John was the first to return to the outer world. He stood still, seeing
the horse on its legs, Billy unharnessing, Leila for an instant lost to
sight. The boy was scared. In his ordered life it was an unequalled
experience. Then he saw a merry face above the drift and lying around it
a wide-spread glory of red hair on the white snow. In after years he
would recall the beauty of the laughing young face in its setting of dark
gold and sunlit silver snow.
"Oh, my!" she cried. "That Billy! Don't stand there, John; pull me out,
I'm stuck."
He gave her a hand and she bounded forth out of the drift, shaking off
the dry snow as a wet dog shakes off water. "What's the matter, John?"
He was trying to empty neck, pocket and shoes of snow, and was past
the limits of what small endurance he had been taught. "I shall catch
my death of cold. It's down my back--it's everywhere, and I--shall
get--laryngitis."
The brave blue eyes of the girl stared at his dejected figure. She was at
heart a gentle, little woman-child, endowed by nature with so much of
tom-boy barbarism as was good for her. Just now a feeling of contemptuous
surprise overcame her kindliness and her aunt's training. "There's your
bag on the snow, and Billy will find your cap. What does a boy want with
a bag? A boy--and afraid of snow!" she cried. "Help him with that
harness."
He made no reply, but looked about for his lost cane. Then the young
despot turned upon the driver. "Wait till Uncle James hears; he'll come
down on you."
"My lands!" said Billy, unbuckling a trace, "I'll just say, I'm sorry;
and the Squire he'll say, don't let it happen again; and I'll say, yes,
sir."
"Yes, until Aunt Ann hears," said Leila, and turned to John. His attitude
of utter helplessness touched her.
"Come into the house; you must be cold." She was of a sudden all
tenderness.
Through an outside winter doorway-shelter they entered a hall unusually
large for an American's house and warmed by two great blazing hickory
wood-fires. "Come in," she cried, "you'll be all right. Sit down by the
fire; I'll be down in a minute, I want to see where Aunt Ann has put
you."
"I am much obliged," said John shivering. He was alone, but wet as he was
the place captured an ever active imagination. He looked about him as he
stood before the roaring fire. To the right was an open library, to the
left a drawing-room rarely used, the hall being by choice the favoured
sitting-room. The dining-room was built out from the back of the hall,
whence up a broad stairway Leila had gone. The walls were hung with
Indian painted robes, Sioux and Arapahoe weapons, old colonial rifles,
and among them portraits of three generations of Penhallows. Many older
people had found interesting the strange adornment of the walls, where
amid antlered trophies of game, buffalo heads and war-worn Indian relics,
could be read something of the owner's tastes and history. John stood by
the fire fascinated. Like many timid boys, he liked books of adventure
and to imagine himself heroic in situations of peril.
"It's all right. Come up," cried Leila from the stair. "Your trunk's
there now. There's a fine fire."
Forgetful of the cold ride and of the snow down his back, he was
standing before the feathered head-dress of a Sioux Chief and
touching the tomahawk below it. He turned as she spoke. "Those must
be scalp-locks--three." He saw the prairie, the wild pursuit--saw them
as she could not. He went after her upstairs, the girl talking, the
boy rapt, lost in far-away battles on the plains.
"This is your room. See what a nice fire. You can dry yourself. Your
trunk is here already." She lighted two candles. "We dine at half-past
six."
"Thank you; I am very much obliged," he said, thinking what a mannerless
girl.
Leila closed the door and stood still a moment. Then she exclaimed,
"Well, I never! What will Uncle Jim say?" She listened a moment. No
one was in the hall. Then she laughed, and getting astride of the
banister-rail made a wild, swift and perilous descent, alighting at the
foot in the hall, and readjusting her short skirts as she heard her aunt
and uncle on the porch. "I was just in time," she exclaimed. "Wouldn't I
have caught it!"
The Squire, as the village called him, would have applauded this form of
coasting, but Aunt Ann had other views. "Well!" he said as they came in,
"what have you done with your young man?"
Now he was for Leila anything but a man or manly, but she was a loyal
little lady and unwilling to expose the guest to Uncle Jim's laughter.
