ON UPPER POND
Upper Pond was truly a fairylike spot. Slim white birches, tall oaks
and towering pines were reflected in the glassy water which was fringed
by bushes and flowering weeds, the doubles of which looked up from the
still depths. As the paddles dipped into the quiet surface an eagle
soared away from the top of a lofty pine tree. The water was so clear
one could see the smooth pebbles and shining sand at the bottom of the
pond, and as the canoes glided along, they and their occupants were
mirrored below.
The party was variously divided; Nan, to her joy, found herself in
the same canoe as Marcus Wells, and watched him skilfully paddling
in advance of the rest. “It reminds me of the gondolas on the Grand
Canal,” she said presently.
“You’ve been to Venice then. Isn’t it great?”
“It is wonderful, though this is as much so in its way. Paddling a
canoe must be something like rowing a gondola.”
“Something, but I’d make an awkward figure as a gondolier.”
“Did you ever try it? Ever so many Americans do.”
“I did, but though I managed to make the thing go, I knew the good
Antonio was secretly amused, for I am sure I was as stiff as a ramrod,
just as all are who are not born to it.”
Nan had her own ideas about this, but she did not contradict the young
man. In her opinion he was grace itself, and she doubted if ever any
gondolier surpassed him.
It was not a very long distance to the spot which Mr. Wells had chosen
for their landing and here the hamper was set ashore. It had been
something of a tug to get things over, but all had given a willing hand
and so it was managed, yet all decided that it was none too soon to
begin preparations for the lunch, as every one was tired and hungry.
There was a small fireplace already built, showing that the spot was no
new discovery.
“We are going to have some fish,” Mr. Wells told them as he threw out
some rods and lines. “I’ll show whoever cares to go fishing, where he
or she can get plenty of trout. Then some one must gather wood and some
can open the cans and set the table. Here’s the table.” He indicated
a large flat rock a convenient distance from the fire. “To Miss Jo
is given the high office of chief bacon fryer, and whoever will can
undertake the coffee. Now you know what is to be done, please pitch in.”
The Gordon boys and Hartley Glenn voted for fishing, Nan offered to
make the coffee, Mrs. Corner and Miss Helen opened the hamper, Mr.
Wells started the fire, while the rest gathered wood and set the table,
all but Jo who clung to her package of bacon and the frying-pan.
Mr. Wells was a most efficient host. He was everywhere, helping
this one, joking with that, lugging water from a near-by spring,
replenishing the fire. The fishermen, though a little dubious when they
started off, were not a great while in returning with the fish which
were set to cook on the flat stones heated for the purpose.
“I couldn’t have believed we’d be so lucky in so short a time,” said
Hartley. “This is a great place, Wells. Your discovery?”
“Not exactly. I suppose some hundreds of years ago the Indians made
it a favorite camping ground for we find traces of them now and then,
but I confess to have come upon it unawares one day when I was off
prospecting for suitable subjects to paint. I haven’t written the place
up, nor have I gone so far as to sound its praise too widely, so pray
be cautious how you let the public in on the ground floor as it were,
or I’ll have to get the owner to put a fence around it.”
“Then there is an owner?”
“Yes, an old fellow who owns some acres of wild land of which this is
a part. Are we ready? I am sure those fish are done, don’t you think
so, Mrs. Corner? Try this one.” He deftly lifted the fish from the hot
stone and offered it to Mrs. Corner on a bit of birch bark, a pile of
which he had prepared to be used as plates. “Some salt in that hamper,
Miss Jo?”
Jo managed to find it. Then the coffee was rescued from the smoking
fire, but only after the handle of the coffee-pot had dropped off. The
tin cups, which all carried hanging from their belts, were filled, the
remaining fish were dished up on the birch-bark plates and every one
was served.
“I never tasted anything more delicious,” declared Miss Helen. “This is
a feast for the gods.”
“And in a banquet hall to match,” said Nan, “a very Walhalla.”
“Good name, Miss Nan,” cried their host. “Walhalla it shall be from
henceforth, for we are in a castle rock-bound and in the clouds.” He
pointed to the craggy heights surrounding the little pond which lay
like an iridescent jewel in the midst of the green.
