Happy were the days that followed. Pats, uplifted with his own joy,
became a lavish dispenser of cheerfulness and folly. Elinor, with
unclouded eyes and a warmer color in her cheeks, seemed to have drifted
into the Harbor of Serenity. Both were at peace with creation.
In pleasant weather they strolled among the pines, worked in the little
garden behind the house, fished, played upon the beach, or explored the
neighborhood. When it rained, which was seldom, they cleaned up the
house, read books and old letters, ransacking trunks and drawers trying
to discover the secret of the departed owner. But in vain. The departed
owner had been careful to leave no clew to his identity or of his reason
for abiding there. They did find, however, between the leaves of a book,
a little chart of the point done by his own hand apparently, and beneath
it was written
La Pointe de Lory.
So they felt they had learned the name of the place, but whether it was
the official name or one given by the old gentleman for his private use
they could not discover.
"There is a town of St. Lory in the south of France," said Pats. "I knew
a man who came from there. Perhaps our host was from that vicinity."
The days went by and no sail appeared. This, however, was of slight
importance. In fact, during that first ecstatic period, nothing was
important,--that is, nothing like a ship. It was during this period they
forgot to keep tally of time, and they either lost or gained a day, they
knew not which--nor cared.
All days were good, whatever the weather. Time never dragged. With a
companion of another temperament Elinor could easily have passed moments
of depression. For a girl in her position there certainly was abundant
material for regret. But the courage and the unwavering cheerfulness of
Pats were contagious. He and melancholy were never partners. A
discovery, however, was made one morning on the little beach that, for a
moment at least, filled Elinor with misgivings.
Midway along this beach they found a bucket, rolling about on the sand,
driven here and there by the incoming waves.
"That is worth saving," and Pats, watching his opportunity, followed up
a receding breaker and procured the prize. It resembled a fire-bucket;
and there were white letters around the centre. Elinor ran up and stood
beside him, and, as he held it aloft, turning it slowly about to follow
the words, both read aloud:
"Of--the--North--Maid."
"Maid of the North!" exclaimed Elinor, grasping Pats by the arm. "Oh, I
hope nothing has happened to her!"
"Probably not. More likely some sailor lost it overboard." Then, looking
up and down the beach, "There is no wreckage of any kind. If she had
blown up or struck a rock there would surely be something more than one
water-bucket to come ashore and tell us. I guess she is all right."
"But how exciting! It seems like meeting an old friend."
She held it in her own hands. "Poor thing! You did look so melancholy
swashing about on this lonely beach."
When they returned to the house they carried the bucket with them.
Pats had his own misgivings, however. One or two other objects he had
discerned floating on the water farther out, too far away to distinguish
what they were. And the fact that no search had been made for Elinor was
in itself disquieting. But as his chief aim at present was to bring
contentment to the girl beside him, he carefully refrained from any
betrayal of these doubts. Nothing else, however, that might cause alarm
was washed ashore.
And Pats, all this time, was growing fat. His increasing plumpness was
perceptible from day to day, and it proved a constant source of mirth to
his companion. One morning he appeared in a pair of checkered trousers
purchased in South Africa during his skeleton period. They seemed on the
verge of exploding from the outward pressure of the legs within. Elinor
made no effort to suppress her merriment. She called him "Fatsy." And to
the dog, who regarded the trousers with his usual solemnity, she
remarked:
"O, Solomon!
See him grow fat!
Our erstwhile skinny,
Diaphanous Pat."
But with "Fatsy's" flesh came increase of strength, and he proved a hard
worker. As soon as he was strong enough he began to build the raft by
which they hoped to cross the river. But progress was slow for his
endurance had limits, and he could work but an hour or two each day.
Their plan was to paddle across the river on this raft as they floated
down. Owing to the swiftness of the current they built the raft nearly a
mile farther up the stream. With the walk to and fro, which also taxed
the builder's strength, the month of July brought little progress. One
afternoon, they sauntered home, the broad, swift, silent river on their
right, the sun just above the trees on the opposite bank. Close at hand,
on their own side of the river the nearest pines stood forth in strong
relief against the mysterious depths behind. Near the river's bank long
shadows from these towering trunks lay in purple bars across the smooth,
brown carpet. It was about half-way home that the man, with an air of
weariness, seated himself upon a fallen tree. Elinor regarded him with
an anxious face.
"Patsy, you have done too much again." As he looked up, she saw in his
eyes an expression she had learned to associate with levity and
foolishness. "Be serious. You are very tired, now aren't you?"
