CHAPTER XVIII.
THE COMMODORE SURRENDERS.
A few weeks later there was another excursion to the emerald glooms ofthe forest, but this was limited in number to the Macleods andDeBerczys, with a few of their intimate friends. Wanda was absent onone of her indefinite expeditions--indefinite in length as well as inobject, though the wigwam of her foster-feather was one of the pointsof interest visited by the party. Conspicuous among the numerousIndians in the settlement in the neighbourhood of Orillia was the lastof the Algonquins, partly because of the pathos which attaches to thesole survivor in any region of a nearly extinct race, partly becauseof the mantle of traditional glory that had fallen upon him from theshoulders of valorous ancestors. He declined to join the revellers attheir midday feasting under the trees, but his unexpected appearanceafterwards suggested a pleasant substitute for the noon-day siesta."Talk about the storied memories of the past, in the old world," saidEdward, leaning back on the mossy sward, and gazing up through greenbranches to the blue heaven, "this country has had its share of them,and here is the man," clapping a friendly hand on the Indian'sshoulder, "who can tell us about them."
"Ah, do!" implored Herbert and Eva.
"Ah, don't!" entreated their father. "If there's anything that spoilsthe sylvan shades for me, it is to learn that they were once the sceneof battle axes and blood spilling, and such like gruesomeness."
"But we _ought_ to know about it," said Helene. "It's history."
"That makes it all the worse. If it were fiction I wouldn't care."
"Now, Papa," said Rose, "that evinces a depraved taste. People willblame your home-training. Consider my feelings."
"That is what I supposed I was doing, my dear, in praying to bedelivered from a tale that would make your blood run cold."
"What a delightful way for one's blood to run in this weather," lazilyremarked one of the Boulton girls, and the other said she was piningfor a story of particular horror.
"Oh, a story, by all means," said the Commodore, "but let it be atradition or something of that sort." Then turning to the Chief: "Doesnot our brother know the legend of the unfortunate wretch of a man whowas set upon and abused by a lot of unmerciful women, because hebarbarously forbade them to learn all the history they wanted?Something of that sort would be appropriate."
"Our brother" shook his head. "That is beyond my skill, but I canrelate a story of the times before ever women were brought into theworld."
"Rather dull times for the men, weren't they?" inquired one of theparty.
"It is the belief of some of our race that they were very good times,"replied the Chief, tranquilly. "The men of that period, free from theinfluence of the other sex, have been spoken of as a much better raceof beings than they are to-day. At that time you never heard of such athing as a man being cross to his wife, or too attentive to hisneighbour's wife, and when the husband came back from the chasewithout meat there was no one to scold him. Every man had his own way,and dwelt in peace in his own wigwam. As fast as they died out theManito created more, and as they had no families they had nothing tofight for, nothing to defend, and, consequently, there were few warsamong them. There were, I am sorry to say, some disadvantages. The menwere obliged to weed corn, dry fish, mend nets, fell trees, carrylogs, and do other women's work, which, as we know, is a greatdegradation. Also, when they were sick or in trouble, some of theweaker ones were heard to declare that they wished women wereinvented, but as a rule they were blithe and gay as warriors in thedance that follows a great victory. There were many ennoblinginfluences in this world before women entered it. Vanity did notexist. Simplicity was the rule, especially in attire, which ordinarilyconsisted of hunting coats and leggings, deerskin moccasins andcoloured blankets, enriched with beads. It was only once in a whilethat they appeared in black eagle plumes, and gorgeous feathers,garters gay with beads, moccasins worked with stained porcupinequills, leggings of scarlet cloth, embroidered and decorated withtufts of moosehair, dyed blue and red, robes curiously plaited of thebark of the mulberry, and adorned with bear claws, hawks' bills andturtle shells. Besides being plain and quiet in their dress they werevery upright in their lives. No man ever was known to lie to hisneighbour; but now when you see a man and woman too frequentlytogether you may be sure he is telling her things that come true aboutas often as larks fall from the skies. Neither were men in those daysever deceived; but now they are tangled in women's wiles as easily asa partridge is caught in a net. There were no cowards, for men at alltimes are staunch and bold, whereas a woman has nothing but the heartof a little bird in her breast. All nature shared in man's prosperity.The corn grew to the height of a young forest tree, and in thehunting-grounds the deer and bears were as thick as stars.
