CHAPTER VIII.

ACORNS AND ACORN-CUPS.

One afternoon, a day or two later, Rollo had begged for a walk in

the woods; proposing that they should 'begin to get acquainted

with each other.' The trees were beginning to shew crimson and

gold and brown and purple, and the October light wove all hues

into one regal drapery of nature, not richer than it was harmonious.

The warm air was spicy; pines and hemlocks gave out resinous

sweetness, and ferns and lichens and mosses and other wild things

lent their wild wood flavour. It was rare in the Chickaree woods

that day. Fallen leaves rustled under foot, squirrels chattered in the

branches, partridges whirred away. Down through the shadow and

the light they went, those two, talking irregularly of all sorts of

things. Rollo was skilled in all wild wood lore and very fond of it.

He could talk deliciously on this theme, and he did; telling Wych

Hazel about trees and woodwork and hunter's sports and

experiences, and then of lichens and the rocks they grew on.

Into the depths of the ravine they plunged, and then over a ridge

into another; away from paths and roads and the possibility of

wheels and riders. Then Rollo found a mossy dry bank where

Wych Hazel might sit down and rest, with her back against the

stem of a red oak. He roved about gathering acorns under the wide

spreading boughs of the tree, and finally came and threw himself

down at her feet.

'This is pleasant,' he said, looking along the brown slope, brown

with mosses and fallen leaves, on which the wonderful light came

so richly and so tenderly. 'This is pleasant! Is the sense of

possession a strong one with you?'

'I love my woods—dearly! I never had much else—that was my

own—to care about.'

'I believe it is strong in me. I can enjoy other people's things—but I

think I like them better when they are my own. I fancy it is a man's

weakness.'

'What did you mean by "beginning to get acquainted?" ' said

Hazel, from under the protecting shadow of her broad hat, and

with her mind so full of unanswered questions that it seemed as if

some of them must come out, even if they did get her into

difficulties. 'I thought you _thought_ you knew me pretty

thoroughly.'

He rolled himself over on the bank, so that he could look up at her

comfortably, and answered laughing,

'What did you think about me?'

'O I knew about you,' said Hazel.

'How long ago?'

'Different things at different times. Mr. Rollo,'—with a little blush

and hesitation,—'will you tell me how you knew the size of my

finger?'

'Let me look at it.' And he took the little hand, tried the ring up and

down the finger, kissed it, and finally let it go.

'It fits—' was all his remark.

If _that_ is the way you are always ready to help me!—Hazel

thought. But as no such idea could venture out, and as the next

question that stood ready was altogether too much "in line," a

squirrel up in the tree had it all to himself for a few minutes. Rollo

waited for the next question to come, but as it tarried he remarked

quietly,

'You may remember, I had a glove of yours in my possession.'

'_You_. Where did you get it?'

'I picked it up. I have often done that for ladies' gloves;—but I

never kept one before.'

'You picked it up?' Hazel repeated slowly. 'I _never_ lose my gloves.

And you are not one of those silly people who steal them. Where

did you pick it up, Mr. Rollo?'

A sort of shadow crossed his face, as he answered, 'One night—in

the woods—where it was a mere little point of light in the gloom.'

'O!' she said eagerly, looking up,—'did you? that night? I

remember. And you kept it. _Then_, Mr. Rollo?—' The soft,

surprised intonation of the last three words left them anything but

incoherent.

'Well?—' said he smiling.

'I wish I had known you had it. That glove gave me a great deal of

trouble.'

'Why?'

'I was so much afraid it had got into the wrong hands. But when

was _this_ done?' she said, eyes and words going back to the ring

again. 'Not since—the other day?'

'Hardly! No. It was done last winter.' And Rollo's eyes flashed and

laughed at her, a kind of soft lightning. Hazel laughed the least bit

too, in return; but then her head went down as low as it gracefully

could, and under the shadow of her broad hat she questioned.—

Had she betrayed herself _then_, to him? What has she said? what

had she done, that night? Her face rested on her hand in the very

attitude of perplexity.

'Come,' said Rollo, 'you are finding out a good deal about me that

you did not know before. You had better go on.'

'Did you buy up the whole Hollow?' said Hazel abruptly. 'All the

way from the mills up to Gyda's—Mrs. Boërresen's—cottage?'

