THE PICNIC
The picnic at Long Lake was an annual function, held as soon as the
weather got warm enough, to celebrate the return of spring. Winter is
long and tedious on the high Western plains, where the frost is often
Arctic and little work can be done, and after sitting by the red-hot
stove through the dark, cold months, the inhabitants of the scattered
homesteads come out with joyful hearts to greet the sunshine. There is,
however, no slow transition. Rushing winds from the North-west sweep
the sky, the snow vanishes, and after a week or two, during which the
prairie trails are impassable, the bleached grass dries and green blades
and flowers spring from the steaming sod.
Moreover, the country round Long Lake has some beauty. To the east,
it runs back, bare and level, with scarcely a tree to break the vast
expanse; but to the west low undulations rise to the edge of the next
tableland. Sandhills mark the summits, but the slopes are checkered with
birches and poplars, and creeks of clear water flow through the hollows
in the shadow of thick bluffs. There are many ponds, and here and there
a shallow lake shines amidst the sweep of grass. The clear air and the
distance the view commands give the landscape a distinctive charm. One
has a sense of space and freedom; all the eye rests upon is clean-cut.
It was a bright morning when Charnock drove up to the door of Keller's
hotel. The street was one-sided, and for the most part of its length,
small, ship-lap-board houses boldly fronted the prairie. A few had
shallow verandas that relieved their bareness, but the rest were frankly
ugly, and in some the front was carried up level with the roof-ridge,
giving them a harsh squareness of outline. A plank sidewalk, raised a
foot or two above the ground, ran along the street, where the black soil
was torn by wagon wheels.
There was nothing attractive about the settlement, and Charnock had once
been repelled by its dreariness. He, however, liked society, and as the
settlement was the only center of human intercourse, had acquired the
habit of spending time there that ought to have been devoted to his
farm. He enjoyed a game of pool, and to sit on the hotel veranda,
bantering the loungers, was a pleasant change from driving the plow or
plodding through the dust that rolled about the harrows. For all that,
he knitted his brows as his light wagon lurched past the Chinese laundry
and the poolroom in the next block. The place looked mean and shabby in
the strong sunlight, and, with feelings he had thought dead re-awaking,
he was conscious of a sharp distaste. There was a choice he must shortly
make, and he knew what it would cost to take the line that might be
forced on him.
It was with a certain shrinking he stopped his team in front of the
hotel. The bare windows were open and the door was hooked back, so that
one could see into the hall, where a row of tin wash-basins stood on
a shelf. Dirty towels were scattered about, and the boarded floor was
splashed. The veranda, on to which the hall opened, was strewn with
cigar-ends and burnt matches, and occupied by a row of cheap wooden
chairs. Above the door was painted _The Keller House_. The grocery in
the next block, and the poolroom, bore the same owner's name.
When Charnock stopped, a man without a coat and with the sleeves of his
fine white shirt rolled up came out. He as rather an old man and
his movements were slack; his face was hard, but on the whole
expressionless.
“Hallo!” he said. “Late again! The others have pulled out a quarter of
an hour since.”
“I saw them,” Charnock answered with a languid hint of meaning. “Didn't
want to join the procession and thought they might load up my rig if I
got here on time.”
Keller looked hard at him, as if he understood, and then asked: “Want a
drink before you start?”
“No, thanks,” said Charnock, with an effort; and Keller, going to the
door, shouted: “Sadie!”
A girl came out on the veranda. She was a handsome girl, smartly dressed
in white, with a fashionable hat that had a tall plume. Her hair and
eyes were black, the latter marked by a rather hard sparkle; her nose
was prominent and her mouth firm. Her face was colorless, but her skin
had the clean smoothness of silk. She had a firmly lined, round figure,
and her manner was easy and confident. Sadie Keller was then twenty-one
years of age.
“I thought you had forgotten to come, Bob,” she said with a smile.
“Then you were very foolish; you ought to have known me better,”
Charnock replied, and helped her into the wagon.
“Well, you do forget things,” she resumed as he started the team.
“Not those I want to remember. Besides, if you really thought I had
forgotten, you'd have been angry.”
“How d'you know I'm not angry now?”
Charnock laughed. “When you're angry everybody in the neighborhood
knows.”
This was true. Sadie was young, but there was something imperious about
her. She had a strong will, and when it was thwarted was subject to
fits of rage. Reserve was not among her virtues, and Charnock's languid
carelessness sometimes attracted and sometimes annoyed her. It marked
him as different from the young men she knew and gave him what she
called tone, but it had drawbacks.
“Let me have the reins; I want to drive,” she said, and added as the
horses trotted across the grass beside the torn-up trail: “You keep a
smart team, but they're too light for much work about the farm.”
“That's so. Still, you see, I like fast horses.”
“They have to be paid for,” Sadie rejoined.
“Very true, but I don't want to talk about such matters now. Then
I've given up trying to make the farm pay. When you find a thing's
impossible, it's better to let it go.”