"But the chief glory of man in those days was his long, superb andglossy tail; for at that time it could not be said that the horseswere more highly gifted than he. You must often have noticed the pridewith which horses switch their tails about, apparently to drive offflies, but really to show their superiority to the race they serve.The reproach of having no tail is one that is hard to bear; but at thetime of which I speak all men were endowed with luxuriant tails, someof them black as the shell of a butternut when it is fully ripe,others the colour of the setting sun, but all trimmed with shells, gaycoloured beads and flowers, and strings of alligators' teeth. Thosewho say that there is nothing on earth so beautiful as a woman did notlive in the time when tails were invented. Nothing could surpass thepride their owners took in them, nor the scorn that was heaped uponthe hapless creature whose tail was short or scanty.
"But, as often happens to people who have all and more than they need,so it was with our ancestors. From being simply proud of their tailsthey began to grow vain and useless, caring for nothing but their ownease and adornment, neglecting to harvest the maize, feeble in thechase, sleeping sometimes for the space of nearly a moon, and unableto take more than a woman's journey of six suns at a time. Then theManito reflected and said to himself: 'This will never do. Man was notmade to be a mere groundling. His greatest luxury must be taken fromhim, and in its place there must be given him something to tax hispatience and strengthen his powers.' So one fine morning every man inthe world woke up to find his tail missing. Great was the surprise andlamentation, and this was not lessened by the sudden appearance of thewomen, who came in number like that of the flight of pigeons in themoon before the snow moon. No prayers could avail to stay theircoming, and from that time all the troubles in the world began. No manwas allowed to have his own way thenceforward, nor was he permitted toplod along in his old, slow, comfortable fashion, but each one interror went to work as swift as a loon flying before a high wind."
The laugh that arose at the end of this not strictly authenticnarrative was prolonged by a strange voice, and Allan Dunlop, who,unobserved, had made his appearance among them, now came forward toexchange greetings with his friends. Herbert and Eva Macleod hungenraptured about him, while he went to congratulate the old Indianupon his gifts as a story-teller. Then Edward's warm hand clasped his."Come over and see my father," he said. "Oh, no, he is asleep. Hegenerally sleeps in the afternoon of the day."
"A very good plan when one comes to the afternoon of one's days,"observed Allan, and then he went over to speak to Rose.
Her little soft hand fluttered up to his as a bird flutters to itsnest. They had not met since that stormy March night. Since then hehad confessed, in correspondence between them, that life was aperpetual struggle between him and love, and she had asked--though notin so many words--if it would make it any easier for him to know thatshe was engaged in the same struggle with the same great enemy. Ah,with what a fine pen had she written that, and with what pale ink, andnervous, nearly illegible strokes, and how she had crowded it down tothe very edge of the paper. But he had read it, and it was fixed onhis mind as clearly as though it had been written in lightning on thedark horizon of his future. And now, though his brown eyes werewarming into black, and her cheeks were the colour of the flo
wer afterwhich she was named, they talked of conventional things in anindifferent way, as is the customary and proper thing to do. They sawlittle of each other through the remainder of the afternoon, but whenthey were making ready for the sail home, Eva, at Allan's invitation,sprang into his little light boat.
"Come with me, Rose," she cried, "Mr. Dunlop is going to row me home,and it will be better worth while if there are two of us."
The excuses which Rose instantly invented were not so strong as thevehement tones in which her sister uttered her invitation, and toavoid attracting attention or remark she gently seated herself in theboat, which Allan exultantly pushed away from the shore. The delightof being for a little while almost alone with his love wasintoxicating. The younger girl, who had counted so ardently upon thepleasure of Allan's society, found herself in a short time too sleepyto enjoy it. Her pale, pretty head nodded drowsily, and at last founda resting-place in the lap of her sister. The other two did notexchange many words. It would have been a shame to disturb theplay-worn little maid. The night was very beautiful; the stars seemedsoftly remote. Beneath their light the woods gleamed mysteriously, andthe waves were hushed into a dream of peace. The bay that at sunsethad seemed a sea of melted gold, now held the young moon trembling inits liquid embrace. About them played the ineffable caresses of thelight evening breeze.
