CHAPTER VIII

MURRAY GIVES AN ANSWER

"I wish I knew," observed Olive Townsend to Jane Bell, "what in the world is the matter with Murray. He acts as if he had lost his head completely. I went into his room this morning, and almost fell over a pile of Indian clubs and dumb-bells; and I saw a set of chest weights hanging against the wall. It's the queerest thing! He's never gone in for that sort of thing at all--and I shouldn't think he was strong enough for it, either."

The two girls were driving along the park roadway in a high-hung phaeton of Olive's, behind a very smartly harnessed horse. This was the third time Olive had asked Jane to drive with her, and although Jane would have enjoyed excursions into the country much more than these drives about the fashionable city streets, she appreciated the honour Olive meant to do her in thus exhibiting their friendship to all beholders. Olive had grown to be rather proud of Jane's company upon these drives, for she was conscious that they attracted considerable admiring attention, and she fancied that Jane's quiet daintiness of attire set off her own rather more striking style.

Jane laughed at the notion that Murray was not strong enough to put himself in the way of being stronger. She knew it was Peter who had suggested this course of proceedings in response to an envious comment from Murray, when he had seen Peter scantily garbed for some severe physical labor about the house.

"Biceps?" Peter had laughed, as Murray grasped the sinewy arm and expressed his admiration for the fine development thereof. "And deltoid?--Oh yes, that's easy. If your particular form of daily toil does n't give you muscle where you want it, get it for yourself with exercise. You can build up anything you like in a gymnasium--or in your own room, if you have the persistence."

"You could, with your splendid health to begin on, of course," Murray replied, with a sigh, for he had begun to suspect that Peter's unusual level-headedness and efficiency came in considerable degree from his well-developed body.

"So could you. A year of solid work with a good instructor would make another chap of you. Two years, an athlete."

"Oh, no--not with my constitution."

"Your constitution, man!" Peter had almost shouted. "What's constitution? Something to be made just about what you will of. Fellows with a direct tendency toward consumption have made themselves giants by living outdoors and sawing wood."

This had been the beginning, the first result of which serious talk had been the dumb-bells and chest-weights which had called forth Olive's suspicion of her brother's sanity.

"But he's never cared for anything but books--and to be let alone," objected Olive, when Jane replied that she thought nothing better could happen to Murray than to become interested in building up his physical being. "It's just since Forrest has been gone--only think, that's six weeks now--that Murray has been at this."

"It's telling on him already, too," said Jane, feeling a sense of elation over the fact which she could not quite account for. "He has a better colour. I noticed it yesterday."

"That was sunburn," declared Olive, skeptically. "He spent the afternoon lying on the ground with a book down by the hedge, right squarely in the hot August sun. I think it was ridiculous."

"He's lived in the house ever so much more than was good for him," Jane insisted, gently. "So does everybody in cities. My idea of happiness--one sort--is a day on my grandfather's farm. It's only about ten miles out, and we 've a plan. Should you, Murray, and Shirley, care to spend a day with us out there? A sort of picnic, you know. Down by the river there are the loveliest places you can imagine, and Peter says he 'll take you fishing if you care for it."

"Indeed I should, I 'm sure," agreed Olive, with real pleasure. She loved new sensations, and the notion of going fishing with Peter Bell appealed to her strongly. She was growing more and more to respect and admire Peter; in a way, it was true, in which she quite failed to appreciate his best qualities, but in which she responded, nevertheless, to those which his family would have rated as his second best.

"Don't forget the picnic," was Olive's last word, as she set Jane down at her own door. "I shall begin to get an outing hat ready now."

"If I should forget, Peter would remind me. It's his plan," Jane reassured her--a fact which of itself pleased Olive, for she was confident that it meant his regard for her entertainment.

If she had known, however, the whole plan was a plot of Peter's for Murray's diversion.

"The fellow 's worrying about something," Peter had said. "He's pitching into the exercises I showed him, but his mind 's counting against him. I know what he wants to build himself up for. He told me that if he had to be the family's sole representative in the matter of sons for the next three years, he wanted to put up a better showing, and I 'm decidedly glad he takes it that way. I 'd hate myself to be five feet ten and weigh only one hundred and thirty. Let 's take him--and the girls if you like--out for a day on Grandfather Bell's farm. What do you say? Do you suppose we could make the thing acceptable to Miss Worthington Square?" After due consideration of the matter, and some consultation with her mother, Jane had enthusiastically agreed. Now, upon returning from the drive, she was able to tell Peter that Olive had accepted the invitation with alacrity.