"He's all right," she said, "but Billy upset the sleigh." She was longing
to tell about that ball in the stable, but refrained.
"So Billy upset you; and John, where is he?"
"He's upstairs getting dried."
"It is rather a rough welcome," remarked her aunt.
"He lost his cap and his cane," said Leila.
"His cane!" exclaimed her uncle, "his cane!"
"I must see him," said his wife.
"Better let him alone, Ann." But as usual she took her own way and went
upstairs. She came down in a few minutes, finding her husband standing
before the fire--an erect, soldierly figure close to forty years of age.
"Well, Ann?" he queried.
"A very nice lad, with such good manners, James."
"Billy found his cap," said Leila, "but he couldn't get the sleigh set up
until the stable men came."
"And that cane," laughed Penhallow. "Was the boy amused or--or scared?"
"I don't know," which was hardly true, but the chivalry of childhood
forbade tale-telling and he learned very little. "He was rather tired and
cold, so I made him go to his room and rest."
"Poor child!" said Aunt Ann.
James Penhallow looked at Leila. Some manner of signals were
interchanged. "I saw Billy digging in the big drift," he said. "I trust
he found the young gentleman's cane." Some pitying, dim comprehension of
the delicately nurtured lad had brought to the social surface the
kindliness of the girl and she said no more.
"It is time to dress for dinner," said Ann. Away from the usages of the
city she had wisely insisted on keeping up the social forms which the
Squire would at times have been glad to disregard. For a moment Ann
Penhallow lingered. "We must try to make him feel at home, James."
"Of course, my dear. I can imagine how Susan Penhallow would have
educated a boy, and now I know quite too well what we shall have to
undo--and--do."
"You won't, oh! you will not be too hard on him."
"I--no, my dear--but--I suspect his American education has begun
already."
"What do you mean?"
"Ask Leila--and Billy. But that can wait." They separated.
While his elders were thus briefly discussing this new addition to the
responsibilities of their busy lives, the subject of their talk had been
warmed into comfortable repossession of his self-esteem. He set in order
his elaborate silver toilet things marked with the Penhallow crest, saw
in the glass that his dress and unboylike length of curly hair were as he
had been taught they should be; then he looked at his watch and went
slowly downstairs.
"Halloa! John," he heard as he reached the last turn of the stairs. "Most
glad to see you. You are very welcome to your new home." The man who
hailed him was six feet two inches, deep-chested, erect--the West Point
figure; the face clean-shaven, ruddy, hazel-eyed, was radiant with the
honest feeling of desire to put this childlike boy at ease.
The little gentleman needed no aid and replied, "My dear uncle, I cannot
sufficiently thank you." A little bow went with his words, and he
placidly accepted his aunt's embrace, while the hearty Miss Leila looked
on in silence. The boy's black suit, the short jacket, the neat black
tie, made the paleness of his thin large-featured face too obvious. Then
Leila took note of the court shoes and silk socks, and looked at Uncle
Jim to see what he thought. The Squire reserved what criticism he may
have had and asked cheerfully about the journey, Aunt Ann aiding him with
eager will to make the boy feel at home. He was quite enough at home. It
was all agreeable, these handsome relations and the other Penhallows on
the walls. He had been taught that which is good or ill as men use it,
pride of race, and in his capacity to be impressed by his surroundings
was years older than Leila. He felt sure that he would like it here at
Grey Pine, but was surprised to see no butler and to be waited on at
dinner by two neat little maids.
When Ann Penhallow asked him about his schools and his life in Europe, he
became critical, and conversed about picture-galleries and foreign life
with no lack of accuracy, while the Squire listened smiling and Leila sat
dumb with astonishment as the dinner went on. He ate little and kept in
mind the endless lessons in regard to what he should or should not eat.
Meanwhile, he silently approved of the old silver and these well-bred
kinsfolk, with a reserve of doubt concerning his silent cousin.
His uncle had at last his one glass of Madeira, and as they rose his aunt
said, "You may be tired, John; you ought to go to bed early."
"It is not yet time," he said. "I always retire at ten o'clock."
