ARTHUR’S ADVENTURE
It was after eleven, a cloudless night and a beautiful one. A great
white moon filled the sky with white light and covered the earth with
a thin film of silver. The barn door opened slowly and noiselessly.
Arthur emerged. Padding the grass as quickly as possible, he moved in
the direction of the trail; turned into it. For a while he proceeded
swiftly. But once out of hearing of the Little House he moved more
slowly and without any efforts to deaden his footsteps. That his
excursion had a purpose was apparent from the way that, without pause
or stay of any kind, he made steadily forward. It was obvious that the
Magic Mirror was his objective.
He dipped into the Bosky Dingle and there, perhaps because the air was
so densely laden with flower perfumes, he stopped. Only for an instant
however. After sniffing the air like some wild creature he went on.
Presently he came out on the shore of the lake. Taking a key from his
pocket, he opened the little boathouse in which, since the accident,
the canoes were nightly locked; pulled one of them out; shoved it into
the water. He seated himself in it and started to paddle across the
pond.
Curiously enough, however, he did not strike straight across the Magic
Mirror. He kept close to the edge as though afraid of observation;
slipped whenever he could under overhanging boughs; took advantage
of every bit of low-drooping bush. So stealthy and so silent was his
progress indeed that from the middle of the lake he might not have
been observed at all. This was however a slow method. It was nearly
midnight when he reached the point about opposite the boathouse, which
was apparently his objective. He stopped short of it, however; tied
the canoe to a tree trunk, just where a half-broken bough concealed
it completely; stepped lightly ashore. Apparently he had landed here
before. There developed, under the moonlight, a little side trail which
led in the direction of the main trail. He took it.
Now his movements were attended by much greater caution. He went
slowly and he put his feet down with the utmost care even in the
cleared portions of the trail. Wherever underbrush intervened, he took
great care to skirt it or, with a long quiet leap or a prolonged
straddle, to surmount it so that no sound came from the process. It
was surprising, in a boy so lumbering and with feet and hands so
large, with what delicacy he picked his way. Indeed, he moved with
extraordinary speed and a surprising quiet.
A little distance up the trail, he turned again. This time, he took a
path so little worn that nothing but a full moon would have revealed
its existence. Arthur struck into it with the air of one who has been
there before; followed it with a perfect confidence. At times, it
ceased to be a path at all; merged with underbrush and low trees. But
he must, on an earlier excursion, have blazed a pioneer way through
those obstacles because each time he made without hesitation for the
only spot which offered egress; emerged on the other side with the
same quiet and dispatch. He went on and on, proceeding with a greatly
increased swiftness but with no diminution of his caution.
After a while, he came into ordered country. Obviously he had struck
the cleared land that, for so many acres, surrounded the Big House. Now
he moved like a shadow but at a smart clip. He had the confident air
of one familiar with the lay of the land. After a while, he struck a
wide avenue of trees--Mr. Westabrook had taught him its French name,
an _allee_. This was one of five, all beginning at the Big House and
ending with a fountain or a statue. Arthur proceeded under the shade of
the trees until he came out near the Big House. Then he swung himself
up among the branches of a tree; found a comfortable crotch; seated
himself, his back against the trunk. With a forked stick he parted the
branches; watched.
The moon was riding high now and, as the night was still cloudless, it
was pouring white fire over the earth. The great lawn in front of the
Big House looked like silvered velvet. Half way down its length, like
a jet of shredded crystal, the fountain still played into its white
marble basin. Out of reach of its splashing flood, as though moored
against its marble sides, four swans, great feathery heaps of snow,
slept with their heads under their wings. As Arthur stared a faint
perturbation stirred the air, as though somewhere at the side of the
house--unseen by him--a motor pulsed to rest. Presently a high, slim
dog--Arthur recognized it to be a Russian boar-hound; white, pointed
nose, long tail--came sauntering across the lawn. He poked his nose
into the basin of the fountain. One of the swans made a strange, low
sleepy cry; moved aimlessly about for an instant, then came to rest
and to sleep, apart from his companions. The hound moved into the
shrubbery; returned to the lawn.
As though the swan’s call or the dog’s nosing had evoked it, one of the
white peacocks emerged from the woods, spreading his tail with a superb
gesture of pride and triumph. The long white hound considered the
exhibition gravely. The peacock, consciously proud, sauntered over the
velvet surface of the lawn for a while alone. Then a companion joined
him and another. Finally, there were three great snowy sails floating
with a majestic movement across the grass. The display ended as soon
as it began. One of the trio suddenly returned to the treey shade; the
other two immediately followed. The lawn was deserted by all except the
fountain, which kept up untiringly its exquisite plaint. The boar-hound
sped noiselessly towards the house.
Arthur waited for a moment; then he slipped down from the tree; made
back over the way in which he had come. But he did not pursue the same
trail. He made a detour which would take him further around the lake.
And if he seemed cautious before, now he was caution itself. He moved
so slowly and carefully that no human could have known of his coming,
save that he had eyes, or ears or a nose superhumanly acute. And Arthur
had his reward.
Suddenly he came to an opening, which gave, past a little covert, on a
glade. And at the end of the glade, a group of deer were feeding in the
moonlight. Arthur did not move after his discovery of them; indeed he
seemed scarcely to breathe. There were nearly a dozen. The bucks and
does were pulling delicately at the brush-foliage; the fawns browsed
on the grass. In spite of Arthur’s caution, instinct told them that
something was wrong. The largest buck got it first. He stopped feeding,
lifted his head, sniffed the air suspiciously. Then one of the does
caught the contagion. She too lifted her head and for what, though
really a brief moment, seemed a long time, tested the atmosphere with
her dilated nostrils. Then the others, one after another, showed signs
of restlessness. Only the little fawns continued to stand, feeding
placidly at their mothers’ sides. But apparently the consensus of
testimony was too strongly in favor of retreat. For an instant, the
adults moved anxiously. Then suddenly as though the word of alarm had
been whispered into every velvety ear--dash! Flash! There came a series
of white gleams as all their short tails went up. And then the glade
was as empty as though there were no deer within a hundred miles.
Arthur went on. And now, as though he hoped for still another reward
of his patience, he moved with even greater care. But for a long time,
nothing happened. In the meantime clouds came up. Occasionally they
covered the moon. Then, the light being gone, the great harbors and the
wide straits between the clouds seemed to fill with stars. The moon
would start to emerge; her light would silver everything. The smaller
stars would retreat leaving only a few big ones to flare on.
Such an obscuration had come. And while the moon struggled as though
actually trying to pull herself free, a second cloud interposed itself
between her and the earth. The world turned dark--almost black.
The effect on Arthur was however to make him pick his way with an
even greater care. The trail here was not a blind one. It was the one
that ran presently into the path that led from the gypsy camp to the
Moraine. Ahead, Arthur could just make out the point where the trails
crossed.
Suddenly the moon came out with a great vivid flare. It was as though
an enormous searchlight had been turned on the earth. Something--it
seemed the mere ghost of a sound--arrested Arthur’s footsteps. He
stopped; stood stock still; listened; watched.
Something or somebody was coming up the trail from the direction of
the gypsy camp. In a moment he would pass the opening. It was human
apparently, for the sound was of human footsteps. They came nearer and
nearer. A straight, light figure with hair that gleamed, as though
burnished, passed into the moonlight.... It was Silva Burle.