"Rose," said Allan, softly.
She looked up with conscious resistance, but it was too late for thatnow. The imperious passion of his mood met the sad grace of herattitude. His speech flowed fast and warm as if it had been blood fromhis veins. She felt herself weakening into helpless tears. "Ah, spareme!" she cried. "It is all so hopeless. My father--"
"I am coming to see your father to-morrow," he said. "It will be ahard battle, but it must be decided at once."
He helped them to land, and they walked in silence to the house. Atthe doorway, in which Eva had disappeared, Rose took Allan'soutstretched hand in both of hers, and drawing it close, laid herweary, wet little face down upon it. The sound of voices and laughtercame up from the beach, and she hastily released herself and fled toher room.
The next afternoon Eva Macleod, with an air of considerableimportance, tapped at the door of her father's apartment. "Papa," shesaid, with that fondness for a choice diction observable in carefullyreared young ladies at the beginning of their teens, "may I have aprivate conversation with you?"
"Why, certainly, my dear! A little talk, I suppose, you mean."
Without heeding this undignified interruption, Miss Eva gave herparent a very accurate report of the dramatic scene in the boat theevening before, of which she had been an interested auditor.
"Of course," she added, in conscientious defence, "I didn't want themto suppose I was sleeping, but if I had opened my eyes it would havebeen very embarrassing for us all."
"Humph!" said her father. "Does Rose know that you were awake?"
"No, I have not broached the topic to her," replied Eva, with anaffectation of maturer speech.
"Humph!" said the gentleman again; a quizzical glance at his youngerdaughter breaking for a moment through the gloom with which he wasmeditating the fate of the elder one. "Well, I am glad you 'broached'it to me; I shall--"
"Papa," interrupted Eva, with bated breath, glancing down from thewindow at which she stood, "there is Allan now."
"_Allan_! You are mightily well acquainted. I see I must prepare tomake an unconditional surrender."
He walked in a nervous and disquieted manner out of the room. At thehead of the stairs he encountered Mademoiselle DeBerczy, on her wayup.
"Helene," he said, with the desperation of one who in the fifty-ninthminute after the eleventh hour does not entirely despair of a gleam ofhope, "I wish you would tell me in two words if Rose loves AllanDunlop. Does she?"
"_Don't_ she!" exclaimed Helene, with explosive earnestness, and thetwo words were sufficient. Their effect was not lessened by subsequentoccurrences. On opening the drawing-room door Rose hastened to hisside, turning her back, as she did so, upon a young man of ardent butentirely self-respectful aspect, standing not far distant.
"Oh, Papa!" she cried in her extremity, "save me from him. He lovesme!"
"Is that the only reason?" asked her father.
"No; there is a greater one. _I love him_!"
"Ah!" murmured Allan softly, "it is to _me_ you should say that."
"She shall have unlimited opportunities for saying it to you,"observed the elder gentleman, with kindly promptness, but with a soreheart. "After a while," he added, turning to Allan, with his hand onthe door knob, "I will be glad to see you."
In this sentence, which is an interesting illustration of the power ofmanners over mind, the word "will" was purposely substituted for thecustomary "shall." It was only by an active effort of will that thegood Commodore could be glad to see his daughter's suitor. But theirinterview, if it did not prove a death-blow to his prejudices, atleast inflicted serious injuries upon them, from which they neverafterwards recovered. He was won over by the young fellow's manliness,which, when contrasted with mere gentlemanliness, apart from it, putsthe latter at a striking disadvantage, even in the mind of theconfirmed aristocrat. There was also a tinge of absurdity in the ideaof being ashamed of a son-in-law of whom his country was beginning tobe proud. Perhaps it was as well that he should arrive unaided at thisopinion, for Allan had won the rest of the household to his side, anda belief in which one is entirely alone must contain something morethan mere pride of birth in order to support its possessor in comfort.Even the loyal Tredway would have failed to respond to his imaginedneed, for this faithful servitor had long since discovered that thehappiness of his young mistress was more to be desired than thepreservation of any fancied superiority on the part of the family towhich he was devotedly attached.
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