I remember it was the last day of May before I saw my cousin Dorothy
again.
Late that afternoon I had taken a fishing-rod and a book, The Poems of
Pansard, and had set out for the grist-mill on the stream below the
log-bridge; but did not go by road, as the dust was deep, so instead
crossed the meadow and entered the cool thicket, making a shorter route
to the stream.
Through the woodland, as I passed, I saw violets in hollows and blue
innocence starring moist glades with its heavenly color, and in the
drier woods those slender-stemmed blue bell-flowers which some call the
Venus's looking-glass.
In my saddened and rebellious heart a more innocent passion stirred and
awoke--the tender pleasure I have always found in seeking out those shy
people of the forest, the wild blossoms--a harmless pleasure, for it is
ever my habit to leave them undisturbed upon their stalks.
Deeper in the forest pink moccasin-flowers bloomed among rocks, and the
air was tinctured with a honeyed smell from the spiked orchis cradled in
its sheltering leaf under the hemlock shade.
Once, as I crossed a marshy place, about me floated a violet perfume,
and I was at a loss to find its source until I espied a single purple
blossom of the Arethusa bedded in sturdy thickets of rose-azalea,
faintly spicy, and all humming with the wings of plundering bees.
Underfoot my shoes brushed through spikenard, and fell silently on
carpets of moss-pinks, and once I saw a matted bed of late Mayflower,
and the forest dusk grew sweeter and sweeter, saturating all the
woodland, until each breath I drew seemed to intoxicate.
Spring languor was in earth and sky, and in my bones, too; yet, through
this Northern forest ever and anon came faint reminders of receding
snows, melting beyond the Canadas--delicate zephyrs, tinctured with the
far scent of frost, flavoring the sun's balm at moments with a
sharper essence.
Now traversing a ferny space edged in with sweetbrier, a breeze
accompanied me, caressing neck and hair, stirring a sudden warmth upon
my cheek like a breathless maid close beside me, whispering.
Then through the rustle of leafy depths I heard the stream's laughter,
very far away, and I turned to the left across the moss, walking more
swiftly till I came to the log-bridge where the road crosses. Below me
leaped the stream, deep in its ravine of slate, roaring over the dam
above the rocky gorge only to flow out again between the ledge and the
stone foundations of the grist-mill opposite. Down into the ravine and
under the dam I climbed, using the mossy steps that nature had cut in
the slate, and found a rock to sit on where the spray from the dam could
not drench me. And here I baited my hook and cast out, so that the
swirling water might carry my lure under the mill's foundations, where
Ruyven said big, dusky trout most often lurked.
But I am no fisherman, and it gives me no pleasure to drag a finny
creature from its element and see its poor mouth gasp and its eyes glaze
and the fiery dots on its quivering sides grow dimmer. So when a sly
trout snatched off my bait I was in no mood to cover my hook again, but
set the rod on the rocks and let the bright current waft my line as it
would, harmless now as the dusty alder leaves dimpling yonder ripple. So
I opened my book, idly attentive, reading The Poems of Pansard, while
dappled shadows of clustered maple leaves moved on the page, and droning
bees set old Pansard's lines to music.
"Like two sweet skylarks springing skyward, singing,
Piercing the empyrean of blinding light,
So shall our souls take flight, serenely winging,
Soaring on azure heights to God's delight;
While from below through sombre deeps come stealing
The floating notes of earthward church-bells pealing."
My thoughts wandered and the yellow page faded to a glimmer amid pale
spots of sunshine waning when some slow cloud drifted across the sun.
Again my eyes returned to the printed page, and again thought parted
from its moorings, a derelict upon the tide of memory. Far in the forest
I heard the white-throat's call with the endless, sad refrain,
"Weep-wee-p! Dorothy, Dorothy, Dorothy!" Though some vow that the little
bird sings plainly, "Sweet-sw-eet! Canada, Canada, Canada!"
Then for a while I closed my eyes until, slowly, that awakening sense
that somebody was looking at me came over me, and I raised my head.
Dorothy stood on the log-bridge above the dam, elbows on the rail,
gazing pensively at me.
"Well, of all idle men!" she said, steadying her voice perceptibly.
"Shall I come down?"
And without waiting for a reply she walked around to the south end of
the bridge and began to descend the ravine.
I offered assistance; she ignored it and picked her own way down the
cleft to the stream-side.
"It seems a thousand years since I have seen you," she said. "What have
you been doing all this while? What are you doing now? Reading? Oh!
fishing! And can you catch nothing, silly?... Give me that rod.... No,
I don't want it, after all; let the trout swim in peace.... How pale you
have grown, cousin!"
"You also, Dorothy," I said.