'No,' said Rollo, with a somewhat surprised recognition of the

change of subjects; 'not yet. I have obtained possession only of the

mills which were held by Morton himself. Those are the two

cotton mills, and one of the woollen mills, which had lately

reverted to him from the closing of the lease term and the inability

of the former lessee to make any agreement for a new one. Further

down the Hollow below me, lie the woollen mills of Paul

Charteris.'

'And there is nothing above you yet, but the water and the land?'

'No. Nor like to be. The head of the valley is owned by Gov.

Powder; and he has neither means nor inclination to do anything

with it. It would be better for me to own it, though. Why,

Hazel?'—with a smile.

'Why had you better own it?'

'I want to get control of the whole Hollow as fast as I can; and

then, I want to keep the control.'

'Well, but why _don't_ you then?' said Hazel. 'What is the use of

waiting?'

'I am not ready to build more mills yet. And there are other

reasons, Hazel. Mr. Falkirk thinks I am jeopardizing my money. I

do not think so, nor intend it. I believe in the long run I shall

prosper. But for the present, and for awhile, I shall be at a

disadvantage, it may be; because I am paying larger wages and

receiving less profits than my neighbours, and I must keep capital

free to bear me and my workmen out through the time of trial—if

it is to come. I mean never to have so much capital embarked in

the mills, that I should have nothing to carry my hands and myself

through a dead calm. You see—' Rollo continued with again a

smile,—'being a careful navigator, I mean to carry the wind in my

pocket.'

Hazel followed his words with attentive eyes as well as ears, and

then went off into a brown study, with her chin on her hand.

'Well,' said Rollo, 'what is all this catechism for?'

'It is good practice,' she said, coming out of her abstraction with a

laugh. 'I suppose you never knew before that there are two sides to

a catechism?'

'Go on,' said Rollo. 'This is the beginning.'

'Beginning—of what?'

'My catechism.'

'It is the end of it, for the present. But it seems to me, Mr. Rollo,—

that is, I know it seems to you that I am talking great nonsense,'

said Hazel breaking off again. 'Do you live up at Mrs. Boërresen's

all the time?'

'For the most part—except when I take a run down to my old

home. But yes, I _live_ at Gyda's.'

Unspoken questions came up in her eyes, but the words came not,

and the eyes themselves went down to the crimson leaf she was

thoughtfully drawing through her fingers. Rollo was silent too.

Half sitting half lying on the leafy slope, he was busying himself

with gathering together all the acorns and acorn-cups within his

reach, examining them carefully one by one, and yet with a face

that grew grave and became abstracted. More time passed than he

knew probably, and Hazel had leisure to come out of her own

abstractions and wonder at his. He did not look as if he

remembered her presence; and yet a sensible woman has no

objection to such indications in a man's face,—even a man that

loves her,—as Hazel saw now; the grave purpose, the manly

power, the thoughtful reserve. When at last he spoke and looked

up, he was grave still.

'Have you any idea what you are to expect, Hazel?'

'Expect!'—Then rather slowly, 'I believe I am not given to

expectations.'

Then he smiled, but went on, 'Do you remember our talk that

evening, last winter?'

'Of course.'

'Then you know in what service I have taken a commission?'

'I know.—'

The quiet reserved voice seemed suddenly to lose its flexibility,

and the crimson leaf came fluttering down from between her

fingers.

'Are you content, Hazel? This fact will make my life more or less

what people call singular.'

'But you were always called that,' she said without looking at him.

'Was I? It will be in another way now, Wych. How will you like

it?'

'It? your life?—very well, I suppose. If I like you,—' she answered

frankly, though in the same deliberate, abstracted way.

'But a soldier must obey orders, and has no choice. Are you

content to go with me, upon such conditions?'

She turned upon him with eyes that seemed half inquiry, half

surprise, her colour flitting back and forth in its vivid way. Then

she rose suddenly to her feet, and setting her back against the tree

and dropping her folded hands, stood looking down at him.

'Will you tell me exactly what you mean?' she said.

He rose too and stood beside her.

'It would never do for me to go one way, and my wife another.'

From under the shield of her drooping hat Hazel answered.

'Suppose you have to meet that difficulty? Suppose I should say I

am _not_ content?'