"He 'retires,'" murmured his uncle. "Come, Ann, we will leave Leila to
make friends with the new cousin. Try John at checkers, Leila. She
defeats me easily."
"I--never saw any one could beat me at _jeu des dames_," said John. It
was a fine chance to get even with Leila for the humiliating adventures
of a not very flattering day.
"Well, take care," said the Squire, not altogether amused. "Come, Ann."
Entering the large library room he closed the door, drew over it a
curtain, filled his pipe but did not light it, and sat down at the fire
beside his wife.
"Well, James," she said, "did you ever see a better mannered lad, and so
intelligent?"
"Never--nor any lad who has as good an opinion of his small self. He is
too young for his years, and in some ways too old. I looked him over a
bit. He is a mere scaffolding, a sickly-looking chap. He eats too little.
I heard him remark to you that potatoes disagreed with him and that he
never ate apples."
"But, James, what shall we do with him? It is a new and a difficult
responsibility."
"Do with him? Oh! make a man of him. Give him and Leila a week's holiday.
Turn him loose with that fine tom-boy. Then he must go to school to Mark
Rivers with Leila and those two young village imps, the doctor's boy and
Grace's, that precious young Baptist. They will do him good. When Mark
reports, we shall see further. That is all my present wisdom, Ann. Has
the _Tribune_ come? Oh! I see--it is on the table."
Ann was still in some doubt and returned to the boy. "And where do I come
in?"
"Feed the young animal and get the tailor in the village to make him some
warm rough clothes, and get him boots for the snow--and thick gloves--and
a warm ready-made overcoat."
"I will. But, James, Leila will half kill him. He is so thin and pale. He
looks hardly older than she does." Then Ann rose, saying, "Well, we shall
see, I suppose you are right," and after some talk about the iron-works
left him to his pipe.
When she returned to the hall, the two children were talking of
Europe--or rather Leila was listening. "Well," said the little lady, Ann
Penhallow, "how did the game go, John?"
"I am rather out of practice," said John. Leila said nothing. He had been
shamefully worsted. "I think I shall go to bed," he remarked, looking at
his watch.
"I would," she said. "There are the candles. There is a bathroom next to
you."
He was tired and disgusted, but slept soundly. When at breakfast he said
that he was not allowed tea or coffee, he was fed with milk, to which
with hot bread and new acquaintance with griddle cakes he took kindly.
After breakfast he was driven to the village with his aunt and equipped
with a rough ready-made overcoat and high boots. He found the dress
comfortable, but not to his taste.
When he came back, the Squire and Leila had disappeared and he was left
to his own devices. He was advised by his aunt to walk about and see the
stables and the horses. That any boy should not want to see the horses
was inconceivable in this household. He did go out and walk on the porch,
but soon went in chilled and sat down to lose himself in a book of polar
travel. He liked history, travel and biographies of soldiers, fearfully
desiring to have his own courage tested--a more common boy-wish than
might be supposed. He thought of it as he laid down the book and began to
inspect again the painted buffalo skins on the wall, letting his
imagination wander when once more he touched a Sioux tomahawk with its
grim adornment of scalp-locks. He was far away when he heard his aunt
say, "You were not out long, John. Did they show you the horses?"
Shy and reserved in novel surroundings, he was rather too much at his
ease amid socially familiar things, and now said lightly that he had not
seen the stables. "Really, Aunt Ann, I prefer to read or to look at these
interesting Indian relics."
"Ask your uncle about them," she said, "but you will find out that horses
are important in this household." She left him with the conviction that
James Penhallow was, on the whole, right as to the educational needs of
this lad.
After lunch his uncle said, "Leila will show you about the place. You
will want to see the horses, of course, and the dogs."
"And my guinea pigs," added Leila.
He took no interest in either, and the dogs somewhat alarmed him. His
cousin, a little discouraged, led him away into the woods where the
ancient pines stood snow laden far apart with no intrusion between them
of low shrubbery. Leila was silent, half aware that he was hard to
entertain, and then mischievously wilful to give this indifferent cousin
a lesson. Presently he stood still, looking up at the towering cones of
the motionless pines.
