Part 24 (2/2)

Weston leaned forward a little, looking at her with a curious expression in his eyes.

”For three or four months in the year England is the most beautiful country in the world,” he said. ”We haven't your great pines and foaming rivers, but, even in the land from which I come in the rugged north, every valley is a garden. It's all so smooth and green and well cared for. One could fancy that somebody loved every inch of it--once you get outside the towns. I said the dales were gardens--in summer they're more like Paradise.”

It was evident that the exile's longing for the old land was awake within him, and Ida nodded sympathetically.

”Won't you go on?” she begged.

”Ah!” said Weston. ”If I could make you see them--the wonderful green of the larch woods, the bronze of the opening oaks, and the smooth velvet pastures between the little river and the gleaming limestone at the foot of the towering fell! All is trimmed and clipped and cared for, down to the level hedgerows and the sod on the roadside banks, and every here and there white hamlets, with little old-world churches, nestle among-the trees. You see, it has grown ripe and mellow, while your settlements are crude and new.”

The girl sat silent a brief s.p.a.ce. She had read of the old country, and seen pictures of it, and it seemed to her that his term, a garden, described parts, at least, of it rather efficiently.

Then, though he had already a.s.sured her that he meant to stay in the bush, she wondered whether he never longed to gather a flower of that trim garden. In fact, it suddenly became a question of some moment to her.

”You will go back to it some day?”

”No,” said Weston, with a little wry smile; ”I don't think so. After all, why should I?”

Ida was sensible of a certain satisfaction, but she desired to make more sure.

”There must be somebody you would wish to see, or somebody who would care to see you?”

”Ah,” said Weston, ”the failures are soon forgotten over yonder.

Perhaps it's fortunate that it happens so.”

A shadow crept into his face.

”No,” he added, ”unless it is as a successful man, it is scarcely likely that I shall go back again.”

Ida glanced at him covertly, with thoughtful eyes. Though his attire was neater than it had been when she had seen him on other occasions, he still wore the bush packer's usual dress. There was, however, a subtle grace in his manner, and, though he was by no means a brilliant conversationalist, there was something in his voice and the half-whimsical tricks of fancy which now and then characterized him that made a wide distinction between him and the general hired hand.

Once more it seemed to her that when he had called the old country a garden it was a somewhat apt description, for this man had evidently been subjected to careful training and pruning in his youth. He was, she felt, one who had grown up under a watchful eye.

”Well,” she said, with a little laugh, ”perhaps you are wise. One could almost fancy that the old land is overcrowded, and even on the richest soil one needs light and air.”

Weston's smile showed that he could understand her train of thought.

”I certainly think that some of us are hardier for transplanting,” he replied. ”It is easier to make a vigorous growth out in the open, in the wind and the sun. Besides, over yonder every one is pinched and trimmed back to the same conventional pattern. They sacrifice too much for uniformity.”

”Still,” said Ida, once more harping on the idea that troubled her, ”there are only wild flowers in the wilderness. One understands that we have nothing like your peerless English blooms.”

Weston looked at her with a little gleam in his eyes.

”Oh,” he said, ”one must be honest, and even for the credit of the old land I can't admit that. It couldn't be, when you have your sunlight and your crystal skies. It always seems to me that strength is essential to perfect grace, and one finds both, and sweetness unexcelled, out here in Canada.”

He rose, and, taking up the rod, straightened the gut trace.

”There is a big trout rising in the slack,” he said. ”I think you could cast from the bank.”

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