A Daughter of the Forest. Raymond Evelyn

again. In her simplicity the girl did not dream that the now bitter decoction was not a common restorative outside their primitive life, and in all good faith forced a spoonful of it between the closed lips.

      “After all, it doesn’t matter. The poor fellow is doubtless used to richer cordials, but it’s hot and strong and will do the work. You, Angelique, make us a pot of your best coffee, and swing round that dinner-pot. The man is almost starved, and I’m on the road to follow him. How about you, Margot?”

      “Poh! I guess I’m hungry – I will be – see! He’s swallowing it. Fast. Give me that bigger spoon! Quick!”

      “What would you? Scald the creature’s throat? So he isn’t dead, after all. Well, he needn’t have made a body think so, he needn’t. There, Margot! You’ve messed him with the black stuff!”

      Indignantly brushing her child aside the woman seized the cup and deftly administered its entire contents. The stranger had not yet opened his eyes, but accepted the warm liquid mechanically, and his nurse hurried to fill a bowl with the broth of the stew in the kettle. This, in turn, was taken from her by Margot, who jealously exclaimed:

      “He’s mine. I heard him first, I found him first, let me be the first he sees. Dish up the supper, please, and set my uncle’s place.”

      So when, a moment later, having been nearly choked by the more substantial food forced into his mouth, the guest opened his eyes, they beheld the eager face of a brown skinned, fair haired girl very close to his and heard her joyous cry:

      “He sees me! he sees everything! He’s getting well already!”

      He had never seen anybody like her. Her hair was as abundant as a mantle and rippled over her shoulders like spun silver. So it looked in the lamplight. In fact, it had never been bound nor covered, and what in a different social condition might have been much darker, had in this outdoor life become bleached almost white. The weather which had whitened the hair had tanned the skin to bronze, making the blue eyes more vivid by contrast and the red lips redder. These were smiling now, over well kept teeth, and there was about the whole bearing of the maid something suggestive of the woodland in which she had been reared.

      Purity, honesty, freedom, all spoke in every motion and tone, and to this observer, at least, seemed better than any beauty. Presently, he was able to push her too willing hand gently away and to say:

      “Not quite so fast, please.”

      “Oh! uncle! Hear him? He talks just as you do! Not a bit like Pierre, or Joe, or the rest.”

      Mr. Dutton came forward, smiling and remonstrating.

      “My dear, our new friend will think you quite rude, if you discuss him before his face, so frankly. But, sir, I assure you she means nothing but delight at your recovery. We are all most thankful that you are here and safe. There, Margot. Let the gentleman rest a few minutes. Then a cup of coffee may be better than the stew. Were you long without food, friend?”

      The stranger tried to answer but the effort tired him, and with a beckoning nod to the young nurse, the woodlander led the way back to the table and their own delayed supper. Both needed it and both ate it rather hastily, much to the disgust of Angelique who felt that her skill was wasted; but one was anxious to be off out of doors, to learn the damage left by the storm, and the other to be back on her stool beside the lounge. When Mr. Dutton rose, the housekeeper left her own seat.

      “I’ll fetch the lantern, master. But that’s the last of Snowfoot’s good milk you’ll ever drink,” she sighed, touching the pitcher sadly.

      “What? Is anything wrong with her?”

      “The cow-house is in ruins. So are the poultry coops. What with falling ill yourself just at the worst time and fetchin’ home other sick folks we might all go to wrack and nobody the better.”

      The familiar grumbling provoked only a smile from the master, who would readily have staked his life on the woman’s devotion to “her people” and knew that the apparent crossness was not that in reality.

      “Fie, good Angelique! Never so happy as when you’re miserable. Come on. Nothing must suffer if we can prevent. Take care of our guest, Margot, but give him his nourishment slowly, at intervals. I’ll get some tools, and join you at the shed, Angelique.”

      He went out and the housekeeper followed with the lantern, not needed in the moonlight, but possibly of use at the fallen cow-house.

      They were long gone. The stranger dozed, waked, ate, and dozed again. Margot, accustomed to early hours, also slept and soundly, till a fearful shriek roused her. Her patient was wildly kicking and striking at some hideous monster which had settled on his chest and would not be displaced.

      “He’s killing me! Help – help! Oh-a-ah!”

      CHAPTER IV

      WHAT WAS IN THE NAME

      Thrusting back the hair that had fallen over her eyes, Margot sprang up and stared at the floundering mass of legs, arms, and wings upon the wide lounge – a battle to the death, it seemed. Then she caught the assailant in her strong hands and flung him aside, while her laughter rang out in a way to make the stranger, also, stare, believing she had gone crazy with sudden fear.

      But his terror had restored his strength most marvelously, for he too, leaped to his feet and retreated to the furthest corner of the room, whence he regarded the scene with dilated eyes.

      “Why – why – it’s nobody, nothing but dear old Tom!”

      “It’s an eagle! The first – ”

      “Of course, he’s an eagle. Aren’t you, dear? The most splendid bird in Maine, or maybe Canada. The wisest, the most loving, the – Oh! You big blundering precious thing! Scaring people like that. You should be more civil, sir.”

      “Is – is – he tame?”

      “Tame as a pet chicken. But mischievous. He wouldn’t hurt you for anything.”

      “Humph! He would have killed me if I hadn’t waked and yelled.”

      “Well, you did that surely. You feel better, don’t you?”

      “I wish you’d put him outdoors, or shut him up where he belongs. I want to sit down.”

      “There’s no reason why you shouldn’t,” she answered, pushing a chair toward him.

      “Where did you get it – that creature?”

      “Uncle found him when he was ever so young. Somebody or something, a hunter or some other bird, had hurt his wing and one foot. Eagles can be injured by the least little blow upon their wings, you know.”

      “No. I know nothing about them – yet. But I shall, some day.”

      “Oh! I hope so. They’re delightful to study. Tom is very large, we think. He’s nearly four feet tall, and his wings – Spread your wings, sir! Spread!”

      Margot had dropped upon the floor before the wide fireplace, her favorite seat. Her arms clasped her strange pet’s body while his white head rested lovingly upon her shoulder. His eyes were fixed upon the blazing logs and his yellow irises gleamed as if they had caught and held the dancing flames. But at her command he shook himself free, and extended one mighty wing, while she stretched out the other. Their tips were full nine feet apart and seemed to fill and darken the whole place.

      In spite of this odd girl’s fearless handling of the bird, it looked most formidable to the visitor, who retreated again to a safe distance, though he had begun to advance toward her. And again he implored her to put the uncanny “monster” out of the house.

      Margot laughed; as she was always doing; but going to the table filled a plate with fragments from the stew and calling Tom, set the dish before him on the threshold.

      “There’s your supper, Thomas the King! Which means, no more of Angelique’s chickens, dead or alive.”

      The eagle gravely limped out of doors and the visitor felt relieved, so that he cast somewhat longing glances upon the table, and Margot was quick to understand them.