“That’s a funny remark,” he said.
“Why?”
“It sounds as though you had a peculiar knowledge of him.”
“I’m a better judge of character than you.”
“You only jump to conclusions, Adeline. You have taken a dislike to this Daisy Vaughan for no reason whatever. For my part, I think she is an interesting creature.”
“Of course you do! Just because she made eyes at you.”
Philip looked not ill-pleased. “I didn’t see her make eyes,” he said.
“Oh, Philip, what a liar you are!” she exclaimed.
Nicholas leaned from his father’s arms to embrace Adeline. Their heads were close together. David Vaughan returned with the sherry. “I hope the ladies won’t remain too long upstairs,” he said. “What a nice family group! I think Nicholas has come on well, since his dresses are shortened. He appears freer in his movements.”
“He gets into more mischief,” said Philip.
Nicholas took his mother’s finger into his mouth and bit on it. She suffered the pain because his new tooth must come through.
XI
THE ROOF
IT WAS WONDERFUL to see the roof begin to spread above the walls. It was music to hear the tap-tap of the carpenters’ hammers as they made secure the shingles, one overlapping the other. The shingles were new and clean and sweet-smelling. Up the slopes of the gables they climbed, and down they crowded to the eaves. Above all rose the five tall chimneys never yet darkened by smoke, awaiting the first fire. Now the house had a meaning, a promise. It rose against the brilliant autumn foliage as something new and tough-fibred to be reckoned with in the landscape. The house was windowless, doorless, in some places floorless, the partitions were incomplete but, with the roof bending above it, it spoke for the first time. Adeline and Philip would stand with linked fingers, gazing up at it in admiration. For generations their families had lived in old houses, heavy with traditions of their forebears. Jalna was hers and Philip’s and theirs only.
Robert had gone off to his university. It had been as he foretold, Daisy had interfered sadly with his enjoyment of his last days at home. Her thin supple figure edged itself into every crevice of companionship. She had something to say on every subject and though she tried, almost too assiduously, to make what she said agreeable, a jarring note, and edged word, often crept in. Adeline declared there was malice in everything she said and did. Philip persisted that she was an interesting creature and went out of his way to be pleasant to her, to make up for Adeline’s coolness, he said, but Adeline said it was because Daisy flattered him. If she had been a fragile little thing, Adeline could better have endured her but she was lithe and strong and she imitated everything that Adeline did. If Adeline walked swiftly across the temporary bridge of logs that spanned the stream, Daisy ran across it. She screamed in fright as she ran but she did run. If Adeline penetrated the woods to gather the great glossy blackberries, Daisy pressed just ahead snatching at the best ones. Adeline had a horror of snakes but Daisy showed a morbid liking for them. She would pick up a small one by its tail, to the admiration of the workingmen. When they carried home the pretty red vines of the poison ivy, it was Adeline who suffered for it. Daisy was immune.
A spacious barn was being erected at some distance from the house. Later on Philip would have stables built but at present the underpart of the barn was to serve as shelter for horses and cattle. Adeline and Daisy strolled over to inspect it one afternoon in Indian summer. The framework of the barn stood as a lofty skeleton against the background of dark green spruces, balsams and pines, with here and there a group of maples like a conflagration of colour. Piles of lumber lay about filling the air with the sweet smell of their resin. Great chips and wedges of pine were scattered on the ground, showing a pinkness almost equal to that colour in the sea shell. Slabs of bark were scattered too, and strands of moss and crushed fern leaves. But hardly did anything die here before a fresh growth pushed up to take its place, or erase its memory, if there had been eyes to notice it. Birds were migrating and now a cloud of swallows had settled on the framework of the barn to rest. It was Sunday and no workmen were about. There was a primeval stillness that was broken only by the myriad twitterings from the swallows’ throats. They sat on the scaffolding not in hundreds but in thousands. They perched wing to wing as close as they could sit. Their forked tails made a fringe beneath their perch. They changed the skeleton edifice from the colour of freshly hewn wood to bands of darkness. Only a few darted overhead as guides and watchers. When these saw the two young women draw near they made some word or sign, for a slight stir took place among the swallows but they showed no real alarm. There they were, guardians of land and fruit and flower, benign toward man, capable to hold down any insect pest that ever rose, powerful to protect every kind of crop and harvest. Insects were their food. All these thousands of sharp beaks, bright eyes and swift wings, were alive for the destruction of insects.
