CHAPTER V.
"It was Peboan, the winter! From his eyes the tears were flowing As from melting lakes the streamlets, And his body shrunk and dwindled As the shouting sun ascended; And the young man saw before him, On the hearth-stone of the wigwam, Where the fire had smoked and smouldered, Saw the earliest flower of spring-time, Saw the miskodeed in blossom. Thus it was that in that Northland Came the spring with all its splendor, All its birds and all its blossoms, All its flowers and leaves and grasses."
--LONGFELLOW. _The Song of Hiawatha._
On this Northern border Spring came late--came late, but in splendor.She sent forward no couriers, no hints in the forest, no premonitions onthe winds. All at once she was there herself. Not a shy maid, timid,pallid, hesitating, and turning back, but a full-blooming goddess andwoman. One might almost say that she was not Spring at all, but Summer.The weeks called spring farther southward showed here but the shrinkingand fading of winter. First the snow crumbled to fine dry grayishpowder; then the ice grew porous and became honeycombed, and it was nolonger safe to cross the Straits; then the first birds came; then thefar-off smoke of a steamer could be seen above the point, and thevillage wakened. In the same day the winter went and the summer came.
On the highest point of the island were the remains of an oldearth-work, crowned by a little surveyor's station, like an arbor onstilts, which was reached by the aid of a ladder. Anne liked to go upthere on the first spring day, climb the ice-coated rounds, and,standing on the dry old snow that covered the floor, gaze off toward thesouth and east, where people and cities were, and the spring; thentoward the north, where there was still only fast-bound ice and snowstretching away over thousands of miles of almost unknown country, thegreat wild northland called British America, traversed by the huntersand trappers of the Hudson Bay Company--vast empire ruled by privatehands, a government within a government, its line of forts and postsextending from James Bay to the Little Slave, from the Saskatchewannorthward to the Polar Sea. In the early afternoon she stood there now,having made her way up to the height with some difficulty, for theice-crust was broken, and she was obliged to wade knee-deep through someof the drifts, and go round others that were over her head, leaving atrail behind her as crooked as a child's through a clover field.Reaching the plateau on the summit at last, and avoiding the hidden pitsof the old earth-work, she climbed the icy ladder, and stood on thewhite floor again with delight, brushing from her woollen skirt andleggings the dry snow which still clung to them. The sun was so brightand the air so exhilarating that she pushed back her little fur cap, anddrew a long breath of enjoyment. Everything below was stillwhite-covered--the island and village, the Straits and the mainland; butcoming round the eastern point four propellers could be seen flounderingin the loosened ice, heaving the porous cakes aside, butting with theirsharp high bows, and then backing briskly to get headway to startforward again, thus breaking slowly a passageway for themselves, andchurning the black water behind until it boiled white as soap-suds asthe floating ice closed over it. Now one boat, finding by chance aweakened spot, floundered through it without pause, and came outtriumphantly some distance in advance of the rest; then another, wakenedto new exertions by this sight, put on all steam, and went poundingalong with a crashing sound until her bows were on a line with thefirst. The two boats left behind now started together with muchsplashing and sputtering, and veering toward the shore, with the hopeof finding a new weak place in the floe, ran against hard ice with athud, and stopped short; then there was much backing out and flounderinground, the engines panting and the little bells ringing wildly, untilthe old channel was reached, where they rested awhile, and then madeanother beginning. These manoeuvres were repeated over and over again,the passengers and crew of each boat laughing and chaffing each other asthey passed and repassed in the slow pounding race. It had happened morethan once that these first steamers had been frozen in after reachingthe Straits, and had been obliged to spend several days in company fastbound in the ice. Then the passengers and crews visited each other,climbing down the sides of the steamers and walking across. At thatearly season the passengers were seldom pleasure-travellers, andtherefore they endured the delay philosophically. It is only the realpleasure-traveller who has not one hour to spare.
The steamers Anne now watched were the first from below. The lower lakeswere clear; it was only this northern Strait that still held the icetogether, and kept the fleets at bay on the east and on the west.White-winged vessels, pioneers of the summer squadron, waited withoutwhile the propellers turned their knife-bladed bows into the ice, andcut a pathway through. Then word went down that the Straits were open,all the freshwater fleet set sail, the lights were lit again in thelight-houses, and the fishing stations and lonely little wood docks cameto life.
"How delightful it is!" said Anne, aloud.
There are times when a person, although alone, does utter a sentence ortwo, that is, thinks aloud; but such times are rare. And such sentences,also, are short--exclamations. The long soliloquies of the stage, soconvenient in the elucidation of plot, do not occur in real life, wherewe are left to guess at our neighbor's motives, untaught by so much as asyllable. How fortunate for Dora's chances of happiness could she butoverhear that Alonzo thinks her a sweet, bigoted little fool, but wantsthat very influence to keep him straight, nothing less than the intenseconvictions of a limited intelligence and small experience in life beingof any use in sweeping him over with a rush by means of his feelingsalone, which is what he is hoping for. Having worn out all the pleasurethere is to be had in this world, he has now a mind to try for the next.
