A Daughter of the Forest Page 4

  CHAPTER IV

  WHAT WAS IN THE NAME

  Thrusting back the hair that had fallen over her eyes, Margot sprangup and stared at the floundering mass of legs, arms, and wings uponthe wide lounge--a battle to the death, it seemed. Then she caught theassailant in her strong hands and flung him aside, while her laughterrang out in a way to make the stranger, also, stare, believing she hadgone crazy with sudden fear.

  But his terror had restored his strength most marvelously, for he too,leaped to his feet and retreated to the furthest corner of the room,whence he regarded the scene with dilated eyes.

  "Why--why--it's nobody, nothing but dear old Tom!"

  "It's an eagle! The first----"

  "Of course, he's an eagle. Aren't you, dear? The most splendid birdin Maine, or maybe Canada. The wisest, the most loving, the---- Oh!You big blundering precious thing! Scaring people like that. Youshould be more civil, sir."

  "Is--is--he tame?"

  "Tame as a pet chicken. But mischievous. He wouldn't hurt you foranything."

  "Humph! He would have killed me if I hadn't waked and yelled."

  "Well, you did that surely. You feel better, don't you?"

  "I wish you'd put him outdoors, or shut him up where he belongs. Iwant to sit down."

  "There's no reason why you shouldn't," she answered, pushing a chairtoward him.

  "Where did you get it--that creature?"

  "Uncle found him when he was ever so young. Somebody or something, ahunter or some other bird, had hurt his wing and one foot. Eagles canbe injured by the least little blow upon their wings, you know."

  "No. I know nothing about them--yet. But I shall, some day."

  "Oh! I hope so. They're delightful to study. Tom is very large, wethink. He's nearly four feet tall, and his wings---- Spread yourwings, sir! Spread!"

  Margot had dropped upon the floor before the wide fireplace, herfavorite seat. Her arms clasped her strange pet's body while his whitehead rested lovingly upon her shoulder. His eyes were fixed upon theblazing logs and his yellow irises gleamed as if they had caught andheld the dancing flames. But at her command he shook himself free, andextended one mighty wing, while she stretched out the other. Theirtips were full nine feet apart and seemed to fill and darken the wholeplace.

  In spite of this odd girl's fearless handling of the bird, it lookedmost formidable to the visitor, who retreated again to a safedistance, though he had begun to advance toward her. And again heimplored her to put the uncanny "monster" out of the house.

  Margot laughed; as she was always doing; but going to the table filleda plate with fragments from the stew and calling Tom, set the dishbefore him on the threshold.

  "There's your supper, Thomas the King! Which means, no more ofAngelique's chickens, dead or alive."

  The eagle gravely limped out of doors and the visitor felt relieved,so that he cast somewhat longing glances upon the table, and Margotwas quick to understand them. Putting a generous portion upon anotherplate, she moved a chair to the side nearest the fire.

  "You're so much stronger, I guess it won't hurt you to take as much asyou like now. When did you eat anything before?"

  "Day before yesterday--I think. I hardly know. The time seemsconfused. As if I had been wandering, round and round, forever. I--wasalmost dead, wasn't I?"

  "Yes. But 'twas our housekeeper who was first to see it wasstarvation. Angelique is a Canadian. She lived in the woods longbefore we came to them. She is very wise."

  He made no comment, being then too busy eating; but at length,even his voracity was satisfied and he had leisure to examine hissurroundings. He looked at Margot as if girls were as unknown aseagles; and indeed such as she were--to him, at least. Her dress wasof blue flannel, and of the same simple cut that she had always worn.A loose blouse, short skirt, full knickerbockers, met at the knees bylong shoes, or gaiters of buckskin. These were as comfortable andpliable as Indian moccasins, and the only footgear she had ever known.They were made for her in a distant town, whither Mr. Dutton went forneeded supplies, and, like the rest of her costume, after a designof his own. She was certainly unconventional in manner, but not fromrudeness so much as from a desire to study him--another unknown"specimen" from an outside world. Her speech was correct beyond thatcommon among schoolgirls, and her gaze was as friendly as it wasfrank.

  Their scrutiny of each other was ended by her exclaiming:

  "Why--you are not old! Not much older than Pierre, I believe! It mustbe because you are so dirty that I thought you were a man like uncle."

  "Thank you," he answered drily.

  But she had no intention of offense. Accustomed all her own life tothe utmost cleanliness, in the beginning insisted upon by Angeliquebecause it was "proper," and by her guardian for health's sake, shehad grown up with a horror of the discomfort of any untidiness, andshe felt herself most remiss in her attentions, that she had notearlier offered soap and water. Before he realized what she was about,she had sped into the little outer room which the household used as alavatory and whirled a wooden tub into its centre. This she promptlyfilled with water from a pipe in the wall, and having hung freshtowels on a chair, returned to the living room.

