Pastoral Romance 
 
 -4V x-f\ *^-^Z> r-fY
 
 
 304-
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 A PASTORAL ROMANCE 
 
 By 
 
 ILLUSTRATED BY 
 
 W. GRANVILLE SMITH 
 
 LOTHROP PUBLISHING COMPANY 
 BOSTON
 
 COPYRIGHT, 
 i go 2, B T 
 
 L O r H R O P 
 PUBLISHING 
 C O M P A N T. 
 
 ALL RIGHTS 
 R E S E R V E D 
 
 Published July, 1902 
 
 No r TO o o d P r t j l 
 
 B triui c k <5j Sm it A 
 Norwood, Mass.
 
 STACK 
 ANNEX 
 
 
 35/5 
 
 TO THE JADED IN SPIRIT
 
 " ^^T^ ^ e a philosopher is not merely to 
 a have subtle thoughts, nor even to found 
 *- a school, but so to love wisdom as to 
 live according to its dictates, a life of simplicity, 
 independence, magnanimity and truth. It is to 
 solve some of the problems of life, not only theo 
 retically, but practically." 
 
 HENRT DAVID THOREAU.
 
 *8 ILL USTRA TIONS m 
 
 PAGE 
 
 "Just then he opened the door" Frontispiece 
 
 " There was half of one of the game 
 
 platters" 17 
 
 " That tangle of woodland glory" . . 44 
 
 " Where one catches fascinating glimpses 
 
 of the valley" 63 
 
 " It was one of the most romantic spots " 117 
 
 " She was here jnst a moment ago, 
 
 Margaret said" 240 
 
 " The wonderful atmospheric effects of 
 
 autumn " 270 
 
 " The sparkles dance through the frosty 
 
 air " 291
 
 33 CHANTICLEER 
 
 THE train was not due until six o clock, 
 but I was so impatient for Roger s coming 
 that I started out to meet him at two. It 
 was one of those transcendently beautiful 
 days in May which in retrospect seem too 
 lovely to have touched this humdrum ex 
 istence. 
 
 Jerry brought my trap to the door at, as 
 I have said, two o clock, and I drove off with 
 the full intention of rounding Robin Hood s 
 barn. This included calling on some farmer 
 neighbours at the Forge, six miles to the 
 south of our country place, which we called 
 Agawam. Frosty started up the turnpike 
 with a gait that dissimulated respectable 
 
 [9]
 
 S8 CHANTICLEER % 
 
 speed, and I gorged myself on the peaceful 
 aspect of the humble farm homes we passed. 
 Rambling old houses that had once been, 
 white, but which time and weather had worn 
 to a soft grey, stood well back from the 
 road at the end of long, straight paths, bor 
 dered with gay tulips and sweet hyacinths. 
 The little dooryards w r ere tangles of bridal- 
 wreath and blossoming almond shrubs. 
 Great lilac bushes tossed their long plumes of 
 purple and white bloom against the parlour 
 windows arrogantly or stood as screens to 
 protect the calm content of some especially 
 unpretentious spot. Occasionally a sleek cat 
 came out on a sunny porch to strike a note of 
 life. The poor, mean homes, crowned with 
 the extravagance of May beauty, moved me 
 painfully. I was glad to turn off into the 
 narrow roadway that winds between the 
 larger and richer fruit farms. 
 
 Nature had her own way here with no un 
 gracious comparisons. For long miles there 
 [10]
 
 333 CHANTICLEER m 
 
 were no houses in sight, only rolling meadows 
 of dazzlingly green verdure and fragrant 
 acres of apple blossoms, level stretches when 
 the eye could see on either hand nothing but 
 these garlanded trees. Their heavily laden 
 boughs met over my head as I drove on. 
 The undulating fields sank back from high 
 knolls, deeply rosy, into delicate hollows of 
 soft waxen glory only pink-flushed. 
 
 The aesthetic intemperance made my soul 
 reel. Whether I was drunken or mad it 
 would be hard to say. Oh, to be a poet, my 
 spirit cried as if a poet has ever touched 
 mid-May ! Oh, to be a painter as if May 
 day, more than music, could penetrate can 
 vas ! In this state of delirium I arrived at 
 the old Clinchbeck farm. 
 
 These people were our nearest acquain 
 tances, though they were six miles away. 
 Here, too, the house was sunning itself with 
 the windows of its being open to the odours 
 of lilac and blossoms and new grass. 
 [11]
 
 &S CHANTICLEER * 
 
 I found the women of the family busy 
 very busy. It was " house-cleaning time " 
 they told me, and all through my curtailed 
 visit, there in those Elysian fields, I could 
 hear the sharp click of hammers and the 
 swish swash of beating carpets. Mrs. 
 Decker and one of her daughters, she has 
 four, both with their hair freshly brushed, 
 came into the musty parlour to see me and 
 to offer apologies for the others who " must 
 be excused." My spirit rose in rebellion at 
 their stolidity. But, after I had bidden 
 the mother farewell on the porch, Miss 
 Amanda came down to the roadside to 
 watch my going. As I w r as untying Frosty 
 she caught my arm with an impulsive, 
 hard-handed grasp. She was looking off 
 into the fragrant orchards with tears in her 
 eyes. " Ain t it nice ? " she said dreamily. 
 " It hurts, though. Sometimes I think I 
 can t live through May. It s so so nice." 
 
 In my bewildered surprise I wondered 
 [12]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 how much of the eternal splendours we all 
 of us tack down under our carpets. When 
 she had spoken Amanda Decker shrank 
 back, as if afraid of a touch upon that bit 
 of her soul inadvertently laid bare. I 
 ached to say something, but I was dazed 
 and altogether inadequate. After I hastily 
 scrambled into my trap I leaned over and 
 whispered, " !N"ow we see through a glass 
 darkly, but then face to face." I wonder 
 what made me ! Amanda nodded her head 
 gravely and went back to her house-cleaning. 
 Frosty dashed off into the floral glory, I 
 throbbing to appreciate it, my twin soul sor 
 didly washing paint. My way lay around 
 by the old covered bridge, and the still older 
 stone arches that span the creek at Lisle. 
 I had made a circuit of twelve miles when 
 I drove up to the little mountain railway 
 station. Presently the narrow-gauge train, 
 pert and independent, tooted into sight. 
 Frosty was too scornful of its size even to 
 [13]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 prick up his ears. In a minute more recog 
 nition disentangled Roger from a group of 
 restless travellers. I waved my whip at 
 him, and he rushed toward me with a look 
 of earnestness that three days in the city 
 had stamped about his country-loving eyes. 
 The apple blossoms had opened while he 
 had been away, and as we drove over the 
 high road, through much the same scenes 
 as I had passed at its other end, I told 
 him as well as I could something of my 
 drive through the great orchards to Clinch- 
 beck. I felt that I could only be puerile 
 and inadequate with such a theme, but it 
 did not matter, for my husband was not lis 
 tening. He was looking looking greedily 
 with misty eyes. 
 
 Presently I said : " It was so wonderful, 
 Roger. A little more and I should have 
 been a poet. As it was, I did think some 
 thing rather fine about putting down 
 carpets." 
 
 [14]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 Roger made no answer. It was clear that 
 lie could not be interested in the thoughts 
 appropriate to the place and the hour that 
 I had come so near to thinking, when he 
 knew he was actually in their grasp him 
 self. We were both too absorbed in the 
 charm of outside conditions for much artic 
 ulate speech. We drove along, mile after 
 mile, almost dumbly. Suddenly I startled 
 Roger by saying, " Where is our house ? " 
 
 " On the Old King s Road. Why do you 
 ask ? " he returned indifferently. 
 
 " But where, Roger ? " I persisted. 
 " We have passed the sentinel pine and the 
 willow copse. There is the second pine. 
 But where is Agawam ? " 
 
 Roger looked about him with keener in 
 terest : " That must be the first pine. It 
 looks like the sentinel to me." 
 
 " No," I reiterated. " It is the second. 
 Where is our house ? " 
 
 Roger was still peering from one side of 
 [15]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 the road to the other. " There is Jerry 
 watching for us," he said. 
 
 Our man came out from a clump of 
 cedars by the roadside. " Jerry," I called, 
 " where is our house ? " 
 
 " Burnt up," he said. 
 
 " Nonsense ! " I cried. " It was not 
 burned when I left there at two o clock." 
 
 " No, but it busted out right afterward. 
 When I took the coal up to the study grate 
 the hull chimbley was blazin . Must a 
 been what they call a detective fluke." 
 
 We knew that when one has a flue to 
 blame for a fire it is like heart failure as a 
 cause of death ; it is just as well to think 
 more than is said. 
 
 " When you discovered it was it too far 
 gone for the garden hose ? " Roger asked, 
 as something seemed to be expected of him. 
 His answer was a contemptuous sniff. 
 Then he inquired, " Did you save any 
 thing ? " 
 
 [16]
 
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 " "r/IKKE If AS 1/ALF Ol- O.VF. OF TI1F. CAME 
 I LA TTKKS."
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 " Yes, yes," said Jerry. " Wait till you 
 see." 
 
 We drove hurriedly up the little distance 
 to where, by the side of what had once been 
 our home, was a motley pile of broken bits 
 presided over by our cook and the house 
 maids. 
 
 While Roger gave Frosty into Jerry s 
 hands I ran up to examine the first large 
 bundle. It was full of fragments of china. 
 Evidently a tablecloth had been packed with 
 my new dinner service and thrown out 
 oi a window. There was half of one of the 
 game platters, but almost everything else 
 was powder. " We saved the curtains," 
 Jane proclaimed, pointing to a torn heap at 
 her feet. 
 
 " You pulled them down ? " I said. 
 
 " You didn t expect us to get out a step- 
 ladder an take em down careful, with the 
 house burnin over our heads, I s pose," the 
 cook interposed savagely. 
 [17]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 I took Roger s arm and walked him 
 toward the barn whither Jerry had already 
 disappeared with Frosty. " We have not 
 a whole thing left in the world," I said, 
 " except a barn." 
 
 " Where shall we stay the night ? " he 
 asked. " I should not like to lodge in any 
 of the houses about here, except in the very 
 places where they would not take pay." 
 
 " The Deckers are cleaning house," I 
 hesitated. " And they are six miles away. 
 Roger, we must occupy the carriage-house 
 side of the barn to-night. It is large and 
 airy. We can have plenty of hay for beds, 
 and there are the lap robes for blankets." 
 
 " We can t eat hay," Roger returned 
 gloomily. 
 
 " But we can make tea of it," I replied. 
 " The very best calves are fed with hay tea." 
 
 My husband s answer was a scornful look. 
 Presently he remarked, " We might go and 
 see if any food has been saved." 
 [18]
 
 833 CHANTICLEER && 
 
 We went back to the ruins. The maids 
 had gone off and seated themselves by the 
 roadside with the air of complete repudia 
 tion. We began rather listlessly handling 
 over battered tin basins and disabled iron 
 mongery until Roger suddenly found a can 
 ister of tea. 
 
 " Look ! " he shouted triumphantly. 
 
 And I, at that very instant, picked out 
 of a broken tureen a can of potted quail 
 and a box of sardines. 
 
 " I think that is the lower part of the re 
 frigerator back there by the grape trellis," 
 my usband called out. " There ought to 
 be something in that." 
 
 We ran up to it together. It was the 
 most exciting marketing we had ever done. 
 The knob of the door was gone, but Roger 
 pried it open by inserting a stick in the 
 hole. Sure enough, there was plenty 
 not appetising plenty, I will confess, for the 
 refrigerator had evidently had rough han- 
 [10]
 
 $33 CHANTICLEER 85* 
 
 dling and its contents were much shaken. 
 But there were some cold vegetables that 
 could be heated, and part of a battered pie 
 which Roger declared was still possible. 
 
 " If we could only find the bread-box iii- 
 tact we need not complain," I said. And, 
 before my husband had time to answer, he 
 held it up to me above a heap of chairbacks 
 and screen frames. 
 
 " Is it filled ? " I called. 
 
 " One whole loaf, one half, three rolls, 
 and two biscuits," he chanted. 
 
 " Suppose we have a meal," I said. " I 
 am starved, and you certainly must be. 
 There is plenty of wood to burn, but where 
 shall we build a fire ? " 
 
 " Over where the chimney stood," Roger 
 answered, nodding toward that mangled 
 piece of masonry. 
 
 We sent the maids to the carriage-house 
 to prepare our beds. Then we made ready 
 the meal. I think we were both conscious 
 [20]
 
 :S3 CHANTICLEER E& 
 
 that we ought to be depressed; but, rather, 
 we chatted like magpies while, with their 
 cunning cupidity, we groped through our 
 shattered possessions for usable remnants of 
 dishes. Finally we found among the 
 kitchen crockery two parts of plates and as 
 many cups that would hold a few thimble- 
 fuls while lying on their sides. There were 
 some battered tin pans for cooking purposes 
 and a pail, too, for the tea. Then we im 
 provised a table from a trunk that had been 
 carefully saved, although it was the only 
 empty one n our attic. This we carried 
 to the chimney-place and laid our meal upon 
 it as fast as it was ready. We drew 
 up to the fire, which was more cheerful 
 than one might have expected, made up 
 as it was of the odds and ends of our house 
 hold goods. 
 
 After we had partaken heartily of potted 
 quail, bread and sardines, tea and pie, 
 Roger ate the pie, we called the servants 
 [21]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 for their share. Meanwhile we strolled 
 down to inspect our sleeping arrangements. 
 The carriage-house door, which could Le 
 swung back to unwall the entire end of the 
 main lower room, was opened now to face 
 our fragrant, dewy orchard and great, mys 
 terious spaces of star-specked heaven. 
 Jerry had been down to the grove and cut 
 piles of balmy boughs to make delightfully 
 odorous foundations for our hay-couches. 
 
 There was a lighted lantern above the 
 door; everything was as ready for us as 
 the suddenness of the situation allowed. 
 " How inviting those beds seem," I said, 
 and then we sat down together on the low 
 step and looked off into the wonders of sky 
 and orchard. We remained there for a long 
 time, perfectly hushed. 
 
 " I feel so free," Roger said at last, 
 " absolutely irresponsible and free." 
 
 " So do I," I whispered back. 
 
 We were quiet again for a long time. 
 [22]
 
 833 CHANTICLEER 68 
 
 Filially Roger said:/ "The house wasn t 
 insured. We should feel very poor." 
 
 I looked steadily before me at the beauties 
 of the night. " Poor ? " I repeated. 
 
 Roger corrected himself. " What the 
 world would call poor. Our next venture 
 must be more modest, Molly. We may have 
 to rent, for a time. If they had managed to 
 save a little furniture it would have been 
 useful. Think what it means to begin 
 stocking a home again, from a corkscrew to 
 a piano." 
 
 " But how sordid details jar upon this 
 night ! " I exclaimed. " You realise it as 
 thoroughly as I. Laboriously stock a home 
 again ! Why taint the solemn mystery of 
 life with flatirons and canned tomatoes ? " 
 
 " Think of dashing the hopes of a morn 
 ing with a cup of warm coffee, or of an 
 evening with a dish of tea, " he quoted. 
 " That sort of thing was all very well for 
 Thoreau, but for us why, we have 
 [23]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 friends, with claims. I am afraid, my dear, 
 his precepts cannot shape our lives. How 
 much did that glorious freedom of Walden 
 cost him, anyway, in dollars and cents ? 
 But then, you know, I could not raise beans 
 for market." 
 
 " Twenty-seven cents a week," I said, ig 
 noring the beans. " And he was able to 
 swear that he enjoyed his life to the very 
 core. Think of uninterrupted weeks to 
 draw inspiration from nature s heart." I 
 thought that rather a disgusting figure, so 
 I talked pretty fast just then. " Think of 
 how we have to entertain distracting house- 
 parties at Agawam, to pay for equally irri 
 tating entertainments at our friends . 
 Think of our winters in the city, with those 
 loathsome cups of lukewarm five o clock 
 tea, and dinners in roasting hot dining- 
 rooms. Thoreau said, and we know he spoke 
 sincerely : l The true harvest of my daily 
 life is somewhat as intangible and indescrib- 
 [24]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 able as the tints of morning or evening. It 
 is a little star-dust caught, a segment of the 
 rainbow which I have clutched. 
 
 There was another long silence. Then 
 Roger said : " I could finish my novel in 
 two weeks, undisturbed. Shall we fly to the 
 wild woods, Molly ? " 
 
 " Oh, that I had the wings of a dove," I 
 cried, " for then would I flee away and be 
 at rest." 
 
 " We will," Roger said, and his head 
 dropped forward in a sort of ecstasy. " We 
 will," he repeated with intense tragedy as 
 if he were playing a part on the dramatic 
 stage. 
 
 I had accused him of jarring detail, but 
 I am sorry to say I struck in here with, 
 " We will build our shanty at once in the 
 primeval forest. When one thinks of it, 
 how little is absolutely necessary to supply 
 simple creature comforts food, lodging, 
 and raiment with no margin beyond the re- 
 [25]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 quirements of health. The great panorama 
 of nature will supply our aesthetic joys un 
 paid. Do you remember how our master 
 says : Men will go farther and pay more 
 to see a tawdry picture on canvas, a poor 
 painted scene, than to behold the fairest or 
 grandest scene that nature ever displays, in 
 their immediate vicinity, although they may 
 never have seen it in their lives ? If we 
 have a few of our choicest books with us, 
 we shall need nothing else but ourselves and 
 a fire on the hearth. Thoreau used molasses 
 for sweetening instead of sugar." My 
 voice had arisen to the question pitch. 
 Roger only looked his answer. " He had a 
 tailoress make his trousers," I went on. 
 " His entire wardrobe cost him only twelve 
 dollars a year. You wouldn t want me to 
 make your clothes, would you, dear ? " 
 
 Roger looked again. So then I left the 
 conversation to him. He amused himself 
 by quoting such sayings as seemed to bolster 
 [26]
 
 883 CHANTICLEER g& 
 
 his hesitancy, from our long-time mentor 
 and our fast-evolving model, as : " It is not 
 necessary that a man should earn his living 
 by the sweat of his brow, unless he sweats 
 easier than I do. If a man does not keep 
 pace with his companions, perhaps it is be 
 cause he hears a different drummer. Let 
 him step to the music which he hears, how 
 ever measured, or far away. 
 
 It was so mysteriously beautiful, there in 
 the starlight and the bloom, that we talked 
 spasmodically on until very late. I saw 
 that Roger s mood was for nothing practi 
 cal, so I emancipated myself, too, from 
 every thought of molasses and home-made 
 trousers. 
 
 When at last we went to rest upon our 
 sweet spicy beds, our fancies had taken root 
 in a far tangled woodland that we knew. 
 When we fell asleep we had each caught a 
 generous slice of rainbow in our eager 
 hands, 
 
 [27]
 
 CHAPTEK II 
 
 THE illusion was not dispelled when our 
 eyes unclosed with the first stirring of the 
 new day. We had left the great door of 
 our shelter thrown back, and we returned 
 to consciousness in the soft flutter of a glori 
 ous May-day s birth. \ 7 ision wandered buoy 
 antly through the pink and grey mysteries 
 of a wide skyscape where a gentle cloud-play 
 enthralled us ; shifting, massing, dividing 
 again, then piling high in delicate tones of 
 soft grey and pink, from rose to mother-of- 
 pearl, all magically outlined with that subtle 
 glory that is to colour what odour is to 
 flowers. It is the liquid aureoles of saints, I 
 think. This mystic brilliancy dashed about 
 the frail cloud-wonders until that unutter- 
 [28]
 
 able moment when the sun burst forth. I 
 covered my eyes with my hands. Roger 
 groaned. Already we were strung to the 
 highest pitch of strained sestheticism. That 
 mad May-day carnival of bird song had 
 awakened us when the first streak of light 
 touched to life the song sparrow in the maple 
 copse. lie gave the key and then the 
 orchard awoke. 
 
 Hours of liquid melody came to us, sweet 
 as honey, clear as crystal, high and low, a 
 wild tangle of delicious trills. 
 
 The sun touched the flower-crowned or 
 chard, the fragrance arose in gusts that 
 made me cry out rapturously. Then my 
 eyes looked off upon the brilliantly green 
 meadows sparkling with dew. I w r as giddy 
 and faint. 
 
 We both staggered when wo tried to dress. 
 
 Roger said it was from our cramping beds. 
 
 I declared it was May. For one instant, 
 
 as I gazed down into those sloping orchards 
 
 [29]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 and pastures, a great thought began pain 
 fully to unfold, and, lo, Roger moved across 
 the floor for his shoes. 
 
 " O Roger ! " I cried. " I was just about 
 to say something wonderful marvellous, 
 like that down there! And then you 
 creaked the floor." 
 
 " I was only getting my shoes," he said. 
 Then he pinched my cheek. "It is always 
 so," he mocked, but half seriously, too, " in 
 this repressed life. We must wait for the 
 great words, I am afraid, until we move with 
 our thoughts on pinions. We cannot lop off 
 the feet of clay. Don t you remember 
 Sainte-Beuve s saying, Every one contains 
 a dead poet in his soul ? " 
 
 Roger s most serious vice is that he has 
 no belief in my unborn wisdom. He de 
 clares I say enough to gratify him, as it is. 
 Now he changed the subject indulgently. 
 " Do you still feel free, dear, or have you 
 begun to regret our lost fleshpots ? " 
 [30]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 "Regret?" I echoed. "Why, do you 
 know, this would have been sweeping-day 
 if if our house had lived." 
 
 We laughed derisively in memory of 
 those mornings of clotted dust. " No more 
 watching of maids in that evil hour," I 
 cried. " Royal Worcester and Sevres, wil 
 low ware and Favrile glass, I am your 
 slave no longer." 
 
 " The bearskin rug and the royal tiger 
 will harbour no moths now," Roger shouted 
 buoyantly. He whistled a few jubilant 
 bars, I following as well as I could for 
 laughing. 
 
 I had been looking out of the side win 
 dow, and I now called my husband to me. 
 " Look there," I said, pointing to a small, 
 one-storied storehouse, " the very thing for 
 our Walden." 
 
 " Why, my dear," he expostulated, " don t 
 you know how I tried to use that for a 
 study ? It is too small." 
 [31]
 
 88 CHANTICLEER 86$ 
 
 " I remember," I answered rather stiffly, 
 " that you went to the expense of having a 
 chimney built to make a fireplace, and then 
 abandoned it, not because it was too small, 
 but because you found more inspiration in 
 the tower-room of Agawam. This is as 
 large as the great man s Walden. It would 
 do amply for us if we built a little wing for 
 sleeping-space." 
 
 " As you like," my husband returned. 
 " All I ask is liberty, and cover sufficient to 
 keep the rain out of my ink-bottle." 
 
 Our maids had been cared for, the night 
 before, at Jerry s tiny home in the neigh 
 bourhood. The first thing that we attended 
 to, the next morning, was to despatch them 
 back to the city whence they had come, and 
 then, as our groom was fortunately taking 
 a vacation at the time, we were soon set 
 free from plans to go to town ourselves. 
 
 I wanted to buy a new copy of " Walden " 
 for a guide aS to just what would be abso- 
 [32]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 lutely necessary articles for our experiment. 
 Roger had considerable business to attend 
 to, and then there was the disagreeable task 
 before us of giving an account of ourselves, 
 our loss, and our schemes to our only near 
 relative, Roger s brother Maurice. 
 
 " I hate to stand and deliver to that boy," 
 Roger said, as we left the train and the 
 time for it drew near. " He is so practical 
 and so prosperous, and so young. I 
 know he thinks me a visionary destined to 
 failure." 
 
 " And, unhappily, tied to an equally de 
 luded wife," I laughed. " I am as nervous, 
 too, as if he had some right to be our cen 
 sor. Do you not think it would be wise if 
 we bought our effects before we see him? 
 We should feel more as if we were irrevoca 
 bly committed then." 
 
 Roger followed me into the first house- 
 furnishing shop we came to, after we had 
 procured a copy of " Walden," although he 
 [33]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 protested, " I should not have been dis 
 suaded, anyway." 
 
 I do not accuse my husband of cowardice, 
 nor any man in like predicament, but I do 
 know that delicate matters generally shape 
 themselves so that some woman is the sole 
 actor in the scene. Roger had tiresome busi 
 ness to call him to the far end of town, and 
 after our shopping was concluded there 
 seemed really no other place so convenient 
 for me in which to wait for him as at Mau 
 rice s office. 
 
 Our brother is a young physician with a 
 large and important practice. His consult 
 ing and waiting rooms were crowded when 
 I arrived with my conciliatory smile, but 
 Maurice had me shown into his little pri 
 vate reception room, where he said he would 
 soon come to me, as his office hours were 
 nearly over. I hoped against hope that he 
 would not be disengaged before Roger 
 arrived. As I sat there in hushed silence, 
 [34]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 framing our confession to my brother-in- 
 law, logically, sensibly, as I could do so 
 then, my hands grew icily cold, my heart 
 fluttered painfully. Stern disapproval and 
 emotional enthusiasm are unequal foes to 
 meet. I said to myself over and over that 
 we were not a pair of naughty children to 
 be snubbed by this chit. It did me so much 
 good to think of Maurice as a boy that I 
 wonder it had no more tonic effect upon 
 me. But when I heard his autocratic step 
 crossing the hall to me, it made no differ 
 ence that it was elastic with youth. It was 
 that of a man of the world, and my artistic 
 soul trembled before it. 
 
 He shook hands with me again, saying 
 cordially, " I am very glad to see you, 
 Mary." Then he seated himself on the 
 padded leather divan beside me, with his 
 usual elegant ceremony, no trace of surprise 
 in his manner that I should have interrupted 
 him in a busy morning. 
 [35]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 I turned about to face him. " We have 
 had an accident," I began. 
 
 " Oh," he asked with eager interest, evi 
 dently thinking his medical aid was sought, 
 " is it you or Roger ? " 
 
 " Our house," I answered, smiling at his 
 gravity; " our house was burned last night." 
 
 " ISTot much burned, I imagine, from 
 your face," he laughed. 
 
 " Burned down," I replied stoutly. 
 
 There was something indefinable of re 
 proof in his handsome young face, as he 
 said solemnly, " This must be a real blow 
 to Roger." 
 
 I shook my head. Where were that sense 
 and that logic that I had conned like a les 
 son not a half -hour before ? " Roger does 
 not care either," I said. I think it must 
 have been a little hysterical, but I was 
 aware that I was smiling broadly, so pleased 
 did I seem at our misfortune. 
 
 Maurice was silent. He simply gazed 
 [36]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 at me wonderingly. Finally I stammered, 
 " A house like that is a great care. We 
 had so many valuable things, don t you 
 know?" 
 
 " So I supposed," he returned coldly. 
 
 " Our wedding-gifts alone, silver and 
 glass and china, were enough to drive one 
 demented. And then that rich bachelor 
 uncle of mine in Chicago is always sending 
 us care-laden gifts rare canvases, or tap 
 estries, or bronzes. We are going to build 
 a hut on Koger s camping property, to get 
 away from it all," I cried in one crazy out 
 burst. 
 
 Maurice smiled. " Is there no way to 
 stay this reprehensible uncle, short of hid 
 ing from him in the woods ? " 
 
 " But you don t understand. It is the 
 woods that we want; a wild, free life un 
 der natural conditions." 
 
 " Yes, Mary. You might enjoy, a little 
 later in the season, a few weeks of camping. 
 [3Y]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 But, for the present, you must come to me." 
 This provident youth had a whole estab 
 lishment of his own. " Consider this your 
 home until Agawam is rebuilt." 
 
 " Agawam rebuilt ! " I echoed. Were 
 we going to be routed, at the eleventh hour, 
 after all, by this determined business spirit? 
 " We will never build again even as near 
 civilisation as that. We both believe domes 
 tic conditions are growing too complex for 
 any sort of comfortable living. This is due 
 wholly to unreasonable pride," I declaimed, 
 in platform earnestness. " The vice urges 
 us to live beyond our means, with conse 
 quent mental agony. It puts thumbscrews 
 on fireside happiness, in the servant ques 
 tion. It has degraded labour. Competency 
 looks higher now than the kitchen. Our 
 experiment will prove to the world how 
 little of this nervous strain to make both 
 ends meet is really necessary to insure 
 happy and healthful living for a congenial 
 [38]
 
 833 CHANTICLEER S& 
 
 couple of wide interests. We wish, too, to 
 elevate honest toil." 
 
 " I believe you are in earnest, Mary," he 
 replied with patient indulgence. " But when 
 the first snow flurry comes, I will see that 
 my pleasantest spare rooms are in order for 
 you." 
 
 " Maurice," I answered, " you vex me. 
 Do you suppose if I could not stand the 
 woods in winter, I could the life in a vil 
 lage ? For years we have sought, in the fall, 
 the largest city we could find New York, 
 when it was not Paris, or London. I know 
 the hideous monotony of a suburban town, 
 and I pity you, shut up here, when the 
 whole country outside is blossoming and 
 bird-thrilled." 
 
 Maurice crossed the room and sat down 
 by a table laden with the alluring volumes he 
 has no time to read. " Won t you, at least, 
 Mary, accept my hospitality until Roger has 
 your your camp ready for you ? " 
 [39]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 " Thank you," I said, " you are very 
 kind, but we go to-morrow to the woods." 
 
 " You. will be lonely," he answered. " I 
 shall run out for a Sunday now and then, 
 during the summer, if I can pull away. 
 And probably others will come too." 
 
 I am afraid I winced. Then I mur 
 mured, " You will be welcome, but we shall 
 not be lonely." 
 
 " Last night, you said, Mary ? " Maurice 
 ejaculated presently. " Why did you not 
 come right here ? " 
 
 I hesitated. I did not like to say we 
 preferred our barn. And just then Roger 
 bustled in upon the conversation. He was 
 so elated that, for a moment, he forgot his 
 brother s inconvenient sense. " What do 
 you think ? " he cried ; " the luckiest thing ! 
 I got down there in Water Street just as 
 they were wrecking the disabled steamer 
 you remember, Maurice, the excursion 
 steamer Caroline, that a drunken pilot ran 
 [40]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 on the rocks last summer. Well, Molly, I 
 bought two of those old state-rooms, a pair 
 of bunks in each. Won t they be just the 
 thing to complete our shanty ? One put on 
 each end of the corn-house, like wings." 
 
 " Splendid," I returned, eyeing Maurice. 
 " Don t you think, Roger, we would better 
 go now 2 " 
 
 [41]
 
 CHAPTER III 
 
 THE camping-ground which we were to 
 make our future home was a bit of wild 
 woodland lying along the creek Jan Vosen- 
 kill, about ten miles nearer the rugged 
 mountains that had outlined our horizon at 
 Agawam. 
 
 A few years previously Roger had been 
 one of a party of five artist friends to pur 
 chase fifteen acres of this prospective sports 
 man s paradise. There was very little hunt 
 ing there mostly squirrels and rabbits 
 and there had been still less fishing origi 
 nally, but the cold, clear stream was an ex 
 cellent one for trout, and the new land 
 owners had been stocking it for the past 
 season or two generously, so that now the 
 [42]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 fascinating fish lured by their size and num 
 bers as well as by their captivating coyness. 
 Although each of the sportsmen owned his 
 own three acres of land with defined boun 
 daries, each year they had camped for a 
 few weeks in a body. 
 
 Roger s intention now was to preempt his 
 own acres for our home. Two men went 
 with Jerry to transport the corn-house, and 
 to assist Roger in erecting it after I had 
 selected a desirable location. 
 