What an escape for young Conrad to learn from Honoria's own passionatesoliloquy that she is marrying him from bitterest rage against Manuel,and that those tones and looks that have made him happy are second-handwares, which she flings from her voice and eyes with desperate scorn!Still, we must believe that Nature knows what she is about; and she hasnot as yet taught us to think aloud.
But sometimes, when the air is peculiarly exhilarating, when a distantmountain grows purple and gold tipped as the sun goes down behind it,sometimes when we see the wide ocean suddenly, or come upon a bed ofviolets, we utter an exclamation as the bird sings: we hardly know wehave spoken.
"Yes, it _is_ delightful," said some one below, replying to the girl'ssentence.
It was Rast, who had come across the plateau unseen, and was nowstanding on the old bastion of the fort beneath her. Anne smiled, thenturned as if to descend.
"Wait; I am coming up," said Rast.
"But it is time to go home."
"Apparently it was not time until I came," said the youth, swinginghimself up without the aid of the ladder, and standing by her side."What are you looking at? Those steamers?"
"Yes, and the spring, and the air."
"You can not see the air."
"But I can feel it; it is delicious. I wonder, if we should go far away,Rast, and see tropical skies, slow rivers, great white lilies, andpalms, whether they would seem more beautiful than this?"
"Of course they would; and we are going some day. We are not intendingto stay here on this island all our lives, I hope."
"But it is our home, and I love it. I love this water and these woods, Ilove the flash of the light-houses, and the rushing sound the vesselsmake sweeping by at night under full sail, close in shore."
"The island is well enough in its way, but there are other places; andI, for one, mean to see the world," said young Pronando, taking off hiscap, throwing it up, and catching it like a ball.
"Yes, you will see the world," answered Anne; "but I shall stay here.You must write and tell me all about it."
"Of course," said Rast, sending the cap up twice as high, and catchingit with unerring hand. Then he stopped his play, and said, suddenly,"Will you care very much when I am gone away?"
"Yes," said Anne; "I shall be very lonely."
"But shal
l you care?" said the youth, insistently. "You have so littlefeeling, Annet; you are always cold."
"I shall be colder still if we stay here any longer," said the girl,turning to descend. Rast followed her, and they crossed the plateautogether.
"How much shall you care?" he repeated. "You never say things out,Annet. You are like a stone."
"AND IT ENDED IN THEIR RACING DOWN TOGETHER."]
"Then throw me away," answered the girl, lightly. But there was amoisture in her eyes and a slight tremor in her voice which Rastunderstood, or, rather, thought he understood. He took her hand andpressed it warmly; the two fur gloves made the action awkward, but hewould not loosen his hold. His spirits rose, and he began to laugh, andto drag his companion along at a rapid pace. They reached the edge ofthe hill, and the steep descent opened before them; the girl'sremonstrances were in vain, and it ended in their racing down togetherat a break-neck pace, reaching the bottom, laughing and breathless, liketwo school-children. They were now on the second plateau, the levelproper of the island above the cliffs, which, high and precipitous onthree sides, sank down gradually to the southwestern shore, so thatone might land there, and drag a cannon up to the old earth work on thesummit--a feat once performed by British soldiers in the days when thepowers of the Old World were still fighting with each other for the New.How quaint they now seem, those ancient proclamations and documents withwhich a Spanish king grandly meted out this country from Maine toFlorida, an English queen divided the same with sweeping patents fromEast to West, and a French monarch, following after, regranted the wholevirgin soil on which the banners of France were to be planted withsolemn Christian ceremony! They all took possession; they all plantedbanners. Some of the brass plates they buried are turned up occasionallyat the present day by the farmer's plough, and, wiping his forehead, hestops to spell out their high-sounding words, while his sunburned boyslook curiously over his shoulder. A place in the county museum is allthey are worth now.
Anne Douglas and Rast went through the fort grounds and down the hillpath, instead of going round by the road. The fort ladies, sitting bytheir low windows, saw them, and commented.
"That girl does not appreciate young Pronando," said Mrs. Cromer. "Idoubt if she even sees his beauty."
"Perhaps it is just as well that she does not," replied Mrs. Rankin,"for he must go away and live his life, of course; have his adventures."
"Why not she also?" said Mrs. Bryden, smiling.
"In the first place, she has no choice; she is tied down here. In thesecond, she is a good sort of girl, without imagination or enthusiasm.Her idea of life is to marry, have meat three times a week, fish threetimes, lights out at ten o'clock, and, by way of literature, MissEdgeworth's novels and Macaulay's _History of England_."