"How stately they are--how like old Vikings!" he said. His imagination
was the oldest mental characteristic of this over-guarded, repressed
boyhood.
Leila turned, surprised. This was beyond her appreciative capacity. "Once
I heard Uncle Jim say something like that. He's queer about trees. He
talks to them sometimes just like that. There's the biggest pine over
there--I'll show it to you. Why! he will stop and pat it and say, 'How
are you?'--Isn't it funny?"
"No, it isn't funny at all. It's--it's beautiful!"
"You must be like him, John."
"I--like him! Do you think so?" He was pleased. The Indian horseman of
the plains who could talk to the big tree began to be felt by the boy as
somehow nearer.
"Let's play Indian," said Leila. "I'll show you." She was merry, intent
on mischief.
"Oh! whatever you like." He was uninterested.
Leila said, "You stand behind this tree, I will stand behind that one."
She took for herself the larger shelter. "Then you, each of us, get ready
this way a pile of snowballs. I say, Make ready! Fire! and we snowball
one another like everything. The first Indian that's hit, he falls down
dead. Then the other rushes at him and scalps him."
"But," said John, "how can he?"
"Oh! he just gives your hair a pull and makes believe."
"I see."
"Then we play it five times, and each scalp counts one. Now, isn't that
real jolly?"
John had his doubts as to this, but he took his place and made some
snowballs clumsily.
"Make ready! Fire!" cried Leila. The snowballs flew. At last, the girl
seeing how wildly he threw exposed herself. A better shot took her full
in the face. Laughing gaily, she dropped, "I'm dead."
The game pleased him with its unlooked-for good luck. "Now don't stand
there like a ninny--scalp me," she cried.
He ran to her side and knelt down. The widespread hair affected him
curiously. He touched it daintily, let it fall, and rose. "To pull at a
girl's hair! I couldn't do it."
Leila laughed. "A good pull, that's how to scalp."
"I couldn't," said John.
"Well, you are a queer sort of Indian!" She was less merciful, but in the
end, to her surprise, he had three scalps. "Uncle Jim will laugh when I
tell him," she said. "Shall we go home?"
"No, I want to see Uncle Jim's big tree."
"Oh! he's only Uncle Jim to me. Aunt don't like it. He will tell you some
day to call him Uncle Jim. He says I got that as brevet rank the day my
mare refused the barnyard fence and pitched me off. I just got on again
and made her take it! That's why he's Uncle Jim."
John became thoughtful about that brevet privilege of a remote future. He
had, however, persistent ways. "I want to see the big pine, Leila."
"Oh! come on then. It's a long way. We must cut across." He followed her
remorselessly swift feet through the leafless bushes and drifts until
they came upon a giant pine in a wide space cleared to give the veteran
royal solitude. "That's him," cried Leila, and carelessly cast herself
down on the snow.
The boy stood still in wonder. Something about the tree disturbed him
emotionally. With hands clasped behind his back, he stared up at its
towering heights. He was silent.
"What's the matter? What do you see?" She was never long silent. He was
searching for a word.
"It's solemn. I like it." He moved forward and patted the huge hole with
a feeling of reverence and affection. "I wish he could speak to us. How
are you, old fellow?"
Leila watched him. As yet she had no least comprehension of this sense of
being kindred to nature. It is rare in youth. As he spoke, a little
breeze stirred the old fellow's topmost crest and a light downfall of
snow fell on the pair. Leila laughed, but the boy cried, "There! he has
answered. We are friends."
"Now, if that isn't Uncle Jim all over. He just does make me laugh."
John shook off the snow. "Let's go home," he said. He Was warm and red
with the exercise, and in high good-humour over his success. "Did you
never read a poem called 'The Talking Oak'? I had a tutor used to read it
to me."
"Now, the idea of a tree talking!" she said. "No, I never heard of it.
Come along, we'll be late. That's funny about a tree talking. Can you
run?"