'I will tell you, when you have said it.'

'No,' she said,—'before. I am not content with anything till you do.'

'I should know in that case I had something to do, Hazel.'

'That is waiving the question.'

'No, for that something would be—to make you willing.'

She unclasped her hands, putting behind her round the tree.

'How, Mr. Rollo?'

'I suppose'—demurely—'I should use my influence.'

'Twenty questions!' said Hazel. 'If I were not content, it would

show that you had not much influence to use.'

'Are you content, Hazel?'

'How are you going to be singular?' she said abruptly.

'It's my turn'—said he smiling, 'Hazel, are you content?'

'But you always ask such—unreasoning—questions.'

'Give me a reasonable answer."

'I am never anything but reasonable,' she said; 'it is you. You want

to know if I am content to have you true to yourself,—that is about

the point, is it not? I think, on the whole, I am.'

'Will you help me?'

'So far as I can. But remember, that may not be very far.'

'I want your help a dozen ways at this moment.'

'Would you like to specify just a few?'

'You will see, as soon as you begin to get the run of what I am

doing. I want counsel—I want coöperation. I want you to set me

upon some of the woman's work that a man does not readily find

out for himself. I am going to take you off to the Hollow as soon

as you are quite strong enough.'

'I should think you would prefer to have me set myself upon the

"woman's work," ' said Wych Hazel.

He smiled provokingly and observed that there was enough for her

and him too.

'Well—' said Hazel, with a certain postponement in her voice.

'Well, what?'

'There is no "what" in sight at present, Mr. Rollo.'

'I shall have to give you lessons severely! Look at that acorn.—

Don't you like acorns?'

'Very much. But best, I think, in the spring, when they are

struggling into life,—shooting up and shooting down,—shewing

their possibilities. They are lovely then, with their little crumpled

pink leaves.'

'That's the next stage. I want to make my life like that acorn as it is

now, full rounded to its utmost fruitage. So many lives are like

these empty cups,—with the fruit lost.'

Hazel balanced one of the cups on the tip of her finger,

thoughtfully. 'I suppose they are,' she said. 'Good for nothing but to

look at.'

'Do you think such lives good to look at?'

'Sometimes pretty to look at. Just as this cup is, till you remember

that it is empty.'

'Hazel, did you study the lesson I gave you last winter?'

'I have studied it. Yes.'

'And the result? —'

Looking down at the olive moss tufts at her feet, she answered,

slowly,

'I am not—quite—sure.'

'You can talk just as well if you are resting,' said Rollo; and he

pulled her down to her place again, and threw himself on the bank

beside her. 'Now go on,' he said, 'and tell me all about it.'

But "all about it" was a great deal. As the fireside musings, the

long night watches, the fears and questionings and perplexities

came up one by one and flung their shadows over her face, Hazel

answered,

'No, I cannot do that.'

'I am the very person to help your perplexities.'

'But that is assuming you know what they are!'

'Never mind. You will find it is rue. What makes the confusion,

Wych?'

The voice was a temptation; manly and clear, and thrilled through

with a hidden tenderness in the last words. Rollo was not studying

her face, but piling up his acorns on the ground between them.

'Everything helped make it.'

'Yes. Well?'

'It was not "well" at all,' said Hazel. 'I do not like tangles. And this

was unmitigated. I could not pull out one single smooth thread,

and present it for your inspection, Mr. Rollo.'

'Unpractical,' said Rollo. 'Make some statement of what you do

know.'

'Statements are not precisely in my line,' said Hazel. 'And I am not

the least in the habit of telling all I know.'

'Hitherto.'

Hazel did not immediately answer. She sat watching the heap of

acorns and the hand that was arranging them, a quiet smile upon

her lips. What had she said to Josephine about "diamonds from a

hand that you do not love"?—whereas even acorns, from a hand

that—

With a sudden scarlet flush she turned away, and bending down on

the other side, began to gather mosses on her own account.

'Come, Hazel,' said her companion—'the tangle has got to be

encountered, and I think we shall go into it most safely together.'

'I could not tell you,' she said, 'and you could not tell me. Nobody

but oneself can disentangle "why" and "whether" and "what".'

Rollo cast a quick glance up at her, which probably brought him

all the intelligence he wanted; for he only remarked audaciously

that she 'would know better some day.'

