This is not, strictly speaking, an Easter tale, nor a love story. It is
merely the truthful account of certain incidents of a love affair
culminating one Easter Day. It may be relied upon. I am familiar with
the facts, and I want to say here that if there be any one who thinks he
could relate similar facts more exactly--I will admit that he might do
the relation in much better form--he is either mistaken or else an
envious person with a bad conscience. I am going to tell that which I
know simply as it occurred.
There is a friend of mine who is somewhat more than ordinarily
well-to-do, who is about thirty years of age, and who lives ordinarily
in the city of Chicago. Furthermore, he is a gentleman of education, not
merely of the school and university, but of the field and wood. He knows
the birds and beasts, and delights in what is wild. Four or five years
ago he purchased a tract of land studded closely with hardwood trees,
chiefly the beech and hard maple, and criss-crossed by swift-flowing
creeks of cold water. This tract of land was not far from the northern
apex of the southern peninsula of the State of Michigan. There were
ruffed grouse in the woods, in the creeks were speckled trout in
abundance, and my friend rioted among them. He had built him a house in
the wilderness; a great house of logs, forty or fifty feet long and
thirty wide, with chambers above, with a great fireplace in it, with
bunks in one great room for men, and with an apartment better furnished
for ladies, should any ever be brought into the wilderness to learn the
ways of nature.
Two years ago my friend gave his first house party, and the duration of
it included Easter Day, and so was, necessarily, in a happy season. It
is pleasant for us in this northern temperate zone that the day, with
all its glorious promises, in a spiritual sense, is as full of promise
also in the physical sense, in that it corresponds with the awakening of
nature and the renewed life of that which so makes humanity. It is a
good thing, too, that since the date of Easter Day is among those known
as "movable," it means the real spring, but a little farther north or
farther south, as the years come and go. So it chanced that the Easter
Day referred to came in the northern peninsula of Lower Michigan just
when the buds upon the trees showed well defined against one of the
bluest skies of all the world, when the teeming currents of the creeks
were lifting the ice, and the waters were becoming turbulent to the eye;
when the sapsuckers and creeping birds were jubilant, and the honk of
the wild goose was a passing thing; when, with the upspring of the rest
of nature, the trees threw off their lethargy, and through the rugged
maples the sap began to course again. It was only a few days before
Easter that my friend--his name was Hayes, "Jack" Hayes, we called him,
though his name, of course, was John--had an inspiration.
Jack knew that so far as his own domain was concerned the time had
arrived for the making of maple sugar, and there was promise in the
making there, for the wilderness was still virgin. He decided that he
would have a regular "sugar-camp" in the midst of his "sugar-bush," and
that there should be much making of maple syrup and sugar, with all the
attendant festivities common formerly to areas farther south--and here
comes an explanation.
Not many months before, this friend of mine had done what men had done
often--that is, he fell in love, and with great violence. He fell in
love with a stately young woman from St. Louis, a Miss Lennox, who was
visiting in Chicago; a girl from the city where what is known as
"society" is old and generally clean; where the water which is drunk
leaves a clayey substance all round the glass when you partake of it,
and which is about the best water in the world; where the colonels who
drink whisky are such expert judges of the quality of what they consume
that they live far longer than do steady drinkers in other regions;
where the word of the business man is good, and where the women are
fair to look upon. To a sugar-making Jack had decided to invite this
young woman, with a party made up from both cities.
The party as composed was an admirable one of a dozen people, men and
women who could endure a wholesome though somewhat rugged change, and of
varying fancies and ages. There were as many men as women, but four were
oldsters and married people, and of these two were a rector and his
wife. It was an eminently proper but cheerful group, and the rector was
the greatest boy of all. We tried to teach him how to shoot white
rabbits, but abandoned the task finally, out of awful apprehension for
ourselves. Had the reverend gentleman's weapon been a bell-mouth, some
of us would assuredly have been slain. We were having a jolly time, our
host furnishing, possibly, the one exception.
Of the wooing of Hayes it cannot be said that it had prospered
altogether to his liking. Possibly he had been too reticent. He was a
languid fellow in speech, anyhow, and, excellent woodsman as he was,
generally languid in his movements. There was vigor enough underneath
this exterior, but only his intimates knew that. The lady had been
gracious, certainly, and she must have seen in his eyes, as women can
see so well, that he was in love with her, and that a proposal was
impending; but she had not given him the encouragement he wanted. Now he
was determined to stake his chances. There was to be a visit one
forenoon to the place where the sugar-making was in progress, and he
asked her to go with him ahead of the others, that he might show her how
full the forest was of life at all times. He had resolved. He was going
to ask her to be his wife.
There was written upon the white sheet of freshly fallen snow the story
of the night and morning, of the comedies and tragedies and adventures
of the wild things. Their tracks were all about. Here the grouped paws
of the rabbits had left their distinct markings as the animals had fed
and frolicked among the underwood; and there, over by the group of
evergreens, a little mass of leaves and fur showed where the number of
the frolickers had been decreased by one when the great owl of the north
dropped fiercely upon his prey; there showed the neat tracks of the fox
beside the coverts. The twin pads of the mink were clearly defined upon
the snow-covered ice which bordered the tumbling creek, and at times the
tracks diverged in exploration of the recesses of some brush heap.
