"WAVES OF BURNISHED GOLD"
Before Beth realized it she was some distance within the thick forest
with Dalton and she was just saying that she must go back, when they
heard someone coming, off the scarcely recognizable trail, and
struggling through bushes. Dalton, called, "this way," thinking that it
was probably Mr. Tudor.
It was the young man himself, fortunately for his good suit of clothes,
in which Beth had first seen him, now attired in camping costume, with
high leather buskins. "I missed the path, didn't I?" said he, smiling
and pulling off his cap, "but I was pretty sure of the general direction
toward the sea."
"Mr. Tudor, this is my brother, Dalton Secrest," said Beth. "He will
help you choose a place for your camp."
Dalton held out his hand, liking Evan Tudor at once. "I'm glad to meet
you, sir. If you are a writer, I suppose that you want a quiet spot?"
"You are right; I should prefer to be back in the woods rather than near
the shore. It will give me exercise to take a run to the ocean every
day. But I want to thank you for allowing me to camp in your woods. I
shall help protect it, I assure you."
"I believe that you will, and we may need you, indeed. There is no
reason why you should not stay as long as you like."
Evan Tudor was surprised and delighted at this quick decision and told
Dalton that he should have no reason to regret it, while Beth, seeing
that her share in the affair was over, excused herself and went back to
camp, though not before she had invited Mr. Tudor to be their guest at
supper. "Perhaps I will send the girls to call you after a while," she
said. "I suppose that you will show him to some place not too far from
the spring, Dal?"
"Yes, Beth."
While Dalton and Mr. Tudor went back along the poorly defined bridle
path to the road, which came from the village to the wood, then took a
great curve to avoid it, Dalton explained that there would be some noise
for several days while the men were putting up the log cabin, but that
there was a good place for a camp of which he was thinking. "You will be
surrounded by woods, though the spot is comparatively open, and if it is
not too far from the spring you may like it. The little stream from our
lake takes a turn there, and there are rocks on which your fires will be
safe. Indeed, you might use that water safely, for the lake is never
polluted in any way. It is little more than a big pool, fed by springs
and a tiny brook above."
"That sounds fine, but are you not building near your 'lake'?"
"Not too close, though we are nearer the spring than we are at our camp.
Beth hated to leave the vicinity of the sea. But now she sees that it
will be better to be closer to the water supply."
Mr. Tudor asked a number of questions and seemed to be interested in the
way to reach Steeple Rocks from the woods. He inquired, too, about who
were spending the summer there, in such a way that Dalton wondered if he
had heard of the Ives before.
Not knowing of any reason why he should not be communicative to this
sincere appearing young man, Dalton mentioned Peggy, her mother and
step-father, the Count, the foreign governess and the guests. He even
told him of Mr. Ives' request that they should leave. "I tell you this,
Mr. Tudor, because you, too, may not be wanted here. I'd keep an eye
out. Have you any way of defending yourself? By the way, though, we'd
rather not have any hunting done here."
"I have no interest in hunting--animals, or small game of any sort," and
Evan Tudor laughed. "But I am armed, after a fashion." Evan Tudor knew
only too well that he would not be wanted, but he hoped to carry out the
idea of a harmless writer on a vacation and to conceal his real purpose
in coming. It was true enough that he was a writer, also that he needed
a vacation. "Is there anyone besides Mr. Ives who feels inhospitable?"
he asked.
"Yes. A man whom they call Bill interviewed me, too, and warned me to
mind my own affairs around here. He has a lot of people fishing for him
and ships the fish. I rather think that Bill does a little rum-running,
for there is much drinking in the village. Bill may ship that, too, for
all I know. You may have to convince Bill that you are not employed by
the government to detect rum-runners."
"If Bill inquires," said Mr. Tudor with a smile, "you may tell him from
me that I am not a prohibition agent, though I might do my duty as a
citizen in that line, if necessary. However, I've another purpose, and
I'll mightily enjoy this woods of yours.
