CHAPTER XVI
"We Must be Friends!"
When her father decided not to go to Akimiski, Mary spent a longmorning in roaming about Seal Cove, visiting the various littlehouses dotted near the fish shed, and making herself thoroughlyacquainted with the neighbourhood. But when her father got intoStee Jenkin's boat, and was rowed across the river to survey theland on the farther side, Mary had herself rowed up the river, withthe intention of spending the afternoon in arranging the littlebrown house to suit her own fancy. The afternoon proved so warmthat she decided on leaving the arranging to the next day, and satdown to write letters instead. Even this proved a task beyond herpowers, for she was more exhausted than she realized by the longjourney over river and trail, and the hot day was making thefatigue felt.
One letter, short and scrappy, got itself written, and thenweariness had its way. Mary went into her little bedroom, and,lying down, went fast asleep. It was three hours later when sheawoke, and, feeling fearfully ashamed of her laziness, she went outto the little kitchen to light a fire for getting a cup of teaready for her father.
No matter how well-to-do in money and gear people may be, if theyleave the beaten tracks of civilization and immure themselves inthe wilderness they will have to learn to help themselves or elsesuffer hardship. So Mary Selincourt, whose father's yearly incomewas a good way advanced in a four-figured total, found herselfcompelled to the necessity of lighting her own fire, or goingwithout the tea. There was plenty of kindling wood close to herhand, so the task presented no especial difficulty, but she laughedsoftly to herself as she watched the leaping flames, and thoughthow astonished some of her aristocratic friends would be if theycould see her doing domestic work amid such humble surroundings.
When the kettle began to sing she went into the little sitting-roomto set the table for tea, and was enjoying the work as if it wereplay and she a child again, when a sound of voices and footstepsbrought her in haste to the open door. Two of the boatmen werecoming up the path from the river leading a mud-coated figure whomat first Mary did not recognise. But a second glance showed herthat it was really her father. With a cry of alarm she met him atthe door, full of concern for his uncomfortable plight, yet not fora moment realizing how terrible his danger had been.
"Dear Father, where have you been?" she cried.
"Within a hand-grip of death," he answered, with a quaver ofbreakdown in his voice, for it had shaken him fearfully, that long,slow torture of being sucked into the green ooze of the muskeg.
"Don't talk about it!" she said hastily. "I will put your cleanthings ready. There is happily a kettle on the boil; the men willhelp you to bath, and when you are in bed I will bring you tea."
"Yes," he answered languidly, while she flew to get things ready,and called one of the men to assist her in putting water into thebig tin pan which was the only bath the house afforded.
She was going to put the pan in the bedroom, when the man who washelping stopped her with a suggestion. "You had better leave thepan here in front of the fire, Miss; the poor gentleman is soexhausted, you see, and the fire will be a comfort to him."
"I had not thought of that, but I am quite sure you are right," shesaid; then got the water to a comfortable temperature, and left themen to do their best.
They were prompt and speedy. In half an hour Mr. Selincourt waslying in bed, spent and faint it is true, but as clean as soap andwater could make him. Mary hovered about him with a world oftenderness in face and manner, but she would not let him talk,would not even let him tell her how or where he had come so near tofinding his death on that sunny June afternoon. It was not untilhe was asleep that she ventured to go back to the kitchen. The menhad removed all traces of their work by cleaning the splashedfloor, and were busy now in the open space behind the house washingthe mud-caked clothes which they had stripped from Mr. Selincourt,for those men who go on portage work must have at least anelementary knowledge of washing, or be content to go without cleanshirts most of their time.
Mary beckoned for one of them to come to her.
"What happened to my father?" she asked. "I would not let him tellme, he is too thoroughly upset."
"We don't know, Miss," replied the man who had made the timelysuggestion about the bath. "We were down on the bank, getting theboat ready that is to start for the south to-morrow, when a boatrowed by a girl came up the river. She was dripping withperspiration, and looked as if she had been rowing for a wager.Mr. Selincourt was sitting in the stern, and there was a small boycovered with mud too. The girl bade us take Mr. Selincourt and gethim to bed, and said that she would send down river for Mr.Ferrars."
