Part 2 (1/2)

”Well, since that's settled,” Aunt Polly seemed to pigeonhole her guest and label him as an individual, ”I'll run out and lay another plate. You just go along upstairs and pick out your room. They are all ready. The front ones open to the lake and the west; the back ones are east and woodsy; outside of that there isn't much choice. It's one o'

clock now, but I can put things back a spell and give you a chance to wash before dinner.”

Northrup picked up his bag and hat and started for the stairs at the far end of the room. The sense of unreality was still upon him. He felt like breathing low and stepping light. The sensation smacked of magic. So long as one could believe it, it would hold, but once you doubted, the old, grim existence would s.n.a.t.c.h you!

Upstairs the hall ran from north to south of the rambling house, on either side the doors opened, leading to small, orderly rooms, apparently alike except in detail of colour and placing of furniture.

There was a hearth in every room, upon which lay wood ready to light and beside which stood huge baskets of logs giving promise of unlimited comfort. Fresh towels and water were on stands, and the beds fairly reached out to tired bodies with a.s.surances of rest and sleep.

Northrup went, still treading light and believing, from door to door, and then he chose a west room because the lapping of the lake sounded like a lullaby.

It was the work of a few moments to drop dust-stained garments and plunge one's head into the icy water; a few moments more and a refreshed man emerged from a vigorous rubbing and gave a laugh of sheer delight.

”I'm in for it!” he muttered, still clinging to the mood of unreality.

”I bet my last nickel that something's going to happen and by the lord Harry! I'm going to see it through. This is one of those holes Manly prophesied about. Looks as if it had been waiting for me to come.”

He was downstairs in time to help his host to the head of his table, in the adjoining room. They made rather an imposing procession, Aunt Polly leading, the golden collie bringing up the rear.

Heathcote in a fat whisper gave some staccato advice en route: ”Better call sister 'Aunt Polly' at once. If you don't suggest offishness, none will be suspected. Fall in line, I say! Dog's name is Ginger.

Animals like to be tagged, more human-like. Act as if you always had been, or had come back. If there's one thing Polly can't abide, it's. .h.i.tting a snag.”

Devoutly Northrup vowed he'd be no snag.

He took his place on the east side of the table, so to speak, and the lake was in front of him. The lake was becoming a vital feature in the new environment.

The water was ruffled now; the reflections trembled and the lapping was more insistent.

The food was excellent. Aunt Polly had prepared it and watched, with a true artist's eye, her guest's appreciation of it.

”Food is just food to some folks,” she confided, casting a slantwise glance at her brother, ”just what you might call fodder. But I allas have held that, viewed rightly, it feeds body _and_ soul.”

Heathcote chuckled.

”And right you are, Aunt Polly!” Northrup said, watching the effect of his familiarity. Nothing occurred. He was being taken for granted.

Bits of history crept into the easy conversation during the meal.

Apparently meal-time was a function at the inn, not an episode.

Heathcote and his sister, it appeared, had come to King's Forest for his health, fifty years before. He was twenty then; Aunt Polly eighteen.

”Just like silly pioneers,” Polly broke in, ”but we found health and work and we grew to love the place. We feel toward it as one does to an adopted child, less understanding, but more responsible. Every once so often, when we got into ruts, G.o.d Almighty made us realize that He was keeping His hand on the reins,” the dear old soul chuckled happily. ”Peter got himself made into a magistrate and that was something to work with. We made a home and friends, but the Forest isn't an easy proposition. It ain't changed much. It's lazy and rough, and I often tell Peter that the place is like two old folks over on the Point, Twombley and Peneluna. Still and scroogy, but keeping up a mighty lot of thinking. If anything ever wakes the Forest up it's going to show what it's been cogitating about.”

”Is there a village?” Northrup asked.

”There's one seven miles from here,” Heathcote replied; ”stores, post office, a Methodist minister--necessary evils, you know,” this came with a fat chuckle, ”but the Forest ain't anything but the Forest.

Houses sorter dropped down carelesslike where someone's fancy fixed 'em. There used to be a church and school. The school burned down; the church, half finished, stands like a hint for better living, on a little island a half mile down the line. There's the Point where the folks live as can't get a footing elsewhere. There's always a Point or a Hollow, you know. And there's the Mines, back some miles to the south. Iron that used to be worked. Queer holdings!”

Peter paused. Sustained conversation always made him pant and gave Polly an opportunity to edge in.

”As I was saying,” she began calmly, ”every once so often G.o.d Almighty made us realize that He had His hand on the reins. When me and Peter got to acting as if we owned things, someone new happened along and--stuck.