Robert W. Chambers

“ Blylock was Lynda Sutherland's cousin, but I demonstrated to Ysonde that this did not concern her. Sometimes I wished that Blylock would go back to Beacon Street, and yet I had grown fond of him in a way. The porcupine followed me into the forest, poking his ratlike muzzle into every soft, rotten stump, twitching his white whiskers. A red squirrel followed him from tree to tree, chattering and squealing with rage, but Billy lumbered along, stolid, blasé, entirely wrapped up in his own business. ”

“ I cried, with a start.
"To your own interests, Bobby. Aunt Lynda likes you, but she doesn't like to hear you speak flippantly. If you destroy her trust in you she will not let us walk together when we please."
We moved on in silence for awhile, until Ysonde, tired of blazing, handed me the hatchet.
"Yes," said I, "I am blind. I cannot lead you—on any trail."
"Nor I you," she said simply.
I did not reply, for who but I should know that through the fragrant forest, bathed in sun and dew, the blind led on the blind?
"You have formed a habit," said Ysonde, "of muttering to yourself. ”

“ I said, looking at the porcupine with my left eye.
"Ridiculous Billy," for that was his name, stared at me with an insolence born of safety, and his white whiskers twitched in derision.
"You old devil!" I thought, remembering the scar on my ankle.
"Where did he bite you?" asked Ysonde, unconsciously reading my thoughts. It was a trick of hers.
"In the ankle—it was nothing. I would rather have him bite the other ankle than get any more of his quills into me!" I replied. "See how the snow-birds have followed you. They are there among the wild strawberries." ”

“ Blylock came down with a blazing pine-knot to inspect the fish, and I heard him rigging his rod ten minutes later as I walked into camp and sat down, glowing from a dip in the tin bucket below.
Lynda and Ysonde were nibbling away at broiled trout, hot toast, and potted pheasant.
"Dear me," said Lynda, "I really must not eat like this. I have had three cups of bouillon to begin with. Ysonde says you are the cleverest angler in the world." ”

“ I cannot bear sweets of any kind.
"Aunt Lynda will make another to-morrow," cried Ysonde through the keyhole.
"Thank her for me," said I faintly; "Ysonde, I am coming out to-night."
"It is not yet three weeks!" cried Ysonde.
"It will be three weeks to-morrow at one p.m. My eyes won't suffer at night. I should like to smell the woods a little. Will you walk with me this evening?"
"If Aunt Lynda will allow me," said Ysonde. After a moment she added, "I will ask her now," and I heard her rise from the chair outside my door. ”

“ Où va l'homme? Où son cœur l'appelle!
L'hirondelle suit le zéphyr,
Et moins légère est l'hirondelle
Que l'homme qui suit son désir.
YSONDE swung her racquet. Her laughter was very sweet. A robin on the tip of a balsam-tree cocked his head to listen; a shy snow-bird peered at her through the meadow grass.
"What are you laughing at?" I asked uneasily. I spoke sharply—I had not intended to. The porcupine on the porch lifted his head, his rising quills grating on the piazza; a drab-coloured cow, knee-deep in the sedge, stared at me in stupid disapproval. ”

“ The porcupine on the piazza rose, Sniffed, blinked in the sunlight, and lumbered down the steps, every quill erect.
"Billy! go back this minute!" said Ysonde.
The quills on Billy's back flattened.
"Billy," I repeated, "go and climb a tree."
"If you speak to him, he will bristle again," said Ysonde, walking over to the porcupine. "Billy, my child, climb this pretty balsam-tree for the gentleman, to me—you are interrupting the game, and the gentleman is impatient."
"The gentleman is very impatient, Billy," I said. ”

“ I repeated, and raised my tennis bat for a smashing service. The ball whistled close to the net, and the white dust flew from her court, but her racquet caught it fair and square, and I heard the ring of the strings as the ball shot along my left alley and dropped exactly on the service line. How I got it I don't know, but the next moment a puff of dust rose in her vantage court, there was a rustle of skirts, a twinkle of small tennis shoes, and the ball rocketed, higher, higher, into the misty sunshine.
"Oh," gasped Ysonde, and bit her lip. ”

“ The trail crossed a sunny glade, mossy and moist, bordered by black-birch thickets and carpeted with wintergreen. Ysonde leaned upon her steel-staff and looked at her own reflection in the placid spring pool shining among the ferns.
"I am very much tanned," she said.
"Are you thirsty?" I asked.
"There is a little freckle beside my nose," observed Ysonde.
"It is becoming," I said truthfully.
"Yes, I am thirsty," said Ysonde. "What do you know about freckles?" ”