Adeline snatched up a wedge of pine and threw it up among the birds. Daisy’s predatory laugh rang out and she also began to throw chips at them. The birds bent their heads, looking down in surprise. They rose in a body, forming themselves into a whirling cloud, making the sound of wind among the trees with their twitterings. They flew in all directions yet remained within their own system, and that moved southward.
“Don’t go, don’t go!” cried Adeline. She turned in anger to Daisy. “You should not have frightened them! ’T will bring bad luck to the barn. They had made it their resting place and now they are going.”
“You threw first, Mrs. Whiteoak.”
“I only tossed a wee stick among them to see if they would notice it.”
“But you went on throwing. You didn’t stop. You were quite violent.”
“It was because you excited me. You should remember that I was a girl among a horde of brothers who were always ready to let fly a stick. But you — you were an only child — a little girl alone. You should be gentle.”
“I am gentle, Mrs. Whiteoak.”
“You were not then! You were showing all your teeth and laughing as you threw the sticks.”
“Not one bird was struck.”
“But they’re going! They’ll never come back! Look at them.”
The swallows had risen high in the air. They looked no more than specks sinking and rising. They were like a floating sediment in the translucent bowl of the sky.
“It is natural for them to go to the South,” said Daisy. “I wish I were.”
Adeline raised her arched brows. “Then you aren’t contented here?” she asked.
“What is there here for me?” asked Daisy.
“What do you want?” asked Adeline surprised.
“Experience. I’m not just a young girl.”
“But you have been about a good deal, haven’t you?”
“Always at other people’s beck and call. You don’t know what it is to be poor, Mrs. Whiteoak.”
Adeline gave an ironic laugh. “Oh, no — I don’t know what it is to be poor! Let me tell you, I never had two sovereigns to rub together till my great-aunt died and left me her money.”
“How lucky you are! A fortune left you! And such a husband!”
“Aye, he’s a good fellow,” said Adeline curtly.
They had come to the barn and now stood gazing up into its towering framework. A ladder of scantlings was built against its base and up this Daisy began to climb. She climbed nimbly considering her voluminous skirts. At the top of the ladder she set out to walk along a beam while her fingers, just touching another, supported her.
“You are silly!” exclaimed Adeline. The girl was ready for any adventure, she thought.
“Oh, I love heights!” cried Daisy. “No height makes me dizzy. I revel in this.”
“You should have been a tightrope walker.”
“The view is lovely!” Daisy now walked with arms extended in precarious balance. “You look no more than a pigmy down there. Do come up.”
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“I daren’t.”
“Why not?”
“In the first place I have no desire and in the second I’m going to have a baby.”
This announcement was more of a surprise to Daisy than Adeline had expected. It was almost a shock. She stiffened and stood still. Then she gave a cry, swayed and sank to the beam that supported her, crouching there in an attitude of terror. Her skirts stood about her like a balloon.
“I’m going to fall!” she cried. “Oh, Mrs. Whiteoak, save me, I’m going to fall!”
Adeline turned pale but she said sternly — “Come back the way you went. Surely you can do that! Just take hold of yourself and move carefully. You’ll be all right.” But the space from where Daisy clung, to the ground, seemed very far.
Daisy crouched shivering on the beam. “I daren’t move,” she said, in a tense voice. “Get help quickly! I’m going to fall!”
The thought of leaving Daisy in this predicament while she sought help made Adeline hesitate. At that moment Philip strolled out of the wood and came toward them. Adeline ran to him.
“That interesting creature, as you call her,” she said, “has climbed to the top of the barn and is stuck there! She says she is going to fall.”