"And a very good idea," said Mrs. Bryden.
"Certainly, only one can not call that adventures."
"But even such girls come upon adventures sometimes," said Mrs. Cromer.
"Yes, when they have beauty. Their beauty seems often to have anextraordinary power over the most poetical and imaginative men, too,strange as it may appear. But Anne Douglas has none of it."
"How you all misunderstand her!" said a voice from the littledining-room opening into the parlor, its doorway screened by a curtain.
"Ah, doctor, are you there?" said Mrs. Bryden. "We should not have saida word if we had known it."
"Yes, madam, I am here--with the colonel; but it is only this momentthat I have lifted my head to listen to your conversation, and I remainfilled with astonishment, as usual, at the obtuseness manifested by yoursex regarding each other."
"Hear! hear!" said the colonel.
"Anne Douglas," continued the chaplain, clearing his throat, andbeginning in a high chanting voice, which they all knew well, havingheard it declaiming on various subjects during long snow-bound winterevenings, "is a most unusual girl."
"Oh, come in here, doctor, and take a seat; it will be hard work to sayit all through that doorway," called Mrs. Bryden.
"No, madam, I will not sit down," said the chaplain, appearing under thecurtain, his brown wig awry, his finger impressively pointed. "I willsimply say this, namely, that as to Anne Douglas, you are all mistaken."
"And who is to be the judge between us?"
"The future, madam."
"Very well; we will leave it to the future, then," said Mrs. Bryden,skillfully evading the expected oration.
"We may safely do that, madam--safely indeed; the only difficulty isthat we may not live to see it."
"Oh, a woman's future is always near at hand, doctor. Besides, we arenot so very old ourselves."
"True, madam--happily true for all the eyes that rest upon you.Nevertheless, the other side, I opine, is likewise true, namely, thatAnne Douglas is very young."
"She is sixteen; and I myself am only twenty," said Mrs. Rankin.
"With due respect, ladies, I must mention that not one of you was everin her life so young as Anne Douglas at the present moment."
"What in the world do you mean, doctor?"
"What I say. I can see you all as children in my mind's eye," continuedthe chaplain, unflinchingly; "pretty, bright, precocious littlecreatures, finely finished, finely dressed, quick-witted, graceful, andbewitching. But at that age Anne Douglas was a--"
"Well, what?"
"A mollusk," said the chaplain, bringing out the word emphatically.
"And what is she now, doctor?"
"A promise."
"To be magnificently fulfilled in the future?"
"That depends upon fate, madam; or rather circumstances."
"For my part, I would rather be fulfilled, although not perhapsmagnificently, than remain even the most glorious promise," said Mrs.Rankin, laughing.
The fort ladies liked the old chaplain, and endured his long monologuesby adding to them running accompaniments of their own. To bright societywomen there is nothing so unendurable as long arguments or dissertationson one subject. Whether from want of mental training, or from impatienceof delay, they are unwilling to follow any one line of thought for morethan a minute or two; they love to skim at random, to light and fly awayagain, to hover, to poise, and then dart upward into space like so manyhumming-birds. Listen to a circle of them sitting chatting over theirembroidery round the fire or on a piazza; no man with a thoroughlymasculine mind can follow them in their mental dartings hither andthither. He has just brought his thoughts to bear upon a subject, and iscollecting what he is going to say, when, behold! they are miles away,and he would be considered stupid to attempt to bring them back. Hismental processes are slow and lumbering compared with theirs. And when,once in a while, a woman appears who likes to search out a subject, shefinds herself out of place and bewildered too, often a target for thequick tongues and light ridicule of her companions. If she likes togeneralize, she is lost. Her companions never wish to generalize; theywant to know not the general view of a subject, but what Mrs. Blank orMr. Star thinks of it. Parents, if you have a daughter of this kind, seethat she spends in her youth a good portion of every day with the mostvolatile swift-tongued maidens you can find; otherwise you leave herwithout the current coin of the realm in which she must live and die,and no matter if she be fairly a gold mine herself, her wealth isunavailable.
Spring burst upon the island with sudden glory; the maples showed all atonce a thousand perfect little leaflets, the rings of the juniperbrightened, the wild larches beckoned with their long green fingers fromthe height. The ice was gone, the snow was gone, no one knew whither;the Straits were dotted with white sails. Bluebells appeared, swingingon their hair-like stems where late the icicles hung, and every littleIndian farm set to work with vigor, knowing that the time was short. Thesoldiers from the fort dug in the military garden under the cliff,turning up the mould in long ridges, and pausing to hang up their coatson the old stockade with a finely important air of heat: it was so longsince they had been too warm! The little village was broad awake now;there was shipping at the piers again
, and a demand for white-fish; allthe fishing-boats were out, and their half-breed crews hard at work. Theviolins hung unused on the walls of the little cabins that faced thewest, for the winter was ended, and the husbands and lovers were off onthe water: the summer was their time for toil.