 My husband and I arrived at the Vosen- 
 kill several hours before the men came, so 
 that we had plenty of time to consider where 
 the house should stand. After changing 
 our minds many times, for there was an 
 embarrassing choice, - we finally selected 
 a tall, rugged pine to keep guard over us 
 and to send its spicy, invigorating odours in 
 at our windows. We stood on the great, 
 lichen-covered rock under the rustling pine 
 to listen to the noisy flow of the Vosenkill, 
 [43],
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 sparkling lustrously here and there where 
 there was a break in the trees and the tall 
 underbrush. Before us spread out that tan 
 gle of woodland glory that nature lovers 
 crave to keep them healthy; squawberry 
 vines running their red riot through moss 
 and fern, tall brakes scenting the air subtly, 
 vitally, alder bushes rustling softly, spruces 
 and hickory with, now and then, a chestnut 
 in majestic outline, seemed to give out a 
 reticent welcome to us who loved them 
 with all the abandon of childhood. 
 
 " I have often waited in our house for 
 you, Roger," I said finally, after it had 
 grown painful to care so much for these 
 woods, " but it is a new sensation to wait 
 for the house." 
 
 " All our sensations will be new now," 
 my husband replied. " We have never be 
 gun life before in full maturity. What 
 shall we make of it, Mary? Failure or 
 success ? " 
 
 [44]
 
 f^^^^^^it^^^g^g^^^?
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 " Success," I answered. 
 
 And then Roger turned his head and said, 
 " Here comes our house." 
 
 Crashing through low, overhanging hem 
 locks, banging against fern-covered rocks, 
 now slipping down a bank of moss, then. 
 thrusting two wheels in mid-air to clear 
 some projecting coil of roots, came the long 
 lumber wagon that held our home and also 
 the three w r orkmen. The state-rooms we had 
 left in town to be entirely renovated with 
 fresh paint and paper. The men would have 
 to come out to us once more to complete the 
 building, but we could not wait in the vil 
 lage until all this was done. 
 
 When the four men were setting up our 
 house, I heard Jerry say to my husband, 
 " I do know what it means, sir, your 
 comin here, when you re used to that nice 
 house, an the bosses an all, sir." 
 
 Roger looked perplexed for a moment. 
 It seemed a difficult task to attempt to ex- 
 [45]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 pand that narrow ignorance to encompass 
 our point of view. " I do regret selling the 
 horses/ he answered, " but that is all. 
 That fine house meant a great deal of care 
 as well as expense to us, Jerry. Don t you 
 remember how hard it was to keep the place 
 looking as nice as we w r anted it ? Shrubbery 
 would not grow well in that soil, nor grass 
 under the trees. And have you forgotten 
 how the cook and one of the maids left my 
 wife last summer when she had a houseful of 
 guests ? And the time when sneak-thieves 
 broke in and carried off a chest of silver be 
 fore they went to the barn and took Frosty s 
 best harness ? " 
 
 Jerry felt somewhat responsible for the 
 harness, so he answered glibly, " O yes, sir. 
 There s bad luck in this world for ev ry- 
 body." 
 
 " Have you never thought," Roger went 
 on, " that some day, by working hard now 
 and denying yourself a great deal, you will 
 [46]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 have laid by enough to rest and take life 
 easily ? " 
 
 " I guess ev rybody builds them kind o 
 air-castles/ Jerry grinned rather sheep 
 ishly. 
 
 Roger nodded. " Of course they do. It 
 is human nature. But are they very often 
 realised ? Don t you find that your friends 
 usually work themselves into their graves 
 before the happy time of ease comes? 
 Well, we are not going to wait for that 
 some day. It is here now. We have laid 
 aside every unnecessary care. Now I am 
 sure that you really do not enjoy for your 
 self that Brussels carpet you bought last 
 week, but you thought you must get it to 
 be as respectable as the Ryans." 
 
 " That s true, sir. I mean, my girl 
 she wanted it, account o th Ryanses." 
 
 " Exactly. We shall not even know here 
 what the Ryans have. We love the woods, 
 my wife and I, more than anything in the 
 [47]
 
 m CHANTICLEER ggg 
 
 world, and we mean to enjoy them, free 
 from every useless worry. There will be 
 no anxiety about making both ends meet 
 here. We shall keep easily in advance of 
 our income, not be always panting to catch 
 up with it." 
 
 Jerry s eyes were becoming a little dazed, 
 and Roger said quickly: "Do you ever 
 realise how few of the things you strain so 
 hard to buy are really indispensable? We 
 believe that an unreasonable pride brings 
 much useless misery into the world. You 
 won t let your boys run barefooted in sum 
 mer, as you did yourself though their 
 toes ache with the heat, and their shoes are 
 a tax upon your wages simply because 
 labourers sons no longer do that. The same 
 spirit has governed us. We have lived up 
 to our friends, but we have come to our 
 senses at last." 
 
 I had been regretting ever since my con 
 versation with Maurice, that I did not quote 
 [48]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 to him what Marcus Aurelius said so aptly 
 upon this point : " I have often wondered 
 how it comes to pass that everybody should 
 love themselves best, and yet value their 
 neighbours opinion about themselves more 
 than their own." Men of our brother s 
 stamp are much more impressed by the 
 word of a great man, especially if it is an 
 old great man, than by their contempora 
 neous relatives opinion. In fact, with our 
 selves, I know the farther we go back for 
 our own mental props the surer does the 
 foundation of our beliefs seem to be. But 
 that is clearly not so with Jerry, and I al 
 ways say my sage things to the wrong per 
 son. When I quoted the ancient wise man 
 who persecuted Christians to the ignorant 
 modern who is good to horses, there seemed 
 no understanding between them. 
 
 Our ex-coachman merely said ambigu 
 ously, " Some folks are built that way," be 
 fore he excluded me pointedly by tacking 
 [49]
 
 his next remark on to Roger s last one: 
 " Excuse me, sir, but I m thinkin bout 
 this time next year. Can I ast ye then which 
 way is best ? " 
 
 " Indeed you may, Jerry. That is a just 
 demand," Roger answered, turning ab 
 ruptly to look down into a field below us. 
 " I mean to have that ploughed up and set 
 out in early vegetables," he said. " We shall 
 enjoy tending them, as well as eating them. 
 Whom could I get to do it ? " 
 
 Each of the three listeners had a farmer 
 to suggest. One was settled upon, and his 
 special advocate delegated to engage his ser 
 vices. 
 
 Still smarting as we were from the do 
 mestic discomforts that even sweeping-day 
 insured in our late complicated system of 
 housekeeping, we were amazed at the ease 
 with which we slipped into our new environ 
 ment. We were determined to begin with 
 only such encumbrances of domestic living 
 [50]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 as were absolutely indispensable for most 
 primitive comfort, then, from time to time, 
 to add to our store anything of this sort 
 that extended experience seemed to demand. 
 There was to be not one superfluity to re 
 quire care. The poorest immigrant could 
 hardly begin housekeeping on a more lim 
 ited scale. We had no pictures. There could 
 be no need of canvases to collect dust and 
 to be mocked by the great gallery of ever- 
 changing masterpieces nature had hung 
 about us. Neither did we require recepta 
 cles in which to watch the dropping and de 
 cay of the floral splendours which \ve had the 
 possibility of seeing in the first, fresh beauty 
 of the woods and pastures. We expected 
 to collect a few good books in time, but even 
 here it was curious to note how little printed 
 lore such omnivorous readers as we were 
 craved when we had so much mental food 
 furnished at first hand. 
 
 Our living-room was of this simple ar- 
 [51]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 rangement: dazzlingly fresh white walls 
 and ceilings, a bare pine floor scoured to its 
 whitest possibilities, a table of the same 
 wood and the same cleanliness. On the lat 
 ter we placed a student s lamp and some 
 books, when it was not in use as a dining- 
 table ; when it was I spread it with a square 
 of heavy white crash and the few indispen 
 sable dishes of substantial ware that were 
 needed to serve most simply our meal of one 
 course and, usually, of one dish some 
 thing appetising and nutritious, nothing 
 more. We had not come to Eden to waste 
 one precious moment with unnecessary cook 
 ing and dish-washing. 
 
 When Roger first saw me undertaking 
 this last imperative bit of sordid detail he 
 said, " I hate to see you do that, Molly. 
 Would it not seem less ignominious if we 
 called it cleansing instead of washing ? " 
 
 " I heard you lecture Jerry, only this 
 morning, upon the subject of foolish pride," 
 [52]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 I answered, diving with my novice s hand 
 after the soap. " I call it dish-washing." 
 
 " So do I," said Roger. 
 
 To go back to the matter of our furnish 
 ing. Besides the table, our living-room held 
 four large easy-chairs of wicker with com 
 fortable cushions, one for each of us and two 
 others for possible guests, intermixed with 
 a few smaller seats; and upon the narrow 
 mantel, over the open fireplace where our 
 simple cookery was done, a clock and a pair 
 of bedroom candlesticks. Not another thing 
 to be kept clean and to distract the eye from 
 the marvels of sight that our broad windows 
 and our open door disclosed. 
 
 The two bedrooms adjoining the chief 
 room, one on each side, had, besides their 
 upper and lower berths luxuriously fitted 
 with the best of springs and hair mat 
 tresses, good linen and soft blankets, merely 
 a chair in each, a washstand with neces 
 sary toilet articles, a small mirror and a 
 [53]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 hanging shelf, besides a set of drawers and 
 a row of hooks. Nothing could be simpler, 
 and still no avenue to cleanliness or com 
 fortable sleeping was closed. 
 
 Our first purchase was decidedly utilita 
 rian. It was a cow. We had a little shed 
 built for her down in a hollow where it 
 might not be seen from the house, and learn 
 ing to milk furnished both the comedy and 
 the tragedy of several of our earliest days. 
 I have never seen Roger so boyishly boastful 
 as when he had mastered that homely art. 
 He acquired it before I did in fact, I 
 did not acquire it at all, when I saw how 
 willing he was to pay the price of his su 
 periority. 
 
 Then we bought some chickens, and, with 
 our own hands, built a home for them ad 
 joining the cow-shed. Did ever the last touch 
 of architectural splendour on some stately 
 palace shed such awesome satisfaction upon 
 its promoters as did this work of ours when, 
 [54]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 at last, we had made it sufficiently secure 
 to really hold our feathered possessions ? 
 
 I shall never forget the face of calm con 
 tent with which Roger came to me one morn 
 ing to announce : " Molly, they are all 
 there. Not one missing." 
 
 I sat down on the doorstep. The news 
 seemed almost prostrating. " To think of 
 that ! " I cried. " Why, once I could not 
 drive a nail straight or draw a screw. And 
 now 
 
 " Yes," Roger said, walking away, " you 
 helped me considerably, Mary." 
 
 Those were Elysian days, when even the 
 homely details were touched with the glory 
 of Eden. We almost forgot that man had 
 fallen, and the whole world was ashamed. 
 
 We arose with the opening notes of the 
 woodland anthem, whether into pink dawn, 
 or soft summer rain. We touched a match 
 to the fire laid upon the hearth, and pre 
 pared hastily a cereal and some coffee, both 
 [55]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 made fit for the gods by the rich, yellow 
 cream from our Alderney cow. After our 
 simple meal, we waited for nothing. To 
 gether we wandered into wonderland, aim 
 lessly, whither the spirit led us. The smell 
 of the earth and of moss, the spiciness of 
 young ferns whose prodigality our feet un 
 wittingly crushed, the fainter sweetness of 
 the gay azaleas, with the whole riot of the 
 smaller undergrowths, all fresh and radiant, 
 lifted us to dizzy heights of sublimity. 
 
 " Our violets alone are worth living for," 
 I said one morning, when we had passed 
 through a marshy bit where they clustered 
 densely in fragrant clumps, " with their 
 variety of colour, and size, and delicate vein- 
 ing, and the surprises in odour, from the first 
 May awakening to the large deep-lined blue 
 beauties of early June." 
 
 Roger interrupted me to wave his hand 
 toward an old pasture bottom upon which 
 we were just emerging. I gave a little cry, 
 [56]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 and we both ran down into it, faintly blue 
 with the fairy snow of bluets. As far as 
 our wondering eyes could reach that tender 
 colour stretched out before us. Behind us 
 arose the rich morning song of that stranger 
 bird, the hermit thrush. 
 
 " O my God," I cried, clasping my hands 
 reverently, " I am glad to be alive ! " 
 
 Roger s hat came off. After a brief 
 silence, I said weakly : " Take me home. I 
 can stand no more to-day." 
 
 We turned about dumbly, and went back, 
 I to my few household duties, and Roger 
 to his writing. Later I took cushions and 
 my sewing, and went out to sit on the great 
 rock under the pine tree that guards our 
 house. I always felt it was only fair 
 that, while Roger was working, I should 
 do something practical, and then I knew 
 I should want some cool print gowns for 
 July and August. I intended to make them 
 very simple, but even so, those long seams 
 [57]
 
 $33 CHANTICLEER % 
 
 were as endless as if some malignant fairy- 
 stretched them as I sewed. With so much 
 to distract the attention it was difficult to 
 keep from losing my needle. If I raised 
 my head to listen to an unfamiliar bird note, 
 it was gone. If a bright splash of colour 
 called me down the path only a very little 
 way, azalea hunting, or if I stopped to climb 
 up to maidenhair fern growing where I had 
 never expected to find it, I came back to a 
 missing needle and a seam not so nearly 
 done by far as when I had left it. I con 
 cluded to try photography for my serious 
 work. 
 
 That made a new interest for Roger, too. 
 I took beautiful bits of our favourite spots, 
 making up my compositions while my hus 
 band wrote. At night we fashioned a dark 
 room out of one of the bedrooms, and de 
 veloped the plates. It was another and a 
 substantial joy. Every hour seemed more 
 completely abandoned to happiness. 
 [58]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 " We are, indeed, in a new world. It is 
 Genesis," I said once, after a glorious after 
 noon of bird study was followed by a 
 moonlight walk up the Vosenkill. " The 
 evening and the morning were the first 
 day. " 
 
 " Don t," said Roger. " The serpent en 
 tered so soon." 
 
 He did not enter then, to us, but June 
 did. Heavily fragrant wild grape blossoms 
 hung from vine-draped trees and clambered 
 over fallen stumps. Ferns grew more luxu 
 riantly. The elderberry bushes were massed 
 with their green-white prodigality; and 
 the wild roses, waxen blossoms set in waxen 
 foliage, were the chief glory of our more 
 open spaces. And then the wealth of 
 laurel bloom was upon us. 
 
 A half -hour s walk brought us to the foot 
 hills of the mountains, where this June 
 splendour spread like a carpet before us in 
 acres of rosy colour. We had, to be sure, 
 [59]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 a more temperate display nearer home, 
 but, for the floral carnival, we must make 
 some exertion, which we were only too glad 
 to do, every day while they were in their 
 supremacy. 
 
 Once we went to them in the moonlight; 
 a soft June night, flooded with tender ro 
 mance. We wandered through the rough 
 ways of the blooming acres, conscious only 
 of the moon and the flowers, until soul-wea 
 riness dragged us dowTi upon a great boul 
 der, our feet among the laurel. A stem of 
 the lovely flowers lay against my cheek. I 
 gathered it with a sudden impulse, and 
 turned to fasten it in my husband s button 
 hole. He looked down at me smiling. I 
 thought how handsome he was in the moon 
 light, My hands trembled with the rapture 
 of the maid Molly in the long ago, and I 
 drew shyly away from him. He put out his 
 arm as if to draw me to him, and then 
 stopped, as if he, too, were afraid. We sat 
 [60]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 in embarrassed silence until with an effort 
 Roger wheeled toward me to lift my face 
 to his. 
 
 Gazing steadily down into my eyes he 
 whispered, " Mary, I love you." 
 
 " So do I," I whispered back. " I mean 
 you, Roger ! " 
 
 Then he pressed me against his heart, for 
 such a declaration of what I had been to 
 him, and would be to him, as only my most 
 secret soul can phrase. 
 
 " When I first loved you," he added, " I 
 thought I understood what it meant. But 
 that was only a young man s a stranger s 
 fancy. Now, dearest, it is a husband of 
 seven years your other self that woos 
 you." He paused as if his life s happiness 
 depended upon my answer. 
 
 " And wins me, Roger," I said, looking 
 up shyly, to be kissed. 
 
 [61]
 
 CHAPTER IV 
 
 FOR the first weeks of that era of peace we 
 had purposely cut ourselves off from postal 
 communication with the outside world. 
 
 But there came a time when Roger must 
 begin reading proof of the book he had in 
 press; and so, one evil morning, he was 
 obliged to slip a prosaic leaf into the poetic 
 calendar of halcyon days of which we had 
 enjoyed more than one month. He went to 
 town the town of trolley cars and Mau 
 rice, of bargain counters and the odours of 
 yesterday s dinner. I felt so sorry for him 
 when he set off, as conventionally dressed and 
 as commonplace as a bank president, that I 
 promised recklessly to be as miserable as I 
 could while he was gone. " I dare you to be 
 [62]
 
 1J/HRKK O.Vf . CATCHES t- A SCf.VA TfNC Cl.fMl SKS 
 <>/ ///A I ALLEY"
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 miserable here," he called back, in wistful 
 gaiety, as he hurried away, an absurd 
 creature with money in his pockets. 
 
 Before he was barely out of sight it seemed 
 foolish for me to be any more wretched than 
 his absence made obligatory. So I took my 
 camera up to what we call our observatory: 
 the summit of a fern-covered cliff where one 
 catches fascinating glimpses of the valley. 
 Before I knew it I was composing alluring 
 bits of pictorial peace, and singing like a 
 lark. Suddenly I realised from the position 
 of the sun that it must be noon. Roger had 
 started away so early that it was almost time 
 for him to return, and I had forgotten to be 
 lonely. Guiltily I ran to the edge of the 
 rocks to look down our avenue of trees. 
 There the dear fellow was, winding his way 
 through tangled undergrowths at an eager 
 pace that smote my conscience. 
 
 " Who is that handsome stranger ? " I 
 sang out jauntily. 
 
 [63]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 He lifted a radiant face of surprise to me. 
 " The fairy prince, come for his beautiful 
 bride," he called back. 
 
 He held out his arms, and I tried to run 
 down into them, with a naiad s grace, but, 
 someway, I slipped on the pine needles, and 
 slid down to his feet, a dishevelled heap. 
 He picked me up tenderly, hunting for a 
 clean place on my face to kiss, I paying no 
 heed to the anxious inquiries in my nervous 
 dread of what he might have encountered. 
 
 " I am afraid you found letters, as well as 
 proofs, Roger ? " I began, with questioning 
 inflection. " Tell me, are the Philistines at 
 our heels ? " 
 
 He slipped my hand through his arm, and 
 we moved toward the house as he said with 
 solemn gravity, that had very little of mock 
 ery in it : 
 
 " The serpent has entered Paradise." 
 
 " O Roger," I cried tragically, " in what 
 form ? " 
 
 [64]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 He shook his head. " Not one lithe, grace 
 ful tempter, coiling about our hearthstone, 
 but, my dear girl, our innocent feet have 
 stepped into a whole nest of adders. I will 
 show you what I mean when we get to the 
 house." 
 
 When we reached there my husband 
 walked over to the table and laid a letter upon 
 it. 
 
 " Oh, Mr. Lyman s writing," I said. " Is 
 he coming here ? " 
 
 Mr. Lyman was one of the camping co 
 terie. 
 
 " Yes, my dear," Roger answered. " He 
 seems to have a notion that we have some 
 sort of spacious cottage." He proceeded to 
 read : " I am just getting about after pneu 
 monia. My physician has advised the Adi- 
 rondacks, but I believe the Vosenkill would 
 be more beneficial. I am wondering if you 
 would oblige a sick old chap with a bed in 
 your house, while his camp is being set up. 
 [65]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 Of course my wife will come to look after me. 
 Unless we hear to the contrary we will be 
 with you next week on Tuesday." 
 
 " Poor fellow ! " we said together ; and 
 then my soul shrieked audibly, " But Mr. 
 Lyman s wife ! " 
 
 Roger laid down another envelope. " Mr. 
 Enderson ? " I asked. " Is he coming, too ? " 
 
 " Yes. Hearing of the Lymans , and our 
 venture, he says he will set up camp with his 
 wife and his brother here for the entire sea 
 son, this year. They come on Monday." 
 
 " Ah," I whispered. 
 
 " I went to see Judge Elliott about buying 
 the land below us. He thought he would not 
 dispose of it after all. But, rather 
 Roger s voice grew strained, " he should 
 build there for himself." I groaned. " Re 
 serve your lamentations till I finish the quo 
 tation, my dear," Roger said. 
 
 " What will he build ? " I asked then. 
 
 My husband s teeth set. The words came 
 [66]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 hard. They were these, " A rustic cot 
 tage" 
 
 I clapped my hands to my ears, and stag 
 gered to a seat. Roger laughed sardonically. 
 " Do you think, if I make some strong coffee 
 to brace us, we can live until morning ? " I 
 inquired. 
 
 His answer was, " Maurice is coming the 
 following week." 
 
 " We will make him milk the cow," was 
 my hysterical exclamation of unsisterly ven 
 geance. 
 
 Each answer of my husband s was worse 
 than the last. He now spread out three 
 plump envelopes before me. " For you," he 
 murmured, still between set teeth. " All 
 from migratory songsters, I presume." 
 
 One was from a young woman whom I 
 had invited to Agawam, and to whom, when 
 writing to explain why the invitation there 
 must be cancelled, I had felt it only civil to 
 tell something of our new plans. Her mis- 
 [67]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 sive was a delicately worded hint to the effect 
 that the wild woods seemed even more allur 
 ing to one of her tastes than Agawam. The 
 other two were from commonplace acquain 
 tances in the village to tell me that they, too, 
 inspired by our successful experiment, were 
 to begin at once rustic cottages similar to 
 Judge Elliott s upon land purchased from 
 him, the very ground we so much coveted. 
 
 " It is a hideous joke of some sort," I cried 
 at length. " No one ever gets so many let 
 ters in one post." 
 
 " When they have had no mail for more 
 than a month they do," Roger said with dis 
 couraging brutality, diving into another 
 pocket, and pulling out a half-dozen or so 
 more. " Don t be alarmed, Mary. These 
 are all harmless business letters and circu 
 lars. There was a pile of papers and maga 
 zines that I could not bother to bring. As 
 nearly as I can make out, that old fool means 
 to encourage every one who will listen to 
 [68]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 come here with him; the more the merrier 
 principle." 
 
 " Which old fool ? " I asked. 
 
 " The Judge," Roger answered, looking 
 before him stolidly. " He is just ass enough 
 to start a Park." 
 
 I gave a stage shriek. If I had known how 
 those things are managed, I should have 
 fainted. 
 
 [69]
 
 CHAPTER V 
 
 WHEN we heard the voices of our ap 
 proaching guests, and the banging of their 
 luggage, Roger and I rushed out to greet 
 them. " I wonder if I can remember the 
 correct, hypocritical twang of the naughty 
 world ? " I had asked my Mentor. 
 
 " Act in reverse ratio to your feelings," 
 he had adjured. 
 
 So I threw myself upon Mrs. Lyman s am 
 ple figure, aggressively modish in a new 
 travelling toilette. She returned my clasp 
 in that familiar scene I had always loathed. 
 A great fat robin friend, on a bough above us, 
 looked down in blank disgust. I disentan 
 gled myself as best I might; and Mrs. Ly- 
 man, with her eyes fixed on our home, asked, 
 " Where is your house, dear ? " 
 [TO]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 " If you are not careful you will fall over 
 it," I laughed. 
 
 " Oh," she returned. " You are camp 
 ing. I thought you were living here." 
 
 " We are living, in the truest sense," Roger 
 said sententiously. 
 
 The reproof aroused Mrs. Lyman s extrav 
 agance. She is always what my husband 
 calls gushing, and now that she had amends 
 to make, she set our common-sense flesh to 
 creeping. " Oh ! Oh ! Oh ! how charming ! " 
 she cried, following us inside our house. 
 " How sweetly simple ! Tell the men where 
 to put the luggage, George. What an ex 
 pansive view ! They would better unstrap 
 them. No, not there. The little bag on top. 
 Yes, an exquisite outlook. Unstrap the 
 others, too." Then, looking toward me, 
 " Shall I put my hat here, dear ? " 
 
 We would gladly have given them the free 
 dom of the place, but they preempted it, un 
 bidden. An invalid is always personality 
 [71]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 italicised, as we all know, and Mrs. Lyman 
 herself was an entity in capital letters. The 
 double presence seemed to fill our house to 
 bursting at the seams. The sick man en 
 sconced in the largest chair, with his medi 
 cines and appurtenances, the wife s fashion 
 able litter, the necessary luggage, were so 
 many blotches upon the serenity of our 
 home. 
 
 In such times of domestic strain the over 
 wrought mind usually finds some triviality 
 to settle upon as a grievance. It seemed to 
 me then that Mrs. Lyman s smart hat found 
 a dozen new resting-places for itself in as 
 many minutes. I sought no spot that it was 
 not already at home there. When I had gone 
 to the spring-house for cream, I looked up 
 suddenly, from a bending posture, to see 
 Roger standing over me. 
 
 His first words were, " I would feed that 
 hat to the cow if I thought she would eat 
 it." 
 
 [72]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 " Thank you, Roger," I answered. " I 
 shall not mind so much, now I know half 
 the burden of those bows is on your soul. I 
 thought mine bore it all." 
 
 The spring-house was an excavation we 
 had made near the larger house, in a mound 
 above a flow of deliciously cold water, in 
 which to keep our few perishable stores. 
 Roger took the pitcher of cream from me, 
 and we walked back under the majestic trees 
 to the clutter and the garrulity our guests had 
 brought. 
 
 After the simple meal, of which the Ly- 
 mans ate voraciously, we broached the sub 
 ject of, not our usual long evening tramp, but 
 a short ramble. They were politely aghast 
 at the notion. Mr. Lyman was not strong 
 enough, Mrs. Lyman was too tired from trav 
 elling that lusty woman who shook our 
 house with the strength of her deep chest 
 tones. So we made talk to them, punctuated 
 by their smothered yawns, and we watched 
 [73]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 Mrs. Lyman carry her hat into her bed 
 room. 
 
 She was to occupy my quarters with me. 
 I know she broke none even of the minor 
 laws of the most approved ethical code. But 
 her large figure, with its multitudinous trap 
 pings, and her intemperate vocabulary, 
 seemed to crowd me out of my very bed. I 
 lifted into the upper berth my attenuated 
 figure that felt as if it were shrinking as fast 
 as Alice when she drank of the bottle on the 
 little glass table. Mrs. Lyman spread her 
 self out in the lower bunk broadly, and pro 
 ceeded to refresh her rich vital existence. 
 I cannot accuse her of anything so vulgar as 
 snoring, but she was soon very much asleep 
 in her elaborate nightgown. 
 
 It was too dark a night for me distinctly 
 to see the disorder her finery had wrought in 
 my spotless room, but I was so conscious of 
 it all, and of her personality beneath me, that 
 I was stifled. I thought the feeling would
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 pass, but it did not. With increased longing 
 the thought of out-of-doors lured me. I 
 struggled with the temptation long and val 
 iantly, then, just at the point where 
 Lymanism seemed to have smothered my 
 consciousness, I was briefly resuscitated by 
 a soft swishing sound. It was my guest s 
 hat falling from its hook behind the cur 
 tains. That trifle decided me. 
 
 I swung myself guiltily down from my 
 perch over her somnolent body, stealthily I 
 threw on a few garments, and, for fear of 
 arousing some member of the household by 
 the creaking of a door, I climbed softly out 
 of the open window. It was a long, laborious 
 process, for one not used to housebreaking. 
 But once my feet touched the soft earth, they 
 seemed winged. 
 
 Oh, the ecstasy of that initial moment of 
 freedom. It is comparable to nothing but 
 the first kiss of love, though that, too, is puer 
 ile when this thought lies next it. Every star 
 [75]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 in the black vault above gave me a dis 
 tinct benediction. It was quite still, except 
 for the furtive movement now and then of 
 some soft-footed creature of the night, and 
 the gay tinkle of the Vosenkill. There was 
 no moon, and despite the stars it was very 
 dark under the trees and the tall shrubbery. 
 But healing abounded. That potent touch 
 wiped from my Soul the scars of Mrs. Ly- 
 man s bouffant petticoats and her squirming 
 wire bustle. 
 
 My beating pulses led me on, on whither 
 I knew not, and neither did I care. We 
 were merely plunging into space, my hot 
 temples and I, until the first impatience was 
 cooled, and then I began to move more slowly ; 
 almost like floating, it seemed, it was so en 
 tirely without conscious volition, until a 
 long-time dawning terror burst positively 
 upon me. I had been hearing behind me 
 footsteps which I, at first, set down to some 
 forest friend. I knew no evil creature lurked 
 [76]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 there, and the regularly occurring pitapat 
 had lessened my sense of isolation before it 
 had corne near enough to seem heavy and 
 human. I began to realise that I was a long 
 distance from my home when I turned 
 toward a more open space among the dog 
 woods and hurried away from the Vosenkill. 
 The footsteps turned too, stumbling, as I 
 had done, over one spot of tangled under 
 growth. Definite fear smote me suddenly. 
 I had never known it there before. We were 
 altogether too remote for tramp progresses; 
 the red man is not of the east, nor have I 
 faith in ghosts. Still It was gaining upon 
 me. Rapidly, with steady paces, something 
 was coming toward me at midnight, in the 
 black woods. I was a trembling, nursery 
 child .again, frozen in white horror to the 
 spot where I stood. Unwise thoughts scudded 
 through my brain of an escaped lunatic, a 
 criminal fleeing from justice. In that place 
 it must be something altogether unusual. 
 [77]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 The awful eeriness of mystery touched the 
 fact. I think I could have stood the cer 
 tainty of any number of simple highwaymen 
 but this ! 
 
 The footsteps veered a little to the right. 
 I had time to slip off sidewise, but I could 
 not stir. There was no need to hold my 
 breath. There was none to hold. Then my 
 alert ears registered a more easterly course. 
 But suddenly there was a dead stop. It 
 turned and crept toward me with outstretched 
 arms. I could begin to see an indistinct out 
 line of what was unmistakably a man. He 
 was feeling his way cautiously, for he had 
 inadvertently stepped down into a matted 
 thicket of bushes. 
 
 I might have moved off easily now on the 
 other side of a great rock if my feet had not 
 been dead. But I was far past lifting a 
 member. I waited. It came on. Then one 
 of the exploring hands struck against me. 
 The man shrieked not I. I waited. The 
 [78]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 hand moved about wildly, aimlessly, before 
 it could catch hold of me again. There was 
 another exclamation from the man. An 
 eager touch ran over my person. 
 
 A match was struck. By the instant flash 
 we looked into each other s faces Roger 
 and I. 
 
 " Why, Mary," he cried. " What are you 
 doing ? " 
 
 " Nothing," I wailed, falling against him 
 limply. " The house was so full of those 
 people I could not bear it." 
 
 " Nor I ! " he returned fervently. 
 
 We exchanged our motives, which were 
 identical, for actions which were identical, 
 except that one had been pursuer and the 
 other pursued. 
 
 Then we sat down on a neighbouring rock, 
 and talked over our position, which at that 
 hour seemed quite desperate. 
 
