"Bonjour," he said. "Je t'aime bien."

Yves blushed and smiled, apologetically, at this very sudden declaration of love, but the girl stooped, laughing, and kissed the little chap, passing her hand over his yellow locks.

One is ever seeing it, this love of women for the little ones and the weaklings. We men are proud of our strength, but may it not be on account of some weaknesses hidden to ourselves that women so often love fellows who hardly seem to deserve them. It is a thing to wonder at. Dora, I am very sure, knows all the feeble traits I may possess. Will the day ever come when these may prompt her to think it would increase her happiness to take me under her protecting care?

"Won't you come over to the house?" Miss Jelliffe asked me.

"I am afraid that I rather need a wash," I said, "after handling your big salmon. Frenchy will take it over to your house. I must find out whether any one has been looking for me. In Sweetapple Cove there is no such thing as office hours, you know. People come at any time, from ever so many miles away, and sit down patiently to await my return."

"Well, good-by, and thank you again, ever so much. You must certainly come to-morrow and help us dispose of that fish."

She extended her hand, in friendly fashion, and I told her I was glad she had enjoyed herself.

"We are going out fishing again, are we not?" she asked. "I want more lessons from you, and I should like to watch you at work."

I told her that I would be very happy, and scrambled away up the path to Sammy's house. Then I looked back, before opening the door. I saw her still walking, followed by Frenchy who bore the salmon in triumph. I could see how lithe she was and how the health and strength of out-of-doors showed in her graceful gait.

"It is not good for man to live alone," I told myself, and after Mrs. Sammy had informed me that there were no pressing demands for my services I had lunch, after which I went to my room to write to Dora. I am doing the best I can not to bother the little girl, yet I'm afraid I always turn out something like a begging letter. But she always answers in a way that is ever so friendly and nice. In her last letter she dragged in again the fact that we were both still young, with the quite inaccurate corollary that we didn't know our own minds yet. I told her my mind was made up more inexorably than the laws of the Medes and the Persians, that it was not going to change, and that if her own mind was as yet so immature and youthful that it was not fully grown, she ought to give me a better chance to help in its development. I suppose that in her answer she will ignore this and speak of something else. That is what always makes me so mad at Dora, bless her little heart!



CHAPTER XI

From Miss Helen Jelliffe to Miss Jane Van Zandt

Dearest Aunt Jennie:

I was looking at the calendar, this morning, and thought that some one had made an extraordinary mistake, but I am now convinced that it will be four weeks to-morrow since we first arrived in Sweetapple Cove. Your accounts of delightful doings in Newport are most interesting, yet I am sure that with you the time cannot possibly fly as it does here.

At present dear old Daddy is reclining in a steamer chair on the porch of our little house, and his crutches are resting against the wall. They are wonderful things manufactured by Frenchy, whom Dr. Grant considers as an universal genius. When they were first brought to us I was inclined to whimper a little, for I had a dreadful vision of them as a permanent thing. It was a regular attack of what Daddy, in his sarcastic moments, calls silly, female fears.

"Don't tell me he is always going to need them!" I cried to the doctor.

This man has a way of setting all doubts at rest. Just one look of his frank clear eyes does it. I really am not surprised that these people all just grovel before him.

"Not a bit," he answered decisively. "He doesn't really need them now, but it will be a little safer to use them for the present. In a week or so we will make a bonfire of them."

Daddy has been sitting as judge and jury over his poor leg. Such measurings with steel tape and squintings along the edge of his shin-bone, and such chapters of queries and answers! But now he is perfectly satisfied that it is what he calls an A 1 job, and looks at his limb with the prideful interest of a man who has acquired a rare and precious work of art.

How can you possibly say that I must be yawning myself half to death and longing for the fleshpots of Morristown? If I could have my own way I would build an unpretentious cottage here, but of course I would insist on a real bath tub. And I would come and spend the most pleasant months, and cultivate my dear friends the populace, and those delightful Barnetts and Frenchy's kidlet, who is a darling and my first real conquest.

The doctor and I have caught more salmon, and some sea-trout, and I have taken lessons in knitting from some ancient dames whose fingers trembled either from old age or the excitement of the distinction conferred upon them. They don't despise my ignorance but are certainly surprised at it. I am not certain that I have not prompted the arising of certain jealousies, though I do my best to distribute myself fairly. I cannot as yet turn a heel but I have hopes. Some day I will make Daddy wear the things, when he puts on enormous boots and goes quail shooting, after we go South again. I shall select some day when he has been real mean to me, and be the blisters on his own heels!

The Snowbird is now riding in the cove, having been manicured and primped up in the dry-dock at St. John's. Daddy says that it was an economy, for the dock laborer of that fortunate city does not yet regard himself as an independent magnate. Our schooner and its auxiliary engine are, of course, objects of admiration to the natives. They know a boat when they see one. Stefansson would have a fit if he saw a rope end that wasn't crown-spliced, or a flemish coil that was not reminiscent of the works of old masters. The way he keeps his poor crew polishing the brasses must make life dreary for them, yet they seem to scrub away without repining. I have told you that Jim Brown, our second, is a native of these parts and responsible for our coming. Now he lords it in the village dwellings, where he is considered as a far-traveled man who can relate marvelous tales of great adventures to breathless audiences.

Daddy, of course, directed that every one should be made welcome on board. You should have seen these big fishermen coyly removing their heavy boots before treading our decks—I believe that "snowy deck" is the proper term—lest they should mar the holystoned smoothness. They have entered with bated breath the dining and sitting room, explored the mysteries of the galley and peeped into the staterooms.

"Jim he've written once ter the sister o' he," Captain Sammy told me one day. "He were tellin' how them yachts wuz all fixed up an' we wuz thinkin' as how in travelin' he'd got ter be considerable of a liar, savin' yer presence, ma'am. But now I mistrust he didn't hardly know enough ter tell the whole truth."

A few bystanders nodded in approval. I need hardly tell you that our invasion is still a subject of interest in the place. From my bedroom window, where I was trying to knit one afternoon, I heard some men who were conversing, standing peacefully in the middle of the little road, in spite of a pouring rain, which they mind about as much as so many ducks. The only fat man in Sweetapple Cove was speaking.

"Over to England they is them Lards an' Jukes, what ain't allowed in them States, but I mistrusts them Jelliffes is what takes the place o' they in Ameriky."

"I dunno," doubted another, "th' gentleman he be kinder civerlized fer a juke. Them goes about wid little crowns on the head o' they, I seen a pictur of one, onst. But Lards is all right. Pete McPhay he saw one, deer huntin', two years ago, an' said he'd talk pleasant to anybody, like Mr. Jelliffe. That's why I thinks he's more like a Lard nor a Juke."

This conclusion seemed to meet with general approval, and the men went on.

Dr. Grant came over to us fairly early this morning, and joined us on the little porch.

"Good morning," he said. "You must be glad that the term of your imprisonment is drawing to a close, Mr. Jelliffe. You will soon be on your way home. As a matter of fact there is nothing to prevent your leaving in a few days. We could easily put you in your berth on board, well braced up, and in four or five days the Snowbird would be at anchor off the New York Yacht Club float."

"I am suffering from the deteriorating influence of prolonged idleness, Doctor," said Daddy. "I have become thoroughly lazy now, and don't care to start until I can hop on board without assistance, and walk the deck as much as I want. This daughter of mine has developed an uncanny attachment to the place; she sometimes tries to look sorry for me, but she is having the one grand time of her childhood."

I protested, naturally, but he paid no attention and went on.

"Now that I can sit on this porch I get any amount of company. I know every one in the place and feel that I am acquiring the local accent through my prolonged conversations with the natives. I am utterly incapable of thinking of desirable parcels of real estate, and bonds leave me indifferent. I reckon in codfish now, like the rest of the population. I caught myself wondering, yesterday, how many quintals the Flatiron Building was worth."

"I am sure you must miss your daily paper," said the doctor.

"A short time ago that was one of the flies in my ointment; but now I am at peace. Why remind me of it?"

Daddy delights in chess with the parson and long talks with the doctor. I can see that he has become really very fond of him. Mr. Barnett is much more frequently with him, and they have tremendous battles during which it looks as if the fate of empires depended on the next move, but when the doctor comes Daddy looks ever so pleased and his voice rings out with welcome.

I announced that I was going over to old Granny Lasher, who would get me out of trouble with that heel I was puzzling over.

"Just look at her, Doctor," said Daddy. "Did you ever see such rosy cheeks? This has done her a lot of good; of course she has always been a strong girl, but there is something here that has golf and motoring beaten to a standstill. She is becoming horribly proud of getting those salmon. I will have to take down her pride, some day, and show her what an old fellow like me can do. I am ever so much obliged to you for taking such good care of her."

