MRS. BRUIN
Although the girls had talked so late of Aunt Anna’s story and the
strange thought they had concerning it, they were up early next morning
and still discussing the matter busily as they prepared breakfast.
“The question is,” said Nancy, plying her egg-beater with vigor, “shall
we tell Aunt Anna what we think?”
“If we should be mistaken, and John Herrick should turn out to be, oh,
just anybody, she would be so disappointed. Perhaps we had better wait.”
They had hardly finished breakfast when there was a knock at the door,
followed by Dr. Minturn’s tall presence on the threshold. He inspected
his patient and announced a very great improvement, and then said he
must go on at once, since he hoped to visit the town and start back over
the mountain that same day. Beatrice walked down with him through the
pines, for he had tied his horse at the gate.
“Your aunt seems less worried and far more cheerful than before,” he
said.
“Yes,” assented Beatrice, “I think it is because she has told us at last
why she came.” She went on to give the substance of Aunt Anna’s story.
“I surmised it was something like that,” he observed when he had heard
her to the end, “and I have been thinking about it ever since. I don’t
know any man in this neighborhood by the name of Deems but—I believe he
is not so far away after all.”
Beatrice looked at him steadily.
“I believe that too,” she said.
Dr. Minturn stopped, for they had reached the bars, but he made no move
to mount his horse.
“I’m going to give you some advice that isn’t medical,” he began. “I
think more of John Herrick than of any other man in the world, barring
my own son, perhaps, and I love Hester as though she were mine. And you
three here, your aunt and your sister and you, I have come to think of
you all as better friends than I had ever thought to make again. Your
aunt—why, she has more pluck in one inch of that little sick body of
hers than I have in my whole big self, and her girls aren’t far behind
her. I’d like to see her have what she wants, I’d like to see you all
happy.”
He drew a long breath and spoke lower.
“Whatever you think is or isn’t so,” he warned, “don’t—press anybody too
hard, don’t push some one by letting him know too quickly that you have
guessed who he is. Your aunt is eager and overwrought; who wouldn’t be,
after ten years of anxiety and sorrow? She and you might be in too much
of a hurry and ruin everything. John thinks he is safe under his assumed
name and with your aunt too ill to be about. He knows who you are and
perhaps why you have come, but he can’t yet make up his mind to conquer
his stubborn pride. Give him time, that is all I say, give him time. He
rode away into the hills the first day he saw you, but he must have
thought things out up there in the mountains, for he came back again.
But he can’t come all the way yet.”
“Do you think he ever will?” Beatrice asked anxiously.
“Yes, I think he will. Does your aunt have any suspicion of who he is?”
“I am sure she hasn’t,” Beatrice declared. “She thinks of him as
Hester’s father, some one too old to be her brother. No, she doesn’t
dream it.”
“Then don’t tell her and don’t tell him,” he urged. “Wait until John is
ready to tell her himself. You must go gently with a man who has been
hurt to his very soul.”
Beatrice held out her brown hand and the doctor shook it solemnly. She
watched him ride away; then returned to the house to saddle Buck and set
off presently up the mountain. Her mind was full of new, excited hopes
that seemed to dance to the music of Buck’s flying feet.
Nancy, meanwhile, was not thinking so much of their new problem. She had
the faculty of being completely absorbed in the object in hand and
to-day that object was a cake. Christina had given her a Scandinavian
recipe, dwelling so much on the unusual deliciousness of the result that
Nancy could scarcely wait to try it. With the greatest of care she mixed
and measured and weighed and stirred.
“It is rather a long cake,” she reflected after she had spent an hour
combining the ingredients, but she felt certain that the completed dish
would amply repay her toil.
She had just got it into the oven when a knock sounded on the kitchen
door to announce the boy whom Hester had sent with a basket of eggs.
“Thank you, Olaf,” she said as he set them down; then flushed since she
had not meant to speak his name. The color flooded his face also. “I beg
your pardon,” she added quickly. “We have been guessing who you were,
but we didn’t mean to pry into any secrets.”
“It does not matter,” he assured her. “My mother and John Herrick made
me promise that I would not go to the village while things were so
upset, since he says there is no use in stirring up bad feeling again.
Your sister’s letter caught me in San Francisco, just as I was to sail;
but I couldn’t help coming home, once I knew that my mother really
wanted to see me. But I don’t like this hiding away, and I only agreed
to it because I would do anything John Herrick says.”
