by E. B. White
“Have you any engraved stationery?” he asked the storekeeper. “I’m behind on my correspondence.”
The storekeeper helped Stuart up onto the counter and found some letter paper for him—small paper, marked with the initial L. Stuart whipped out his fountain pen and sat down against a five-cent candy bar and began a letter to Harriet:
“MY DEAR MISS AMES,” he wrote. “I am a young person of modest proportions. By birth I am a New Yorker, but at the moment I am traveling on business of a confidential nature. My travels have brought me to your village. Yesterday the keeper of your local store, who has an honest face and an open manner, gave me a most favorable report of your character and appearance.”
At this point in the letter Stuart’s pen ran dry from the long words and Stuart had to get the storekeeper to lower him head-first into a bottle of ink so that he could refill the pen. Then he went back to letter writing. ...
“Pray forgive me, Miss Ames,” continued Stuart, “for presuming to strike up an acquaintance on so slender an excuse as your physical similarity; but of course the fact is, as you yourself must know, there are very few people who are only two inches in height. I say “two inches”—actually I am somewhat taller than that. My only drawback is that I look something like a mouse. I am nicely proportioned, however. Am also muscular beyond my years. Let me be perfectly blunt: my purpose in writing this brief note is to suggest that we meet. I realize that your parents may object to the suddenness and directness of my proposal, as well as to my somewhat mouselike appearance, so I think probably it might be a good idea if you just didn’t mention the matter to them. What they don’t know won’t hurt them. However, you probably understand more about dealing with your father and mother than I do, so I won’t attempt to instruct you but will leave everything to your good judgment.
“Being an outdoors person, I am camped by the river in an attractive spot at the foot of Tracy’s Lane. Would you care to go for a paddle with me in my canoe? How about tomorrow afternoon toward sundown, when the petty annoyances of the day are behind us and the river seems to flow more quietly in the long shadows of the willows? These tranquil spring evenings are designed by special architects for the enjoyment of boatmen. I love the water, dear Miss Ames, and my canoe is like an old and trusted friend.” Stuart forgot, in the excitement of writing Harriet, that he did not own a canoe.
“If you wish to accept my invitation, be at the river tomorrow about five o’clock. I shall await your arrival with all the eagerness I can muster. And now I must close this offensive letter and catch up with my affairs.
Yours very truly,
STUART LITTLE.”
After Stuart had sealed his letter in an envelope, he turned to the storekeeper.
“Where can I get hold of a canoe?” he asked.
“Right here,” replied the storekeeper. He walked over to his souvenir counter and took down a little birchbark canoe with the words SUMMER MEMORIES stamped on the side. Stuart examined it closely.
“Does she leak?” asked Stuart.
“It’s a nice canoe,” replied the storekeeper, bending it gently back into shape with his fingers. “It will cost you seventy-five cents plus a penny tax.”
Stuart took out his money and paid the man. Then he looked inside the canoe and noticed that there were no paddles.
“What about paddles?” he said, making his voice sound businesslike. The storekeeper hunted around among the souvenirs but he couldn’t seem to find any paddles, so he went over to the ice cream counter and came back with two little cardboard spoons—the kind you use for eating ice cream on picnics.
“These will work out all right as paddles,” he said.
Stuart took the spoons, but he was disgusted with the looks of them.
“They may work out all right,” said Stuart, “but I would hate to meet an American Indian while I had one of these things in my hand.”
The storekeeper carried the canoe and the paddles out in front of the store and set them down in the street. He wondered what this tiny boatman would do next, but Stuart never hesitated. Taking a piece of thread from his pocket, he lashed the paddles to the thwarts, swung the canoe lightly up on his head, and walked off with it as calmly as though he were a Canadian guide. He was very proud of his ability with boats and he liked to show off.
XIV. An Evening on the River
When Stuart arrived at his camp site by the river, he was tired and hot. He put the canoe in the water and was sorry to see that it leaked badly. The birch bark at the stern was held together by a lacing, and the water came in through the seam. In a very few seconds the canoe was half full of water.