 " There is not room in the house," I 
 sighed, " for us and Mrs. Lyman s hat." 
 [79]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 " I know it/ he said. " But what can we 
 do ? I do not want to kill Lyman. He is 
 too weak." 
 
 " Don t make grim jokes/ I groaned. " I 
 am very serious." 
 
 Roger laid his hand on mine. " It is se 
 rious/ he said. " I have been thinking, 
 Molly, would it be too pointed if we camped 
 for the rest of their stay, in the cow-shed ? " 
 
 I could only shake my head. 
 
 [80]
 
 CHAPTER VI 
 
 THE Lymans remained with us for nearly 
 a week, so complicated were their plans for 
 camp building. First and last, a score of 
 workmen must have been necessary to their 
 arrangements. There were numerous delays 
 in the arrival of the various helps to com 
 fort. We seemed to do nothing during those 
 days but to walk back and forth from our 
 home to their camping ground, to watch 
 the lack of progress. 
 
 A large waterproof tent with a solid wood 
 floor was set up for general purposes, a 
 smaller one for sleeping, and a remote shanty 
 built for cooking. Huge boxes filled with 
 ranges, oil- and alcohol- and charcoal-, elab 
 orately furnished cots, wicker chairs, rugs, 
 [81]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 crockery, bath tubs, canned edibles, sacks 
 of coffee, chests of tea, chafing dishes, arrived 
 daily. 
 
 Then the Endersons came with equal in 
 tricacies, and, while our senses were still 
 buzzing from all this hurly-burly, hammers 
 began upon the rustic cottages of the Elliott 
 settlement. Henceforth eager solicitations 
 called us in an opposite direction. 
 
 What had we done to fate to deserve all 
 this ? Before our eyes " cabins " arose, 
 fashioned of pine logs with the bark left on, 
 encircled by piazzas balustraded with laced 
 boughs. And we were made to enter these 
 evil tilings, to confront rustic grills and 
 gnarled knots that we were told resembled 
 buffalo heads, and decorative effects in which 
 figured the grey squirrels whose little lives 
 we valued, stuffed to bursting in their dead 
 stiffness, and similar owls, with now and then 
 a deer s head or antlers to lend a supposed 
 touch of nature to a spot where no deer are 
 [82]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 to be found. When the coloured posters, and 
 the birch-bark ornaments, the Japanese lan 
 terns, pine cone and rope tassel touches were 
 added, we should have smitten our breasts if 
 we had had spirit left. 
 
 Then people to match the houses came 
 to the settlement, and down in the Lymans 
 camp a sister, more garrulous, more gush 
 ing, than the lady already established there. 
 
 One of the mysteries of my day and gen 
 eration is the modern young girl. I find 
 her in two distinct types: the athletic, self- 
 reliant, unsentimental college graduate, and 
 the advanced kindergarten species, roman 
 tic, soft, ingenuously timid. Mrs. Lyman s 
 sister belonged to this latter family. 
 
 This was perhaps not an auspicious mo 
 ment for Maurice to choose for his visit 
 to us. But it is the one he did select. I do 
 not want, however, to think that outside 
 conditions had anything to do with the sit 
 uation, nor the fact that we had some old 
 [83]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 scores to settle. It was perhaps merely that 
 we were in our element, now. Suffice it to 
 say, he came to us one lovely summer evening, 
 looking and appearing almost as foreign as 
 the Lymans had done. 
 
 An epitome of our position lay in Roger s 
 remark, " If we had not had this recent 
 intercourse with the cottagers, I think I 
 should have to talk to Maurice upon my 
 fingers." 
 
 " He would not have come, if he had 
 dreamed it was all so primitive," I laughed. 
 " Did you notice that, after one wearing, 
 the duck trousers went back, like a bear 
 when he sees his shadow ? " 
 
 Roger looked reflective. " We dress de 
 cently, do we not, Mary ? I thought so, but 
 why do these outsiders look so different ? " 
 
 We both wore plain, convenient, well- 
 made pedestrian suits, but they were those of 
 all time, and had nothing to do with any late 
 mode which, after only a few months isola- 
 [84]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 tion, looked as oddly to us as if we were pre 
 historic creatures. 
 
 If our life was written in a foreign 
 tongue for Maurice, I will say this for him 
 that he tried desperately to translate it. It 
 was almost pathetic to note the earnest way 
 in which he watched Roger, and his boyish 
 imitation of whatever he could master. 
 
 When he had been with us two days 
 but first I must explain that Judge Elliott 
 had just left me after gaining my advice 
 upon the finishing of the side walls in his 
 cottage s chief room, " Should he use Japa 
 nese matting or denim ? " And I had 
 stained my soul with the suggestion of 
 crimson burlaps. When he had gone away, 
 I said to Maurice : 
 
 " Will you take this pail and milk for us ? 
 Roger is hoeing beans." 
 
 There are single moments that make rich 
 amends for years of suffering. This youth 
 had coldly criticised me in the past. 
 [85]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 "I beg your pardon, Mary?" 
 
 " That pail take it, please, and do 
 the milking," I answered as lightly as if 
 asking him to bring me a chair. 
 
 " I don t think I quite understand you," 
 he hesitated. 
 
 I repeated my request. There was a 
 long pause. Then : 
 
 " I can t, Mary," in low tones of despera 
 tion. " I do not know how." 
 
 But I was fetching my hat. " I can 
 quickly show you," I persisted. 
 
 He dumbly followed me out into the foot 
 path, the pail grasped lightly. It was out 
 rageous desecration. I felt as guilty as if I 
 had thrust a coal-scuttle into the hand of 
 the Apollo Belvedere. But I tripped along 
 by his side with an appearance of gay un 
 consciousness. 
 
 When we reached the stable Maurice 
 quickly set down the pail, and I as quickly 
 brought him the little stool. 
 [86]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 " What is this for ? " he asked, allowing 
 it to hang heavily in his hand. 
 
 " For you to sit on," I answered. 
 
 " Sit on ? " he said. " Sit where ? " 
 
 " By the cow," I returned. 
 
 He brought to bear upon me eyes of stern 
 reproof. " Mary, wliy should I sit by a 
 cow?" 
 
 " My dear boy," I expostulated, " how 
 else could you milk ? " 
 
 I saw Daisy had not come up from the 
 pasture yet, but I was not ready to let him 
 off. So we stood looking polite defiance at 
 each other until Roger s cheerful whistle 
 broke in upon us. 
 
 " Why," he cried, " what are you doing 
 here ? " as he made way for Daisy to pass in. 
 
 " Maurice has come to milk for you, 
 dear," I answered demurely. 
 
 He grasped the situation instantly. 
 " Good ! " he exclaimed ; " you are working 
 into the life admirably. It is a pleasure to 
 [87]
 
 8 CHANTICLEER 88$ 
 
 find you so adaptable." Then something in 
 the wretched fellow s face he was such a 
 boy, after all must have smote iny hus 
 band s kindly heart, for he added: "But 
 I cannot be cheated of this pleasure, even 
 by my brother, and a guest. You can watch 
 me milk, though, if you want to, Maurice." 
 
 " Very well," that young man said weakly. 
 
 " Did you ever see such satin sides ? " 
 Roger went on, seating himself with easy 
 grace on the little stool. The streams of 
 white milk playing from his finely modelled 
 hands are a charming sight, but Maurice 
 was staring about the shed as if that were 
 the last place to find satin. 
 
 " Where are you looking ? " Roger 
 laughed. " I mean the cow s back." 
 
 Maurice glanced in that direction. " Oh, 
 the cow," he said, drawing away ever so little. 
 
 " Remove that princely scion of a royal 
 house," Roger burlesqued. 
 
 " Come, Maurice," I interposed, in pal- 
 [88]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 liation. " I want to show you the sunset 
 from the observatory." 
 
 He gave me his arm with alacrity, and 
 we bounded northward. 
 
 I do not think Maurice cares much for 
 any phase of nature, and we had not more 
 than established ourselves upon the hardly 
 reached elevation when his restless eyes 
 looked off down the evergreen avenue rap 
 turously. " Look," he cried ; " what a 
 lovely girl ! Who is she ? " 
 
 Mrs. Lyman and her sister were saunter 
 ing into our range of vision. The feminine 
 relatives of good-looking, eligible young fel 
 lows always think, despite denials, that they 
 have but to pick and choose among woman 
 kind. This was Maurice s moment of speedy 
 revenge for the milking episode, if he had 
 but known it. I looked with painful fore 
 boding from his handsome, flushed face 
 down upon the lackadaisical figure of Agnes 
 Birdsell. 
 
 [89]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 She was the conventional poetic, rustic 
 maiden, in white muslin and blue ribbons. 
 In her hand she held a nosegay of blossoms, 
 just beginning to close. The first words I 
 heard her say were : " I did not know, sister, 
 that these dear little flowers went to sleep at 
 night with the birds." 
 
 A privilege of our condition was the ease 
 with which one could be not at home to un 
 welcome visitors. Given a back door and 
 acres of dense woodland, what need of a pre 
 varicating servant? 
 
 However, I realised now that Maurice 
 was very much at home. He assisted me 
 with perilous haste in our descent from the 
 observatory. Mrs. Lyman and Miss Bird- 
 sell fluttered forward to meet us, or me, 
 rather. They acted as much surprised at 
 seeing Maurice as if they had not been told 
 the exact hour when he was expected. 
 
 Mrs. Lyman and I fell into step, the 
 young people following us. My companion 
 [90]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 asked me in her lowest chest tones, if I 
 did not think Agnes looked like a moonbeam 
 in her white drapery. " Very much," I an 
 swered with beating heart. The fib startled 
 me, I had grown so used to honesty in those 
 few weeks. 
 
 Agnes was asking Maurice if he did not 
 like the poetical life of the woods, and he 
 was answering as I had done, and with equal 
 truth, " Very much." 
 
 Then she told him of a little bird with a 
 broken leg she had found that day, and of 
 how she was tending it. Her voice was 
 tremulous, her gestures tragic. " Which 
 do you love best, birds or squirrels ? " she 
 asked. 
 
 Maurice had no notion. He had " never 
 thought upon the subject." 
 
 " Stop and consider," she cooed with 
 honeyed imperativeness. " The gay, chat 
 tering squirrels amuse us with their antics, 
 to be sure, when we see them. But it is 
 [91]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 the songsters that cheer from far and near. 
 Who would give for all the squirrels one of 
 our dear sweet-voiced nightingales ? " 
 
 Maurice believed, on the whole, he did 
 care most for birds. I longed to ex 
 pose her about the nightingales, but I was 
 saving to myself that the remark would do 
 its own restorative work. Maurice must be 
 safe. Then that pretty girl slipped on a 
 patch of dead leaves, and would have fallen 
 had not my brother caught her. We older 
 ones turned at the liquid cry of alarm upon 
 a tableau of youthful loveliness. " Beauti 
 ful, beautiful, beautiful," anxiety chanted 
 in my ears. 
 
 Miss Birdsell s usual boast of sure-footed- 
 ness was void, that evening, for she slipped 
 again before we reached the house. 
 
 I cannot say that I saw Roger s retreat 
 
 ing figure, or even its shadow, but there was 
 
 some sort of stir that told me he had guessed 
 
 our approach, and was escaping. Maurice 
 
 [92]
 
 &% CHANTICLEER 86 
 
 brought easy-chairs and a pile of cushions, 
 and we made ourselves comfortable on the 
 boulder before our house that Mrs. Lyman 
 prefers to call our piazza. And then we 
 talked, or, rather, our guests talked of art: 
 books and music and pictures. May the 
 god of genius, in remembrance of my suf 
 ferings, forgive the black falsehoods I told 
 in polite acquiescence ! It is strange that 
 weak conventionality should like so well to 
 ape individuality, but the roles of these two 
 were strongly reminiscent of other and un- 
 happier days. 
 
 " I suppose my taste is rather odd," Mrs. 
 Lyman reiterated, while she commended 
 all the novels that had sold in hundreds of 
 thousands, and the poetic crazes of the 
 last decade Kipling s " Recessional " and 
 " The Man with the Hoe." 
 
 " I love all the works of Omar Khayyam," 
 Agnes threw in for good measure. I glanced 
 involuntarily at Maurice, but he reads little 
 [93]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 except medical literature. lie was smiling 
 approval of the graceful figure leaning back 
 against the old pine in a charming atti 
 tude. It fairly made my teeth chatter to 
 see her so bewitching. I had a wild feeling 
 as if I should take my brother by the hand 
 and plunge off with him into the forest, not 
 to return until the last remnant of insidi 
 ous temptation was gone. 
 
 Presently Mrs. Lyman said, " Well, 
 little moonbeam, we shall be afraid of those 
 dark woods if we linger too long." 
 
 Whereat Maurice adjured them to forget 
 that such things were; he should enjoy 
 nothing so much as the walk to their camp 
 on that lovely evening. Our guests settled 
 back, with that air of finality some women 
 have, that mocked me with utter hopeless 
 ness. 
 
 Here Agnes turned to me suddenly with 
 ravishing earnestness to ask : " Which do 
 you care for most, Plato or Petrarch ? " 
 [94]
 
 &J3 CHANTICLEER 88 
 
 I stared aghast for a moment before I 
 murmured desperately, " They are so very 
 different ! " 
 
 She smiled indulgently, and so did 
 Maurice, as if, as he would phrase it, she 
 had me. 
 
 Roger saved the situation. He emerged 
 just then, all surprise and satisfaction, but 
 the dear fellow was so out of practice that 
 it was not ten minutes before he showed that 
 he had known of the arrival. I was 
 startled. However, such women see nothing 
 but compliments. Mrs. Lyman said to him 
 with accented intensity : " I want to thank 
 you for sending those delicious squabs to 
 Mr. Lyman." When he disclaimed the 
 favour, she insisted, " Oh, I don t mean the 
 birds. It was the affection that I value. I 
 have always felt that there was a peculiarly 
 strong bond between you two." 
 
 Roger winced. There could hardly be a 
 less congenial pair than himself and George 
 [95]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 Lyman. He did not know what to say, 
 apparently, but nothing was necessary. 
 Mrs. Lyman kept up the incessant refrain. 
 " It was so very sweet of you ; so very 
 sweet ! " 
 
 It is darkest before dawn. After this 
 our guests bade us good-bye. Roger thought 
 Maurice could hardly find his way back 
 from our neighbours camp at night, so we 
 joined the party of escort. 
 
 Naturally the young people started off to 
 gether, Agnes at a coy distance from Mau 
 rice, except in the very frequent intervals of 
 dangerous walking. Then with what sweet 
 appealing timidity she clung to his hand or 
 his arm. I felt grim and worldly-wise, 
 stalking along, trying to give cordial acqui 
 escence to Mrs. Lyman s prattle. When we 
 reached the camp, Mr. Lyman on one side, 
 Mrs. Lyman on the other, squeezed my poor 
 husband in a vise of gratitude. Agnes 
 slipped into the tent and ostentatiously 
 [96]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 nursed her wounded bird in the glare of a 
 great lantern. She did make a lovely pic 
 ture of the sentimental type, one which 
 Maurice and I, standing a little apart, 
 watched with quite different emotions. 
 
 " Look there, Mary," he said with boyish 
 ardour; " did you ever see a more exquisite 
 tableau ? " 
 
 He lingered drinking in the scene to the 
 very last moment, not even noticing Roger 
 hurrying breathlessly toward us. My poor 
 husband looked old and battered. " What is 
 it, dear ? " I asked. 
 
 " Those blasted squabs," he groaned. 
 
 [97]
 
 CHAPTEK VII 
 
 OF course Miss Birdsell left something 
 for Maurice to return to her. It was a fan, 
 and our brother proposed transporting it to 
 its owner early the next morning after the 
 visit. 
 
 " There is no haste," I urged weakly, in 
 full consciousness of the futility of protest. 
 " She probably has dozens of them down 
 there. They have everything in that camp." 
 
 " Electric fans, I imagine," Roger added. 
 
 But Maurice was quite determined. If 
 Miss Birdsell had been somewhat plainer, 
 I should have set his obduracy down to the 
 account of an idle young man craving 
 variety. As it was, each glance at his watch 
 magnified my foreboding. We breakfast so 
 [98]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 early that he was obliged to restrain his impa 
 tience for some time, which he spent pacing 
 about out-of-doors, smoking. Whenever I 
 looked out to see if he had gone, he had his 
 watch in his hand. I only did so twice, but 
 I naturally supposed that I had not inter 
 cepted every glance at that hateful timepiece. 
 
 When he really started away I asked of 
 my husband : " Do you think he will marry 
 her ? Or, it is foolish to phrase it in that 
 form he will marry her." 
 
 " My wife used always to bid me say, 
 Will she marry him ? in speaking of other 
 people s brothers," Roger answered. 
 
 I patted his dear bronzed cheek. " But 
 who wouldn t marry Maurice ? " I said, 
 " unless she were the wife of Roger." 
 
 My husband took the hand that caressed 
 him into his strong clasp. " He is good- 
 looking, and he is an infant phenomenon in 
 his profession. I fear I fear, Molly, 
 darling! The boy is certainly done for." 
 [99]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 " Oh, yes," I said. " He stated this morn 
 ing that there is not a flaw in her beauty, 
 which is unfortunately true. By to-morrow 
 he will not be able to speak of her so defi 
 nitely." 
 
 " Don t I know the ambiguity of that 
 second stage ? " Roger laughed. " But she 
 is a sweet, pretty girl. It might be much 
 worse." 
 
 " Folly is the very worst fault," I per 
 sisted, " of her sort sentimental mawkish- 
 ness." 
 
 " But think what a child she is. She may 
 outgrow all that." 
 
 I shook my head. " If she were not Mrs. 
 Lyman s sister. But it is in the blood. No. 
 We must make up our minds to living in a 
 cold perspiration for the rest of our days." 
 
 He called me pessimistic. Still, I noticed 
 
 that he was too disturbed to settle down to 
 
 his writing. At such moments he goes out 
 
 to work in the garden. I took a basket, and, 
 
 [100]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 putting on a large shade hat, followed him. 
 My destination was the patch of peas, and 
 my intention to pick some of them for 
 luncheon. 
 
 As I passed Roger, weeding the beet bed, 
 I stopped to exclaim, " Dear, golden-hearted 
 fellow! What strong, muscular arms, and 
 yet how perfectly modelled! A very god 
 among men." 
 
 He jumped up and caught me in his 
 arms. " Oh, you malicious woman," he 
 cried, " to imitate your neighbours ! " 
 
 " You malicious man," I returned, " to 
 see an imitation. Where are the quotation 
 marks, pray ? " 
 
 He looked at me gravely for a moment. 
 " It is better than if she wanted to vote, 
 isn t it, Molly?" 
 
 " It is not better than if she wanted to 
 do anything," I returned, walking away. 
 " And that is rather comprehensive, too." 
 
 Picking peas somewhat restored my men- 
 [101]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 tal balance. I love to feel the cool pods in 
 my hands, and to watch the fresh green of 
 the growing pile. With every handful of 
 smooth plumpness there arose in me a de 
 lightful sense of ownership. We had 
 planted and tended, and now I was gath 
 ering these graceful, hanging bits of God s 
 bounty. 
 
 I liked almost as much to shell them, sit 
 ting under the pine tree. It is a simple 
 joy to dive into the long pods for the tiny 
 toothsome green balls. The odour is deli 
 cious, too, when they are cooking, just be 
 fore the rich cream is thrown over them. 
 We were to enjoy them on this day with 
 fricasseed chicken. A frugal meal though 
 it was in variety, it was epicurean in quality, 
 and still that brother-in-law did not return 
 for it. I waited until there was danger of 
 overcooking, and then I went to call Roger. 
 
 When he is near enough for the voice to 
 carry, I say from the door of our home, 
 [102]
 
 $93 CHANTICLEER %& 
 
 Roger standing, hat in hand : " The earth 
 is God s, and the fulness thereof. 
 
 It is our only grace before meat, and it 
 is very impressive. 
 
 But what does it matter that the feast is 
 fit for the gods, when one s eyes are upon 
 the clock ? Every pea I ate seemed like an 
 egg in my throat, and, after we had quite 
 finished the meal, there was still no Maurice. 
 
 I took a book to our favourite rock that af 
 ternoon, but it was not to read. Roger, who 
 had protested that he must write for three 
 
 hours and a half, come what would, slipped 
 
 i 
 out to me in ten minutes to ask if I thought 
 
 anything could have happened to Maurice. 
 
 " Yes," I said sadly, " but he does not 
 care for your aid." 
 
 Every half-hour after that he appeared, 
 with like inquiries, until Maurice s whistle 
 was heard in the distance. The tune was a 
 sentimental melody that was an old favourite 
 of his, but to-day it sounded like a knell in 
 [103]
 
 $33 CHANTICLEER 8& 
 
 my ears. Roger, someway, got into the 
 house and was busily writing when his 
 brother arrived. But I was not so bored as 
 I had expected. Perhaps I was a little dis 
 appointed. At any rate Maurice had only 
 come home to dress. He was invited, with 
 the Lyman contingent, to the Endersons 
 camp for tea. 
 
 When he had gone again I went in to 
 Roger, little as he deserved information. 
 " See here," I said, laying on the desk before 
 him a pencil sketch of the lower Vosenkill, so 
 out of drawing as to make him scream out, 
 as if I had inflicted a blow. " Maurice 
 wants me to preserve it very carefully for 
 him," I explained. 
 
 " Who did it ? " Roger asked. 
 
 " Is there more than one person who 
 would gravely execute that, and afterward 
 present it to a young man with two sound 
 eyes in his head ? " 
 
 " You are too severe, Molly," my hus- 
 [104]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 band returned. " Maurice must have done 
 it himself in jest." 
 
 " Eoger," I declaimed, " this is the first 
 time I have ever felt like getting a divorce. 
 But then you did not see the nauseating 
 expression of his face. So clasp me to your 
 bosom, as if the fat hills and the lean creek 
 were not." 
 
 " Did he did he was he garrulous ? " 
 Eoger asked. 
 
 I shook my head. "Another evil mile 
 stone is passed. The ambiguous point is 
 reached. He told me the sketch l was given 
 to him. " 
 
 Eoger groaned. 
 
 [ 105 ]
 
 CHAPTER VIII 
 
 ON the very night of Maurice s meeting 
 with Miss Birdsell, I had despatched an 
 urgent note of invitation to Margaret Robert 
 son. What more effectual antidote could 
 possibly be thought of than her gay clever 
 ness ? I waited, and so did Roger, in fever 
 ish impatience, for her reply. 
 
 In the meantime our neighbours again vis 
 ited us, and Miss Birdsell left a gossamer 
 handkerchief behind her. I was the finder 
 of this hostage of fortune, and I wantonly 
 turned it into a hostage to misfortune, send 
 ing Roger home with it the next day. How 
 ever, no shrewdness can outwit that type of 
 our fellow-man. My husband s report was 
 that Mrs. Lyman had called her sister " a 
 [106]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 careless little thing," then she boldly told 
 him to ask Maurice to join them that evening 
 at whist. 
 
 " Whist at the Vosenkill ! Poker in Para 
 dise ! " I sneered. It was my only revenge. 
 But what did it avail, except to make me 
 feel ashamed, while the Lymans captured 
 Maurice ? 
 
 As speedily as an answer could arrive from 
 Miss Robertson, one did so. The farmer s 
 son, who was to bring in our mail to us, once 
 a day, through the remainder of the proof 
 reading season, handed me a note in her 
 strong, firm chirography, just as we were 
 sitting down to our supper. I read the mes 
 sage aloud. After I had finished it, Roger 
 exclaimed, w r ith his eyes on Maurice : 
 
 " Coming to-morrow ? How opportune ! 
 She will be here to help us wash the floor." 
 
 There was a little pause. I was putting 
 the letter back into its envelope. Maurice 
 was staring at his brother. Presently he 
 [107]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 broke into a gay peal of boyish laughter. 
 " What do you suppose I thought you said, 
 Roger ? That Miss Robertson could help 
 you wash the floor." 
 
 " I did/ Roger answered. 
 
 The two men looked into each other s faces 
 for a long minute silently. Then Maurice, 
 very red, whispered, " Oh ! " 
 
 " My dear brother," I interposed, " Roger 
 has just come to that state of grace when he 
 can scrub without cringing. He used to 
 trample down his pride, before every at 
 tempt, with the spirited account in Walden 
 of the floor-scouring. He read it over and 
 over, as if it were a recipe for humility. 
 Then he would shake his head and say, 
 1 Thoreau could do it. But we are not great 
 enough to make it anything but squalid. 
 
 " You have an excellent memory for de 
 tails, Mary," my victim answered. " I re 
 member nothing of all that, except the 
 reading of Thoreau, which is not strange, 
 [108]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 either, as his collective work is the hand 
 book of our lives." Then he laughed good- 
 naturedly. " That began to sound rather 
 like a platform speech. We do it athletically, 
 finely, Maurice. We don t sozzle about." 
 
 Our brother looked unconvinced, and I 
 broke in with : " We have on thick boots, 
 and short skirts or I do, and Roger wears 
 his usual knickerbockers, so there is nothing 
 to drag in the wet. We throw pail after pail 
 of clear sparkling water from the Vosenkill 
 over the floor, and each takes a broom, and, 
 with fine, long strokes, like rowing a racing 
 shell, we scour it to a beautiful whiteness. 
 It is gloriously healthful, chest-expanding 
 exercise. You can t think into what a glow 
 it puts one. Then we go off on a long tramp 
 while it dries." 
 
 " And when we come back to it, we have," 
 Roger went on, " the sweetest, cleanest, most 
 wholesome abiding-place poet can dream of." 
 
 " Oh," Maurice said again. 
 [109]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 I took pity on his pride. " But Miss Rob 
 ertson is not to be initiated so strenuously," 
 I announced. " We will do all that in the 
 cool of dawn. She does not arrive until 
 nearly night." 
 
 Maurice gave me his bewitching smile, 
 which, said all the gratitude for which he had 
 no words. 
 
 That angel-youth was astir with the first 
 hint of light the next morning, to lend a 
 helping patrician hand. At first he stood 
 about aw r kwardly, and then, either because he 
 was tired of being stepped upon, or because 
 he had caught the infection of our enthusi 
 asm, he suddenly took command of the sit 
 uation. It was a cup-race indeed, and 
 Maurice stroke oarsman. Above the long 
 swish, swishing sweeps of his broom his voice 
 rang out in eager commands to Roger and 
 me, after each inundation of fresh water: 
 " !NTow. All together. There. Once more. 
 Good. Again. Once more. There ! " 
 [110]
 
 $33 CHANTICLEER 8& 
 
 He was so excited that we thought we 
 should not be able to check his mad dashes 
 to the Vosenkill for more water. It was 
 pretty to see him with the fresh carnation in 
 his cheeks, and his eyes glowing. He is an 
 Adonis, and I cannot wonder that he turns 
 the heads of silly girls. 
 
 " I don t think that corner over there at 
 the right is quite so white as the rest," he 
 said, eyeing the result critically. Roger held 
 him back when he would make at the mooted 
 point with a new spurt of energy. 
 
 " It is the most immaculate of the lot. I 
 am off now. Follow your leader." 
 
 We did. After a light luncheon we walked 
 through the glorious morning until we were 
 ready for a more substantial meal, and the 
 floor had had time to dry. 
 
 Roger is so peculiarly optimistic that he 
 expected Maurice to become as much enam 
 oured, upon closer acquaintance, with Miss 
 Robertson as he had evidently been at first 
 [111]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 sight with Miss Birdsell. When I would try 
 to temper his credulity he always checkmated 
 me with, " I should think that proved his 
 susceptibility." 
 
 " Oh, yes," I finally answered, rather 
 wearily. " I hope he ll propose to her be 
 fore they get to the house. But I do not 
 know that w T e ought to really expect it." 
 
 We had concluded, since some one ought 
 to go down to the train to meet Miss Robert 
 son, it might be serving our hopes to intrust 
 this office to Maurice. He already knew 
 her somewhat from an occasional brief meet 
 ing at Agawam. They would have the five- 
 mile drive from the station to the edge of the 
 woods together, and then the long walk in 
 where the farmer s democrat wagon we en 
 gaged for such expeditions dare not venture 
 its shaky old springs. 
 
 We sat outside our house watching for 
 them, upon that soft, romantic, most auspi 
 cious evening. When I say we sat near our 
 [112]
 
 *33 CHANTICLEER m 
 
 house I always mean on the rock under the 
 sentinel pine. Roger had built a seat against 
 the tree to which we brought cushions of com 
 fort at these times of waiting. That one spot 
 deserves a whole lexicon of adulatory adjec 
 tives: wild, rugged, majestic, odorous, pic 
 turesque, peaceful. 
 
 The calm beneficence of the evening made 
 us hopeful. Roger said for the fifty-first 
 time, " Maurice is susceptible, isn t he ? " 
 
 " I think he must be. Margaret Robertson 
 is a very clever girl. She graduated with 
 the highest honours her college could give." 
 
 " You don t mean pedantic, I hope. I al 
 ways have considered her pretty." 
 
 " She is. Not so sickishly sweet as some 
 girls, but thoroughly chic and charming." 
 
 My husband encouraged me with his 
 broadest smile of optimism. " I think 
 Maurice is susceptible ; don t you ? " he said. 
 
 And then we saw them coming away off in 
 the distance. They were a goodly pair in the 
 [113]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 glimpses we could catch of them down the 
 winding wood road between the trees and 
 the spreading shrubs. 
 
 In the first distinct impression of Marga 
 ret s face she was thrown out against a back 
 ground of dank green boughs. I was cer 
 tainly justified in calling her lovely. 
 
 Roger was nearer than I as they ap 
 proached us. There had been an exchange 
 of waved greetings, but now we had come to 
 that last moment tinged with the embarrass 
 ment of proximity that is not close enough 
 for words. 
 
 The young people s voices, in low, earnest 
 conversation, were growing at each instant 
 more audible. The expression of our faces 
 was, I am afraid, transparently strained and 
 expectant. Then Roger made a little gesture 
 of disgust. 
 
 " What is it ? " I said, leaning toward him 
 eagerly. " What are they talking about ? " 
 
 " Cocaine," he answered fiercely. 
 [114]
 
 CHAPTER IX 
 
 I DID not think the cocaine conversation 
 quite so discouraging a matter as Roger did. 
 Margaret had been reading a magazine article 
 lately upon its effects, and she had questioned 
 Maurice, as a physician, upon the verity of 
 her information. She has many and wide in 
 terests, and nothing is more gratifying, 
 surely, to any man than to have clever fem 
 ininity learning at his knee. Incited by 
 Margaret s eager questions, Maurice reeled 
 off numerous scientific facts, clothed in dic 
 tion that must have made him proud of him 
 self. I wondered a little, before I began to 
 realise that we were getting, in not disas 
 trously condensed form either, all the papers 
 he had read to medical societies. 
 [115]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 For the first day or two I was exhilarated 
 with hope. Roger was not. He said First 
 Aid to the Injured might be a profitable 
 work, but one could not reasonably expect it 
 to end with a wedding. " Love has many 
 and intricate ways/ " I quoted. " An un 
 dertaker marries as early as a poet. 
 
 " Perhaps so. Let me know, please, when 
 broken hearts have displaced broken bones. 
 I confess to discouragement." 
 