Little difference made it to the mink whether his prey were bird or
woodmouse. Far into the morning, evidently, his hunting had extended,
for his track in one place was along that of the ruffed grouse; and the
signs showed that he had almost reached his prey, for a single brown
black-banded tail-feather lay upon the wing-swept snow, where it could
be seen the bird had risen almost as the leap came. The sun was shining,
and squirrel tracks were along the whitened crest of every log, and the
traces of jay and snowbird were quite as numerous. There was clamor in
the tree-tops. The musical and merry "chickadee-dee-dee" of the tamest
of the birds of winter and the somewhat sadder note of the wood pewee
mingled with the occasional caw of a crow, the shrill cry of a jay, or
the tapping of woodpeckers upon the boles of dead trees. A flock of
snow-bunting fluttered and fed in a patch of dry seed-laden weeds. Even
the creek was full of life, for there could be seen the movements of
creeping things upon its bottom, while through the clear waters trout
and minnow flashed brilliantly. There were odors in the air. There was
evidence everywhere that spring was real; and it occurred to Jack, as
the two walked along and he read aloud to her the night's tale told upon
the snow, that the poet who insisted that in the spring a young man's
fancy lightly turns to thoughts of love quite understood his business;
not that it really required spring in his own case, but the season
seemed at least to accentuate his emotions. He wondered if young women
were affected the same way. He hoped so. At present his courage failed
him.
They reached the "sugar-bush" proper, and wandered about among the big
maples. They drank the sweet sap from the troughs, and finally settled
themselves down comfortably upon one of the rude benches which had been
placed about the fire, over which the kettles boiled steadily, under the
watchful eye of an old sugar-maker, whose chief occupation was to lower
into the bubbling surface a piece of raw pork attached by a string to a
rod whenever the sap showed signs of boiling over. Others of the house
party soon joined them. The sun had come out brightly now, and luncheon,
brought from the house, was eaten and enjoyed. Then followed more
rambling about the wood. The ground showed bare where the snow had
melted on an occasional sandy knoll, and there was a search for
wintergreen leaves. It was announced that all must be at the house again
in time for an early dinner, since the great work of "sugaring-off" was
to be the event of the night. It was then that Jack suggested to Miss
Lennox that they go by another path of which he knew, but which he had
not lately tried. The remainder of the party took the old route, and so
the two made the journey once more alone. The man was resolved again. It
was three o'clock in the afternoon now, and about as pleasant a day as
any upon which man ever made a proposal. Jack took his fate in his
hands.
He was simple and straightforward about it, and certainly made a rather
neat job of the affair. He showed his intensity and earnestness; and it
seemed rather hard that when he concluded he was not at once accepted by
the handsome girl, who stood there blushing, but with a certain firmly
regretful expression about the mouth.
Her voice trembled a little as she spoke. She said that she liked Mr.
Hayes, liked him very much, and he knew it, but that it was only a great
friendship. She had her ideal, and he did not fulfill it. "I cannot help
it," she said, earnestly; "I have ambitions for the man whom I marry. I
could really love only a man of action, of physical bravery, one who
could not be content with a life of ease, however cultivated such a
life. What have you done? You but enjoy existence! I want some one
rugged. Why, even your physical movements are languid! I'd rather marry
the roughest viking that ever sailed the seas than the most accomplished
_faineant_. I--"
The sentence was completed with one of the most piercing and agonizing
screams that ever issued from the throat of a fair young woman. At the
same instant she disappeared from sight.
Jack stood for a single second utterly appalled, but he was recalled to
life by a second scream, equaling the first in every way, and issuing
from a hole in the snow beside him. He could see in the depths the top
of a very pretty hat. He realized the situation in a moment. They had
just rounded the upturned roots of a monster fallen pine, and Miss
Lennox had broken through the crusted snow and dropped into the cavity
beneath. He threw himself on the ground, reached down his arms, and
finally calmed the fair prisoner sufficiently to enable her to do her
part. She reached up her hands; he caught a firm hold of her wrists and
began pulling her out. He lifted her thus until her head and shoulders
were in the sunlight, then sought to put an arm around her waist to
complete the task. He was not grumbling at the good the gods had sent
him. He was not at first in a hurry. With one arm at last fairly
encircling that plump person, with that soft breath upon his cheek, he
was not going to be violent. He was going to lift slowly and
intelligently until the goddess should be upon her feet again. Then,
from beneath, came a growl which was almost a roar; there was another
wild shriek from Miss Lennox, there was the sound of brushwood being
torn away, and as Jack, with a mighty effort, lifted the girl to her
feet beside him, there appeared at the hole the blazing eyes and red
mouth of a bear, furious at having been aroused from its winter sleep.
A fragment of limb lay at Jack's feet. With the unconscious instinct of
preservation for both, he seized it and struck the beast fairly on the
snout. It fell back, but uprose again, growling horribly. The girl
stood, too dazed to move, but Jack grasped her roughly by the shoulder,
turned her about and shouted, hoarsely, "Run!" then made another blow at
the scrambling animal. She reeled for a moment, then gathered herself
together and ran like a scared doe. As she ran she screamed--about one
scream to each five yards, as carefully estimated by the young man at a
future period.