Sadie did not reply. She meant to talk about this later, but preferred
to choose her time. Her education had been rudimentary, but she was
naturally clever. She liked admiration, but was not to be led into
foolishness by vanity. Sadie knew her value. It had for some time been
obvious that a number of the young farmers who dealt at the store and
frequented the hotel did so for her sake, and she was willing to extend
her father's trade. In fact, she helped to manage both businesses as
cleverly as she managed the customers. Her charm was largely physical,
but she used it with caution. One might indulge in banter, and Sadie had
a ringing laugh that young men liked, but there were limits that few who
knew her overstepped. One or two had done so, but had been rebuked in
a way they wished to forget. Sadie had the tricks of an accomplished
coquette, but something of the heart of a prude.
The settlement got indistinct, and crossing a low rise, they drove past
a birch bluff where the twigs were breaking into tiny points of green.
Then they forded a creek and skirted a shallow lake, from which a flock
of ducks rose and flew North in a straggling wedge. Sandhills gleamed
on the ridges, tall cranes stalked about the hollows, and when the team,
laboring through the loose soil, crossed an elevation one could see the
plain roll back into the far distance. It was sharp-cut to the horizon;
only the varying color that changed from soft blue to white and yellow
in the foreground helped the eye to gage its vast extent. The snow had
bleached the grass, which glittered like silver in the strong sunlight.
A boisterous wind from the North-west drove white-edged clouds across
the sky, but the air was soft with a genial warmth that drew earthy
smells from the drying sod. In places, an emerald flush had begun to
spread across the withered grass and small flowers like crocuses were
pushing through. The freshness and hint of returning life reacted on
Charnock, and stirred his blood when he glanced at his companion. He
felt her physical allurement as he had not felt it before, but now and
then he resolutely looked away. Sadie had shown him marked favor, but
there was much he might lose.
She would not have charmed him when he first came to the prairie with
romantic hopes and vague ambitions. He had been fastidious then, and the
image of a very different girl occupied his heart. Even now he knew
the other stood for all that was best in life; for tender romances, and
sweetness, and high purpose. Helen had gracious qualities he had once
half-reverently admired. She loved pictures and books and music, and was
marked by a calm serenity that was very different from Sadie's restless
force. But it looked as if he had lost her, and Sadie, who could break
a horse and manage a hotel, was nearer his level. Yet he hesitated;
he must choose one of two paths, and when he had chosen could not turn
back.
“You don't talk much,” Sadie remarked at length. “Guess you must be
thinking about your mortgage.”
“I was, in a way. It was rather useless and very rude. However, I won't
think of it again until somebody makes me.”
“That's a way of yours. You think too late.”
“I'm afraid I sometimes do so,” Charnock admitted. “Anyhow, to-day, I'm
not going to think at all.”
Sadie noted the reckless humor with which he began to talk, but she led
him on, and they engaged in cheerful banter until Long Lake began to
gleam among the woods ahead. Charnock skirted the trees and pulled up
where a number of picketed teams and rigs stood near the water's edge.
Farther along, a merry party was gathering wood to build a fire, and
Charnock did not find Sadie alone again for some hours after he helped
her down.
In summer, Long Lake has no great beauty and shrinks, leaving a
white saline crust on its wide margin of sun-baked mud, but it is a
picturesque stretch of water when the snow melts in spring and the
reflections of the birches quiver on the smooth belt along its windward
edge. Farther out, the shadows of flying clouds chase each other across
the flashing surface. Two or three leaky canoes generally lie among the
trees, and in the afternoon Charnock dragged one down, and helping Sadie
on board, paddled up the lake.
As they crept round a point flocks of ducks left the water and the air
throbbed with a beat of wings that gradually died away. The fire, round
which the others sat, was out of sight, and the rustle of the tossing
birches emphasized the quietness. Charnock let the canoe drift, and
Sadie looked up at him from her low seat among the wagon robes he had
brought.
“What are you going to do about your farm?” she asked.
“I don't know yet, and don't see why I should bore you with my
troubles.”
“Pshaw!” said Sadie. “You want to put the thing off; but you know you
can't.”
Charnock made a gesture of humorous resignation. “Very well! I expect I
won't be able to carry on the farm.”
“No,” said Sadie, thoughtfully, “I don't think you could. There are men
who would be able, but not you.”
“I dare say you're right, but you're not flattering,” Charnock rejoined
with a smile.
Sadie gave him a steady look. “Your trouble is you laugh when you ought
to set your lips and get busy. One has got to hustle in Canada.”
“I have hustled. In fact, it's hustling that has brought me low. If I
hadn't spent my money trying to break fresh land, I wouldn't have been
so deep in debt.”
“And you'd have had more time to loaf about the settlement?”
“On the whole, I don't think that's kind. If I hadn't come to the
settlement, I wouldn't have seen you, and that's about the only comfort
I have left.”
A touch of color crept into Sadie's face, but her thoughtful look did
not change.
“Well,” she said, “I'd surely have liked you to make good, and don't
know that we mightn't have got the mortgage held over; but it wouldn't
have been much use. You'd have started again and then got tired and not
have stayed with it.” She spread out her hands impatiently. “That's the
kind of man you are!”
“I'm afraid it's true,” Charnock admitted. “But I hope you like me all
the same.”
