CHAPTER VI
THE GIRL AND THE CANOE
“The persimmons are off the place, sir. Mr. Glenarmwas very fond of the fruit.”
I had never seen a persimmon before, but I was in amood for experiment. The frost-broken rind was certainlyforbidding, but the rich pulp brought a surpriseof joy to my palate. Bates watched me with respectfulsatisfaction. His gravity was in no degree diminishedby the presence of a neat strip of flesh-colored court-plasterover his right eye. A faint suggestion of arnicahung in the air.
“This is a quiet life,” I remarked, wishing to givehim an opportunity to explain his encounter of themorning.
“You are quite right, sir. As your grandfather usedto say, it’s a place of peace.”
“When nobody shoots at you through a window,” Isuggested.
“Such a thing is likely to happen to any gentleman,”he replied, “but not likely to happen more than once, ifyou’ll allow the philosophy.”
He did not refer to his encounter with the caretaker,and I resolved to keep my knowledge of it to myself. Ialways prefer to let a rascal hang himself, and here wasa case, I reasoned, where, if Bates were disloyal to theduties Pickering had imposed upon him, the fact of hisperfidy was bound to disclose itself eventually. Glancingaround at him when he was off guard I surpriseda look of utter dejection upon his face as he stood withfolded arms behind my chair.
He flushed and started, then put his hand to his forehead.
“I met with a slight accident this morning, sir. Thehickory’s very tough, sir. A piece of wood flew up andstruck me.”
“Too bad!” I said with sympathy. “You’d betterrest a bit this afternoon.”
“Thank you, sir; but it’s a small matter,—only, youmight think it a trifle disfiguring.”
He struck a match for my cigarette, and I left withoutlooking at him again. But as I crossed the thresholdof the library I formulated this note: “Bates is aliar, for one thing, and a person with active enemies foranother; watch him.”
All things considered, the day was passing wellenough. I picked up a book, and threw myself on a comfortabledivan to smoke and reflect before continuing myexplorations. As I lay there, Bates brought me a telegram,a reply to my message to Pickering. It read:
“Yours announcing arrival received and filed.”
It was certainly a queer business, my errand to Glenarm.I lay for a couple of hours dreaming, and countedthe candles in the great crystal chandelier until my eyesached. Then I rose, took my cap, and was soon trampingoff toward the lake.
There were several small boats and a naphtha launchin the boat-house. I dropped a canoe into the water andpaddled off toward the summer colony, whose gables andchimneys were plainly visible from the Glenarm shore.
I landed and roamed idly over leaf-strewn walks pastnearly a hundred cottages, to whose windows and verandasthe winter blinds gave a dreary and inhospitableair. There was, at one point, a casino, whose broad verandahung over the edge of the lake, while beneath, onthe water-side, was a boat-house. I had from this pointa fine view of the lake, and I took advantage of it tofix in my mind the topography of the region. I couldsee the bold outlines of Glenarm House and its red-tileroofs; and the gray tower of the little chapel beyondthe wall rose above the wood with a placid dignity.Above the trees everywhere hung the shadowy smoke ofautumn.
I walked back to the wharf, where I had left mycanoe, and was about to step into it when I saw, rockingat a similar landing-place near-by, another slightcraft of the same type as my own, but painted darkmaroon. I was sure the canoe had not been there whenI landed. Possibly it belonged to Morgan, the caretaker.I walked over and examined it. I even lifted itslightly in the water to test its weight. The paddle layon the dock beside me and it, too, I weighed critically,deciding that it was a trifle light for my own taste.
“Please—if you don’t mind—”
I turned to stand face to face with the girl in the redtam-o’-shanter.
“I beg your pardon,” I said, stepping away from thecanoe.
She did not wear the covert coat of the morning, buta red knit jacket, buttoned tight about her. She wasyoung with every emphasis of youth. A pair of darkblue eyes examined me with good-humored curiosity.She was on good terms with the sun—I rejoiced in thebrown of her cheeks, so eloquent of companionship withthe outdoor world—a certificate indeed of the favor ofHeaven. Show me, in October, a girl with a face oftan, whose hands have plied a paddle or driven a golf-ballor cast a fly beneath the blue arches of summer,and I will suffer her scorn in joy. She may vote medull and refute my wisest word with laughter, for hersare the privileges of the sisterhood of Diana; and thatsoft bronze, those daring fugitive freckles beneath hereyes, link her to times when Pan whistled upon his reedand all the days were long.
She had approached silently and was enjoying, I feltsure, my discomfiture at being taken unawares.
