled
into the house, casting the millinery away as they went.
"I'm afraid so too; but at least we can go and enquire where our
house is to be found," Mary answered.
Then they walked up to the door and knocked, and immediately a
slight, girlish figure came into view, with a small girl clinging
to either hand.
"Can you tell us where Mr. Selincourt's house is to be found?"
asked Mary, wondering why the girl had such sad eyes, and what
relation she could be to the two little ones.
"This is Mr. Selincourt's house. I came over this afternoon to see
that everything was in right order, that is all," the sad-eyed
girl--or was she a woman?--explained, drawing back for Mary to
enter.
Miss Selincourt entered, put her bag on the table, and gazed round
with a deep sigh of satisfaction.
"What a charming room! I think I should have been ready to weep if
this had not been our house. Are you Mrs. M'Kree?" she asked
doubtfully, for, although the girl looked so young, she had just
heard one of the children whisper, "Mummy."
"No, I am Mrs. Burton, and I come from the store across the river.
Mrs. M'Kree lives farther up the river, above the second portage,
so it is not easy for her to come down every day, and I have kept
the house open for her."
"It is very kind of you!" exclaimed Mary gratefully, realizing that
here was a very different specimen of womanhood, from the
good-natured slattern who had greeted her at Seal Cove.
"We have to be kind to each other in these wilds, or we should be
badly off sometimes," Mrs. Burton rejoined. Then she said timidly:
"We are very glad to welcome you, and we all feel that you have
conferred a great favour on us by coming to stay here this summer."
Something like an awkward lump got into Mary's throat then. She
had come the long, toilsome journey solely for her own pleasure,
and to be near her father, yet here was one thanking her for the
privilege her coming conferred on these lone dwellers in the
solitudes. She was rarely a creature of impulse, and always prided
herself on the way she kept her head; but the sweet friendliness of
the sad-eyed little woman touched her mightily, and stooping
forward she kissed Mrs. Burton warmly, then promptly apologized,
being properly ashamed of her forwardness.
"Oh, please forgive me! I really could not help it, and you--you
looked so kind!" she said ruefully.
Mrs. Burton laughed, although she looked rather embarrassed, then
she said gently: "I am afraid you must be very tired. If you will
sit down I will quickly get you some tea."
"Please don't trouble. Father and I are quite used to doing things
for ourselves, and I can make a kettle boil over my spirit lamp
while the men are bringing the luggage up from the boats," Mary
said hastily, feeling that she simply could not have this gentle,
refined woman waiting upon her,
But for all her gentleness Mrs. Burton could be firm when she
chose, and she replied quietly: "I should not think of going away
until I had seen you with a meal ready prepared. The fire is all
ready for lighting in the stove, and that will save your spirit
lamp, and you are in the wilderness now, remember, where spirit is
difficult to obtain."
The two little girls trotted after their mother. Mary tried to
make friends with them, but they were not used to strangers, so
showed her only averted faces and pouting red lips, which made her
understand that their friendship must be left to time.
When the luggage had been brought up from the boat, Mrs. Burton had
the kettle boiling, and then she sent one of the men across with a
boat to the store, giving him a message for Miles, which resulted
in a basket of fresh fish coming over at once. These, delicately
broiled over a fire of spruce chips, and served piping hot, made,
as Mr. Selincourt observed, a supper fit for a king.
Mrs. Burton stayed with her small daughters to share the meal, and
if she thought ruefully of the family over the river, who would
have to cook their own supper, and also go without the fish which
had been intended for them, she said nothing about it. One must
always suffer something in the give-and-take of life, and there
were plenty of canned goods at the store which might serve at a
pinch.
"Now I must go," she said, when the supper dishes had been washed.
"It is time that Beth and Lotta went to bed, while my father will
be wearying for me if I am too long away."
"Your father?" broke from Mary in surprise, then she stopped
abruptly, realizing that her acquaintance with Mrs. Burton was too
short for over-much curiosity.
"I am a widow," the little woman answered, with the simple dignity
which became her so well. "I live with my father, or did; but now,
strictly speaking, it is he, poor man, who lives with us, and
Katherine earns the living for us all."
"Katherine is your sister?" asked Mary, and now there was tender
sympathy in her tone, and she was understanding why Mrs. Burton's
eyes were so sad.
"Katherine is my younger sister, and she is just wonderful," the
little woman said, with love and admiration thrilling her tones.
"She has done a man's work all the winter, and she is keeping the
business together as well as poor Father could have done."