The Hound From The North Part 26

Conversation came spasmodically. The girls were intent upon their work.

"It's all very well to have new dresses," said Prudence, with an impatient tug at the material on which the machine was operating, "but I'm afraid half the pleasure of them is absorbed by the process of 'making.' Oh, these endless seams! And I don't believe a single one of them is straight. I feel quite hopeless."

"Cheer up, Prue," said Alice, without looking up. She herself was endeavouring to set a wristband pattern upon a piece of stuff so that she could get the two bands out of barely enough cloth for one. "You should use more dash when working a machine. When you are turning it, imagine you are driving a 'through mail' to the coast and have to make up time. The seams will come all right."

"Yes; and break cotton and needles, and--and land the engine over the side of a cut-bank, or run down a gang of plate-layers or something.

There now, I've run clean off the cloth. I wish you wouldn't talk so much."

The two girls laughed whilst they joined efforts in righting the catastrophe.

"Isn't it getting dark?" said Alice, when Prudence had once more settled to work.

Sarah spoke without turning from the window.

"The storm's banking, child. The lightning is already flashing over Owl Hoot way. Hervey will only just escape it."

"What did he want to go over to the ranch for?" asked Prudence. "He never seems to go anywhere else now. I should think Mr. Iredale will get sick of having him always round."

"My dear," observed Sarah, with unction, "when two men enjoy destroying the harmless life which the good G.o.d has set upon the prairie, they never tire of one another's society. Men who would disdain to black a pair of boots would not hesitate to crawl about in the mud and damp reeds of a swamp at daybreak to slaughter a few innocent ducks. There is a bond amongst sportsmen which is stronger than all the vows made at any altar. Hervey's delight in destroying life is almost inhuman. I trust he never shoots sitting game."

"I should hope not," said Prudence. "I would never own him as a brother if he did. h.e.l.lo, Neche," as the door was pushed slowly open and the great husky limped heavily into the room. The animal looked round him in a dignified, unblinking way, and then came over to Prudence's side and leisurely curled himself up on the skirt of her dress. "Say, old boy," she added, looking down at the rec.u.mbent form, "if mother comes in and finds you here you'll leave the room hurriedly."

Alice laid her scissors down and looked over at her friend.

"Hervey seems quieter than ever lately. He won't even take the trouble to quarrel."

"And a good thing too," said Prudence shortly.

Sarah turned and surveyed the two girls for a moment, an amused expression was in her dreamy eyes. Then she turned back to the window as the first distant growl of the coming storm made itself heard.

"Hervey only quarrels when his mind is in a state of stagnation. The mind of a man is very like a pool of water. Let it stand, and it corrodes with matter which throws off offensive odours. The longer it stands the worse state it gets into. Set the water in motion, turn it into a running stream, and it at once cleanses itself. Hervey's mind has been lately set in motion. I have noticed the change."

"He has certainly become less offensive of late," said Alice. "I wonder what has changed him."

"Food for mental occupation," said Sarah.

"'A life monotonous, unrelieved, breeds selfish discontent, Dead'ning a mind to lofty thought for which by nature meant.'"

Prudence brought the machine to a standstill, and propping one elbow upon the table rested her chin upon her hand.

"I believe you are right, Aunt Sarah," she said slowly. "Hervey's certainly found something which has set him thinking. I rather fancy I know--or can guess--what it is that has roused him."

The old lady turned from the window and gazed curiously at her pupil.

She was keenly interested. The recreation of her life was the observation of her kind. Her logic and philosophy may not always have been sound, but she never failed to arrive somewhere in the region of the truth. The recent change in Hervey had puzzled her.

"He asked me yesterday to let him see that notice in the _Free Press_ which appeared when Leslie was murdered," Prudence went on. "He also asked me what Leslie's dying words were. He insisted on the exact words."

"The storm will break soon," observed Sarah. She had turned away to the window.