And now came the parting. Rast was to leave the island, and enter theWestern college which Dr. Gaston had selected for him. The chaplainwould have sent the boy over to England at once to his own _alma mater_had it been possible; but it was not possible, and the good man knewlittle or nothing of the degree of excellence possessed by Americancolleges, East or West. Harvard and Yale and old Columbia would not havebelieved this; yet it was true.
Rast was in high spirits; the brilliant world seemed opening before him.Everything in his life was as he wished it to be; and he was notdisturbed by any realization that this was a rare condition of affairswhich might never occur again. He was young, buoyant, and beautiful;everybody liked him, and he liked everybody. He was going to set sailinto his far bright future, and he would find, probably, an island ofsilver and diamonds, with peacocks walking slowly about spreading theirgorgeous feathers, and pleasure-boats at hand with silken sails andgolden oars. It was not identically this that he dreamed, but thingsequally shining and unattainable--that is, to such a nature as his. Thesilver and diamond islands are there, but by a law of equalization onlyhard-featured prosaic men attain them and take possession, formingthereafterward a lasting contrast to their own surroundings, which thengoes into the other scale, and amuses forever the poverty-stricken poetswho, in their poor old boats, with ragged canvas and some small ballastof guitars and lutes, sail by, eating their crusts and laughing at them.
"I shall not go one step, even now, unless you promise to writeregularly, Annet," said Rast, the evening before his departure, as theystood together on the old piazza of the Agency watching for the lightsof the steamer which was to carry him away.
"Of course I shall write, Rast; once a week always."
"No; I wish no set times fixed. You are simply to promise that you willimmediately answer every letter _I_ write."
"I will answer; but as to the time--I may not always be able--"
"You may if you choose; and I will not go unless you promise," saidRast, with irritation. "Do you want to spoil everything, my educationand all my future? I would not be so selfish, Annet, if I were you. Whatis it I ask? A trifle. I have no father, no mother, no sister; only you.I am going away for the first time in my life, and you grudge me aletter!"
"Not a letter, Rast, but a promise; lest I might not be able to fulfillit. I only meant that something might happen in the house which wouldkeep me from answering within the hour, and then my promise would bebroken. I will always answer as soon as I can."
"You will not fail me, then?"
The girl held out her hand and clasped his with a warm, honest pressure;he turned and looked at her in the starlight. "God bless you for yourdear sincere eyes!" he said. "The devil himself would believe you."
"I hope he would," said Anne, smiling.
What with Miss Lois's Calvinism, and the terrific picture of his SatanicMajesty at the death-bed of the wicked in the old Catholic church, thetwo, as children, had often talked about the devil and hischaracteristics, Rast being sure that some day he should see him. MissLois, overhearing this, agreed with the lad dryly, much to Anne'sdismay.
"What is the use of the devil?" she had once demanded.
"To punish the wicked," answered Miss Lois.
"Does he enjoy it?"
"I suppose he does."
"Then he must be very wicked himself?"
"He is."
"Who created him?"
"You know as well as I do, Anne. God created him, of course."
"Well," said the child, after a silence, going as usual to the root ofthe matter, "I don't think _I_ should have made him at all if I couldn'thave made him better."
The next morning the sun rose as usual, but Rast was gone. Anne felt aloneliness she had never felt before in all her life. For Rast had beenher companion; hardly a day had passed without his step on the piazza,his voice in the hall, a walk with him or a sail; and always, whether athome or abroad, the constant accompaniment of his suggestions, hisfault-findings, his teachings, his teasings, his grumblings, hislaughter and merry nonsense, the whole made bearable--nay, evenpleasant--by the affection that lay underneath. Anne Douglas's naturewas faithful to an extraordinary degree, faithful to its promises, itsduties, its love; but it was an intuitive faithfulness, which neverthought about itself at all. Those persons who are in the habit ofexplaining voluminously to themselves and everybody else the lines ofargument, the struggles, and triumphant conclusions reached by theirvarious virtues, would have considered this girl's mind but a poor dullthing, for Anne never analyzed herself at all. She had never lived forherself or in herself, and it was that which gave the tinge of coldnessthat was noticed in her. For warm-heartedness generally begins at home,and those who are warm to others are warmer to themselves; it is but theoverflow.