Old Tim came in to put away his tools and to sit down upon the doorstep
for a moment to rest.
“I can’t think of another thing to do to this cabin,” he confessed. “I
have to own that it is time for me to go home.”
He was just getting up to take his leave when a step was heard on the
path and Dabney Mills came around the corner of the house, smiling and
quite unabashed by any memories of his departure some days before.
“I heard voices,” he said, “so I just thought I wouldn’t disturb any one
by knocking at the front door and would——”
“Would see if you couldn’t overhear something,” Tim cut him short.
“Well, we’re not speaking of anything you shouldn’t hear, so our talk
wouldn’t interest you.”
He walked away leaving the intruding youth looking after him in
speechless indignation. Nancy turned to the stove to look at her cake.
“I don’t know this gentleman,” she heard Dabney say, staring at Olaf,
and she heard Tim reply over his shoulder, “Nor do you need to know him,
so far as I can see.”
“I heard you talk of going berrying the other day, Miss Nancy,” Olaf
said, coming to the door and quite disregarding the inquisitive
reporter. “This is the best sort of a day for it, and I can show you
just where to go. Your sister is coming up the hill, so your aunt won’t
be left alone. Wouldn’t you like to come?”
“I would indeed! Will you excuse us?” she added politely to Dabney
Mills, to which he gave a gruff assent and stalked out of sight around
the corner of the house. She felt anxious to escape from his questions,
and was sure that, in the hands of the determined Beatrice, he could
find out very little. She fetched her hat and her basket and set off
gaily, since to look for berries had been a cherished project for some
days.
“If I could just square off and hit him,” Olaf said regretfully looking
back for a final glare at Dabney, “that might settle him once for all.”
“No,” Nancy returned wisely, “it would only begin a lot of trouble that
would involve more people than yourself.”
“So John Herrick says,” the boy agreed with a sigh, “though it still
seems to me the simplest way out of it.”
They scrambled up the hill, out beyond the shadow of the pines to the
open pasture land where the trees had been cut, where the new growth was
springing up, and where among the old stumps the berry bushes and vines
matted the ground. It was a hot summer day, very still, except for the
grasshoppers singing shrilly, but not with that peaceful drowsy heat
that Nancy knew. The air was far too bracing for any one to feel lazy or
sleepy as on the summer days at home. The blue distances shimmered, the
sky was cloudless, everything seemed to stir and throb with the energy
of living. The baskets filled rapidly as the two went from one patch to
another, climbing higher and higher up the mountain. Suddenly Olaf
glanced over his shoulder and then turned about quickly.
“Just look there,” he said in a low voice.
Something like a big black dog was moving among the bushes, its smooth
round back showing now and again above the tangled thicket. Presently,
as it crossed an open space, Nancy saw it more clearly, with its small
head, clumsy feet, and odd shuffling walk. She had never seen a bear at
large before.
“Oh,” she breathed, and dropped her basket.
“There is no need to be afraid,” Olaf assured her. “A bear won’t bother
you at all if you leave him alone. They have ugly tempers, and if you
once make them angry they will follow you a long way to get even. But
this one won’t hurt us.”
The creature, at first quite unconscious of their presence, went slowly
along, snuffing among the roots, turning over stones to lick up the ants
beneath them. Finally observing them, it stood on its hind legs to peer
over a clump of bushes, looking so much like a shy, but inquisitive boy
that Nancy laughed aloud.
“Oh, see, there’s another, two little ones,” she exclaimed.
Olaf looked where she pointed and took up the baskets hastily. “If there
are cubs it is quite a different thing,” he said quickly. “A mother bear
never does anything you think she will. It would be better for us to
go.”
The bear stood watching their hasty departure for a moment; then, with a
grunt, dropped on all fours again and turned once more to the pursuit of
her dinner. Nancy, looking back, caught sight of the fat, round cubs as
they came scampering forward to run at their mother’s heels. One of them
tumbled over and rolled upon the grass, whereupon its mother turned to
lick it affectionately and give it a friendly cuff with her big paw.
Evidently she considered the incident, so far as human beings were
concerned, as being quite closed.
