The next morning was one of the most glorious that I remember in that
whole summer. I rose early, throwing the windows wide open while I
dressed to let in the full blaze of sunshine, and set myself, while
the morning common-sense mood was still upon me, to go over carefully
in my mind every detail of Lessing's story. Somewhere there must be
a natural explanation; it was only the question of finding it. Among
other things it occurred to me that someone, for reasons unknown,
might be playing a series of practical jokes upon him, but it was
difficult to credit a hoax of such malignant and serious intent, and
even assuming for a moment that Lessing was the victim of any such
plot, it did not explain those mysterious deaths which, I felt more
and more convinced, were in some way connected with his own
experiences.
It was at least certain that I was in for a fairly interesting
vacation. I remembered with grim humour Lennox's assurance that I
would find the practice a quiet one; opinions might well differ on
that point. Even if Lennox came back at the time agreed upon, I had
still another six weeks before me, and in six weeks a good deal might
happen. It would be my own fault if I did not get some part of the
mystery cleared up before then.
Everyone has his own private specific for clearing the mind. Mine
was fishing. After breakfast I hunted out my tackle, asked Mrs.
Searle to pack me a lunch, and set out resolutely, with the
determination to remain in the open air until nightfall.
Part of the creek that lay behind the house I had already explored,
and this morning I decided to work upstream, in the direction of the
dam. The air was clear and fresh and the woods were alive with
birds. Here and there the sumach and poison ivy were already
beginning to turn colour, showing patches of tawny scarlet against
the green of the undergrowth. Great painted butterflies flitted
across my path, and once, as I sat quietly on a boulder in midstream,
a kingfisher flashed near me in the broken sunlight.
The creek ran with a pleasant sound in its bed, now swirling between
great boulders, now trickling over shallows of waving bronze-tinted
weed, here and there forming deep pools, outside the stress of the
current, where one might catch a glimpse of shadowy forms moving
through the gold-brown sun-shot water.
I made desultory casts, taking more interest in the morning and in my
surroundings than in the actual pursuit upon which I was engaged.
Out here under the trees, with the music of the stream in one's ear,
it was impossible to feel anything but sane and healthy.
The silence of these woods was intense. In pine woods there is
always some stir of movement, however faint, but these trees, giant
hickories and dense-foliaged oaks, grew so tall that sound seemed
lost amid their branches. One had the impression of miles of
far-reaching solitude. To break the spell I began to whistle as I
moved upstream, pausing now and then to try some likely pool, picking
my way over the big rocks that dotted the bed of the stream. The
creek was fairly deep in places; a child, losing its footing, could
be easily drowned in the strong current. It was an ideal stream for
sport, but either the fish were wary this morning or I was giving but
scant attention to my task, for by midday I had only one small
half-pounder and a missing hook to my score. Mrs. Searle's luncheon
packet bulged in my pocket, reminding me presently of hunger. I was
reeling in, preparatory to settling down by some comfortable
tree-trunk, when something rushed at me with a splash and a scurry.
I was standing at the moment on a rounded boulder near midstream, and
the impact threw me off my balance knee-deep into the water. I
turned to see the Lessings' orange setter.
"Oh, you _bad_ dog!" a voice exclaimed from the bushes.
"Whatever---- Oh, Doctor Haverill, I am so sorry!"
Mary Lessing stood on the bank, bareheaded, in a short golf-skirt and
uprolled sleeves. The dog bounded back to her, and she dealt him a
summary and ineffectual cuff on the ear.
"Don't do that!" I cried. "I was just thinking how cool it looked in
here, anyway!"
I waded to the shore and joined her. "I can't shake hands, because
I'm wet," I added. "How are you? I've been trying to fish, but the
trout here are entirely too sophisticated!"
"You've frightened them for good now!" she laughed. "What a shame!
Did you catch anything?"
"One wretched half-pounder. I put him back for luck."
"A poor luck!"
"I'm not so sure," I rejoined, smiling, and she stooped hastily down
to address the setter, who sat regarding us with lolling tongue.
"When are you going to learn manners, you wretched animal? You
haven't even the grace to apologize!"
The setter put up a muddied paw and scraped appealingly at her skirt.
"You deserve to go without biscuit for a month," she continued. "Go
away from me; don't shake yourself here!"
The command came too late, and we both dodged to avoid the jubilant
shower of water drops. Mary Lessing shook her skirt and sat down.
"Do you often explore up this way?" she asked.
"No. It's the first time. I've no idea now how far I've come."
"You're about ten minutes from the dam," she said. "Our cottage is
not very far off. I was just going back to lunch."
"And I was just going to have mine here." I clapped a sudden hand to
my pocket; the paper parcel was still luckily intact. "Suppose we
were to consider it a picnic? I don't know what Mrs. Searle has put
up for me, but I have a recollection that she baked apple-cake
yesterday. It's too entirely gorgeous a day to eat indoors."
"Oh, as for that----" she began.
"As for that, you must admit that lunch indoors doesn't tempt you in
the very least."
"It doesn't," she said. "I came out here this morning because----"
She stopped rather abruptly. I was looking about me for a likely
spot in the shade, and when I had found it, at the base of two
towering hickories, I pulled Mrs. Searle's parcel out from my pocket.
The setter watched my proceedings with a keen interest, intent on the
chance of the moment.
"I'm convinced," she objected, "that you ought to go home and change
your boots."
"It's impertinent," I reminded her, untying the pink grocery string
from the parcel, "to give medical advice to a doctor. Do you like
Uneeda biscuits? Because they seem to have occupied an important
place in my housekeeper's mind this morning."
We sat down on the moss beneath the hickories, and I divided the
single gigantic sandwich with my pocket-knife. Luckily Mrs. Searle
had over-estimated my hunger. We ate healthily, with open-air
appetites, and what was left over the setter finished at one watchful
snap.
"When does Doctor Lennox come home?" Mary asked presently.
"He's due in another six weeks, unless he finds Europe too
fascinating. Then I shall have to go back and grind, I suppose. It
won't be an attractive prospect, after this holiday."
"You have a practice in New York?"
"Not yet. I've been _interne_ up to now. I expect it'll end in the
East Side. A friend of mine has a settlement there, and I'd like to
join him if I can. There's always plenty to do."
"I know," she nodded. "I've seen something of it. Do you know a man
named Herrick, there?"
"Herrick!" I sat upright. "If you mean Jack Herrick, that's the
friend I was speaking of. Then you----"
"Then _you_," she corrected, "are the college chum he was always
talking about. Why, I've known Jack Herrick ever since I used to
play dolls!"
"Three and a half years..." I said pensively. "The world's a small
place."
"You are rude, Doctor Haverill. It's a long enough time, anyway."
She was looking at the branches overhead, and in her upturned face I
caught fleetingly a likeness that had puzzled me more than once
before. I knew now. On Herrick's mantelshelf, in his shabby
comfortable room at the settlement, there had stood always a
photograph in a silver frame. It was the portrait of a child of
perhaps thirteen, in a gingham overall, and with her hair braided in
two short tails down her back. Herrick had said once: "That's an old
sweetheart of mine."
Singularly enough, the recollection did not at this moment greatly
please me. But I merely said:
"You wore your hair in two pig-tails."