Meantime young Pronando, sailing southward, felt his spirits rise withevery shining mile. Loneliness is crowded out of the mind of the one whogoes by the myriad images of travel; it is the one who stays whosuffers. But there was much to be done at the Agency. The boys grew outof their clothes, the old furniture fell to pieces, and the fatherseemed more lost to the present with every day and hour. He gave lessand less attention to the wants of the household, and at last Anne andMiss Lois together managed everything without troubling him even by aquestion. For strange patience have loving women ever had with dreamerslike William Douglas--men who, viewed by the eyes of the world, areuseless and incompetent; tears are shed over their graves oftentimeslong after the successful are forgotten. For personally there is asweetness and gentleness in their natures which make them very dear tothe women who love them. The successful man, perhaps, would not care forsuch love, which is half devotion, half protection; the successful manwishes to domineer. But as he grows old he notices that Jane is alwaysquiet when the peach-trees are in bloom, and that gray-haired sisterCatherine always bends down her head and weeps silently whenever thechoir sings "Rockingham"; and then he remembers who it was that diedwhen the peach-trees showed their blossoms, and who it was who wentabout humming "Rockingham," and understands. Yet always with a slowsurprise, and a wonder at women's ways, since both the men were, to hisidea, failures in the world and their generation.
Any other woman of Miss Lois's age and strict prudence, having generalcharge of the Douglas household, would have required from Anne long agothat she should ask her father plainly what were his resources and hisincome. To a cent were all the affairs of the church-house regulated andbalanced; Miss Lois would have been unhappy at the end of the week if apenny remained unaccounted for. Yet she said nothing to the daughter,nothing to the father, although noticing all the time that the smallprovision was no larger, while the boys grew like reeds, and the timewas at hand when more must be done for them. William Douglas's way wasto give Anne at the beginning of each week a certain sum. This he haddone as far back as his daughter could remember, and she had spent itunder the direction of Miss Lois. Now, being older, she laid it outwithout much advice from her mentor, but began to feel troubled becauseit did not go as far. "It goes as far," said Miss Lois, "but the boyshave gone farther."
"Poor little fellows! they must eat."
"And they must work."
"But what can they do at their age, Miss Lois?"
"Form habits," replied the New England woman, sternly. "In my opinionthe crying evil of the country to-day is that the boys are not trained;educated, I grant you, but not trained--trained as they were when timeswere simpler, and the rod in use. Parents are too ambitious; themechanic wishes to make his sons merchants, the merchant wishes to makehis gentlemen; but, while educating them and pushing them forward, theparents forget the homely habits of patient labor, strict veracity inthought and action, and stern self-denials which have given _them_ th
eirmeasure of success, and so between the two stools the poor boys fall tothe ground. It is my opinion," added Miss Lois, decisively, "that,whether you want to build the Capitol at Washington or a red barn, youmust first have a firm foundation."
"Yes, I know," replied Anne. "And I _do_ try to control them."
"Oh, General Putnam! _you_ try!" said Miss Lois. "Why, you spoil themlike babies."
Anne always gave up the point when Miss Lois reverted to Putnam. ThisRevolutionary hero, now principally known, like Romulus, by a wolfstory, was the old maid's glory and remote ancestor, and helped her overoccasional necessities for strong expressions with ancestral kindness.She felt like reverting to him more than once that summer, because, Rasthaving gone, there was less of a whirlwind of out-door life, of pleasurein the woods and on the water, and the plain bare state of things stoodclearly revealed. Anne fell behind every month with the householdexpenses in spite of all her efforts, and every month Miss Lois herselfmade up the deficiency. The boys were larger, and careless. The oldhouse yawned itself apart. Of necessity the gap between the income andthe expenditure must grow wider and wider. Anne did not realize this,but Miss Lois did. The young girl thought each month that she must havebeen unusually extravagant; she counted in some item as an extra expensewhich would not occur again, gave up something for herself, and begananew with fresh hope. On almost all subjects Miss Lois had the smallestamount of patience for what she called blindness, but on this she wassilent. Now and then her eyes would follow Anne's father with a troubledgaze; but if he looked toward her or spoke, she at once assumed herusual brisk manner, and was even more cheerful than usual. Thus, thementor being silent, the family drifted on.