“My God!” exclaimed Philip, looking up at Daisy. “She is likely to break her neck!” He called out — “Don’t be frightened! I’ll come and fetch you. Just keep calm and look upward.”
He mounted the ladder and walked cautiously but steadily along the beam. A feeling of nausea came over Adeline. She closed her eyes for a space. When she opened them Philip had reached Daisy and was leading her back toward the ladder. When his feet were secure on it, Daisy collapsed against his shoulder.
“I cannot,” she sobbed. “I cannot take another step!”
“You’re quite safe,” said Philip. “Just hang on to me. I’ll carry you down.”
Daisy did hang on to him and, as they reached the bottom, her cheek was against his tanned neck. She was sobbing.
“Oh, I’m so sorry,” she said as he set her gently on her feet.
“You have need to be,” said Adeline, “for you gave me a monstrous scare and risked Philip’s life. You ought to be ashamed of yourself.”
Philip was still supporting Daisy. “Don’t scold her,” he said. “Any girl is likely to do harebrained things. It’s a good thing Miss Daisy’s light. I should have had a time of it to carry you down, Adeline.”
“I should have stayed up there till Doomsday before I’d have asked you to.” She turned away. She looked up at the last of the swallows, now winging swiftly above the treetops.
“I was on my way to Wilmott’s,” said Philip. “Should you like to come with me? Do you feel able to walk, Miss Daisy?” He had released her from his arm.
“I shall do whatever you say,” she answered, in a new sweet voice.
“I think I shall go back,” said Adeline, coldly.
“In that case, we’ll all go back,” said Philip.
“I am quite capable of returning by myself.” But she was ready to be persuaded by him.
“Come along,” he said, coaxingly.
They took the path which was now beaten by usage and led to where Wilmott lived, two miles away. Philip led the way, holding back branches when they intervened, striking with his stick at brambles that would have torn their skirts. High above, the cloud of swallows moved, as though leading them.
Daisy’s misadventure and Philip’s rescue of her had made a constraint among them. They spoke little and then only of what they saw. Sometimes the path was edged by bracken and sometimes by the purplish foliage of blackberries. Sometimes it was carpeted with pine needles, or the scarlet leaves of the soft maple, the first to fall. Mushrooms as large as dinner plates sprang up on it or scores of little ones marched like soldiers. An owl and her five young ones sat in a row on the limb of a beech tree. Philip raised his arm to point them out to his companions. The mother owl shot past him like a bolt, dealing him a blow that nearly felled him. The young one stared down imperturbably.
Adeline flung her arms about Philip.
“Oh, are you hurt?” she cried. “Let me see!” Clasping his head in her hands she examined his scarlet cheek.
“It’s all but bleeding,” she said, his head still possessively in her hands.
“That’s why I don’t like this country,” said Daisy. “You never know what will happen next. I always have the feeling that something wild is going to happen, and it depresses me.”
“I thought you said you longed for experience,” Adeline said, beginning to walk along the path again.
“I meant experience in myself — not to be buffeted about.”
“I can tell you that owl gave me a clout,” said Philip. “It’s monstrous strange how having young makes the female wicked.”
Adeline’s eyes burned into his back and he remembered. He looked over his shoulder and gave her a wink. “I don’t mean you,” he said, in a low voice. He plucked a red maple leaf and stuck it in his hat, as though in salute to her.
They found Wilmott fishing from his flat-bottomed boat on the broad breast of the river. Equinoctial rains had swollen it but it lay tranquil, reflecting the bright colour of the foliage at its brink. Wilmott sat, with an expression of bliss, his eyes fixed on the little red float that moved gently on the water.
“What a way to spend Sunday!” exclaimed Adeline.
Wilmott rose in his boat and drew in the line. “I look on this as necessary toil,” he said. “I’m fishing for my supper. I suppose you have just returned from afternoon church service.”
“No need to be sarcastic,” said Philip. “There was no service today. What have you caught?” Wilmott held up a pickerel.
“Go on with your fishing,” said Adeline. “We’ll watch you. It will be a nice rest after all we’ve been through.”
