A STRANGER
It was at the close of a pleasant afternoon four days after the arrival of
the young men at Camp Roy, and Mrs. Archibald was seated on a camp-stool
near the edge of the lake intently fishing. By her side stood Phil
Matlack, who had volunteered to interpose himself between her and all the
disagreeable adjuncts of angling. He put the bait upon her hook, he told
her when her cork was bobbing sufficiently to justify a jerk, and when she
caught a little fish he took it off the hook. Fishing in this pleasant
wise had become very agreeable to the good lady, and she found pleasures
in camp life which she had not anticipated. Her husband was in a boat some
distance out on the lake, and he was also fishing, but she did not care
for that style of sport; the fish were too big and the boat too small.
A little farther down the lake Martin Sanders sat busily engaged in
putting some water-fowl into the foreground of Margery's sketch. A
critical observer might have noticed that he had also made a number of
changes in said sketch, all of which added greatly to its merits as a
picture of woodland scenery. At a little distance Margery was sitting at
her easel making a sketch of Martin as an artist at work in the woods. The
two young men had gone off with their guns, not perhaps because they
expected to find any legitimate game at that season, but hoping to secure
some ornithological specimens, or to get a shot at some minor quadrupeds
unprotected by law. Another reason for their expedition could probably
have been found in some strong hints given by Mr. Archibald that it was
unwise for them to be hanging around the camps and taking no advantage of
the opportunities for sport offered by the beautiful weather and the
forest.
It was not long before Margery became convinced that the sketch on which
she was working did not resemble her model, nor did it very much resemble
an artist at work in the woods.
"It looks a good deal more like a cobbler mending shoes," she said to
herself, "and I'll keep it for that. Some day I will put a bench under him
and a shoe in his hand instead of a sketch." With that she rose, and went
to see how Martin was getting on. "I think," she said, "those dark ducks
improve the picture very much. They throw the other things back." Then she
stopped, went to one side, and gazed out over the lake. "I wonder," she
said, "if there is really any fun in fishing. Uncle Archibald has been out
in that boat for more than two hours, and he has fished almost every day
since he's been here. I should think he would get tired of it."
"Oh no," said Martin, looking up with animation. "If you know how to fish,
and there is good sport, you never get tired of it."
"I know how to fish," said Margery, "and I do not care about it at all."
"You know how to fish?" said Martin. "Can you make a cast with a fly?"
"I never tried that," said she. "But I have fished as Aunt Harriet does,
and it is easy as can be."
"Oh," said he, "you don't know anything about fishing unless you have
fished with a fly. That is the only real sport. It is as exciting as a
battle. If you would let me teach you how to throw a fly, I am sure you
would never find fishing tiresome, and these woods would be like a new
world to you."
"Why don't you do it yourself, then?" she asked.
"Because I am paid to do other things," he replied. "We are not sent here
simply to enjoy ourselves, though I must say that I--" And then he
suddenly stopped. "I wish you would let me teach you fly-fishing. I know
you would like it."
Margery looked at the eager face turned towards her, and then she gazed
out over the water.
"Perhaps I might like it," she said. "But it wouldn't be necessary for you
to take that trouble. Uncle Archibald has two or three times asked me to
go out with him, and of course he would teach me how to fish as he does.
Isn't that somebody calling you?"
"Yes," said Martin, rising; "it's Phil. I suppose it's nearly
supper-time."
As they walked towards the camp, Margery in front, and Martin behind her
carrying the drawing-materials and the easel, Margery suddenly turned.
[Illustration: "'THEY THROW THE OTHER THINGS BACK'"]
"It was very good of you to offer to teach me to fish with flies," she
said, "and perhaps, if Uncle Archibald doesn't want to be bothered, I may
get you to show me how to do it."
The young man's face brightened, and he was about to express his pleasure
with considerable warmth; but he checked himself, and merely remarked that
whenever she was ready he would provide a rod and flies and show her how
to use them.
Mrs. Archibald had gone into the cabin, and Margery went up to Matlack,
who was on his way to the little tent in which the camp cooking was done.
"Did Mrs. Archibald tell you," said she, "that we have invited Mr. Clyde
and Mr. Raybold to supper to-night?"
The guide stopped and smiled. "She told me," said he, "but I don't know
that it was altogether necessary."
