CHAPTER XIII
A WOODLAND GUEST
There was gray beyond the flap of Philip's tent, a velvet stillnessrife with the melody of twittering birds. Already the camp fire wascrackling. Philip rose and dressed.
Beyond, through the ghostly trees where the river glimmered in the graydawn with a pearly iridescence, a girl was fishing. There were deepershadows in the hollows but the sky behind the wooded ridge to the eastwas softly opaline. As the river grew pink, mists rose and curledupward and presently the glaring searchlight of the sun streamedbrilliantly across the river and the forest, flinging a banner ofshadow tracery over the wakening world.
The girl by the river caught a fish, deftly strung it on a willow shootbeside some others and bathed her hands in the river. Turning shesmiled and waved. Philip went to meet her.
"Let me take your fish," he offered.
"Your arm--" began Diane,
"Pshaw!" insisted Philip. "It's ever so much better. I can even usemy hand."
To prove it, Philip presently armed himself with a fork and developedconsiderable helpful interest in a pan of fish. Whereupon a generalatmosphere of industry settled over the camp. Rex and Neroacrobatically locked forepaws and rolled over and over in a clownishexcess of congeniality. Johnny trotted busily about feeding thehorses. Diane made the coffee, arousing the frank and guilelessinterest of Mr. Poynter.
The fish began to sizzle violently. Considerably aggrieved by avariety of unexpected developments in the pan, Philip harpooned thesmoking segments with indignant vim, burned his fingers, made recklessuse of the wounded arm and regretfully resigned the task to Johnny whofurtively bestowed certain hot sable portions of the rescued fish uponthe dogs, thereby arousing a snarling commotion of intense surprise.
"That's a wonderful bed of mine," commented Philip at breakfast. "Tellme where in the world did you get your camp equipment?"
"I made the bed myself," said Diane happily, "of red willow shoots fromthe swamp, and I carved these forks and spoons out of wood Johnnygathered."
"I do wish I were clever!" grumbled Philip in acute discontent. "Afterbreakfast I'm going to whittle out a wildwood pipe and make a birchcanoe, and likely I'll weave a rush mat and a willow bed and carve somespoons and forks and a sundial."
"Will you be through by noon?" asked Diane politely.
Philip laughed.
"As a matter of fact," he said easily, "I'm going with you to lampbirds. I want to duck that fool doctor."
"You'll do nothing of the sort," said Diane with decision, "for I'mgoing to stay in camp and bake bread."
The bread was baking odorously and a variety of shavings flyingambitiously from an embryo pipe by ten o'clock. At noon the doctor hadnot yet arrived. Philip dexterously served a savory fish chowder froma pot hanging within a tripod of saplings and refused to dwell upon thethought of his eventual departure.
A man appeared among the trees to the east, switching absently at theunderbrush with a cane.
Philip sniffed.
"I thought so," he nodded. "That medical dub carries a cane on hisprofessional rounds! Like as not he wears a flowing tie, a monocle andpink socks."
The man approached and raised his hat, smiling urbanely. It was BaronTregar.
Philip leaped to his feet, reddening.
"Excellency!" he stammered.
"Pray be seated!" exclaimed the Baron with sympathy. "Such adisturbing experience as you have had affords one privileges."
"Permit me," said Philip uncomfortably to Diane, "to present my chief,Baron Tregar. Excellency, Miss Westfall, to whom I am eternallyindebted." And Philip's eyes sparkled with laughter as he uttered hername.
There was an old world courtliness in the Baron's bow and murmuredsalutation.
"Ah," said he with gallant regret, "Fate, Miss Westfall, has never seenfit to temper misfortune so pleasantly for me. Poynter, you have beenexceedingly fortunate."
Diane laughed softly. It was hers to triumph now.
"_Mr. Poynter_," she said with relish, flashing a sidelong glance atthat discomfited young man, "Mr. Poynter has been good enough to makethe chowder. It would gratify me exceedingly, Baron Tregar, to haveyou test it."
Heartily anathematizing his chief, who was gratefully expressing hisinterest in chowder, Mr. Poynter stared perversely at his cuff.
"I wonder," he reflected uneasily, "just what he wants and how inthunder he knew!"
The Baron, gracefully adapting himself to woodland exigencies, suppliedthe answer.