“I must come over here and fish with you,” said Philip. “But the fact is I have little time for anything save the building of my house. Just one thing after another happens.”
“Yes, I know,” said Wilmott. “It’s the same here.” He laid the fish on the bottom of the boat and picked up the oars. He dipped them lazily into the calmness of the water.
“Why, you’re making a lovely little wharf,” exclaimed Adeline.
“Yes,” he answered, rowing gently toward her. “Tite and I work at it in our spare time.”
“This is Mr. Wilmott, Daisy,” said Adeline. “Miss Vaughan, James.”
Wilmott steadied the boat with the oars and bowed gravely. Daisy returned his greeting and all stared down at the small landing stage on which tools lay.
“A nice saw,” said Philip, picking it up. “And a new hammer.”
“They belong to Tite,” said Wilmott. “He has very good tools. A man he worked for couldn’t pay him the cash, so he paid him with tools.”
“What lots of nails!” said Daisy. “Did he pay him with nails too?”
“He found the nails,” answered Wilmott. “Someone had dropped them on the road.”
“I bought a supply of good tools,” said Philip. “They have a way of disappearing, so I carve my initials on the handles.” He turned the hammer over in his hand.
“Why, here is a clear P.W. on the saw!” cried Daisy.
Wilmott got out of the boat and tied it to the landing. He bent his head beside Philip’s.
“Let’s see,” he said. Then he added — “I’ll be hanged, if your initials aren’t on the hammer!”
“That’s the way with half-breeds,” said Philip, easily. “Keep the tools. I have finished with them. You’re quite welcome.”
“Oh, no,” returned Wilmott. “I shall return them when we have finished the work. I couldn’t think of keeping them.”
“As you like.”
“Oh, what an enchanting little house!” cried Daisy. “Will you show it to me?”
As they went in at Wilmott’s invitation they saw Tite rapidly picking up things from here and there and carrying them in
to the kitchen. Before he disappeared he gave Adeline his gentle smile in which there was a touch of sadness.
Daisy was delighted with the place which Wilmott had indeed made homelike, if in rather an austere fashion. She exclaimed at everything but especially at the oddity of encountering so many books in a log house.
“I love reading,” she said. “I wonder if you would lend me a book to read. Have you the new one of Bulwer-Lytton’s”
“I’m afraid not,” said Wilmott. “But, if you can find anything to please you, do take it.”
“Will you help me choose?” she asked Philip. “I should like something you can recommend.”
“I’m no great reader,” he answered, “but I’ll do what I can.”
She and Philip went to the bookshelves. Adeline turned to Wilmott.
“Are you still happy here?” she asked.
“I’m serenely and consciously happy every hour of the day and, I could almost add, of the night. This life just suits me. I could live a hundred years of it, without complaint. I lack only one thing.”
“And what is that?”
“More frequent glimpses of you. Of course I have no right to say it but seeing you, talking to you, gives an added zest to everything I do.”
Daisy had taken up an exercise book and was examining it.”
“I am teaching my young Tite to read and write,” explained Wilmott. “He is very intelligent.”
“What lovely pothooks!” exclaimed Daisy. “Look, Captain Whiteoak, what lovely pothooks!”
“You must teach him to read my initials, Wilmott,” said Philip.
“Wilmott!” repeated Daisy. “Why, I thought your friend’s name was Wilton!”
“No — Wilmott.”
“Now here’s a coincidence,” she cried. “Before I left Montreal I met a Mrs. Wilmott. Let me see, where did I meet her? Oh, yes, it was at a soirée given by the wife of a Montreal banker. This Mrs. Wilmott — I remarked the name because it is not a common one — this Mrs. Wilmott struck me as quite unusual. She seemed a woman with a purpose. She is out here from England — I think to meet her husband.”
Wilmott had taken Tite’s copybook into his hands. He bent his gaze on it in an absent-minded way. Adeline came over and looked over his shoulder. She said, in an undertone: —
01 The Building of Jalna Page 18