CHAPTER VI
IN THE "DEVIL'S GARDEN"
Constance Deane had developed a definite ambition. At all events shebelieved it to be such, which, after all, is much the same thing in theend. It was her dream to pursue this new study of hers until she hadmade a definite place for herself, either as a recognized authority orby some startling discovery, in mycological annals--in fact, to becomein some measure a benefactor of mankind. The spirit of unrest which hadpossessed her that afternoon in March, when she had lamented that theworld held no place for her, had found at least a temporary outlet inthis direction. We all have had such dreams as hers. They are a part ofyouth. Often they seem paltry enough to others--perhaps to us, as well,when the morning hours have passed by. But those men and women who havemade such dreams real have given us a wiser and better world. Constancehad confided something of her intention to Frank, who had at leastassumed to take it seriously, following her in her wanderings--pushingthrough tangle and thicket and clambering over slippery logs intouncertain places for possible treasures of discovery. His reluctance toscale McIntyre, though due to the reasons given rather than to anythought of personal discomfort, had annoyed her, the more so because ofthe unpleasant incident which followed. There had been a truce atluncheon, but once in the woods Miss Deane did not hesitate to unburdenher mind.
"Do you know," she began judicially, as if she had settled the matter inher own mind, "I have about concluded that you are hopeless, after all."
The culprit, who had just dragged himself from under a rather low-lyingwet log, assumed an injured air.
"What can I have done, now?" he asked.
"It's not what you have done, but what you haven't done. You're sosatisfied to be just comfortable, and----"
Frank regarded his earthy hands and soiled garments rather ruefully.
"Of course," he admitted, "I may have looked comfortable just now,rooting and pawing about in the leaves for that specimen, but I didn'treally feel so."
"You know well enough what I mean," Constance persisted, though a littlemore pacifically. "You go with me willingly enough on such jaunts asthis, where it doesn't mean any very special exertion, though sometimesI think you don't enjoy them very much. I know you would much ratherdrift about in a boat on the lake, or sit under a tree, and have me readto you. Do you know, I've never seen any one who cared so much for oldtales of knights and their deeds of valor and strove so little toemulate them in real life."
Frank waited a little before replying. Then he said gently:
"I confess that I would rather listen to the tale of King Arthur inthese woods, and as you read it, Conny, than to attempt deeds of valoron my own account. When I am listening to you and looking off throughthese wonderful woods I can realize and believe in it all, just as I didlong ago, when I was a boy and read it for the first time. These are thevery woods of romance, and I am expecting any day we shall come uponKing Arthur's castle. When we do I shall join the Round Table and ridefor you in the lists. Meantime I can dream it all to the sound of yourvoice, and when I see the people here climbing these mountains andboasting of such achievements I decide that my dream is better thantheir reality."
But Miss Deane's memory of the recent circumstances still rankled. Shewas not to be easily mollified.
"And while you dream, I am to find my reality as best I may," she saidcoldly.
"But, Constance," he protested, "haven't I climbed trees, and gone downinto pits, and waded through swamps, and burrowed through vines andbriars at your command; and haven't I more than once tasted of thethings that you were not perfectly sure of, because the book didn'texactly cover the specimen? Now, here I'm told that I'm hopeless, whichmeans that I'm a failure, when even at this moment I bear the marks ofmy devotion." He pointed at the knees of his trousers, damp from hisrecent experience. "I've done battle with nature," he went on, "andentered the lists with your detractors. You said once there are knightswe do not recognize and armor we do not see. Now, don't you think youmay be overlooking one of those knights, with a suit of armor a littledamp at the knees, perhaps, but still stout and serviceable?"
The girl did not, as usual, respond to his gayety and banter.
"You may joke about it, if you like," she said, "but true knights, evenin the garb of peasants, have been known to scale dizzy heights for asingle flower. I have never known of one who refused to accompany a ladyon such an errand, especially when it was up an easy mountain trailwhich even children have climbed."
"Then this is a notable day, for you have met two."
She nodded.
"But one was without blame, and but for the first there could not haveoccurred the humiliation of the second, and that, too"--she smiled inspite of herself--"in the presence of my detractors. It will be hard foryou to rectify that, Sir Knight!"
There was an altered tone in the girl's voice. The humorous phase wascoming nearer the surface. Frank brightened.