"By the way, I'd like to interview some of those interesting foreign
citizens in the village. The setting for them here is just a little more
intriguing than in New York, for a change. A friend of yours down there
told me a good deal about you. What sort of a chap is Tom Carey?"
"Oh, Tom Carey is straight and all right, if he does work for Bill. Bill
has taken a notion to Tom and I suppose he finds him smarter and more
reliable than most of his workers. You will have to be careful if you
interview those foreigners. Bill may not like it."
"I see. I'm to be careful about one Mr. Bill Ritter."
They were pushing through the woods as they talked. Presently they
reached the road where a man waited with a heavily-laden mule. Evan
Tudor picked up a typewriter from the protection of some bushes and
Dalton gathered up a suitcase, which he saw by the side of the road, and
a basket of what he judged were groceries. "It was quite a walk for you
with these things," he said.
"Not so bad," said Mr. Tudor. "I had help and the mule carries the most
of the outfit."
It took almost as much time to get through the woods as to unload the
outfit, but Dalton assured Mr. Tudor that in the direction of their camp
the woods would be found more open and that it was not as far as it
seemed. Evan Tudor was delighted with the camping spot and started at
once to set up his small tent and arrange his supplies. Dalton began to
help him, but the departing man, after he had received his pay, waited a
few moments and then asked Dalton to "walk a piece" with him. "I want to
ask ye somethin'," he said.
There was a twinkle in Evan Tudor's eye as he glanced after them. He
hoped that Dalton would establish what the modern youth sometimes calls
his "alibi" and successfully divert suspicion; for Evan Tudor was on a
quest.
"Say," said the man, as he and Dalton had reached a spot out of hearing
and Dalton stopped, not thinking it necessary to go any farther. "Say,
Bill wants to know what this chap is up to. Is he any coast guard
feller?"
"Bill came to see us when we first came, and I just told Mr. Tudor that
Bill was the high ruler of this little village and would very likely
want to know about him. He laughed and said that he had nothing to do
with catching rum-runners, or words to that effect. He is a writer
looking for material and taking a vacation, I suppose. He just came from
New York.
"But I'm going to say to Bill sometime that he is going a little too
far. The way he does things around here makes any square people
suspicious. I'm too busy right now to spend any time on fellows like
Bill Ritter, but I am a good citizen of my country and I'm not
_protecting_ that sort of thing, either. Bill had better stick to
fishing if he doesn't want to get into trouble some day."
"I kinda thought you'd feel that way about it," said the man, "but
you'll have to tell Bill that. Some of the rest of us don't like Bill
any too well, but--well, the kids has to have bread and butter. Bill
didn't tell me to ask was he with the coast-guard. That was my put-in.
Bill told me to find out what he was up to. See?"
"Well, now you know, and you can tell Bill from me that I informed Mr.
Tudor about unfriendliness shown us and told him to be on the lookout!"
The man laughed roughly. "I will. Sure he's a writer fellow all right?"
"That is what he told me, and he talked like one. You noticed that he
carried his little typewriter case, didn't you?"
"Was that what it was? I noticed that he parked it kinda careful."
Dalton felt that this conversation had not been in vain. He repeated it
to Mr. Tudor, who was setting up a small heater and began to demur in
regard to taking supper at the Secrest camp. "It's an imposition," he
declared. "I have plenty to eat right here."
"Sure you have, but what will Beth think? Moreover, we caught too many
fish to-day for four people to eat up. Better not refuse to come,--make
it a celebration of getting into the woods on your vacation."
Dalton had scarcely stopped speaking when a feminine "Hoo-hoo" sounded
from the woods across the stream. Leslie and Sarita were calling them.
"Hoo-hoo," replied Dalton in shrill imitation, and added, "we'll be
there, girls; give us ten minutes longer here."
Evan Tudor straightened up from his work to look across at the two
smiling girls. Introduction was impossible, but he raised his cap and
smiled, standing "at attention," Sarita said, till they were lost again
among the green spruces and birches.
The girls reported to Beth what Dalton had said and preparations went on
accordingly. The big fish were baking in the outdoor oven which Dalton
had made. Beth was stirring up some blueberry muffins, to be baked in
the oven of the "portable."