"I suppose you mean," said Margery, "that they are here so much; but I
don't wonder; they must do awfully poor cooking for themselves. I don't
suppose they will bring anything back that is good to eat."
"Not at this time of year," said he, "but I shall be satisfied if they
bring themselves home."
"What do you mean by that?" asked Margery, quickly.
"Well," said Matlack, "I don't doubt the bicycle fellow will always come
back all right, but I'm afeard about the other one. That bicycle chap
don't know no more about a gun than he does about makin' bread, and I
wouldn't go out huntin' with him for a hundred dollars. He's just as
likely to take a crack at his pardner's head as at anything else that's
movin' in the woods."
"That is dreadful!" exclaimed Margery.
"Yes, it is," returned the guide; "and if I had charge of their camp he
wouldn't go out with a gun again. But it will be all right in a day or
two. Peter will settle that."
"Mr. Sadler, do you mean?" asked Margery. "What's he got to do with it?"
"He's got everything to do with it," said Matlack. "He's got everything to
do with everything in this part of the country. He's got his laws, and he
sees to it that people stand by them. One of his rules is that people who
don't know how to use guns sha'n't shoot in his camps."
"But how can he know about the people out here in the woods?" asked
Margery.
"I tell you, miss," said Matlack, speaking slowly and decisively, "Peter
Sadler's ways of knowing things is like gas--the kind you burn, I mean. I
was a-visitin' once in a city house, and slept in a room on the top floor,
and there was a leak in the pipe in the cellar, and that gas just went
over the whole house, into every room and closet, and even under the beds,
and I've often thought that that was just like Peter's way of doin' things
and knowin' things. You take my word for it, that bicycle-man won't go out
huntin' many more days, even if he don't shoot his pardner fust."
"He won't go to-morrow," thought Margery; and then she said to Matlack: "I
think we ought to know Mr. Sadler's rules. Has he any more of them?"
"Oh, they ain't very many," said Matlack. "But there's one I think of now,
and that is that no woman shall go out in a boat by herself on this
lake."
"That is simply horrid!" exclaimed Margery. "Women can row as well as
men."
"I don't say they can't," said Matlack. "I'm only tellin' you what Peter's
rules are, and that's one of them."
Margery made no reply, but walked away, her head thrown back a little more
than was usual with her.
"I've got to keep my eye on her," said Matlack to himself, as he went to
the cabin; "she's never been broke to no harness."
* * * * *
Mr. Raybold did not shoot Mr. Clyde, nor did he shoot anything else. Mr.
Clyde did shoot a bird, but it fell into the water at a place where the
shore was very marshy, and it was impossible for him to get it. He thought
it was a heron, or a bittern, or perhaps a fish-hawk, but whatever it was,
both ladies said that it was a great pity to kill it, as it was not good
to eat, and must have been very happy in its life in the beautiful
forest.
"It is very cruel to shoot them when they are not strictly game," said Mr.
Clyde, "and I don't believe I will do it. If I had the things to stuff
them with, that would be different, but I haven't. I believe fishing is
just as much fun, and more sensible."
"I do not!" exclaimed Mr. Raybold. "I hold that hunting is a manly art,
and that a forester's life is as bold and free to him as it is to the
birds in the air. I believe I have the blood of a hunter in me. My voice
is for the woods."
"I expect you will change your voice," thought Margery, "when Mr. Sadler
takes your gun away from you." But she did not say so.
Mr. Archibald stood with his hands in his pockets reflecting. He had hoped
that these two young men were inveterate hunters, and that they would
spend their days in long tramps. He did not at all approve of their
fishing. Fishing could be done anywhere--here, for instance, right at this
very door.
Supper was over, and the five inhabitants of Camps Rob and Roy had seated
themselves around the fire which Martin had carefully built, keeping in
view a cheery blaze without too much heat. Pipes had been filled and
preparations made for the usual evening smoke and talk, when a man was
seen emerging from the woods at the point where the road opened into the
clearing about the camp. It was still light, for these hungry campers
supped early, and the man could be distinctly seen as he approached, and
it was plain that he was not a messenger from Sadler's.
He was rather a large man, dressed in black, and wearing a felt hat with a
wide, straight brim. Hanging by a strap from his shoulder was a small
leather bag, and in his hand he carried a closed umbrella. Advancing
towards the fire, he took off his hat, bowed, and smiled. He wore no
beard, his face was round and plump, and his smile was pleasant.