"Dr. Wingate," he boomed, "is at the Sherrill farm. Themar officiouslyfancied he could fly and had a most distressing fall yesterday from thesmaller biplane." His deep, compelling eyes lingered upon Philip'sface. "Dr. Wingate spoke some of an unlucky young man marooned in aforest with a knife wound in his shoulder--described him--andbehold!--my missing secretary is found after considerable bewildermentand uneasiness on my part. Wingate will stop here later."
Philip civilly expressed regret that he had not thought to dispatchJohnny to the Sherrill farm with a message.
"It is nothing!" shrugged Tregar smoothly.
"One forgets under less mitigating causes." And, having begged thedetails of Philip's adventure, he listened with careful attention.
"It is exceedingly mysterious," he rumbled, after a frowning intervalof thought. "But surely one must feel much gratitude to you, MissWestfall. A night in the storm without attention and we havecomplications."
Over his coffee, which he sipped clear with the appreciation of anepicure, the Baron, in his suave, inscrutable way, grew reminiscent.He talked well, selecting, discarding, weighing his words with thefastidious precision of a jeweler setting precious stones. Subtly thetalk drifted to Houdania.
There was a mad king--Rodobald--upon the throne. Doubtless the Baron'shostess had heard? No? Ah! So must the baffling twist of a man'sbrain complicate the destiny of a kingdom. And Rodobald was hale atsixty-five and mad as the hare of March. There had been much talk ofit. Singular, was it not?
Followed a sparkling anecdote or so of court life and shruggingreference to the jealous principality of Galituria that lay beyond inthe valley. To Galiturians the madness of King Rodobald was anexquisite jest.
Philip grew restless.
"Confound him!" he mused resentfully. "One would think I haddeliberately contrived to linger here merely to give him a gracefulopportunity to accomplish his infernal errand himself. Thank Heaventhis lets me out!" He glanced furtively at Diane. The girl's interestwas wholesomely without constraint.
"Great guns!" decided Philip fretfully. "I doubt if she's ever heardof his toy kingdom before and yet he's probing her interest with everyatom of skill he can command." Puzzled and annoyed he fell quiet.
"It is somewhat inaccessible--my country," Tregar was saying smoothly."One climbs the shaggy mountain by a winding road. You have climbed itperhaps--touring?"
"Excellency, no!" regretted Diane. "I fear it is quite unknown to me."
"Ah!" exclaimed the patriotic Baron, "that is indeed unfortunate. Forit is well worth a visit." He turned to Philip. "You are pale andquiet, Poynter," he added kindly. "A day or so more perhaps here whereit is quiet--"
Philip flushed hotly,
"Excellency!" he protested feebly.
The Baron bowed courteously to Diane.
"If I may crave still further hospitality and indulgence," he beggedregretfully. "There is already much excitement at the Sherrill placeowing to the officious act of my man, Themar, and his accident.Another invalid--my secretary--one flounders in a dragnet ofunfortunate circumstances. And I am sensitive in the disturbance of myhost's guests--"
Diane's eyes as they rested upon Philip were very kind.
"Excellency," she said warmly, "Mr. Poynter's tent lies there among thetrees. I trust he will not hesitate to use it until he is strongagain. Fortunately we are equipped for emergency."
The Baron bowed gratefully.
"You are a young woma
n of exceeding common sense!" he said with deeprespect.
Philip was very grateful that the Baron had not misunderstood; a breathmight shatter the idyllic crystal into atoms.
Later, when the Baron had departed, Philip flushed suddenly at the uglysuspicion rising wraithlike in his mind. He was accustomed to theBaron's subtleties.
"Mr. Poynter!" called Diane.
Mr. Poynter perversely went on whittling out the hollow of his wildwoodpipe.
"Mr. Poynter!"
The bowl, already sufficient for a Titan's smoke, grew a trifle largerand somewhat irregular. Carving had conceivably injured Mr. Poynter'shearing, for he kept on whistling.
"Philip!" said Diane and stamped her foot.
"Yes?" replied Philip respectfully, and instantly discarded the Titan'spipe to listen.
"Why are you so quiet?" flashed Diane.
"Well, for one thing," explained Philip cheerfully, "I'm mighty busyand for another, I'm thinking."
"Do you withdraw into a sound-proof shell when you think?"
"Mr. Poynter does!" regretted Philip. "_I_ do not."
"I do hope," said the girl demurely, "that you'll be able to hear whenthe doctor gets here. He's coming through the trees."
Diane of the Green Van Page 13
