A Daughter of the Forest

by Evelyn Raymond

  CHAPTER VIII

  KING MADOC

  "If you had one you should not use it! Are you a dreadful hunter?"

  Margot had turned upon her guest with a defiant fear. As near as shehad ever come to hating anything she hated the men, of whom she hadheard, who used this wonderful northland as a murder ground. That waswhat she named it, in her uncompromising judgment of those who killedfor the sake of killing, for the lust of blood that was in them.

  "Yes. I reckon I am a 'dreadful' hunter, for I am a mighty poor shot.But I'd like a try at that fellow. What horns! What a head! And howcan that fellow in the canoe keep so close to him, yet not finishhim!"

  Adrian was so excited he could not stand still. His eyes gleamed, hishands clenched, and his whole appearance was changed. Greatly for theworse, the girl thought, regarding him with disgust.

  "Finish him? That's King Madoc, Pierre's trained bull-moose. You'd befinished yourself, I fear, if you harmed that splendid creature.Pierre's a lazy fellow, mostly, but he spent a long time teachingMadoc, and with his temper--I'm thankful you lost your gun."

  "Do you never shoot things up here? I saw you giving the fox andherons what looked like meat. You had a stew for supper, and fish forbreakfast. I don't mean to be impertinent, but the sight of that biggame---- Whew!"

  "Yes. We do kill things, or have them killed, when it is necessary forfood. Never in sport. Man is almost the only animal who does that.It's all terrible, seems to me. Everything preys upon something else,weaker than itself. Sometimes when I think of it my dinner chokes me.It's so easy to take life, and only God can create it. But uncle saysit is also God's law to take what is provided, and that there is nomistake, even if it seems such to me."

  But there Margot perceived that Adrian was not listening. Instead, hewas watching, with the intensest interest, the closer approach of thecanoe, in which sat idle Pierre, holding the reins of a harnessattached to his aquatic steed. The moose swam easily, with powerfulstrokes, and Pierre was singing a gay melody, richer in his uniquepossession than any king.

  When he touched the shore and the great animal stood shaking his wethide, Adrian's astonishment found vent in a whirlwind of questionsthat Pierre answered at his leisure and after his kind. But he walkedfirst toward Margot and offered a great bunch of trailing arbutusflowers, saying:

  "I saw these just as I pushed off and went back after them. What's thematter here, that the flag is up? It was the biggest storm I eversaw. Yes. A deal of beasties are killed back on the mainland. Any deadover here?"

  "No, I am glad to say, none that we know of. But Snowfoot's shed isdown and uncle is going to build a new one. I hope you've come towork."

  Pierre laughed and shrugged his shoulders.

  "Oh! yes."

  But his interest in work was far less than in the stranger whom he nowanswered, and whose presence on Peace Island was a mystery to him.Heretofore, the only visitors there had been laborers or traders, butthis young fellow so near his own age, despite his worn clothing, wasof another sort. He recognized this, at once, as Margot had done, andhis curiosity made him ask:

  "Where'd you come from? Hurricane blow you out the sky?"

  "About the same. I was lost in the woods and Margot found me and savedmy life. What'll you take for that moose?"

  "There isn't money enough in the state of Maine to buy him!"

  "Nonsense. Well, if there was I haven't it. But you could get a goodprice for it anywhere."

  Pierre looked Adrian over. From his appearance the lad was not likelyto be possessed of much cash, but the moose-trainer was eager forcapital, and never missed an opportunity of seeking it.

  "I want to go into the show business. What do you say? would youfurnish the tents and fixings? And share the profits. I'm no scholar,but maybe you'd know enough to get out the hand-bills and so on. Whatdo you say?"

  "I--say---- What you mean, Pierre Ricord, keepin' the master waitin',your foolishness, and him half sick? What kept you twice as long asyou ought? Hurry up, now, and put that moose in the cow-yard and getto work."

  The interruption was caused by Angelique, and it was curious to seethe fear with which she inspired the great fellow, her son. He forgotthe stranger, the show business, and all his own immediate interests,and with the docility of a little child obeyed. Unhitching his oddsteed, he turned the canoe bottom upward on the beach and hastily ledthe animal toward that part of the island clearing, where Snowfootstood in a little fenced-in lot behind her ruined shed.

