*CHAPTER XIII.*
_*JUST IN TIME.*_
The walk from Diome's log hut to Uncle Caleb's farm was a long one, butthe clear, bright sunshine of December had succeeded the pitiless sleetand blinding snow. Lake and river had hardened in the icy breath of thenorth wind. An iron frost held universal sway, as Wilfred and Maxicadrew near to Acland's Hut.
The walk to Uncle Caleb's farm was a long one.]
The tinkle of a distant sledge-bell arrested Maxica. Had some miscountin the day brought them face to face with the bridal party?
They turned away from the well-known gate, crept behind the farmbuildings, and crossed the reedy pool to Forgill's hut.
With the frozen snow full three feet deep beneath their feet there wasroadway everywhere. Railings scarcely showed above it, and walls couldbe easily cleared with one long step. The door of the hut was fastened,but Wilfred waited behind it while Maxica stole round to reconnoitre.
He returned quickly. It was not the bridal party, for there was not asingle squaw among them. They were travellers in a horse-sledge,stopping at the farm to rest. He urged Wilfred to seize the chance andenter with them. The presence of the strangers would be a protection.They took their way through the orchard trees, and came out boldly onthe well-worn tracks before the gate. It excited no surprise in theoccupants of the sledge to see two dusky figures in their long, pointedsnow-shoes gliding swiftly after them; travellers like themselves, nodoubt, hoping to find hospitality at the farm.
Yula and Kusky went bounding over the intervening space.
There were two travellers and a sledge-driver. The dogs considered them,and did not bark. Then Kusky, in frantic delight, endeavoured to leapinto the sledge. It drew up. The driver thundered on the gate.
"What cheer?" shouted a voice from the sledge.
It was the usual traveller's inquiry, but it thrilled through Wilfred'sears, for it was--it could not be--yet it was the voice of Mr. DeBrunier.
Kusky was already on Gaspe's knee devouring him with his doggiecaresses.
"Is it a dream, or is it real?" asked Wilfred, as with one long slide heovertook the sledge, and grasped a hand of each.
"I didn't know you, coming after us in your seven-league boots," laughedGaspe, pointing to the long, oval frame of Wilfred's snow-shoes,reaching a foot or more before and behind his boot.
But Wilfred did not answer, he was whispering rapidly to Mr. De Brunier.
"Wilfred, _mon ami_," (my friend), pursued Gaspe, bent upon interruptingthe low-voiced confidence, "it was for your sake grandfather decided tomake his first inquiries for a farm in this neighbourhood. Batiste wasso ambiguous and so loath to speak of your journey when he came afterLouison's post, we grew uneasy about you. All the more glad to find yousafe at home."
"At home, but not in home," answered Wilfred, significantly laying hisfinger on his lips, to prevent any exclamation from his bewilderedfriend.
"All right," said Mr. De Brunier. "We will enter together."
Pete, who was already opening the gate, bade them heartily welcome.Hospitality in the lone North-West becomes a duty.
Wilfred dropped behind the sledge, slouched his fur cap well over hiseyes, and let Maxica fold his blanket round him, Indian fashion.
Pete led the way into the kitchen, Wilfred followed behind thesledge-driver, and the Cree was the last to enter. A long row of jointswere roasting before the ample fire, giving undoubted indications of anapproaching feast.
"Just in time," observed Mr. De Brunier with a smile, which gained apeculiar significance as it rested on Wilfred.
"Ay, and that you are," returned old Pete; "for the missis is gone to bemarried, and I was on the look-out for her return when I heard thejingling of your sledge-bells. The house will be full enough bynightfall, I reckon."
Wilfred undid the strap of his snow-shoes, gave them to Maxica, andwalked softly to the door of his uncle's room.
He opened it with a noiseless hand, and closed it behind him.
Mr. De Brunier's retort about the welcome which awaited uninvited guestson a bridal night kept Pete from noticing his movements.
The logs crackled and the sparks flew on the kitchen hearth. The fatfrom the savoury roast fell hissing in the pan, and the hungrytravellers around it seemed to have eyes for nothing else.
Wilfred crept to his uncle's bed. He was asleep. The boy glanced round.He threw off his wraps. His first care was to find his uncle's comb andbrush. It was a luxury unknown since his departure from Hungry Hall. Hewas giving a good tug at his tangled locks, hoping to make himself looka little more like the schoolboy who had once before roused the old manfrom his sleep, when a cough and an exclamation sounding like, "Who isthere?" told him his uncle was awake.
"O uncle, you surely have not forgotten me--me, your nephew, Wilfred!Got home at last. The pony threw me, and I was utterly lost. An Indianguided me here," he answered, tumbling his words one upon another asfast as he could, for his heart was beating wildly.
Caleb Acland raised himself on one elbow and grasped Wilfred by thewrist. "It is he! It is flesh and blood!" he ejaculated. "The boyhimself Pete! Pete!" He felt for the stick left leaning against hisbed, and stamped it on the floor.
A great sob burst unawares from the poor boy's lips.