"What--fishing and all?" he laughed. "Really, I think better of her ladyship than ever for coming down to earth like that. The question is now, how to get them there without resorting to hay-wagons--a form of conveyance I judge Miss Olive would n't deign to accept."

"Imagine one rolling up to the _porte-cochere_ on the Worthington Square front!" and Jane broke into such a merry laugh that everybody joined in--for Jane had told Peter her news at the dinner-table.

"Let Miss Olive and Murray and Shirley drive in their own trap, and have Pete bring out grandfather's new surrey for us. I 'm sure it's as trim a looking vehicle as any, if his horses don't have quite the smartest harness going," suggested Ross McAndrew. "The horses themselves are crack-a-jacks."

"That will have to do, I think," Jane agreed, "though it seems too bad to ask our guests to take themselves."

"No matter in what order we go, you 'll find we 'll come home democratically mixed up," prophesied Ross. "I defy Miss Worthington Square to withstand the leveling influences of a day on Grandfather Bell's farm. I 've no doubt Peter will drive the trap home, with Rufe hanging on the back seat, and Murray will learn what it means to coax a pair of shy farm horses past the electric cars. As for me, I may come home as jockey on young Major's back, the city youth having proved not up to the situation."

With such merry comments the preparation for the picnic was made. And if the Bells had known it, their guests looked forward to the affair with quite as pleasant anticipations as themselves. When the day came--a sultry August morning, with signs of thunder-showers in the west--Olive and Murray and Shirley found themselves as willing to risk a possible wetting as the Bells themselves, who never minded such small things as thunder-showers in the least.

The farm horses--Grandfather Bell's pride, and with reason, for they were a fine pair of blacks--led the way, the new surrey carrying such a jolly company that the guests, following close behind in the smart trap, tried in vain to rival their hilarity. The three Townsends were all arrayed in white linen from head to foot, and presented a cool and attractive spectacle; but Murray's eyes watched with envy the parti-coloured group in the conveyance ahead, and Olive reluctantly owned to herself that Jane's fresh little blue cotton frock, while better suited to a farm picnic than one of white linen, was also a charming spot of colour upon the landscape.

"Now, who's going fishing?" called back Peter, as he drove his steeds briskly in through Grandfather Bell's gateway, followed by the trap at its best pace. "It's clouding over now, so that we ought to have some good sport--if the rain holds off, and I think it will, judging by the wind. Grandfather Bell can tell us that," he added, as a tall old man of a hale and vigorous aspect came out of the house to greet his guests.

"The rain won't bother you before afternoon, I guess," prophesied Grandfather Bell, shaking hands cordially with his guests. "When it does, you 'd better put for the house. You can have your picnic indoors, where you won't get your clothes wet," and his glance fell on the three white-clad young people from the city.

"Never mind our clothes," said Murray. "We were thinking of the hot day coming when we put them on. It would have been more sensible to dress like you fellows," and he glanced from Ross's worn gray corduroys to Peter's faded blue flannels, in which costumes both young men looked ruggedly--and not unattractively--ready for roughing it.

"Picnics appeal to people from different points of view," suggested Ross. "Now, Miss Olive can certainly sit on a rock and watch Peter, Rufe, Nan and myself fish, giving us practical suggestions from time to time--in a whisper. Perhaps she 'll photograph us with that camera she has there. But I would advise that Mr. Murray Townsend, Miss Shirley Townsend, and Miss Jane Bell, sit apart on some mossy bank and read some pleasant tale _about_ fishing."

"Nonsense. You talk like a stage manager," jeered Peter. "Miss Olive 's going to do some real fishing if Grandmother Bell has to lend her a dress to go home in--and so are the rest. Fishing is the first thing on this programme and fishing is to be done. You saw to the rods and lines, Rufe--where are they?"