Now you and I, Aunt Jennie, know that men are silly things at best. Of course I am grateful to Dr. Grant for looking after me so nicely, but why should he deserve such a lot of credit for it? Don't all the nice young men like to look after girls? They enjoy it ever so much. But somehow this Dr. Grant enjoys it without undue enthusiasm. I am really ever so glad that he never looks, as so many of the others do, as if he were pining for the moment when he can lay his heart and fishy fees, which he never gets, at my feet. He is just a splendid fellow, Aunt Jennie, who looks as strong and honest as the day is long. We are all very fond of him.

"The only thing that hurts is that I have had none of the fishing," said Daddy. "I have made up my mind to return another year and let the Tobique take care of itself. By the time I am well enough to fish there will not be another salmon that will rise, this year."

"No, Mr. Jelliffe," answered the doctor. "The salmon are beginning to cease their interest in flies, but the trout are biting well."

"I have nothing to say against trout," said Daddy, "but I feel like crying for a salmon as a baby cries for the moon. There is not much in life outside of salmon and Wall Street. Even when I have to go to California I troll a little on Puget Sound, but it doesn't come up to fly-fishing."

I left them, deeply engaged in this absorbing subject. I think I have discovered something rather noteworthy in this salmon fishing. It is the effect that our interest in the matter has on the population. To them a fish means a cod; it is the only fish they know. All others are undeserving of the name, and are compelled to appear under the guise of their proper appellations. The taking of fish is a serious business, and one that does not pay very handsomely, as far as these people are concerned. Therefore they cannot understand that one may catch fish for amusement, and so we are enwrapped in a halo of mystery. Dr. Grant has told me that some of them have darkly wondered whether Daddy was not investigating this island with a view to buying it for weird purposes of his own, such as obtaining a corner on codfish and raising the price of this commodity all over the world. Isn't it funny that even here some notion of trusts and corners should have penetrated? Of course they would be delighted to have the price of cod raised; it is the dream of their lives.

But most of them have accepted us as natural, if freaky, phenomena with which they were previously unacquainted, and which have thus far shown no objectionable features. They have become ever so friendly, yet never intrusive, and I like them ever so much.

That poor fellow Dick was shipped back to his miserable little island, two weeks ago, happy in the possession of a useful right arm. It was quite touching to hear him speak of the doctor. And speaking about Dick reminds me of the man's wife, with those peculiar ideas of hers. You remember about them, don't you? Would you believe, Auntie dear, that all the other women about here are just as bad? They seem to be matchmakers of the most virulent sort. They boldly ask me if I am going to marry the doctor, and when, the poor silly things, and if I deny the impeachment they bring forth little smiles of unbelief.

When I showed my last stocking to Granny Lasher she announced that it was much too small.

"Didn't yer ever look at the big feet o' he?" she asked.

"The big feet of who?" I asked, in an elegant form of speech.

"Th' doctor," she answered.

"But these are for my father," I objected.

"Sure, I ought ter have knowed that," she replied. "Ye'll be practicin' on he first, and when yer does real good work ye'll be knittin' 'em fer th' doctor."

"Mrs. Sammy knits stockings for him," I said, severely.

"Well, when he's yer man ye'll not be lettin' other wimmin folks do his knittin' fer he," persisted the ancient dame.

I simply refuse to argue any more with them. They have that idea in their hard old heads and it cannot be dislodged. If you and I had been Newfoundlanders, Auntie dear, we would have married early and been expected to knit stockings, in the intervals of work on the flakes, for the rest of our natural lives. The maidens of this island entertain visions of coming years devoted to the rearing of perfect herds of children, to assorted household work, to drying fish and knitting stockings for their lords and masters, until the end.

I even have a suspicion of Mrs. Barnett, sweet good soul though she be. I walked up to her house yesterday, having met Dr. Grant on the way. He left me at her door, and when I came in she looked at me, wistfully, and I intercepted the tiniest little sigh from her.

"What is the trouble?" I asked her.

"Oh! Nothing in the world, my dear," she answered, in that sweetly toned voice of hers. "Do you know, when you were coming up the path I though that you and the doctor made the handsomest couple I have ever seen."

I laughed right out, perhaps because I sought to conceal the fact that I was just the tiniest bit provoked. She had said this with a little hesitancy, as if she had been just timidly venturing on deep waters. She looked at me, and I think she sighed again, and immediately asked for my very expert advice about cutting into a piece of very cheap goods that has come from St. John's, and with which she expects to make a dress for herself. I felt like crying, and laid bare my profound ignorance, and then we had a good laugh together, for she was at once as bright again as she always is. Then I played with the kiddies, who are cherubs, and we had tea, and when I left she looked at me again, with those beautiful wistful eyes. I am afraid. Aunt Jennie, that she is in league with the rest of the feminine population. I think I am beginning to be glad that we are going away soon.

When I returned to our house I found Dr. Grant still there. He has not been very busy lately, but he was showing symptoms of an early departure, returning certain flies he had been discussing to a very large fly-book.

Of course, Aunt Jennie, he is not at all responsible for this foolish talk, and I had no reason to be unpleasant to him.

"I am sorry you are going," I said. "I hear that for the time being the crop of patients is diminishing."

"It rather looks that way," he answered, "and I must say I am glad of it. It is only a lull, I suppose, and I'm going to take advantage of it. Sammy reminded me to-day that September has come and that the stags are beginning to shed their velvet. I think that your father and you would like some venison. I shall enjoy it too, I can assure you."

"Oh! How I wish I could go," I exclaimed, foolishly enough.

"But there could be nothing easier," he explained, quietly. "I have a very nice little tent which I brought with me when I came here, and you could take Susie Sweetapple with you. The two men and I can build a little lean-to anywhere. It is really worth trying. I have explored a bit of that country, and I am sure you would enjoy a look at it."

"It sounds very attractive, Daddy," I said.

"If there is one thing I am longing for," said the dear old man, "it is a decent bit of meat. The cook on the yacht and the steward may possibly be able to fill Susie's place for a day or two. You go right along, daughter."

And now, Aunt Jennie, I am recklessly going away to furnish more gossip for the ladies of the place, bless their poor old hearts. I have been interviewing Susie, whose voluble conversation is often amusing, and find that she also entertains some queer ideas. Of course I undeceived her at once. Daddy doesn't think there is the slightest impropriety in the trip, deeming Susie a sufficient chaperon. The ladies here of course never indulge in such masculine pursuits as hunting, but none of them will consider my doing it as any more wonderful than my going fishing. It will be but one more of the peculiar doings of them "Merikins."

By the way, Harry Lawrence has written. You know, Auntie dear, that he is one of the few very nice fellows to whom I have had to hint, as gently as possible, that I am awfully happy with old Dad. He was the only one of them to put out his hand, like the good, strong, red-headed, football wonder that he is. I can hear him now:

"Shake, little girl," he said, smilingly. "You are not ready yet, are you? I am not going to believe that this is your last word, and we'll just pretend I didn't speak, and go on being good old pals as before. My chance may come yet."

I remember that I felt quite gulpy and shaky when he said that, and that I wished at the time that I had been able to think of him otherwise than as a good old friend, just to see him grin happily again, as he so often does. He tells me he has only just returned from abroad, having remained longer than he expected to. He says that motoring in Norway is very interesting. He also says he has half a mind to run up here and see what sort of a digging we are living in. You know that Daddy thinks a lot of him, and that Harry dotes on Dad. The boy thinks there is no one like him, which shows what a sensible fellow Harry is.

Well, I am going to bed early, to prepare for a very long tramp to-morrow. I will tell you all about it next time I write,

Your loving HELEN.



CHAPTER XII

From Miss Helen Jelliffe to Miss Jane Van Zandt

Darling Aunt Jennie:

As the boys keep on exclaiming in Stalky & Co., I gloat!

I have now utterly and forever become one of those bold females, as your cousin Theresa calls them, who so far forget the refinement of their sex as to indulge in horrid masculine pursuits, and go afield clad in perfectly shocking garb, looking like viragos, to emulate men in barbarous sports. After this open and glorious confession I hasten to tell you that I have actually killed a caribou, and a most splendid one. I suppose that some day my much flattered photograph may appear in an illustrated Sunday supplement, under some such heading as "Our Society Dianas." I have spent two most wonderful days and shall never forget them if I grow to be twice as old and plain as Miss Theresa.