"Don't!" said the old man in alarm. "What are you crying for, lad?What's happened? I don't understand. Give me your hand! That's coldenough--death cold. Pete! Pete! what are ye about? Have you grown deafthat you can't hear me?"
He pulled Wilfred's cold fingers under the blankets and tried to chafethem between his swollen hands.
"I'm not crying," protested Wilfred, brushing his other hand across hiseyes. "It is the ice melting out of me. I'm thawing all over. It isbecause I have got back uncle, and you are glad to have me. I shouldhave been dead but for the Cree who brought me home. I was almoststarving at times. I have wandered in the snow all night."
"God bless the boy!" ejaculated the old man, thundering on the flooronce more.
"Here, Pete! Pete! Something quick to eat."
Pete's head appeared at the door at last.
"Whatever do you want now, master?" he demanded in an injured tone. "Ithought I had put everything ready for you, as handy as could be; andyou said you wouldn't call me off, with the bride expected every minute,and the supper to cook, as you know."
"Cook away then," returned his master impatiently. "It is the hour forthe fatted calf. Oh, you've no eyes, none! Whom have I got here? Whois this?"
Pete backed to the door in wide-eyed wonder. "I'm struck of a heap!" hegasped, staring at Wilfred as if he thought he would melt away intovacancy.
"Where were you that you did not see him come in?" asked his mastersharply.
"Where?" repeated Pete indignantly. "At your own gate, answering aparty of travellers--men who've come down to buy land; and," he added,changing his tone, "there is a gentleman among them says he must speakto you, master, your own self particular, this very night."
"It is Mr. De Brunier, uncle. He took me in, and sent me to thehunters' camp, where Mr. Bowkett was to be found," interposed Wilfred.
This name was spoken with an effort. Like many a noble-minded boy,Wilfred hated to tell of another. He hesitated, then went on abruptly:"I thought he would be sure to bring me home. Well, I got there. He didnot seem to know me. He was all for fiddling and dancing. They were arough set, uncle, a very rough set. Father would not have liked to haveseen me with such men. I got away again as quickly as I could. TheCree who had saved me before guided me home at last."
"What is that? Did you say Bowkett, Hugh Bowkett?" repeated the oldman. "Why, your aunt was married to him this morning."
When Pete disappeared into his master's room, Maxica, who had seatedhimself on the kitchen floor, rose suddenly, and leaning over Mr. DeBrunier, asked, "Who in this place is friend to the boy without afather?"
"I can answer your ques
tion for myself, but no further, for I am astranger here," replied Mr. De Brunier.
"We are four," said Maxica, counting on his fingers. "I hear the voiceof the man at the gate--the man who spoke against the white boy with aforked tongue; the man who drove him out into the frosty night, that itmight kill him. We have brought the marten to the trap. If it closeson him, Maxica stays to break it."
"Come outside, where we can talk freely," answered Mr. De Brunier,leading the way.
Gaspe and the sledge-driver were left to the enjoyment of the roaringfire. They were considering the state of Kusky's feet. Gaspe wasremoving the icicles from his toes, and the man of the sledge was warmlyrecommending boots, and describing the way to make them, when the shoutsat the gate told them the bridal party had arrived. The stupid Pete, asthey began to think, had vanished, for no one answered the summons.Gaspe guessed the reason, and sent the man to open the gate. Hesilenced the dogs, and drew back into the corner, with instinctive goodbreeding, to make himself as little in the way as possible.
The great farm-house kitchen was entrance-hall as well. Every dooropened into it. On one hand was the dining-room, reserved chiefly forstate occasions; on the other, the storeroom. The family sleeping roomswere at the back. Like a provident housewife, Aunt Miriam had set thetables for her marriage feast, and filled the storeroom with goodthings, before she went to church. Pete, with a Frenchman's genius forthe spit, could manage the rest.
The arrival of one or two other guests at the same moment detained thebridal party with their noisy greetings.
When Aunt Miriam entered the kitchen, leaning on her bridegroom's arm,Gaspe was almost asleep in his dim corner.
Out ran Pete, effervescing with congratulations, and crossing theheartiness of the bridal welcome with the startling exclamation, "Theboy, Mrs. Bowkett!--the boy's come home!"
The bridegroom looked sharply round. "The boy," he repeated, seeingGaspe by the fire. "There he is."
Up sprang Gaspe, bowing to the bride with all the courtly grace of thechivalrous De Bruniers of Breton days.
Aunt Miriam turned her head away. "O Pete!" she groaned, "I thought--Ithought you meant--"
Bowkett did not let her finish her sentence, he hurried her into thedining-room. Behind him came his bright-eyed sister, who had played thepart of bridesmaid, and was eager for the dancing and the fun, so soonto commence. At her side walked Forgill in his Sunday best, allimportant with the responsibility of his position, acting as proxy forhis old master. He had given the bride away, and was at that momentcogitating over some half-dozen sentences destined for the after-dinnerspeech which he knew would be required of him. They were restive, andwould not follow each other. "Happy day" and "Best wishes" wantedsetting up on stilts, with a few long words to back them, for such anoccasion. He knew the Indian love of speechifying would be too strongin their hunter guests to let him off. He had got as far as,"Uncommonly happy day for us all." But "uncommonly" sounded far toocommon in his critical ears. He was searching for a finer-soundingword, and thought he had got it in "preternaturally," when he heard thefeeble voice of his master calling out, "Miriam! Here, Miriam."
