Part 39 (1/2)
”Oh, Hubert, I want to go back!”
”What?”
”Yes, dear, just once more.” Appleton saw the tears in her eyes. ”I want to smell the fragrance of the pine woods--and sit on the thick pine-needles--and cook over an open fire! Bacon and trout and coffee--yes, and no _real cream_, either!” She smiled at him through her tears. ”Canned milk, and maybe some venison steaks.
”I want to borrow your pocket-knife and dig out spruce gum and chew it, with the little bits of bark in it,” she went on, ”and I won't promise not to 'pry,' with it, either. I hope I do break the blade! Do you remember that day, and how mad you were?
”I want to see the men crowd into the grub-shack, and hear the sound of the axes and saws and the rattle of chains and the cras.h.i.+ng of big trees. I want to see the logs on the rollways; and, Hubert, you won't think I'm awful, will you, dear, but I want to--just once more in my life--I want to hear a big man _swear_!”
H. D. Appleton stared at his wife in blank amazement, and then, throwing back his head, roared with laughter.
”Well, you sure will, little girl, if you try to slip any canned milk into _my_ coffee!”
His wife regarded him gravely.
”I am not joking, Hubert. Oh, can't you see? Just once more I _must_ have a taste of the old, hard, happy days--can't I?”
”Why, Margaret, you don't really mean that you want to go into the woods--seriously?”
”Yes, I do mean just exactly that--seriously!”
Appleton tugged at his mustache and puckered his forehead.
”We might make up a party,” he mused. ”I'll speak to Ross in the morning.”
The little gray-haired woman stepped lightly around the table, and, seating herself on his lap, captured his big fingers in her own.
”How many times must I tell you not to pull your mustache, dear? Now, listen; I have a plan. There will be Mary Sheridan and Ross and Ethel Manton--you know she promised us a visit this fall, and I expect her any day now. A trip into the woods will do her a world of good, poor girl. She has had lots of responsibility thrust upon her since brother Fred died, with young Charlie to look out for, and the care of that big house.
”Mrs. Potter, you know she lives next door to Ethel, writes me that she does not believe the girl is happy--that this St. Ledger, or whatever his name is, that she is reported engaged to, is not the kind of a man for Ethel at all--and, that she hasn't seemed herself for a year--some unhappy love affair--the man was a scamp, or something--so this trip will be just what she needs. Charlie will be with her, of course, and we can invite that young Mr. Holbrooke; you have met him, that nice young man--the VanNesses' nephew.
”We will go away up into the big woods where you men can hunt to your heart's delight; and we women will stay around the camp and do the cooking and smell the woods and chew spruce gum. Oh, Hubert, won't it be just _grand_?”
Appleton caught something of his wife's enthusiasm.
”It sure will, little girl! But what's _he_ for?”
”What is who for?”
”This Holbrooke person. Where does he come in on this?”
”Why, for Ethel, of course! Goose! Don't you see that if Ethel is not happy--if she is not really in love with this St. Ledger--and she spends two or three weeks in the same camp with a nice young man like Mr. Holbrooke--well, there's no place like the woods for romance, dear; you see, I know. And he has money, too,” she added.
Appleton suddenly lifted his wife to her feet and began pacing up and down the room.
”Money!” he exclaimed. ”He never earned a cent in his life.”
”But he is the VanNess heir!”