Rufe raced away to the barns, and came back with a full fishing equipment for everybody. After greeting Grandmother Bell, a pleasant little old lady, with a warm welcome for every one, the party proceeded through the orchard and down a long, maple-Leaded lane to the river--a picturesque spot, which had been the paradise of the Bell family from its earliest recollections.

Here sport reigned for an hour, although few fish were caught. The spirit of hilarity ruled the holiday too thoroughly to admit of much wooing of the frightened prey; but nobody minded except Rufus, who finally left the others and wandered away up-stream, whence he returned after a time, triumphant, with a respectable showing of fish.

"The clouds don't look as threatening as they did. Could n't we climb that small hill on the other side of the river? I 've been looking at that winding path for an hour, wishing I could see where it leads," said Murray to Jane, propping his fishing-rod against a tree.

"It leads to a little hemlock grove, and a field of corn beyond," answered Jane, fanning her flushed and laughing face with her wide-brimmed hat.

"Oh, don't tell me! Come and explore it with me, will you?" Murray gave her such a pleading look that she could not refuse him, although she and Peter had agreed that this picnic was not to be a "pairing off" affair, because that would leave Ross in the lurch, and Ross had been working hard of late, and needed an outing, his cousins thought, more than anybody.

"We'll just go over and back, if you like--to satisfy your curiosity," and Jane let him walk away with her.

They slowly climbed the hill path, Murray stopping to cut himself a stout staff in lieu of the cane he no longer used. "I shall always be lame," he said to Jane, "but I 'm not going to depend on canes any longer except for such special occasions as this. Do you know, I think I 'm growing a shade brawnier--thanks to Peter's training."

"I 'm sure you are; you look it," responded Jane, warmly, "and I 'm so glad."

"There has been wonderful work done in the world by people in ill health. But I 'm afraid I could never be a Carlyle or a Stevenson, no matter how bright the fires of genius burned. They worked for the love of it, but when the task a fellow sees before him is one he dislikes, he certainly needs the backing of a sound body."

As they attained the top of the hill, panting a little for breath, Murray stared ahead into the hemlock grove.

"That 's a cool-looking spot. Can't we sit down there a few minutes? I 'll have to rest a bit before I do more," he urged. "It's three years since I climbed a hill like that--just the day before I had my accident. I seem to have got started on the uninteresting subject of myself, so I may as well go on a little further and tell you my plans about the same chap, if you don't mind listening."

"I 'd love to hear them. Here's a fine mossy spot, and two trees to lean against," and Jane dropped at the foot of one of the trees she had pointed out. Murray, casting aside his stick, threw himself down at full length near by, his arms clasped under his head.

"Ah, this is great!" he murmured. "Smell those balsams? It makes one want to live outdoors. And that's what I'm thinking of doing."

"Really? How? Will you pitch a tent on the lawn? That would be fine for you, and we should all envy you."

"No, I want a more radical change to outdoor life than that--or at least I want the results. I 've made up my mind that to live my life out as a bookish invalid, if I might do better, is 'too poor a way of playing the game of life,' as one author I like immensely puts it. I shall stick to the books all I can, but--I want some good red blood in my veins besides."

Forrest's words spoken weeks ago, charging Murray with the very lack of "red blood," came to Jane's mind, and she smiled and sighed, thinking what a change those weeks had made in the relations of the two brothers. And here was Murray wishing for the very thing the want of which his vigorous brother had deplored.

"I 'm sure you can have it, and all the good things that go with it."

"Which are many, as you people have already taught me. Honestly, it's seeing your family so alive and hearty and happy that's brought me to be dissatisfied with myself. I 'm going to have need of all I can put into Murray Townsend, and so--I 've about made up my mind----"

He hesitated, pulling a hemlock branch through his slim fingers with nervous energy. Then he began again: "I 've been reading a lot lately about life on one of those Western ranches--real ranch life, I mean; not Eastern play at it. I 've a cousin who went to Montana six years ago. I get a letter from him once in a while. He's a Westerner now, full-fledged. I doubt if he ever comes East again to stay. I 've written him to ask if he has any room for a tenderfoot on his ranch, and if he says he 'll take me in, I think I 'll go."

"Right away?"

"Right away, if father agrees--and I think he will. He 'll be only too glad to have me take the chance of making a man out of myself, instead of a bloodless bookworm." Murray turned over with a short laugh, and propping his chin on his elbows, lay looking at Jane.