"Really, though," he persisted, "I was right about it's being foggy upthere. Farnham would have said so, himself."
"No doubt," she agreed, "but we could have reached that conclusionlater. An expressed willingness to go would have spared me and all of uswhat followed. As it is, Edith Morrison thinks I wanted to deprive herof Robin on his one day at home, while he was obliged to make himselfappear foolish before every one."
"I wish you had as much consideration for me as you always show forRobin," said Frank, becoming suddenly aggrieved.
"And why not for Robin?" The girl's voice became sharply crisp anddefiant. "Who is entitled to it more than he--a poor boy who struggledwhen no more than a child to earn bread for his invalid mother andlittle sister; who has never had a penny that he did not earn; who neverwould take one, but in spite of all has fought his way to recognitionand respect and knowledge? Oh, you don't know how he has struggled--youwho have had everything from birth--who have never known what it is notto gratify every wish, nor what it feels like to go hungry and cold thatsome one else might be warm and fed." Miss Deane's cheeks were aglow,and her eyes were filled with fire. "It is by such men as RobinFarnham," she went on, "that this country has been built, with all itssplendid achievements and glorious institutions, and the possibilitiesfor such fortunes as yours. Why should I not respect him, and honor him,and love him, if I want to?" she concluded, carried away by herenthusiasm.
Frank listened gravely to the end. Then he said, very gently:
"There is no reason why you should not honor and respect such a man,nor, perhaps, why you should not love him--if you want to. I am sureRobin Farnham is a very worthy fellow. But I suppose even you do notaltogether realize the advantage of having been born poor----"
The girl was about to break in, but checked herself.
"Of having been born poor," he repeated, "and compelled to struggle fromthe beginning. It gets to be a habit, you see, a sort of groundwork forcharacter. Perhaps--I do not say it, mind, I only say perhaps--if RobinFarnham had been born with my advantages and I with his, it might havemade a difference, don't you think, in your very frank and just estimateof us to-day? I have often thought that it is a misfortune to have beenborn with money, but I suppose I didn't think of it soon enough, and itseems pretty late now to go back and start all over. Besides, I have noone in need to struggle for. My mother is comfortably off, and I have nolittle suffering sister----"
She checked him a gesture.
"Don't--oh, don't!" she pleaded. "Perhaps you are right about beingpoor, but that last seems mockery and sacrilege--I cannot bear it! Youdon't know what you are saying. You don't know, as I do, how he has goneout in the bitter cold to work, without his breakfast, because there wasnot enough for all, and how--because he had cooked the breakfasthimself--he did not let them know. No, you do not realize--you couldnot!"
Mr. Weatherby regarded his companion rather wonderingly. There wassomething in her eyes which made them very bright. It seemed to him thather emotion was hardly justified.
"I suppose he has told you all about it," he said, rathe
r coldly.
She turned upon him.
"He? Never! He would never tell any one! I found it out--oh, longago--but I did not understand it all--not then."
"And the mother and sister--what became of them?"
The girl's voice steadied itself with difficulty.
"The mother died. The little girl was taken by some kind people. He wasleft to fight his battle alone."
Neither spoke after this, and they walked through woods that were likethe mazy forests of some old tale. If there had been a momentary rancorbetween them it was presently dissipated in the quiet of the gold-litgreenery about them, and as they wandered on there grew about them apeace which needed no outward establishment. They held their course by alittle compass, and did not fear losing their way, though it was easyenough to become confused amid those barriers of heaped bowlders andtangled logs. By and by Constance held up her hand.
"Listen," she said, "there are voices."
They halted, and a moment later Robin Farnham and Edith Morrison emergedfrom a natural avenue just ahead. They had followed a different way andwere returning to the Lodge. Frank and Constance pushed forward to meetthem.
"We have just passed a place that would interest you," said Robin toMiss Deane. "A curious shut-in place where mushrooms grow almost as ifthey had been planted there. We will take you to it."