"Just pleasantly tired. But if I were suddenly kissed by a popular belle
it would give me new strength."
When, a moment later, he arose, fresh life and vigor seemed certainly to
have been acquired. Catching her by the waist, he hummed a waltz and
away they floated, over the pine-needles, he in gray and she in white,
like wingless spirits of the wood. When the waltz had ended and they
were walking hand in hand, and a little out of breath, the lady
remarked:
"When I am frivolous in these woods I feel very wicked. They are so
silent and reserved themselves, so solemn and so very high-minded that
it seems a desecration."
"All wrong," said Pats. "This is a temple built for lovers: shady,
spacious, and jammed full of mystery--and safe."
"But it's the spaciousness and mystery that make it so like a temple and
suggest serious thoughts."
"Not to a healthy mind. Oh, no! This gloom is here for a purpose. Pious
thoughts should seek the light, but lovers need obscurity. They always
have and they always will."
A few steps farther on he stopped and faced her, still holding her hand:
"If you will feed the hens to-night, bring in the wood and wash the
dishes, you may embrace me once again--now, right here."
She snatched away her head. He sprang forward to catch her--but she was
away, beyond his reach. She ran on ahead and Pats, after a short
pursuit, gave up the chase, for his fallible legs were still unfit for
speed. With a mocking laugh and a wave of the hand she hastened on
toward the cottage. Following more leisurely he watched the graceful
figure in the white dress hurrying on before him until it was lost among
the pines.
Just at the edge of the woods, not a hundred feet from the house, he
stopped. Standing behind a tree so that Elinor, if she came to the door,
could not see him, he whistled three notes. These notes, clear and full,
were in imitation of a quail. And he did it exceedingly well. The
imitation was masterly.
But no one appeared at the cottage door, and after a short silence he
repeated the call.
"Perfect!"
Pats started and turned about.
"A very clever hoax!"
And as Elinor stepped forth from behind a neighboring tree, there was a
look in her eyes that caused the skilful deceiver to bow his head. With
a slight movement of the hands, the palms turned outward, as if in
surrender, he offered a mute appeal for mercy.
"So you are that quail!" And slowly up and down she moved her head as if
realizing with reluctance the bitterness of the discovery. "What fun you
must have had in fooling me so often and so easily! And the many times
that I have hurried to that door and waited to hear it again! What was
my offence that you should pay me back in such a fashion?"
"Oh, don't put it that way! Don't speak like that!"
"And my sentiment about it! My saying that I loved the sound because it
took me back to my own home in Massachusetts--all that must have been
very amusing."
"Listen. Let me explain."
"And to keep on making me ridiculous, day after day, when I was on the
verge of collapse from pure exhaustion--yes, it showed a nice feeling."
"Elinor, you are very unjust. Let me tell you just how it happened. The
first morning that I could walk as far as this, you left me here at this
very spot, and you went back to the house. I was told to whistle if I
wanted anything. You remember?"
Almost perceptibly and with contempt she nodded.
"Well, when I did whistle, I whistled in that way--like a quail. You
thought it was a real quail and you didn't come out. When finally you
helped me back you spoke of hearing a quail, and of how much pleasure it
gave you. You hoped he would not go away." And he smiled humbly, as he
added: "And you made me promise not to shoot him."
She merely turned her eyes away, over the river, toward the sunset.
"And I thought then that if it gave you so much pleasure, why not keep
on with it? The Lord knows the favors a helpless invalid can bestow are
few enough! And the Lord also knows that I have no accomplishments. I
cannot sing, or play, or recite poetry. At that time I could not even
start a fire or bring in water. In fact, my sole accomplishment was to
imitate a bird. 'Tis a humble gift, but I resolved to make the most of
it."
She stood facing him, about a dozen feet away, a striking figure, with
the light from the setting sun on her white dress, the dark recesses of
the wood for a background. Into her face came no signs of relenting. But
he detected in her eyebrows a slight movement as if to maintain a frown,
and he ventured nearer, slowly, as a dog just punished manoeuvres for
forgiveness. Removing his straw hat he knelt before her, his eyes upon
the ground.
"I confess to a guilty feeling every time I did it. I knew a day of
reckoning would come. But I was postponing it. I am ashamed, really
ashamed; but on my honor my motive was good. Please be merciful."
"Are you serious?--or trying to be funny, and not really caring much
about it?"
"I am serious; very serious."
"Do you realize what a contemptible trick it was--how mean-spirited and
ungrateful?"