Part 8

"So Mrs. Bunker told me. We drove there our first day here--don't you remember?"

Lord Canning looked at his uncle in utter contempt.

"Do I remember? What a delightful day it was, that first day! And how many delightful days we have had since! Let me see. We have been here going on four weeks--is it possible?"

"That poor chap," with an inclination of his head toward the lake, "seems awfully cut up about Miss Stillwater!" Lord Stafford watched his nephew closely. "Why don't you retire and leave him the field? You may as well, you know, first as last."

"I have no intention of doing it--first or last!"

"The devil you haven't!"

"Uncle Nelson, I have made up my mind to marry Miss Stillwater!"

"Good God! Your mother!"

"My mother will be satisfied with whatever is to result in my happiness. This is the only thing in my life I have ever intensely desired."

"Think it over--well over. You may change your mind."

"I have thought it over. You remember when I climbed Mt. Marsy with Haller. The night we spent on the summit--I never closed my eyes. In the morning I watched the sun rise over the forests, mountains and lakes. Such a young, rejoicing world! And I stood above it all, sleepless, miserable, old! The questions I had asked all night seemed vain and trivial. I was simply answered. 'Be happy!' said the new-born world, bathed in dew and light."

"I promised your mother to look after you," insisted Lord Stafford, weakly.

His nephew put up his hand in laughing remonstrance, then grew instantly grave. "Do you remember that log I threw in the Notch? How it was tossed and whirled onward, like a leaf, by the might of the falls? I am as helpless in the force that has now taken possession of me. I have ceased to reason. I am going--wherever the falls will send me." He drank deeply from the glass which stood at his elbow, Lord Stafford regarding him helplessly. They talked into the small hours of the morning.

Late in the afternoon Stillwater sat in a sunny corner of the balcony, reading the Herald. One hand held a nut, which a chipmunk was speculatively watching in the shadow of the big balsam tree. Whenever he ventured near, a rustle of the paper sent him scampering back to the branches, It was the first week of October and they were having Indian summer. The evergreens on the borders of the lake were a sombre background to the gorgeous autumn color of the beech and maple trees. The mountains were covered with an Oriental carpet of blended browns, greens, and reds. Mrs. Bunker came out on the balcony, shading her eyes to look on the lake.

"No sign of them yet."

"How long are your English friends going to stay?"

Mrs. Bunker leaned carelessly against the rustic railing. "I'm sure I don't know. Lord Stafford is a devoted sportsman, and his nephew is accumulating information about the country. They're both taken with the place, and--the people in it," she smiled, in a self-conscious way at her son-in-law. He looked at her closely. She wore a tailor-made gown, showing the fine lines of her tall figure. A scarlet cape dropped carelessly off her shoulders. Masses of silvery hair, piled artistically on top of her head, presented a striking contrast to her dark, youthful eyes.

"Grandma Chazy! You don't think of marrying again?"

Mrs. Bunker laughed as though her sense of humor had been irresistably touched. "I can't help guying Lord Stafford. He looks at me with those owl eyes, and takes all my jokes for solemn earnest."

"You will flirt, Grandma."

"I will, while there's a breath left in my body--but I'm not the only marriageable candidate in the house."

"Now, keep your match-making hands off Indiana," he said, rising and throwing down the paper. "I won't have it. If she marries away from us, it will break her mother's heart. If I thought you had any such schemes in your head--"

"Wouldn't you like to see Indiana Lady Canning?" she asked sweetly.

"No!" exclaimed Stillwater decidedly. "My girl's a good, little Yankee and she shan't emigrate." He passed up and down the balcony, talking excitedly. "Yes, there's rich emigrants and poor emigrants--and it's leaving your country, bag and baggage. England's got the flower of our women already, and of course, now the men are following suit."

"You talk like a backwood's man," said Mrs. Bunker, contemptuously. "You've never been abroad."

"No. You can do the globe-trotting for the family. Is there anything better than this--in Europe?" He gave a comprehensive sweep of his head toward the lake and the woods. "Those Englishmen are wild over the place." Mrs. Bunker folded her arms patiently, while he continued his restless promenade. "Hit me between the eyes with the Jungfrau--what's the matter with the Rockies? All the snow I want--there. Where can you see another Niagara or a Yellowstone Park--or a stretch of balsam woods, like we have here in the Adirondacks--or a--"

"My dear Horatio," interrupted Mrs. Bunker, "your spread-eagleism is wasted on me. You can be sure of one thing--when Indiana marries, we won't be consulted. She'll please herself--"

Mr. Stillwater brought his hand down on the railing. "She can have anything the world affords--but I won't buy her a title!"