"Oh, I know that; there's a glass in my room, thank you.... I thought
I'd come down.... There is company at the house--some of Colonel
Gansevoort's officers, Third Regiment of the New York line, if you
please, and two impudent young ensigns of the Half-moon Regiment, all on
their way to Stanwix fort."
She seated herself on the deep moss and balanced her back against a
silver-birch tree.
"They're at the house, all these men," she said; "and what do you think?
General Schuyler and his lady are to arrive this evening, and I'm to
receive them, dressed in my best tucker!... and there may be others
with them, though the General comes on a tour of inspection, being
anxious lest disorder break out in this district if he is compelled to
abandon Ticonderoga.... What do you think of that--George?"
My name fell so sweetly, so confidently, from her lips that I looked up
in warm pleasure and found her grave eyes searching mine.
"Make it easier for me," she said, in a low voice. "How can I talk to
you if you do not answer me?"
"I--I mean to answer, Dorothy," I stammered; "I am very thankful for
your kindness to me."
"Do you think it is hard to be kind to you?" she murmured. "What
happiness if I only might be kind!" She hid her face in her hands and
bowed her head. "Pay no heed to me," she said; "I--I thought I could
see you and control this rebel tongue of mine. And here am I with heart
insurgent beating the long roll and every nerve a-quiver with sedition!"
"What are you saying?" I protested, miserably.
She dropped her hands from her face and gazed at me quite calmly.
"Saying? I was saying that these rocks are wet, and that I was silly to
come down here in my Pompadour shoes and stockings, and I'm silly to
stay here, and I'm going!"
And go she did, up over the moss and rock like a fawn, and I after her
to the top of the bank, where she seemed vastly surprised to see me.
"Now I pray you choose which way you mean to stroll," she said,
impatiently. "Here lie two paths, and I will take this straight and
narrow one."
She turned sharply and I with her, and for a long time we walked
swiftly, side by side, exchanging neither word nor glance until at last
she stopped short, seated herself on a mossy log, and touched her hot
face with a crumpled bit of lace and cambric.
"I tell you what, Mr. Longshanks!" she said. "I shall go no farther with
you unless you talk to me. Mercy on the lad with his seven-league boots!
He has me breathless and both hat-strings flying and my shoe-points
dragging to trip my heels! Sit down, sir, till I knot my ribbons under
my ear; and I'll thank you to tie my shoe-points! Not doubled in a
sailor's-knot, silly!... And, oh, cousin, I would I had a sun-mask!...
Now you are laughing! Oh, I know you think me a country hoyden, careless
of sunburn and dust! But I'm not. I love a smooth, white skin as well as
any London beau who praises it in verses. And I shall have one for
myself, too. You may see, to-night, if the Misses Carmichael come with
Lady Schuyler, for we'll have a dance, perhaps, and I mean to paint and
patch and powder till you'd swear me a French marquise!... Cousin, this
narrow forest pathway leads across the water back to the house. Shall we
take it?... You will have to carry me over the stream, for I'll not wet
my shins for love of any man, mark that!"
She tied her pink hat-ribbons under her chin and stood up while I made
ready; then I lifted her from the ground. Very gravely she dropped her
arms around my neck as I stepped into the rushing current and waded out,
the water curling almost to my knee-buckles. So we crossed the
grist-mill stream in silence, eyes averted from each other's faces; and
in silence, too, we resumed the straight and narrow path, now deep with
last year's leaves, until we came to a hot, sandy bank covered with wild
strawberries, overlooking the stream.
In a moment she was on her knees, filling her handkerchief with
strawberries, and I sat down in the yellow sand, eyes following the
stream where it sparkled deep under its leafy screen below.
"Cousin," she said, timidly, "are you displeased?"
"Why?"
"At my tyranny to make you bear me across the stream--with all your
heavier burdens, and my own--"
"I ask no sweeter burdens," I replied.
She seated herself in the sand and placed a scarlet berry between lips
that matched it.
"I have tried very hard to talk to you," she said.
"I don't know what to say, Dorothy," I muttered. "Truly I do desire to
amuse you and make you laugh--as once I did. But the heart of everything
seems dead. There! I did not mean that! Don't hide your face, Dorothy!
Don't look like that! I--I cannot bear it. And listen, cousin; we are to
be quite happy. I have thought it all out, and I mean to be gay and
amuse you.... Won't you look at me, Dorothy?" "Wh--why?" she asked,
unsteadily.
"Just to see how happy I am--just to see that I pull no long
faces--idiot that I was!... Dorothy, will you smile just once?"
"Yes," she whispered, lifting her head and raising her wet lashes.
Presently her lips parted in one of her adorable smiles. "Now that you
have made me weep till my nose is red you may pick me every strawberry
in sight," she said, winking away the bright tears. "You have heard of
the penance of the Algonquin witch?"