We started in the early morning. Of course I was awake before Susie knocked at my door, and only waiting for her to help me lace those high boots of mine. She is the only woman I ever knew who can make knots that will not come undone until you want them to. I suppose that it is an inherited trait from her ancestry of fishermen and sailors.

We rowed across the cove to the place where we land when we go salmon-fishing. I was distressed when I saw the size of the packs the men were carrying, for it looked as if they had prepared for an excursion beyond the Arctic Circle, and of course it was chiefly on my account. Susie clamored to be allowed a bundle also but neither Sammy nor Frenchy would hear of it.

"Ye'll be havin' ter help th' lady when we's on the mash," Captain Sammy told her.

I discovered later that the mash is really a marsh, or swamp, or rather a whole lot of them. Sammy opened the procession, followed by Yves. Then I came, aided and abetted by Susie, and the doctor closed the imposing line, also bearing a big pack. Whenever the nature of the ground permitted Susie would walk beside me and impart her views. She trudged on sturdily, her feet enclosed in a vast pair of skin boots borrowed from some male relative. The evident disproportion in the sizes did not trouble her in the least.

"I got four pair o' stockins," she informed me, "an' me feet feels good an' aisy."

A little later she imparted to me some of her views on the sport we were pursuing.

"Huntin' is man's work," she said, "but I doesn't say as a woman can't do it if she's a mind ter, like anythin' else. One time I shot me brother's gun at a swile, and it liked ter have knocked me jaw awry. I had a lump on it fer a week an' I let mother think I had the toothache. Anyways I scared the swile real bad, an' meself worse. That time I were cookin' aboard a schooner on the Labrador, as belonged ter me cousin Hyatt, him as is just a bit humpy-backed. He got one o' them dories wid a glass bottom, an' they say his back crooked a kneelin' down ter see the cod, afore settin' the traps."

"What kind of traps?" I asked her.

"Them as is big nets leadin' inter a pocket where the cod gets jest shut in," she informed me.

"Wasn't it horrid to go on such a long trip and stay on a boat so long?" I enquired.

"Sure, but we mostly gets landed there. They has shacks or little houses, an' flakes built up, in some places."

"It must be very disagreeable," I said.

"Laws, ma'am. They is allers some hard things about workin' the best one knows how ter make a livin' an' help one's folks. The worst of it was havin' no other wimmin folks ter talk to."

"Do you mean that you were alone with the crew?"

"Sure, ma'am. They wouldn't have no use fer a lot o' wimmin. They was a chap once as wanted ter kiss me an' I hove th' back of me fist ter his jaw, most shockin' hard. It give me sore knuckles, too, but I reckon a girl kin allers take care of herself an' she has a mind ter."

I looked at her vigorous shoulders and was disposed to agree with her statement. It is a splendid thing, Aunt Jennie, for girls to be strong and sturdy enough to help themselves, sometimes, as well as to help others. I have a notion that it is a good thing that the day is passing away of the girls of the fainting sort who were brought up to backboards and mincing manners. That girl has self-reliance and willingness stamped all over her, and it is good to see.

The men were going well. At first I had been surprised at the slowness of their gait, but I soon realized that they could keep it up all day, in spite of their loads. Yet once an hour they stopped for a breathing spell of a few minutes, during which they wiped their foreheads and sometimes had a pull at their pipes. We no longer had any view of the sea. Below us and to one side, Sweetapple River was brawling over rapids, resting in pools, or riffling over shallows. It wound its way through a little wooded valley, fairly well grown with small spruces and firs whose somber greens were often relieved by the cheery, lighter hue of birches. The junipers, as they call tamaracks in Newfoundland, were beginning to shed their yellowing needles, and many of them were quite bare, or else dead, with gnarled limbs fantastically twisted.

Several times we put up ptarmigans, that flew away with the curious "brek-kek-kex" that is their rallying cry, showing white spots on their dull-hued plumage, which would soon grow into the pure, snowy livery of winter days. A few snipe flew up from the side of water-holes, with shrill cries and twisting flights. Far away on the marsh we saw a flock of geese, pasturing like so many sheep, while one of their number played sentinel, perched high up on a hummock.

"When deer gets alongside o' geese they is happy," Sammy informed me. "Th' caribou knows nothing kin get nigh so long as the honkers is keepin' watch."

After this we were walking on one of many paths we had followed, well-trodden and some inches below the level of the grey moss.

"I had no idea there would be enough people here to make these paths," I said to Dr. Grant. "And why do so many of them cross from time to time?"

"They are made by the caribou, every one of them," he replied. "Most of these have been abandoned for a long time. The people of the Cove sometimes come as far as this, and by dint of firing their heavy sealing guns loaded with slugs they may have made the deer shy. We shall soon see plenty of tracks, for the hunters seldom go farther than this, Sammy tells me. You see, they would have a hard time bringing the meat home. They have to sled it out with dogs or carry it on their backs. We are going farther, since we are not looking for a whole winter's provision."

The barren over which we traveled was beginning to be much wider, and the clumps of straggling trees less frequent. Far away there was a range of little mountains, tinted with purples and lavenders, rather indistinct in the distant haze. The sun was lighting up bright spots where the peat bogs held miniature lakes, among which were tiny islands of bushes and low trees dotting the great marsh. Here and there small tamaracks stood quite apart, as if their ragged dress had caused them to be ostracized by the better clad spruces and firs.

Suddenly the men stopped near a little tree, and I saw that much of its brown bark had been stripped off. On the white wood beneath there were some curious dark red spots.

"A big stag has been rubbing his horns here within a day or two, Miss Jelliffe," the doctor told me. "You ought to see one of them at work. Their horns must itch desperately when they are ready to shed their velvet, for they hook away at these saplings as if they were actually fighting them. Such blows as they give; one can hear them quite far off. Look at this place where the wood has actually been splintered off. These marks are dried blood. And now look down at your feet. This fellow is surely a big one, the ground is soft and he has left a huge track. You will notice that the toes are widely separated, and that the dew claws have also left their mark. No other deer than the caribou ever make that fourfold imprint, and they only do it on muddy ground or in snow."

"How I wish I could see him!" I cried, excitedly.

He had taken out a pair of field glasses, and was sweeping the great barren with them.

"One does not often see the stags on the marsh at this time of the year," he said. "They usually remain in their lairs among the alders on the edges of ponds and streams. But I think I see something."

I strained my eyes in the same direction. Far away, against the sky-line, I thought I discerned little dark dots which appeared to be moving, and the doctor handed me the glasses.

"You are far-sighted," he said. "I see that your eyes have caught them. Now take a nearer look at them."

"Oh! I can see them ever so plainly now," I exclaimed.

"They are two does with their fawns, I think," he said.

"I'm afraid you are mistaken," I told him. "One of them has antlers, but not very large ones."

"Very true," he replied, "but the caribou does, alone in the whole deer family, frequently have them. They are never as large as with the stags."

"I can see them feeding along quietly, with their noses on the ground, and sometimes they look up, and now one of them is scratching her ear with her hind foot. It is the prettiest thing I ever saw. Now they are going on again, slowly. You are not going to try and kill them, are you?"

"A starving man may shoot anything for food," he answered, "but we must look for something we would not be ashamed to kill."

So they lifted up their packs again, and we resumed our journey, until hunger compelled us to stop near one of the little wooded islands growing out of the silvery barren. Near at hand a tiny rivulet was tinkling, from which the kettle was filled. Sammy and Yves cut down some tamarack sticks while the doctor undid one of the packs and brought out a frying-pan and some tin cups and plates. In a very few minutes the kettle was boiling and bacon frying with a pleasant sputtering. There was bread and butter, and a jar of marmalade.

"Thus far I entirely approve of caribou hunting," I declared. "I have an idea that such a picnic as this must be the most delightful part of it."

The wind was blowing briskly, and the trees swaying to its caress. Moose-birds began to gather around us, calling out with voices ranging from the shrillest to deep raucous cries, sometimes changing to imitations of other birds. They became very tame at once, and hopped impudently among us, cocking up their saucy little heads and watching us. Susie happened to put a little bacon on a piece of bread, beside her on the clean moss, the better to handle a very hot cup of tea, and one of the jays pounced upon it and dragged it away.

"Git out o' there, ye imp!" she cried. "Them birds would pick the nails offen yer boots if they was good ter eat."

"They are ever so pretty," I said. "And oh! look at that poor little chap. He hopped into the frying pan and scalded his toes."

The indignant bird flew away, uttering perfectly disgraceful language, but the others seemed to be quite indifferent to his fate and remained, bent on securing every discarded crumb.