Mrs. Bunker swept inside, laughing good humoredly. Seating herself by the fire in the hall, she took up a square of chamois upon which she was embroidering the head of an Indian chief, in full war-paint.

"The others not back yet?" asked Glen, entering presently. "They're making a day of it." He placed the gun he carried in a corner of the hall and threw himself into a chair by the fire. "Those Englishmen are having the time of their lives. Lord Canning monopolizes Indiana, without considering whether it's agreeable to her--"

"She's not the kind to sacrifice herself, Glen," said Mrs. Bunker, smiling, and setting colored stones among the feathers on the forehead of the Indian chief.

Glen stared into the fire.

"I think they've been here quite long enough."

"You're jealous," said Mrs. Bunker, laughing.

He looked at her with kindled eyes. "I am," he answered. "I confess it--horribly jealous!"

Again Mrs. Bunker laughed.

"You don't take me seriously, Mrs. Bunker."

"That's the trouble. I'm trying to laugh you out of this thing for your own good." She laid down her work and looked at him sympathizingly.

"Yes, I know you mean all right by me," he said with a sigh which was almost a sob. "But you needn't try to laugh me out of it--you can't do that."

"My dear Glen, you're making it very hard for your yourself! Take my advice for once."

"You can't laugh me out of it," he repeated, burying his face in his hands.

"I'll talk to you just as if you were my own--I've often wished I had a son. I could have done so much for him--I could have made something of a son of mine. You are a young fellow, with every advantage that money can give--handsome, and healthy, and clever. The world's before you. Rise up and be a man! Crush this thing under your feet! Don't consider your life is over before it's begun--because you can't have the first thing you happened to wish for. Love isn't the only thing in life--especially for a man. Look at the sphere a man has for his activity! I sometimes feel like shaking some of you!"

"You don't understand--you don't know--what a hold it has taken of me!"

"Nonsense! Make an effort! It's in you. You're a soldier--there are other battles to be fought beside those on the battlefield."

"I know. And I'll fight--when I must. It hasn't come to that yet. I haven't given up hope. Don't talk to me as if I were a coward. I went off to Manila, and I loved her then. I didn't know when I wished her good-bye but that it might be the last time I should ever see her. But it wasn't so bad as this man walking in here, a perfect stranger, and trying to steal her under my very eyes--when I've known her all my life. And what does it all mean? Fine talk--a little extra polish!"

"Lord Canning's a very interesting man--a man who holds a high position in England. Indiana also has her future to make. You mustn't expect because you've played with her as a child--well, what is the use of talking sense to you!"

"You mean well by me, Mrs. Bunker, and I thank you for it--you may be even right in what you say. You've travelled a great deal and met hosts of people, and you're very experienced, but you don't understand. This has been growing in me before I knew--growing with my growth--and growing after I knew--it's tearing a flower from the roots!" He rose abruptly and leaned against the door.

"Come out," called Stillwater. "What are you sitting over the fire for? The sun feels fine to-day! This is great weather! I'm half sorry that I didn't join the rest and bring down a few birds. Here's a boat coming in now. Lord Stafford's man with Haller."

"I don't see anything of Indiana nowadays, since those Englishmen have been here."

Mr. Stillwater looked at him significantly. "Well, they'll be gone soon--then we'll have her all to ourselves again, my boy!"

"Mr. Stillwater, you--you don't think Indiana cares for that man, do you?"

"No!" replied Mr. Stillwater, scornfully.

"He's a man of position," said Glen, "and she's flattered--that's all."

"That's all," repeated Stillwater, putting his feet up on the rustic railing.

"And another thing," Glen lowered his voice, "I suppose Mrs. Bunker's been getting in some of her fine work."

Stillwater winked. "You can depend on that. Hi, Flash!" Flash ran up, the bottles in the lunch-basket he carried rattling loudly. He bowed obsequiously, out of breath, as he neared the camp. "What sport?"

