His Highness, who had sniffed the bacon, got up on a chair where he could sit and view the table. Moisture gathered on his jet-black nose; he licked his jowl.
"You poor darling!" cried his mistress, rising impulsively, with her plate in her hand. She set the plate on the floor. It was cleaned with a snap, then carefully polished.
"You are fond of your dog, madam," said the Major, much interested.
"He"s a fine one," added the Colonel. "Gad! I took him for Langham"s champion at first."
She bent her head over the dog"s plate.
Later she walked to the porch, followed by His Highness.
A lovely little path invited them on--a path made springy by trodden leaves; and the dog and his mistress strolled forth among clumps of hazel and silver-birches, past ranks of alders and Indian-willows, on across log bridges spanning tiny threads of streams which poured into the stony river.
The unceasing chorus of the birds freshened like wind in her ears.
Spring echoes sounded from blue distances; the solemn congress of the forest trees in session murmured of summers past and summers to come.
How could her soul sink in the presence of the young world"s uplifting?
Her dog came back and looked up into her eyes. With a cry, which was half laughter, she raced with him along the path, scattering the wild birds into flight from bush and thicket.
Breathless, rosy, she halted at the river"s shallow edge.
Flung full length on the gra.s.s, she dipped her white fingers in the river, and dropped wind-flowers on the ripples to watch them dance away.
She listened to the world around her; it had much to say to her if she would only believe it. But she forced her mind back to her husband and lay brooding.
An old man in leggings and corduroys came stumping along the path; His Highness heard him coming and turned his keen head. Then he went and stood in front of his mistress, calm, inquisitive, dangerous.
"Mornin", miss," said the keeper; "I guess you must be one of our folks."
"I am staying at the club-house," she said, smiling, and sitting up on the gra.s.s.
"I"m old Peter, one o" the guards," he said. "Fine mornin", miss, but a leetle bright for the fish--though I ain"t denyin" that a small dark fly"d raise "em; no"m. If I was sot on ketchin" a mess o" fish, I guess a hare"s-ear would do the business; yes"m. I jest pa.s.sed Mr. Langham down to the forks, and I seed he was a-chuckin" a hare"s-ear; an" he riz "em, too; yes"m."
"How long have you been a keeper here?" she asked.
"How long, "m? Waal, I was the fustest guard they had; yes"m. I live down here a piece. They bought my water rights; yes"m. An" they give me the job. The president he sez to me, "Peter," he sez, jest like that--"Peter, you was raised here; you know all them brooks an" rivers like a mink; you stay right here an" watch "em, an" I"ll do the squar"
by ye," he sez, jest like that. An" he done it; yes"m."
"So you knew the president, then?" she asked, in a low voice.
"Knew him?--_him_? Yes"m."
The old man laughed a hollow, toothless laugh, and squinted out across the dazzling river.
"Knew him twenty year, I did. A good man, and fair at that. Why, I"ve seen him a-settin" jest where you"re settin" this minute--seen him a hundred times a-settin" there."
"Fishing?" she said, in an awed voice.
"Sometimes. Sometimes he was a-drinkin" out o" that silver pocket-pistol o" his"n. He got drunk a lot up here; but he didn"t drink alone; no"m.
There wasn"t a stingy hair in his head; he--"
"Do you mean the president?" she said, incredulously, almost angrily.
"Him? Yes"m. Him an" Colonel Hyssop an" Major Brent; they had good times in them days."
"You knew the president _before_ his marriage," she observed, coldly.
"Him? He wasn"t never married, miss!" said the old man, scornfully.
"Are you sure?" she asked, with a troubled smile.
"Sure? Yes"m. Why, the last time he was up here, three year come July Fourth, I seen him a-kissin" an" a-huggin" of old man Dawson"s darter--"
She was on her feet in a flash. The old man stood there smiling his senile smile and squinting out across the water, absorbed in his garrulous reminiscence.
"Yes"m; all the folks down to the village was fond o" the president, he was that jolly and free, an" no stuck-up city airs; no"m; jest free and easy, an" a-sparkin" the gals with the best o" them--"
The old man laughed and crossed his arms under the barrel of his shot-gun.
"Folks said he might o" married old man Dawson"s darter if he"d lived. I dun"no". I guess it was all fun. But I hear the gal took on awful when they told her he was dead; yes"m."
VI
Towards evening Langham waded across the river, drew in his dripping line, put up his rod, and counted and weighed his fish. Then, lighting a pipe, he reslung the heavy creel across his back and started up the darkening path. From his dripping tweeds the water oozed; his shoes wheezed and slopped at every step; he was tired, soaked, successful--but happy? Possibly.
It was dark when the lighted windows of the lodge twinkled across the hill; he struck out over the meadow, head bent, smoking furiously.
On the steps of the club-house Colonel Hyssop and Major Brent greeted him with the affected heartiness of men who disliked his angling methods; the steward brought out a pan; the fish were uncreeled, reweighed, measured, and entered on the club book.
"Finest creel this year, sir," said the steward, admiringly.
The Major grew purple; the Colonel carefully remeasured the largest fish.
"Twenty-one inches, steward!" he said. "Wasn"t my big fish of last Thursday twenty-two?"
"Nineteen, sir," said the steward, promptly.
"Then it shrank like the devil!" said the Colonel. "By gad! it must have shrunk in the creel!"
But Langham was in no mood to savor his triumph. He climbed the stairs wearily, leaving little puddles of water on each step, slopped down the hallway, entered his room, and sank into a chair, too weary, too sad even to think.
Presently he lighted his lamp. He dressed with his usual attention to detail, and touched the electric b.u.t.ton above his bed.
"I"m going to-morrow morning," he said to the servant who came; "return in an hour and pack my traps."
Langham sat down. He had no inclination for dinner. With his chin propped on his clinched hands he sat there thinking. A sound fell on his ear, the closing of a door at the end of the hall, the padded pattering of a dog"s feet, a scratching, a whine.