The hamper showed a surprising array of food for the locality and as
each article was passed around some one would exclaim, “Why, where
did you get this?” Blueberry pies, doughnuts, spice cakes, crackers,
cheese, homemade bread and butter, jams and jellies, olives, and as a
crowning dish, chicken salad.
“Well, I never!” cried Jo. “What a provider you are. How you managed to
compass all this I can’t see.”
“How they managed to lug it all over here is what I can’t see,” said
Miss Helen.
“We took turns, you know, and it was not so very heavy when we had put
a pole through the handles of the hamper,” said Ran.
“But where did you get fresh pies and fresh bread?” asked Mrs. Corner.
“I’ll let you into the secret, which after all isn’t much of one.
I have a good friend in my neighbor, Mrs. White, who, when given
sufficient notice, can get me up almost anything. The salad I must
confess to having been a little dubious about, but among the supplies
Pinch and I had sent from Portland was a can of olive oil and I made
the dressing myself, if you must know.” Mr. Wells was really a little
abashed.
“Good boy!” cried Dr. Paul. “It takes an artist to do a thing up brown.
You didn’t live four years in Paris for nothing, Marc.”
Mary Lee, with housewifely care, insisted that the remains of the feast
should be packed away for future use and then while the older ladies
rested under the shade of the trees, the younger ones declared for
exploring the surroundings. They broke up into separate parties which
went in different directions to meet later for the trip home.
Mr. Wells tossed his sketching kit into his canoe and looked a little
hesitatingly at Nan. “I wonder if you’d care to go to the head of the
pond,” he said. “A little way up a small stream that I know of it is
very lovely.” Now was his chance to get a sketch of the girl who, in
her big hat, short skirt, white jumper, with red handkerchief knotted
around her throat, looked picturesque enough.
But when the opportunity was within her grasp Nan was shy. She turned
to her mother. “Don’t you want me to read to you, mother?” she asked.
“Why, no, dear, not if you would like to go. I’m sure Mr. Wells will
take good care of you and it isn’t far.”
“No, quite near,” Mr. Wells assured her, more eager because of the
apparent reluctance. “It is just up there a little way. You could see
the spot from here but for the foliage.”
Nan turned to Dr. Paul, who was waiting, too, for her decision. “What
are you going to do?” she asked.
“Well, I haven’t quite made up my mind. Mary Lee, Miss Jo, Miss
Daniella and Miss Glenn have gone off with Hartley and the Gordon boys,
so if you go with Marc, I shall probably devote myself to the twins. No
one ever lacks entertainment where Jack is.”
This decided Nan. Dr. Paul would see to it that the twins were not
neglected, and brought face to face with the choice of going with the
doctor instead of the artist she found she could not withstand the
temptation of the latter’s invitation. She had not shown herself eager
and that was a satisfaction. So she stepped into the canoe and they
pushed off. The canoe moved up the pond and was presently lost to sight
in the bending branches of green which hid the mouth of the little
stream where the fishermen had found their trout.
Meanwhile the others had gone off in an opposite direction, to explore
the further side of the pond and, if possible, to climb a giant rock
upon whose top was the tall pine tree from which the eagle had flown.
Eagle Rock they had dubbed this and found the climb to its top a
difficult one, though equipped as they were, and with the help of the
boys, the four girls managed to scale the height to find themselves
overlooking farm lands in the valley beyond, and further away the
Presidential range of the White Mountains towering above the lower
peaks.
“It was worth coming for,” declared Daniella with glowing face, “though
it was a hard climb.”
“We ought to have had alpenstocks,” said Hartley.
“What’s the matter with cutting some now?” said Ran. “We’ll really
need them more going down than coming up. There are plenty of saplings
about.” He drew his knife from his pocket and began to hack away at one
of the slim, straight, young trees close by.
Hartley followed suit, but the loose stones upon the sloping side of
the spot where he was standing made a precarious footing, and in his
exertions the stones gave way causing his knife to slip and give him an
ugly gash across his left hand, nearly severing one of his finger-tips.
Jo was the first to perceive the accident and she ran to Hartley’s
side. He was bleeding profusely. Jo whipped off the tin cup hanging
from her belt. “Here,” she called out sharply. “Somebody get some
water, quick.”
