"It's my innings now, while Ewart is away," said the Doctor; "Marcia,
will you go skiing to-morrow with me and Cale?"
"Did n't I promise you I would wait till you came?"
"I know you did; but possession, you know, is nine tenths of the law,
and Ewart has been having it all his own way here with you since I
left. He did, however, give me a parting word to look out for you. I
don't see that you need much looking after; a young lady perfectly able
to look out for herself, eh, Mrs. Macleod?"
"Perhaps the circumstances warranted some sort of chaperonage, Doctor,"
said Mrs. Macleod, entering into his fun and frolic as into no one's
else. "As Marcia sets it forth, she was alone, except for you, on the
platform of the junction nine miles from home, with Cale braced in the
pung on the highroad, ready for the horses to bolt."
"Yes," said the Doctor, musing, "the circumstances were slightly out of
the ordinary.--A full bowl, if you please, Marcia."
We were sitting around the hearth in the livingroom on the following
Sunday evening. Porridge had just been brought in and I was dispensing
it. Mr. Ewart's insistence upon Cale's joining us at this hour every
evening, and remaining with us when no guest was present--the Doctor we
counted one of us--had for result that, many an evening, we listened
delighted and interested to his stories of adventure in the new
Northwest. He was, in truth, a man of the woods, a man also of their
moods, and like them showing track and trail, leafy underbrush,
primeval forest trees, and the darling flowers of the forest as well;
but, also, like them, withholding from our eyes the secret springs of
his life. We often wondered if ever he would disclose any one of them.
"A Yankee brother to old Andre," was Jamie's definition of him. He
seldom spoke of matters personal to himself, so seldom that Jamie's
great joke, perpetrated in his mother's presence and mine, was to the
effect that "Ewart and Cale and Marcia are all enlisted in the
reserves, mother; and only you, the Doctor, and I are able to fight in
the open." The full significance of which good-natured raillery I
understood, and answered him accordingly:
"All in good time, Jamie. There is so little to tell, it's worth while
to keep you guessing."
I was serving Cale with his portion of porridge when he spoke,
answering the question put by the Doctor to _me_. Cale had been
gradually appropriating me since my coming, and I had no cause to
resent his right of proprietorship.
"Guess 'twill take two ter hold her up the fust few times; but Marcia's
nimble on her feet; she 'll outstrip us soon. She 's a mighty good one
on snowshoes."
"Ewart taught you, did n't he?" said the Doctor, turning to me and
holding out his bowl the second time. "Just a spoonful more, if you
please. I take it this oatmeal came direct from Scotland, did n't it,
Mrs. Macleod?" She nodded a pleased affirmative.
"Yes, and a fine teacher he is too," I responded heartily. I was
determined the Doctor should not find me backward or awkward when his
friend's name was mentioned. With the thought that to-morrow that
friend would be with me--us--again, I found my spirits rising. It was
hard to repress them. Perhaps the Doctor's keen eye noticed something
in my manner, for he spoke with emphasis:
"Well, something has made you over; there 's no exercise like it in
this northern climate."
"I guess 't ain't all snow-shoeing," said Cale sententiously.
"You 're right, Cale," I said.
"Account for it then, Cale; I 'd like to hear."
"We 'll give Doctor Rugvie the recipe for all the future farm-folks,
won't we?" I nodded understandingly at Cale.
"So we will--so we will," he replied thoughtfully. "Out with it, Cale.
What is it has changed Marcia so?"
"Wal, if you want to know I can give it ter you--a reg'lar tonic to be
taken daily in big doses. It's old-fashioned, mebbe, but genu_ine_,"
he said with so comical an emphasis and inflection that we laughed.
"It can't be beat, you 'll see. Take equal parts of dry clean air, so
bracin' thet sometimes a man feels as if he was walkin' on it, good
food and plenty of it, good comp'ny. Shake 'em well together to get
out the lumps, and mix well in--a good home. I take it thet's about
it, Doctor?"
"Cale, you old Hippocrates," said the Doctor, delighted at Cale's gift
of speech, for he had heard him discourse only on "hosses" when he was
with us the first time, "you 'd be worth three thousand dollars a year
to me as consulting hygienist. Do you want the job?"
"No." He spoke decidedly. "This job 's good enough fer me. I hope 't
will be for life now."
"Ewart's colors again, eh, Jamie?" He turned to Jamie with a lift of
his eyebrows.
"Winning all along the course, Doctor."
"How do you know all that, Cale?" The Doctor dropped his chaffing and
looked over earnestly at Cale beside the chimney-piece.
"Know what?"
"The fact that those special ingredients must be mixed in a good home
to prove so effectual as in Marcia's case?" He turned to examine me.
"How do I know it?" He spoke slowly, almost with hesitation, and
beneath his bushy eyebrows I thought I saw a suspicious glitter in his
small keen gray eyes, but it may have been imagination. "I have n't
always been a lonely man, you know--"
"That's just what I don't know, Cale." The Doctor spoke with the
encouragement of good fellowship, not as one willing or wanting to ask
his confidence, but as one hoping in friendship to receive it. I am
sure we all felt with the Doctor at this moment, for Cale's reticence
had been a matter of concern to Jamie and Mrs. Macleod. But Jamie had
respected his silence.
Cale set his emptied bowl on the tray and sat down again, making
himself comfortable by crossing his legs. He heaved a sigh of
satisfaction. Mrs. Macleod, Jamie and I read that sign; Cale was ready
to expand a little more in the cheerful atmosphere of friends and
fireside. We three knew that what he had to retail would be well worth
hearing. Jamie settled himself in the sofa corner as usual. The
Doctor insisted on carrying the tray to the kitchen.
"Ah, this is good," he said, seating himself by me and spreading his
hands to the blaze. "We shan't be interrupted, and the rest of the
evening is ours. It's a bitter night, too, which, by contrast, makes
this comfort delectable."
We waited, expectant, for Cale.
"You 've been wonderin' now fer 'bout six months, Mis' Macleod, you an'
Jamie, whether I was a married man or not, now, hain't you?" He smiled
as he spoke, the creases about his eyes deepening slowly.
Mrs. Macleod, with an embarrassment we all enjoyed seeing, moved to a
seat beside him; saying gently, if deprecatingly:
"Yes, I could n't help it, Cale."
"How could you, bein' a woman?" he replied as gently. "An' you too,
Marcia?"
"Of course; don't I belong to the weaker sex? But here is Jamie,
although a man--"
"Oh, I say, Marcia, that's not playing fair," Jamie growled at me as if
indifferent; but I knew his curiosity was at the flood, and Cale knew
it too. I feared he might tease without satisfying.
"Yes, I 'm married, Mis' Macleod, an' it seems as if I 'd always been
married."
Jamie's recent remark about Cale's being a widower, grass-widower,
divorce, Mormon, etc., came back to me, and I could hardly keep from
laughing aloud at Mrs. Macleod's look of dismay and amazement.
"I say I'm married, fer you see that once married is always married
with _me_," he repeated emphatically.