After this a flight of yellow-leg snipe passed by. Dr. Grant began to whistle their soft triple note and the wisp of birds circled in the air, coming nearer and nearer until, becoming suspicious, they winged their journey away. And then we were invaded by a troop of grosbeaks who gathered in the neighboring bushes, their queer, tiny voices, seeming quite out of place, coming out of such stocky, strong little bodies. In the meanwhile a woodpecker was tap-tapping on a dead juniper. It was all so very different from the cruel, ragged coast with its unceasing turmoil of hungry waves breaking upon the cliffs. Here there reigned such a wonderful peace, interrupted only by the song of birds. There were soft outlines in the distance, and everywhere the scent of balsams. Of course it was all very desolate; a vast swamp dominated by sterile ridges of boulder-strewn hills; an immense land of peat-bogs and mosses, grey and green and purplish, upon which only the caribou and the birds appeared able to live. Yet it was no longer a place where the fury of the elements was ever ready to unchain itself against poor people clinging to their bare rocks. The breath of one's nostrils went ever so deep in one's lungs, and one's muscles seemed to gather energy and respond ever so much more efficiently than they ever did in big towns.

"I don't think I ever before realized the beauty of great waste places," I said. "It looks like a world infinite and wonderful, over which we might be traveling in quest of some Holy Grail that should be hidden away beyond those pink and mauve mountains."

The doctor smiled, in his quiet way.

"Yes," he said. "One feels as if one could understand the true purpose of living, which should be the constant effort to attain something ever so glorious that lies beyond, always beyond."

I wonder just what he meant by that, Aunt Jennie?

Soon our little caravan went on, and we began to see many tracks of caribou, chiefly does and fawns. In low swampy places we several times came across old wind-and rain-bleached antlers, shed in the late fall of the previous year.

We had traveled for a couple of hours since luncheon when we stopped for another breathing spell. Sammy was explaining the lie of the country to the doctor, who nodded. Then the latter showed me a tiny valley where ran, amid a tangle of alders and dwarf trees, a large brook that wandered slowly, with many curves, to join the river far away on our right.

"At this time of the year there is not much chance of finding a stag in the open," he said. "They remain in places like that, hidden in the alders until it is time for them to wander off and make up their family parties. Are you very tired, Miss Jelliffe?"

I assured him that I was still feeling ever so fit.

"We are only about a mile and a half from the place where we are to camp for the night," he told me. "The others will go there and get things ready. Frenchy can return here for my pack. If you would like to come with me and hunt along the brook we should make it a somewhat longer journey, owing to the many bends, but we should have a chance of getting a stag."

Of course I told him that I should like it ever so much, and we made our way down a slope while the others continued along the ridge. Indeed I was not tired at all. Notwithstanding the sodden moss in which our feet had been sinking for hours, and the peaty black ooze that held one back, I had no trouble in following Dr. Grant, who was carefully picking out the best going.

After we reached the brook we went along the bank, but were soon compelled to leave it owing to the impenetrable tangles of alders, around which we had to circle. The doctor stopped to show me some tracks of otters, and then we came to a place where the bank was steep, and a little smooth path was worn down upon its face, leading into the water.

"An otter slide," he explained. "They run up the bank and toboggan down into the water, again and again. It is a sort of game they play."

"How I should like to see them!" I exclaimed.

He put a finger up to his lips, enjoining silence, and led the way towards a deep pool. Then he turned and lifted up his hand. We remained motionless, hidden behind a rank growth of alders and reeds, and I suddenly saw a little black head upon the water and caught the gleam of a pair of bright eyes. Then came a splash, and the ruffled water smoothed over. We waited, but never saw him again.

"That was a big, old, dog otter," said the doctor.

We continued on our winding way, finding a very few tracks of does and fawns, but occasionally we came across the broad imprint of a big stag.

"He must be living somewhere around here," whispered my companion.

He looked very alert now, noting every sign and stopping to investigate the waving of grasses and the motions of leaves. We peered in every tangle of bush and shrub, and moved as silently as we possibly could.

We had slowly been following the stream for nearly an hour, and were on the edge of the brook when the doctor quickly knelt down, and of course I followed his example. He pointed towards some alders ahead of us.

"See those tops moving?" he whispered.

"I see them bending with the wind," I replied, in the same low voice.

"There is no wind here," he said. "It must be a stag or a bear in there."

We kept on watching and, Aunt Jennie, my heart was beating so with the excitement of it that I could hardly keep still. But I insist that I was not the least bit scared. I rather think that Dr. Grant impresses one as a man who could take care of bears or anything else that might threaten one. Presently, above the green leaves, appeared something that looked like stout, reddish branches. We could see them only for an instant, and then they went down again.

"It's a big, old stag," whispered the doctor.

"What shall we do?" I asked.

"I am going to give you a shot," he said.

"I shouldn't dare. I am sure I should miss," I answered.

"You must try. You know that you are the lucky one. I am going to leave you here with the rifle and I shall crawl back a little way. If we went on he would jump away on the other side of the alders and that would be the last of him. I am going off to the right, and then I will walk slowly towards him. The river is shallow here, and it is the only open spot. He will surely jump in it, and probably stop for a second to see what is coming, for he won't smell me. You will have a fine chance at him from here."

He placed the gun in my hands, already cocked, and was gone, noiselessly, in an instant. I watched those bushes eagerly, and once again saw the big tops of those antlers above the alders. Behind me everything was wonderfully still, and I could hear the beating of my heart. The doctor seemed to have been swallowed up by the wilderness, and I have never felt so entirely alone as at that moment. An instant later I realized that a strange thing was happening; I was no longer nervous, and my hands were perfectly steady. After this, away to the right, I heard the faintest crackling of branches and the horns appeared again, absolutely still for a moment. Then another little branch cracked, and there was a turmoil in the bushes, a splashing over the shallow, gravelly bottom of the little stream, and the great, gray-brown body and white, arching neck of the stag appeared, like a thing out of a fairy book. The head was noble, poised on that snowy neck, and the antlers looked like a tangle of brush. The lithe thing stopped, the sensitive ears went back, and he started again.

But the gun had gone up to my shoulder, Aunt Jennie, quite instinctively, and for a fraction of a second I saw that wonderfully feathered neck in the notch of the sight, then a brown place that was the beginning of the shoulder, and I pulled the trigger. His long trot changed to a furious, desperate gallop. A leap up the further bank carried him out of my sight, and I was now so flurried that I never gave him a second shot. Indeed I felt so badly that I wanted to sit down and have a good cry.

I heard the doctor, who was tearing through the bushes, just as Harry Lawrence used to butt his way through a football line.

"You've got him," he yelled. "They never run like that unless mortally wounded. We'll have him in a moment!"

"Do you really think so?" I cried, breathlessly.

"Come on and see for yourself," he answered, and in our turn we splashed through the shallow water and found the track on the other side. This we very carefully studied, so as to be able to distinguish it from others, and then we went on, very cautiously, both walking on tiptoe. He was ahead of me, with the cocked rifle in his hand, but after going a short distance he stopped, suddenly, and began to fill his pipe, with the most exasperating coolness.

"Why don't you go on?" I asked, indignantly.

"Don't you think I deserve a pipe?" he said.

"You don't deserve anything," I told him. "I want my stag."

"Mademoiselle est servie" he said, laughing. "And you are indeed a most lucky young woman."

"Where is it? Where is it?" I cried. "You are trying to be as mean as can be just now, and I won't speak to you again to-day or any other day if you don't stop."

But I was looking around as I spoke and suddenly, under a little clump of birches, I saw something that made my heart beat fast again, and I dashed away, shouting, as I verily believe, and running as fast as the deer when I had last seen him. I had the advantage of the start and I beat the doctor to the quarry. It was lying there, the most splendid thing you ever saw, and I am sure I spoke in awed tones, as one does in a big cathedral.

"I had no idea that it would be so big. Oh! The beautiful clean limbs! And what a head! Those big flat horns in front that run down nearly to his muzzle are just wonderful! It seems to me that I just saw him for a second and pulled the trigger, and there was a little report that I scarcely heard, just as if the gun was a little toy thing, and now he is lying there and I don't know whether to be glad or sorry."

"You should be glad," he told me. "You might hunt for many months without meeting with such a head as that. Now that it is all over it may seem a bit tragic, but you must remember he was just a tremendous, handsome brute, ready at all times to fight others to the death, to kill them in his blind fury of jealousy. And those who fall to the gun may perhaps have met the best end of all. Think of the poor old stags dragging themselves to some tangle in order to escape the wolves or bears and lynxes, and whose last glances reveal things creeping towards them or great birds waiting to peck their eyes out. Man is seldom as cruel as nature proves to be, for it is everywhere harsh and brutal. Little dramas are constantly taking place under this very moss we tread, and those dear little black-headed birds, over there in the bushes, are killing all day long. You and I realize that the killing is the least part of the sport, but we wanted meat and came out for it ourselves, instead of hiring butchers to do the slaughtering for us. Moreover, you have a trophy which you will take back with you, and which will be one more souvenir of Sweetapple Cove."