  Adrian went with him, and asked:

  "Won't those two animals fight?"

  "Won't get a chance. When one goes in the other goes out. Here, bossy,you can take the range of the island. Get out!"

  She was more willing to go than Madoc to enter the cramped place, butthe transfer was made and Adrian lingered by the osier paling, toobserve at close range this subjugated monarch of the forest.

  "Oh! for a palette and brush!" he exclaimed, while Pierre walked away.

  "What would you do with them?"

  Margot had followed the lads and was beside him, though he had notheard her footsteps. Now he wheeled about, eager, enthusiastic.

  "Paint--as I have never painted before!"

  "Oh!--are you an--artist?"

  "I want to be one. That's why I'm here."

  "What? What do you mean?"

  "I told you I was a runaway. I didn't say 'why,' before. It's truth.My people, my--father--forced me to college. I hated it. He wasforcing me to business. I liked art. All my friends were artists. WhenI should have been at the books I was in their studios. They were agay crowd, spent money like water when they had it, merrily starvedand pinched when they hadn't. A few were worse than spendthrifts, andwith my usual want of sense I made that particular set my intimates. Inever had any money, though, after it was suspected what my tasteswere. Except a little that my mother gave me."

  Margot was listening breathlessly and watching intently. At themention of his mother a shadow crossed Adrian's face, softening andbettering it, and his whole mood seemed to change.

  Their talk drifted from vexing subjects to merry anecdotes of Adrian'schildhood, in the home where he had been the petted only brother of ahalf-dozen elder sisters. But while they laughed and Margot listened,her fingers were busy weaving a great garland of wild laurel, and whenit was finished she rose and said:

  "It's getting late. There'll be just time to take this to the grave.Will you go with me?"

  "Yes."

  But this was another of the puzzling things he found at Peace Island.In its very loveliest nook was the last resting-place of CecilyRomeyn, and the sacred spot was always beautiful with flowers, or inthe winter, with brilliant berries. Both the master and the girl spokeof their dead as if she were still present with them; or at leastlived as if she were only removed from sight but not from their lives.

  When Margot had laid the fresh wreath upon the mound, she carefullyremoved the faded flowers of the day before, and a thought of his ownmother stirred Adrian's heart.

  "I wish I could send a bunch of such blossoms to my mother!"

  "How can you live without her, since she is still alive?"

  His face hardened again.

  "You forget. I told you that she, too, turned against me at the last.It was a case of husband or son, and she made her choice."

  "Oh! no. She was unhappy. One may do strange things, then, I suppose.But I tell you one thing, if I had either father or mother, anywherein this world, nothing should ever, ever make me leave them. Nothing.I would bear anything, do anything, suffer anything--but I would betrue to them. I could not forget that I was their child, and if I haddone wrong to them my whole life would be too short to makeatonement."

  She spoke strongly, as she felt. So early orphaned, she had come tothink of parents as the most wonderful blessing in the power of God toleave one. She loved her Uncle Hugh like a second father, but hertenderest dreams were over the pictured faces of her dead.

  "Where is your father buried?"


  It was the simplest, most natural question.

  "I--don't--know."

  They stared at one another. It was proof of her childlike acceptanceof her life that she had never asked. Had never thought to do so,even. She had been told that he had "passed out of sight" before theycame to Peace Island and the forest, and had asked no furtherconcerning him. Of his character and habits she had heard much. Heruncle was never weary in extolling his virtues; but of his death hehad said only what has been written.

  "But--I must know right away!"

  In her eagerness she ran, and Adrian followed as swiftly. He was sorryfor his thoughtless inquiry, but regret came too late. He tried tocall Margot back, but she would not wait.

  "I must know. I must know right away. Why have I never known before?"

  Hugh Dutton was resting after a day of study and mental labor, and hishead leaned easily upon his cushioned chair. Yet as his dear childentered his room he held out his arms to draw her to his knee.

  "In a minute, uncle. But Adrian has asked me something and it is thestrangest thing that I cannot answer him. Where is my father buried?"

  If she had dealt him a mortal blow he could not have turned morewhite. With a groan that pierced her very heart, he stared at Margotwith wide, unseeing eyes; then sprang to his feet and fixed upon poorAdrian a look that scorched.

  "You! You?" he gasped, and sinking back covered his face with hishands.