A Daughter of the Forest. Raymond Evelyn

and the fact added a deeper gravity to his always thoughtful manner.

      “I am most thankful that you were not here; but where could you have been to escape it?”

      “All day in the long cave. To the very end of it I believe, and see! I found these. They are like the specimens you brought the other day. They must be some rich metal.”

      “In the long cave, you? Alone? All day? Margot, Margot, is not the glass enough? but you must tempt worse luck by goin’ there!” cried Angelique, who had preceded the others on the path, but now faced about, trembling indignantly. What foolish creature was this who would pass a whole day in that haunted spot, in spite of the dreadful tales that had been told of it. “Pouf! But I wear out my poor brain, everlastin’ to study the charms will save you from evil, me. And yet – ”

      “You would do well to use some of your charms on Tom, yonder. He’s found an overturned coop and looks too happy to be out of mischief.”

      The woman wheeled again and was off up the slope like a flash, where presently the king of birds was treated to the indignity of a sound boxing, which he resented with squawks and screeches, but not with talons, since under each foot he held the plump body of a fat chicken.

      “Tom thinks a bird in the hand is worth a score of cuffs! and Angelique’s so determined to have somebody die – I hope it won’t be Tom. A pity, though, that harm should have happened to her own pets. Hark! What is that?”

      “Some poor woodland creature in distress. The storm – ”

      “That’s no sound belonging to the forest. But it is – distress!”

      CHAPTER III

      AN ESTRAY FROM CIVILIZATION

      They paused by the cabin door, left open by Angelique, and listened intently. She, too, had caught the alien sound, the faint, appealing halloo of a human voice – the rarest of all cries in that wilderness. Even the eagle’s screeches could not drown it, but she had had enough of anxieties for one day. Let other people look out for themselves; her precious ones should not stir afield again, no, not for anything. Let the evil bird devour the dead chickens, if he must, her place was in the cabin, and she rushed back down the slope, fairly forcing the others inward from the threshold where they hesitated.

      “’Tis a loon. You should know that, I think, and that they’re always cryin’ fit to scare the dead. Come. The supper’s waited this long time.”

      With a smile that disarmed offense Margot caught the woman’s shoulder and lightly swung her aside out of the way.

      “Eat then, hungry one! I, too, am hungry, but – Hark!”

      The cry came again, prolonged, entreating, not to be confounded with that of any forest wilding.

      “It’s from the north end of our own island!”

      The master’s ear was not less keen than the girl’s, and both had the acuteness of an Indian’s, but his judgment was better.

      “From the mainland, across the narrows.”

      Neither delayed, as a mutual impulse sent them toward the shore, but again Angelique interposed.

      “Thoughtless child, have you no sense? With the master just out of a faint that was nigh death itself! With nothin’ in his poor stomach since the mornin’ and your own as empty. Wait. Eat. Then chase loons, if you will.”

      Mr. Dutton laughed, though he also frowned and cast a swift, anxious glance toward Margot. But she was intent upon nothing save answering that far-off cry.

      “Which canoe, uncle?”

      “Mine.”

      The devoted servant made a last protest, and caught the girl’s arm as it pushed the light craft downward into the water.

      “My child, he is not fit. Believe me. Best leave others to their fate than he should over-tax himself again, so soon.”

      Margot was astonished. In all her life she had never before associated thought of physical weakness with her stalwart guardian, and a sharp fear of some unknown trouble shot through her heart.

      “What do you mean?”

      The master had reached them and now laid his own hand upon Angelique’s detaining one.

      “There, woman, that’s enough. The storm has shaken your nerves. If you’re afraid to stay alone, Margot shall stop with you. But let’s have no more nonsense.”

      Mother Ricord stepped back, away. She had done her best. Let come what might, her conscience was clear.

      A few seconds later the canoe pushed off over the now darkening water and its inmates made all speed toward that point from which the cry had been heard, but was heard no more. However, the steersman followed a perfectly direct course and, if he were still weak from his seizure, his movement showed no signs of it, so that Margot’s fear for him was lost in the interest of their present adventure. She rhymed her own stroke to her uncle’s and when he rested her paddle instantly stopped.

      “Halloo! Hal-l-oo!” he shouted, but as no answer came, said: “Now – both together!”

      The girl’s shriller treble may have had further carrying power than the man’s voice, for there was promptly returned to them an echoing halloo, coming apparently from a great distance. But it was repeated at close intervals and each time with more distinctness.

      “We’ll beach the boat just yonder, under that tamarack. Whoever it is has heard and is coming back.”

      Margot’s impatience broke bounds and she darted forward among the trees, shouting: “This way! this way! here we are – here!” Her peculiar life and training had made her absolutely fearless, and she would have been surprised by her guardian’s command to “Wait!” had she heard it, which she did not. Also, she knew the forest as other girls know their city streets, and the dimness was no hindrance to her nimble feet. In a brief time she caught the crashing of boughs as some person, less familiar than she, blundered through the underbrush and finally came into view where a break in the timber gave a faint light.

      “Here! Here! This way!”

      He staggered and held out his hands, as if for aid, and Margot clasped them firmly. They were cold and tremulous. They were, also, slender and smooth, not at all like the hands of any men whom she was used to seeing. At the relief of her touch, his strength left him, but she caught his murmured:

      “Thank God. I – had – given up – ”

      His voice, too, was different from any she knew, save her own uncle’s. This was somebody, then, from that outside world of which she dreamed so much and knew so little. It was like a fairy tale come true.

      “Are you ill? There. Lean on me. Don’t fear. Oh! I’m strong, very strong, and uncle is just yonder, coming this way. Uncle – uncle!”

      The stranger was almost past speech. Mr. Dutton recognized that at once and added his support to Margot’s. Between them they half-led, half-carried the wanderer to the canoe and lifted him into it, where he sank exhausted. Then they dipped their paddles and the boat shot homeward, racing with death. Angelique was still on the beach and still complaining of their foolhardiness, but one word from her master silenced that. “Lend a hand, woman! Here’s something real to worry about. Margot, go ahead and get the lights.”

      As the girl sprang from it, the housekeeper pulled the boat to a spot above the water and, stooping, lifted a generous share of the burden it contained.

      It had not been a loon, then. No. Well, she had known that from the beginnin’, just as she had known that her beloved master was in no fit condition to go man-huntin’. This one he had found was, probably, dead anyway. Of course. Somebody had to die – beyond chickens and such – had not the broken glass so said?

      Even in the twilight Mr. Dutton could detect the grim satisfaction of her face and smiled, foreseeing her change of expression when this seemingly lifeless guest should revive.

      They laid him on the lounge that had been spread with blankets for Margot, and she