“Darn it!” said Stuart, “I’ve been swindled.” He had paid seventy-six cents for a genuine Indian birchbark canoe, only to find that it leaked.
“Darn, darn, darn,” he muttered.
Then he bailed out his canoe and hauled it up on the beach for repairs. He knew he couldn’t take Harriet out in a leaky boat—she wouldn’t like it. Tired though he was, he climbed a spruce tree and found some spruce gum. With this he plugged the seam and stopped the leak. Even so, the canoe turned out to be a cranky little craft.
If Stuart had not had plenty of experience on the water, he would have got into serious trouble with it. It was a tippy boat even for a souvenir. Stuart carried stones from the beach down to the water’s edge and ballasted the canoe with the stones until it floated evenly and steadily. He made a back-rest so that Harriet would be able to lean back and trail her fingers in the water if she wished. He also made a pillow by tying one of his clean handkerchiefs around some moss. Then he went for a paddle to practise his stroke. He was angry that he didn’t have anything better than a paper spoon for a paddle, but he decided that there was nothing he could do about it. He wondered whether Harriet would notice that his paddle was really just an ice cream spoon.
All that afternoon Stuart worked on the canoe, adjusting ballast, filling seams, and getting everything shipshape for the morrow. He could think of nothing else but his date with Harriet. At suppertime he took his ax, felled a dandelion, opened a can of deviled ham, and had a light supper of ham and dandelion milk. After supper, he propped himself up against a fern, bit off some spruce gum for a chew, and lay there on the bank dreaming and chewing gum. In his imagination he went over every detail of tomorrow’s trip with Harriet. With his eyes shut he seemed to see the whole occasion plainly—how she would look when she came down the path to the water, how calm and peaceful the river was going to be in the twilight, how graceful the canoe would seem, drawn up on the shore. In imagination he lived every minute of their evening together.
They would paddle to a large water-lily pad upstream, and he would invite Harriet to step out on the pad and sit awhile. Stuart planned to wear his swimming trunks under his clothes so that he could dive off the lily pad into the cool stream. He would swim the crawl stroke, up and down and all around the lily pad, while Harriet watched, admiring his ability as a swimmer. (stuart chewed the spruce gum very rapidly as he thought about this part of the episode.)
Suddenly Stuart opened his eyes and sat up. He thought about the letter he had sent and he wondered whether it had ever been delivered. It was an unusually small letter, of course, and might have gone unnoticed in the letterbox. This idea filled him with fears and worries. But soon he let his thoughts return to the river, and as he lay there a whippoorwill began to sing on the opposite shore, darkness spread over the land, and Stuart dropped off to sleep.
The next day dawned cloudy. Stuart had to go up to the village to have the oil changed in his car, so he hid the canoe under some leaves, tied it firmly to a stone, and went off on his errand, still thinking about Harriet and wishing it were a nicer day. The sky looked rainy.
Stuart returned from the village with a headache, but he hoped that it would be better before five o’clock.
He felt rather nervous, as he had never taken a girl canoeing before. He spent the afternoon lying around camp, trying on different
shirts to see which looked best on him and combing his whiskers. He would no sooner get a clean shirt on than he would discover that it was wet under the arms, from nervous perspiration, and he would have to change it for a dry one. He put on a clean shirt at two o’clock, another at three o’clock, and another at quarter past four. This took up most of the afternoon. As five o’clock drew near, Stuart grew more and more nervous. He kept looking at his watch, glancing up the path, combing his hair, talking to himself, and fidgeting. The day had turned chilly
and Stuart was almost sure that there was going to be rain.He couldn’t imagine what he would do if it should rain just as Harriet Ames showed up to go canoeing.
At last five o’clock arrived. Stuart heard someone coming down the path. It was Harriet. She had accepted his invitation. Stuart threw himself down against a stump and tried to strike an easy attitude, as though he were accustomed to taking girls out. He waited till Harriet was within a few feet of him, then got up.
“Hello there,” he said, trying to keep his voice from trembling.
“Are you Mr. Little?” asked Harriet.
