Part 22 (1/2)

Miss Prillwitz pointed out more obscure plants, and gave us interesting bits of information in regard to them. Some had strangely human characteristics. The ca.s.sia, a shrinking sensitive-plant with yellow blossoms, was one of these, while the poison-ivy in its unctuous growth had an evil and malignant appearance which seemed to hint at its inimical nature. She told us how to tell the poisonous sumac from the harmless variety, the poisonous kind being the only one that has pendant fruit. She gave us also a little chat about parasitic plants, suggested by a _gerardia_, a little thief which draws its nutriment from the roots of huckleberry.

”I did not know that plants had so little conscience,” said Winnie. ”It reminds me of a guest a Southern gentleman had, who remained twelve years, and after the death of the host married his widow.”

”Plants seem also to be cruel,” said Miss Prillwitz. ”Zere is ze _apocynum_, a carnivorous plant which eat ze insect. You should read of him by Darwin. He set a trap for ze fly wiz some honey, and when Mr. Fly tickle ze plant, quick he is caught, and Mr. Apocynum he eat him, and digest him at his leisures.”

”Miss Prillwitz, you should write a book for young people, and call it 'Near Nature's Heart,'” I suggested.

”I would so like,” replied Miss Prillwitz, ”but if I waste my time to write, how should I earn my lifes? I have know many author, and very few do make their wealths by--by their authority.”

Miss Prillwitz brought out the last word triumphantly, quite sure that she had achieved a success in our difficult language. I turned aside to Mr. Stillman, that she might not see my smile. ”How interesting she makes our climb,” I said, ”and all these wayside weeds! 'She ill.u.s.trates the landscape.'”

”In my humble opinion it is Miss Sartoris who 'ill.u.s.trates the landscape,'” he replied. ”See what a picture she makes reaching after those sweet-briar blossoms! I wish I had not left my detective at the station.”

Miss Sartoris was indeed very pretty. It seemed to me that she grew younger and more bewitching with every day of our trip. Each changing pose as she leisurely picked the wild roses was full of grace, but I could hardly understand why Mr. Stillman should greatly regret not securing this particular view, when she had figured in at least half of the photographs which he had taken.

We reached the top of the mountain just at sunset. The west glowed with a yellow-green color. The strange clouds, which had been as white as curds in the afternoon, were now dark blue, lighted by flashes of heat lightning. They moved forward like the pillar which led the Israelites, great billowy ma.s.ses piled one on the other and toppling at the summit, while they melted at the base into a mist of rain. Behind them was the background of the sunset, like a plate of hammered gold dashed with that sinister green. There were threatening rumblings in the east also, and Amherst and its college buildings were blotted out by the rain clouds, which resembled the petals of a fringed gentian, and seemed to be traveling rapidly in our direction.

Father took a rapid view of the horizon. ”There will be no fireworks display for us to-night,” he said. ”There are two showers which will meet in an hour's time, and Toby will be just about in the centre of the fracas. We had better hurry down the mountain if we want to escape a wetting.”

Miss Sartoris gave a longing look at the beautiful panorama of nestling villages, forest and winding river (a view unsurpa.s.sed in Ma.s.sachusetts), and now glorified by the magnificent cloud effects. ”Can we not rest for half an hour?” she asked.

”I think not,” father replied, and we reluctantly retraced our steps.

When half-way down the mountain the wind, which preceded the march of the cloud battalion, caught up with us. The chestnuts crouched low and moaned, the poplars s.h.i.+vered and shook their white palms, and the hemlocks writhed and tossed their gaunt arms as though in agony. Then there was a hush, when they seemed to stand still from very fear, and a minute later the storm burst upon us. We were but a short distance from the station when this occurred, and the foliage which roofed the road was so dense that we were not very wet when we reached our shelter.

There was an invigorating scent of ozone in the air, and a certain exhilaration in being out in a storm, and in hearing the crash of falling limbs far back in the woods. We noticed the gentleness of the rain, which, though apparently fierce, did not break a single fragile wild-flower. Each leaf, sponged free from dust, brightened as though freshly varnished, and each blade of gra.s.s threaded its necklace of crystal beads. The cascade, swollen and turbid, roared angrily at our side, and a shallower rivulet made the path slippery as we hurried on; but a few moments of laughing scramble brought us panting into the dry station, safely housed for the night from the storm.

Father and Mr. Stillman arranged shelter for the horses by spreading the tent between the two carts, and we ate our supper at what had formerly been a refreshment counter. Then the ticket-office was a.s.signed to the gentlemen as their dormitory, and hammocks were hung for the rest of us in the ladies' waiting-room. We told ghost stories for a time by the light of a spirit-lamp and a few candles, but retired early, as we were thoroughly tired from our long walk, and were soon asleep, lulled by the monotone of the falling rain. We were not destined, however, to enjoy a night of undisturbed repose, for the princ.i.p.al adventure of our journey occurred that night.

I do not know how long we had slept when we were all suddenly awakened by a startling scream.

”What is it? Oh, what is it?” gasped Winnie.

”Is it a catamount?” asked Miss Sartoris.

I thought of the railroad track, which ran close beside us, and suggested that it might be the shriek of a pa.s.sing engine, when suddenly it came again on the side of the station opposite to the track. Father sprang up, exclaiming, ”Something is the matter with the horses!”

The rain was still pouring, and a dim light from the swinging lantern illumined the room. As father spoke, one of the windows, which had been left open for ventilation, was suddenly filled by an uncouth form, which, with much scrambling and snorting, was proceeding to force an entrance.

”It is a bear!” shrieked Winnie; and so it was. Mr. Stillman rushed forward with his rifle. There was a loud report, and a heavy fall on the outside.

”Horses can scent bears at a distance,” said father, as he took down the lantern; ”but who would have thought there were any such creatures in these woods?”

”Perhaps it has broken away from the circus,” suggested Mr. Stillman, reloading his rifle; for there was an ominous growling outside. Human voices were presently heard whose intonations were almost as harsh as those of the brute. Father unbarred the door, and we saw two men bending over the wounded bear, which he now saw was muzzled, and the property of the men, who had evidently heard of the old station, and had thought to take refuge in it from the storm.

”Here's a pretty state of things!” father exclaimed, with a whistle.

”You have shot a performing bear, Stillman, and these showmen will probably make us pay dearly for the mistake.”

We had all been terribly frightened; but we recovered instantly on this announcement, and hurriedly dressing, we peered out at the men as they stood about the wounded animal and discussed the situation. One of the showmen was a foreigner, who swore and grumbled in some strange language, which Miss Prillwitz afterward told us was Russian. The other was unmistakably a Jew, and he took a Jewish advantage of the accident.

”You haf ruined our pizness--dot bear he wort one, two hundert dollar!”