Sadie was silent for a few moments, but her color was higher and
Charnock mused. He supposed she meant she could have persuaded her
father to come to his help, and it looked as if she well knew his
failings. Still he felt rather amused than resentful.
“We'll let that go,” she resumed. “I want you to quit joking and listen.
We're going to have a boom at the settlement as soon as the railroad's
opened, and I and the old man can hardly manage the store and hotel.
We've got to have help; somebody the boys like and we can trust. Well,
if you took hold the right way----”
She stopped, but Charnock understood. Keller was often ill and was
getting old. He could not carry on his rapidly extending business much
longer, and Charnock might presently take his place. But this was not
all, and he hesitated.
“Do you think I'm fit for the job?” he asked.
“You could do it if you tried.”
Charnock smiled. “It's comforting to feel somebody trusts me, and I see
advantages in the plan. You keep the books, I think. It's very nice in
the little back office when the lamps are lit and the store is shut. We
could make up the bills together.”
Sadie blushed, and he thought he had not seen her look so attractive.
She was remarkably pretty, although there was now something about her
that puzzled him. It was something elusive that acted like a barrier,
keeping him away. Yet he knew the girl was fond of him; if he wanted
her, he had but to ask, and it was not on this account he hesitated. He
thought of a creeper-covered house in England; a house that had an air
of quiet dignity. He remembered the old silver, the flowers in the shady
rooms, and the pictures. The girl who moved about the rooms harmonized
with her surroundings; her voice was low and clear, she had a touch of
stateliness. Well, he was ruined, and she was far away, but Sadie was
close by, waiting for him. For a moment he set his lips, and then, while
his nerves tingled, banished the disturbing doubts.
Dropping the paddle, he leaned forward, put his hand on the girl's
waist, and drew her towards him. He felt her yield, and heard her draw
a fluttering breath. Her head drooped so that he could not see her face;
she was slipping into his arms, and then, in the moment of surrender, he
felt her body stiffen. She put her hands on his shoulder and pushed him
back; the canoe lurched and he had some trouble to prevent a capsize.
The water splashed against the rocking craft, and Sadie, drawing away,
fixed her eyes on him. She was breathless, but rather from emotion than
effort.
“Don't do that again!” she said.
Charnock saw she meant it, which was strange. Sadie knew and sometimes
used her power of attraction, but it was obvious that she was angry. It
looked as if he had chosen the wrong moment, and he felt worse baffled
and disappointed than he had thought possible.
“I won't,” he said as carelessly as he could. “You nearly threw us both
into the water.”
“I guess that's what I meant to do,” she answered fiercely.
“Well, I expect I'd have been able to pull you out. Suppose I ought to
say I'm sorry; but I'm not. In fact, Sadie, I don't quite understand--”
“No,” she said, “you don't understand at all! That's the trouble.”
Charnock took out his tobacco pouch and began to make a cigarette.
Sadie's cold dignity was something new and he thought she could not keep
it up. If she did not break out in passionate anger, she would soon
come round. As he finished the cigarette she turned to him with flashing
eyes.
“Put that tobacco away or I'll throw it in the lake! Do you think you
can kiss me when you like?”
“I wish I could,” said Charnock. “As a matter of fact, I haven't kissed
you yet. But I'm sorry if you're vexed.”
For a moment Sadie hesitated and then fixed him with a fierce, scornful
gaze.
“Oh,” she said, “you're cheap, and you'd make me as cheap as you! You
want things for nothing; they must be given, where other men would work
and fight. But you can't amuse yourself by making love to me.”
Charnock felt humiliated. If he had really offended her, she could have
rebuked him with a look or sign. Her unnecessary frankness jarred.
“Very well; I must ask you to forget it. Of course, I was wrong, but
I'll try not to vex you again. What are we going to do now?”
“Paddle back to the others as quick as you can.”
Throwing his cigarette into the water, Charnock turned the canoe. It was
a relief to be energetic, because Sadie's demand for speed stung him. He
glanced at her now and then, but she gave no sign of relenting; her face
was whiter than usual and her look was strained. Getting angry, he drove
the canoe down the lake with a curling wave at her bow, until the paddle
snapped in a savage stroke and he flung the haft away. For a moment, he
hoped Sadie would laugh, but she did not.
“Now you'll have to paddle with your hands until you pick up the broken
blade,” she said.
Charnock did so and afterwards awkwardly propelled the craft towards
the camp fire. He thought Sadie might have suggested their landing and
walking back, but she was silent and calmly watched his clumsy efforts.
He was glad when they reached the beach where the others were and he
helped her out. An hour or two later he drove her home, but she did
not talk. Her anger had gone, but she seemed strangely distant. After
helping her down at the hotel he waited a moment.
“Can't we make this up and be friends again?” he asked.
She gave him a curious steady glance. “Not now. It looks as if you
didn't know me yet.”
Then she left him, and Charnock drove home in a thoughtful mood. He
had some idea about what she meant and had been rather surprised by the
pride she had shown. Sadie had certainly led him on; but she was not
altogether the girl he had thought.