 In truth, after the very first, I was rather 
 whistling to keep my own courage from sag 
 ging. I do not believe, with Thackeray, that 
 a woman may marry whomever she will, but 
 I do think that the keynote of sentimentality 
 is usually struck by the weaker hand. Mar 
 garet was cordial with Maurice, and even 
 deferential in the direction in which she 
 thought he knew best. But unfortunately 
 there were too many other directions. I could 
 see not a particle of difference in her manner 
 with any of the three of us ; friendly, inter- 
 [116]
 
 rr u 
 
 O.VK oi-~ THE MOST ROMA.VTJC srors."
 
 833 CHANTICLEER % 
 
 ested, generous, she was to each alike. Polite 
 indifference does not tie into love-knots. 
 
 I was not so much surprised as I was 
 alarmed when I saw Maurice walking rapidly 
 toward the Lymans camp day after day. 
 Margaret had a trick of arranging some plan, 
 immediately after breakfast, that included 
 merely herself and myself. Roger had his 
 writing to occupy him, and our brother knew 
 where a siren would look unutterable sweet 
 ness with eyes that ^ r enus might have envied. 
 
 I think young men really bore a girl of 
 Margaret s type. Unless there is some pe 
 culiar bond of ambition between them, she 
 would rather not bother with their vagaries. 
 But I was not to be balked by any modern 
 notion. I planned a picnic for our family 
 party. 
 
 A neighbouring stream, called Farrell 
 Creek, was purple pink, just then, about the 
 mouth with loosestrife. It is one of the wild 
 est, most romantic spots, anyway, that nature 
 [117]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 ever provided for her favourites delight: 
 banks lined with overhanging low-boughed 
 trees, cool shadows for heated days, sunny 
 midstream pools for cool ones, constant sur 
 prises in growths, here a reedy spot where 
 tall cat-tails reared their sombre rockets, and 
 there long, irregular outlines of loosestrife, 
 the tender colour flung back against the deep 
 green of birch trees and alder bushes. Al 
 ready there were budding hints of the day 
 when these banks should flame with the gor 
 geous cardinal-flower. 
 
 We kept a flat-bottomed rowboat in this 
 idyllic spot for languid days when we liked 
 to drift about there in the deep shadows, to 
 read, or to write. 
 
 Here the scene of my proposed picnic was 
 to be laid. Margaret reads aloud excellently 
 I do not mean with grimaces, but in a 
 clear, sympathetic v.oice that, at times, thrills 
 one. I selected a volume of TCossetti, for 
 even the most practical professional man will 
 [118]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 listen to " Sister Helen/ and I meant to 
 make her amuse Maurice, against their 
 united wills though it might be. I had taken 
 the bit between my teeth, as it were, and ar 
 ranged the day s programme to suit myself. 
 
 We were to start soon after noon, that 
 Roger might have the morning clear for 
 work. We would have a walk of more than 
 a mile to reach Farrell Creek. There we 
 were to float about in the boat, to enjoy 
 the loosestrife most and the other charms less. 
 Margaret would read aloud, Roger and Mau 
 rice would fish until they were tired of 
 drawing in empty hooks. We would land 
 for our luncheon and to exhibit the main 
 land to Margaret. Then we would take a 
 swim, and, after that, walk home in the cool 
 of the afternoon, when we women, at any 
 rate, would be ready for a good, long, soul- 
 refreshing slumber. 
 
 Such was the original plan. But, alas, 
 we were no longer independent beings. An 
 [119]
 
 833 CHANTICLEER E& 
 
 invitation to dinner to dinner, forsooth ! 
 from the Lymans for our whole coterie, 
 displaced all anticipations of sleep. I 
 thought the rest of the programme could pro 
 ceed, and we go directly to our hosts from the 
 creek, as their camp lay on our way, and save 
 the long walk to our home and back again. 
 
 Margaret exclaimed : " But our dress, 
 dear! Surely picnic attire would never do 
 for dinner." 
 
 I gave her that sage smile of one behind 
 the scenes. " You have no idea of the primi 
 tive living here. If we take some fresh 
 waists and collars, to put on when we come, 
 all transformed, from our baths, nothing 
 more could possibly be expected of us." 
 
 " Is the early hour six o clock a con 
 cession to the woods ? " she asked, yielding a 
 little her fear of the formal meal. " I 
 might do your hair, and you mine, I suppose. 
 Of course the mirror at the creek is like that 
 in all bath-houses ? " 
 
 [120]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 " Yes, I am afraid so. Do not be uneasy, 
 though, about dress. Take my word for it, 
 neatness is the one mode here." 
 
 Roger had made, at Farrell Creek, two 
 large bath-houses of boughs and awning- 
 cloth, and it is there we go, nearly always, 
 for our daily baths; there are so many ex 
 posed shallow places to catch and hold the 
 sun, in cool spring days, and deep sheltered 
 spots where hot rays never penetrate, for 
 sultry hours, that it is ideal for the purpose. 
 
 I had no doubt of emerging directly from 
 our bathing-suits into satisfactory toilets for 
 a camp dinner. The fascinating spot soon 
 cast the spell of its witchery over Margaret, 
 too, and her scepticism faded with her com 
 plete submersion in the charms of the pres 
 ent. 
 
 As we glided along the edge of the pink 
 mist Maurice reached out and gathered sev 
 eral long stems of loosestrife. With a grace 
 ful touch of gallantry that made my heart 
 [121]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 seize hope to dance, he gave them to Mar 
 garet. 
 
 She was looking in abstracted transport 
 along the winding course of bloom. Her 
 eyes came back slowly to take note of the act. 
 " Why did you give me these ? To analyse ? " 
 she asked. 
 
 " To wear," said Maurice, rather red. 
 
 " Oh, thank you," she returned with more 
 spirit. " They are very lovely. Would it 
 be too girly, Mary, if I stuck them in my 
 belt ? " 
 
 " JSTo, indeed/ I said. 
 
 The bright flowers gave just the touch of 
 youthful bloom to Margaret that she lacked. 
 Later, when we were wandering along the 
 creek-side together, I slipped my arm about 
 her to whisper : " You ought always to wear 
 posies, dear. They subdue the academic 
 look." 
 
 " Do I look academic ? " she asked, a cun 
 ning pucker between her eyes. " I would 
 [122]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 wear a blue sash and a rose in my hair, if I 
 thought that." 
 
 " Oh, no," I laughed. " It is not quite so 
 bad; every woman student must be granted 
 a few years to get the erudition rustle out of 
 her petticoats. I should not be sorry, though, 
 if you should begin collecting friendship 
 bangles, and a very few actors portraits." 
 
 " I suppose I might do that," she said 
 meekly, though her expression was still in 
 tolerant and making clearly for Greek 
 verbs. 
 
 " Those little girlish things erase the hall 
 mark of college honours," I went on. 
 
 She lifted her eyebrows. " Is it so dire a 
 disgrace to be graduated well ? " 
 
 " By no means. But it is one of those 
 triumphs that must be kept under, like pre 
 cocious children, for fear of spoiling." 
 
 " I know," she said. " You mean my 
 quoting that Greek oration yesterday." 
 
 " Yes," I answered, " and the Latin epi- 
 [123]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 grams the day before; and again this morn- 
 ing." 
 
 " O dear," she sighed. " I must be a 
 goose." 
 
 " Not if you think so," I exclaimed hope 
 fully. " We are only geese when we think we 
 are swans." 
 
 Margaret pressed my arm affectionately, 
 and we moved apart, she, poor girl, to try to 
 be untrue to her nature, and I to regret my 
 advice. 
 
 A ghastly little drama followed. We 
 spread our luncheon in a rocky fastness 
 among a savoury clump of evergreens. I had 
 never before realised of what a fine quality 
 was my friend s youthful dignity until now, 
 when I saw her distinctly frisky. Her body, 
 no more than her spirit, could lend itself, in 
 its tall, strong, well-knit members, to co 
 quetry. I know it was altogether un 
 conscious, but she threw herself into the role 
 of a burlesque imitation of Miss Birdsell. 
 [124]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 The childish, excited movements, the in 
 cessant chatter and laughter, moved me to un 
 easiness, and when she accepted some inane 
 jest with Maurice by a swift, languishing 
 look, she and I exchanged startled glances. 
 We both blushed hotly. Then Margaret 
 shrank behind a lichen-hung rock, as if she 
 had been struck back by fate. When her 
 dauntless spirit emerged, a few moments 
 later, there was no more acting. And I was 
 glad. 
 
 Very soon Margaret and Maurice had their 
 heads together over an ant-hill, busily dis 
 cussing the marvellous acuteness of red ants. 
 
 " Let each man step to the music which he 
 hears/ " I said to the disappointment in 
 Roger s eyes. 
 
 " Yes, yes, I know," he smiled. And then, 
 significantly : " We can t change Margaret. 
 We must try to make Maurice appreciate 
 her." 
 
 The young people were calling out their 
 [125]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 remarks in strong, clear tones ; we older ones 
 subduing ours to the sentimental pitch, 
 which, alas, is also that of slyness. But 
 match-makers cannot demand gracious 
 phraseology for their deeds. Sly we were, 
 and sly we shall be called. 
 
 We spent the ante-bath hour, after lunch 
 eon, in furtive visits to the nests of feathered 
 friends. This interesting investigation that 
 I cannot forego is always tinged with sad 
 ness, so many are the foes of bird-life. A 
 few patient mothers were still at home, some 
 of them more wary even than usual, as do 
 mestic happiness had already been postponed 
 many times by dire mischance. We stole 
 cautiously up to the sapling from which had 
 hung, a few days before, the finished birch 
 bark nest of a red-eyed vireo where fledgelings 
 had clanked their empty beaks at us until we 
 saw the mother returning from market, and 
 hastily withdrew our indelicate stare from 
 the family board. 
 
 [ 126 ]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 I stood upon tiptoe now to reach my gaze 
 up to the dainty nest, Roger holding the 
 branches back for me. "Oh!" I wailed. 
 Roger knew. He always knows. 
 
 " Come away, dear," he said. We turned 
 heavily. On the low limb of a convenient 
 oak a sleek owl blinked her hateful eyes at 
 us as we hurried past. On the ground about 
 were strewn the tell-tale pellets of compressed 
 feathers that we tried not to see. 
 
 When we came to the spot where a robin s 
 humble home had been in a maple on the 
 bank above Sylvester s Pool I was afraid to 
 look. Roger s eyes said, " Shall I go first ? " 
 I nodded my head. Then I waited. Men 
 are slow at caution. Minutes beat about me, 
 with batlike wings. I waited, and still I 
 waited. Then a cheerful voice rang out, 
 " Six bells, and all is well." 
 
 I rushed headlong up the little knoll where 
 my husband stood looking down at a flutter 
 ing family. His voice had startled them into 
 [127]
 
 *33 CHANTICLEER %& 
 
 nervous tremor. Our sympathy could but 
 turn away. 
 
 " Dear, patient sufferers," I sighed, " mo 
 notonously cheerful when only one is gone." 
 
 Roger started. " Why, yes ! " he ex 
 claimed. " There were three." 
 
 I drew my hand through his arm. " And 
 we must dine with the Lymans as if nothing 
 had happened," I said. 
 
 [128]
 
 CHAPTER X 
 
 IT took many submersions in the crystal- 
 clear depths of Farrell Creek to subdue the 
 fever in my heart. I had always thought 
 my bathing-suit made cork of my spirits, 
 and floated them with my body as carelessly 
 as a water-lily. But my left side was hope 
 lessly heavy, until I became engrossed in 
 the task we all undertook of teaching Marga 
 ret to swim. She had learned to take a few 
 strokes in sustaining salt water, but she 
 stood, trembling and transfixed, at the amaz 
 ing nature of our fresh-water feats. 
 
 The vanity that comes to the surface in 
 us all at times arose now in me, not a rich 
 cream of endeavour, but a miserable scum of 
 baser qualities. I tried distinctly to show 
 off. I dove from the overhanging boulders, 
 [129]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 splashing down into Margaret s screams. I 
 swam under water, I floated, I made long dis 
 tance records, I rescued imaginary victims in 
 the form of arrested debris. My exhibition 
 moved buoyantly to the sweet music of my 
 friend s surprise. Suddenly I realised that 
 I was winning all the applause, while my 
 poor husband was left to assist our guest. 
 I swam hastily up to them to make what be 
 lated amends I could by taking Margaret s 
 lessons into my own hands, but a conscious 
 ness of selfishness was not an auspicious 
 preparation for what lay before us. 
 
 I was dissatisfied with myself, and, when 
 w e hurried into our fresh waists and neat 
 walking skirts, it was difficult to be patient 
 with Margaret s evident disapproval of her 
 appearance. Clothes seemed so paltry. If 
 there were no tragedy upon my heart, and 
 no thoughtlessness upon my conscience, I 
 should have been willing to go barefoot 
 or, at least, I thought so. 
 [130]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 Margaret further exasperated me by ask 
 ing if we were not starting too early for a 
 six o clock dinner. " My dear," I said, with 
 studied gentleness, " compliments are meas 
 ured here by the eagerness to arrive. We 
 do not even know where the tree of knowl 
 edge grows." 
 
 " Pardon my persistency, Mary, won t 
 you ? " she smiled ; " I am so green in 
 Paradise." 
 
 Then she launched an animated conversa 
 tion with Roger that brought them in step 
 and thrust Maurice upon me for escort. 
 That sort of girl always begins a long story 
 with the wrong man at the exact moment of 
 pairing off. I tried not to make Maurice 
 responsible, as a young woman would, 
 though it was hard to listen to his animated 
 discussion of the opinions of " a friend of 
 his," feeling so sure, as I did, who the friend 
 was, and that there was an unconscious re 
 dressing of the statements for which he 
 [131]
 
 893 CHANTICLEER E& 
 
 seemed to be giving Agnes Birdsell full 
 credit. 
 
 If we all have, as has been said, a sub 
 ject upon which we are monomaniacs, mine 
 is perhaps woodland vandalism. I have no 
 tolerance to spare for the itching fingers 
 that tear flourishing ferns from their natu 
 ral environment to moult in tame dooryards ; 
 which cannot touch wild nature anywhere, 
 in fact, without breaking, or bruising, de 
 spoiling its home, and polluting their own 
 with stale odours of fresh fields. 
 
 The Lymans camp was flanked by droop 
 ing, transplanted growths that always 
 stirred my blood to wrath as I approached 
 it. This day the instinctive rush of feeling 
 was intensified by an indefinable, incongruous 
 atmosphere of festivity about the place. 
 For some reason a Japanese gong had 
 seemed to the head of the house an appropri 
 ate instrument for arriving guests to use for 
 their warning note. Roger struck it with 
 [132]
 
 SB CHANTICLEER 868 
 
 rather unnecessary fierceness, and a waiting- 
 maid appeared in full uniform. If a liver 
 ied footman had emerged suddenly from 
 the shades to wait upon Robinson Crusoe 
 and his man Friday, I do not believe Defoe 
 could have been more startled than we were 
 now. I am afraid we gaped at this ghost 
 of civilisation, Roger and I, in our robust 
 innocence, remembering as I do my brother s 
 high colour as we were ushered in. The 
 right-hand corner of the main tent was parti 
 tioned off with muffling drapery into a be- 
 cushioned apartment where our united eyes 
 fell upon a clock that indelicately registered 
 half-past five, as our ears were becoming 
 acquainted with muttered excuses from the 
 vanishing maid and hints of the ladies 
 speedy presence. 
 
 In that hour I learned what a generous 
 woman, what a fine-grained lady, Margaret 
 Robertson is. There was not one reproach 
 ful glance, not the most fleeting change of 
 [133]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 colour. She was the same confident, grace 
 ful girl I had always found her, apparently 
 unaware now of the shirt waist that seared 
 my remorse as if each of its tiny stripes 
 were so many hot irons torturing my con 
 sciousness. Our experiment had already 
 done this much for me that I had no regret 
 for myself, or for my husband, because of 
 my blundering misreading of the invita 
 tion. But I was truly sorry to have sub 
 mitted our guests to embarrassment. 
 
 Presently Mr. Lyman came in, red and 
 breathless. And, in a few minutes more, 
 the ladies appeared in diaphanous gowns 
 of pale shades and lace-trimmed ruffles that 
 lifted, for the first moment, eyes grown un 
 accustomed to a transport of admiration. 
 The elder sister wore a delicate green dim 
 ity, while Agnes was transcendently lovely in 
 a dainty pink lawn with fluttering ribbons, 
 bewitching bows, and graceful falls of lace. 
 The taste was negative, but the beauty was 
 [134]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 positive. Margaret looked to me suddenly 
 as if she might have had on a dozen shirt 
 waists, one above another, so conspicuous 
 had contrast made her costume. But no 
 one could have been less awkward under the 
 trial. She was no more conscious than a 
 disembodied spirit, and if Maurice had not 
 watched us so narrowly I might have thought 
 less of ourselves and more of the great jars 
 of ferns everywhere about us; there were 
 as ruthless displays of maidenhair as if it 
 were a common garden weed. My imagi 
 nation would strike inflexibly against the 
 bare brown spots from which all this wealth 
 of savoury green had been uprooted, but I 
 could not be half angry enough to satisfy 
 discontent, my brother s furtive glances kept 
 me so disturbed for Margaret. 
 
 Finally the Enderson neighbours arrived, 
 the lady of the party festive in pale blue 
 muslin, and the male contingent too in half- 
 formal finery. These women must all have 
 [135]
 
 $33 CHANTICLEER m 
 
 argued from a premise that the inexpensive- 
 ness of their gowns made them appropriate, 
 and the men had, of course, been merely 
 told what course to pursue. 
 
 Dinner was served by the trim maid we 
 had already seen, and by Mr. Lyman s gen 
 eral utility man, who, I suppose, must also 
 have been the cook. No one could say that, 
 no matter how many offices he had had to 
 perform, he did not fully appreciate the 
 dignity of this one. When he reappeared 
 for each course he had added some new 
 touch of pomp to his toilet. The seersucker 
 coat of the canned soup era had evolved into 
 dress tails by the canned plum pudding stage. 
 There was no necktie when the canned sal 
 mon abused our nostrils, but, by the time 
 we were pretending to eat potted quail, a 
 snowy band encircled his proud throat. I 
 was sorry when dinner was over, for I was 
 really curious to see how many more clothes 
 Herrickson had back in those mysterious re- 
 [136]
 
 &8 CHANTICLEER 858 
 
 gions where only culinary products are sup 
 posed to flourish, and to produce their own 
 kind. 
 
 My emancipated stomach recoiled from 
 the tinned stuffs, and I longed to be turned 
 out in the fields to nibble sorrel and clover- 
 tops, when the curtain had literally fallen 
 upon the nauseating display. But, rather, 
 we fled from the hot glaring lanterns outside 
 the tent to drink our coffee. The camp is 
 low and close to the water, and, in a damp, 
 still night, such as this was proving, mos 
 quitoes are an active torment. They are 
 unknown in our situation, and I had forgot 
 ten their existence until our fiery introduc 
 tion at this moment. I know I could have 
 endured it if they had merely taken a sip 
 of my blood now and then. But they filled 
 generous bumpers of that rich fluid, quaff 
 ing it with a gay, ringing buzz of defiance 
 that was infuriating. 
 
 Miss Birdsell told me at dinner that Percy 
 [137]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 Enderson had written a lovely pastoral which 
 was to be given soon at Judge Elliott s, and 
 that she was to assume one of the principal 
 roles. " I did not know he wrote at all," I 
 had said. 
 
 " He has published a lovely book of poems 
 about Sleep, and Pan, and Unrest. Don t 
 you know his name ? " she returned in mild 
 reproof. 
 
 I was forced to admit that I did not read 
 quite so much upon those topics as I had 
 done when they first became the imperative 
 themes of popular versifiers. 
 
 This conversation could not improve my 
 humour. If Judge Elliott, was to give a pas 
 toral, written by one of the rhyming biog 
 raphers of poor Pan, I knew too well that 
 my sad eyes should behold that pastoral. 
 Consequently the young interpreter of 
 Sleep and Unrest was henceforth my 
 enemy. Then I could not help hearing Miss 
 Birdsell telling Maurice in an undertone 
 [138]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 that she had made Sister have some sort 
 of particularly disgusting dressing because 
 she knew it was his favourite. Maurice had 
 exclaimed at her remembering his predilec 
 tion all that time, which turned out to be 
 exactly four days. I did not think that 
 nearly so wonderful as that Maurice should 
 like the dressing. It recalled Heine s 
 graphic description, " The still wretcheder 
 sauce, which has neither a Grecian nor a 
 Persian flavour, but which tastes like tea and 
 soft soap." 
 
 As these tender blandishments were go 
 ing on, I looked to see Margaret talking 
 animatedly with one of the married men. 
 
 While we drank our coffee, or I think it 
 would be more realistic to say while the mos 
 quitoes drank us, Margaret came to me to 
 whisper : " Roger and I have had such an 
 interesting talk about those cliffs over there. 
 I had no idea they were of that forma 
 tion." 
 
 [139]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 " Margaret Robertson," I said, " you did 
 not come here to talk geology to Roger." 
 
 She laughed a little uneasily. " ifo one 
 seems to have come here to talk to me about 
 anything else. But I will try." 
 
 The unconscious girl seated herself by 
 the young author, and, with deliberate forti 
 tude, invited a synopsis of a forthcoming 
 romance. Meanwhile Maurice was fanning 
 Agnes Birdsell, smiling arch winsomeness 
 into his eyes, in the charm of her gauzy pink 
 allurement. When the monotonous ticking 
 of Mr. Enderson s voice ceased, it was time 
 to go home. 
 
 As our party was starting away, Agnes 
 discovered a splinter in her finger, which, of 
 course, meant an appeal to the physician s 
 aid. The earnest practitioner led her very 
 gravely to the light of a glaring reflector for 
 examination. " It is nothing serious," he 
 called out to us. " You may go on. I will 
 overtake you." 
 
 [140]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 Of course we would go on. I could not 
 look at him holding Agnes Birdsell s hand. 
 Good nights rang all about us. The Ender- 
 sons went their way, we ours. 
 
 I wondered if the evening had been needed 
 discipline. If I were discontented with my 
 lot, I might have thought that dark blot of 
 conventionality was wafered upon the crys 
 tal fairness of my existence to teach by con 
 trast. If I had been luring Maurice to 
 Agnes Birdsell s side, the event might have 
 been the scene of my discovery that she 
 would not make a wise sister-in-law. Per 
 haps it had occurred to show me what I 
 would not have believed that I could 
 sneer at the hospitality of those with whom I 
 had broken bread. Nothing had pleased me 
 but that fine bit of comedy of Herrickson s. 
 The ladies betrimmed finery seemed less 
 odious than the greasy salmon and the wilted 
 ferns, though I loathed it all in retrospect, 
 and I was not even repentant.
 
 SS CHANTICLEER 88$ 
 
 When Maurice joined us Margaret was 
 discussing a new comet with Roger, and 
 mounting rocks for a better view of it. So 
 my brother helped me over the rough places. 
 " Don t you think Mrs. Lyman has remark 
 able executive ability to conjure up so much 
 convention in the woods ? " he asked. 
 
 " Granted one wants convention in the 
 woods, it is remarkable," I answered. Dis 
 cussing anything with Roger is merely turn 
 ing it over to the other side of my mind, but 
 I was not so despicable as to criticise our 
 entertainment to Maurice, if my thoughts 
 had been base. I changed the subject ab 
 ruptly, and he did not recur to it. 
 
 When Margaret and I were undressing, I 
 watched her take off her shirt waist with a 
 strange sinking of my heart. " Reproach 
 me," I said. " You are too big-minded for 
 this polluted world." 
 
 " Why, what do you mean ? " she asked, 
 turning puzzled eyes toward me. 
 [142]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 " My judging the Lymans by our stand 
 ards, and misleading you about their din 
 ner," I said. " The most scathing thing 
 Junius wrote to the Duke of Grafton applies 
 to me." 
 
 " What was it ? There were so many of 
 those most scathing things." 
 
 I gave her a penitent hug. She returned 
 it fervently. Then she asked, " What did 
 Junius say ? " 
 
 " It is not, I declaimed tragically, 
 " that you do wrong by design, but that you 
 never do right by mistake. 
 
 [143]
 
 CHAPTER XI 
 
 I WAS low in my mind the next day, very 
 low. I had not been so unhappy since I had 
 gained my freedom. I loathed myself as 
 much now as I had loathed the salmon salad 
 the night before. 
 
 Pride of opinion, contempt of every stand 
 ard but our own, these evils of the day, 
 had not been purged from my soul by 
 its fuller existence. I was ashamed, like 
 the other Eve in her Paradise, though with 
 a difference. Poor Eve ! I should have 
 been sorry for her, if I had not been so 
 busy thinking of that blessed Moses. How 
 much easier to be Daniel, how much easier 
 to be anybody or anything than meek. I 
 have known much good in the course of my 
 [144]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 years, but only three human beings that 
 were really meek. Two of these were men, 
 but there was one woman, from which fact 
 I dare hope that some random seed of that 
 rarest virtue may yet mature in my own 
 spirit. I marvel often that we think so 
 little of him who was greater than the 
 greatest hero of us all the supreme attainer 
 of the well-nigh unattainable. Venerable 
 Moses, my soul is low in the dust before 
 you. 
 
 From contemplation of my own future 
 crop of humility, my thoughts swung back 
 to consideration of that potent factor in 
 even the most humble living respect for 
 appearances. What other force, which in 
 volves no intrinsic value, is comparable with 
 it? I was as sorry for Margaret and Mau 
 rice as if I had induced them to break some 
 rule of godliness, and, too, when I knew I was 
 right. I was unworthy of my master who 
 said : " I sometimes try my acquaintances
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 by such tests as these: Who could wear 
 a patch, or two extra seams only, over the 
 knee ? It would be easier for them to hobble 
 to town with a broken leg than with a broken 
 pantaloon." 
 
 Not so grim, but almost as forcible, were 
 Lowell s words on the subject that possessed 
 me : " The code of society is stronger with 
 most persons than that of Sinai, and many 
 a man, who would not scruple to thrust his 
 fingers in his neighbour s pocket, would 
 forego green peas rather than use his knife 
 as a shovel." 
 
 So lowly was I that I even looked unper 
 turbed upon Maurice escorting Miss Bird- 
 sell, while Margaret was paired with Mr. 
 Enderson, when our young people started 
 off for the Park where they had been invited 
 for golf. Even that word of convention 
 ality did not disturb my emulation of the 
 patriarch. I deserved it, and, as for my 
 brother s fate, if he had not been already 
 [146]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 hopelessly in love with Miss Birdsell, his 
 pride could not sustain the comparison my 
 obduracy had thrust the rival into. 
 
 The thought of Margaret s heightened 
 value, since she had been tried in that hot 
 test crucible, and not once, even after twelve 
 hours reflection, hinted by word or gesture, 
 " I thought as much," would have made the 
 position more desperate for one less penitent, 
 and less like Moses. 
 
 I suffered for a long time, and then I 
 stood in the doorway and was happy. It 
 was that early afternoon hour when the 
 lush growths of summer seem to bear the 
 soul upward. The flight was hushed and 
 almost oppressively glorious. I had not the 
 spiritual strength to bear it alone. I 
 thought of Roger, and of how necessary he 
 was to every exalted mood, and then the 
 fancy seized me to dash off and tell him so. 
 
 I came, a little breathlessly, down to him 
 working in his beloved garden. He was not 
 [147]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 greatly surprised to see me; for my visits 
 are frequent when he is really engaged 
 there, though I do not so often break in 
 upon this between-chapters exercise. He 
 likes to get into the soil, when he is compos 
 ing ahead; digging up the ground seems to 
 unearth his thoughts, at the same time that 
 it relaxes the muscles of his body. 
 
 After a brief greeting, he was silent. He 
 knew that I realised he was mentally en 
 gaged. I stood, for a moment, wondering 
 how he could pull up weeds so deftly with 
 the tips of his fingers, and still keep those 
 busy members white and clean. 
 
 I kicked my foot against a stone, and 
 dropped my eyes. The sun glared down upon 
 the homely scene. What I had to say seemed 
 suddenly strangely out of place. I was much 
 embarrassed, but the spirit that had led me 
 thither made me speak, if it were but awk 
 wardly. 
 
 " Roger," I broke out, " it seems foolish, 
 [148]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 now I have come. But I have been thinking 
 - 1 must tell you : there is no happiness in 
 the world without you. I am glad I am your 
 wife." 
 
 My husband raised his head to look in my 
 eyes. There are no seasons and places for 
 love. It is beautiful even in a turnip patch. 
 
 [149]
 
 CHAPTER XII 
 
 MAKGAKET and Maurice were of necessity 
 thrown more upon each other for amusement 
 during the next week or two. The prospec 
 tive entertainment at Judge Elliott s was be 
 ing pushed toward success with a persistency 
 of rehearsal that engrossed, not only Agnes 
 Birdsell, but Mr. Enderson too, in the ca 
 pacity of manager. Mrs. Lyman s aid in ar 
 rangement was likewise levied upon, and 
 from the placid shade of our environment we 
 would see this warm and harassed trio hurry 
 by to their task daily and sometimes twice 
 daily. 
 
 " What a fatiguing thing a pastoral must 
 be," I said to my family the afternoon of the 
 dress rehearsal. We had formed ourselves 
 [150]
 
 833 CHANTICLEER S& 
 
 into a relief society, and had called in the 
 fevered sufferers, on their homeward way, to 
 a resuscitation of cold spring water and lem 
 onade and fruit punch. We each one had 
 some remedy to offer, and their necessity ac 
 cepted them all. 
 
 It was not the spring water nor the fruit 
 punch that went to their poor heads, but the 
 heat and harassment. It was after they 
 had staggered away that I made my remark 
 about pastorals. 
 
 We had been spending the day with the 
 pond lilies, in the cool shadows of Crystal 
 Lake. Gathering water lilies is one of 
 the few forms of acquisitiveness that I 
 cultivate; but those pure things are doomed 
 to so short a life where their lots are cast that 
 I enjoy sometimes snatching them from the 
 untimely fate of the inevitable destroying 
 insect. We brought home a basketful on this 
 day and laid them in a cool pool in the Vo- 
 senkill in front of our home. We enclosed 
 [151]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 the little inlet with stones that the flowers 
 might not float away, for we wanted to watch 
 them unclose with the morrow s sun; and 
 then we seated ourselves on moss-grown rocks 
 close by to gloat over their waxen, sleeping 
 beauty at short range. I believe we all tried 
 that evening to lift our conversation to the 
 level of their inspiration. Margaret and 
 Roger succeeded, and I do not think Maurice 
 and I were as commonplace as if we 
 had been gazing at a potato patch or a 
 pastoral. 
 
 That fateful word brings my narrative 
 back to the invitations that had come to us 
 for a garden fete to be held at Elliottiana. 
 Each message was written upon a roll of 
 birch bark and tied up with dried grass. The 
 man who brought them, in a fascinating box, 
 with those for the Lymans and Endersons, 
 gave at the first glimpse the impression of a 
 vender of some sort of edible delicacy. Roger 
 had rushed up to him with kindled appetite. 
 [152]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 My poor husband expected a delicious ta- 
 male, and was handed a bark invitation. 
 
 " Roger, you are looking murderously 
 after that poor fellow," I said as the retreat 
 ing footsteps crackled more faintly over the 
 dead leaves of the distance. " Why will you 
 harm him ? He is only an accessory to the 
 crime." 
 
 I know it was simply because he was tried 
 beyond human endurance that my husband 
 said the most malicious thing he could think 
 of. It was, " Mary, I believe you want to 
 go." 
 