"How truly good of her!" cried Mary, with a mist of tears cominginto her eyes. "It must have been Miss Radford from the store overthe river. I was going to ask one of you to go to Seal Cove forMr. Ferrars, but if he has been already sent for he may soon behere. So will you please go over to the store instead, give mylove to Miss Radford, and ask her to tell you what was wrong?"
The man dried his soapy hands by the simple process of rubbing themon his trousers, and started on his errand, while Mary entered thehouse again and peeped in at the open door of her father's room, tomake sure that he was still sleeping.
There was a good fire in the kitchen, and the kettle was boilingagain. Mary had not had her cup of tea yet, although she had madeone for her father. But she had forgotten all about that--forgotten, indeed, that she had taken no food, except twohard biscuits, since her early breakfast. It seemed such a longtime before the man came back. His comrade was still busy out atthe rear of the house, rubbing, pounding, and punching at themud-stained clothes to get them clean, and as he worked he whistledsoftly over and over again two or three bars of "The Maple Leaf forEver". For years afterwards Mary never heard the song withoutrecalling that afternoon, with its keen anxiety, the glorioussunshine, and the steamy, soapy atmosphere of the little kitchen.
From front door to back door she paced, always treading softlythrough fear of disturbing the sleeper in the room beyond; thenpaced from back door to front door again, and paused to wait forthe messenger whose coming was so delayed. Presently she heard thesound of oars, then a boat grounded, and a moment later the mancame up the path, carefully carrying something in a basket which hepresented to Mary.
"It is a bottle of ginger posset which Mrs. Burton has sent overfor Mr. Selincourt. She says you must give him a teacupful as soonas he wakes, and you ought to make him swallow it even if heobjects, as there is quinine in it, which may ward off swampfever," the man said, with the air of one repeating a lesson.
"Mrs. Burton is very kind," said Mary, as she took basket andbottle. "But did you see Miss Radford, and why should there bedanger of swamp fever for my father?"
"Miss Radford had got a party of Indians in the store that weretaking all her time to manage," replied the man. "Indeed, I had tochip in and help her a bit myself, for while she showed one lotscarlet flannel and coloured calicoes, the other lot were trying tohelp themselves to beans, tobacco, and that sort of thing. But bythe time I had punched the heads of three men, and slapped twosquaws in the face, they seemed to sort of understand that goodmanners paid best, and acted according; then matters began to movequicker."
Mary clasped her hands in an agony of impatience. Would the manever tell her, or would she be compelled to shake the informationout of him?
"Did Miss Radford tell you what had happened?" she asked, with anemphatic stamp of her foot on the floor.
"Yes, Miss. Mr. Selincourt, not knowing, ventured out on a muskeg,and was being slowly sucked in, when she and her brother came alongthe back creek in their boat. It was a touch-and-go business then,for she had no planks or hurdles, though luckily she had ropes; butby sending her little brother, who weighs next to nothing at all,to slip a noose of rope under Mr. Selincourt's shoulders, she wasable to haul on the rope, and so drag him out by sheer force ofarm. She sent her love to you, and hopes he will soon be better,"the man said, with a litt
le flourish of his hands. In point offact Katherine had done nothing of the kind, but it sounded betterso, he thought, and gave a consolatory touch to the whole.
Mary turned abruptly away. Her father's misadventure was so muchworse than she had expected that the horror of it broke down herself-control completely; the solid ground seemed to crumble underher feet, and if she had not sunk into the nearest chair she musthave fallen. Sitting crouched in a corner, with her hands pressedtightly against her face, striving for the mastery over thoseunruly emotions of hers, she failed to hear sounds of anotherarrival, and did not even look up when Jervis Ferrars entered,without any ceremony of knocking.