Robin spoke in his usual manner. Edith, though rather quiet, appeared tohave forgotten the incident of the veranda. Frank and Constance followeda little way, and then all at once they were in a spot where the airseemed heavy and chill, as though a miasma rose from the yielding soil.Thick boughs interlaced overhead, and the sunlight of summer neverpenetrated there. Such light as came through seemed dim and sorrowful,and there was about the spot a sinister aspect that may have been due tothe black pool in the center and the fungi which grew about it. Pale,livid growths were there, shading to sickly yellow, and in every formand size. So thick were they they fairly overhung and crowded in thatgruesome bed. Here a myriad of tiny stems, there great distorted shapespushed through decaying leaves--or toppled over, split and rotting--thefood of buzzing flies, thousands of which lay dead upon the ground. Asickly odor hung about the ghastly place. No one spoke at first. ThenConstance said:
"I believe they are all deadly--every one." And Frank added:
"I have heard of the Devil's Garden. I think we have found it."
Edith Morrison shuddered. Perhaps the life among the hills had made hera trifle superstitious.
"Let us be going," Constance said. "Even the air of such a place may bedangerous." Then, curiosity and the collecting instinct getting thebetter of her, she stooped and plucked one of the yellow fungi whichgrew near her foot. "They seem to be all Amanitas," she added, "the mostdeadly of toadstools. Those paler ones are _Amanita Phalloides_. Thereis no cure for their poison. These are called the Fly Amanita becausethey attract flies and slay them, as you see. This yellow one is anAmanita, too--see its poison cup. I do not know its name, and we won'tstop here to find it, but I think we might call it the Yellow Danger."
She dropped it into the basket and all turned their steps homeward, thetwo girls ahead, the men following. The unusual spot had seemed todepress them all. They spoke but little, and in hushed voices. When theyemerged from the woods the sun had slipped behind the hills and asemi-twilight had fallen. Day had become a red stain in the west.Constance turned suddenly to Robin Farnham.
"I think I will ask you to row me across the lake," she said. "I am sureMr. Weatherby will be glad to surrender the privilege. I want to ask yousomething more about those specimens you saw on McIntyre."
There was no hint of embarrassment in Miss Deane's manner of thisrequest. Indeed, there was a pleasant, matter-of-fact tone in her voicethat to the casual hearer would have disarmed any thought of suspicion.Yet to Edith and Frank the matter seemed ominously important. They spoketheir adieus pleasantly enough, but a curious spark glittered a littlein the girl's eyes and the young man's face was grave as they twowatched the handsome pair down the slope, and saw them enter theAdirondack canoe and glide out on the iridescent water. Suddenly Edithturned to her companion. She was very pale and the spark had becomealmost a blaze.
"Mr. Weatherby," she said fiercely, "you and I are a pair of fools. Youmay not know it--perhaps even they do not know it, yet. But it isbecoming very clear to me!"
Frank was startled by her unnatural look and tone. As he stood regardingher, he saw her eyes suddenly flood with tears. The words did not comeeasily either to deny or acknowledge her conclusions. Then, very gently,as one might speak to a child, he said:
"Let us not be too hasty in our judgments. Very sad mistakes have beenmade by being too hasty." He looked out at the little boat, now rapidlyblending into the shadows of the other shore, and added--to himself, asit seemed--"I have made so little effort to be what she wished. He is somuch nearer to her ideal."
He turned to say something more to the girl beside him, but she hadslipped away and was already halfway to the Lodge. He followed, and thenfor a time sat out on the veranda, smoking, and reviewing what seemed tohim now the wasted years. He recalled his old ambitions. Once they hadbeen for the sea--the Navy. Then, when he had become associated with thecollege paper he had foreseen in himself the editor of some greatjournal, with power to upset conspiracies and to unmake kings. Presentlyhe had begun to write--he had always dabbled in that--and hisfellow-students had hailed him not only as their leader in athletic butliterary pursuits. As editor-in-chief of the college paper andvaledictorian of his class, he had left them at last, followed byprophecies of a career in the world of letters. Well, that was more thantwo years ago, and he had never picked up his pen since that day. Therehad been so many other things--so many places to go--so many pleasantpeople--so much to do that was easier than to sit down at a remote deskwith pen and blank paper, when all the world was young and filled withgayer things. Then, presently, he had reasoned that there was no need ofmaking the fight--there were too many at it, now. So the flower ofambition had faded as quickly as it had bloomed, and the blossoms ofpleasure had been gathered with a careless hand. His meeting withConstance had been a part of the play-life of which he had grown sofond. Now that she had grown into his life he seemed about to lose her,because of the flower he had let die.