Beatrice and Hester were at the cabin when the two berry pickers
returned. They declared that they had seen nothing of Dabney Mills, who
had apparently taken himself off. They had a hilarious lunch, during
which Beatrice imitated the airs and graces of the insistent reporter,
while Nancy, as she waited on the table, assumed the shuffling
mannerisms of Joe Ling. Aunt Anna declared herself so worn out with
laughing at them that she retired early for her nap, and Beatrice
presently, after Hester was gone, went upstairs to sleep also. Nancy
spent a large part of the afternoon finishing her cake, for even the
icing, with its alternate layers of brown and white was a work of art in
itself. Finally the task was completed, however, and the dish set to
cool on the window-ledge. When at last it became time to think about the
evening meal she discovered that she needed fresh kindling for the fire
and went out to the shed to fetch it. She opened the door and started
back with a cry of surprise. Seated on the straw, with his back to the
wall and his note-book on his knee, was Dabney Mills.
“I heard that fellow, Olaf you call him, say that he was coming back at
four o’clock with the milk, so I came back to have a word with him when
we shouldn’t be disturbed. I’ve been waiting quite a while. He’s late,”
he declared crossly. He got up and walked stiffly to the door.
“Say,” he exclaimed, “What’s that beside your window. I do believe it’s
a bear!” His tone was one of undisguised dismay.
“Where?” said Nancy, running out after him. “Oh, my cake, my cake!” she
cried in distress.
The same creature that she and Olaf had seen when they were berrying had
come down the hill and was running an investigating and appreciative
tongue over the icing of the precious cake. She had been used, perhaps,
to prowl about the cabin when it was empty and was now making herself
very much at home. Although plainly pleased with her refreshment, she
dropped down when she heard their voices and began to shamble off toward
the sheltering underbrush.
“Let her go quietly,” Nancy warned, “don’t disturb her, don’t, _don’t_!”
Dabney Mills plucking up courage at the animal’s willingness to depart,
was attempting to speed her going by throwing stones after her. Picking
up a square block of wood from beside the shed, he flung it with
unfortunate success, in spite of Nancy’s catching at his arm. It caught
the bear full on the side of the head.
She turned, bared all her teeth in an angry snarl, and rushed upon them.
Without ceremony they fled, past the shed, away from the house, and up
the hill. To reach the safety of the cabin, they would have to pass by
her, which at the moment was unthinkable. Therefore, as the angry
creature climbed steadily after them, they were forced further and
further up toward the open spaces of the mountain.
“I’m not afraid. She won’t hurt us,” Nancy kept telling herself, though
her teeth were chattering and her breath was coming short. Bewildered as
she was, she still had presence of mind enough to try to bend their
course in a circle so that at last they might come nearer home. But no
such coolness possessed her companion. Excited, almost hysterical with
terror, he shouted at the bear, waved his arms, and threw sticks and
stones at her every time the steep trail afforded him opportunity.
“Stop, don’t, you are only making it worse,” Nancy begged him
breathlessly, but he was far too terrified to pay any heed to her words.
Nancy felt that there could be nothing more terrible than this big
swaying body that came up the hill after them, the little pointed head
with its white teeth showing, its small eyes blazing with an animal’s
unreasoning fury. She was panting and exhausted, her knees shook under
her, it seemed utterly impossible to go farther. One last hope flashed
through her mind: it was the hour for Olaf to bring the milk and he
might be somewhere below, coming through the pines. She hollowed her
hands before her mouth and, with a final effort of her panting lungs,
shouted with all her might:
“Olaf, Olaf.”
A faint hail came in answer. How far away it was! Would he know what had
happened?
There was only a little further for them to climb, for a long ridge of
rock, shouldering up through the underbrush, cut off their ascent with
its smooth wall that offered no foothold. Beside it the mountain-side
fell away in a sheer drop of a hundred feet of precipice so that their
retreat was blocked completely. A vast furry form rose through the
bushes beside them, and the bear struck at them with her great paw.
Nancy was too bewildered to understand how Dabney Mills came suddenly to
be behind her, while she was thrust forward into the very face of their
enemy. The blow missed her, however, and struck the boy, just where she
could not see. With a strange sickening sigh, he dropped and rolled
toward the edge of the cliff. Nancy flattened herself against the rock
wall, staring, fascinated, as the bear settled her haunches firmly,
seemed to pause a moment, and then squared off to strike at her again.