"How long shall you stay?"

"Long enough to do the business. A year, if necessary. When I come back, I 'll probably be wearing leather leggings with fringes, a handkerchief round my neck, and a sombrero. I 've no doubt the cowboys will have played tricks enough on me to prove satisfactorily to all concerned whether I 'm a man or a mushroom."

Jane looked steadily down at the face below her, and realised that it was a face of strength as well as of fineness. The eyes which met hers were enlivened by a determination she had never seen in them before, and her answer brought into them a light which surprised and pleased her.

"I think it's the best plan in the world," she said, heartily, "and I know it will succeed. Nobody ever set himself to accomplishing anything without accomplishing either that thing or something better."

"What could the 'something better' be in my case?"

"I don't know. Do you?"

The question was a challenge. Murray sat up. A tinge of red crept into his cheek. "Yes, I know," he answered. "So do you, I think. You put it into my head. Am I a coward, that I can't decide to give myself over to my father and the business?"

"No. But you are planning to put your shoulder to his wheel somehow--I know you are, or you would n't be trying so hard to strengthen that shoulder."

"You're a wizard--or a witch." Murray spoke soberly; then he laughed, as the two pairs of eyes met, and he caught the fire in Jane's. "Are you always so sure of your friends?"

"Always. If I have a friend, I believe in--her--whether she wants me to or not. She always proves me right."

"Suppose it 'him'?

"I don't know so much about the 'hims,'" said Jane, "except my brothers. The rule works with them."

"You must be an inspiring sister. You 've brothers enough already, I suppose, but I wish you 'd adopt another. My sister--she can't be far from your age, but she seems years younger. She has n't thought about things the way you have. Look here! If I go to Montana for a year, I shall be pretty lonesome sometimes, I expect. Will you let me write to you?"

"It would be great fun," answered Jane, simply, "to have letters from a real cowboy with six-shooters in his belt."

"I 'll take them out when I write to you. Must we go back? Well, if you think we ought--though I 'd like to lie here all day and dream dreams about the great things I 'm going to do. But a fellow can't dream much in the society of the Bells--he has to be up and doing."

"With a heart for any fate," quoted Jane, blithely, as she led the way. "I 'll tell you a better motto than that, though, fine as it is."

"What is it? Give it to me, will you?"

"I 'll write it out for you."

"When?"

"To-morrow, perhaps."

"To-day, please. I 'm an impatient chap."

"Very well. You shall have it when we get home. It's one I can't talk about, somehow--it gives me a choke in my throat--I don't know why."

Hours later Murray found out why. By the time he and Jane had rejoined the rest of the party the threatening storm-clouds had brought the promised rain. The lunch had to be eaten in Grandmother Bell's pleasant kitchen, but the guests enjoyed it almost as much as they could have done in the sylvan spot that Peter had picked out. By three o'clock in the afternoon the storm had passed. It had cooled the air a little, so that it was possible for the party to spend three long and delightful hours upon the river before going home.

"We three in what was once white," said Murray, as he stood by the trap, "are a pretty sorry-looking crowd to go back all together. Why may I not change places with Peter, and drive the Bell family home?"

Ross chuckled as he winked at Jane, and she recalled his prophecy of some days earlier. But it was he and Nancy who took the back seat of the trap, leaving Rufus and Shirley in the surrey, to carry on an acquaintance which had developed to great friendliness in the Townsend tennis-court, where the children had played every evening throughout the summer.

Up in his own room Murray took from his pocket a slip of paper Jane had given him as she said good night, and unfolding it as if it were a message from a royal hand, he read it slowly through. The expectation of this message had been warm all through the pleasant drive home in the twilight.

The words of Jane's quotation were these:--and as it happened that he had never seen them before, they came to him at this crisis of his life with peculiar force.

"Life is an arrow--therefore you must know What mark to aim at, how to use the bow-- Then draw it to the head, and let it go!"

There was a little constriction in Murray's own throat as he studied the brave words. He saw at a flash their deeper meaning. "Make myself fit to live my life," he thought "and then--whether it's the life I want to live or not--let it go! Jane, you know how to fit the arrow to my hand--bless you! I will _draw_ it to the head--_and let it go_!"