CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

A RESOLUTION BROKEN

A never-to-be-forgotten winter followed that first blizzard. Never to be forgotten, at least, by the girl-teacher of the Woodford’s Cañon log-cabin school, by the young civil engineer, or by Dixie and Ken Martin. The other children were almost too young to know how portentous those months were.

After the storm there was a spell of clear, cold weather, when the snow-covered valley and mountains sparkled in the pale sunshine, inviting frolic.

For a time Mr. Edrington remained in the cabin, climbing hastily to the loft if sleigh-bells were heard without, but, as the days passed and the wrathful aunt, from whom he was hiding that he need not marry the girl of her choice, did not appear, he became more daring and ventured forth in the full light of day.

He it was who made, with Ken’s help, a wonderful slide down a steep trail which ended at the frozen stream in the valley. Then a marvelous toboggan was constructed, one long and strong enough to take them all on a wild ride from the highway to the valley-bottom.

The young engineer sat in front to steer, and Jimmy-Boy sat just behind and clung to him, and then came, Dixie and Carol, Ken and Miss Bayley.

Once, just for mischief, Mr. Edrington steered into a drift, and they were all half-buried, but they took the ducking good-naturedly.

The young engineer also spent long hours reading in the cabin of his good friend, Josephine Bayley. One of the Martin children accompanied him on these occasions, usually Dixie, who was old enough to enjoy the books that her two older friends liked to read aloud to each other.

While school was in session the young engineer was not idle, for he had with him his instruments, and many a chart he made as he studied the way to bridge chasms or to tunnel mountains.

February the first was Dixie’s birthday. Knowing that her sister and brother could not give her presents, that thoughtful little mother did not remind them of the coming event, and, childlike, they had quite forgotten, for all winter days seemed alike to them. But there was one who had not forgotten, and that one was Miss Bayley. She took Frederick Edrington into her confidence, and a surprise-party was planned and carried out.

The girl-teacher’s present to her favorite pupil was in a box, the shape of which aroused much curiosity, but when Dixie saw the gift it contained, her plain face was transfigured.

“Why, that girl is beautiful!” the young engineer said softly to the teacher who stood at his side, watching while the slender maid lifted a bow and violin.

“Miss Bayley!” How starlike were the eyes that turned toward the beloved friend and benefactress. “Do you really think that some day I shall be able to play?”

There was conviction in the tone of the young woman as she said, “I know it! Some day we shall all listen in rapture, I’ll prophesy, and then we’ll say proudly, one to another, ‘That is _our_ Dixie.’”

Going to the girl, Miss Bayley kissed her. “May I take your violin, dear? I studied several musical instruments in school, but cannot play any of them well.”

Taking the violin and adjusting it, she played a sweet, simple melody, then explained to the girl, who listened with rapt eagerness, a few of the things that a beginner should know. “Suppose you try to play.” The young teacher smiled at the maid, little dreaming that she would comply, but Dixie did not hesitate. She lifted the violin, and, after listening to the strings for a moment, she began to play the same melody that Miss Bayley had but finished. It was imperfectly done, but the young teacher knew that she had been right in believing that the girl was rarely talented.

“I will teach you all that I know, which isn’t much,” Miss Bayley said. “Then, when the snow is gone and spring has come, you shall have lessons from some one who is a real musician.”

Dixie’s cup of happiness seemed full those wintry days, for Carol grew in gentleness and unselfishness, and was ever more loved and more lovable.

“How pleased our father would be!” Dixie said that night as she and Ken were alone in the kitchen after the party. Mr. Edrington had gone with Miss Bayley, to escort her home up the cañon trail, and the younger children were asleep. “Pleased, because we have two such wonderful friends. Three,” the girl added brightly, “for surely Mr. Clayburn has been a true friend.”

“We have managed to get along quite nicely without our aunt,” the boy said as he wound the old grandfather’s clock. “I’m just as well pleased that she never did look us up. I’m almost sure we shouldn’t like her.”

“I don’t believe she knows that we even exist,” Dixie declared. “Since she never opened any of the letters that were sent to her, how could she know?”

“That’s right,” Ken agreed. “I wonder what set me to thinking about her? Well, I won’t waste any more thought on her. Good-night, Dix.”

The girl had started to ascend the ladder to the loft where she slept, but she turned back and kissed the lad as she said: “Ken, you’ve been a wonderful brother. On birthdays one thinks of those things. Good-night.”

The moon arose above old Piney Peak as Miss Bayley and Mr. Edrington left the sheltered cañon trail and turned into the highway.

“I’m going to put out the light in the lantern,” the young man said. “We don’t need it now, do we?” he smilingly asked after having blown out the flickering flame.

“Where has it gone,” she asked, “the light that was there but a moment ago?”

The young man shook his head. “I can’t tell you,” he declared; “and, Josephine, please don’t ask me to think about abstract things just now. I want to tell you something.”

The young engineer spoke seriously, almost pleadingly. He did not seem to idealize that he had called his companion by her first name, but Miss Bayley knew it, and she was glad to have him. What had he to tell her? How she hoped—but—even to herself, she would not admit that desire.

For a few moments they walked on in silence. The road was slippery. He held her arm, but still said nothing. At last Miss Bayley peered into his face, trying to get him to lift his eyes from the ground. “I’ll not say ‘A penny for your thoughts,’ that is too trite,” she began, “but I do feel sort of left out and lonely. I’m just sure you are trying to figure out how to tunnel through Old Piney and make your walk home with me a quarter of a mile shorter.”

He looked up then, his fine eyes laughing, but in them there was an expression which assured the girl that he had not been thinking of tunnels, but of her. Taking her warmly-gloved hand, he said, “Lady of the Sunrise Peak, I’m going away.”

She stopped, and her eyes told her surprised disappointment.

“Oh, Mr. Edrington, why? May I ask? I thought you were going to stay here until spring or until you had heard that Marlita Arden had married.” She paused questioningly.

“I did intend to, but I’m running away from—something else—myself,” he hastened to add. “You see, Miss Bayley, I once made a resolution, and if I stay here I’m afraid I’ll break it.”

“Indeed? May I know what the resolution was?” They had reached the small cabin beyond the inn, and the girl-teacher paused on the doorstep waiting. What could he say? The liquid-brown eyes that were so expressive were searching his. She knew his answer before it was given.

“I have fallen in love, and I vowed I never would,” he said quietly.

“And is that why you are going away?” she inquired.

“No—o,” he confessed. “It isn’t. I’m going away for one month, Josephine. Not because I want to test my love for you,—I’m sure of that,—but I want you to have time to think—and to be sure.” Then he added, “Am I presuming too much when I infer that perhaps you would want to consider caring for me?”

The girl-teacher answered frankly. “Until to-night I have thought of you merely as a comrade, a pal whom I enjoy more than I ever did any one else. But perhaps you are right. If you go away, we can tell better whether it is merely propinquity or love. Good-night.”

Frederick Edrington walked slowly back to the cabin, which was dark except for a dim light burning in the room that he now shared with Ken.

He would go to Colorado and inspect some work that was going on there, he decided. He had promised to send in a report of it before spring, and this would afford him that opportunity.

The little Martins were surprised and sorry to hear that their guest was leaving them. “I’ll be back in the spring,” he told them.

“That’s only a month away,” Dixie replied at the hour of parting.