 However, that bit of connubial theatrics is 
 as dead now as the lost tragedies of Sopho 
 cles. I forgave him freely, and borrowed 
 some cuff buttons of him to wear to the fes 
 tivities. Neither Margaret nor I had deemed 
 it fitting to bring any more elaborate costume 
 to the woods than one of white pique. After 
 we were dressed in these toilets of crackling 
 freshness and our two handsome men had 
 [ 153 ]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 donned duck trousers and jaunty jackets, our 
 vanity swaggered a little. I wondered if our 
 neighbours would wear French gowns. They 
 did not do that, but when they joined us en 
 route they were clad in the debatable finery 
 of dinner-party fame, with the effect height 
 ened by elaborate opera capes. 
 
 We started off in a heterogeneous group, 
 but I soon saw that Maurice was walking by 
 Agnes Birdsell s side. In the excitement of 
 her histrionic anticipations she was one of the 
 loveliest bits of girlhood I have ever seen, a 
 certain arch vivacity lending a touch of spu 
 rious brightness. Margaret s solid worth 
 was striding in approved gymnasium gait 
 with Mrs. Enderson. Ah, well, I had deter 
 mined to struggle no longer with fate. Mau 
 rice might always find beauty so rare the 
 most desirable wifely endowment. For my 
 self I knew that I undoubtedly needed as 
 well as deserved such discipline, but Roger 
 did not. Fortunately there is always some 
 [154]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 reason why we should continue to hope that 
 Providence may yet be kind. 
 
 Judge and Mrs. Elliott and the Misses El 
 liott were standing to receive arriving guests 
 upon their wide veranda, which was hung 
 about thickly with Japanese curtains, for 
 what reason I could not discover, unless it 
 was to shut out the air and run up the family 
 thermometer. The Judge is one of those 
 natural braggarts who deal exclusively in 
 superlatives. The last time he visited us he 
 was declaiming about how much money his 
 brother had lost in a western mine. This af 
 ternoon he said after the first greeting: "I 
 don t suppose there is a hotter place any 
 where than this. My thermometer didn t go 
 below eighty-seven any day last week. There 
 wasn t another one in the Park above 
 eighty." 
 
 I expressed my polite surprise and moved 
 on. Mrs. Elliott had been fanning my other 
 cheek with the remark : " One day it was 
 [155]
 
 *33 CHANTICLEER m 
 
 ninety-three. I think it was. Judge, wasn t 
 it ninety-three here the day before the thun 
 der-shower ? " 
 
 " Of course it was, but it s been worse than 
 that," the fever-producing voice persisted, its 
 owner following me on to my greeting of 
 other friends, although none of the men of 
 our party had yet been welcomed. " I tell 
 Mrs. Elliott she will smother you all in that 
 little tent to-night." 
 
 I turned my eyes after his to the lawn 
 where a tent of gay awning cloth was 
 stretching its empty sides in greedy anticipa 
 tion of coming victims. 
 
 " If you are determined to kill us," I 
 laughed with feeble jocoseness, " I think I 
 will petition for freezing to-night." 
 
 He gave me what Sydney Smith called " a 
 ready-money smile," and proceeded to clasp 
 Roger s sensitive fingers in his embracing 
 patronage. 
 
 I asked Mrs. Elliott, merely by way of 
 [156]
 
 &% CHANTICLEER 5$ 
 
 making talk, who a fine-looking old gentle 
 man was who had attracted my attention by 
 his isolated position in a remote pagoda on 
 the very outskirts of our host s grounds. 
 
 " That person ? Let me see," she hesi 
 tated. " I will ask the Judge." 
 
 " No, no," I interposed. " It is not of 
 consequence." 
 
 But protests were futile. Our party was 
 stayed in impatient congestion until the Judge 
 could be disentangled from his duties suffi 
 ciently for this ominous message : " I will 
 tell her all about him as soon as I can get 
 away from here." 
 
 He did give me a biography, mostly specu 
 lative, of the nice-faced old dear who de 
 served a better fate. I was carried to a rus 
 tic seat for the purpose. The Judge is gen 
 erous of words. I listened to him for a full 
 half-hour while I saw my party hopelessly 
 scattered, sauntering about in pairs or in 
 large groups hither and thither, in a real at- 
 [157]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 tempt, I think, to evade the sun, for there 
 had been a ruthless levelling of trees at El- 
 liottiana, though promenading to music was 
 the ostensible moving-spring of action. The 
 programme was conversation and music and 
 strolling until the rustic supper was served, 
 and then the feature of the day the pasto 
 ral play. 
 
 After leading me with pompous ceremony 
 to the remote seat our host spread himself out 
 beside me with his most judgified expression. 
 " Now let me hear/ he said, " just what it is 
 you want to know." And he proceeded to 
 question and cross-question me until my 
 poor, innocent make-talk speech loomed up 
 before me a condemnatory utterance of state 
 importance. 
 
 " I think you have misunderstood me," I 
 urged, when I could wedge that many words 
 into his earnestness. " My remark was the 
 merest bit of idle curiosity." 
 
 The Judge nodded his head. " That is all 
 [158]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 very well. I haven t misunderstood you. 
 The case stands thus: You asked Mrs. El 
 liott, did you not, who old Mr. Estabrook 
 was ? Now the fact is," here he lowered his 
 voice to a mysterious whisper, " I really do 
 not know. But I think I can find out for 
 you." 
 
 "Judge Elliott," I protested, "I do not 
 care. It makes no difference whatever." 
 
 " I beg your pardon. It makes a difference 
 to me. I want to oblige you." 
 
 " It is such a trifle." 
 
 He nodded sagely. " I believe I could 
 learn just what you want to know from 
 the Rev. Mr. Graham. Estabrook goes 
 to his church. I will write to him to 
 night." 
 
 " I cannot allow you to go to that trouble 
 for a mere whim of mine," I began a little 
 stiffly, for I was really worn by his persist 
 ency. 
 
 The Judge pouted out his lips, as he does 
 [159]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 in his most impressive moments. " I want 
 to find out for myself too/ he admitted. 
 " I had a voucher of respectability, signed 
 by the Reverend Graham and some others in 
 Newtown, where he has always lived, when I 
 sold him the land for his cottage. All I 
 know besides is that he was in the paint and 
 oil business for a good many years. He 
 seems to have saved a fair competency and 
 retired. I can easily find out more, and I 
 will. I didn t want to slight him, to-night, 
 when all the rest of the Park would be here. 
 He s all right anyway. You needn t be 
 afraid." 
 
 " I am not afraid," I cried hotly. " His 
 fine, gentle old face speaks for itself." 
 
 My indignant gaze turned away, and at 
 once it was softened by the dignified approach 
 of the subject of our conversation. 
 
 " Here he is now," the Judge exclaimed, 
 stepping forward with portly patronage. 
 " Let me introduce Mr. Estabrook." 
 [160]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 The coarse-grained Judge, rubbing the pa 
 trician soul of the ex-paint-and-oil merchant 
 with what Thoreau called " the greasy cheek 
 of his kindness/ set my blood to tingling. 
 I looked up into the soft brown eyes under a 
 thick thatch of grey hair. Our spirits 
 touched, as our hands clasped. There were 
 no stiff bows of convention s ordering. We 
 met like returned kindred. The Judge rolled 
 his condescension heavily away over the 
 gravel walk, and I made room for my friend 
 on the bench beside me. 
 
 We held no very definite converse. It was 
 more that I opened the windows of my soul 
 to flood consciousness with the radiance of 
 his love for wood and pasture, for sky and 
 mountain top. Where that radiance finds a 
 home, celestial reciprocity maintains. I 
 loved old Mr. Estabrook and he loved me. 
 
 "Come," I said presently. "You must 
 see my husband now." 
 
 He imitated me in rising, his kindly 
 [161]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 smile encouraging me to say : " My hus 
 band s name is Koger. He s the loveliest 
 man 
 
 " I guessed as much," my friend an 
 swered. 
 
 "Which?" I laughed. " Roger, or 
 lovely ? " 
 
 " Both," he said. " You look as if your 
 husband s name was Roger, and as if he were 
 lovely, too." 
 
 " Good," I cried, taking the arm he of 
 fered me. " Our spirits can have no secrets. 
 You know it already ; but you make me think 
 of the Psalmist David in his grandest 
 moods." 
 
 " Oh, my dear," he said, fluttering a little 
 with pleasure. " Is not that your hus 
 band ? " 
 
 " Of course it is. Roger, Roger, come 
 here ! " 
 
 He obeyed me. The men clasped hands. 
 Roger, too, had another friend. 
 [162]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 I was in a delirium of impatience to show 
 Mr. Estabrook to Margaret. He seemed the 
 touchstone of spirituality now. Roger had 
 not disappointed me and neither would Mar 
 garet, I knew, though I was almost afraid to 
 put her to the test. There was some little 
 difficulty in finding her, but at length we 
 came upon a pavilion in which was a group 
 of some half-dozen pretty girls with one very 
 young man penned in by their gauzy skirts. 
 Their occupation was appropriately light 
 banter, nothing but that. Margaret s ex 
 pression was what might have been expected 
 had I been a relief expedition arrived at the 
 exact moment when the last drop of water 
 had been apportioned. She excused herself 
 quickly and came out to me. I presented 
 Mr. Estabrook. She looked up into his dear 
 old eyes. Their hands, too, met. We were 
 a party of four friends. 
 
 Presently we were asked to select, for the 
 rustic supper which was about to be served, 
 [163]
 
 $33 CHANTICLEER 88$ 
 
 one of the little tables strewn over the lawn. 
 Maurice came to urge Margaret to join a 
 group of girls who had wound their gossamer 
 web about him, hand and foot, as only such 
 frail young innocence can bind and tie. She 
 begged to be allowed to stay with us, and I 
 added my protestations to hers. Our party 
 was so complete, so exactly what it should be, 
 that I was willing to brook, for its sake, Mau 
 rice s veiled impatience. 
 
 The rustic supper was served by maids 
 dressed like dairymaids. Bright tin plates 
 and cups were used, but their simplicity was 
 marred somewhat by ornately heavy silver in 
 the form of knives and forks and spoons. 
 The menu was fried chicken with brown- 
 bread sandwiches; watercress salad with 
 pickled artichokes, wafers and cheese ; baked 
 apples and cream with gingerbread nuts and 
 sugar jumbles; iced coffee and tea in 
 tin cups. The small tables were spread 
 with coarse crash squares, with centre 
 [164]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 decorations of brown ginger- jars filled 
 with buttercups and daisies, or with pink 
 and white clover. We were a very merry 
 party; and if we did not eat greedily of 
 the substantial bounty, it was merely that 
 we were too busily talking. It was not be 
 cause we were reserving our appetites for 
 what the Judge had promised me in whis 
 pered confidence, as we were taking our seats. 
 " The women folks would have this," he 
 said. " They read about it somewhere. It s 
 all rustic, you know. But, after the pastoral, 
 you will have my supper." 
 
 " You are very hospitable," I murmured 
 to his back, for he had already begun his 
 apology to the next tableful. 
 
 I do not know whether it was Roger or I 
 we were all so united in our conversation 
 - who told Mr. Estabrook about our new 
 life. But one of us said that, when our sim 
 ple little home was completed, it looked, with 
 its extended wings, like a contented cockerel 
 [165]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 about to shrill his happy bragging, so we 
 named it Chanticleer on the spot, and gave 
 it a motto from Thoreau, " I do not propose 
 to write an ode to Dejection, but to brag as 
 lustily as Chanticleer in the morning, stand 
 ing on his roost, if only to wake my neigh 
 bours up." 
 
 " Then you too love Thoreau ? " our lis 
 tener smiled. 
 
 I said, " Yes. I was sure you did. Of 
 course one wishes sometimes he was not so 
 wilfully pagan ; but I care more for him 
 than for many writers that I never disagree 
 with, and beneath the skin of acerbity there 
 is always mellow sweetness." 
 
 My answer was the beaming glance of ap 
 proval. That was the end. Our happy meal 
 was over. Maurice joined us and we went to 
 the tent where camp-chairs were arranged in 
 long, close rows facing a verdant rostrum. 
 This was fashioned by enclosing a square of 
 lawn with tubs of tall shrubbery and great 
 [166]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 boughs of evergreens hung with gay Japanese 
 lanterns. 
 
 There was a little subdued music from 
 mandolins behind the oleander trees, and 
 then Pan himself emerged from the cedar 
 shades, looking very conscious, whether be 
 cause of having been so much in print of late, 
 or because of the conspicuous bearskin robe 
 covering his nether limbs, I cannot say. At 
 any rate he played tremulously ; and, behold, 
 twelve young girls, Agnes and the Misses 
 Elliott among them, I was about to say 
 trooped forth. But they must have flown. 
 They were butterflies, with gauzy wings and 
 long antennae shooting out from caps that 
 matched their diaphanous gowns. Agnes was 
 a yellow butterfly, as she is brunette. The 
 blondest girls were blue, or green. Guided 
 by the soft notes of Pan s flute, they flew to 
 some gigantic red paper roses which drooped 
 their stems upon the grass, evidently for that 
 purpose. Here the butterflies performed 
 [167]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 gyrations and things, half dancing, half 
 gymnastic, and all calculated to heighten the 
 colour of the audience s cheeks. My mind is 
 rather hazy as to what it was all about, but I 
 know it lasted a long time, and that there was 
 a second scene into which a lamb garlanded 
 with daisies was led by a golden-haired child 
 in a white frock, and that the lamb was de 
 termined to play the leading role and was al 
 ways getting itself in the way of the butter 
 flies, which, after the first act, changed to 
 roses with long green leaves at their sides, 
 and thin gowns in the colours of the queen of 
 flowers Jacqueminot, Marechal Niel, Bon 
 Silene, and white. As they were even larger 
 and bolder than the paper roses growing 
 amid rustling foliage in long rows of glazed 
 jardinieres, they plucked these and tossed 
 them contemptuously about, while they 
 danced, and danced, and danced more. As 
 well as I could see over my blushes it was 
 still Pan who discoursed the wailing notes 
 [ 168 ]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 that incited them to their revelry. Pres 
 ently Maurice put Margaret s wrap about 
 her. " You are tired," he said, " and the 
 air is too close here for Mary." We all 
 arose quietly, and withdrew, except patient 
 Mr. Estabrook. 
 
 Outside the tent we found our host and 
 hostess hurriedly superintending some later 
 arrangements. There was to be a platform 
 dance, and fireworks, besides the spread that 
 the Judge could hardly bear to hear of our 
 missing. 
 
 " My sister is feeling a little ill," Maurice 
 explained. " I cannot allow her to remain." 
 
 " You see what it is to go out in your 
 physician s company," I smiled, hastily with 
 drawing my hand from the determined ju 
 dicial grasp. 
 
 " Have some ice-cream now," our host 
 said. " Here, Simmons, get some ice " 
 
 " No, no, no," we laughed back. " Thank 
 you so much." I think it was all we could 
 [169]
 
 33 CHANTICLEER m 
 
 any of us do to keep from breaking into a 
 run. After we bad gained the first slope of 
 the forest, I said to Roger : 
 
 " What is that banging noise behind us ? 
 ISTot an ice-cream freezer in pursuit, I hope. 
 O dear ! There ! I am not at all like 
 Moses." 
 
 " Why, Molly," he laughed. " Who ever 
 supposed you were ? " 
 
 I tossed up my head rather haughtily. " I 
 am a great deal meeker than I once was, re 
 ceiving other people s opinions and standards 
 in a really lowly spirit sometimes." 
 
 Then we both laughed, and I caught his 
 arm to skip him over the pine needle path, in 
 spirited imitation of the flower-girls. 
 
 It was a lovely night. A beneficent full 
 moon flooded the winding, tree-lined walk 
 with its mystic glory. A soft breeze flut 
 tered the alder bushes and sprayed us with 
 the faint scent of clematis. Roger and I had 
 started on in advance of the others. After 
 [170]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 my one gay outburst, I strolled leisurely 
 along upon his arm, cooing happy, low- 
 voiced prophecies to him. Maurice s stand 
 had been wine in the blood of us both. 
 
 " This night, this moon, this romantic 
 walk will do the rest," I gurgled. " Go as 
 slowly as possible, Roger. Sauntering is the 
 only pace for sentiment." 
 
 " How glorious it all is," my husband 
 said, drawing in a deep breath of satisfac 
 tion. " I wish every fellow had time to make 
 love to his wife. Do you know, dearest, you 
 were the prettiest woman there to-night ? " 
 
 " Why, Roger," I murmured, transported 
 with delight. " I was wondering, all the 
 evening, how such a handsome man could 
 care for a black little creature like me." 
 
 " Oh, my dear," he cried in pained pro 
 test. 
 
 " But, Roger," I went on, drawing closer 
 to him. " It is not so much looks that I 
 mean. You are so so noble." The
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 word came hard. It is always difficult to ex 
 tol those we love best. " In all the seven 
 years I have lived with you, I have never 
 known you to even think a really petty 
 thing." 
 
 He pressed the hand on his arm with a rev 
 erence that awed me. " No man could be 
 bad with such a wife," he whispered. 
 
 We were very quiet after that. But the 
 more familiar landmarks became, the more 
 slowly we walked. Each moment was a ce 
 lestial era. We could not bear the thought 
 of a finale. I lifted my head to look and to 
 listen to the night, poignantly conscious not 
 only of my own heart-throbs, but of my hus 
 band s too. " If it might be always so," I 
 sighed. 
 
 " And we cast anchor here through the 
 eternities," Roger answered fervently. 
 
 " How tired you must be to-night, Mary," 
 Margaret s voice called to us. " Would you 
 care if we went first ? " 
 
 [172]
 
 $33 CHANTICLEER %& 
 
 We stepped aside, and they passed us, 
 darting off through the moonlight like a pair 
 of belated wheelmen. 
 
 Roger and I stood for a moment looking 
 blankly into each other s faces. Then my 
 husband bent over and kissed my trembling 
 lips. 
 
 [173]
 
 CHAPTEK XIII 
 
 WE had asked Mr. Estabrook to come to 
 us very soon. He did so. It was not more 
 than eight o clock on the morning after the 
 fete champetre when his kind eyes looked 
 in at our door. We were glad. I saw him 
 first, and after I had welcomed him warmly 
 I called to Margaret and to Roger to come 
 quickly. 
 
 They were as surprised and as delighted 
 as I had been. Our guest beamed with tran 
 quil pleasure through all our eager greet 
 ings. Then he told us he had found a 
 deserted humming-bird s nest as he came 
 thither. " Would we care to go to see it ? 
 It was not very far away, and so much pret 
 tier where it hung than if he should bring it 
 to us." 
 
 [174]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 Of course we wished to go. Humming 
 birds nests are nature s crown jewels ; some 
 of us had never seen one except in collec 
 tions. 
 
 As \ve started off I noticed Maurice 
 wandering toward the observatory, looking 
 rather disconsolate. I told the others to go 
 on, and went back where I could call an in 
 vitation to him to join us. I knew he would 
 not care for the nest, but he might like the 
 walk. 
 
 Almost the first words he said when he 
 reached me were, " Mary, I must leave you 
 to-morrow." 
 
 " Why, Maurice," I gasped, " you take 
 away my breath." 
 
 He smiled somewhat wanly. " There is 
 but one week left of my vacation. I think 
 I will spend that at the Bay." 
 
 I knew he had been receiving invitations 
 for yachting expeditions and house-parties 
 to every point of the compass all during his
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 stay with us. He is exceedingly popular 
 and engrossingly preempted. We had won 
 dered considerably that we could keep him 
 as long as we had. 
 
 " You will leave an ugly gap behind, 
 Maurice," I said. " You seem part of our 
 life now." 
 
 He wheeled about to look in my face. 
 " Mary," he began passionately, " I cannot 
 tell you what all this has been to me. But 
 I really can stand it no longer." 
 
 " It must be lonely for you," I murmured, 
 trying to keep the hurt out of my voice. 
 
 " I do not mean that," he said. " It is 
 your happiness together, Roger and you. I 
 cannot endure to watch it one day more." 
 
 He was looking down the path where 
 Margaret walked between the two men, her 
 broad shoulders rising above the sumach 
 branches. My eyes followed his. " Mau 
 rice ! " I said, starting toward him. 
 
 He nodded his head. 
 
 [176]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 I caught his hand for a sympathetic in 
 stant. " Have you have you told her ? " 
 I asked. 
 
 " No, thank fate," he said bitterly. " I 
 have not been quite such a fool." 
 
 " Then you do not know. That sort of 
 woman can never be reckoned upon." 
 
 " Why, Mary," he exclaimed fiercely, 
 " she cares more for that old codger down 
 there than she does for me." 
 
 I appreciated his suffering too keenly 
 to note the aspersion of my friend. I 
 merely repeated that he could not be sure, 
 without the test of question. 
 
 He stopped quite still to stare at me with 
 deliberate savageness. " Would any living 
 woman have walked at that pace last night 
 with a man she cared for ? " 
 
 " No, Maurice, candidly she would not. 
 You are quite right," I answered. " There 
 is no balm for this hurt. I can only pack 
 your trunk and wish you Godspeed." 
 [177]
 
 CHANTIOLEER 
 
 I was very anxious to ask what it all 
 meant, but of course I could not tlien. 
 Presently my brother said faintly, " I 
 would stay the week if I thought it would 
 do any good." 
 
 " No," I answered. " Your first plan is 
 best. We shall miss you sorely; that may 
 be the awakener of more serious emotions." 
 I felt that if he had only been in love since 
 the night before he could hardly have ex 
 hausted his powers of endurance. Perhaps 
 my face registered this thought, for he 
 flung out the ejaculation: 
 
 " I am sure I have been patient ! " 
 
 "Patient?" I cried. "Why, Maurice, 
 what is twelve hours of patience ? " 
 
 He turned, and I followed to walk back 
 over the ground we had come. " You said 
 twelve hours, Mary. I suppose you meant 
 twelve months. But it is more than that. 
 Ever since I first saw her, two years ago, I 
 have suffered this torture." 
 [178]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 He was so good-looking and well-groomed, 
 so capable of enjoyment, and his successful 
 life so crowded with pleasures, that he 
 seemed an absurd victim of torture. I al 
 most smiled. But pain in young eyes is too 
 incongruous to be unmoving. When I 
 looked at him narrowly every thought but 
 pity died. 
 
 " This is all an enigma to me, Maurice," 
 I said presently. " I suppose you are still 
 talking of Margaret." 
 
 " Whom else he began, then stopped 
 and changed colour. " She could not pos 
 sibly think herself but as if she cared ! 
 She would dance at my wedding to-morrow. 
 The Lymans have been kind and invited me 
 to their camp. The sister is phenomenally 
 beautiful. I always enjoy Avatching her. 
 But I do hope you and everybody (that is, 
 if she cares) understand that I only went 
 as the most casual acquaintance. Young En- 
 derson was nearly always there, too." 
 [179]
 
 *S CHANTICLEER 8% 
 
 " But I should not think you would have 
 wanted to do it, Maurice, if you cared for 
 her," I argued weakly. 
 
 " I did not especially, even at first, but 
 I had no excuse to off er. And after Mar 
 garet came, I hoped she might be a little 
 sorry. It sounds asinine in connection with 
 her, but most women would have been a bit 
 piqued perhaps." 
 
 Sometimes I am very dense, and then I 
 am tiresome. " Maurice," I said, " you 
 know I believe you, but you certainly treas 
 ured that pencil drawing." 
 
 " Of course I did and I do," he answered 
 gallantly. " It is a charming little sketch." 
 There was an afterglow of mawkishness 
 that stirred my blood jealously for Mar 
 garet 
 
 " It looks no more like the Vosenkill than 
 it looks like "Willow Creek," I cried. 
 
 He stared blankly. "It is Willow 
 Creek," he said. 
 
 [180]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 " When did Agnes Birdsell ever see Wil 
 low Creek ? " I demanded. 
 
 " I have no notion what Miss Birdsell has 
 seen or left unseen," he answered with ris 
 ing dignity. " Margaret made me that 
 drawing. It shows a great deal of artistic 
 talent." 
 
 " Maurice," I said, " this explains much. 
 I do not doubt your affection now." And 
 indeed I did not. " Margaret is not the 
 sort of girl to be won by any of the old 
 weapons of love s warfare, jealousy or even 
 devotion. You must make her proud of 
 you. Successful surgical operations will 
 work wonders. A little ridicule won t hurt 
 your cause, and it must be braced at every 
 point by dogged determination." 
 
 " Thank you for everything, Mary," he 
 said ; " your advice and your sympathy and 
 all. I shall always be obliged to Roger and 
 you for letting me see how happy a husband 
 and wife may be." He changed colour at the 
 [181]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 sacred words, and I smiled gratitude and 
 encouragement to him through tears. 
 
 " Don t you think we would better join 
 the others now ? " I asked. 
 
 " Yes," he answered. And then, when 
 we had nearly reached that busy group of 
 investigators, he said, " I am glad you liked 
 the little drawing." 
 
 [182]
 
 CHAPTEK XIV 
 
 MAUEICE was too serious in his love to 
 ridicule Margaret as I had suggested, 
 though he tried with fervent exactitude to 
 carry out the other hints. I had not meant, 
 by determination, sticking to her like a 
 hurr, but so he interpreted the advice. I 
 was feverishly nervous at seeing him con 
 stantly in her way for the next few hours. 
 The poor girl was scarcely granted space in 
 which to breathe, so completely was she 
 hedged about by his broad shoulders. 
 
 I sent him with some word of message to 
 the farmer who brings our necessary stores, 
 and then I slipped out to join him when 
 Margaret was engaged indoors with her vo 
 luminous correspondence. I could not let 
 [183]
 
 SB CHANTICLEER W 
 
 her guess that she was the central figure in 
 a plot. 
 
 " Do you still think I would better go 
 away to-morrow, Mary ? " my brother asked 
 wistfully. 
 
 " By all means," I answered firmly. 
 " And, Maurice dear, do not believe me in 
 delicate, but I did not exactly mean by per 
 sistency, standing about always close enough 
 for her to touch. That might get to be a 
 little a little I could not think of a 
 gentler word, so I was obliged to say 
 " nauseating." 
 
 Maurice turned his starlike eyes, pathetic 
 with tender misery, full upon me. " I hope 
 you are not giving me wrong advice, Mary," 
 he said. " I certainly am growing confused. 
 Remember my whole life is ruined if I 
 make a mistake now." 
 
 My head swam giddily. But every 
 woman is officious. To interfere in affairs 
 of the heart is the breath of her delicate nos- 
 [184]
 
 333 CHANTICLEER E& 
 
 trils. Frightened as I was, I stood my 
 ground. " You must ask her to marry you 
 before you go," I said stoutly. 
 
 " Why, Mary," he cried, " I might as 
 well think of asking you." 
 
 " One cannot foresee what such a girl will 
 do. And then, at the worst, you will know 
 just where you stand." 
 
 " I know only too well now," he struck in 
 desperately. 
 
 " Possibly," I agreed, " but it will be 
 best, in any event, to have her getting accus 
 tomed to the idea. Our more intellectual 
 young women are not like the old-fashioned 
 sort that Dr. Holmes spoke of as always hav 
 ing an answer trembling on their lips for 
 every unmarried man they meet. I do not 
 really suppose Margaret has ever seriously 
 considered marriage for herself, and I think 
 there is a tacit agreement between her and 
 her sister Claire not to marry. They are per 
 fectly contented in their family life the 
 [185]
 
 m CHANTICLEER S& 
 
 daughters and a sympathetic mother. I 
 have heard all their plans for a congenial 
 independent future together. The sooner 
 some attractive suitor presents another view 
 of happiness the better. She must not 
 become irrevocably confirmed in her 
 opinion." 
 
 " I am sure I am willing to do anything 
 that has hope in it; but I confess this does 
 seem utter folly." 
 
 " It will be/ I answered, " if you go 
 about it in that hopeless spirit. You must 
 assume a manner of command. As if the 
 thing were altogether feasible; if not now, 
 why, in the end, there would be no escaping 
 it. Not a vain man s point of view, but a 
 fatalist s. Give her worth its full due, of 
 course. I know of a case where a man pro 
 posed futilely to the lady of his heart on 
 five different occasions. On the sixth he 
 remarked, This is the last time I shall ask 
 you. Will you marry me ? She said Yes. 
 [186]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 My dear, that waiting affection had grown to 
 be so vital a part of her existence she could 
 not have lived without it." 
 
 Maurice shook his handsome head. " It 
 does not seem to me that I would ask even 
 Margaret six times. But maybe I would. 
 I should not have expected, once, to become 
 this meek ass that I am now. When I begin 
 to bray, pen me up with the cow. I sha n t 
 care." 
 
 " Your fate does not lie that way," I 
 said, patting his arm caressingly. " It con 
 verges with Margaret s. You just see. 
 There! I think I won t go any farther. 
 Whatever we do, we must not let her guess 
 collusion." He took off his hat gravely, and 
 I slipped away. 
 
 There was no time to lose, if I was to get 
 Maurice off the next day. So when Marga 
 ret started down the path to meet the man 
 who brings the mails late in the afternoon, 
 I motioned my brother to go with her. It 
 [1ST]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 was a bold move. My heart pounded like a 
 horse s hoofs on a hard road. 
 
 I could think of nothing else, so I inter 
 rupted Roger. He laid down his pen, for I 
 was drawing the long breath of garrulity as 
 I came. 
 
 " Roger," I whispered, " Maurice is in 
 love with Margaret. And so he is going 
 away to-morrow." 
 
 " Well, he ought to go away," was his an 
 swer, " if he has fallen in love with two 
 women in three weeks. There are no more 
 here, so he must seek new quarters for next 
 week, must he ? " 
 
 " I suppose you are cross because I dis 
 turbed you," I pouted. " But it is more 
 than three weeks, and he has not been in 
 love with two women. It has been Margaret 
 all along. Two whole years and she made 
 the sketch and it was not the Vosenkill at 
 all. It was Willow Creek, and Maurice 
 thinks it is charming. You need not look so 
 [188]
 
 JUS CHANTICLEER BBS 
 
 contemptuous. They are good, honourable 
 people, if they don t know very much about 
 art," 
 
 Roger laughed. " I don t suppose they 
 would steal our spoons. But I should think 
 Maurice might know something about per 
 spective, if he is a specialist." 
 
 " He has enough else to think of," I an 
 swered coldly. " He has cared for Margaret 
 all this time. He knows she doesn t love 
 him, and now he has gone to ask her to 
 marry him. 7 am sorry for Maurice." 
 
 Roger stared at me. I suppose I was a 
 little wild. " Why should he ask her to 
 marry him if he knows she doesn t love 
 him ? " he demanded. 
 
 "I told him to," I said. 
 
 " Mary," Roger burst out, " explain ra 
 tionally what this is all about." 
 
 I tried to do so. But there were so many 
 " this afternoons," and " the day before yes 
 terdays," and " last summers/ as there al- 
 [189]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 ways are when one is not quite sure one has 
 been very wise, that I think Roger was con 
 fused, and I know I was. Before my re 
 cital had closed Maurice came to look for 
 me. One glance at his face was sufficient 
 to make my footsteps toward him, drag 
 heavily. 
 
 " Well, Mary," he said, as soon as we were 
 alone on the hig rock, " it is over." 
 
 " Not over," I answered stoutly, though 
 with trembling lips, " just begun, Maurice." 
 
 He shook his head. 
 
 " Though perhaps I ought not to have 
 submitted you to this, for some possible 
 future good - 
 
 He stopped me generously. " You are 
 an angel, whether a mistaken one or not. 
 Don t worry about me. Margaret is not dis 
 posed to, and I sha n t let you." 
 