“ I have a joke on Keen—James Keen, the great oculist, the wise, the infallible— and I trust he will swallow his medicine like a little man when he reads this. It happened in this way.
I was sitting under the trees by the tennis-court with Ysonde, watching the snow-birds fluttering in the meadow grass and listening to the robin who, boldly balanced on the tip of his spruce-tree, was doing his best. The blue-birds were teaching their young to navigate the air, twittering and tittering at the efforts of their youngsters—a truly frivolous family. ”

“ I remember I felt very angry at Keen, and demanded to know how Ysonde could see that my right eye was sightless. I am glad I was spared the agony of her face—I would willingly have been spared the agony in her voice as she cried, "Did I do that!"
I tried to move, but her arms were about me—I tried to explain, but her warm mouth closed my lips. I only thought it was very pleasant to be blind.
The eyes of an oculist and the eyes of love see everything. Who says that love is blind? ”

“ The rod staggered in my hand.
"Ysonde, there are two on now!" I whispered.
"Give me the rod," she said excitedly. I handed it to her, and for a moment she felt the splendid strain. Then the fish gave a deep surge to the west, and she gasped and pushed the rod into my hands.
"Living wild things struggling for life," she sighed. "Oh, hurry, Bobby—it pains me so!" and she pressed both hands to her breast.
For a second the joy of the battle left me. I had an impulse to fling the rod into the Black Water; but I am a hunter by instinct. ”

“ Shy forest butterflies waved their soft wings over the linnia, long-legged gnats, with spotted wings, danced across the fern patches, and I saw a great, sleepy moth hanging from a chestnut twig among the green branches overhead. His powdery wings, soft as felt, glistened like gilded dust.
"An imperial moth," said I to myself, for I was glad to recognise a friend. Then a wood-thrush ruffled his feathers under the spreading ferns, and I saw a baby rabbit sit up and wriggle its nose at me. ”

“ Then I crawled to the fire outside, hauled two fresh logs into the blaze, swathed myself in my blankets, lighted a fresh pipe, and sat down with my feet to the heat and my back against a sapling.
Outside the wavering ring of firelight the blackness was so profound, so hopelessly impenetrable, that I wondered whether a storm was rolling up behind the Scaur. Trees, brush, rocks, and ledges—the whole huge forest, root and branch—seemed woven together into curtains of utter darkness, which wavered, advanced, and receded with the ever-dying, ever-leaping flames. ”

“ Lynda deigned to serve me with hot bouillon, and Ysonde tossed a slice of toast to me, scandalising the former aristocrat.
"You little savage," said Lynda reproachfully.
"Any trout left?" I asked. "Where is Mr. Blylock?"
"Here's the trout," smiled Ysonde, serving me a bit of the crisp, pink fish. "Mr. Blylock said 'Ha!' several times when he saw your two trout and went down to the rock flourishing his rod very recklessly."
"Mr. Blylock never flourishes anything," observed Lynda. ”

“ Billy—Ridiculous Billy, the white-whiskered and malicious—was spread in the low forks of an apple-tree, a splendid representation of a disreputable doormat.
Lynda sat at the bay window in the Rosebud Inn, embroidering something in white and gold. She also succeeded in doing her best in her own line, which is to look more beautiful every day. I saw Blylock's shadow behind her.
"When are they to be married, Ysonde?" ”

“ Are you ready?"
"Let us finish the game this afternoon," she suggested. "Look at these snowbirds, Bobby. If I raise my racquet it will frighten them."
"And you imagine," said I, "that these snowbirds are going to interrupt the game—this game?"
"What a pity to frighten them! See—look how close they come to me! Do you think the little creatures are tamed by hunger?"
"Some creatures are not tamed by anything," I said.
"Are you hungry?" she asked innocently.
I was glad that I suppressed my anger.
"Ysonde," I said, "you know what this game means to me—to us." ”

“ Ysonde sat down. Now, whenever Ysonde seated herself there was something in the pose of her figure that made me think of courts and kings and coronations. The little ceremony of seating herself ended, I resumed my seat also, feeling it a privilege accorded only to the very great. I told her this, and she pretended to agree with me.
"You must be something at Court," she said; "you cannot be an earl, for earls are blonde and slender; you cannot be a count, for counts are dark and dapper; nor a duke, for dukes are big and always red in the face ”