Despite her terror, the girl turned at a distance of a hundred yards,
stopped and looked backward for an instant, and saw what was certainly
an interesting spectacle, but which made her turn again and flee even
more swiftly down the pathway, renewing her cries as she sped.
Affairs were becoming more than interesting for Mr. Jack Hayes. It may
be said fairly and honestly of him, left facing that bear, gaunt and
ugly and flesh-clamoring from the winter's sleep, though still muscular
and enduring--as bears are made--that he demeaned himself as should
become a modern gentleman. He could not or would not run away. He knew
that the beast must not be released, and knew that unless faced it would
clamber in a moment to the level surface.
I have read somewhere, as doubtless have you, because it has wandered
throughout the newspapers of the world, the story of a famous Russian
officer, famous, too, as a great swordsman, who once faced a brown bear
robbed of her young, and beat her into insensibility, since his blows
were swifter and more adroit than those delivered by her great forearms.
In the midst of the battle, some thought of this hard Russian tale
drifted through the mind of Hayes, as he dealt blow after blow upon the
muzzle of the brute seeking daylight and vengeance upon its opponent.
Each time as the bear upreared, the stout limb descended, but
apparently with slight effect, and with each rush and tearing down of
matted snow and twigs, the angle of ascent was lessening perceptibly. To
say that Jack was exceedingly earnest and anxious would not be to
exaggerate a particle. Furthermore, he was becoming warm and scant of
breath. A portion of the breath which remained to him he utilized in
whooping most lustily.
The girl burst into the great front room of the log house, where the
preparations for Easter were in progress. Most of the guests had not yet
reached the house, but there were the rector and two ladies. She
staggered into the room, but partially recovered from the effect of her
wild flight, and could only gasp out, "Jack!--a bear!--a little way up
the eastern path!" and then fell promptly in a heap upon the furs of a
great lounge.
The rector stood astonished for a moment, then realized the situation.
Upon the wall hung a double-barreled gun, which he knew was loaded with
buckshot, intended for the vagrant wild geese still seeking northern
habitats. He leaped for the gun, and asked a question hurriedly:
"The east path?" he cried.
"Yes," the girl contrived to say, and the rector, gun in hand, dashed
out of the doorway and to the eastern path, which he knew well, for he
had been a guest the preceding autumn; and then over the snow of that
pathway gave such an exhibition of clerical sprinting as probably never
before occurred since Jonah fled for Tarsish. He reached the scene of an
exceeding lively exchange of confidences in about two minutes, and saw
what alarmed and at the same time inspirited him most mightily. He
rushed up close to the fencing Hayes, and as the beast in the pit
upreared himself head and shoulders, managed to discharge one barrel of
the shotgun. The shot was well intended but ill-aimed. It was but a
dispensation of Providence that Jack and not the bear was killed. The
beast sank back for another rush, and at the same instant Jack tore the
gun from the reverend gentleman's hands, and as the thing rose again
poured the contents of the second barrel fairly into the middle of his
throat. The episode was ended. Meanwhile, rushing and shouting along the
pathway, came the full contingent of male guests. They arrived only in
time to hear the story and to assist in heaving out the body of the
bear, which was dragged down the pathway and to the house amid much
clamor and gratulation. Jack, in a violent perspiration and extremely
shaky, entered the house, where much was said, all of which he took
modestly, and then everybody prepared for dinner. The feast and later
the "sugaring-off" were occasions of much joyousness, but Jack and Miss
Lennox conversed but little, save in a courteous and casual way. There
was a fine time generally, and all slept the sleep of the more or less
just. Easter morning broke fair and clear. It was good that morning to
hear sounding out over the snow and in the sunlight the farewell notes
of the flitting birds of the north and the greetings of the coming birds
of the spring. It was certainly spring now, and all was life and hope
and happiness. The Easter services were to begin at ten. It was nine
o'clock, or maybe it was nine fifteen--it is well to be accurate about
such important matters as this--that Jack and Miss Lennox met apart from
the others, who were assisting in some arrangement of the greenery.
There was something of the quality which is known as "melting" in her
eyes when she looked at him, and the villain felt encouraged.
"It is Easter morning," he said. "Are you glad? Everything seems
better."
She looked up into his face, and only smiled and blushed.
"Are you all right?" said he. "I've been troubled over you."
She said nothing at first, but the old critical and defiant look came
into her face again. It had now, however, in it a trace of the gently
judicial. "I was mistaken," she said; "you are a man of action."
"Will you be my wife, then?" said Jack.
"Yes," said she.
Well, they are married, as people so frequently are, and Jack is not
going to the log-house in Michigan this spring, because that St.
Louis-Chicago baby is too young to be abandoned. I like Easter and I
like Jack and his wife, and I like babies, but I don't like being robbed
of an outing in a region where spring comes in so suddenly and
gloriously. How wise was the old pessimist who declared that "a man
married is a man marred"--but, then, who will agree with me!