 "What did she say?" 
 
 Maurice straightened himself against the 
 old pine. " Oh, all those things you said she 
 [190]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 might; about an independent existence be 
 ing necessary to her nature, and the unlike 
 lihood of finding any other relations so 
 congenial as her home life; and everything 
 that a practical man could not make head 
 nor tail of. I suppose she meant she was 
 too happy as it is. But her first look of 
 surprise was enough for me. I saw she did 
 not want me, and I did not seem to care 
 why." 
 
 " What has become of her ? " I asked. 
 "We fell in with Miss Birdsell and Mr. 
 Enderson, looking for the letter-carrier too, 
 and I left her with them. You think I ought 
 to go to-rnorrow, Mary ? " 
 
 " Certainly. The earlier the better." 
 " Very well. I suppose you are right." 
 " Maurice," I said, " I am sure I have 
 not made a mistake, but I am frightened 
 now." 
 
 He took my hand in his. " Dear little 
 sister," he said, " whatever happens you 
 [191]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 have nothing to regret. You have given me 
 your whole sympathy, and that is not done 
 every day." 
 
 Men have even more of the nobler traits 
 than women, I believe, but unselfishness is 
 not one of them. I had always supposed 
 Roger had a monopoly of this virtue; but, 
 now that I saw Maurice s face full only of 
 concern for me, I felt that even Margaret 
 was unworthy of hirn, but that, if he 
 wanted her, he should have her, if only 
 strength were left me to fight with fate. 
 " You are just like Roger, Maurice," I said 
 with a sob in my voice. 
 
 " Hardly that, I am afraid," he answered, 
 pressing my hand with fraternal kindness. 
 " But, Mary don t worry about this. It 
 is not of the least importance. I shall prob-- 
 ably forget all about it in a day or so." 
 
 [192]
 
 MAUEICE went away the next morning, 
 with a face that did not look as if he were in 
 a fair way to forget his troubles. 
 
 Eoger s own taste is so nicely balanced 
 that he is altogether intolerant of errors in 
 appreciation. I accused him afterward of 
 snubbing his brother because he chanced to 
 value a rather faulty drawing. Of course 
 my accusation was denied. Roger said he 
 did not suppose Maurice would care to be 
 coddled by him as if he were some lovesick 
 swain, implying that one was enough to play 
 that part. 
 
 " I believe, Mary," he declared, " that you 
 fed him with a spoon and put sugar on his 
 bread." It was my turn to deny now, but I 
 [193]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 knew it was best for the cause to have Mau 
 rice s place empty, though the maternal in 
 me did cry aloud when his large-eyed misery 
 marched off alone. 
 
 It was difficult to keep a sharp note out of 
 my voice now and then in talking to Marga 
 ret. I may have misjudged her, but I felt 
 that, instead of missing our brother, she was 
 relieved by his absence. I have often heard 
 her say: "I do not find men so congenial, 
 some way, as women. Of course Roger is 
 not meant. He is always not at all like a 
 woman, but fully as charming." 
 
 I was sure her unconcern at this momen 
 tous time was not assumed. I missed my 
 brother with pronounced tragedy, until Roger 
 gave ine a hint that I was rather playing to 
 the galleries, and then, some way, I could 
 not do it at all. It is so hard to be anvthinsr 
 
 K O 
 
 but hopeful in this Eden. My prayer for 
 Maurice s happiness became the contented 
 chirp of a trustful robin. 
 [194]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 Margaret went upon a tour of solitary ob 
 servation one morning while I was briefly en 
 gaged. We found that she did not call our 
 flower intimates quite so much by their for 
 mal botanical names as she had done. Some 
 of the poetry of nature was beginning to 
 glow in her blood. We might yet instil an 
 other form of sentiment, I thought, when she 
 came back from what we call the Clematis 
 Jungle, vowing she had no other love but 
 that. She gave me also then this short human 
 record : 
 
 " Mr. Estabrook was sitting on the knoll 
 that looks past the creek over the south side 
 pastures. He was startled and exceedingly 
 perturbed when I called out to him. And, 
 Molly, this is spotless truth: he certainly 
 hid something behind the bushes there before 
 he came down to join me. For a long time 
 after he seemed nervous and shaken." 
 
 " The place is now complete," I mocked, 
 " if we have a mystery too. He has probably 
 [195]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 been burying a dead kitten. Run back and 
 ask him to dinner." 
 
 It was a day of domestic excitement. We 
 were to try for the first time our own sweet 
 corn that had been raised by our hands with 
 patient care and exultant joy. 
 
 Then Margaret and I had made, very early 
 in the cool morning, rival loaves of brown 
 bread. She had had the benefit of more 
 cooking-school lessons than I, but I was older 
 than she. It remained to be seen which of 
 those light, crusty squares would prove more 
 toothsome. I had a presentiment, some way, 
 that mine would be better, but I noticed that 
 Margaret went oftenest to look at hers when 
 they were set out to cool. 
 
 To cap these inspiriting events, was not 
 this the day in which the little churn for 
 which we had sent to town elected to appear ? 
 It held about a gallon of our rich Alderney 
 cream. It turned with a crank and was alto 
 gether the most fascinating of small imple- 
 [196]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 ments. It entertained us out under the 
 sweet hemlocks back of our house, Margaret 
 and Mr. Estabrook and me. And while we 
 were rhythmically turning we could look up 
 into the clematis-crowned knoll. My fat 
 robin censor perched on a neighbouring 
 bough to nod encouragement. I was glad he 
 was pleased, for he had grown critical since 
 he first followed us from his old haunts on 
 the edge of the woods in that unfriendly atti 
 tude of robins amid a wilder environment. 
 ISTow he had brought a mate and set up 
 housekeeping near us he had assumed the 
 privileges of confidential neighbour, and I 
 was growing fearful of his blinking, critical 
 eye. So I was glad, as I say, to find it glit 
 tering approval of our occupation. 
 
 I inaugurated the proceeding. The others 
 were company, to be sure, but then it was my 
 churn. Margaret gave up her place to Mr. 
 Estabrook sooner than I felt that even he de 
 served. A serious fault of men is that they 
 [ 197 ]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 never know when to stop, once they begin 
 anything like that. Beaming complacently 
 through his eyeglasses, Mr. Estabrook 
 churned and churned. Finally in response 
 to my wistful glances he did say, " I am 
 afraid, my dear, I may be keeping you from 
 this." I did not even whisper ISTo. I slid 
 into his place with honest alacrity, but, just 
 as my eager grasp was laid upon the handle 
 of that alluring crank, Roger hurried out to 
 us. 
 
 " Let me do that, Mary," he said. " You 
 must be tired." ^ 
 
 That husband of mine churned until all 
 the delightful yellow mass had come was 
 there. The butter was made. It was Roger 
 who had felt the thrill of the golden arrival 
 through his pulses. Four eager heads bent 
 over the open churn. It was tremendously 
 exciting. Then I brought the wooden bowl, 
 and, with much verbal assistance from the 
 men, transferred the butter to that for the 
 [ 198 ]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 making, which none of the others seemed to 
 covet. It was charming occupation, though, 
 working and moulding that soft, rich, yellow 
 stuff, pressing out the buttermilk and finally 
 sculping it into an orthodox roll. We were 
 so impatient to try it that we concluded to 
 have our meal at once. This was to consist 
 of the young, tender, deliciously sweet corn, 
 the fresh brown bread wdth the new butter, 
 and glasses of cold, rich milk. Just as the 
 corn began its savoury boiling there was a 
 stir outside of our home, and, behold ! Miss 
 Amanda Decker evolved. % > 
 
 I had written her, early in the summer, 
 begging that she would come to us whenever 
 she was moved to do so. Her inclination had 
 shaped itself at dawn that very day, and so, 
 by two different farm-wagon routes, she had 
 wound her way to us. The last stage of the 
 journey had been under the escort of our 
 letter-carrier the boy who lives in the 
 homestead standing at the edge of the forest 
 [199]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 as if it might be our lodge. I was glad she 
 acknowledged our freedom sufficiently to 
 send no warning. The surprise was delight 
 ful. 
 
 All through this fine morning the shadow 
 of commonplaces lurked. Duty was calling 
 us to the Lyman camp. Those neighbours 
 had surprised us by appearing, the evening 
 before, to pay a farewell visit. The ladies of 
 the party were hungering for some sort of 
 excitement, while the head of the family was 
 depressed into active melancholy by his pres 
 ent environment. They could endure it no 
 longer, they announced rather resentfully, as 
 if we were responsible for their sufferings. 
 The example of our happy condition, which 
 had misled them, was, we could see, a griev 
 ance which they were making heroic efforts to 
 conceal. 
 
 Under such circumstances I had no voice 
 to refuse the vague offer of many things that 
 would hardly " be worth moving," but that 
 [200]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 might serve our purpose. I knew the sugges 
 tion was a covert stab at the clean, bare room 
 spaces we valu,e, and my taste rose up in re 
 bellion at the thought of poor Chanticleer 
 becoming a beast of burden to a motley col 
 lection of useless traps. 
 
 Roger was impervious to alarm. His 
 whole mind was given to following up Mr. 
 Lyman s intention of never returning to the 
 Vosenkill, by the purchase of his land here. 
 George Lyman is a promising painter, a fine 
 draughtsman and a sympathetic colourist, but 
 the Central Park in early spring is much 
 more to his taste than the bosky glen where 
 he had settled for inspiration. 
 
 I need not have been alarmed. Mrs. Ly 
 man is not inordinately generous. We found 
 that the most her prudence could collect was 
 a pile of paper-covered novels. " They are 
 not worth much," she said shamelessly, " but 
 they serve to kill time." 
 
 I started. We were so remote from that 
 [201]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 point of view. The words of him who knew 
 so well how to live rang in my ears, " As if 
 any one could kill time without injuring 
 eternity." 
 
 While Roger and Mr. Lyman were com 
 pleting business arrangements, Mrs. Lyman 
 called me aside elaborately for " a little can 
 did remonstrance." She was disturbed, she 
 said, by the thought of our remaining in that 
 isolation through the autumn. She knew, of 
 course, we could not endure it during the 
 winter, as we now expected to do; but she 
 thought it was wrong to shut oneself away 
 thus for even six months from one s fellow- 
 man. We were placed in this world, each 
 with his special duties toward the race. She 
 had an odd little trick always of pressing her 
 hand to her side in talking, and it seemed 
 now that from there she grasped whole hand- 
 fuls of these platitudes. They certainly had 
 not been filtered through the brain. 
 
 I was thoroughly exasperated at the impli- 
 [202]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 cation. How much good would this party do 
 their fellow-man in the selfish routine of an 
 extravagantly fashionable hotel, I thought. 
 Our simple mode of living was enabling us to 
 carry on charities on a much more extensive 
 scale than we had ever before attempted. 
 
 We had definite plans arranged for en 
 tertaining several instalments of fresh-air 
 children, and a number of the objects of 
 Roger s special sympathy, boy clerks who 
 would get no vacation otherwise. He had 
 proposed to give a dozen active young fel 
 lows opportunity to stretch their cramped 
 legs in our free world. Roger unmindful of 
 his fellow-man ! 
 
 We had been expecting to buy a large tent 
 for the purpose, but it suddenly occurred to 
 me that the one we were in would be ex 
 cellent for our use, and, as Mrs. Lyman 
 was desirous of helping humanity, she would 
 be delighted to lend it. 
 
 I broached the subject buoyantly. My lis- 
 [203]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 tener s face fell. " Well," she said, " really, 
 my dear, we are very nice about that sort of 
 thing, George and I. And I do not think we 
 could- ever bear to use the tent again, if any 
 body we did not know " 
 
 " Pardon me," I interrupted, " and think 
 no more about the request. It would be 
 wiser for us to buy one outright We will 
 wish to do this every year." My indignation 
 braced me to decline the offered novels. I 
 said we had very little time to read. Mrs. 
 Lyman and Miss Birdsell, and even Mr. Ly- 
 man, opened their eyes at this, but they saw 
 that I meant it, so they said nothing, though 
 they each had that expression of " giving us 
 up," which is condescension s superlative de 
 gree. 
 
 We were surprised to learn that the Ender- 
 sons, too, were about to abandon the w r oods. 
 " They declare, if we go, they go ; that one 
 night down here alone with the whippoor- 
 wills would mean a madhouse," George Ly- 
 [ 204 ],
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 man explained. " When shall we look for 
 you in town ? " 
 
 " Almost any time as a visitor. Never, I 
 hope, as a resident," Roger answered, and we 
 turned away toward our other neighbours. 
 Mr. Enderson had repeatedly invited us to a 
 private view of the studies he had been mak 
 ing of the Vosenkill, and we hurried off now 
 with an unconscious feeling that every min 
 ute counted in polite show of interest. 
 
 Miss Birdsell volunteered to accompany 
 us, and, as we trooped along in garrulous 
 pairs, she kept me back to tell me of her en 
 gagement to Percy Enderson. I looked into 
 her happy, smiling face to wonder if she had 
 ever cared at all for Maurice. The result of 
 my study was that it makes very little differ 
 ence to that type of girl to whom she is en 
 gaged. It is the fact itself, not the object, 
 that interests her. I think very probably 
 Maurice s superior attractions would have in 
 sured his success, if he had not dropped out 
 [205]
 
 $33 CHANTICLEER 86$ 
 
 of the race. As it was, this pretty Agnes 
 found her fiance s gifts all satisfying. " He 
 writes such sweet things, don t you know ? " 
 she whispered. " Everybody at the Park is 
 determined that he shall get that beautiful 
 pastoral copyrighted. They think it would 
 be a real success brought out in book form, 
 fully illustrated." 
 
 " Why, yes," I answered faintly, " that 
 might be done." And, before I had need to 
 say more, we had arrived and the author came 
 out to greet us all and to match with his 
 sweetheart s his blissful blushes. 
 
 The studies were well worth visiting. 
 Faulkney Enderson is one of our most poet 
 ical landscapists. He had breathed the ten- 
 derest sentiment over the reedy banks of 
 Earrell Creek. There was the sun sparkling 
 on the Vosenkill, and the stream again in its 
 deep, serious shadows; the masterpiece was 
 early morning rising from the shores in a 
 soft summer mist. They were very beautiful 
 [206]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 in a contracted sense, but all the great out-of- 
 doors was calling us away. Mr. Estabrook 
 alone lingered as if he could not bear to part 
 from them. When he did so there were tears 
 in his eyes. 
 
 The next day Miss Decker asked me ear 
 nestly if I did not think Mr. Estabrook a 
 " queer old gentleman. One of those pic 
 tures, now, of the creek," she explained, " he 
 said was a beautiful transparent fog. I 
 told him it looked to me like a great mess o* 
 mildew." 
 
 [207]
 
 CHAPTEK XVI 
 
 Miss DECKER had such a refreshing way 
 of being ignorant. In a latent state she 
 possessed a nature thoroughly balanced for 
 appreciation, but it had been developed only 
 upon a very few sides. To see her mental 
 gambols, her sensitised soul catching impres 
 sions, was like watching the ecstatic discov 
 eries of a bright child. Anything new in 
 the way of culture was not adopted until it 
 could be assimilated. There was no pre 
 tence. She was frankly a student in the 
 niceties of refinement. She knew nature 
 and loved it. The arts were a sealed book 
 to her. 
 
 I wondered if Mr. Estabrook would be 
 troubled by the candour of her art criticism. 
 [208]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 He certainly was not; for some mysterious 
 reason it seemed to draw them more closely 
 together and they soon developed into firm 
 friends. 
 
 Margaret was engaged to her sister for a 
 season at the seashore, but Miss Decker 
 offered to remain to help me through the 
 period of the children s visit, a plan we were 
 putting vigorously into execution. Although 
 Margaret promised to return to us as soon 
 as possible, swearing fealty to us, our home, 
 and our principles, we felt that the glamour 
 of the outside world might prove alluring. 
 She was very young. 
 
 After we had said good-bye to her, Miss 
 Decker and I tried to brush depression from 
 our spirits by a scramble through the most 
 impenetrable part of our thicket. We made 
 many interesting discoveries and came out, 
 by chance, warm and tired, into the more 
 open space before Mr. Estabrook s cottage. 
 
 We saw him, at a little distance from the 
 [209]
 
 SS CHANTICLEER S& 
 
 window, looking toward us. We waited 
 openly in ingenuous expectation of an in 
 vitation to rest and refreshment. But, after 
 a somewhat awkward delay, we were turning 
 away when he appeared at his door. He 
 was a trifle disturbed, but cordially hospita 
 ble. We followed him into a lone;, tasteful 
 
 o/ 
 
 living-room, where we were seated in com 
 fortable chairs, and an order given to Per 
 kins, the man of all work, to bring us some 
 iced tea. 
 
 We had a great deal to report of our 
 tramp, to which our host listened with kind 
 sympathy, although he was rather silent 
 himself. When Perkins came in with the 
 cold, sparkling glasses he said something in 
 a low voice to his master. Mr. Estabrook 
 changed colour. Then, calling our attention 
 most transparently to a passing object upon 
 the road outside, he moved softly to the 
 back of the room, where he pushed some 
 thing farther back behind the draperies be- 
 [210]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 fore he nervously drew them more closely 
 together. 
 
 His face was anxious when he returned 
 to us, but he spoke coherently, intelligently 
 upon the topic under discussion. I could 
 not doubt his sanity, but I was sorely per 
 plexed. 
 
 When we had started upon our way home 
 I burst out : " I suppose he could not have 
 been burying a kitten again to-day. Oh, 
 it was Margaret who saw Mr. Estabrook 
 hiding something in the bushes not 
 you." 
 
 " No," Miss Decker said, " I was the 
 one, yesterday." 
 
 I stopped where I stood, my feet tangled 
 in a coil of matted tree roots, to stare at 
 her. " Again yesterday," I cried, " what 
 does it mean ? " 
 
 We hurried forward to consult Roger. 
 He made light of the matter, though he did 
 add that it might be just as well, when the 
 [211]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 children came, to leave none of them alone 
 with Mr. Estabrook. 
 
 " When the children came " was the re 
 frain of our days, after the date was settled 
 upon until their arrival was an actual expe 
 rience. Our happiness took an altogether 
 new turn in those weeks of infant carnival. 
 
 Gurgles of laughter mingled with the 
 bird-trills at daybreak, small radiant faces 
 were framed in the shrubbery, tiny feet 
 waded the Vosenkill. Our path seethed 
 with scurrying figures in that unmeaning 
 restlessness of childhood that comes under 
 the one generic title of " play." 
 
 We all watched over their bliss, the two 
 teachers who made up the regular escort, Miss 
 Decker, Roger, Mr. Estabrook, and myself, 
 as eager volunteers. That was Roger s vaca 
 tion. He did nothing in those memorable 
 weeks, but feed his senses with the irrespon 
 sible ecstasy, the wild tumultuous joy, of 
 our appreciative visitors. They buzzed per- 
 [212]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 sistently about perilous positions, in spite of 
 our warning cries ; but, by some mystic pro 
 vision of nature, the tiny mite standing on 
 one foot upon some dizzy height was no more 
 doomed to dismemberment than the unwilling 
 creature clasped by a detaining hand. 
 
 The day before the curtain went down 
 upon our pastoral, to the ringing applause 
 of actors and audience alike, one small vis 
 itor said to me : " That old man put some 
 thing behind the rocks down there this 
 mornin . I asked him what it was." 
 
 " What did he say ? " I questioned. 
 
 She puckered her smooth brow and 
 thought for a long time. Then she answered 
 slowly, " A great sorrow. 
 
 [213]
 
 CHAPTER XVII 
 
 OUR pleasure when the young men filled 
 the camp was more sedate but no less en 
 grossing. The drama of human interest 
 was intense. Our lives expanded so rapidly 
 that it was comparable to nothing so much 
 as that sudden bursting of the sumach buds 
 at spring s warm touch. The boys ingenu 
 ous confidences of themselves and their 
 families opened up long vistas of possible 
 good. Appeal to the sympathies of the man 
 who is living quite up to his income, if not 
 beyond it, is a fatal blight to peace of mind. 
 To us it was merely a glorious exhibition of 
 newly acquired strength. 
 
 We listened, with our hearts glowing, to 
 hopes and regrets that we had power to pro- 
 [214]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 mote or to annul. There was no appearance 
 of wealth in our mode of living. The artless 
 speakers had not the least thought of address 
 ing their fairy godparents. The sensation of 
 becoming suddenly such was a unique expe 
 rience. It thrilled us through and through. 
 We held frequent breathless conversations as 
 to expedients. We planned as cautiously as 
 if we were only moderately capable of doing. 
 But, in reality, our riches were inordinate. 
 We had found that health and happiness 
 cost us almost nothing, and we had an 
 ample income. Even after prudent tithes 
 for the future were set aside, our hands were 
 full of benefits. There was something we 
 could do, with wisdom, to buy each boy s 
 peace of mind, and we did it. The impress- 
 iveness of the scenes when we gave our prom 
 ise of this relief, or that joy, was unspeakably 
 stirring. 
 
 I wanted to make converts to that sacred 
 happiness. I had a burning desire to com- 
 [215]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 pile sociologic works, but the difficulty is 
 that such a treatise, to be convincing, should 
 be in at least two volumes, whereas my 
 theory can be expounded in two words: 
 simplicity and sympathy. Roger calls it 
 compressed tablets of sociology. 
 
 By the time the boys had gone back to 
 their mechanical duties poor dears ! - 
 September was well reached. Miss Decker 
 had stayed with us all that time, with every 
 pore open to aBsthetic influence. Her re 
 pressed spiritual nature expanded in those 
 few weeks with a determined force that was 
 all healthy growth and no strain. 
 
 Shortly before her leave-taking she said 
 to me : " If every one had his chance and 
 failed, that would be all right. But it s the 
 being kept back that hurts. I feel as if I 
 was all dwarfed and shrunk up before I 
 came here. I ve thought so much, lately, 
 about my cousin Lina, what her husband 
 he was an ignorant fellow said, when he 
 [216]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 saw her lying in her coffin : I m afraid 
 she ll bu st singin Halleluiahs up there. 
 She couldn t never ketch the tune here be 
 low. There ! I knew you wouldn t laugh." 
 
 " Laugh ? " I said. " See ! I am crying. 
 Poor Lina ! " 
 
 We went, for cheering, across the lush 
 September pastures, skirting the long, lazy 
 highway lined with goldenrod and wild 
 asters mingling their rich purples with the 
 more delicate Michaelmas daisies. Banks 
 rose above us white with the frail lacework 
 of wild carrot bloom, branches of brilliant 
 sumach laid their gorgeous colour in sophis 
 ticated premeditation against the sombre 
 grey of rough stone walls and decaying 
 rails, struggling for space with riotous vines 
 purple and fragrant with their clustering 
 harvest of tiny frost grapes. The dulness 
 of the day invited our gaze upward to the 
 tall elms where woodbine hung in scarlet 
 festoons. 
 
 [217]
 
 Through rough, stubbly meadows, as 
 through an iridescent haze of mauve and 
 gold, the magic of aster and goldenrod, we 
 looked off to slopes crowned with the har 
 vest of cultivation: luxuriant rows of 
 stacked corn with golden pumpkins glinting 
 here and there amongst the sombre patches. 
 
 Our steps lay toward a neighbouring vine 
 yard where choicest specimens were ours for 
 the proverbial song. We found no excuse 
 to go abroad for the grape cure. With appe 
 tite, time, and fruit at our disposal, we spent 
 September feasting. 
 
 Miss Decker promised to come to us again 
 later in the autumn or in the early winter. 
 Margaret had begun to write feelingly of 
 Chanticleer s exultation when ripe red Octo 
 ber should come, but her friends and her 
 family were engrossing, and there was 
 " glorious, ice-spangled winter " still before 
 us. 
 
 Roger shook his head. He said such florid 
 [218]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 expression would not materialise a Marga 
 ret. I knew better, and I sent a long letter 
 of encouragement and entreaty to Lenox, 
 whither she had gone with a party of friends. 
 
 About this time I heard from Maurice 
 that his colleague, young Dr. Duryea, had 
 proposed his running over to Lenox with him 
 to spend Sunday. 
 
 Ah, the whirligig of time ! I wrote back 
 to my haughty brother-in-law : " Lenox in 
 deed ! Not one step shall you go." 
 
 After Miss Decker was quite ready to 
 take her leave of us, in that formal half- 
 hour that precedes a departure, Mr. Esta- 
 brook came in as if in acknowledgment of 
 some sudden determination to speak with 
 her. I did not hear what was said by way 
 of invitation, but, after some vague apology 
 to us, they went off together down through 
 the mid-day shadows of the wood road that 
 leads to the Park. 
 
 They were gone so long that I feared our 
 [219]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 party Miss Decker with Roger and my 
 self as escort would arrive too late at the 
 forest s edge to keep our tryst with young 
 Mr. Jenkins and his transporting vehicle. 
 
 I think Mr. Estabrook brought her back 
 to Chanticleer, but he did not come in to us 
 again. Miss Decker was flushed and ex 
 cited. Through the long walk to the ren 
 dezvous she scarcely spoke. Roger and I 
 kept up a continuous stream of desultory, 
 awkward talk. Finally we said together, 
 with some relief in our voices, " Oh, there is 
 Silas Jenkins now ! " 
 
 Her larger luggage had been taken over 
 to the farmhouse in a wheelbarrow that 
 morning by the letter-carrier. While Roger 
 was stowing away her smaller traps in the 
 wagon, Miss Decker put out her arms to 
 draw me to her for one tremulous moment. 
 Her eyes were strangely bright. " I ve 
 most a mind to tell you," she whispered; 
 "but, oh, I can t; not now. Wait! " 
 [ 220 ]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 I returned the pressure of her clinging 
 arms with a small measure of the affection 
 I felt. Roger came toward her with his 
 hand outstretched. 
 
 The Jenkins boy called, " Hurry up, can t 
 you, Miss Decker ? " 
 
 She said, " Yes." She was gone, rattling 
 off down the dusty turnpike with her secret 
 and her feverish eyes. 
 
 [221]
 
 CHAPTER XVIII 
 
 ROGER had bought in the Jenkins s apple 
 orchard a tree just as it stood its fruit, 
 that is with the understanding that we 
 should have the joy of gathering it our 
 selves. They were gay, red things hanging 
 so thickly among the green foliage as to 
 make delay desperate. Many of our walks, 
 during the last days before the harvesting, 
 lay close to this fragrant possession. We 
 would stop to gaze long and lovingly into 
 the alluring branches of our tree, before 
 we sat down in the grass and feasted our 
 eyes upon the beautiful picture of a richly 
 loaded orchard ; waiting fruit, red and 
 green and golden, stiffly pendent among the 
 broad sweep of limb. An apple tree, from 
 the first pink hint of blossom, until the last 
 [222]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 belated red and russet leaves have suc 
 cumbed to winter, is a friendly interest. In 
 its naked outline, the rugged majesty 
 appeals, too, to its partisans. 
 
 The chicken-house had proved so subtle 
 a flatterer of Roger s ability that his pre 
 sumption along architectural lines, thus 
 quickened, matured robustly with cool 
 weather. lie conceived the bold plan of 
 erecting an extension to our mansion for 
 winter use a coal bin on one side, on the 
 other a storeroom; for now that we had 
 bought our apples we must build a home for 
 them. 
 
 At first Roger was to erect this structure 
 entirely unassisted. " Why not ? " I said 
 rashly, " you like to fuss." 
 
 He raised a stern face from the elaborate 
 plans he was drawing to repeat coldly: 
 "Fuss? Who built that chicken-house?" 
 
 " I did. Some of it," I remarked firmly. 
 " And the model was entirely mine." 
 [223]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 " Yes," said Roger, tearing up the plan 
 he had been making. " The model was 
 poor, Mary. You remember it would not 
 hold chickens at first." 
 
 " This house won t hold apples, either," 
 I ventured, "if it is so loosely built. It 
 was not my fault. The plan was nice, and 
 I drove nails enough." 
 
 " Was it my fault, Mary ? " Roger asked 
 coldly. 
 
 Roger is a mild man, but I dared not say 
 yes. " It was the chickens fault," I an 
 swered. " They were always pushing against 
 it." 
 
 Roger had some boards brought. He 
 worked one day upon the storeroom, and 
 then he announced that he should get a car 
 penter to assist him. After one day more 
 he spoke of assisting the carpenter; and 
 upon the third day I heard him tell some one 
 that he was having a small addition built. 
 He lingered about and looked lovingly at 
 [224]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 the progress, but I think he found that 
 " fussing " was the wound of a f aithf ul 
 friend. 
 
 When the storeroom was built and a sup 
 ply of coal heaped on one side of the parti 
 tion, the other side gaped to be filled. So 
 we harvested our produce. We dug po 
 tatoes. 
 
 We had almost three bushels of these, 
 which was a good many, considering how 
 long we had been eating them. They were 
 sound and orthodox in appearance. It pro 
 duces a strange sensation to uncover a 
 mound of ordinary dirt and to find be 
 neath it a nest of potatoes as real as any 
 thing one may buy at the largest market, 
 and to realise that they are yours the 
 product of your own husbandry. I never 
 felt so practical and of so much use upon 
 the earth as I did the day we gathered our po 
 tatoes. We found harvesting sufficiently fas 
 cinating to determine to make it linger as 
 [ 225 ]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 long as possible, allowing ourselves just such 
 hours of it each day. The potatoes were 
 the first day s work. Roger drew a line 
 through the middle of the patch and we be 
 gan, with apparent fairness. Later on it 
 occurred to me that, although I had as much 
 ground-room in my allotment as my hus 
 band, I had not quite so many hills as he, 
 for we had used more from the right side 
 where I worked. 
 
 Roger is too fine a man to be allowed to 
 grow selfish. So I said to him : " How 
 many hills have you dug ? " 
 
 " I have not really kept count," he an 
 swered evasively. 
 
 " But you knew, did you not, that you 
 had more than I ? " 
 
 " Not at first, Mary ; upon my honour. 
 Afterward, when I recollected, I thought it 
 might be best so for fear of your getting 
 tired." 
 
 I laid down my hoe and addressed Roger 
 [226]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 with wifely thoroughness upon the fallacy 
 of my fatigue in pleasurable matters. I 
 enlightened him as to that dead but not yet 
 buried day when he had made the butter, 
 led on by his stale excuse. " To-morrow," 
 I said, " when we gather the chickens corn 
 we will start free and equal." 
 
 " We will. We will, Molly," that blessed 
 angel cried repentantly. " And shall you 
 care at all, do you suppose, to pick the 
 beans ? " 
 
 I looked at him. " Why, of course," he 
 said. " I will let you milk the cow to-night, 
 too, dear." 
 
 This was more than I had expected. I 
 do not share Roger s ardour for that one 
 branch of domesticity. I thought very 
 hard while I was resuming the hoe. Then I 
 said : " ~No. I do not consider milking fit 
 work for a woman." I hoped that was so, 
 for I did not want to tell a falsehood, but 
 neither did I want to milk the cow. Roger 
 [227]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 was glad to be convinced. The matter was 
 not pressed. 
 
 After we had finished our farm labours, 
 we dressed ourselves freshly and went down 
 to the Park to pay a round of neglected 
 visits. 
 
 The first cottage we came to the Mor 
 rises - - was deserted. There was no sign 
 of more active life anywhere than that of 
 the poor stuffed squirrel over the front door. 
 