“Yes,” said Stuart. “It’s nice of you
to come.”
“Well, it was very good of you to ask me,” replied Harriet. She was wearing a white sweater, a tweed skirt, short white wool socks, and sneakers. Her hair was tied with a bright colored handkerchief, and Stuart noticed that she carried a box of peppermints in her hand.
“Not at all, glad to do it,” said Stuart. “I only wish we had better weather. Looks rather sticky, don’t you think?” Stuart was trying to make his voice sound as though he had an English accent.
Harriet looked at the sky and nodded. “Oh, well,” she said, “if it rains, it rains.”
“Sure,” repeated Stuart, “if it rains, it rains. My canoe is a short distance up the shore. May I help you over the rough places in the path?” Stuart was a courteous mouse by nature, but Harriet said she didn’t need any help. She was an active girl and not at all inclined to stumble or fall. Stuart led the way to where he had hidden the canoe, and Harriet followed, but when they reached the spot Stuart was horrified to discover that the canoe was not there. It had disappeared.
Stuart’s heart sank. He felt like crying.
“The canoe is gone,” he groaned.
Then he began racing wildly up and down the bank, looking everywhere. Harriet joined in the search, and after a while they found the canoe—but it was a mess. Some one had been playing with it. A long piece of heavy string was tied to one end. The ballast rocks were gone. The pillow was gone. The back rest was gone. The spruce gum had come out of the seam. Mud was all over everything, and one of the paddles was all bent and twisted. It was just a mess. It looked just the way a birchbark canoe looks after some big boys are finished playing with it.
Stuart was heartbroken. He did not know what to do. He sat down on a twig and buried his head in his hands. “Oh, gee,” he kept saying, “oh, gee whiz.”
“What’s the trouble?” asked Harriet.
“Miss Ames,” said Stuart in a trembling
voice, “I assure you I had everything beautifully arranged—everything. And now look!”
Harriet was for fixing the canoe up and going out on the river anyway, but Stuart couldn’t stand that idea.
“It’s no use,” he said bitterly, “it wouldn’t be the same.”
“The same as what?” asked Harriet.
“The same as the way it was going to be, when I was thinking about it yesterday. I’m afraid a woman can’t understand these things. Look at that string!It’s tied on so tight I could never get it off.”
“Well,” suggested Harriet, “couldn’t we just let it hang over in the water and trail along after us?”
Stuart looked at her in despair. “Did you ever see an Indian paddling along some quiet unspoiled river with a great big piece of rope dragging astern?” he asked.
“We could pretend we were fishing,” said Harriet, who didn’t realize that some people are fussy about boats.
“I don’t want to pretend I’m fishing,” cried Stuart, desperately. “Besides, look at that mud! Look at it!” He was screaming now.
Harriet sat down on the twig beside Stuart. She offered him a peppermint but he shook his head.
“Well,” she said, “it’s starting to rain, and I guess I’d better be running along if you are not going to take me paddling in your canoe. I don’t see why you have to sit here and sulk. Would you like to come up to my house? After dinner you could take me to the dance at the Country Club. It might cheer you up.”
“No, thank you,” replied Stuart. “I don’t know how to dance. Besides, I plan to make an early start in the morning. I’ll probably be on the road at daybreak.”
“Are you going to sleep out in all this rain?” asked Harriet.
“Certainly,” said Stuart. “I’ll crawl in under the canoe.”
Harriet shrugged her shoulders. “Well,” she said, “good-by, Mr. Little.”
“Good-by, Miss Ames,” said Stuart. “I am sorry our evening on the river had to end like this.”
“So am I,” said Harriet. And she walked away along the wet path toward Tracy’s Lane, leaving Stuart alone with his broken dreams and his damaged canoe.
XV. Heading North
Stuart slept under the canoe that night. He awakened at four to find that the rain had stopped.
The day would break clear. Already the birds were beginning to stir and make bright sounds in the branches overhead. Stuart never let a bird pass without looking to see if it was Margalo.
At the edge of the town he found a filling station and stopped to take on some gas.
“Five, please,” said Stuart to the attendant.