"Magnificent, sir! Partridges as thick as rabbits! Their lordships and the young lady h'is a coming, sir."

"That'll do," as Flash stood bowing and scraping. "I can't stand the crawling ways of these English servants," remarked Stillwater.

"Neither can I," said Glen.

"Well, Mr. Flash, look where you're going!" exclaimed Kitty, as Flash ran precipitately against her.

"Miss Kitty!"--he bowed exaggeratedly--"ten thousand pardons!"

"Give an account of yourself! Where are the folks?"

"They're h'on the lake. We 'ad a fine day's sport! I've never seen 'is lordship in good temper for twelve consecutive hours before. And their h'appetites, bless 'em!"--Flash whirled the basket in the air--"the h'eatables 'ave vanished and they've drained the bottles!"

"That's good!" said Kitty, relieving him of the basket. Flash sank down on a rustic bench with a sigh of fatigue.

"So the lordships are enjoying themselves?" Kitty seated herself beside him and looked meditatively at her shoes. "A lucky day for them when they fell in with the Stillwaters! We are celebrated for being magnificent entertainers."

"Are you?" said Flash, with a stare that comprehended every detail of her trim personality. Kitty was a source of much entertainment to him, besides being an unending study and a continuous novelty. Kitty, conscious of the stare, rose with a toss of her chestnut head. "I'm going down to the lake to watch for the folks."

"Stay 'ere, Miss Kitty!" pleaded Flash. "Don't compel me to mount this 'ill again!"

"There's really no necessity that you should accompany me, Mr. Flash." She deposited the basket within, and strolled down through the trees. Flash surveyed her from where he was sitting. Her smooth, shining hair was mounted by a modish black bow. She wore a little dainty, ruffled apron.

"Very neat!" he murmured, then rose with an effort and caught up with her.

"It's a big thing, as you say in h'America, to be 'unting and 'unting for miles and miles, and still be 'unting on your own 'unting grounds."

"I should say so! Mr. Stillwater bought up all that land you're talking about, years ago. It's worth ten times more now than what he paid for it. It's for that model farm."

"H'if all you've been telling me h'is true, I'm glad. I'm an h'expert on farming. I 'ave never seen h'anything like you describe, h'even in Devonshire."

"The farm's only a fad of Mr. Stillwater's. You should see our home in Indiana!"

"I say, Kitty," he looked confidentially in her face, "'ow much is 'e estimated at? Say two 'undred thousand pounds?"

Kitty laughed contemptuously.

"Three? Five?"

"Mr. Flash, you're quite a nice young man, but you're very unexperienced. A man who knows how rich he is, is not a rich man in America. He's only well off. Mr. Stillwater has reached that stage where money is never even mentioned!"

"H'is it possible!" exclaimed Flash.

"I think I see the folks. So in future, Mr. Flash, when they say a man's rich in America you will understand he is not limited to figures."

William was rowing them all in. They were talking and laughing in the highest spirits. Mrs. Bunker came down through the trees in her scarlet cape, still holding her work.

"A most enjoyable day's sport, Mrs. Bunker," said Lord Stafford.

"You did bravely to-day, Miss Stillwater," praised Lord Canning.

"Not _Still*water," said Indiana, in a drawling voice. "Still*water_."

"I'm afraid I shall never conquer your proper names. As for your wonderful charms--"

"I'll give you a lesson," interrupted Indiana. "Suppose you saw a chubby little partridge over there in the scrub fern and wanted to bag him--what would you say?"

Lord Canning took his gun and levelled it in the direction indicated.

"I should say, I'm afraid the little fellow's out of gunshot, but I'll try."

"That's not American--to be afraid!"

"No, you'd guess."

"I--guess--when there's game to bring down! Never!" She seized her gun and levelled it at him. "I'd just bag him! Aren't you afraid?"

"No," looking at her meaningly, "ready and eager to be sacrificed!"

Indiana dropped her gun, laughing rather coquettishly.

"Good hunting, Indiana?" asked Mrs. Bunker.

"Good hunting, Grandma Chazy," answered Indiana, with a comprehensive look at Lord Stafford. "You see we know our Kipling, Lord Canning."

"I've ordered tea in the boat-house," said Mrs. Bunker.

"I'm glad you did. It would be a pity to leave the lake to-day."