"Good-evening, ladies and gentlemen," said he, and his voice was as
pleasant as his smile.
"Good-evening," said Mr. Archibald, and then for a moment there was a
pause.
"I presume," said the new-comer, looking about him, "that this is a
camp."
"It is a camp," said Mr. Archibald.
"The fact is so obvious," said the man in black, "that it was really
unnecessary for me to allude to it. May I ask to be allowed to sit down
for a few moments? I am fatigued."
At this juncture Phil Matlack arrived on the scene. "Well, sir," said he,
"have you any business with anybody here? Who do you wish to see?"
"I have no business," said the other, "and--"
"And you are a stranger to everybody here?" interrupted Matlack.
"Yes, but I hope--"
"Now then," said the guide, quickly, "I've got to ask you to move on. This
is one of Peter Sadler's camps, and he has strict rules against strangers
stoppin' in any of them. If you've lost your way, I'll tell you that this
road, if you don't turn to the right or the left, will take you straight
to Sadler's, and there's time enough for you to get there before dark."
"Mr. Matlack," exclaimed Mrs. Archibald, who had risen to her feet, "I
want to speak to you! It's a shame," she said, when the guide had
approached her, "to send that man away without even giving him a chance to
rest himself. He may be a very respectable person on a walking tour."
"I guess he is on a walkin' tour," said Matlack, "and I guess he's a
regular tramp, and there's no orders we've got that's stricter than them
against tramps."
"Well, I don't care who he is," said Mrs. Archibald, "or what your rules
are, but when a perfectly good-mannered man comes to us and asks simply to
be allowed to rest, I don't want him to be driven away as if he were a
stray pig on a lawn. Mr. Archibald, shouldn't he be allowed to rest a
while?"
Her husband rose and approached the stranger. "Where are you going, sir?"
said he.
The man looked at Matlack, at Martin, who stood behind him, and then at
the rest of the company, and after this comprehensive glance he smiled.
"From present appearances," he said, "I think I am going to go."
Mr. Archibald laughed. "When do you expect to get there?" he asked.
"It seems to me," said the other, reflectively, "that I am always going
there, and I suppose I shall have to keep on doing it."
"Look here," said Mr. Archibald, turning to Matlack, "give him some
supper, and let him rest. There will be time enough for him to get to
Sadler's after that. If Sadler has anything to say against it, refer him
to me."
"All right, sir," said Matlack, "if you say so. I'm no harder on my
fellow-bein's than other people, but rules is rules, and it isn't for me
to break them."
"My dear sir," said the stranger to Mr. Archibald, "your words are more
grateful to me than the promise of food. I see that you consider me a
tramp, but it is a mistake. I am not a tramp. If you will allow me, after
I have eaten a little supper--a meal which I must admit I greatly need--I
will explain to you how I happen to be here." And with a bow he walked
towards the table where Matlack and Martin had been eating their supper.
"Do you know what I think he is?" said Mr. Clyde, when Mr. Archibald had
resumed his seat and his pipe. "I believe he is a wandering actor. Actors
always have smoothly shaven faces, and he looks like one."
"Actor!" exclaimed Arthur Raybold. "That's nonsense. He's not in the least
like an actor. Anybody could see by his tread and his air that he's never
been on the stage. He's more like a travelling salesman. The next thing
he'll do will be to pull out of that bag some samples of spool thread or
patent thimbles."
"You are both wrong," said Margery--"entirely wrong. I have been looking
at him, and I believe he is a Methodist minister with a dead horse. They
ride circuits, and of course when their horses die they walk. Just wait a
little, and see if I am not right."
They waited a little, and then they waited a little longer, and they had
begun to be tired of waiting before the stranger finished his meal and
approached the fire. His face was brighter, his smile was more pleasant,
and his step had a certain jauntiness in it.
"I thank you all," he said, "for the very good meal I have just enjoyed. I
am now going to go, but before I start I would like very much--indeed, I
crave it as a favor--to place myself before you in my proper light. May I
have permission to do so, madam and sir?" he said, addressing Mrs. and Mr.
Archibald, but with a respectful glance at the others, as if he would not
ignore any one of them.
"Certainly," said Mrs. Archibald. "Sit down and tell us about yourself."
The stranger seated himself with alacrity a little back from the circle,
and nearer to the young men than to the Archibald party.