I felt that I was brightening up again.

"How beautiful it is!" I said again, quite consoled. "Look at that long, white beard under his neck, and how deeply brown his cheeks are!"

"We must count the points," he proposed.

He went over them several times, with the greatest care.

"There are thirty-nine good ones," he said, "besides one or two little ones that will hardly come up to the mark. It is a big beamy head with broad flat horns. You will seldom see a better one, Miss Jelliffe."

We sat there for a moment, and presently heard some one coming through the woods. It was the two men who were hurrying towards us.

"Camp ain't a quarter mile away," shouted Sammy. "Us heered the shot an' come down. My, but that be a shockin' monstrous big stag. He's lucky, ma'am, doctor is. I mistrust he don't miss often."

"Miss Jelliffe fired that shot, Sammy," announced the doctor.

"Well, now! It do beat all! So yer done it yerself, did yer, ma'am? I'll fix him up now and bring th' head in by an' by. Don't yer be feared, I knows how ter take a scalp off fine fer stuffin'. To-morrer we'll take the meat. He's not long out of the velvet. Go right over ter the camp an' shift yer wet boots. Frenchy he'll show yer. Kittle's bilin' an' everything ready. It do be a fine day's work."

They all looked so happy that the last doubt left my mind. Frenchy was positively beaming with delight, and I had to show them just where I stood when I shot, and to explain everything. Then we trudged cheerfully towards camp, keeping for a while by the edge of the brook, which we had to cross again. We came to a tiny waterfall, and above it was the outlet of a little lake, deep and placid-looking. Some black ducks were swimming on it, not very far away, and I was shown a beaver's house.

"That's the real, wild outdoors that I love," I declared, stopping for a moment. "How calm and still it all is. Look at the feathery smoke drifting away over there. I suppose it is the camp."

For a moment there was a bit of bad going, over some wind-fallen trees, and the doctor held out his hand for me.

"Thank you," I said. "It seems to me that I am all the time having to thank you, you are always so kind. I must say that you are a perfectly stunning guide."

So we got to the camp, laughing, and Susie had to be told the story all over again, while I changed shoes and stockings in the little tent, where there was the thickest possible bed of fragrant balsam, covered with blankets.

It is getting late, Aunt Jennie, and I'll have to tell you the rest of it another time. It was perfectly glorious.

Really I think it is a pity that Dr. Grant should bury himself in such a place. He ought to live in our atmosphere, for he is entirely fitted for it.

So good night, Aunt Jennie, with best love from your HELEN.



CHAPTER XIII

From John Grant's Diary

During the years that I spent abroad, in study, there were times when a tremendous longing would come over me, so great that I was sorely tempted to run away, even if for a few weeks only, and revel in the satisfaction of my desire. It would seize upon me during long evenings, when I was sometimes a little wearied with hard work. I hungered at such times for the smoke of a camp-fire, for its resinous smells, for the distant calls of night birds, for the crackling flames that cast strange lights upon friendly faces.

All this was ours on the evening we spent after our little caribou hunt. Miss Jelliffe, who had had some slight experience with small target rifles, made a good shot at a fine stag, and we were all very cheerful. The fire burned brightly before the tent she shared with Susie, and the dry dead pine with logs of long-burning birch crackled merrily. Over the little lake, behind the dark conifers and the distant hills, the sun had gone down in a glory of incandescent gold and crimson.

After we had finished our supper we all sat around the blaze and the tales began, of big caribou and mighty salmon. Yet after a time, as one always must in this country, we drifted off to stories of the never-ending fight against mighty powers.

Very simply, in brief sentences, with short intervals to permit of more accurate recollection, good old Sammy opened to us vistas of unending fields of ice whereupon men slew the harp-seals, and pictured to us the manner in which the toll of death sometimes turns against the slayers. He also spoke of fishing schooners tossed by fierce gales, drifting by the side of mountainous bergs of ice rimmed with foam from the billows lashed in fury, and of seams that had opened as the ship spewed off its creeping oakum. I am sure we could all see the men at the pumps, working until their stiffened arms and frozen hands refused the bidding of brains benumbed by cold and hunger.

"Yes, ma'am, it's hard, mighty hard, times and times, but when yer gets through wid it ye'll still be there, if yer has luck, and them as doesn't get ketched gets back ter th' wife an' young, 'uns, an' is thankful they kin start all over again."

I saw how interested Miss Jelliffe was, and did my best to draw the man out. Like most real fighters he was little inclined to live his own combats over again, yet when he was once started it took little effort to keep him going. After this I questioned Frenchy, very carefully, for he is even less inclined than the other fishermen to talk about himself. I have never known the secret, if there be one, in the life of this man, alone of his people on this shore, with that child of his. He is always ever so friendly, and looks at one with big, dog-like, trusting eyes, but I have never sought to obtain a confidence he does not seem to be willing to bestow on any one. For this reason I merely asked him whether he had traveled much in foreign lands, as a sailor.

Then, as he puffed quietly at his pipe, the man gradually expanded just a little, though never speaking of anything he had personally accomplished. His tales, contrasting with Sammy's, took us to hot countries, with names that were rather vague to us.

He led us up some rivers tenanted by strange beasts wallowing in fetid mud which, when disturbed, sent forth bubbles that burst with foul odors, and made more unbearable the tepid moisture one had to breathe. Hostile, yellow people in strange garb slunk along the banks, hiding behind bamboos and watching the boats rowed by white men nearly succumbing to the torpor of the misty heat, while pulling with arms enfeebled by the fevers of what he called La Riviere Rouge. There had been fighting, nights and days of it, and once he had forgotten everything and awakened on board a ship that was out of sight of land. Now the trade winds were blowing, and many of the sick and wounded felt better, yet the great sharks kept on following because of the long bundles that were daily dropped overboard, done up in sail cloth and weighted at the feet. And when one arrived in port there were poor old women who called for Jean-Marie and for Joseph, and who sank fainting on the docks. But others were happy.

I could see that Miss Jelliffe was deeply interested in these tales of things related very simply, very naturally, as if the sailor had spoken of catching squid or under-running trawls. She wondered, as I did, why this man who had sailed so many seas should have drifted here and taken up his life in a strange land with the little yellow-haired boy in which his heart was enwrapped.

Sammy and Susie listened open-mouthed to those tales of things they could not realize or understand, for they could make little out of them, since the man was often hard pushed for words, using a good many from his own tongue.

"Why don't you go back to your own country?" asked Miss Jelliffe, very softly.

But he made no answer, pretending not to have heard her question. For an instant she looked at him, then turned her head away. I also saw that a strange moisture had gathered in the big man's eyes, lighted as they were by the flames into which he peered, as if seeking in them lost things that were past redeeming.

For some time we all remained very silent, as if oppressed by the awe of these tales, and I had to take a desperate measure to change the trend of thought. In a low voice I began to sing a lilting Irish melody with a sweet refrain in which Miss Jelliffe joined, soon followed by Sammy's deep tones and Susie's shrill ones, while Frenchy began to keep time with a blackened pot-stick.

So it was only a few minutes before cheerful thoughts returned to us, as the darkness deepened and the stars glittered, clear and close at hand. Then we finally said good-night and Miss Jelliffe sought her tent, attended by Susie.

We men went away to our lean-to, and talked a little longer before stretching out for a sound night's sleep. And it seemed but a few instants before we were up again, with the sunlight beginning to stream over the distant hillocks towards the sea that was now hidden from us. I took my rod to the outlet, where trout were rising, and returned soon to find that coffee was being made while the men were cutting bacon and chopping more wood.

Then Susie came to us, wanting some hot water and hurriedly returning to the tent. Finally the flaps were turned aside and the young woman came out, rosy of cheek and bright-eyed. Susie had a small fire before her tent, and Miss Jelliffe held her hands before it for a moment. When she came towards us I was kneeling on a small rock at the water's edge, cleaning trout, while Frenchy was scraping away at the caribou head, the scalp of which hung over a pole, to dry a little after a good salting. Sammy was smiting away at an old pine log for more firewood.

"Good morning," she cried. "It is a perfect shame that you allowed me to sleep so long. Oh! The beautiful trout! Where did you get them?"

