A ONE-SIDED STORY
Adrian was not a gymnast though he had seen and admired many wonderful
feats performed by his own classmates. But he had never beheld a
miracle, and such he believed had been accomplished when, upon
reaching the foot of that terrible tree, he found Margot sitting
beneath it, pale and shaken, but, apparently, unhurt.
She had heard his breathless crashing up the slope and greeted him
with a smile, and the tremulous question:
"How did you know where I was?"
"You aren't--dead?"
"Certainly not. I might have been, though, but God took care."
"Was it my cheers frightened you?"
"Was it you, then? I heard something, different from the wood sounds,
and I looked quick to see. Then my foot slipped and I went down--a
way. I caught a branch just in time and, please, don't tell uncle. I'd
rather do that myself."
"You should never do such a thing. The idea of a girl climbing trees
at all, least of any, such a tree as that!"
He threw his head back and looked upward, through the green spiral to
the brilliant sky. The enormous height revived the horror he had felt
as he leaped through the window and rushed to the mountain.
"Who planned such a death-trap as that, anyway?"
"I did."
"You! A girl!"
"Yes. Why not. It's great fun, usually."
"You'd better have been learning to sew."
"I can sew, but I don't like it. Angelique does that. I do like
climbing and canoeing and botanizing, and geologizing, and
astronomizing, and----"
Adrian threw up his hands in protest.
"What sort of creature are you, anyway?"
"Just plain girl."
"Anything but that!"
"Well, girl, without the adjective. Suits me rather better;" and she
laughed in a way that proved she was not suffering from her mishap.
"This is the strangest place I ever saw. You are the strangest family.
We are certainly in the backwoods of Maine, yet you might be a Holyoke
senior, or a circus star, or--a fairy."
Margot stretched her long arms and looked at them quizzically.
"Fairies don't grow so big. Why don't you sit down? Or, if you will,
climb up and look toward the narrows on the north. See if Pierre's
birch is coming yet."
Again Adrian glanced upward, to the flag floating there, and shrugged
his shoulders.
"Excuse me, please. That is, I suppose I could do it, only seeing you
slip--I prefer to wait awhile."
"Are you afraid?"
There was no sarcasm in the question. She asked it in all sincerity.
Adrian was different from Pierre, the only other boy she knew, and she
simply wondered if tree-climbing were among his unknown
accomplishments.
It had been, to the extent possible with his city training and his
brief summer vacations, though unpracticed of late; but no lad of
spirit, least of all impetuous Adrian, could bear even the suggestion
of cowardice. He did not sit down, as she had bidden, but tossed aside
his rough jacket and leaped to the lower branch of the pine.
"Why, it's easy! It's grand!" he called back and went up swiftly
enough.
Indeed, it was not so difficult as it appeared from a distance.
Wherever the branches failed the spiral ladder had been perfected by
great spikes driven into the trunk and he had but to clasp these in
turn to make a safe ascent. At the top he waved his hand, then shaded
his eyes and peered northward.
"He's coming! Somebody's coming!" he shouted. "There's a little boat
pushing off from that other shore."
Then he descended with a rapidity that delighted even himself and
called a bit of praise from Margot.
"I'm so glad you can climb. One can see so much more from the
tree-tops; and, oh! there is so much, so much to find out all the
time! Isn't there?"
"Yes. Decidedly. One of the things I'd like to find out first is who
you are and how you came here. If you're willing."
Then he added, rather hastily: "Of course, I don't want to be
impertinently curious. It only seems so strange to find such educated
people buried here in the north woods. I don't see how you live here.
I--I----"
But the more he tried to explain the more confused he grew, and Margot
merrily simplified matters by declaring:
"You are curious, all the same, and so am I. Let's tell each other all
about everything and then we'll start straight without the bother of
stopping as we go along. Do sit down and I'll begin."
"Ready."
"There's so little, I shan't be long. My dear mother was Cecily
Dutton, my Uncle Hugh's twin. My father was Philip Romeyn, uncle's
closest friend. They were almost more than brothers to each other,
always; though uncle was a student and, young as he was, a professor
at Columbia. Papa was a business man, a banker, or a cashier in a
bank. He wasn't rich, but mamma and uncle had money. From the time
they were boys uncle and papa were fond of the woods. They were great
hunters, then, and spent all the time they could get up here in
northern Maine. After the marriage mamma begged to come with them, and
it was her money bought this island, and the land along the shore of
this lake as far as we can see from here. Much farther, too, of
course, because the trees hide things. They built this log cabin and
it cost a great, great deal to do it. They had to bring the workmen so
far, but it was finished at last, and everything was brought up here
to make it--just as you see."
"What an ideal existence!"
"Was it? I don't know much about ideals, though uncle talks of them
sometimes. It was real, that's all. They were very, very happy. They
loved each other so dearly. Angelique came from Canada to keep the
house and she says my mother was the sweetest woman she ever saw. Oh!
I wish--I wish I could have seen her! Or that I might remember her.
I'll show you her portrait. It hangs in my own room."
"Did she die?"
"Yes. When I was a year old. My father had passed away before that,
and my mother was broken-hearted. Even for uncle and me she could not
bear to live. It was my father's wish that we should come up here to
stay, and Uncle Hugh left everything and came. I was to be reared 'in
the wilderness, where nothing evil comes,' was what both my parents
said. So I have been, and--that's all."
Adrian was silent for some moments. The girl's face had grown dreamy
and full of a pathetic tenderness as it always did when she discussed
her unknown father and mother, even with Angelique. Though, in
reality, she had not been allowed to miss what she had never known.
Then she looked up with a smile and observed:
"Your turn."
"Yes--I--suppose so. May as well give the end of my story first----
I'm a runaway."
"Why?"
"No matter why."
"That isn't fair."
He parried the indignation of her look by some further questions of
his own. "Have you always lived here?"
"Always."
"You go to the towns sometimes, I suppose."
"I've never seen a town, except in pictures."
"Whew! Don't you have any friends? Any girls come to see you?"
"I never saw a girl, only myself in that poor broken glass of
Angelique's; and, of course, the pictured ones--as of the towns--in
the books."
"You poor child!"
Margot's brown face flushed. She wanted nobody's pity and she had not
felt that her life was a singular or narrow one, till this outsider
came. A wish very like Angelique's, that he had stayed where he
belonged, arose in her heart, but she dismissed it as inhospitable.
"I'm not poor. Not in the least. I have everything any girl could want
and I have--uncle! He is the best, the wisest, the noblest man in all
the world. I know it, and so Angelique says. She's been in your
towns, if you please. Lived in them and says she never knew what
comfort meant until she came to Peace Island and us. You don't
understand."
Margot was more angry than she had ever been, and anger made her
decidedly uncomfortable. She sprang up hastily, saying:
"If you've nothing to tell, I must go. I want to get into the forest
and look after my friends there. The storm may have hurt them."
She was off down the mountain, as swift and sure-footed as if it were
not a rough pathway that made him blunder along very slowly. For he
followed, at once, feeling that he had not been "fair," as she had
accused, in his report of himself; and that only a complete confidence
was due these people who had treated him so kindly.
"Margot! Margot! Wait a minute! You're too swift for me! I want
to----"
Just there he caught his foot in a running vine, stumbled over a
hidden rock, and measured his length, head downward, on the slope. He
was not hurt, however, though vexed and mortified. But when he had
picked himself up and looked around the girl had vanished.