On the first day of the journey Ralph, according to the immemorial
instinct of travellers, started a diary, and illustrated it with rough
day to day maps. He wrote it up by the campfire during the long
twilights, or while they basked in the sun at the noon spell. Charley
never noticed it, but whenever the little black book was produced
Nahnya looked curious and oddly annoyed. But she could not very well
order Ralph to give it up.
On the afternoon of the day following Ralph's outbreak and their
midnight reconciliation her curiosity finally found vent in speech.
Passing down the largest of the lakes a strong head wind had blown up,
and after struggling against it for a couple of hours, and thoroughly
wetting themselves and their baggage without making much progress,
Nahnya had ordered a landing. They now lay in rustling grass on a
point of land blown upon by the strong fresh wind, and deliciously
warmed by the sun. Charley had fallen asleep. When Ralph brought out
the diary Nahnya said:
"What do you write in your little book?"
"Just what we see every day," said Ralph.
Nahnya frowned a little. "You promise me you never tell what you see,"
she said.
"I never will," said Ralph quickly. "No one but myself shall ever read
this."
"Maybe some one find it," said Nahnya. "What good is your promise
then?"
"It is written in shorthand," he said, exhibiting it. "No one can read
it but me."
She was mollified. "It is like the Cree writing that the missionaries
teach," she said. "Read it to me," she added with a kind of shy
boldness.
Ralph was nothing loath. It was his matter-of-fact self that guided
the pencil. "Estimate it seventy-five miles from Hat Lake to Beaver
Lake," he began. "Probably less than half that in a straight line,
because the river is as crooked as a corkscrew. Called the second lake
Beaver Lake because of the hills to the west; a medium size hill for
the head, a big hill for the body, and a long, low hill for the tail."
"That is a good name," interrupted Nahnya.
"Couldn't see the whole of Beaver Lake at once, but you head straight
down the lake from point to point; then about twenty miles more of
river to Breeches Lake. It's shaped like a pair of breeches. As you
start down it a long, thin point faces you almost dividing it in two.
Nothing doing in the left leg; the right leg goes through. The water
of all the lakes is amber coloured, but black as onyx when you look
straight down. It's great to see the shores without a tree chopped
down, or a house anywhere to spoil the natural effect.
"The river is full of mother wild ducks and their newly hatched
families. Comical little puff-balls. Hell to pay when we come along.
Old Mis' Duck she plays every trick she knows to lead us away from the
family, and the babies they just keep on diving till they are too tired
to wiggle their tails any more."
Nahnya laughed.
"Can't tell which way you're going in the river, but all the lakes
stretch north and south, so I figure we're travelling due north.
Charley bent a piece of tin like a trolling spoon and caught a thumping
salmon trout. They call it _sapi_. Best fish I ever tasted. I call
the fourth lake Sword Lake; it's long and narrow and straight, with a
bend at the top like a handle. There are hills both sides all the
way--bluest I ever saw. We are camped on the point at the beginning of
the bend and I can't see what's around it."
"This McIlwraith Lake," said Nahnya.
Ralph made the entry.
"Is that all?" she asked.
"That's all," he said.
"Nothing about me?" she said, archly smiling and wistful, affecting a
great surprise.
Ralph, avoiding her eye, shook his head. It was the truth. He could
not bare his heart concerning Nahnya, even to the discreet little book.
"Why do you write it?" Nahnya asked.
"Oh, when you take a bully trip you like to have a record of it--to
read when you are old, I suppose."
"When you are old I think you will laugh at this," Nahnya said, looking
away.
"Think so?" said Ralph.
Half-measures were impossible to Nahnya. When she was on her guard a
wall was no stonier; when she gave her confidence she gave it all.
To-day her eyes were as open and affectionate as a child's; there was
gratitude in their wistful depths, a hint of humility. This in the
same girl who had beaten Ralph about the head only the day before!
Ralph, without altogether understanding the change in her, was touched
and thrilled by her look. Alas! for his good resolutions. It had been
easy the night before under stress of emotion to swear he would never
touch her, never alarm her by his passion. He dimly understood that it
was her reliance on his promise that made her so free with him to-day,
and yet--his arms ached for her a hundred times more than before, and
when in the business about camp they accidentally touched each other,
the same old unregenerate madness made his brain reel.
Tossed between two thoughts, he was happy and he was miserable. "She
_does_ care! She couldn't look at me like that if she didn't! No!
She only looks like that because she feels safe from my love-making!"
This was the undercurrent; on the surface all was serene. The
combination of strong, cool wind and hot sunshine was delicious.
Nahnya was soling the same pair of moccasins, while Ralph, more
tractable to-day, shaped and smoothed the handle of his paddle with a
knife. Nahnya developed a faculty for asking questions.
"How long you live in Fort Edward, Ralph?"
The initial "R" was difficult for her tongue to encompass. She
delicately aspirated his name thus, "Hoo-ralph." He thought the sound
of it enchanting.
"Six weeks."
"You like it there?"
"Dull as ditch-water."
"They tell me plenty fun at Fort Edward."
"Not my kind of fun."
"Plenty girls."
"Girls? Lord! Frights!"
"I suppose you like outside fun better, waltz-dancing and high-toned
girls and all."
"Society, you mean? I never was much for that."
"Where did you live before you came to Fort Edward?"
"New York, last, working in a hospital."
"I know hospitals. They have good times. The doctors go out with the
nurses."
"Not this doctor. Nurses are too--too iodoformy."
"What's that, Ralph?"
"Oh, too professional."
"Some nurses are sweet."
"I never had any luck that way."
"What you do when you go out in New York?"
"Oh, hang round with the fellows, and go to shows. I never had any
money."