I had snatched off my cap and stood waiting besidethe canoe, feeling, I must admit, a trifle guilty at beingcaught in the unwarrantable inspection of another person’sproperty—particularly a person so wholly pleasingto the eye.
“Really, if you don’t need that paddle any more—”
I looked down and found to my annoyance that I heldit in my hand,—was in fact leaning upon it with a coolair of proprietorship.
“Again, I beg your pardon,” I said. “I hadn’t expected—”
She eyed me calmly with the stare of the child thatarrives at a drawing-room door by mistake and scrutinizesthe guests without awe. I didn’t know what I hadexpected or had not expected, and she manifested nointention of helping me to explain. Her short skirtsuggested fifteen or sixteen—not more—and such beingthe case there was no reason why I should not be masterof the situation. As I fumbled my pipe the hot coalsof tobacco burned my hand and I cast the thing fromme.
She laughed a little and watched the pipe bound fromthe dock into the water.
“Too bad!” she said, her eyes upon it; “but if youhurry you may get it before it floats away.”
“Thank you for the suggestion,” I said. But I didnot relish the idea of kneeling on the dock to fish for apipe before a strange school-girl who was, I felt sure,anxious to laugh at me.
She took a step toward the line by which her boat wasfastened.
“Allow me.”
“If you think you can,—safely,” she said; and thelaughter that lurked in her eyes annoyed me.
“The feminine knot is designed for the confusion ofman,” I observed, twitching vainly at the rope, whichwas tied securely in unfamiliar loops.
She was singularly unresponsive. The thought thatshe was probably laughing at my clumsiness did notmake my fingers more nimble.
“The nautical instructor at St. Agatha’s is undoubtedlya woman. This knot must come in the post-graduatecourse. But my gallantry is equal, I trust, to yourpatience.”
The maid in the red tam-o’-shanter continued silent.The wet rope was obdurate, the knot more and morehopeless, and my efforts to make light of the situationawakened no response in the girl. I tugged away at therope, attacking its tangle on various theories.
“A case for surgery, I’m afraid. A truly Gordian knot,but I haven’t my knife.”
“Oh, but you wouldn’t!” she exclaimed. “I think Ican manage.”
She bent down—I was aware that the sleeve of herjacket brushed my shoulder—seized an end that I hadignored, gave it a sharp tug with a slim brown hand andpulled the knot free.
“There!” she exclaimed with a little laugh; “I mighthave saved you all the bother.”
“How dull of me! But I didn’t have the combination,”I said, steadying the canoe carefully to mitigate theignominy of my failure.
She scorned the hand I extended, but embarked withlight confident step and took the paddle. It was growinglate. The shadows in the wood were deepening; achill crept over the water, and, beyond the tower of thechapel, the sky was bright with the splendor of sunset.
With a few skilful strokes she brought her little
craftbeside my pipe, picked it up and tossed it to the wharf.
“Perhaps you can pipe a tune upon it,” she said, dippingthe paddle tentatively.
“You put me under great obligations,” I declared.“Are all the girls at St. Agatha’s as amiable?”
“I should say not! I’m a great exception,—and—Ireally shouldn’t be talking to you at all! It’s againstthe rules! And we don’t encourage smoking.”
“The chaplain doesn’t smoke, I suppose.”
“Not in chapel; I believe it isn’t done! And werarely see him elsewhere.”
She had idled with the paddle so far, but now liftedher eyes and drew back the blade for a long stroke.
“But in the wood—this morning—by the wall!”
I hate myself to this day for having so startled her.The poised blade dropped into the water with a splash;she brought the canoe a trifle nearer to the wharf withan almost imperceptible stroke, and turned toward mewith wonder and dismay in her eyes.
“So you are an eavesdropper and detective, are you?I beg that you will give your master my compliments!I really owe you an apology; I thought you were a gentleman!”she exclaimed with withering emphasis, anddipped her blade deep in flight.
I called, stammering incoherently, after her, but herlight argosy skimmed the water steadily. The paddlerose and fell with trained precision, making scarcely aripple as she stole softly away toward the fairy towersof the sunset. I stood looking after her, goaded withself-contempt. A glory of yellow and red filled the west.Suddenly the wind moaned in the wood behind the lineof cottages, swept over me and rippled the surface of thelake. I watched its flight until it caught her canoe andI marked the flimsy craft’s quick response, as the shakenwaters bore her alert figure upward on the swell, herblade still maintaining its regular dip, until she disappearedbehind a little peninsula that made a harbor nearthe school grounds.
The red tam-o’-shanter seemed at last to merge in thered sky, and I turned to my canoe and paddled cheerlesslyhome.