"I wonder," said Alice; "perhaps he has discovered----" She broke off meaningly.

"That's what I think," said Prudence.

Sarah shook her head; but what she meant to convey was uncertain, for she had her back turned and she said nothing at the moment. Prudence restarted her machine and Alice reluctantly bent over her patterns.

Sarah moved back from the window. She saw a horseman galloping over the prairie in the direction of the house. She had recognized Iredale.

"Girls," she said, her soft eyes turning on Prudence's bent head, "I really think some one should be helping the mother. This is baking day." Prudence looked up with an expression of contrition. "No--no, not you, child. You stay here and get on with your fandangles and dressmaking. I'll go and help her."

Without waiting for a reply she darted off. She had no intention of having her innocent little scheme upset. The moment after her departure the clatter of horse's hoofs came in through the open window. Alice, looking up, saw Iredale dismounting from his horse. She jumped up to go to the front door.

"Here's Mr. Iredale!" she exclaimed. Then: "So he's returned home. I'm so glad. One scarcely knows the place without him."

She dashed out to meet him, and, a moment later, returned ushering him in.

"Mr. George Iredale," she announced, with mock ceremony. Then she stood aside to allow him to pa.s.s, bowing low as he entered the room.

She stood for a moment smiling upon the burly figure. She noted how the plain features lit up at the sight of the girl bending over the sewing-machine. Then she gave herself an obvious cue.

"I'll go and call mother Hephzy," she said, and retreated hastily to the bake-house.

Iredale moved over to where Prudence was sitting She had ceased work to greet him, but she did not rise from the table. Neche surveyed the intruder, grunted and closed his eyes again. Prudence was half inclined to resent Alice's sudden departure. Alice was in her confidence; she knew her feelings as regarded George Iredale. She considered her friend's action was unkind.

"You mustn't let me disturb you, Prudence," Iredale said in his low, pleasant voice. "What is this"--fingering the material--"a new fall dress? Wonderful how you can cope with the intricacies of the manufacture of such things. It would be a very sorry day for me if I were left to cut my own coats." He laughed nervously.

Prudence detected an unusual eagerness in his voice, and something warned her that this man had come over that afternoon to see her alone. She joined in the laugh, but her eyes remained quite serious.

"When did you come back from town?" she asked, after a pause.

"I haven't been to town. I've been across the border. My business took me into Minnesota."

"Oh, I thought you had been to Winnipeg." She stooped and caressed the great dog at her feet.

Iredale shook his head. A vivid flash of lightning shot across the open window, and a crash of thunder followed it immediately. The storm was breaking at last.

"I'll close the window." Iredale moved across the room to do so.

Prudence looked after him. When he returned he sat himself in Alice's chair, having brought it nearer to the machine. Then followed a long silence while the machine rattled down a seam. The man watched the nimble fingers intently as they guided the material under the needle.

The bent head prevented him seeing more than the barest outline of the girl's cheek, but he seemed content. Now that the moment had arrived for him to speak, he was quite master of himself.

"Prudence," he began, at last, "I am giving up my ranch. I have been making the necessary arrangements. I have done with money-making."

"Really." The girl looked up sharply, then down again at her work. She had encountered the steady gaze of the man's earnest eyes. "Are you going to--to leave us?" She was conscious of the lameness of her question.

"I don't quite know. That depends largely upon circ.u.mstances. I am certainly about to seek pleasant places, but I cannot tell yet where those pleasant places will be found. Perhaps you will help me."

"How?" The seam swerved out into a great bow, and Prudence was forced to go back over it.

"Easily enough, if you will."

The girl did not answer, but busied herself with the manipulation of her machine. Her face had paled, and her heart was thumping in great pulsations. Iredale went on. He had a.s.sumed his characteristic composure. What fire burned beneath his calm exterior, it would have needed the discerning eyes of Sarah Gurridge to detect, for, beyond the occasional flashing of his quiet grey eyes, there was little or no outward sign.