The man looked at the tiny automobile in amazement.
“Five what?” he asked.
“Five drops,” said Stuart. But the man
shook his head and said that he couldn’t sell such a small amount of gas.
“Why can’t you?” demanded Stuart. “You need the money and I need the gas. Why can’t we work something out between us?”
The filling station man went inside and came back with a medicine dropper. Stuart unscrewed the cap of the tank and the man put in five drops of gasoline. “I’ve never done anything like this before,” he said.
“Better look at the oil, too,” said Stuart.
After everything had been checked and the money had been paid, Stuart climbed in, started the engine, and drove out onto the highway. The sky was growing brighter, and along the river the mists of morning hung in the early light. The village was still asleep. Stuart’s car purred along smoothly. Stuart felt refreshed and glad to be on the move again.
Half a mile out of town the road forked. One road seemed to go off toward the west, the other road continued north. Stuart drew up to the side of the northbound road and got out to look the situation over. To his surprise he discovered that there was a man sitting in the ditch, leaning against a signpost. The man wore spurs on his legs. He also wore a heavy leather belt, and Stuart realized that he must be a repairman for the telephone company.
“Good morning,” said Stuart in a friendly voice. The repairman raised one hand to his head in a salute. Stuart sat down in the ditch beside him and breathed deeply of the fresh, sweet air. “It’s going to be a fine day,” he observed.
“Yes,” agreed the repairman, “a fine day. I am looking forward to climbing my poles.”
“I wish you fair skies and a tight grip,” said Stuart. “By the way, do you ever see any birds at the tops of your poles?”
“Yes, I see birds in great numbers,” replied the repairman.
“Well, if you ever run across a bird named Margalo,” said Stuart, “I’d appreciate it if you would drop me a line. Here’s my card.”
“Describe the bird,” said the repairman, taking out pad and pencil.
“Brown,” said Stuart. “Brown, with a streak of yellow on her bosom.”
“Know
where she comes from?” asked the man.
“She comes from fields once tall with wheat, from
pastures deep in fern and thistle; she comes from vales of meadowsweet, and she loves to whistle.”
The repairman wrote it all down briefly. “Fields—wheat—pastures, fern and thistle. Vales, meadowsweet. Enjoys whistling.” Then he put the pad back in his pocket, and tucked Stuart’s card away in his wallet. “I’ll keep my eyes open,” he promised.
Stuart thanked him. They sat for a while in silence. Then the man spoke.
“Which direction are you headed?” he asked.
“North,” said Stuart.
“North is nice,” said the repairman.
“I’ve always enjoyed going north. Of course, south-west is a fine direction, too.”
“Yes, I suppose it is,” said Stuart, thoughtfully.
“And there’s east,” continued the repairman. “I once had an interesting experience on an easterly course. Do you want me to tell you about it?”
“No, thanks,” said Stuart.
The repairman seemed disappointed, but he kept right on talking. “There’s something about north,” he said, “something that sets it apart from all other directions. A person who is heading north is not making any mistake, in my opinion.”
“That’s the way I look at it,” said Stuart. “I rather expect that from now on I shall be traveling north until the end of my days.”
“Worse things than that could happen to a person,” said the repairman.
“Yes, I know,” answered Stuart.
“Following a broken telephone line north,
I have come upon some wonderful places,” continued the repairman. “Swamps where cedars grow and turtles wait on logs but not for anything in particular; fields bordered by crooked fences broken by years of standing still; orchards so old they have forgotten where the farmhouse is. In the north I have eaten my lunch in pastures rank with ferns and junipers, all under fair skies with a wind blowing. My business has taken me into spruce woods on winter nights where the snow lay deep and soft, a perfect place for a carnival of rabbits. I have sat at peace on the freight platforms of railroad junctions in the north, in the warm hours andwiththe warm smells. I know fresh lakes in the north, undisturbed except by fish and hawk and, of course, by the Telephone Company, which has to follow its nose. I know all these places well. They are a long way from here—don’t forget that. And a person who is looking for something doesn’t travel very fast.”