They ran, but not far, because deep snow makes running hard. It was after
dark when they tramped on to the back porch. John's experience taught him
to expect blame for being out late. No one asked a question or made a
remark. He was ignored, to his amazement. Whether, as he soon learned, he
was in or out, wet or dry, seemed to be of no moment to any one, provided
he was punctual at meal-times. It was at first hard to realize the
reasonable freedom suddenly in his possession. The appearance of complete
want of interest in his health and what he did was as useful a moral
tonic as was for the body the educational out-of-doors' society of the
fearless girl, his aunt's niece whom he was told to consider as his
cousin. To his surprise, he was free to come and go, and what he or Leila
did in the woods or in the stables no one inquired. Aunt Ann uneasy would
have known all about them, but the Squire urged, that for a time, "let
alone" was the better policy. This freedom was so unusual, so
unreservedly complete, as to rejoice Leila, who was very ready to use the
liberty it gave. In a week the rector's school would shut them up for
half of the day of sunlit snow. Meanwhile, John wondered with interest
every morning where next those thin active young legs would lead him.
The dogs he soon took to, when Leila's whistle called them,--a wild
troop, never allowed beyond the porch or in the house. For some occult
reason Mrs. Ann disliked dogs and liked cats, which roamed the house at
will and were at deadly feud with the stable canines. No rough weather
ever disturbed Leila's out-of-door habits, but when for two days a lazy
rain fell and froze on the snow, John declared that he could not venture
to get wet with his tendency to tonsilitis. As Leila refused indoor
society and he did not like to be left alone, he missed the gay and
gallant little lady, and still no one questioned him. On the third day at
breakfast Leila was wildly excited. The smooth ice-mailed snow shone
brilliant in the sunshine.
"Coasting weather, Uncle Jim," Leila said.
"First class," said her uncle. "Get off before the sun melts the crust."
"Do be careful, dear," said Ann Penhallow, "and do not try the farm
hill."
"Yes, aunt." The Squire exchanged signal glances with Leila over the
teacup he was lifting. "Come, John," she said. "No dogs to-day. It's just
perfect. Here's your sled."
John had seen coasting in Germany and had been strictly forbidden so
perilous an amusement. As they walked over the crackling ice-cover of the
snow, he said, "Why do you want to sled, Leila? I consider it extremely
dangerous. I saw two persons hurt when we were in Switzerland." His
imagination was predicting all manner of disaster, but he had the moral
courage which makes hypocrisy impossible. From the hill crest John looked
down the long silvery slope and did not like it. "It's just a foolish
risk. Do you mean to slide down to that brook?"
"Slide! We coast, we don't slide. I think you had better go back and tell
Uncle Jim you were afraid."
He was furious. "I tell you this, Miss Grey--I am afraid--I have been
told--well, never mind--that--well---I won't say I'm not afraid--but I'm
more afraid of Uncle James than--than--of death."
She stood still a moment as she faced him, the two pair of blue eyes
meeting. He was very youthful for his years and was near the possibility
of the tears of anger, and, too, the virile qualities of his race were
protesting forces in the background of undeveloped character. The sweet
girl face grew red and kinder. "I was mean, John Penhallow. I am sorry I
was rude."
"No--no," he exclaimed, "it was I who was--was--ill-mannered. I--mean to
coast if I die."
"Die," she laughed gaily. "Let me go first."
"Go ahead then." She was astride of the sled and away down the long
descent, while he watched her swift flight. He set his teeth and was off
after her. A thrill of pleasure possessed him, the joy of swift movement.
Near the foot was an abrupt fall to a frozen brook and then a sharp
ascent. He rolled over at Leila's feet seeing a firmament of stars and
rose bewildered.
"Busted?" cried Leila, who picked up the slang of the village boys to her
aunt's disgust.
"I am not what you call busted," said John, "but I consider it most
disagreeable." Without a word more he left her, set out up the hill and
coasted again. He upset half-way down, rolled over, and got on again
laughing. This time somehow he got over the brook and turned crossly on
Leila with, "I hope now you are satisfied, Miss Grey."
"You'll do, I guess," said she. "I just wondered if you would back out,
John. Let's try the other hills." He went after her vexed at her way of
ordering him about, and not displeased with John Penhallow and his new
experience in snatching from danger a fearful joy.