The short Northern summer, with its intense sunshine and its coolnights, was now upon them. Fire crackled upon the hearth of the Agencysitting-room in the early morning, but it died out about ten o'clock,and from that time until five in the afternoon the heat and thebrightness were peculiarly brilliant and intense. It seemed as thoughthe white cliffs must take fire and smoulder in places where they werewithout trees to cover them; to climb up and sit there was to feel theearth burning under you, and to be penetrated with a sun-bath of raysbeating straight down through the clear air like white shafts. And yetthere was nothing resembling the lowland heats in this atmosphere, forall the time a breeze blew, ruffling the Straits, and bearing thevessels swiftly on to the east and the west on long tacks, making theleaves in the woods flutter on their branchlets, and keeping thewild-brier bushes, growing on angles and points of the cliff, stretchedout like long whip-cords wreathed in pink and green. There was nothing,too, of the stillness of the lowlands, for always one could hear therustling and laughing of the forest, and the wash of the water on thepebbly beach. There were seldom any clouds in the summer sky, and thosethat were there were never of that soft, high-piled white downiness thatbelongs to summer clouds farther south. They came up in the west atevening in time for the sunset, or they lay along the east in the earlymorning, but they did not drift over the zenith in white laziness atnoontide, or come together violently in sudden thunder-storms. They weresober clouds of quiet hue, and they seemed to know that they were not tohave a prominent place in the summer procession of night, noon, andmorning in that Northern sky, as though there was a law that the sunshould have uninterrupted sway during the short season allotted to him.Anne walked in the woods as usual, but not far. Rast was gone. Rastalways hurried everybody; left alone, she wandered slowly through theaisles of the arbor vitae on the southern heights. The close ranks ofthese trees hardly made what is called a grove, for the flat green platsof foliage rose straight into the air, and did not arch or mingle witheach other; a person walking there could always see the open sky above.But so dense was the thickness on each side that though the little pathswith which the wood was intersected often ran close to each other,sometimes side by side, persons following them had no suspicion of eachother's presence unless their voices betrayed them. In the hot sun thetrees exhaled a strong aromatic fragrance, and as the currents of airdid not penetrate their low green-walled aisles, it rested there,although up above everything was dancing along--butterflies, petals ofthe brier, waifs and strays from the forest, borne lakeward on thestrong breeze. The atmosphere in these paths was so hot, still, andaromatic that now and then Anne loved to go there and steep herself init. She used to tell Miss Lois that it made her feel as though she wasan Egyptian princess who had been swathed in precious gums and spicesfor a thousand years.
Over on the other side of the island grew the great pines. These had twodeeply worn Indian trails leading through them from north to south, notaimless, wandering little paths like those through the arbor vitae, butone straight track from the village to the western shore, and anotherleading down to the spring on the beach. The cliffs on whose summitthese pines grew were high and precipitous, overlooking deep water; avessel could have sailed by so near the shore that a pebble thrown fromabove would have dropped upon her deck. With one arm round an old trunk,Anne often sat on the edge of these cliffs, looking down through thewestern pass. She had never felt any desire to leave the island, savethat sometimes she had vague dreams of the tropics--visions ofpalm-trees and white lilies, the Pyramids and minarets, as fantastic asher dreams of Shakspeare. But she loved the island and the island trees;she loved the wild larches, the tall spires of the spruces bossed withlighter green, the gray pines, and the rings of the juniper. She had apeculiar feeling about trees. When she was a little girl she used towhisper to them how much she loved them, and even now she felt that theynoticed her. Several times since these recent beginnings of care she hadturned back and gone over part of the path a second time, because shefelt that she had not been as observant as usual of her old friends, andthat they would be grieved by the inattention. But this she never told.
There was, however, less and less time for walking in the woods; therewas much to do at home, and she was faithful in doing it: every springof the little household machinery felt her hand upon it, keeping it inorder. The clothes she made for Tita and the boys, the dinners sheprovided from scanty materials, the locks and latches she improvised,the paint she mixed and applied, the cheerfulness and spirit with whichshe labored on day after day, were evidences of a great courage andunselfishness; and if the garments were not always successful as regardsshape, nor the dinners always good, she was not disheartened, but borethe fault-findings cheerfully, promising to do better another time. Forthey all found fault with her, the boys loudly, Tita quietly, but with acalm pertinacity that always gained its little point. Even Miss Loisthought sometimes that Anne was careless, and told her so. For Miss Loisnever concealed her light under a bushel. The New England woman believedthat household labor held the first place among a woman's duties andprivileges; and if the housekeeper spent fourteen hours out of thetwenty-four in her task, she was but fulfilling her destiny as herCreator had intended. Anne was careless in the matter of piece-bags,having only two, whereas four, for linen and cotton, colors and blackmaterials, were, as every one knew, absolutely necessary. There was alsothe systematic halving of sheets and resewing them at the first signs ofwear somewhat neglected, and also a particularity as to the saving ofstring. Even the vaguely lost, thought-wandering father, too, findingthat his comforts diminished, spoke of it, not with complaint so much assurprise; and then the daughter restored what he had missed at anysacrifice. All this was done without the recognition by anybody that itwas much to do. Anne did not think of it in that way, and no one thoughtfor her. For they were all so accustomed to her strong, cheerful spiritthat they took what she did as a matter of course. Dr. Gaston understoodsomething of the life led at the Agency; but he too had fallen into away of resting upon the girl. She took a rapid survey of his smallhousekeeping whenever she came up to his cottage for a lesson, which wasnot as often now as formerly, owing to her manifold home duties. ButPere Michaux shook his head. He believed that all should live theirlives, and that one should not be a slave to others; that the youngshould be young, and that some
natural simple pleasure should be putinto each twenty-four hours. To all his flock he preached this doctrine.They might be poor, but children should be made happy; they might bepoor, but youth should not be overwhelmed with the elders' cares; theymight be poor, but they could have family love round the pooresthearthstone; and there was always time for a little pleasure, if theywould seek it simply and moderately. The fine robust old man lived in anatmosphere above the subtleties of his leaner brethren in cities farthersouthward, and he was left untrammelled in his water diocese. Privilegesare allowed to scouts preceding the army in an Indian country, becauseit is not every man who can be a scout. Not but that the old priestunderstood the mysteries, the introverted gaze, and indwelling thoughtsthat belong to one side of his religion; they were a part of hisexperience, and he knew their beauty and their dangers. They were goodfor some minds, he said; but it was a strange fact, which he had provedmore than once during the long course of his ministry, that the mindswhich needed them the least loved them the most dearly, revelled inthem, and clung to them with pertinacity, in spite of his efforts toturn them into more practical channels.