Daniella grabbed the cup and rushed off. There was a small trickling
stream near by to which she hurried. Effie, meantime, had come up and
turned sick and faint at the sight of the blood covering her brother’s
hand. “Oh, Hartley,” she quavered, “is it very bad?”
“He has about cut off the end of one of his fingers, that’s all,” said
Jo. “Don’t faint, Effie,” she added commandingly, seeing Effie turn as
white as a sheet. “Hartley has to be attended to; we can’t hold you up,
too.” She had already clapped the end of the finger back in place and
had wrapped her handkerchief around it to stop the bleeding. Presently
Daniella came hurrying back with the water with which Jo carefully
washed the wound, then diving into her pocket she drew forth a small
case. “Can you stand a few stitches?” she asked Hartley. “We haven’t
any plaster, you see, and it may save you further trouble.”
“I’ll stand it,” said Hartley grimly, though he winced and set his
teeth when Jo, after threading her needle, took several stitches in the
severed flesh.
“There,” she said, “you stood it like a soldier. A clean handkerchief,
if any one has it. Mine is about used up. I hope you don’t mind my
tearing it,” she said as Effie produced hers.
“As if Hartley’s comfort wasn’t worth a dozen handkerchiefs,” replied
Effie who had recovered her composure.
Jo made a neat bandage, sewed it firmly on and pronounced the operation
over.
“That’s perfectly great,” declared Hartley. “Jo, you are a first-class
surgeon. I don’t believe any one could beat that job. I am your eternal
debtor.”
“If it isn’t all right, Dr. Paul can make it so,” Jo told him.
“Fortunately we have a doctor at hand. I don’t suppose mine is skilled
labor at all, but it will serve till something better can be done. It
will hurt like the mischief for a while, I suppose, and perhaps we had
best get back to the doctor.”
“No one need ever say again that Jo isn’t expert with her needle,” said
Mary Lee admiringly. “How did you ever happen to have a needle and
thread with you? You of all persons who never sew until you are obliged
and compelled to.”
“Why, it was sheer luck. Aunt Kit made me the little housewife and
stuck it in the pocket of this skirt; she gave me the skirt, you know,
and insisted that it should have a pocket. Well, the little case has
stayed just where she put it, for I never bothered to take it out, and
fortunately I remembered it at the right moment.”
“If it hadn’t been for your quick wits as well as for your skill
very probably I should have lost the top of my finger,” said Hartley
gratefully.
There was no more cutting of alpenstocks in this particular spot, but
eventually each one of the girls was provided with one and one was cut
for Hartley. The Gordon boys, being familiar with steep mountains in
their own part of the country, declared they could do without them.
Before they reached the foot of the rock Jo was invested with the title
of “First Aid to the Injured” given with due ceremony. She was made to
kneel down upon the grass; the other girls crossed their alpenstocks
over her head while Ran tapped her on the shoulder with a pretended
sword. “Rise, Lady Knightess,” he said, and Jo arose amid acclamations
and congratulations. The title proving too heavy a one it was shortened
to “Aid” before they reached the end of their walk, and this was a
favorite nickname from henceforth.
They found Dr. Paul had just returned from taking the twins around
the pond and the patient was brought to him. He examined the hurt
carefully. “First-rate,” he gave his opinion. “I don’t believe I could
have done better myself. Miss Jo, you ought to study medicine, or
trained nursing, at least.”
“Oh, dear me,” returned Jo, “what would little Josie do while she was
waiting for practice? She couldn’t live on stale pills, and if she
devoured the sample bottles of tonic sent her she’d be all the hungrier
for real food.”
“But you’d make such a famous trained nurse.”
“Oh, but I never did like striped gowns, and I can’t bear the smell of
ether.”
“You’d get used to it.”
“Perhaps. Very well, if I call upon you for a recommendation I shall
expect you to forward it promptly.”
“I’ll certainly do it,” responded the doctor heartily. “Such ability
oughtn’t to be wasted. That is a very neat piece of work. If the wound
was well washed I don’t think you will have any trouble with it,
Hartley, for it was evidently a clean cut. We’ll stop at our place on
the way home and I’ll give you something to ease it a little.” The
finger was bound up again and the bandage neatly sewed on, Jo’s needle
and thread again being called for, while every one agreed that such a
little housewife as hers should be a necessary part of every camping
outfit.