I explained my capture, and told her that a few moments had been enough to secure all that were needed for all hands. The two men grinned at her delightedly, as she went up to them, happy and smiling, and she had to inform them that she had spent a wonderful night of such sleep as no one could possibly get outside of the wilderness.

"Isn't it all lovely and cheerful!" she exclaimed. "Now I insist on being useful too. Won't you let me fry the trout?"

She knelt by the fire, holding a frying pan whose hollow handle had been fitted with a long stick. The big dab of butter soon melted, and in a moment the trout were crepitating and curling up in the pan, sending forth heavenly odors.

"We can take our time," I told her, "for we will not look for another stag to-day. All that meat is going to make a heavy load to take back."

"But it is a shame," she said, contritely. "You were going for a hunt, and now that I have killed the stag you won't have any sport at all."

"I have had as good sport as any man has the right to expect," I said. "Please don't believe that it all lies in pulling a trigger. It is just this sort of thing that makes hunting glorious; the cheery fire and the flapping tent doors, the breeze ruffling the lake, the sitting at night by the fire and the tales we heard there. I will agree never to kill a caribou again if you will only furnish me with such sport as this from time to time."

"I was just thinking," she said, "that I am a law-breaker. I have no license to kill caribou."

"I have no doubt that you may be forgiven if you will send the money to St. John's and apply for a license. Then you can shoot two more, with an easy conscience."

"I will certainly send it," she replied, "but you ought to keep that head, you know."

"No indeed, it is yours, and you must take it back with you to be mounted. If I should ever return to New York I will ask you to allow me to have a look at it."

"I shall never forgive you if you don't call," she answered, charmingly. "But don't speak just now of going back to New York. I don't think I shall ever leave a place with such regret. I simply refuse to think of it."

It was really delightful to see this splendid girl, brought up in the most refined surroundings and yet so influenced by the glamour of the outdoor life. To the strong and healthful there can be no attraction in great towns that may not be dwarfed by the great pulsing of the lands sought by the lovers of rod and gun. Here she had gathered new ideas and unwonted thoughts. She is the best example I have ever seen of the sturdy, beautiful girlhood of modern life, and is an utter pleasure to look upon.

After a time we started towards Sweetapple Cove. The meat, or as much of it as we could carry, had all been tied up in packs. I was able to take a good load of it and Susie trudged along, bearing the big caribou head upon her shoulders.

"'Tain't much the weight on it," she said, "but it's clumsy. Them men has all they kin lug an' I'm a goin' ter hoof it erlong wid this, jest ter show willing."

Walking back seemed quite a different thing. After leaving the little lake we had climbed up, but now we were again on the great marshy barrens which inclined down towards the sea.

"Now," said Miss Jelliffe, during a spell of resting, "I should be utterly lost if I were alone. Nothing seems at all familiar and it is all a great jumble of little green islands of vegetation, of grey moss that is endless, of twisted junipers and lonely boulders. I don't know where I am, but I am perfectly happy, since some one knows the way."

Of course I was only acquainted with the general lie of the land, but the direction was quite clear to me. I wish everything was as straight-forward and clear as the way to the Cove.

"I am quite ashamed of myself," she continued. "I am the only one who is carrying nothing and is perfectly useless. I wonder your backs are not broken with those tremendous loads."

But the two men only grinned.

"It is nothing when you get used to it," I said, "providing one ever really gets used to a hard grind. But there are people to whom strong physical effort is a punishment while others simply accept it, grit their teeth, and carry the thing out."

"I suppose one has to learn how to accept things cheerfully," said Miss Jelliffe. "My life has been such an easy one that I have never had to try to bear heavy burdens."

"I am sure you will do it courageously, if ever the time comes," I answered.

Then we took up our packs and went on, making rather slow progress, as we were not pressed for time and the loads were heavy. In the middle of the day we took our lunch near a little brook, and, after starting again, we soon saw, from the summit of a little hill, the bright and glittering sea. Before us descended the valley of Sweetapple River, looking like a silvery ribbon winding in and out among the trees. To one side of us there was a rocky hill, once swept by a storm of flames and now tenanted only by the gaunt skeletons of charred firs and tamaracks. In the mistiness ahead of us the coast line, with its grim outlines softened, lost itself and melted away as if nature, in a kindly spirit, had sought to throw a veil over brutal features and covered them with a mantle of tender hues.

"This is ideally beautiful," said Miss Jelliffe. "I can understand that you may hesitate to leave all this to return to the grime of great cities."

Thus we returned to the Cove, and the girl hastened to her father, eager to tell him of our hunt and to show him the great head. I went with her to the house, and took pleasure in seeing the interest shown by the old gentleman. He certainly is a good sportsman.

"If Helen hasn't thanked you enough," he said, "I want to put in my oar. I am really extremely obliged to you for giving her such a good time."

I left in a short time and Miss Jelliffe put out her hand in her frank and friendly way. I must say she is a girl in many thousands.

And now I wonder why I am writing all this. My diary, begun in self-defence at a time when I expected to spend so dreary a time that an addled and rusted brain would result unless I sought hard to keep it employed, scarcely has an excuse for being, now. The Jelliffes and the Barnetts, with the good people of the Cove, are surely enough to keep a man interested in the world about him. It has simply become a silly habit, this jotting down of idle words.



CHAPTER XIV

From Miss Helen Jelliffe to Miss Jane Van Zandt

Dearest Aunt Jennie:

I am writing again so soon because I don't think I can sleep, to-night. I know that some people can't possibly slumber off when they are over-tired. That must be the matter with me, though I never realized it.

We had no more hunting after we killed that caribou. That night we camped, and I heard stories, from two poor, humble men, that made my head just whirl, for they were really Odysseys, or sagas, or any of the big tales one ever heard of. It would seem, Aunt Jennie, dear, as if the world is not at all the prosy thing some people take it to be. I suppose that the great knights and warriors are altogether out of it now, but I find that it is running over with men one usually never hears of, who accomplish tremendous things without the slightest accompaniment of drums or clarions.

We started back after a night during which I slept like a dead thing, but naturally I was the most alive girl you ever saw when I awoke. The men went away to where we had left the dead stag and returned with big haunches and other butcher-shop things, which they packed up in huge loads. It appears that my lucky shot has contributed considerably to the provisionment of Sweetapple Cove.

By the way, this place, which I once rather despised, looked most attractive when we came down towards it from the hills. I could see the beautiful, white Snowbird at anchor, looking very small, and the sunlight played on the brass binnacle which shone like a burning light. Near it, very lowly and humble, rode the poor little fishing smacks that are far more important to the world's welfare than our expensive plaything. The crop of drying cod was spread out on the flakes, as usual, and tiny specks of women and children were bending over them, turning the fish, piling them up, bearing some of them away on hand-barrows, and bringing fresh loads to scatter in the sun.

When we reached the house we found Daddy lying on the steamer chair. He was engaged in deep converse with our skipper, who left at once. The doctor only remained a few minutes, and then Susie appeared, her rubicund face framed in the mighty antlers of my quarry. Daddy laughed heartily.

"The two Dianas of Sweetapple Cove!" he exclaimed. "My dear, you ought to bear the bow and quiver and to sport the crescent on your queenly brow. Now tell me all about it! How are you, and what kind of a time have you had? I need not ask about the sport for you have brought the evidence with you. Isn't it a wonderful head? I call it rather cruel to be parading such things before a poor cripple."

"I'm sure glad enough ter get rid o' he," quoth Susie, with a sigh of relief. "It lugs fair clumsy. I'll be goin' over ter Sammy's house now. He've got the tenderlines in th' pack of he and ter-morrer ye's goin' ter feed on something worth bitin' inter. Ef yer doesn't say so I'll be awful fooled. And yer better shift yer stockin's right now, ma'am, 'cause walkin' all day in the mash is bound ter soak yer feet spite o' good boots. I'll be back in a minnut."

The good creature dashed away on her errand, and we were left to tell our tales.

"It was perfectly splendid, Daddy," I told him. "I hope they have taken good care of you and you were a dear to let me go. I have had such a wonderful time!"

"I am delighted, my dear," he said, "but now you had better run away and follow Susie's advice."

"Just a moment, Daddy," I pleaded. "I have had wet feet for two days and a minute more won't hurt me. Indeed I killed the big caribou, and Dr. Grant was ever so kind, as he always is. He said he would try to come in for supper. Oh! You ought to have seen that big stag, and how proudly he stepped out into that brook, all alert, and how he started to run. And then I shot, and the doctor found him for me. It was wonderful!"

"That doctor is a fine fellow," said Dad.