The young man ate his dinner silently--supplying his physical needs inthe perfunctory manner of routine. He had been late coming in, and thedining-room was nearly empty. Inadvertently he approached the groupgathered about the wide hall fireplace as he passed out. Miss Carrowayoccupied the center of this little party and, as usual, was talking. Sheappeared to be arranging some harmless evening amusement.
"It's always pleasant after supper," she was saying--Miss Carroway neverreferred to the evening meal as dinner--"to ask a few conundrums. MyCharlie that I raised and is now in the electric works at Haverford usedto say it helped digestion. Now, suppose we begin. I'll ask the firstone, and each one will guess in turn. The first one who guesses can askthe next."
Becoming suddenly conscious of the drift of matters, Frank started toback out, silently, but Miss Carroway had observed his entrance and,turning, checked him with her eye.
"You're just in time," she said. "We haven't commenced yet. Oh, yes, youmust stay. It's good for young people to have a little diversion in theevening and not go poking off alone. I am just about to ask the firstconundrum. Mebbe you'll get the next. This is one that Charlie alwaysliked. What's the difference between a fountain and the Prince of Wales?Now, you begin, Mr. Weatherby, and see if you can guess it."
The feeling was borne in upon Frank that this punishment was rather morethan he could bear, and he made himself strong for the ordeal. Dutifullyhe considered the problem and passed it on to the little woman in black,who sat next. Miss Carroway's rival was consumed with an anxiety tocheapen the problem with a prompt answer.
"That's easy enough," she said. "One's the son of the queen, and theother's a queen of the sun. Of course," she added, "a fountain i
sn'treally a queen of the sun, but it shines and sparkles and _might_ becalled that."
Miss Carroway regarded her with something of disdain.
"Yes," she said, with decision, "it might be, but it ain't. You guessedwrong. Next!"
"One's always wet, and the other's always dry," volunteered anirreverent young person outside the circle, which remark won a round ofill-deserved applause.
"You ought to come into the game," commented Miss Carroway, "but thatain't it, either."
"I'm sure it has something with 'shine' and 'line,'" ventured the younglady from Utica, who was a school-mistress, "or 'earth' and 'birth.' Iknow I've heard it, but I can't remember."
"Humph!" sniffed Miss Carroway, and passed it on. Nobody else ventured adefinition and the problem came back to its proposer. She sat up a bitstraighter, and swept the circle with her firelit glasses.
"One's thrown to the air, and the other's heir to the throne," shedeclared, as if pronouncing judgment. "I don't think this is much of aconundrum crowd. My Charlie would have guessed that the first time. ButI'll give you one more--something easier, and mebbe older."
When at last he was permitted to go Frank made his way gloomily to hisroom and to bed. The day's events had been depressing. He had lostground with Constance, whom, of late, he had been trying so hard toplease. He had been willing enough, he reflected, to go up the mountain,but it really had been cloudy up there and too late to start. ThenConstance had blamed him for the unpleasant incident which hadfollowed--it seemed to him rather unjustly. Now, Edith Morrison haddeclared openly what he himself had been almost ready, though rathervaguely, to suspect. He had let Constance slip through his fingersafter all. He groaned aloud at the thought of Constance as the wife ofanother. Was it, after all, too late? If he should begin now to do anddare and conquer, could he regain the lost ground? And how should hebegin? Half confused with approaching sleep, his thoughts intermingledwith strange fancies, that one moment led him to the mountain top wherein the mist he groped for mushrooms, while the next, as in a picture, hewas achieving some splendid triumph and laying the laurels at her feet.Then he was wide awake again, listening to the whisper of the trees thatcame through his open window and the murmur of voices from below.Presently he found himself muttering, "What is the difference between afountain and the Prince of Wales?"--a question which immediately becamea part of his perplexing sleep-waking fancies, and the answer wassomething which, like a boat in the mist, drifted away, just out ofreach. What _was_ the difference between a fountain and the Prince ofWales? It seemed important that he should know, and then the querybecame visualized in a sunlit plume of leaping water with a diadem atthe top, and this suddenly changed into a great mushroom, of the colorof gold, and of which some one was saying, "Don't touch it--it's theYellow Danger." Perhaps that was Edith Morrison, for he saw her dark,handsome face just then, her eyes bright with tears and fierce with theblaze of jealousy. Then he slept.