“ Lynda might hear you——"
"Not probable—judging from symptoms."
"You're impertinent, Bobby—hark! do you hear? What was it?"
"Anything from a toad to a porcupine; the forest is always full of sounds. Are you warm, Ysonde?"
"Yes, and so sleepy that—ah! what was that?"
"Anything from a wood mouse to a weazel."
"I don't believe it!"
"A fawn, perhaps—I heard deer among the pitcher-plants, at the head of the Black Water, a few minutes ago."
"Gentle things," murmured Ysonde, "I wish they would come close to me: I love them—I love everything."
"And everything on earth and sea loves you, Ysonde." ”

“ She was too beautiful for one to analyse what she said—she was too beautiful to analyse it herself. I remembered with a shock that the late lamented had once referred to his wife's being "d——d ornamental," and I was glad the panther had clawed his besotted soul from his body. But Sutherland had never said a truer thing in his life; drunkard that he was, he always spoke the truth.
"Lynda," cooed Ysonde, "do you think that we might camp for a few days with Bobby and Mr. Blylock? They are going to the Black Water to-morrow, and Mr. Blylock asked us." ”

“ I know a heavy soft mass struck me senseless, but my ears at moments ring yet with that horrid scream, which seemed to split and tear the night asunder, wavering, quavering, long after I was hurled on my back and my eves seemed stark open in oceans of blood. ”

“ Buck and Jimmy, having finished their dinner, which included a trout between them and a gallon or so of coffee, piled half-a-dozen logs on the fire, backed them with half a tree-trunk, said good-night very politely, and ambled away with the dishes and a pail of boiling water. Ten minutes later Blylock came in with three fair-sized fish, which Lynda admired and I encored, and then Lynda and Ysonde rose with deep reverences, and mockingly prayed to be allowed to retire.
Buck and Jimmy were already sound asleep.
"If they snore," said I, "there will be murder done on Black Water shore." ”

“ I said, and struck a light shaving from the bark of a hemlock, cutting it at the base with the next stroke so that the bit of bark fell, leaving a white scar on the tree-trunk.
"Always on both sides," said I, repeating the stroke on the other side of the tree. "Will you try it, Ysonde?"
She took the hatchet in her small, gloved hand, and the chips flew along the trail until I begged her to spare the forest.
"But the trees don't die!" she exclaimed. "Oh, Bobby, you're joking—am I overdoing it?"
"A little." said I. "A blind man could follow this forest boulevard." ”

“ She leaned on the turf, one hand hidden by the buttercups. She had dropped the handkerchief, and I picked it up and held it to my eye with my left hand. Then, with my right hand I took her right hand, listlessly dropping beside her, and I looked her full in the eyes.
"When we made the wager," I said, "we were boy and girl. That was almost twenty-four hours ago. You need not kiss me, Ysonde."
"A kiss means more at our age," she said. ”

“ Ysonde came creeping out of her compartment, her eyes and cheeks brilliant in the fire's glare.
"Lynda is lying down," she said; "isn't supper nearly ready? How delicious our bed of balsam smells! What are you doing with your trout-rod?"
1 knotted the nine-foot leader to the line, slipped on an orange miller for a dropper, tied a big coachman three feet above it, and picked up my landing-net.
"What is home without a dinner," I asked, "and what is dinner without a trout? Come down to that rock which hangs over the Black Water, and you shall see your future dinner leaping in the moonlight." ”

“ I strapped the cup to my belt, tightened the buckle of my rod-cast, lighted my pipe, and sat down on a log.
"Well, Master Hobby," said Ysonde, in that bantering voice which she used when perfectly happy.
"Well, Mistress Ysonde?" said I.
"Are you going to lose the others?"
I pointed to the foot of the long slope where, among the tree-trunks, something blue fluttered.
"It's Lynda's veil," said Ysonde; "and there is Mr. Blylock also. They are sitting down."
"True," said I; "let us rest also; we have been hours on the trail. ”

“ It measured nine feet from tip to tip—it might have measured more had the panther had time to nourish himself with Sutherland.
Now, Ysonde must have read what was passing in my mind, for she looked shocked and nestled closer to Lynda.
"What is a lynx?" demanded Lynda, shivering.
"There are two species found here," replied Blylock, glad to change the subject. "One, the big grey Canada lynx; the other, the short-tailed American lynx——"
"Otherwise, bob-cat, Lucivee, and wild-cat," I interposed. "They make a horrid noise in the woods, and are harmless." ”