Of course I agreed with him. It is quite amazing how Daddy has taken to Dr. Grant, but then I don't see how one could help it. The doctor is a very quiet man, excepting when he gets enthusiastic or mad about things, and one thinks at first that he is rather distant in his manner. But when you know him much better he comes right out and shows just as much red blood as those boys at home. I wonder why he keeps on living at Sweetapple Cove?

So I went off to change my shoes and stockings, which were quite soaked through, and then I sat again with Daddy and told him a lot more about our trip. I wish I could have explained everything to him, but of course I couldn't make him see the color of those far-away hills and the perfect beauty of those great marshes. I told him all about the camp by the little lake, and the winding distant river, and the cries of the ptarmigans and the loons, and the finding of the stag.

"Helen dear," said Daddy, who had been looking at me in that keen way of his, "I don't think I ever saw you so enthusiastic before. Your mind has been fully opened to the charm of the wilderness, and that is something that city people seldom understand. You were never so earnest before. What is it? Are you developing new traits?"

Of course I laughed at this, and yet it seemed to me also as if something were changed. I didn't quite know what Daddy meant, because it is sometimes difficult to know whether he is jesting or in earnest. He once told me that this was a rather good business asset.

"Well, Daddy," I finally said. "I am afraid you will have to take me away, or I shall be falling so much in love with Sweetapple Cove that I will never want to leave it again."

"We will leave to-morrow, if you want to," he said, in a rather abrupt way.

Do you know, Aunt Jennie, that when he said that I just gasped a little. It suddenly seemed so strange that we would have to go away soon, and that I might never see Sweetapple Cove again, and those dear Barnetts, and all the people, for the whole lot of them appear to have a way of stealing into one's heart.

"I don't really want to go at once, Daddy," I told him. "It will take a few days to get used to the idea, and to get everything ready. And Dr. Grant says that very soon you will be able to walk without a cane. Do let us put it off for another week."

Daddy smiled vaguely, and finally nodded his consent. He is always so good about trying to please me. So I went and got my knitting and sat down at the foot of the big chair.

"I'm afraid I'll never finish it before we leave," I said, "and I doubt whether I will ever quite solve the mystery of turning heels."

"That's too bad," said Daddy. "I expected to wear those things in Virginia this fall, after quail, or on the Chesapeake when the canvas-backs are flying."

"I am afraid you will have to buy some, Daddy," I answered.

So I sat beside him, at his feet, and I think my mood had changed a little. Perhaps it was fatigue, which I didn't really feel. I suppose that people can have things the matter with them without knowing anything about it. Daddy's dear old hand rested for a moment on my head, and I had to stop knitting. I don't think I ever felt so queerly before, and I had to look over Sweetapple Cove and follow the flight of the gulls, until the shadows grew quite long and the clouds became tinted with rose, and Daddy asked me to get him a cigar, and I was glad he interrupted my silly thoughts. I must have been really very tired.

* * * * *

I could only write a little while, last night. We had some caribou steak which Daddy became quite enthusiastic over, but I didn't feel hungry, and I went to bed early, but somehow I slept poorly. It is funny that one can be tired for several days at a time. And to-day, Aunt Jennie, some queer things have happened, and the life that has so often felt like dreams has become very serious, and I have seen some of the inner working of events such as make one feel that existence has cruel sides to it.

All this morning I dawdled about the house. I had expected Dr. Grant to call and see Daddy, but he had been sent for, a short distance away, in the boat.

Rather late this afternoon he returned, and I strolled over towards the cove when I saw the tiny schooner come in. It is a poor enough little ship, but it is wonderful to think how it bears with it such comfort and help to so many suffering people.

I was within a few yards of him, and he was lifting his cap when a fisherman rushed up to him.

"Ye're wanted ter Atkins'," said the man. "They is a child there as is awful sick. They brung 'un over from Edward's Bay, this mornin', an' th' mother she be prayin' fer ye to come."

"All right," he answered. "Sammy, bring my bag up with you and I'll hurry up at once."

He only smiled at me, in his pleasant way, for he rushed by me, running up the rough path in great strides, and of course I could only go back to our house, where I sat with Daddy on the porch.

From where I sat I could see Atkins' house. It is only a little way from us, up the hill. There were a number of people assembled in front of it, because whenever any one is hurt or very ill they are apt to gather around, as people do sometimes in New York before a house where an ambulance has stopped. Then I saw the doctor sprinting out towards Sammy's house, whence he returned carrying another bag. Of course I have several times helped him a little, in the last month, when Mrs. Barnett didn't get in ahead of me, so I rose.

"I am going up to Atkins'," I told Dad. "I wonder what is the matter. I shall only be gone a few minutes."

So I ran away, bare-headed, and rushed to the place, but before I reached it Mrs. Barnett arrived there, all out of breath.

When I passed through the waiting people I heard Dr. Grant's voice, and he spoke very angrily. I had never thought before that he could get quite so mad. There was a swarm of women in the house, some of them with babies in their arms, and a few children, among whom was Frenchy's little boy, had also slipped in.

"Get out of here!" he was shouting, roughly. "All of you but the child's mother and Mrs. Atkins. Haven't I told you it is dangerous? Do you want to spread this thing about and kill off all your children? And you, Mrs. Barnett, must give the example. I won't have you running chances with those babies of yours. Do get out, like a dear woman, and chevy these other ones out with you."

He was bustling them all out like a lot of hens, in his effective, energetic way, and then he saw me.

"I want you to get out too, Miss Jelliffe," he ordered me. "This is a bad case of diphtheria. The child is choking and I must relieve it at once."

I took a few steps back, rather resentfully, because I had never been spoken to in that way before, and I thought it very rude of him, but I did not leave the place. The doctor was very busy with some instruments and perhaps had forgotten my presence.

He made the woman sit on a stool, with the little girl wrapped in a sheet and sitting on her lap. I saw him take up a shiny instrument, which he fastened in the baby's mouth, notwithstanding her struggles.

"Now hold her firmly," he ordered, "and you, Mrs. Atkins, get behind her and take her head. Hold it steady, just this way. Never mind her crying."

But the little one wrenched herself away from the woman's grasp. The breath entered its lungs with an awful long hoarse sound and the poor little lips were very blue.

"For God's sake, hold her better," he cried again.

"I'm all of a tremble," said Mrs. Atkins, weeping. "She's sure goin' ter die. I kin never hold her, she do be fightin' me so."

Of course there was only one thing to do. I ran out of the corner to which I had retreated and pushed the foolish woman away and seized the baby's head so that it could not move.

Dr. Grant stared at me, shaking his head, but I suppose I looked at him defiantly, for I was really angry with him.

"This is all wrong, Miss Jelliffe," he said. "You should not expose yourself to this infection."

He spoke so quietly that I became rather sorry I had been provoked at him, but he paid no more heed to me. Once he placed a hand on one of mine, to show me exactly how to hold the head, and then he took a long handle to which something was fastened at right angles. The child's mouth was widely opened by the gag he had inserted, and his left finger went swiftly down into the child's throat and the instrument, pushed by his right hand, followed, incredibly quick. There was just a rapid motion, I heard the release of a catch, and then, suddenly, there was a terrifying attack of violent coughing. But in a moment this ceased, the child lay back quietly in her mother's arms, the color began to return to her lips, and she was breathing quietly. Then we watched, in silence, and finally the little head turned to one side and the baby closed her eyes, while the poor woman's tears streamed down and even fell on the tiny face.

"She is all right for the time being," said Dr. Grant, in that quiet voice of his, which I have heard change so quickly. "If she can only resist until the antitoxine acts upon her we may pull her through. I am greatly obliged to you, Miss Jelliffe. I am afraid your father will scold us both for taking such chances with your health."

But by this time my eyes were full of tears also, I don't know why. I was unsteady on my feet and held on to the back of a chair.

"I never saw anything like this before," I said. "I didn't quite realize that it ever happened. The poor little thing was dying, and you did it all so quickly! That thing went in like a flash, and then she coughed so and I thought she was lost. And now she sleeps, and I am sure you have saved her, and she must get well. How dreadful it was, at first, and how wonderfully beautiful it is to be able to do such things! I am so glad!"

Wasn't it silly of me to get so excited, Aunt Jennie. But I suppose one can't understand such happenings until one has witnessed them. I know that I had taken the doctor's arm, without realizing what I was doing, and found myself patting it, stupidly, like a silly, hysterical thing.

His face was very serious, just then, and he looked at me as if he had been studying another patient. Then came that little smile of his, very kindly, which made me feel better.