Up in the cozy little room of the boat-house the logs were crackling. Gay sporting prints adorned the green walls.

"Will you have this chair, Miss Stillwater? Right this time? So glad! It was quite an effort, I assure you." He thought as he drew her chair near the fire--"Perhaps I shall not be obliged to make the effort long. What an endless source of pleasure it will be to call her--Indiana!"

"I suppose you're all dying for a cup of tea," said Mrs. Bunker, seating herself at the tea-table, while Lord Stafford sank into an arm-chair near the fire, warming his hands at the blaze.

"Where are the rest?" inquired Indiana.

"Your father and mother are having their tea together on the balcony. They're perfectly happy. I believe, Glen's there too."

"The devotion of your father and mother is very touching to me," remarked Lord Canning.

"They've always been like that--ever since I can remember," said Indiana.

"It's very beautiful to see, in these days of marital indifference and incompatibility."

"They'll be lovers to the end of the chapter," declared Mrs. Bunker. "And there's Lord Stafford enjoying his single blessedness. Think what you're missing!"

"Ha, ha, ha! Yes, Mrs. Bunker, but at present this delightful cup of tea is a great consolation."

"What have you found most interesting in the States, Lord Canning?" asked Mrs. Bunker.

"Well, I should say--" he hesitated, holding his cup and gazing contemplatively out at the lake.

"Don't be afraid to commit yourself," added Mrs. Bunker, quickly. "You English hate to make a positive assertion."

"Quite so, Mrs. Bunker," returned Lord Canning amusedly. "We think more slowly than you do--and you have asked me a very difficult question."

"I'll answer it for you," volunteered Indiana. "Your uncle has come to America to shoot things, and you for scientific purposes--ostensibly. But you spend night after night over your brandy and soda, discussing the American woman."

"Remarkable!" ejaculated Lord Stafford, adjusting his monocle and staring at Indiana.

"How did you find us out, Miss Stillwater?" Lord Canning laughed heartily.

Lord Stafford drew his chair closer to the tea-table.

"Are you not a very remarkable woman, Mrs. Bunker, even in this country of remarkable women?"

"You'll find women like me all over the States. You see we don't become old before our time--to make way for the girls. I had my daughter to rear, and I did it as well as I knew how. Then I superintended my granddaughter's training. Now she's a woman, I'm commencing all over again on my account." She laughed heartily at the serious countenance with which Lord Stafford heard her explanation.

"Remarkable, Lord Stafford, or bewildering--which?" She smiled archly into his face.

"Charming, this time, charming, I assure you!"

"The lake looks so blue and enticing from here! Shall we drink our second cup on the balcony, Miss Stillwater?"

Indiana assenting, Lord Canning brought her empty cup to Mrs. Bunker. "Make yourself comfortable in the hammock, Miss Stillwater. I will be out directly, with a fresh supply."

"Don't spill it, Lord Canning! Really your hand is very steady--a good sign! Another--with me, Lord Stafford?"

"I will take another with you, Mrs. Bunker."

He returned the cup and leaned comfortably back in his chair, enjoying the cosiness of his surroundings--the proximity of the fire, the blue lake shining in the distance, and the domestic picture afforded by Mrs. Bunker at the tea-table.

"How is it that a good catch like you has escaped the matrimonial anglers so long?" she asked confidentially, as she sipped her tea.

Lord Stafford stirred his cup in amused embarrassment, quite at a loss for an answer.

"Now, why don't you marry?" continued Mrs. Bunker.

"Er--er--I'm rather sensitive about being asked such personal questions," gasped Lord Stafford. "My own sister never asked me that!" He resumed a reminiscent expression. "She asked me if I should marry, but never why--never why!"

"You'll tell me, won't you?" urged Mrs. Bunker, sweetly.

"Oh, by George, I declare I've never even asked myself that question!"

"Well, I should be quick! Start an investigation committee and find out something about yourself. You don't know how long you are going to live."

"Mrs. Bunker, one never knows what you are going to say next."

"The lake has a ruby necklace," remarked Lord Canning, looking up from his note-book, in which he had been writing while Indiana rested in the hammock. The deep red coloring of the bank mirrored along the shore as far as one could see. "Ah, there is Mr. Masters going out in a canoe!" He watched Glen's well-knit figure as he paddled with swift, unerring strokes, clearing a perfectly straight line down the centre of the lake. "A very fine specimen of young manhood," he thought.