In all his broad parish he had no penitent so long-winded, exhaustive,and self-centred as little Tita. He took excellent care of the child,was very patient with her small ceremonies and solemnities, tried gentlyto lead her aright, and, with rare wisdom, in her own way, not his. Butthrough it all, in his frequent visits to the Agency, and in the visitsof the Douglas family to the hermitage, his real interest was centred inthe Protestant sister, the tall unconscious young girl who had not yet,as he said to himself, begun to live. He shook his head often as hethought of her. "In France, even in England, she would be guarded," hesaid to himself; "but here! It is an excellent country, this America oftheirs, for the pioneer, the New-Englander, the adventurer, and thefarmer; but for a girl like Anne? No." And then, if Anne was present,and happened to meet his eye, she smiled back so frankly that he forgothis fears. "After all, I suppose there are hundreds of such girls inthis country of theirs," he admitted, in a grumbling way, to his Frenchmind, "coming up like flowers everywhere, without any guardianship atall. But it is all wrong, all wrong."
The priest generally placed America as a nation in the hands ofpossessive pronouns of the third person plural; it was a safe way ofavoiding responsibility, and of being as scornful, without offending anyone, as he pleased. One must have some outlet.
The summer wore on. Rast wrote frequently, and Anne, writing the firstletters of her life in reply, found that she liked to write. She savedin her memory all kinds of things to tell him: about their favoritetrees, about the birds that had nests in the garden that season, aboutthe fishermen and their luck, about the unusual quantity of raspberrieson the mainland, about the boys, about Tita. Something, too, about Baconand Sir Thomas Browne, selections from whose volumes she was now readingunder the direction of the chaplain. But she never put down any of herown thoughts, opinions, or feelings: her letters were curious examplesof purely impersonal objective writing. Egotism, the under-current ofmost long letters as of most long conversations also, the telling of howthis or that was due to us, affected us, was regarded by us, wasprophesied, was commended, was objected to, was feared, was thoroughlyunderstood, was held in restraint, was despised or scorned by us, andall our opinions on the subject, which, however important in itself, wepresent always surrounded by a large indefinite aureola of our ownpersonality--this was entirely wanting in Anne Douglas's letters andconversation. Perhaps if she had had a girl friend of her own age shemight have exchanged with her those little confidences, speculations,and fancies which are the first steps toward independent thought, thosemazy whispered discussions in which girls delight, the beginnings ofpoetry and romance, the beginnings, in fact, of their own personalindividual consciousness and life. But she had only Rast, and that wasnot the same thing. Rast always took the lead; and he had so manyopinions of his own that there was no time to discuss, or even inquireabout, hers.
In the mean time young Pronando was growing into manhood at the rate ofa year in a month. His handsome face, fine bearing, generous ways, andincessant activity both of limb and brain gave him a leader's placeamong the Western students, who studied well, were careless in dress andmanner, spent their money, according to the Western fashion, likeprinces, and had a peculiar dry humor of their own, delivered withlantern-jawed solemnity.
Young Pronando's preparation for college had been far better than thatof most of his companions, owing to Dr. Gaston's care. The boyapprehended with great rapidity--apprehended perhaps more than hecomprehended: he did not take the time to comprehend. He floated lightlydown the stream of college life. His comrades liked him; the youngWestern professors, quick, unceremonious, practical men, were constantlyrunning against little rocks which showed a better training than theirown, and were therefore shy about finding fault with him; and the oldpresident, an Eastern man, listened furtively to his Oxfordpronunciation of Greek, and sighed in spite of himself and his largesalary, hating the new bare white-painted flourishing institution overwhich he presided with a fresher hatred--the hatred of an exile. Forthere was not a tree on the college grounds: Young America always cutsdown all his trees as a first step toward civilization; then, after aninterregnum, when all the kings of the forest have been laid low, hesets out small saplings in whitewashed tree-boxes, and watches and tendsthem with fervor.