"I think you had better go now, Miss Jelliffe," he advised. "I beg you not to expose yourself further. It is a duty you owe your good old father and any one who cares for you."

Then I was myself again. The excitement of those tense moments had passed away and I knew I had been a little foolish and that he spoke ever so gently.

"I will go since you wish me to," I answered. "But I am ever so glad that I was able to help you. You will come to supper, won't you?"

"I am afraid you will have to excuse me," he said. "I can hardly do so now, for I must remain here and watch this child for some time. You will please change all your clothing and have it hung out on the line, and you will gargle your throat with something I will send you. I'll call to-morrow and see your father, and give you the latest news of this little patient."

"I didn't know that you ever got so angry," I said, now prompted by some spirit of mischief. "You were in a dreadful temper when I came in."

"Of course I was," he readily admitted. "But do you realize that this is the continuation of an old story. This woman was in St. John's last week, with the child, and I suppose they may have brought the disease from there. Then the child became ill, the night before last, and she waits until this morning to bring it over to me. When she reaches here she finds me away, but of course every woman in the place strolls in, with children in arms, to look on and give advice. We may be in for a fine epidemic. I shall have to send to St. John's at once for a new supply of antitoxine. I have only a little, and it is not very fresh. Atkins is away with his schooner but he is expected to-morrow. I hope he turns up. Thank you ever so much, Miss Jelliffe. Now please run away and follow my directions."

So I left him and returned to the house and obeyed his orders. We soon had supper, but when I told Daddy all about it, it was his turn to be angry.

"That's all very well," he said, "but after all he could have found some one else to help him and you had no business to disobey. When the time comes for you to have babies of your own you can risk your life for them as much as you please, but you have no right to run into danger now. You are my only child, and I have no one else to love since your poor mother died. Please don't do such things again. Grant was perfectly right in trying to chase you away. He should have taken a stick to you."

Daddy's ruffled tempers are never proof against my method of smoothing the raging seas. My arm around his neck and a kiss will make him eat out of my hand, as Harry Lawrence puts it. Naturally he succumbed again and in a minute was just as nice as ever.

We had only just finished our supper when Frenchy came in, leading his little boy by the hand. He bore a letter which he gravely handed to Daddy who, as usual, had to look into three or four pockets before he found his glasses. Then he read, and his face became serious, as it always does when he takes sudden decisions.

"Yves," he said, "will you oblige me by going down to the cove at once and hailing the schooner. I want my captain to come over here."

Frenchy departed, after saluting as usual, his little fellow trotting beside him, and Daddy, without a word, handed the letter to me. I read as follows:

Dear Mr. Jelliffe:

I had intended to see you to-morrow morning, and expect to do so, but I believe it might be best for you to obtain my advice at once. Miss Jelliffe has doubtless told you how she helped me with a case of diphtheria, although I am sure she omitted to say how brave and helpful she was. The danger to her is comparatively slight, I am sure, yet we must not forget that such a danger exists. If you were to start to-morrow morning you could be in St. John's before night. From there two days would find you in Halifax and two more in New York, so that you would be always near good care and advice.

With a little care and prudence in regard to your leg I am sure that you can reach home quite safely.

With kindest regards, Very sincerely yours, JOHN GRANT.

I stared at Daddy, hardly knowing what to say.

"That boy has a lot of good sound horse-sense!" he exclaimed. "I am just going to follow his advice. Bring me my check-book. I am going to make out something for that little parson. He needs a place to give the folks what he calls readings, and other things. He told me that two-fifty would give him unutterable joy. I'll make it five hundred so that he can shout. Now in regard to Dr. Grant...."

"Are we really going to-morrow, Daddy?" I interrupted.

"You bet we are going to-morrow, always providing that yacht of ours is ready. I gave orders yesterday to have something done and...."

But I didn't listen any more. I went to the window and drew aside the little curtain. Down below, in the cove, I could see the Snowbird's anchor light, gleaming brilliantly. The windows of some of the houses shed a sickly pale radiance, but beyond this everything was in darkness, with just the faintest suggestion of enormous masses representing the jagged cliffs. There was not a single star in the heavens, and all at once everything seemed to be plunged in desolation. It felt as when one awakes in the darkness from some beautiful dream. I knew then that I would be actually home-sick for Sweetapple Cove when I returned to New York.

Please don't laugh at me, Aunt Jennie dear, you know I have had no one but you to confide in since I have grown out of short skirts. Perhaps it was this thing I saw in Atkins' house that has upset me so, and I suppose that my life has always been too easy, and that I have not been prepared to meet some of the grim horrors it can reveal to one.

I could not think of leaving without saying good-by to Mrs. Barnett. My hand shook as I pushed a hatpin through my cap. Then I told Daddy where I was going and ran out into the darkness.

When I reached the poor little house they insist on calling the rectory the dear woman opened her arms to greet me, and I saw that her beautiful eyes were filled with tears.

"What is the matter, dear?" I asked.

"I was a coward to-day," she cried. "Such an awful coward! I had no business to leave when Dr. Grant told me to. I should have stayed and helped. But when he spoke of diphtheria I couldn't help it and thought of my little chaps. I have already seen that dreadful thing come and sweep little lives away, just in a day or two. It took the one we buried on the other side of the cove, and we saw it suffocating, helpless to aid. And that's why I ran out, terror-stricken. But I hear that you held the baby for him. You don't know what it is to have babies of your own, and were not afraid. It is dreadful, you know, that fear that comes in a mother's heart!"

She looked quite weak when she sat down, in a poor, worn, upholstered chair that was among the things they brought from England, and I sat on the arm of it, beside her.

"I have changed all my clothes," I told her, "and I don't think I'm dangerous. Now Daddy insists that we must leave to-morrow, and I'm just broken-hearted about it. Dr. Grant wrote him that it would be better for us to leave, but I don't want to go."

"Did the doctor write that?" she exclaimed.

"Yes, because there might be danger in my staying longer. Why can't I share it with all the others who will have to stay here? I shall never forgive him!"

I suppose that we were both rather excited, and I know I had to dab my eyes with my handkerchief. Then Mrs. Barnett forgot all about her own worries, for she was patting me on the arm, looking at me intently all the time, just as Daddy has been doing, in a queer way that I can't understand.

"I daresay it will be best for both of you," she said, in that sweetest voice of hers.

"Yes, I think Daddy wants to get back," I said, and she stared at me again, as I rose and bade her good-by.

"Don't say it yet, dear," she told me, "I will certainly come down to see you off in the morning. It has been so delightful to have had you here all these weeks, and I shall miss you dreadfully when you are gone. I can hardly bear to think of it."

So I kissed her and had to tear myself away. Like a pair of silly women we were on the verge of tears once more, and there was nothing left for me to do but to run.

It was perhaps some unusual effect of the night air, but I was quite husky when I spoke to Daddy again.

"You will be glad to get back, won't you. Daddy?" I asked him. "It will be so nice for you to go to the club again, and see all your old friends."

He looked at me, and only nodded in a noncommittal way.

"I will leave you now," I said. "There is a lot of packing to do, and that poor silly Susie is perfectly useless, since she heard we were going. She is sitting on a stool in the kitchen and weeping herself into a fit. Her nose is the reddest thing you ever saw. But you and I are old travelers, aren't we, and used to quick changes? You remember, in Europe, how we used to get to little towns and decide in a moment whether we would stay or not, when we were tired of all those old museums and cathedrals?"

But Daddy only patted my hand, and I have decided that he is a wonderfully clever man. I am sure he understood that I was just forcing myself to talk, and that he could say nothing that would make me feel better.

Then there was a knock at the door, and Stefansson came in with one of his long faces.

"Good evening," said Daddy. "Have a cigar? The box is there on the table. I have good news for you, since I know you don't enjoy this place much. Too far from Long Island Sound, isn't it? I want to sail to-morrow morning."

Our skipper's long Swedish face lengthened out a bit more, and he looked a very picture of distress.

"But you told me yesterday that you were going to stay at least another week, Mr. Jelliffe," he objected. "So to-day when the engineer he tells me about bearings needing new packing, and about a connecting rod being a bit loose, I told him to get busy."

"I'd like to know what you fellows were doing all the time in St. John's?" asked Daddy, angrily.

"Engines always need looking after, Mr. Jelliffe," replied the skipper in an injured tone that was not particularly convincing. "Of course I can make him work all night, and to-morrow, with his helper, so that maybe we can start day after to-morrow early. Everything is all apart now. If you say so we can start under sail, but I know you don't like bucking against contrary winds without a bit of steam to help, and this is a forsaken coast to be knocking about, Mr. Jelliffe, and I'll be glad to get away from it."