Later there was a tinge of rose on the mountains, gradually fading into purple. Glen remained on the lake watching the sunset. His solitary canoe rested in a spot commanding a view of White Face Mountain--that which Lord Canning had called the Mount of Perfection. Its giant shadow lay on the lake, with the purple glow on its towering peak. He was discouraged and depressed. The transient purple glow on the water reflected itself in his spirit for the moment. Then it faded, leaving the dark shadow of the mountain on the lake and a chill in the air. He paddled slowly homeward. He had isolated himself from the rest lately and spent his time restlessly roaming the woods with his gun, which lay for the most part neglected beside him, while he asked constantly of a blue patch in the pines why he should be robbed of his birthright of happiness. The pines, bending and sighing over him, whispered always the same consolation, as a sad nun, weeping with the stricken, will speak the lesson of submission she has learned, and, knowing nothing else, repeat it many times again.

*CHAPTER XI.*

*A Moonlight Picnic.*

They were all jubilant during dinner at the prospect of the moonlight picnic. When they emerged 'The Indiana' waited at the dock, illuminated with colored lanterns. The camp-fire burned brightly as usual. Haller sat on the steps with a lantern, ready to light them down to the lake.

"Just eight," said Stillwater, looking at his watch.

"No hurry," assured Mrs. Bunker. "This is to be an all-night affair."

Haller chuckled.

"Dissipation in the woods--fancy!" remarked Lord Stafford.

The electric lights on the balcony were arranged to give only a subdued glow. Glen played his mandolin softly while coffee was served, his eyes fixed on Lord Canning and Indiana, who were talking in a very gay, lively strain.

"The Pacific coast is a great hunting ground, Lord Stafford," began Stillwater. "I've heard stories about bands of elk that once roamed the San Joaquin Valley in California, living on plains same as the buffaloes--miles away from anything like cover."

"Remarkable!" said Lord Stafford, while Haller listened with open-mouthed surprise.

"You see there was no demand for them before the discovery of gold, but when the miners came they wanted meat. And then there were travelling bands of bloodthirsty explorers. They and the miners murdered everything in sight--the white man generally does. I was told that the great novelist Dumas landed there in 1849, and one of his first performances was to kill an elk in Sacramento Valley."

"Indeed, an interesting fact! These vast herds of elk retreated--where?"

"To the Great Red Woods."

"Haller," called Glen, "I'd like to climb White Face to-morrow; it's such clear weather."

"'Tis clear," replied Haller. "Liable to have snow on White Face."

"Are you going to put me in your book?" asked Indiana. "Am I the type of American woman you will describe?"

"I am not going to put you in my book," answered Lord Canning. "I am going to put you--well, never mind. You are not the type--you are a type."

"That's so," assented Indiana. "The states are too large for any one distinctive type of woman. We all have that 'must-be-up-and-doing' kind of spirit. You call it 'nervous activity.' The Southern girl is neutrally active; the Eastern girl aggressively active."

"The Western girl--" suggested Lord Canning.

"Judge for yourself." She stood before him, her hands clasped behind her. "Physically light weight, but strong. I can climb a tree, vault a fence, ride a horse bareback, straddle and side-saddle. Mentally light-weight, but bright, with an enormous faculty for devouring literature, good, bad and indifferent. I love good music, and the impressionist school of painting. Character undeveloped; politically, an expansionist. I believe in the imperialistic policy, in annexation--stretching out and grabbing everything I can get."

"Bravo! Charming!" exclaimed Lord Canning, clapping his hands. "You are most interesting."

"As a study--or--or--a woman."

"Both," said Lord Canning. "When I cease to study your imperfections, I commence to love them." He bent over her, looking into her eyes. Glen struck a discord on the mandolin.

"I suggest that we start," interrupted Mrs. Bunker.

Lord Canning stood seriously gazing into the fire in the hall, while the ladies donned their wraps. His face brightened when he saw Indiana on the little balcony behind the Persian rug. She had put on a long white circular. The hood, edged with swansdown, made a pretty frame for her little flushed face. Her eyes, with their dilating pupils, looked dark under the yellow hair.

"Come down, little snow maiden! Or, are you afraid you will melt away in the heat of the fire?"