Rast learned rapidly--more things than one. The school for girls, which,singularly enough, in American towns, is always found flourishing closeunder the walls of a college, on the excellent and heroic principle,perhaps, of resisting temptation rather than fleeing from it, wassituated here at convenient distance for a variety of strict rules onboth sides, which gave interest and excitement to the day. Everymorning Miss Corinna Haws and her sister girded themselves for thecontest with fresh-rubbed spectacles and vigilance, and every morningthe girls eluded them; that is, some of the girls, namely, Louise Rayand Kate and Fanny Meadows, cousins, rivals, and beauties of the Westernriver-country type, where the full life and languor of the South havefused somewhat the old inherited New England delicacy and fragilecontours. These three young girls were all interested in handsome Rastin their fanciful, innocent, sentimental way. They glanced at himfurtively in church on Sunday; they took walks of miles to catch adistant glimpse of him; but they would have run away like frightenedfawns if he had approached nearer. They wrote notes which they neversent, but carried in their pockets for days; they had deep secrets totell each other about how they had heard that somebody had told somebodyelse that the Juniors were going to play ball that afternoon in Payne'smeadow, and that if they could only persuade Miss Miriam to go round bythe hill, they could see them, and not so very far off either, only twowheat fields and the river between. Miss Miriam was the second MissHaws, good-tempered and--near-sighted.
That the three girls were interested in one and the same person was partof the pleasure of the affair; each would have considered it a verydreary amusement to be interested all alone. The event of the summer,the comet of that season's sky, was an invitation to a small party inthe town, where it was understood that young Pronando, with five or sixof his companions, would be present. Miss Haws accepted occasionalinvitations for her pupils, marshalling them in a bevy, herself robed inpea-green silk, like an ancient mermaid: she said that it gave themdignity. It did. The stern dignity and silence almost solemn displayedby Rast's three worshippers when they found themselves actually in thesame room with him were something preternatural. They moved stiffly, asif their elbows and ankles were out of joint; they spoke to each othercautiously in the lowest whispers, with their under jaws rigid, and adifficulty with their labials; they moved their eyes carefullyeverywhere save toward the point where he was standing, yet knew exactlywhere he was every moment of the time. When he approached the quadrillewhich was formed in one corner by Miss Haws's young ladies, dancingvirginally by themselves, they squeezed each others' hands convulsivelywhen they passed in "ladies' chain," in token of the grea
t fact that hewas looking on. When, after the dance, they walked up and down in thehall, arm in arm, they trod upon each other's slippers as sympatheticperception of the intensity of his presence on the stairs. What anevening! How crowded full of emotions! Yet the outward appearance wassimply that of three shy, awkward girls in white muslin, keeping closetogether, and as far as possible from a handsome, gay-hearted,fast-talking youth who never once noticed them. O the imaginative,happy, shy fancies of foolish school-girls! It is a question whether thereal love which comes later ever yields that wild, fairy-like romancewhich these early attachments exhale; the very element of realityweights it down, and makes it less heavenly fair.
At the end of the summer Rast had acquired a deep experience in life (sohe thought), a downy little golden mustache, and a better opinion ofhimself than ever. The world is very kind to a handsome boy of frank andspirited bearing, one who looks as though he intended to mount and rideto victory. The proud vigor of such a youth is pleasant to tired eyes;he is so sure he will succeed! And most persons older, although knowingthe world better and not so sure, give him as he passes a smile andfriendly word, and wish him godspeed. It is not quite fair, perhaps, toother youths of equal merit but another bearing, yet Nature orders itso. The handsome, strong, confident boy who looks her in the face withdaring courage wins from her always a fine starting-place in the race oflife, which seems to advance him far beyond his companions. Seems; butthe end is far away.
Rast did not return to the island during the summer vacation; Dr. Gastonwished him to continue his studies with a tutor, and as the littlecollege town was now radiant with a mild summer gayety, the young manwas willing to remain. He wrote to Anne frequently, giving abstracts ofhis life, lists of little events like statistics in a report. He didthis regularly, and omitted nothing, for the letters were hisconscience. When they were once written and sent, however, off he wentto new pleasures. It must be added as well that he always sought thepost-office eagerly for Anne's replies, and placed them in his pocketwith satisfaction. They were sometimes unread, or half read, for days,awaiting a convenient season, but they were there.
Anne's letters were long, they were pleasant, they were neverexciting--the very kind to keep; like friends who last a lifetime, butwho never give us one quickened pulse. Alone in his room, or stretchedon the grass under a tree, reading them, Rast felt himself stronglycarried back to his old life on the island, and he did not resist thefeeling. His plans for the future were as yet vague, but Anne was alwaysa part of his dream.
But this youth lived so vigorously and fully and happily in the presentthat there was not much time for the future and for dreams. He seldomthought. What other people thought, he felt.
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