'I could not make you understand, Mr. Rollo. And unless you

understood, you would just think there could not be room in my

head for a single spark of sense.'

'You don't know what I think of your head. Well—if you see a

little shoot of confidence in me starting up in your mind,

encourage it, Hazel!'

'I shall never see it, Mr. Rollo.'

'Nor encourage it, of course. Well—I am in a bad way.'

'Things pass the acorn stage, you know,' she said, laughing a little.

'Yes. Do you remember my having once had the honour to remark

to you, that I objected to be treated as an old guardian?'

'No,' said Hazel,—'you asked me if I expected to do it. But perhaps

that meant the same thing in those days.'

'Perhaps it did. What do you think of it in these days?'

Hazel made a sudden transition.

'Will you like to come and go chestnutting in these woods, Mr.

Rollo? The Powders all say that I promised them such a day,

though I am sure I do not remember it.'

'I don't remember it,' said Rollo lazily.

'As you were not here when I am said to have made the promise, I

do not see how you should. But it is needful I should ask you, or

Mr. Falkirk will ask—as he did once before upon you non-

appearance—if you have offended me.'

'Is the day fixed?'

'No. But they say I have promised.'

'Then there's no help for it, I know. Hazel—when you and I had a

ride home in the dark one night, a year ago, did I misunderstand

you then?'

Silence, instant and deep. Hazel took some time to frame her

answer.

'What did you understand?'

The supreme flash of Rollo's eyes was instantly hidden by the

lowered eyelids; and there was no laughter even in his voice as he

answered,

'We understand each other now.'

They took their way home again through the glowing woodland

and warm, still air, slowly and lingeringly. Near the house, Dane

asked when Wych Hazel would go to the Hollow?

'The first day I can. Perhaps I had better wait one day more.'

'To-day is Friday. Yes, and I cannot be here to-morrow, either.'

'It is one of your busy days?'

'One of my busy days, and nights. It is my Exhibition evening. I

cannot come here Sunday, either, Hazel. Monday you will be fit

for a ride; and we will lunch with Gyda.'

'I was invited to go to the Reading Saturday night!' said Hazel with

a half laugh, 'and I refused.'

'You had better. Don't _you_ come, to complicate matters.'

'What should I complicate!—I am the most straightforward person

going.'

'I am getting too much distinguished society. But I want to talk to

you about that institution, Hazel. I have a great deal to talk to you

about. It is very singular that you have nothing to say to me.'

Arrived at the house, Dane lingered awhile in the red room,

surveying its pretty tokens of pretty life, where among other things

the two little Catskill sketches in dainty wooden frames hung upon

the walls; but he refused an invitation to stay and dine with Mr.

Falkirk.

'I cannot. Wych, I must get to the Hollow before the mills are

closed.'

She gave him a grave, wistful look, but said nothing.

'I shall open a shorter cut, across fields, between here and the

Hollow. It might save four or five miles. Gov. Powder owns some

of the ground, the Kingslands, and I think one or two more, have

the rest. I can easily manage it. Twelve miles is too far between

you and me,' he added smiling.

'Yes.'

He stood looking at her; perhaps considering what the proper

distance would be, or rather not be; and also probably thinking that

it was too soon to trouble her with that question, for he presently

came forward silently to bid her good-bye, and was off.

Miss Wych was still for a few minutes, till the last hoof-beat had

died away, and then began slowly to mount the stairs. And as the

tired little feet went on, one step at a time, of a sudden she burst

forth into one of her scraps of song—the first time for many a long

day. Apparently her talk with Josephine the other day, was still

running in her head, for these were the words that came:

"His very tread has music in't,

"As he comes up the stair."

—'I wonder what sort of stair-carpets they have in that part of

Scotland!' she said to herself. And then suddenly realizing how

very full-fledged her thoughts had become, Hazel blushed

furiously, all alone as she was, and rushed up the remaining stairs

so fast, that there was nothing for it but to drop into the nearest

chair and take a lecture from Mrs. Bywank, before she was able to

get ready for Mr. Falkirk and dinner.

The most remarkable thing about Miss Kennedy's dress lately, was

that her fingers were so loaded with rings that the very glare would

have hindered Mr. Falkirk's distinguishing any particular

splendour.