A moment he stood in silence before her, not liking to disturb her,nor even to be a witness of her breakdown, for he knew how proudshe was, and the humiliation it would be to her to be watched undersuch conditions. Then, seeing the door of the bedroom half-open,he passed silently and softly into the room, closing the doorbehind him, and Mary was alone again. It might have been tenminutes later before he reappeared, and then the anxious look hadleft his face; he still looked concerned, but that was chiefly onMary's account.
"Miss Selincourt, I am fearfully disappointed in you," he announcedgravely, and Mary's head came up with a jerk.
"I--I did not know that you had come," she faltered.
"All the more reason why you should have been brave and courageous,until there was someone on whom to shift the responsibility," hesaid quietly.
Mary reddened, and her tears disappeared as if by magic. "Is itpossible that you do not know the terrible danger my father hasbeen in?" she asked frigidly.
"Yes, I know. But in a wild country like this one must always beexpected to face a certain amount of risk; and it is never worthwhile to weep over the might-have-beens, or how could one be happyat all?" he said lightly.
"I know it was foolish, but the horror of it broke me down; andthen I was wondering whatever I should do if Father were to be ill,so far away from doctors, nurses, and comforts of any sort," shereplied, with a shiver.
"I don't think he will be ill. He is sleeping as peacefully as aninfant, his pulse is steady, and his heart quiet. He may be alittle languid when he wakes, in which case we will keep him in bedfor a day or two. Remember, I am three parts a doctor, and you canbe wholly a nurse."
"I have had no experience," she faltered.
"That is only gained by practice," he answered. Then, looking atthe partly-set meal on the table, he asked: "What have you had toeat to-day?"
"Not much," she answered in a dreary tone. "There were cold fishand coffee for breakfast. I had two biscuits for luncheon, butthat was all."
"You are within seeing distance of starving, I should say, and thatis why your courage has turned to water," he said; and, going outto the kitchen, he roused the fire again, refilled the kettle,which had boiled itself dry, and when it boiled again made her agood cup of tea, at the same time insisting on her making a solidmeal.
"Oh, I feel pounds better now!" she exclaimed, when he came backfrom another visit to Mr. Selincourt, who still lay peacefullysleeping.
"Let it be a warning to you in future not to neglect yourself atcritical moments," he replied; then asked: "What would you like meto do for you? Shall I stay with Mr. Selincourt to-night? I donot think he needs watching in the least, but if this will be acomfort to you, I will remain with pleasure."
"It is very kind of you, and I accept thankfully," she said, withsuch bounding relief at her heart that the whole of her outlookchanged at once. It was the responsibility she dreaded so much,and when that was lifted from her shoulders she could be happyagain. "Can you remain now, or must you go back to Seal Covefirst?" she asked.
"I will stay now if you like, only I must trouble you to let mesend one of your boatmen down to Seal Cove, with a letter ofinstruction for any of the boats which may arrive in with a cargobefore I can be there to have the shed opened," he said.
"One of the men shall go, certainly. But while you are writingyour letter may I take the boat and go over to the store to say'Thank you' to Miss Radford and her brother for their goodness tomy father? I would not have left him if you had not been here, butnow I can go easily enough, and I do want them to know how reallygrateful I am."
"Go, by all means. I will take care of Mr. Selincourt and write myletter at the same time," Jervis answered, taking a fountain penand a notebook from his pocket, and beginning to write forthwith.
Mary walked out of the house and down to the river just as she was,for the sun had gone down sufficiently to render a hat unnecessary.The two men were busy with their boat still, but one of them lefthis work and put Mary across the river in one of the other boatswhich lay drawn up on the bank.
The Indians, who had been crowding the store half an hour before,were encamped on the bank now, a little lower down, and were busycooking fish for their supper. There were no other customersvisible either inside the store or out. Now that the fishing wasin full swing the fishermen had little time for lounging about thestore; so, although the work of delivering goods was greater, therewere compensating circumstances in not having the store alwayscrowded up with men and lads, who had come more for the sake oftalking than buying.