 What need was there of Roger s sharp 
 ringing ? but he thought, as one always does, 
 that he " might as well try it," with that un 
 conscious belief that if one gives an unusual 
 peal there must be some response even in a 
 deserted house. 
 
 There was no response. We walked on to 
 the Tryons cottage. There the outlook was 
 even less hospitable. The windows were 
 boarded up, and the doorbell had been re 
 moved. We hurried to the next one on our 
 line of march. That, too, was closed. Then 
 [228]
 
 33 CHANTICLEER %& 
 
 we turned our blank faces toward Elliott- 
 iana. 
 
 The family was strewn along the wide 
 piazza there, behind large jars of golden- 
 rod and asters that gave out that faint dis 
 agreeable odour of the first stage of staleness. 
 Everybody s hands were lying in every 
 body s laps with fixed idleness. A row of 
 bored faces arose to greet us. The Judge 
 was distinctly peevish. For some occult 
 reason his ennui and his family s ennui was 
 the fault of the smiling, happy pair who 
 now stood before him. We had set a certain 
 example. What had worked so charmingly 
 with us had failed with them. The question 
 to be faced was, Why had we done it ? 
 
 " Will you take these ? " the Judge began 
 in a querulous tone, indicating some empty 
 piazza chairs. " It is getting most too cool 
 for sitting out-of-doors, but there is no 
 pleasant place inside." 
 
 We settled ourselves silently. Then 
 [229]
 
 *8 CHANTICLEER 8SS 
 
 Roger said : " There seems to have been 
 quite an exodus from the Park," a remark 
 that infuriated our host. 
 
 He glared at my husband before he 
 roared : " I should think there had been 
 an exodus. It s the pleasantest thing that 
 ever was for us to sit here alone and twiddle 
 our thumbs." 
 
 Mrs. Elliott whined, " The families in 
 the cottages the Judge built to rent all went 
 by the first of September." 
 
 " But they only came for the summer, 
 mother/ Miss Elliott struck in. 
 
 The Judge turned upon his daughter in 
 a sort of fury. " Does that alter the fact 
 that they have gone ? " 
 
 " No," she said faintly, sinking farther 
 back in her chair. 
 
 " I built those cottages at considerable ex 
 pense I might say, great expense, to in 
 sure neighbours. But what good did it do ? " 
 
 I stated, not very opportunely, that we 
 [230]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 had been to the Morris and Try on and 
 Luther cottages to find those, too, de 
 serted. 
 
 The Judge groaned. " Of course you 
 found them deserted. Those people wouldn t 
 stay in this forsaken hole. One day last 
 week Miss Tryon s fiance here he 
 looked at one of his daughters for en 
 couragement which he must have found, for 
 he made no change in pronunciation 
 " drove up here ; I say up here ; I mean, 
 he left his horses down on the turnpike, and 
 walked up through the pastures. No one 
 can drive decent springs over that beastly 
 road. The very worst one in the country 
 anywhere, I suppose." 
 
 Here he waved his hand in outraged de 
 nunciation of the primitive highway that 
 we had found a priceless barrier against the 
 incursions of civilisation. " Mrs. and Miss 
 Tryon both were so glad to see some one 
 from the outside that they just cried. So he 
 [231]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 got them to drive right back to town that 
 same day with him. They left the servants 
 to pack up and come when they could. Of 
 course the Morrises wouldn t stay without 
 the Tryons. And the Luthers were called 
 to Boston suddenly by the sickness of some 
 body; or so they say, but I imagine that 
 was all made up. So here we are, left high 
 and dry, with just the Gillettes Miss Gil 
 lette s an ornithologist and wants to study 
 the winter birds and that old fellow on the 
 south side, old Estabrook. Pleasant for us, 
 isn t it ? Probably there is not such another 
 lonely place in the whole United States." 
 
 Roger and I made that little gurgling 
 sound that may mean anything, before the 
 Judge continued with the suspicion of his 
 profession. " So those people up to the 
 camp have gone too ? I believe there was 
 some sort of collusion in all this." 
 
 Roger tried to explain our neighbours 
 movements, but to no purpose. The Judge 
 [232]
 
 383 CHANTICLEER 85* 
 
 clearly preferred to think there was, as he 
 said, " something back of it." 
 
 Presently he demanded savagely : " What 
 do you do with yourselves all day ? " 
 
 " Not half what we would if there was 
 more time," my husband answered. 
 
 " Time ? " he shouted, " there isn t a 
 thing here but time. I tell the girls there 
 are ten days in every week. That woman 
 there," nodding at the partner of his joys, 
 " asks me all day long what time it is." 
 
 I wondered fleetingly if Mrs. Elliott had 
 not mastered the intricacies of a clock be 
 fore I began to fully realise what a com 
 plete biography of her the confidence was. 
 We attempted to give them a brief inven 
 tory of our simple pleasures, but their hard 
 faces seemed to extract the fragrance from 
 everything. They could not understand. It 
 was, as Lowell said, like presenting them 
 with the bones of a fowl we had picked. I 
 should have suppressed our prospective 
 [233]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 apple harvesting, but Roger entered into a 
 spirited recital of our anticipation in that 
 quarter. He seemed to think one more trial 
 "Would be generous. I had given them up 
 after they treated the history of our potatoes 
 with silent disrespect. 
 
 " There is one thing/ I said cheerfully, 
 as we were taking our leave ; " you all keep 
 well in this bracing air, don t you ? " 
 
 " Oh, yes ; well enough," the Judge 
 pouted. " If we didn t we would get right 
 back to town." 
 
 His tone implied that under the circum 
 stances, health, too, was something of a 
 grievance. We made no further effort to 
 console them, and bowed ourselves away. 
 
 As soon as we were at a safe distance I 
 said, " But we are not keeping that man 
 here." 
 
 Roger laughed with a boy s relish. " The 
 poor, obstinate old fellow said he should live 
 here, probably, most of the year, as we did. 
 [234]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 His health demanded the quiet. Then you 
 remember his clinching the determination 
 by telling every one that his daughters de 
 clared they must stay till after the holi 
 days, anyway, and have a house-party for 
 Christmas. His dignity is committed. He 
 has made a public avowal of his plans." 
 
 " They hold us even more responsible than 
 the Lymans and the Endersons do/ I 
 sighed. 
 
 The encounter had been a disturber of 
 peace. We laughed a good deal, but it was 
 more or less hysterical. Our souls seemed 
 to have undergone a complete jolting. 
 
 Mr. Estabrook came out of his cottage as 
 we drew near. His head was down and he 
 Walked by us without immediate recogni 
 tion. " You are tired," I said, looking up 
 into his weary face when we had gained his 
 attention. 
 
 " No, my dear," he answered, " only very 
 sad." 
 
 [235]
 
 383 CHANTICLEER S$ 
 
 He joined us and we walked on silently 
 until he broke out : " But I ought not to 
 be sad now, either. You know of my one 
 bit of good fortune, I suppose ? " 
 
 I shook my head, and Roger said, " !N"o." 
 
 " No ? " Mr. Estabrook repeated. " Well 
 
 then, some other time, my dears." He 
 
 clasped my hand warmly, and then Roger s, 
 
 slipping away as softly as he had come. 
 
 [236]
 
 CHAPTER XIX 
 
 ROGEK said finally that I was emulating 
 Mrs. Elliott s inquiries into the time of 
 day, I asked so very often if our apples were 
 not ready for harvesting. 
 
 At last the word was given. Mr. Jenkins 
 told us to come, and we were going on the 
 day after to-morrow with our baskets and 
 step-ladders to that sacred spot of our an 
 ticipations. It had been agreed that we 
 should complete our gathering before the 
 regular work of the orchard began. 
 
 At this crucial moment Margaret appeared. 
 Her fine phraseology had not covered deser 
 tion, as I at once reminded Roger. Step- 
 ladders were set up under the lower branches 
 for her and me, and a longer ladder provided 
 [237]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 for Roger. We had baskets to fill which we 
 emptied from time to time into the barrels 
 that stood conveniently near. It was a large 
 tree and heavily loaded, and yet, for the first 
 exciting moment I wished silently that Mar 
 garet had postponed her visit for a day or 
 two. But when, as I hurried back from the 
 first emptying of my basket, I stopped to look 
 for an instant at the childlike play of her en 
 joyment I no longer regretted. She was very 
 lovely in a pretty tourist s suit of becoming 
 dark blue. Her hair flung out soft brown ten 
 drils over her flaming cheeks and her white 
 neck. " Isn t it exhilarating ? " she called 
 to me as I passed. " How fragrant they are ; 
 and so gay. One must stop every few 
 moments, to gloat over their beauty, first in 
 the basket and then on the tree." 
 
 " I think they are prettiest among the 
 green leaves," I called back. " Sometimes 
 I have hardly the heart to disturb a special 
 beauty." 
 
 [238]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 " How many have you eaten ? " Roger 
 shouted from some embowered height. 
 
 "Not one," we both protested. "We 
 had not thought of such sacrilege." 
 
 " That proves the superiority of the sex," 
 came back. " I have devoured a clean 
 bushel." 
 
 The branches above where I worked, 
 somewhat later, forked together in the most 
 accessible way. It occurred to me that 
 there would be real advantage in slipping 
 up the tree trunk a little distance to look 
 down upon the glory of the full ripe orchard. 
 So I slipped, very softly. The outlook was 
 charming. I crept furtively on, farther 
 than I had intended. Roger had gone down 
 to the barrel to empty his basket. 
 
 When I had almost gained the highest 
 point a new voice reached my ears, followed 
 by exclamations of surprise. Then my 
 brother-in-law, in his most conventional 
 tone, asked, " Where is Mary ? " 
 [239]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 " Where is she ? " Margaret and Roger 
 repeated together. " She was here just a 
 moment ago," Margaret said, and Roger re 
 iterated her statement before he set up an 
 anxious hallooing. 
 
 Maurice came forward to help Margaret s 
 anxiety to the ground, looking upward as he 
 did so. " There is some one in that tree," he 
 answered. My doom had come. 
 
 " Here I am," I called in a shrill little 
 voice. 
 
 The young people took that moment to 
 inspect the hoards in the barrel. Roger 
 ran up the long ladder to my aid. " I would 
 not do that again, dear," he whispered when 
 my feet touched the ground. Then he 
 straightened my hat and tidied me up a bit. 
 When I looked fit I stepped forward to 
 greet Maurice. He was very forgiving with 
 his hoydenish sister-in-law. 
 
 " You can t pick apples in those clothes," 
 Roger said. I do not suppose Maurice had 
 [240]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 a burning desire to pick apples in any 
 clothes. He sent, I thought, a rather con 
 gratulatory glance over his fine raiment be 
 fore he said : " Well, you go on with your 
 work. I will just stand about and talk with 
 Miss Robertson." 
 
 " But Miss Robertson wants to do it, her 
 self," I cried. 
 
 " Oh, do you ? " Maurice interjected. 
 
 " Why, of course," she smiled. " It is 
 the loveliest thing there ever was." 
 
 " Then I will run back to the house and 
 slip into some other clothes," he said 
 eagerly. " Jenkins drove me up from the 
 station. He told me you were here, so I 
 came over across lots, and sent the boy on 
 with my luggage." 
 
 It was not until he was gone that I be 
 gan to guess how he had learned of Marga 
 ret s coming, and to laugh at his not giving 
 me an opportunity to tell him to stay away. 
 
 We worked rather silently for a time. I 
 [241]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 felt a good deal like a child in disgrace I 
 cannot tell, yet, what made me climb that 
 tree. 
 
 Presently Margaret began singing some 
 popular melody, and Roger joined in. They 
 have clear, pleasant voices, though one of 
 them cannot carry a tune very well. But it 
 was cheerful, and the conservatory author 
 ities tell us that even the feathered songsters 
 are not correct; which may mean, however, 
 that they do not make the accepted faces. 
 
 At last Maurice came swinging toward 
 us, very handsome in knickerbockers and a 
 modish hunting- jacket of dark green cor 
 duroy. A ravishingly becoming Tarn o 
 Shanter was pushed a little back from his 
 radiant face, and he was singing, in his 
 true, sweet, tenor voice. 
 
 Margaret was evidently where she could 
 not see him, for she asked eagerly, " Who 
 is that?" 
 
 " Maurice," I called back jubilantly. 
 [242]
 
 383 CHANTICLEER S& 
 
 " Oh ! " she mocked. " Our tongues are 
 tied now, Roger. Listen to De Reszke." 
 
 My poor brother. Must even his gifts 
 militate against him? 
 
 I think Maurice was really more inclined 
 to sing than he was to gather apples. He 
 gave us, first and last, a rather full concert 
 programme. I know it was merely a youth 
 ful overflow of good spirits, and not at all a 
 wish to exploit his accomplishment, though 
 I was sorry to have his choice fall upon so 
 many of the selections Margaret had just ren 
 dered faultily. 
 
 When we had stretched our apple har 
 vesting to its farthest limit, Roger concluded 
 to go through the pastures to Mr. Jenkins s 
 to negotiate for another tree. His appetite 
 had been so whetted by his aerial feast for 
 this fruit that the imperfect digestion of 
 civilisation had, for years, tabooed in an 
 uncooked form, that he decided to engage 
 a barrel of every old-time favourite. 
 [243]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 " We must have some great golden Pound 
 Sweets," I said, " and those subtly flavoured, 
 deliciously fragrant Northern Spies." 
 
 " But those are for fall. We must have 
 Seek-no-furthers and Spitzenbergs for win 
 ter use," Roger answered slowly, for he was 
 busily calculating the probability of our 
 storeroom holding five barrels of apples with 
 those other supplies we had concluded to lay 
 in for fear of midwinter blockades. 
 
 The wife of one of Mr. Jenkins s farm 
 hands does our laundry work. Margaret 
 had some excuse to go to her when Roger 
 set off through the meadows. I knew the 
 errand was genuine, but Maurice was scep 
 tical. 
 
 As we were walking along alone toward 
 our home he broke out : " This must be 
 about equal to a second rejection. It was 
 clearly just to shake me off." 
 
 " O egotistical youth," I cried, " and 
 enigmatic. I understand, though. You 
 [244]
 
 $33 CHANTICLEER 8% 
 
 need not explain. Yes. The plea was 
 honest." 
 
 " It could have waited," he answered 
 coldly. " I suppose you are surprised to 
 see me to-day, Mary. But you told me to 
 be persistent. Keeping away from her isn t 
 persistency." 
 
 " I only meant taking things rather for 
 granted when you were with her, not being 
 omnipresent. You must not stay about all 
 this long autumn evening. You and Roger 
 should go away somewhere." 
 
 " I did not come here to go away, Mary." 
 
 " Very well," I said in a tone that evi 
 dently startled him, for he added quickly, 
 " I do most things that you tell me. How 
 many times did that man offer himself? 
 Four?" 
 
 "Six," I said. 
 
 There is this curious kink in men s na 
 ture; no woman can ever tell when a tran 
 quil leading may end in sudden bolting. " I 
 [245]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 should not offer myself six times to any 
 woman," Maurice announced. " I do not 
 think I should do so half that many." 
 
 We looked at each other defiantly. Pres 
 ently he asked more humbly, " What is the 
 outlook, Mary ? " 
 
 " Black," I answered. " Her mother and 
 sister are coming here to live. They are to 
 
 O v 
 
 rent the Tryon cottage. Margaret will be 
 supremely happy with them there after 
 she has fumigated the Park for rusticity. 
 She would have to be very deeply in love 
 to listen to any suggestion of marriage 
 now." 
 
 " Well," Maurice said, turning a whim 
 sical face to mine. " What am I to do 
 about it ? I am certainly here, all prepared 
 to be fallen deeply in love with." 
 
 I knew the situation must be wholesome 
 
 for one who had been so courted as Maurice. 
 
 But it was growing a little wearing to his 
 
 relatives. Something seemed expected of 
 
 [246]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 me, so I suggested : " You are too good- 
 looking, for one thing. If you were 
 maimed, some way, she would be sorry for 
 you." 
 
 He laughed grimly. " I might mar my 
 charms, perhaps, but it would be rather 
 painful to slash oneself up and find that even. 
 then one was not appreciated. But, seri 
 ously, what difference can the mother and 
 sister make ? Doesn t every girl have a 
 mother and sister ? " 
 
 " Not such congenial ones as these. The 
 family is altogether complete as it is. 
 Where there are a number of women of like 
 tastes together there is a growing convic 
 tion that the introduction of the male ele 
 ment spoils the cosiness and the peace." 
 
 " I can t see," my companion muttered, 
 " what harm a poor fellow would do in a 
 cosey home. I should think your married 
 felicity would be an object lesson to Mar 
 Miss Robertson." 
 
 [247]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 " Oh, but we are different. You see, 
 Roger is such a dear." 
 
 " Now, Mary," he broke in, " you have 
 no right to make Margaret think that Roger 
 is the only man in the world who behaves 
 himself." 
 
 " I do not, Maurice," I protested. " I 
 believe you have ever so many of the family 
 virtues. And you are growing more like 
 him all the time. Of course you are just a 
 tiny bit more conceited, and haughty, and 
 overbearing than Roger. But then he has 
 been married for seven years." 
 
 " Umph," said Maurice. 
 
 " Unfortunately," I went on, " two of 
 Margaret s friends have married rather re 
 cently, and she declares that they have to 
 entertain their husbands every evening. 
 Laura has been a wife for the past year, 
 and, Margaret says, she has had to play 
 backgammon with her matrimonial venture 
 every night except Sundays. And Nathalie 
 [248]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 spends hers reading aloud to Horace. This 
 is a quotation, from the latter s own confes 
 sion : i He likes it, and it certainly is in 
 nocent. 
 
 " Well," Maurice interjected, " isn t it ? " 
 " Yes. But Margaret says that if that 
 is wedded bliss, she prefers to spend her 
 evenings amusing herself. If she must 
 keep six feet of masculinity innocent it will 
 be in the slums, among the poor fellows that 
 have not had so many opportunities as she 
 has." 
 
 " But listen, Mary," Maurice said ; " I 
 haven t asked her to keep me innocent. I 
 am not even sure I want to be innocent." 
 
 " Of course not," I answered ; " but to 
 make her understand ! I hardly know what 
 to advise. You might mention, if there is 
 an opportunity, that you do not care for 
 backgammon. You hate it, don t you ? " 
 " Actively. And what else, Mary ? " 
 " Well then I think, if I were you, I 
 [ 249 ]
 
 should sing a little to-night, and not carry 
 the tune very well." 
 
 " What ? " 
 
 " Confuse the air you are humming with 
 something else. Margaret does." 
 
 " Does she ? God bless her ! I am glad 
 she is that human. She draws so well I 
 was afraid she did everything superlatively." 
 
 "Not quite," I said. "How short the 
 walk over here has seemed ! Could you de 
 tach your thoughts from the tender passion 
 for a moment to fasten them to our store 
 room? I want you to tell me whether you 
 think it will hold five barrels of apples, be 
 sides the potatoes and the bacon ? " 
 
 [ 250 ]
 
 CHAPTEK XX 
 
 WHEN the other two came back to Chan 
 ticleer Roger had concluded not to have 
 quite so many apples, and Margaret was 
 full of a plan she had formed of sending 
 our laundress s daughter away to school, 
 such a prodigy did we believe her to be. 
 My friend was interesting in her flushed en 
 thusiasm, and I eager for particulars of 
 her interview with the parents to whom she 
 had gone to unfold her project. We had 
 merely stopped the flow of our question-and- 
 answer recital to breathe, when Maurice 
 struck into the conversation with : 
 
 " I am glad we will not play backgam 
 mon to-night, Mary. I dislike that almost 
 as much as being read aloud to." 
 [251]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 Margaret looked back toward me, shud 
 dering. " Has there been any thought of 
 playing games ? " 
 
 " ISTo," I answered. " How did you hap 
 pen to think of that, Maurice ? " 
 
 He gave me an appealing glance. " Why, 
 Mary ! " he protested, in blushing reproach. 
 
 Margaret was waiting judicially for an 
 answer, so I muttered something about our 
 having spoken of backgammon that after 
 noon. 
 
 " Oh, so you wanted to play it ? " she 
 said, turning mercilessly to Maurice. 
 
 " No, no," he protested. But Margaret 
 returned, " I am very sure Mary did not. 
 ISTow let me tell you, dear leaving my 
 brother fairly convicted of a taste for back 
 gammon, she resumed our conversation. 
 " Let me tell you what little Sarah said after 
 that." 
 
 I was quite beside myself until I could 
 get Maurice alone. " You are working 
 [252]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 awkwardly," I whispered. " Do not, I beg 
 of you, attempt the singing. She might 
 think you were mimicking her, and you 
 would not want that." 
 
 He turned pale. " I should think not ! 
 I believe I will just look on after this, Mary. 
 She thinks I like backgammon now. I tried 
 to tell her, but you saw how she wouldn t lis 
 ten. She was so busy talking about that silly 
 girl." 
 
 There was no consoling him, so I sent 
 him off, after our evening meal, with Roger, 
 to return one of Judge Elliott s numerous 
 visits of complaint. 
 
 It was a soft moonlight night, and when 
 we thought it was about time for them to re 
 turn I took Margaret with me, and we went 
 out to pace up and down the silver path be 
 fore our door. It was an hour for silence, 
 and we talked little until we saw shadowy 
 figures away off in the distance slowly mov 
 ing near us. " Those are two handsome 
 [253]
 
 men," Margaret said, as they came close 
 enough for recognition. 
 
 " Yes," I answered hurriedly. " They 
 are indeed that, though of course Maurice 
 is the only Adonis." 
 
 " I think Roger is much the finer look 
 ing," she returned carelessly, darting off to 
 meet him. 
 
 There was a funny tale to tell of Elliott- 
 iana which was given in instalments as 
 memory served. " You can rent the Gil 
 lette cottage now, Margaret," Roger said as 
 a preface. " The ornithologist is gone." 
 
 "What?" I cried. "I thought she 
 would make a study of non-migratory birds." 
 
 " Ah, but she has sprained her ankle. 
 Observation was stopped, and, presto, she 
 has migrated herself. Judge Elliott sup 
 poses she had about the worst ankle any one 
 ever suffered from." 
 
 " Sprained in two places, " the doctor 
 added. 
 
 [254]
 
 $33 CHANTICLEER ES$ 
 
 " I believe we would like that cottage 
 best," Margaret said eagerly. " Suppose 
 we go to-morrow to look at it." 
 
 This was agreed upon for the afternoon. 
 In the morning after an early breakfast, we 
 went to church, a little building made of 
 rough stones gathered from the mountain at 
 whose foot it stands, and to which the road 
 leads one a distance of six miles. We lop 
 off two of these by a charming walk across 
 meadows, through copses and deeper forest 
 bits, through turnstiles and pasture bars, 
 over a fallen tree foot-bridge across the 
 upper Vosenkill, through the hollows and up 
 the heights of the sloping hills. In a clear, 
 fresh autumn day, such as this proved, no 
 introduction could be more fitting to the 
 soul-lifting English service. 
 
 I had considerable hope of this walk for 
 
 Maurice s suit, experienced though I was in 
 
 Margaret s vagaries. But she kept close 
 
 upon our heels when she was not openly 
 
 [255]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 walking with either Roger or me. I caught 
 my husband s hand, long before we came 
 to the tree bridge, to make sure of his be 
 ing out of Maurice s way. But Margaret 
 insisted she could get over it most surefoot- 
 edly unaided. Which she did. 
 
 I was so worn with the mental strain of 
 scheming that I gave up the effort on 
 the return walk, and deliberately set the 
 men to arguing, Margaret and I strolling 
 along together in silence and in peace. 
 
 Mr. Estabrook came in the afternoon be 
 fore we had started for the Park, and so he 
 went with us for the inspection. Margaret 
 attached herself to him, from the first mo 
 ment, and as Maurice was to go away early 
 in the morning he had literally not one mo 
 ment in which to wedge a private word. 
 
 I found occasion, just before his departure, 
 to rub his wounds with the balm of hopeful 
 smiles. I had nothing more directly medi 
 cinal to offer. 
 
 [256]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 " Mary," he said gravely. We had sought 
 the seclusion of the spring house on the os 
 tensible errand of getting butter. " Mary, 
 you have been the kindest sister in the 
 world. You have given excellent advice 
 for the sort of man it fits the kind, I 
 mean, that offer themselves six times. But 
 it does not suit me. You see what a bungle 
 I have made of it. I have been a fool. ISTow 
 I shall do my own way." 
 
 " You tried jealousy, of your own wis 
 dom, and did that work any better ? " I 
 said, fearful of some crazy, man plan. 
 
 " That was extreme, and foolish, too," he 
 answered. " In future I shall merely act on 
 the principle, if she wants me she can have 
 me. And if she does not want me she can 
 leave me alone. I believe it is the only treat 
 ment for such cases." 
 
 " But suppose some other man "I sug 
 gested incoherently. 
 
 " If it is only determination not to marry 
 [257]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 there will be no other man," he answered. 
 "If it is dislike of me there might as well 
 be another first as last. I shall not be 
 always available, after this," he added 
 sagely. 
 
 " I believe, upon the whole, that you are 
 right," I said, sighing a little, for I was 
 thinking more of the danger to him from 
 the partiality for their favourite physician 
 of pretty girls of the Agnes Birdsell stamp. 
 
 Maurice was gone. I found it difficult 
 again, for a time, to be forgiving with 
 Margaret. 
 
 After the paramount matter had settled 
 sufficiently for anything else to rise to the 
 surface, I asked Roger if he had noticed 
 Mr. Estabrook s inquiring of me, the day 
 before, just when Miss Decker was com 
 ing ? He did remember, and we were at 
 once involved in speculation. I did not 
 know she was coming at all. She had, to 
 be sure, a standing invitation to visit us, 
 [258]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 but no word had as yet passed between us 
 upon the matter. 
 
 On Wednesday I was delighted to receive 
 a note from her stating that she would be 
 with us on the following Saturday. 
 
 It was a week of events. Margaret en 
 gaged the furnished Gillette cottage for 
 their experiment, and her family arrived to 
 occupy it after the delay of but a day or 
 two. There was hospitality back and forth, 
 and a dark hour of inspection of the orni 
 thologist s cabinet. 
 
 Margaret threw its doors open to me with 
 a hard face. Mine was even sterner as I 
 cried : " The monster ! She did not care 
 enough about her spoils of many seasons to 
 carry them away." 
 
 There were nests filled with the eggs of 
 the rarer songsters, in sets of twos and 
 threes, and of the common warblers almost 
 by the score. We faced each other, pale and 
 speechless, Margaret and I, before the 
 [259]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 former found voice to say, " The men she 
 has hired to assist in this pursuit won t stop 
 there," motioning up into the ghastly array 
 of blasted hopes. 
 
 We concluded that she must be sent a let 
 ter of burning protest. It was obvious that 
 we each had more confidence in our own elo 
 quence, for we both insisted that it was too 
 harassing a matter for the other to under 
 take. After a great deal of talking, and no 
 conclusion arrived at, I finally said : " You 
 think, Margaret, that you can write it bet 
 ter, and I think I can. Suppose we send 
 two letters ? " 
 
 " Very well," my friend answered. " She 
 deserves fifty." 
 
 My communication pointed out the use- 
 lessness of the collector s practice, and the 
 selfishness of risking extermination of the 
 precious songsters in the name of a science 
 that has already noted every variation in nest 
 and egg. My words were, I thought, so 
 [260]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 vital that, as Emerson says of Montaigne s, 
 " If you cut them they will bleed." Mar 
 garet said the same thing in different 
 phrases, and we were each as partial to our 
 own as we were that day when we made the 
 bread. 
 
 When we read the scathing communica 
 tions to Mrs. Robertson she said, with the 
 timidity of age, " I am afraid she will be 
 angry." 
 
 " We want her to be," I answered. " If 
 she is only hurt, she will be the martyr per 
 secuted by ignorance, and she will go on. If 
 she is angry enough she may think the in 
 struction not worth the odium." 
 
 We waited eagerly to learn whether our 
 officiousness would reach an angry or a hurt 
 correspondent. It did both. 
 
 When the two polite replies arrived we 
 
 found that Margaret s youth had made her 
 
 seem presumptuous. Miss Gillette was dis 
 
 tinctly angry with her. My remonstrance 
 
 [ 261 ]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 had merely wounded. She was hurt by me. 
 The complication left us just as much in the 
 dark about her future course, but we had 
 done our duty. Margaret told me she was 
 glad, at any rate, that she had said " barba 
 rous/ and it seemed so to the point I was 
 sorry I had not used it instead of some of 
 my queerer words. 
 
 I was glad to turn from this gloomy up 
 roar to a pleasant surprise. We expected 
 Miss Decker to arrive on Saturday evening; 
 however, some time before noon she came 
 smiling in with Mr. Estabrook. 
 
 Roger had gone down to the orchard, but 
 I was pleased enough for us both. After 
 she was well ensconced her escort took his 
 leave, saying we would like, he was sure, the 
 first hour alone. As he was starting away 
 he walked up to Miss Decker and deliber 
 ately kissed her. She gave a little cry of 
 protest, turning her rosy cheeks apologeti 
 cally to me. 
 
 [262]
 
 m CHANTICLEER S& 
 
 " You know, don t you ? " he said, also 
 looking at me. 
 
 " Why of course I stammered, 
 " I know Miss Decker ! " thinking sadly, 
 " The poor dear is crazy." 
 
 " I mean," he said, with a fine dignity, 
 " that she has promised to be my wife." 
 
 [263]
 
 CHAPTER XXI 
 
 I KNEW that whatever the mystery con 
 nected with Mr. Estabrook was, it must 
 have been satisfactorily explained to Miss 
 Decker. She was a shrewd, sensible woman, 
 and old enough to understand what she 
 wanted to do. There was clearly no need of 
 our being anxious, and therefore we con 
 cluded to be delighted. 
 
 Roger was as surprised as I at the turn of 
 affairs, for, as we said, they were so used 
 to not being married it seemed strange so 
 complete a change should have occurred to 
 them. 
 
 After Mr. Estabrook had left us, on the 
 day of her coming, while we were still alone, 
 my friend turned to me with a face full of 
 [264]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 unutterable things. "It "seemed silly to me, 
 at first, too," she said. " But, someway, 
 I don t know, I do like him." She was 
 very sweet in her shy tenderness, and pretty 
 enough to make me realise that she was not 
 old at all in years. A life of hard work and 
 suppression once supplanted by congenial 
 ease, a different woman would evolve. 
 
 " Of course you like him. He is very 
 lovable," I answered. " I am so glad." 
 
 " Are you ? " she asked eagerly. " That 
 is such a relief. I was almost afraid you d 
 think I was silly." 
 
 "As if I could think that of you," I 
 protested, kissing her flushed cheek. 
 
 " I wanted to come to tell you. I thought 
 I could explain better than I could write. So 
 here I am," she went on nervously. " We 
 thought we would be married next week. 
 That isn t too soon, is it ? " 
 
 " K"ot a day too soon. At your home, I 
 suppose ? " 
 
 [265]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 " Because it would make them feel 
 foolish." 
 
 " But they do feel foolish already." 
 
 " Then you have told them ? " 
 
 "They have told me." 
 
 Roger stopped perfectly still. He drew 
 my hand from his arm, pressing it reassur 
 ingly in his warm clasp. " Wife, explain 
 yourself," he said. 
 
 " Mr. Estabrook is going to marry 
 Miss Decker next week," I answered 
 very slowly. " Miss Decker just said 
 so." 
 
