A Cry in the Wilderness Part 23

"Certainly, I will go, unless Mrs. Macleod--"

"Mrs. Macleod says she does n't need you." He spoke quickly, his keen eyes holding mine for a moment.

"I say, that's a jolly cool way you have at times, Marcia!" Jamie exploded in his usual fashion when he is ruffled. "But you 'll get used to it, Doctor--I have."

"A martyr, eh, Boy?" The Doctor looked amused.

"Well, rather--at times."

"Don't mind Jamie's martyrdoms, Doctor Rugvie; tell me when you want me to be ready."

"In half an hour. I don't want to start too late; be sure to take enough wraps."

I left them to go upstairs, wondering on the way what wraps I should take--I, who possessed only sufficient clothing to help out a New York winter, but no furs, no fur coat, no warm moccasins, no mittens, only an unlined gray tweed ulster that with a grey sweater had done duty for four years.

"I want my pay more than I want a pung ride," I growled, as I was trying to make the one thick veil I owned do double duty for head and ears protector. I folded a square of newspaper and laid it over my chest under my sweater; I put on two pairs of stockings. Thus fortified against the Canadian cold, I went downstairs promptly on time.

Mr. Ewart came out into the pa.s.sageway; the Doctor was talking with Mrs. Macleod in the living-room.

"Why, Miss Farrell," he exclaimed, "I see you don't realize our climate; you can't go without more wraps--"

He hesitated, grew visibly embarra.s.sed. I knew by his manner he had unwittingly probed my poverty to the quick, and I crimsoned with shame; yes, I was ashamed that my lack should thus be made known to him--ashamed as when Delia Beaseley's keen eyes read my need of money.

"Oh, I don't need to bundle up--I have been accustomed to go without such heavy clothing," I said, with ready lie to cover my confusion.

The Doctor came out and took his fur-lined coat from a wooden peg under the staircase. Mr. Ewart turned abruptly and reached for something on an adjoining peg; it was a fur coat of Canadian fox, soft and fine and warm.

"You are to wear this, otherwise the Doctor won't let you go," he said quickly, decidedly, shaking it down and holding it ready for me to slip in my arms.

For a second, a second only, I hesitated, searching for some excuse to give up the drive and so avoid acceptance of this favor; then I slipped into it, much to Jamie's delight who, appearing at the living-room door, cried out:

"My, Marcia, but you 're smart in Ewart's togs! We 'll have some of our own if this is the kind of weather they treat us to in Canada. I 've been hugging the fire all the morning."

He saved the situation for me and I was grateful to him; but Mr. Ewart looked at him, almost anxiously, saying:

"I should have been getting the heater put up this forenoon, instead of rushing off the first thing this morning. A poor host thus far, Jamie, but I 'll make good hereafter."

The Doctor looked me over carefully.

"You 're safeguarded with that; the sleeves are so long and ample they are as good as a modern m.u.f.f--go back, Boy,"--he spoke brusquely, as he opened the outer door,--"this is no place for you."

Cale vacated the pung, and the Doctor and I filled it. He took the reins; the beautiful creatures rose as one in the exuberance of life; shook their heads, and the bells with them, as they poised a moment on their hind feet; then they planted their hoofs in the crisping snow, and we were off.

"Your ears must have burned more than a little this forenoon, Miss Farrell," he said, after driving in silence for ten minutes during which time he proved conclusively to the French horses that he was a "whip" of the first order, and to be respected henceforth as such. It was a pleasure to see his management of the high-lifed animals.

"Mine? I was n't conscious of anything unusual about them."

"We were speaking of you and your evident executive ability, and we took the time on our drive to try to settle a little business matter that concerns you. ("Ah, wages," I thought with satisfaction.) We tried to agree but we failed; and although we did not come to blows over the question, it was not settled to my satisfaction, at least.

You don't mind my speaking very frankly?"

"No, indeed; I wish you would." I looked up at him over the turned-up fur collar of Mr. Ewart's fox skins--"pelts" is our name for them in New England--and smiled merrily. I was right glad to get down, at last, to some business basis and know where I stood. Again I saw the perplexed look in his eyes.

"Why?"

"Because, naturally, you know, I look for pay day to help out."

"Naturally," he repeated gravely; then laughed out, a hearty, good-comrade laugh. "Just how long have you been here?"

"A month yesterday."

"And wages overdue!"

I nodded emphatically. I felt as if I could tell this man beside me, with his wide experience of humankind, about the pitiful sum of twenty-two dollars I had saved from my wreck of life in New York; about my scrimpings; even of the two pair of stockings, and the square of newspaper reposing at that very minute on my chest and crackling audibly when I drew a deeper breath. There was no feeling of soul-shame on account of my poverty with him, any more than I should have felt physical shame at the nakedness of my body if subject to one of his famous surgical operations. Had not this man helped to bring me into the world? Should I have been here but for him? Had he not known me as an ent.i.ty before I knew anything of the fact of life? This idea of him disarmed my pride.

"H'm," he said at last, thoughtfully, "I must live up to my reputation of owing no man or woman over night. You shall have it so soon as we get back to the house--and well earned too," he added; "I had no idea an advertis.e.m.e.nt could bring about such a satisfactory result."

"Do you mean me or the refurbished house?"

"I mean you. And now that we 're alone, do you mind telling me something of how it came about? I 'll own to asking you to come with me that we might have a preliminary chat together."

"I thought so."

"Oh, you did! Well, commend me to one of my compatriots to ferret out my intentions. I heard Cale say you were born in New York."

"Yes, twenty-six years ago, but I have lived most of my life in the country, in northern New England."

"Wh--?" he caught himself up in his question, and I ignored it.

"That climate is really just as severe as the Canadian, so I feel quite at home in this."

"May I ask if your parents are living?"

"No, they 're not living; my mother died when I was born. I told Delia Beaseley so when I applied for this place."

("Now is my time; courage!" I exhorted myself in thought.)

"I 'm glad you know Delia Beaseley, she 's a fine woman."

"A n.o.ble one," I said, heartily.

"Yes, n.o.ble--and good."

"And good," I repeated.

"I think I 'll tell you a little how good."

"I think I know."