"We were stunned, Beth," said Sarita, "by the style and bearing of your
latest conquest. Not to be conceited at all, he looks like our kind of
folks. Let's see, what's that sweet poem?
"'When I behold thy lovely face
'Neath waves of burnished gold,'--what's the rest of it, Les?"
"That's all we ever did get, Sarita. Beth found us as we had just begun
to read it off, Dal and I."
Beth, her lips tightly pressed together to keep them from laughter,
pretended to be deeply offended. "Such girls! Come, now, Leslie, get out
a glass of that jelly we brought from home and finish up the table."
"It's serious, Sarita," laughed Leslie, still teasing her sister. "She
is giving him our precious jelly!"
"Don't you really want to, Leslie?" Beth asked.
"Of course I do, silly. I know well enough that you are following
Mother's rule of the best for guests. Where are the rest of those linen
napkins? I suppose you will use those this time."
"Yes, if we have any. Look in my trunk, top tray. If you can't find
them, we'll just use the paper ones." But Beth kept laughing at the
girls, for when Sarita suggested that Mr. Tudor was probably about
forty, Leslie corrected her to "I should say thirty, just right for
Beth, and poor Jim writes that they can't come yet!"
"I don't blame him for taking that case, do you, Leslie?"
"No, Sarita, of course not, but what is it that Shakespeare says about
opportunity?"
"Perhaps Mr. Tudor is not as good as Jim."
"He is much more attractive, though I'd vote for Jim now because he is
such a good friend."
"Well you can't help whom you fall in love with or don't."
"Yes, you can. At least you can keep away from people you don't want to
fall in love with, like some _fascinating bad_ man; but I suppose that
you can't very well make yourself fall in love with _everybody_ that
likes _you_."
"I'm _so_ glad that I have you girls' wisdom and experience to guide
me," demurely said Beth, and Leslie was just thinking up some brilliant
reply when they saw Dalton and their guest. But Leslie managed to
whisper to Sarita before real introductions took place, "There's where
Jim will have to do his best, because Beth doesn't care enough for him,
if I'm any judge."
Courteously Evan Tudor met the two girls, but he actually seemed almost
embarrassed about having accepted the invitation to supper. "Really I
think that it is enough to let me camp here, Miss Secrest," he said.
"I finally persuaded him," said Dalton, "by telling him that his 'name
was already in the pot' and that it would upset all your arrangements if
he didn't show up."
"Of course we would have been disappointed," cordially Beth added. "Now
just excuse us a moment till we get up this camp meal."
With her flushed cheeks and pretty smile, Beth made a charming hostess
and Sarita whispered to Leslie as they began to do a few last things,
"For all Beth says, he sees the 'burnished gold' all right."
There was gay conversation and exchange of news during the good but very
informal meal that camping made necessary. The Secrests described the
locality, in which Evan Tudor was so much interested and he, in turn,
had bright accounts of his recent experiences in the great city. "I am
going to forget it all for a few weeks," he said. "If I write here, it
will be because I can't help it. I brought the old typewriter along for
fear the 'best seller' might insist on being written; but all that I
really expect to do toward my future profession is to fill a notebook or
two for future use. Well, I have one or two sketches to get off at
once."
"Will you put us all in for 'characters' in your 'best seller,' Mr.
Tudor?" Sarita asked.
"You might all figure in my fiction, but I'll not use you as 'types.'"
"Thanks. I'd be proud to be in one of your novels, but I'd rather not be
a 'character sketch.'"
"Beth 'sketches' too," said Leslie.
"Now, Leslie, are you going to play the part of _l'enfant terrible_?"
asked Beth. "Please don't mention my efforts!"
"Your brother has already told me that you are an artist, Miss Secrest.
I wish that I might see how you interpret this place."
Quickly Beth looked at Evan Tudor. He spoke of interpretation. Perhaps
he was one who understood. But voices were coming from the woods and Mr.
Tudor turned to look in that direction. "Hitch 'em anywhere, Jack," they
heard. It was Peggy Ives with her cousin.