  "I'm so sorry. I ought to have thought of that right away. But a bathis ready now, if you wish it."

  The stranger rose, stammered a little, but accepted what was in trutha delightful surprise.

  "Well, this is still more amazing! Into what sort of a spot have Istumbled? It's a log house, but with apparently, several rooms. It hasall the comforts of civilization and at least this one luxury. Thereare books, too. I saw them in that inner apartment as I passed theopen door. The man looks like a gentleman in the disguise of alumberman, and the girl--what'll she do next? Ask me where I came fromand why, I presume. If she does, I'll have to answer her, andtruthfully. I can't fancy anybody lying to those blue eyes. Maybe shewon't ask."

  She did, however, as soon as he reentered the living room, refreshedand certainly much more attractive in appearance than when he had hadthe soil and litter of his long wandering upon him.

  "Oh! how much more comfortable you must be. How did you get lost? Isyour home far from here?"

  "A long, long way;" and for a moment, something like sadness touchedhis face. That look passed quickly and a defiant expression took itsplace.

  "What a pity! It will be so much harder to get word to your people.Maybe Pierre can carry a message, or show you the road, once you arestrong enough again."

  "Who's Pierre?"

  "Mother Ricord's son. He's a woodlander and wiser even than she is.He's really more French than Indian, but uncle says the latter race isstrongest in him. It often is in his type."

  "A-ah, indeed! So you study types up here, do you?"

  "Yes. Uncle makes it so interesting. You see, he got used to teachingstupid people when he was a professor in his college. I'm dreadfullystupid about books, though I do my best. But I love living things; andthe books about animals, and races, are charming. When they're true,that is. Often they're not. There's one book on squirrels uncle keepsas a curiosity, to show how little the writer knew about them. And thepictures are no more like squirrels than--than they are like me."

  "A-ah," said the listener, again. "That explains."

  "I don't know what you mean. No matter. It's the old stupidity, Isuppose. How did you get lost?"

  "The same prevailing stupidity," he laughed. "Though I didn't realizeit for that quality. Just thought I was smart, you know--conceit.I--I--well, I didn't get on so very well at the lumber camp I'djoined. I wasn't used to work of that sort and there didn't seemto be room, even in the woods, for a greenhorn. I thought it waseasy enough. I could find my way anywhere, in any wilderness,with my outfit. I'd brought that along, or bought it after I leftcivilization; so one night I left, set out to paddle my own canoe. Ipaddled it into the rapids, what those fellows called rips, and theyripped me to ruin. Upset, lost all my kit, tried to find my way back,wandered and walked forever and ever, it seemed to me, and--
you knowthe rest."

  "But I do not. Did you keep hallooing all that long time? or how didit happen we heard you?"

  "I was in a rocky place when that tornado came and it was near thewater. I had just sense enough left to know they could protect me andcrept under them. Oh! that was awful--awful!"

  "It must have been, but I was so deep in our cave that I heard butlittle of it. Uncle and Angelique thought I was out in it and lost.They suffered about it, and uncle tried to make a fire and was sick.We had just got home when we heard you."

  "After the storm I crawled out and I saw you in the boat. You seemedto have come right out of the earth and I shouted, or tried to. I kepton shouting, even after you were out of sight and then I gotdiscouraged and tried once more to find a road out."

  "I was singing so loud I suppose I didn't hear, at first. I'm sosorry. But it's all right now. You're safe, and some way will be foundto get you to your home, or that lumber camp, if you'd rather."

  "Suppose I do not wish to go to either place? What then?"

  Margot stared. "Not--wish--to go--to your own dear--home?"

  The stranger smiled at the amazement of her face.

  "Maybe not. Especially as I don't know how I would be received there.What if I was foolish and didn't know when I was well off? What if Iran away, meaning to stay away forever?"

  "Well, if it hadn't been for the rocks, and me, it would have beenforever. But God made the rocks and gave them to you for a shelter;and He made me, and sent me out on the lake so you should see me andbe found. If He wants you to go back to that home He'll find a way.Now, it's queer. Here we've been talking ever so long yet I don't knowwho you are. You know all of us: Uncle Hugh Dutton, Angelique Ricord,and me. I'm Margot Romeyn. What is your name?"

  "Mine? Oh! I'm Adrian Wadislaw. A good-for-nought, some people say.Young Wadislaw, the sinner, son of old Wadislaw, the saint."

  The answer was given recklessly, while the dark young face grew sadlybitter and defiant.

  After a moment, something startled Margot from the shocked surprisewith which she had heard this harsh reply. It was a sigh, almost agroan, as from one who had been more deeply startled even thanherself. Turning, she saw the master standing in the doorway, staringat their visitor as if he had seen a ghost and nearly as white as onehimself.