"Are they all deaf?" said Caleb Acland to Wilfred. "Open the door, mylad, and show yourself to your aunt."
Slowly and reluctantly Wilfred obeyed him. He held it open just ahand-breadth, and met the scowling brow of the owner of the forkedtongue.
There was mutual recognition in the glance exchanged.
Wilfred shut the door softly, and drew the bolt without attracting hisuncle's attention.
"The place is full of strangers," he said; "I shall see auntie soon.I'd rather wait here with you. I shall be sure to see her before shegoes to her new home."
"As you like, my boy;--that Pete's a cow. There is no going away to anew home. It is bringing in a new master here before the old one isgone, so that your aunt should not be left unprotected a single day."
As Caleb Acland spoke, Wilfred felt himself growing hard and desperatein the cold clutch of a giant despair. The star of hope dropped fromhis sky. He saw himself in the hand of the man who had turned him fromhis door into the killing frost.
It was too late to speak out; Bowkett would be sure to deny it, and hatehim the more. No, not a word to Uncle Caleb until he had taken counselwith Mr. De Brunier. But in his hasty glance into the outer world Mr.De Brunier was nowhere to be seen.
Wilfred was sure he would not go away without seeing him again. Therewas nothing for it but to gain a little time, wait with his uncle untilthe wedding guests were shut in the dining-room, and then go out andfind Mr. De Brunier, unless Aunt Miriam had invited him to sit down withthem. Yes, she was sure to do that, and Gaspe would be with hisgrandfather. But Maxica was there. He had saved him twice. He knewwhat Maxica would say: "To the free wild forest, and learn the use ofthe trap and the bow with me."
Wilfred was sorely tempted to run away. The recollection of Mr. DeBrunier's old-world stories restrained him. He thought of the Bretonemigrants. "What did they do in their despair? What all men can do,their duty." He kept on saying these words over and over, askinghimself, "What is my duty? Have I no duty to the helpless old man whohas welcomed me so kindly? How will Bowkett behave to him?" Wilfredfelt much stronger to battle through with the hunter on his uncle'sbehalf, than when he thought only of himself. "The brave and loyal dieat their posts. Gaspe would, rather than run away--rather than doanything that looked like running away."
"What is the matter with you, Wilfred?" asked his uncle anxiously."What makes you stand like that, my boy?"
"I am so tired," answered Wilfred, "I have walked all day to-day, andall day yesterday. If I take the cushion out of your chair for apillow, I might lie down before the stove, uncle."
"That Pete is an ass not to bring something to eat, as if he could notmake those fellows in the dining-room wait half-a-minute. But stop,there is some broth keeping hot on the stove. Take that, and come andlie down on the bed by me; then I can see you and feel you, and know Ihave got you again," answered Uncle Caleb, as if he had somepresentiment of what was passing in Wilfred's mind.
Glad enough to obey, Wilfred drank the broth eagerly, and came to thebed. The old man took him by both hands and gazed in his face,murmuring, "Lord, now lettest thou thy servant depart in peace."
The peace that Uncle Caleb rejoiced in was his own alone; all around himstrife was brewing. But his peace was of that kind which circumstancescannot give or take away.
"Kneel down beside me just one minute, my boy," he went on. "We mustnot be like the nine lepers, who forgot the thanks when the good hadcome. They wouldn't even with the tailors, for in the whole nine puttogether there was not one bit of a true man, or they could not havedone it."
Wilfred fell on his knees and repeated softly the Christ-taught prayerof the ages, "Our Father who art in heaven." He remembered how he hadbeen fed from the wild bird's _cache_, and saved by the wild man's pity,and his heart was swelling. But when he came to "Forgive us ourtrespasses, as we forgive them that trespass against us," he stoppedabruptly.
"Go on," whispered the old man softly.
"I can't," muttered Wilfred. "It isn't in my heart; I daren't go on.It is speaking with a forked tongue: words one way, thoughts another;telling lies to God."
Caleb Acland looked at him as if he were slowly grasping the position.
"Is it Bowkett that you can't forgive?" he asked gently. "Did you thinkhe need not have lost you? Did you think he would not know you, my poorboy?"
"Have I got to live with him always?" returned Wilfred.
"No, not if you don't like him. I'll send you back to school," answeredhis uncle in a tone of decision.
"Do you mean it, uncle? Do you really say that I shall go back toschool?" exclaimed the boy, his heavy heart's lead beginning to melt, asthe way of escape opened so unexpectedly before him.
"It is a promise," repeated the old man soothingly. It was obvious nowthere was something wrong, which the b
oy refused to explain.
"Patience a bit," he thought; "I can't distress him. It will leak outsoon; but it is growing strange that nobody comes near us."
Lost in the Wilds: A Canadian Story Page 13