“That’ll be work for the next rainy day,” said Miss Helen.
“Then we must all make a journey to the country store for materials,”
said Mary Lee.
“Good! It’ll be a fine excuse for going,” said Daniella. “We can all
make a shopping trip to-morrow if nothing happens.”
Meanwhile Nan and her cavalier were ensconced in the quietest of nooks
not far away. Here the stream narrowed so one could touch the trunks
of the trees arching overhead. Wild little creatures rustled among the
leaves on the ground, bounding away as the canoe softly crept up the
small waterway. The birds, so wild as to have little fear, swung in
the branches above or, with slanting wing, skimmed the surface of the
water. One could see in the clear stream a wary fish suddenly darting
away, and once a wild goose, paddling up-stream, arose with a cry and
plunged into the deep forest. Except for the sounds of the woodland
creatures the place was so still one could hear the fall of a leaf on
the ripples below.
“Are you going to sketch?” asked Nan as her companion laid his box on
the grass.
“If you will sit for me.”
“I? With all this loveliness about us?”
“It is lovely, but it isn’t paintable, that is to say, not very, and I
haven’t dared to ask you before to sit.”
“But why?”
“I don’t know. You seem to stay in a world of thought sometimes where I
can’t find you, only I know you are there by a look in your eyes.”
“Oh.” Nan did not know what to say to this. She was not used to talk of
this kind.
“And will you give me a sitting? I won’t keep you very long. Just sit
there in the prow of the boat and I’ll get out my colors in a jiffy.
There, like that, and will you take off your hat? Thank you. That’s
great. Just what I’ve been longing for.”
Nan sat very quietly in a sort of dream. Once in a while her companion
made a remark, but he was absorbed in his sketch and did not talk
connectedly. It was enough for Nan that he was there, that she was
alone in this romantic spot with this creature of genius. Oh, it was
wonderful! The water rippled softly about the keel of the boat, the
sky was blue overhead. Yonder was Walhalla. She was listening to the
“Waldweben.” Her thoughts were indistinct, her emotions were not acute
nor violent. She was in a dream. A gentle and serene content possessed
her. She was satisfied to sit so always in this entrancing spot.
The absolute quiet was broken by Mr. Wells’ rising. “There,” he said,
“I’m not going to martyrize you any longer. Thank you a thousand times,
Miss Nan. This doesn’t begin to do you justice, but I’ve caught certain
characteristics, I think.” He turned the sketch so Nan could see it.
If she was a little disappointed she did not say so, but only remarked,
“I don’t see how you did so much in such a short time.”
“Oh, one can do a mere sketch in a few minutes, sometimes. Please don’t
consider this a finished thing.”
Nan could see it was not, and comforted herself by thinking it would
have been much better if there had been more time.
“Now what can I do to repay you for your goodness?” said the young man.
“You are a wonderfully patient sitter. You scarcely stirred.”
“I am glad if I did sit still. It was all so lovely that I enjoyed just
thinking about it. Did you bring your violin to-day?”
“No, I didn’t. You see, I don’t play for every one.”
“But you wouldn’t mind playing for me.”
“Oh, no. You belong to the chosen few, only we must not have an
audience. What are you going to do to-morrow afternoon?”
“Nothing that I have planned.”
“Then I will meet you about half-way between Camp Happiness and Place
o’ Pines. You come in your canoe; I’ll come in mine. We will go ashore
and I will play for you.” Then with a sudden smile, “Or, I’ll meet you
more than half-way. I’ll come to the little point just opposite Three
Rocks. You know it?”
“Yes, indeed.”
“And will you come about four o’clock?”
“Alone?”
“Can’t you?”
“I will ask mother whether I ought.”
He smiled again. What a little girl it was. There was never a time when
Mabel Romaine would have hesitated. “I’ll ask her myself,” he said with
sudden decision. “Shall we go now?”
“I think we should,” said Nan sedately. And if she made no more than
monosyllabic replies to his remarks on the way back it was not for lack
of interest in them or of delight in his company.
[Illustration: CHAPTER XIII
LOHENGRIN]