A Cry in the Wilderness Part 30

Macleod that, as she could not tell me what was expected of me, I should not let another day go by without ascertaining this from Mr.

Ewart. Perhaps she intentionally made the opening for my opportunity easier, for when I went into the living-room an hour later, I found Mr.

Ewart alone with the dogs. He was at the library table, drawing something with scale and square.

"Pardon me for not rising," he said without looking up; "I don't want to spoil this acute angle; I 'm mapping out the old forest. I 'm glad you 're at liberty for I need some help."

"At liberty!" I echoed; and, perceiving the humor of the situation, I could not help smiling. "That's just what I have come to you to complain of--I have too much liberty."

"You want work?"

It was a bald statement of an axiomatic truth, and it was made while he was still intent upon finis.h.i.+ng the angle. I stood near the table watching him.

"Yes." I thought the circ.u.mstances warranted conciseness, and my being laconic, if necessary.

"Then we can come to an understanding without further preliminaries."

He spoke almost indifferently; he was still intent on his work. "Be seated," he said pleasantly, looking up at me for the first time and directly into my face.

I did as I was bidden, and waited. I am told I have a talent for waiting on another's unexpressed intentions without fidgetting, as so many women do, with any trifle at hand. I occupied myself with looking at the man whom Jamie loved, who "interested" him. I, too, found the personality and face interesting. By no means of uncommon type, nevertheless the whole face was noticeable for the remarkable moulding of every feature. There were lines in it and, without aging, every one told. They added character, gave varied expression, intensified traits. Life's chisel of experience had graven both deep and fine; not a coa.r.s.e line marred the extraordinary firmness that expressed itself in lips and jaw; not a touch of unfineness revealed itself about the nose. Delicate creases beneath the eyes, and many of them, mellowed the almost hard look of the direct glance. Thought had moulded; will had graven; suffering had both hardened and softened--"tempered" is the right word--as is its tendency when manhood endures it rightly. But joy had touched the contours all too lightly; the face in repose showed absolutely no trace of it. When he smiled, however, as he did, looking up suddenly to find me studying him, I realized that here was great capacity for enjoying, although joyousness had never found itself at home about eyes and lips. He laid aside the drawing and turned his chair to face me.

"Doctor Rugvie--and Cale," he added pointedly, "tell me you were for several years in a branch of the New York Library. Did you ever do any work in cataloguing?"

"No; I was studying for the examinations that last spring before I was taken ill."

"Then I am sure you will understand just how to do the work I have laid out for you. I have a few cases still in storage in Montreal--mostly on forestry. Before sending for them, I wanted to see where I could put them."

"Cut and dried already! I need n't have given myself extra worry about my future work," I thought; but aloud I said:

"I 'll do my best; if the books are German I can't catalogue them. I have n't got so far."

"I 'll take care of those; there are very few of them. Most of them are in French; in fact, it is a mild fad of mine to collect French works, ancient and modern, on forestry. I 'll send for the books after the office has been furnished and put to rights. I am expecting the furniture from Quebec to-morrow. And now that I have laid out your work for you for the present, I 'll ask a favor--a personal one," he added, smiling as he rose, thrust his hands deep into his pockets and jingled some keys somewhere in the depths.

"What is it?" I, too, rose, ready to do the favor on the instant if possible, for his wholly businesslike manner, the directness with which he relied upon my training to help him pleased me.

"I 'd like to leave the settling of my den in your hands--wholly," he said emphatically. "You have been so successful with the other rooms that I 'd like to see your hand in my special one. How did you know just what to do, and not overdo,--so many women are guilty of that,--tell me?"

He spoke eagerly, almost boyishly. It was pleasant to be able to tell him the plain truth; no frills were needed with this man, if I read him rightly.

"Because it was my first chance to work out some of my home ideals--my first opportunity to make a home, as I had imagined it; then, too,--"

I hesitated, wondering if I should tell not only the plain truth, but the unvarnished one. I decided to speak out frankly; it could do no harm.

"I enjoyed it all so much because I could spend some money--judiciously, you know,"--I spoke earnestly. He nodded understandingly, but I saw that he suppressed a smile,--"without having to earn it by hard work; I 've had to scrimp so long--"

His face grew grave again.

"How much did you spend? I think I have a slight remembrance of some infinitesimal sum you mentioned the first evening--"

"Infinitesimal! No, indeed; it was almost a hundred--eighty-seven dollars and sixty-three cents, to be exact."

"Now, Miss Farrell!" It was his turn to protest. He went over to the hearth and took his stand on it, his back to the fire, his hands clasped behind him. "Do you mean to tell me that you provided all this comfort and made this homey atmosphere with eighty-seven dollars and sixty-three cents?--I'm particular about those sixty-three cents."

"I did, and had more good fun and enjoyment in spending them to that end, than I ever remember to have had before in my life. You don't think it too much?"

I looked up at him and smiled; and smiled again right merrily at the perplexed look in his eyes, a look that suddenly changed to one of such deep, emotional suffering that my eyes fell before it. I felt intuitively I ought not to see it.

"Too much!" he repeated, and as I looked up again quickly I found the face and expression serene and unmoved. "Well, as you must have learned already, things are relative when it comes to value, and what you have done for this house belongs in the category of things that mere money can neither purchase nor pay for."

"I don't quite see that; I thought it was I who was having all the pleasure."

His next question startled me.

"You are an orphan, I understand, Miss Farrell?"

"Yes." Again I felt the blood mount to my cheeks as I restated this half truth.

"Then you must know what it is to be alone in the world?"

"Yes--all alone."

"Perhaps to have no home of your own?"

"Yes."

"To feel yourself a stranger even in familiar places?"

"Oh, yes--many times."

"Surely, then, you will understand what it means for a lonely man to come back to this old manor, which I have occupied for years only at intervals, and more as a camping than an abiding place, and find it for the first time a home in fact?"

"I think I can understand it."

"Very well, then," he said emphatically and holding out his hand into which I laid mine, wondering as I did so "what next" was to be expected from this man, "I am your debtor for this and must remain so; and in the circ.u.mstances," he continued with an emphasis at once so frank and merry, that it left no doubt of his sincerity as well as of his appreciation of the situation, "I think there need be no more talk of work, or wages, or reciprocal service between you and me as long as you remain with us. It's a pact, is n't it?" he said, releasing my hand from the firm cordial pressure.

"But I want my wages," I protested with mock anxiety. "I really can't get on without money--and I was to have twenty-five dollars a month and 'board and room' according to agreement."

He laughed at that. I was glad to hear him.

"Oh, I have no responsibility for the agreement or what the advertis.e.m.e.nt has brought forth; it was one of the great surprises of my life to find you here. By the way, I hear you prefer to receive your pay from the Doctor?"

"Did he tell you that?" I demanded, not over courteously.

"Professionally," he replied with a.s.sumed gravity. "I insisted on taking that pecuniary burden on myself, as I seemed to be the first beneficiary; but I 've changed my mind, and, hereafter, you may apply to the Doctor for your salary. I 'll take your service gratis and tell him so. Does this suit you?"

"So completely, wholly and absolutely that--well, you 'll see! When can I take possession of the office? It needs a good cleaning down the first thing." I was eager to begin to prove my grat.i.tude for the manner in which he had extricated me from the anomalous position in his household.

"From this moment; only--no manual labor like 'cleaning down'; there are enough in the house for that."

"Oh, nonsense!" I replied, laughing at such a restriction. "I 'm used to it--

"I intend you to be unused to it in my house--you understand?"