Mary walked up the steep bank and across the open space to thestore door with a sense of the strangest unreality all about her.It was herself who walked and moved, yet all the time she seemed tostand aside and let another self think and feel and act. Acomposite odour of groceries, bacon, tobacco, and cheap clothes mether as she entered the rough, homely shed, which was a typicalemporium of the backwoods; but she had no time to analyse theodours, being at once attracted by Katherine, who stood at a talldesk by the window, entering items in a ledger. At the same timeKatherine glanced up and saw the visitor entering the door. Sheflushed at the sight, and became suddenly nervous, acutelyconscious, too, of her poor, shabby clothes, old-fashioned and illcut, as contrasted with the picturesque house gown in which Marywas garbed, a soft grey woollen, which, though simple enough tohave been worn upon any occasion, yet suggested London or Paris inevery line.
"You are Miss Radford, I think," said Mary in that quiet, culturedvoice which somehow matched, or at least harmonized, with her gown,"and I have come to say 'Thank you' for your goodness to my dearfather."
"Oh, but really it was not I who saved him, but Phil! I shouldhave been too heavy to walk three steps across that muskeg withoutsticking fast," Katherine answered, with a low, nervous laugh.
But Mary was not to be put off in this fashion, and she went on,her voice fluttering a little because of the emotion she waskeeping down with a resolute hand: "I know it was your brother whowent out on the swamp and put the rope round my father, but I alsoknow that it was really you who planned the rescue and pulled myfather out. I cannot speak of it all as I would wish, and wordsare too faint and poor to express all I feel; but from my heart Iam grateful, and all my life I shall be in your debt."
A sob came up in Katherine's throat, and her heart flutteredwildly, for she was thinking of that dark secret from the pastwhich her father had told her about, and she was wondering if thework of to-day would in any sense help to wipe off that old scoreof wrongdoing which stood to her father's account.
"It is only one's duty to help those who are in difficulties," shesaid, when she could manage her voice, and still that curiousfluttering in her throat. "I hope Mr. Selincourt is not much theworse for his accident. I was afraid that he was terribly shaken.He must have suffered such fearful agony of mind during the time hewas being sucked down."
"He is sleeping now, peacefully as an infant. Mr. Ferrars, who iswith him, says that his pulse is steady and his heart quiet, so itreally looks as if the after effects may not be very bad," Maryanswered. Then she said impulsively: "I was on the hill last nightwhen you were waiting for the dogs to help you to make the portage.My heart went out to you then, and I wondered should we ever befriends; but to-day has settled that question so far as I amconcerned, and now we must be
friends."
Katherine crimsoned right up to the roots of her hair. A year agohow happy such words would have made her! And how glad she wouldhave been of the friendship of Mary Selincourt! But now all thepleasure in such intercourse was checked and clouded, because shewas perforce obliged to sail under false colours.
The rosy flush faded from cheeks, neck, and brow, and her face waswhite and weary as she answered coldly: "It is very kind of you totalk of friendship, but I fancy there is too much difference in ourlives to admit of much intercourse. I have to work very hard justnow, and I have little or no leisure."
Mary winced as if Katherine had struck her a blow. She was notused to having her offers of friendship flouted in this fashion;but she was too much indebted to this girl in the shabby frock toeven dream of resenting the treatment of which poor Katherine wasalready secretly ashamed.
"I know that you have to work very hard," Mary said gently. "Butif you knew how much I honour you for your unselfish courage, Ithink you would not refuse to let me see as much of you as yourwork will allow."
Katherine had to come down from her poor little pedestal then, butshe made her descent gracefully enough. "If you care to see me atmy work, we may even find time for friendship," she said, smilingbravely, although her face was still very pale; "but work and I aresuch close comrades that only Sunday finds us apart."
"Then I will have you and your work all the week, and you withoutyour work on Sundays," laughed Mary, afterwards saying good nightand going back across the river to her father again.