 " Oh," he exclaimed, catching my face 
 in both his hands and kissing it over and 
 over. " Pardon me, you dear, sweet child. 
 You are always churning my brain into a 
 froth." 
 
 I forgave him because of the kisses. 
 
 After that we hurried on. " Don t look at 
 
 her much to-night," I advised. " She is 
 
 very shy." Roger promised, but Mr. Esta- 
 
 [268]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 brook appeared early in the evening and he 
 was not shy at all. He was openly admiring 
 and sincerely loving in a courtly, old school 
 manner. 
 
 An event somewhat more commonplace 
 occurred soon after this. Judge Elliott 
 came to spend an evening with us, and to 
 invite us to tea at Elliottiana on the follow 
 ing afternoon. 
 
 After stating his errand, he gave himself 
 up to continuous complaint. " I suppose 
 you can write your little yarns here as well 
 as anywhere," he said to Roger. " But even 
 you must find time hang pretty heavy, now 
 the leaves have fallen and it s so doleful out 
 side." 
 
 " Not a bit of it," we both declared 
 stoutly. We enjoyed the country more 
 than ever in its wider outlook. The delicate 
 tracery of the grey boughs is as lovely to 
 us as luxuriant foliage. Our vast sweep of 
 skyscape was only rivalled now by the broad, 
 [269]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 unimpeded view we caught of the rolling 
 foothills and the cleanly chiselled outline 
 of each mountain peak. " And then/ I 
 cried enthusiastically, " the wonderful at 
 mospheric effects of autumn ! One may 
 stand for an entranced hour to watch the 
 clouds piling up over the mountains, or a 
 haze lifting there." 
 
 " Yes. And get a good stiff cold in his 
 head to pay for it," he returned. 
 
 " We have neither of us had a cold since 
 we have been here and are constantly in the 
 open air," Roger said. " We had not real 
 ised that blessing. We walk more than ever 
 now the air is so crisp and invigorating." 
 
 " Biting cold, I call it," our guest an 
 swered. " I m no poet, and I say, it eats 
 to the bone. But then a man might stand it 
 if he had, by good luck, a bone to gnaw him 
 self. We are all but starved; next to no 
 variety! When the Park was fuller a ven 
 der went around every morning to take 
 [270]
 
 ;&j;TO^^^ 
 
 gS^^g8K58^S^
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 orders for meat and vegetables. He won t 
 come out there just for me. My man s gone. 
 Simmons couldn t stand it here. I can t 
 send one of the maids over that horrible 
 road, and I certainly can t walk it myself, 
 to get to where one could be driven to the 
 station. I never saw such a performance. 
 Last week I paid their weight in gold to 
 get a lot of things brought out, but that 
 doesn t mean fresh meat. We have had 
 potted stuff and bacon till it s positively out 
 rageous. I ve tried shooting, but there isn t 
 a partridge in these forsaken woods." 
 
 Roger refrained from saying that he had 
 better luck with partridges and that he had 
 bagged a number of wild ducks on Farrell 
 Creek. I did begin a spirited account of 
 the pleasure we had found during the fall 
 in gathering meadow mushrooms, but our 
 guest seemed to have little credulity to spare 
 for our fairy tales. 
 
 By way of entertainment we showed him 
 [271]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 our new storeroom, and then took him to 
 inspect the spring-house which was soon to 
 be abandoned for winter. Nothing any 
 where aroused his interest so keenly as a 
 tender beefsteak stored there. He asked 
 eager, greedy questions as to its genesis. 
 Roger explained that Mr. Jenkins had been 
 killing a beef, and had brought that much to 
 us in response to a standing order for any tid 
 bits of his handling, such as sweetbreads, or 
 a roast when an occasional calf was sacri 
 ficed for family use, and now and then a 
 turkey. It is seldom that he has anything 
 of the kind to offer, but it is just often 
 enough to aid in the variety We aim at for 
 that one substantial, nutritious dish which 
 continues to compose each meal s menu. 
 
 " This mound," I said, as we turned away 
 from it, " is covered with a thicket of shrub 
 bery as you could see in daylight." Roger 
 elevated the lantern. " It is a mass of blos 
 soms when the clematis is out." 
 [272]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 " Yes/ murmured the Judge. " Highly 
 probable." And then, animatedly, " I 
 don t suppose that man Jenkins would come 
 away over from his place to the Park ? " 
 
 Roger thought not, as his transactions 
 with us were something of a favour. The 
 Judge listened dolefully. " I m getting quite 
 ravenous for fresh meat," he confessed. 
 
 We would have urged him to take ours, 
 but we knew, of course, he could not allow 
 the sacrifice. We went back into the house 
 and talked of many things, all of which, by 
 some fatality, led back to our visitor s pri 
 vations. At last he groaned himself away, 
 and we could not be sorry when his footsteps 
 plodded with heavy portliness across our 
 door-sill. 
 
 The next morning when we Miss 
 Decker and I had begun our slight break 
 fast preparations, Roger rushed in from the 
 spring-house, shouting, " That old robber 
 has stolen our beefsteak ! " 
 [273]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 " What old robber ? " we women asked. 
 
 My husband leaned against the door-post 
 to support his statement. " Judge Elliott," 
 he said. 
 
 " Why, Roger," I cried, " did you ever 
 hear of a judge stealing beefsteak? " 
 
 " I never heard a judge declare before 
 that he was starving." 
 
 " But, Roger, he could not have done it ! " 
 
 " My dear, we have no very great choice 
 of possibilities. It must have been the Judge 
 or Mr. Estabrook. Do you think the latter 
 would have been likely, when he came to 
 see Miss Decker, to make off with her break 
 fast?" 
 
 The alternative was so absurd that we 
 were obliged to accept the first hypothesis. 
 Roger looked pretty grave until I assured 
 him that we could have one of our delicious 
 omelets instead. Then he laughed till tears 
 streamed down his cheeks. 
 
 [274]
 
 CHAPTEE XXII 
 
 IT was strange to think of breaking 
 bread with the man we suspected of stealing 
 our breakfast or that Roger suspected him 
 of it, rather, for I still maintained against 
 conclusive evidence that the deed was done by 
 " some animal " that vague zob logic term 
 that covers such a multitude of domestic 
 peccadilloes. 
 
 The Judge s conduct, from the first mo 
 ment of greeting when we arrived at Elliott- 
 iana to tea, betrayed high nervous tension. 
 We had never found him more voluble, but 
 his speech kept markedly remote from Park 
 discomforts. However, when the tea tray 
 was brought in, Mrs. Elliott bemoaned the 
 meagreness of the hospitality. " I do not 
 [275]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 see how one can offer more, though," she 
 said in a voice that was like nasal intoning, 
 " where there are no markets." 
 
 " Why," Miss Elliott laughed, " life here 
 is getting to be just like a polar expedition." 
 
 The younger daughter struck in : " Yes. 
 Father got some beefsteak somewhere for 
 breakfast this morning, and we ate it like 
 wolves." 
 
 Mrs. Elliott looked across the room to 
 ask, " Frederick, where did you say you got 
 that beefsteak ? " 
 
 There was a short silence. Then " From 
 a man," came hollowly from the inside of 
 a teacup. We did not lift our eyes, Roger 
 and I. We sat very still. Mrs. Elliott 
 parted her lips for further inquiry. Her 
 husband cried, " Wait a minute, my dear. 
 Who is that on the lawn ? " He shot out 
 of the room like a convict fleeing his judicial 
 decree. 
 
 " How could the Judge have seen the 
 [ 2T6 I
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 lawn from where he sat ? " his literal wife 
 asked. She turned to Roger, who was close 
 to the front window. " Is there any one out 
 there ? " 
 
 " Only the Judge," he answered. He is 
 very tactful, that husband of mine. He di 
 verted all those women with a thrilling an 
 ecdotal recital, so that our poor host slipped 
 into the room some ten minutes later alto 
 gether unnoticed. 
 
 We came away as soon as we decently 
 could. When we had cleared Elliottiana s 
 grounds Roger s dancing eyes looked into 
 mine. " Will you believe me the next 
 time ? " he asked. 
 
 " I will never again question even what 
 you say in your sleep," I replied. 
 
 " We have the full play of human emo 
 tions upon this tiny stage," he went on mus 
 ingly. " Every variation. Kothing is lack- 
 ing." 
 
 " Even to ripe romance," I said. Miss 
 [277]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 Decker had gone away on that day for her 
 wedding. 
 
 Something of note transpired in the in 
 terim before she returned to us as a bride. 
 One of my friends in town had been left, a 
 twelvemonth before, a very wealthy widow. 
 Many had been her letters to me of the burden 
 of her riches after her elderly husband s over 
 sight had been withdrawn. " Oh, the free 
 dom of your life," her last communication 
 had wailed. " If I could, I would throw 
 my every penny to the mob of beggars that 
 dog my steps, and come to your Eden a 
 happy, poor woman." 
 
 " Come," I wrote back to her. 
 
 " I will," she replied. And there she 
 was, upon the next day after Miss Decker 
 had left us lonely. My friend, Marion 
 Dalrymple, had not, as I at first feared, 
 thrown her fortune recklessly to the winds; 
 everything was in safe, legal hands, but she 
 had shaken off pompous cares for herself 
 [278]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 and come to worship at the shrine of sim 
 plicity. With Roger s advice she should, 
 she said, have really little difficulty in dis 
 posing of her annual income upon worthy 
 objects. 
 
 After Mr. Estabrook returned with his 
 wife we counted ourselves four congenial 
 permanent families in the realm of peace. 
 The Elliotts were still fluttering, and we 
 never knew what excuse would unfurl their 
 wings. 
 
 The coming of a bride entailed some hos 
 pitality upon even our primitive neighbour 
 hood, as did also Marion s advent. We paid 
 visits and inspected new quarters, drank 
 chocolate together, and were a little too 
 commonplace for idealism for a few days. 
 But matters soon settled themselves natu 
 rally, and our hours again were all Elysian. 
 One lovely morning I went first to see 
 Marion s clever annihilation of the Tryon s 
 " effects " in the cottage which, probably 
 [279]
 
 SB CHANTICLEER % 
 
 influenced by the sympathetic fiance, they 
 had eagerly sold to her. Then social debt 
 drew me on to Elliottiana. 
 
 An ominous hush enveloped the place as 
 I approached. The piazza was empty. 
 Every chair and Japanese curtain, every 
 gay cushion and ginger-jar of flowers, had 
 vanished. The window blinds were tightly 
 closed, but I rang the bell, smiling at the 
 futility of the act while I did so. As I 
 walked away I remembered how often the 
 Judge had said of late : " I sha n t keep my 
 family forever here to starve. My first duty 
 is to them." I was not likely to forget, either, 
 that I had remarked to Roger, " When a 
 man begins to talk of duty, he acts." The 
 thought uppermost in my mind was, what 
 explanation the magisterial speech would 
 frame for my husband. I need not have 
 wasted time in that speculation. He ig 
 nored the subject forever afterward in any 
 chance meeting with Roger. It was as if 
 [280]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 Elliottiana had never been, nor the Park, 
 nor the beefsteak. 
 
 After this adventure I ran in to see Mrs. 
 Estabrook. She was standing in the door 
 as I came over the grass-grown path. 
 " Drinking in the glories of the day ? " I 
 called out. 
 
 " Yes," she said, " feasting on this air 
 and light. We seem to be always having 
 Indian summer." 
 
 She opened the door, as she spoke, into 
 the long living room. Her husband, seated 
 by the farther side window, jumped to his 
 feet with a sharp cry of pain when he saw 
 me. I stopped where I stood, petrified by 
 the misery in the gentle face turned toward 
 me. 
 
 " Oh, I did not know you were here, 
 Charles, really," his wife explained. " I 
 am so sorry, so sorry." 
 
 He bowed his head for a moment silently. 
 And then, as if he had gained courage, he 
 [281]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 stepped forward, and, taking my hand, led 
 me up to the easel he had left. A half-fin 
 ished canvas stood upon it. " There," he 
 said. " You are my friend. You will only 
 have pity. Look at that ! " 
 
 I stared at the poor effort, and then at 
 Mr. Estabrook s excited face. I could 
 think of nothing to say. His wife explained 
 gently : " He slaved through all his youth 
 to buy time to paint. And now 
 
 " I cannot do it," he groaned. " Look 
 at that. I call it cruel, cruel ! The soul is 
 here, burning to speak, and see how the 
 clumsy fingers obey ! " 
 
 The wild words in his gentle voice stirred 
 me strangely. We gazed silently upon the 
 record of failure. Finally I said, " But 
 do you not think every sensitive being 
 has some dumb spirit within ? " I told 
 him of the " dead poet " fancy, although I 
 felt what his manhood could not say: the 
 long years of uncongenial occupation, fed on 
 [282]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 this false hope, that were smiting him now. 
 The study before us was the Vosenkill in 
 the bit of valley where Margaret had seen 
 him working. It was spotty and hard. My 
 heart pounded loud rhythmic sympathy. 
 
 " I suffer less from this crying in the 
 wilderness since I have been here where 
 every sense is open to sublimity. The sort 
 of physical pulsation that comes with our 
 most refined living, subtle but mighty, does 
 away more and more, I find, with the need 
 of outward expression. We are catching 
 and holding the aroma of life. In the eter 
 nities somewhere we will give it out. 
 Can t you feel the complete engrossment of 
 it all, this this and then, looking 
 from my heart into his, that poor burying- 
 ground of ambition, every shred of expres 
 sion left me. Oh, the tragic inadequacy of 
 mental clothing! I began and stopped and 
 began again : " Can you not feel all this 
 this thingamy ? " I wailed. 
 [ 283 ]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 He felt the word-travail, and was sorry 
 for that cry of verbal anguish. But I was 
 hot and cold with shame. " See," I said 
 desperately, " I can express my thoughts no 
 better in language than you can in paint. 
 But I enjoy resignedly almost always 
 now. Won t you try, too ? " 
 
 He smiled down at me with trembling 
 lips. " I hope you will not think me a 
 coward. But it is sad to bury the hopes of 
 a lifetime. The poor ghosts will not stay 
 in their graves. It is all cruel tragedy now. 
 Some day there may be quiet tears, and 
 wreaths upon the mounds. My dear wife 
 is helping me to bear it with fortitude. So 
 soon as may be we will lay aside our mourn 
 ing." 
 
 Then the pathetic wildness flickered up 
 once more in a last speech of rebellion. 
 " But these are the first bitter months of 
 unutterable agony. Forgive me, my dears, 
 but I must be alone for a little." He 
 [284]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 walked, with averted eyes, out of the room, 
 and presently we saw him striding rapidly 
 past the window toward the deepest thicket. 
 
 " He has suffered so," his wife sighed. 
 
 " Yes," I said again of my inadequacy. 
 
 " He believed, through all those years, 
 that, with time and congenial surroundings, 
 he could paint. He has lived for that. 
 And when he came to try and found it all 
 like this, he could hardly bear it." 
 
 " Was it his studies he was so afraid of 
 some one s seeing ? " I asked gently. 
 
 " Yes," she answered. " Only his man 
 knew about them. Perkins always warned 
 him when any one was coming. Charles was 
 so ashamed of them. But I I think some 
 of them are very natural: rocks and trees 
 and water. He says the sentiment is not 
 there ; that they are just as if he did not 
 feel. Think, Charles not feel ! " I nodded, 
 since words had proved so hateful. 
 
 " I believe," the speaker went on in a low 
 [285]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 voice, " it was because I could not express 
 myself, even as much as he did, when I felt, 
 too, that made him first care for me. He 
 pitied me so much because of what I said 
 about Mr. Enderson s pictures you know, 
 that about the mildew that he just began 
 to love me on the spot. I am so sorry I ex 
 posed him to-day. But, maybe don t you 
 suppose he will feel better now it is done ? " 
 
 " Yes, surely," I answered. " The un 
 spoken sorrows gnaw most deeply." 
 
 " Do they ? " she said. " Oh, here comes 
 Charles back again. And he is smiling." 
 
 [ 286 ]
 
 CHAPTER XXIII 
 
 ALL this time there had been nothing heard 
 of Maurice except the merest notes of com 
 monplace occasionally arriving for Roger. 
 Margaret s family were completely domesti 
 cated, and so was Marion Dalrymple; four 
 congenial households form a delightful circle 
 for winter to envelop. We increased our 
 store of books and made arrangements to 
 do much serious studying together, Roger 
 and I, during the weeks when we should be 
 most often storm-bound. We had cast out 
 the heavy anchor of larger ownership; to 
 the purchase of the Lyman acres we 
 promptly added those of Mr. Enderson. 
 The other two painters of the old coterie 
 had not come to their own at all last season, 
 and we found, upon application, that they 
 [287]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 had settled by the sea for marine work; 
 their land, lying between our old allotment 
 and our new, was willingly transferred to 
 us. The three families at what had been 
 " the Park " bought up all the available 
 ground there, so that our position was 
 thoroughly fortified. Space was our draw 
 bridge. It could be crossed, but not with 
 out our permission. 
 
 The little snow flurries of early Decem 
 ber invited us out-of-doors like eager children 
 to feel the soft flakes in our faces and to 
 watch them dashing our clothing with the 
 marvellous workmanship of their tiny crys 
 tals. A longer letter came from Maurice 
 in mid-December. He had undertaken suc 
 cessfully an almost miraculous operation. 
 Of this he wrote me full particulars. At 
 first I was surprised. Then I smiled. 
 When I read it to Margaret, Claire was also 
 present. Details that had seemed to me 
 rather unnecessarily realistic filled them 
 [288]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 both with eager interest and awe. Marga 
 ret had never shown so much respect for 
 Maurice as that professional letter evoked. 
 I noticed a slight girlish assumption of 
 superiority with her sister. It was her 
 friend who had done this marvellous thing. 
 
 " I am sorry you have never met him, 
 Claire," she said. " You might find him 
 interesting." 
 
 But Claire had no opportunity to meet 
 my brother. As Christmas drew near she 
 asked me if he were not coming to Chanti 
 cleer for the holidays; that Margaret had 
 said he would probably do so. " Oh, no," 
 I answered gravely. " We shall not be 
 likely to see Maurice for a very long time. 
 He is slavishly engrossed with his profes 
 sion. And then," I added with premedi 
 tated malice, " he is too much sought after 
 socially to be allowed to get so far away now; 
 winter has set in. Ah, no, we cannot expect 
 him before summer if ever again." 
 [289]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 Claire s face fell. She had made quite a 
 hero of the young man who could cut human 
 tissue with such delicate precision. I sup 
 pose she wasted no time in repeating my 
 words to Margaret, for that ingenuous girl 
 lost none in assuring me that she did hope 
 our circle would have to admit no one from 
 outside for the holidays. We were complete 
 as we were. 
 
 It was during the Christmas season that 
 Mr. Estabrook told me he was growing re 
 signed. "It is so beautiful here, and my 
 wife I love my wife. We have made a 
 bonfire of the canvases. I may yet be as 
 happy as you, only not so young." 
 
 We were all happy at Christmas. The 
 day before a drizzling rain followed briefly 
 a rather heavy fall of light snow. At night 
 this froze, and we awoke to enjoy the sunrise 
 touching with frosty splendour a crystal 
 world. 
 
 The air was invigoratingly sharp and 
 [290]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 cold. We muffled ourselves in fur and 
 walked briskly to the Robertsons cottage, 
 where the settlement was to gather for a 
 holiday dinner. Roger sang gaily: 
 
 " The cold wind sweeps the branches bare, 
 And the icicles hang from the eaves," 
 
 as we mounted our friends steps. Marga 
 ret opened the door to us, with the answer 
 ing lines : 
 
 " The sparkles dance through the frosty air, 
 And the spirit its carol weaves." 
 
 They had no Maurice to envy then. Poor 
 Maurice ! I always felt sorry for him 
 when Margaret was gay. 
 
 The same party saw the old year out at 
 our cottage, the first sunset of the New Year 
 at Mr. Estabrook s, and cut a Twelfth-night 
 cake with Marion; all memorable occa 
 sions. 
 
 Although Roger valued our winter seclu 
 sion for a large piece of writing he had un 
 dertaken, he tried to make me believe that 
 [291]
 
 *33 CHANTICLEER % 
 
 perhaps, for my good, we ought to go to 
 town for a month or so, to enjoy some 
 music, the art exhibits, and the sight of cer 
 tain valued friends. I was dismayed at 
 the notion. We had had no heavy snows 
 yet, and I wanted to see the w r oods snow 
 bound, the Vosenkill s falls and ripples ice- 
 encased. We must wait through January 
 for the chief winter glories. In February 
 there would be the enchantment of watching 
 the longer days creep in through the radi 
 ance of spring s first stir, " when the very 
 grain of the air is ready to split into a blue 
 bird s warble." 
 
 All this I suggested to Roger before I said : 
 " We surely would not go in March, when the 
 birds begin to come back to us. And then 
 - the great train of interests marches in." 
 The first green fuzz in the tree-tops, the ar 
 butus carpet a glimpse of its waxen, pink 
 beauty beneath the sodden brown leaves is 
 one of the forest s chief fascinations. Not 
 [292]
 
 m CHANTICLEER 868 
 
 that I would harm a petal of its dainty life 
 by ruthless vandalism, but to bend over it, 
 to look, and smell, and wonder, day by day, 
 had been a winter s anticipation. We surely 
 would not go to town when the arbutus was 
 blooming here. Then there were the blue 
 and white hepaticas, the frail pink wind- 
 flowers, and the white stars of the bloodroot 
 yet to come, the marshes yellow with marsh 
 marigolds, and the pastures yellow with ad 
 der s tongue; all those sweet mysteries that 
 we had come too late for last spring. We 
 could not miss the things that we had 
 missed, and surely we could not forego those 
 we already knew. " Think of the gay red 
 columbine, drooping its bells among the 
 fresh green ferns, and say that you would 
 set foot in New York City in May," I cried. 
 Roger said, " I am glad you agree with 
 me, Mary." I am not sorry he has a few of 
 those mannish traits to keep him human. 
 When he added that next year he must in- 
 [ 293 I
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 sist on six weeks of town for me, I affected 
 not to hear. I thought his disgust was rather 
 hopeful when Mrs. Robertson and Claire 
 found some excuse to call them to Boston 
 for February and half of March. 
 
 Margaret remained stanch to liberty. We 
 invited her to spend the weeks with us, and 
 she gladly accepted our hospitality. 
 
 Mrs. Estabrook defied all hygienic prin 
 ciples by daring to develop a slight indispo 
 sition in the late winter. It seemed purely 
 nervous, and was undoubtedly due to the 
 strain of her husband s troubles. I was sure 
 she would improve when his happiness was 
 established, but he was rightfully anxious 
 about her, and so he wrote to Maurice, to 
 ask whether he was expecting to come to 
 Chanticleer soon, and, if not, when it would 
 be best to bring Mrs. Estabrook to him for 
 consultation. 
 
 The doctor answered that the patient s 
 condition could best be judged in her own 
 [294]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 surroundings. He would come to us for 
 Wednesday and Thursday of the first week 
 in March. 
 
 I watched Margaret narrowly when these 
 arrangements were discussed, but I could 
 not discover that she manifested anything 
 more than polite interest. 
 
 Maurice arrived in the early afternoon 
 on Wednesday. Snow had been falling all 
 the morning, and it then lay deeply where 
 it was allowed to remain, a boisterous 
 wind had arisen. He was eager to set off to 
 the Cliff as soon as he was warmed and re 
 freshed ; for the walk in from the main road 
 to Chanticleer had already been considerable 
 effort. It was difficult to detain him, and 
 he had gone before I was half convinced that 
 it was wise. 
 
 We had divided our long room off with 
 
 curtains for winter use. These we drew 
 
 more often when we had guests in the house. 
 
 Roger was absorbingly writing now on one 
 
 [295]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 side of the closed portieres, Margaret and 
 I, talking in the soft voices that could not 
 break his train of thought, on the other. 
 
 Before I felt that he could have had time 
 thoroughly to examine Mrs. Estabrook in 
 addition to the walk back and forth, Marga 
 ret began wondering that the doctor did 
 not return. Then she went to the window 
 to introduce that nervous watching that al 
 ways arouses those who had not before been 
 anxious. Presently she whispered : " It is 
 growing quite dark. I should think Roger 
 would go to look for his brother. He should 
 remember that a comparative stranger might 
 miss our landmarks in this trackless waste 
 of snow." 
 
 " Trackless waste " stirred my fright. 
 It sounded so like some hideous tale of arctic 
 adventure. I tiptoed to the curtains and 
 pushed them a little aside to say, " Roger." 
 
 " Yes, dear," came back to me. " In just 
 a few minutes. I am very busy now." 
 [296]
 
 $93 CHANTICLEER % 
 
 " But, Maurice," I persisted. " He has 
 gone to the Cliff." 
 
 " Yes," he returned again, crossing a t 
 as he spoke. " He came here to go to the 
 Cliff." 
 
 Margaret appeared beside me to add: 
 " Your brother does not know the way 
 about here as we do. It is snowing furiously, 
 and just hear the wind howl ! " 
 
 Roger deliberately began a new para 
 graph. " Maurice," he said, " is old enough 
 to take care of himself. Do not let your 
 affection run away with your common 
 sense." 
 
 Of course he meant this for me, but Mar 
 garet popped away from the curtain in ex 
 plosive haste. She sat down and took up 
 a book from the table with an elaborate 
 show of indifference, though almost imme 
 diately she was leaning forward to look at the 
 clock. Then she remarked how much earlier 
 it grew dark on a stormy day; and should 
 [297]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 she light the lamp ? She did so, and I no 
 ticed that she pulled it ever so far along 
 the table where it could shine out, a lead 
 ing star, through the window. Presently 
 she peeped between the curtains to watch 
 Roger lighting his student s lamp. 
 
 " He is sitting down to write again," she 
 said. 
 
 After a pregnant silence she opened the 
 outside door and we peered out together into 
 a blackness that showed faint streaks of 
 whirling white. The wind nearly blew us 
 from the sill. " What is Roger made of ? " 
 Margaret panted. 
 
 "Made of?" I repeated. 
 
 " Adamant, I should think," she an 
 swered. " A woman would go to look for 
 Tier brother." 
 
 "Roger," I called. "You ought to be 
 worried about Maurice. We are. It is per 
 fectly dark, and a driving storm." 
 
 My husband laid down his pen and 
 [ 298 ]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 came out to us. " What time is it ? " he 
 asked. 
 
 " Ten minutes after seven," Margaret an 
 swered, " as black as pitch, the wind is a 
 hurricane, and your brother does not know 
 one step of the way." 
 
 Roger smiled. " Oh, yes. I think he 
 knows every step of the way. However, 
 it is a wild night. I suppose I might 
 take a lantern and walk toward the Cliff, 
 though I dare say a great hearty fel 
 low like that, used to being out at all 
 hours and in all weather, will not thank 
 me." 
 
 His voice was hesitating, but Margaret 
 said, " Shall I light the lantern, while you 
 get your fur coat on ? " 
 
 In three minutes she had him marching off 
 into the whirling black and white. Then 
 I began to be alarmed for him too. We 
 did not sit down again. We waited, stand 
 ing. Anxiety is lonely. When I was at 
 [299]
 
 SB CHANTICLEER 8& 
 
 the window Margaret was before the clock. 
 Suddenly she cried : 
 
 "There! What is that?" 
 
 " Only another false hope," I groaned. 
 " I cannot look again." But when the stir 
 grew into something more certain, it was I 
 that sprang to the door. Margaret stepped 
 back, her hands pressed over her eyes. 
 
 " Are there two ? " she asked. 
 
 " One," I said, shading my face and 
 leaning forward to stare more desperately. 
 " It is it is Roger." 
 
 Margaret gave a piercing scream and 
 dashed past me into the night. Then the 
 approaching mass swung into light, and I 
 could see that there were two figures, and 
 that Margaret was beating one of them with 
 her soft palms, and demanding hysterically, 
 " Where is your brother ? Where is your 
 brother ? " 
 
 " There ! Don t you see him ? " Maurice s 
 voice gasped. 
 
 [300]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 Margaret started back. " Oh, it is you ! 
 I thought But the sentence was swal 
 lowed up in the great hubbub. 
 
 Maurice had lost his way. White and 
 panting he staggered into the house, we all 
 flying about in panic haste for restoratives. 
 Margaret worked frantically, guided by her 
 First Aid to the Injured lectures. I did 
 what I could, but my friend was worth a 
 dozen of me. It did not take long to resus 
 citate Maurice. In a quarter of an hour he 
 was beyond even my anxiety, though Mar 
 garet s efforts did not in the least abate. 
 After it occurred to me that he was rather 
 prolonging his alarming symptoms, I pro 
 posed leaving him in the others care while 
 I went to prepare the food I felt he must 
 need. 
 
 Very soon Roger slipped out to me to 
 whisper, " If Margaret works over Maurice 
 for twenty minutes or so longer, I think he 
 will live till morning." 
 
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 CHANTICLEER 
 
 I flashed a gratified smile at him over the 
 chafing dish. " Her methods are most sal 
 utary," he went on gravely, " especially the 
 rubbing of the wrists and temples." 
 
 I had always found, myself, that bathing 
 those parts with alcohol was revivifying, 
 but it seemed to have very little effect upon 
 Maurice. When Margaret would lay one 
 hand down to inquire if he felt strength re 
 turning, he would silently raise the other 
 to her. I wished rapturously that he could 
 see the expression of her eyes through his 
 closed lids. Then I believed that he had 
 seen, for a brilliant colour suddenly rushed 
 over his face and neck. He said he was 
 decidedly improved, and I called them to 
 tea. 
 
 Our quarters are so circumscribed that 
 the poor dears had no time alone until the 
 next morning when Roger went to take 
 his exercise. I was sorry the snow was too 
 drifted for me to go with him as I usually 
 [302 ]
 
 CHANTICLEER 
 
 did. However, I soon slipped into my room 
 and left the young people the study bare of 
 eyes. 
 
 When I went out to them again they were 
 standing quite close together by the farther 
 window. The poses were conscious. I sus 
 pected one of Maurice s arms, it dropped so 
 stiffly by his side. We looked at each other 
 silently. It was difficult to think of a pref 
 ace. Finally I said, " Oh ! " 
 
 The young man turned his eyes toward 
 the maiden, as if he hoped she might have 
 something to say. But she had not. 
 
 The situation began to seem very stupid 
 and foolish. It was so obvious that they were 
 engaged that I took everything for granted, 
 and broke out : 
 
 " I am sure you will be happy, Margaret. 
 Maurice is growing more like Roger every 
 day." 
 
 " Yes," she said. " I think Eoger is 
 quite a little like him," looking up at Mau- 
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 833 CHANTICLEER 868 
 
 rice with a face which said he was a million 
 times better than Roger. 
 
 That was too much for me. " As if any 
 man in this world could be as good as 
 Roger," I cried, and just then he opened 
 the door. 
 
 " Who pretends to my virtues ? " he 
 laughed, with a glance of understanding at 
 the young people. 
 
 I was so glad Maurice was safe, and that 
 they loved each other at last, that I fell into 
 Roger s arms, crying the first tears I had shed 
 in this enchanted land. There was no more 
 salt in them, though, than in the drops of 
 dew on the grass. 
 
 I am sorry to end with tears ; for we were 
 happy then, and we are happy now. And 
 neither do I " propose to write an ode to 
 Dejection, but to brag as lustily as Chanti 
 cleer in the morning, standing on his roost, 
 if only to wake my neighbours up." 
 
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