CHAPTER I.
IT was the very first day of the loveliest month in the year. I supposeevery month has its defenders, or, at least, its apologists, butJune--June in Canada--has surely no need of either. And this particularmorning was of the best and brightest. The garden at the back of Mr.Merrithew's house was sweet with the scent of newly blossomed lilacs,and the freshness of young grass. The light green of the elms was as yetundimmed by the dust of summer, and the air was like the elixir oflife.
Two children sat on the grass under the lilacs, making dandelion chainsand talking happily.
Jack, a little fair-haired boy of six, was noted for his queer speechesand quaint ideas. His sister Marjorie was just twice his age, but theywere closest chums, and delighted in building all sorts of air-castlestogether. This afternoon, when she had finished a chain of marvellouslength, she leant back against the lilac-trees and said, with a sigh ofhappiness:
"Now, Jack, let's make plans!"
"All right," Jack answered, solemnly. "Let's plan about going to Quebecnext winter."
"Oh, Jackie! Don't let's plan about winter on the first day of June!There's all the lovely, lovely summer to talk about,--and I know twofine things that are going to happen."
"All right!" said Jackie again. It was his favourite expression. "Iknow one of them; Daddy told me this morning. It's about Cousin Doracoming to stay with us."
"Yes--isn't it good? She's coming for a whole year, while uncle and auntgo out to British Columbia,--to make him well, you know."
"I wish she was a little boy," said Jackie, thoughtfully. "But if she'slike you, she'll be all right, Margie. What's the other nice thing youknow?"
"Oh, you must try to guess, dear! Come up in the summer-house; it's socosy there, and I'll give you three guesses. It's something that willhappen in July or August, and we are _all_ in it, father and mother andyou and Cousin Dora, and a few other people."
They strolled up to the vine-covered summer-house, and settled down onits broad seat, while Jack cudgelled his brains for an idea as to apossible good time.
"Is it a picnic?" he asked at last.
Marjorie laughed.
"Oh, ever so much better than that," she cried.
"Try again."
"Is it--is it--a visit to the seaside?"
"No; even better than that."
"Is it a pony to take us all driving?"
"No, no. That's your last guess. Shall I tell you?"
"Ah, yes, please do!"
"Well,--mother says, if we do well at school till the holidays, andeverything turns out right, she and father--will--take us camping!"
"Camping? Camping out? Really in tents? Oh, good, good!"
And Jackie, the solemn, was moved to the extent of executing a littledance of glee on the garden path.
"Camping out" is a favourite way of spending the summer holiday-timeamong Canadians. Many, being luxurious in their tastes, build tinyhouses and call them camps, but the true and only genuine "camping" isdone under canvas, and its devotees care not for other kinds.
As our little New Brunswickers were talking of all its possible joys, asweet voice called them from the door of the big brick house.
"Marjorie! Jack! Do you want to come for a walk with mother?"
There was no hesitation in answering this invitation. The childrenrushed pell-mell down the garden path, endangering the swaying buds ofthe long-stemmed lilies on either side.
Mrs. Merrithew stood waiting for them, a tall, plump lady in gray, withquantities of beautiful brown hair. She carried a small basket andtrowel, at sight of which the children clapped their hands.
"Are we going to the woods, mother?" Marjorie cried, and "May I take mycart and my spade?" asked Jackie.
"Yes, dearies," Mrs. Merrithew answered. "We have three hours beforetea-time, and Saturday wouldn't be much of a holiday without the woods.Put on your big hats, and Jack can bring his cart and spade, andMarjorie can carry the cookies."
"Oh, please let me haul the cookies in my cart," said Jack. "Gentlemenshouldn't let ladies carry things, father says,--but Margie, you _may_carry the spade if you want something in your hands very much!"
"All right, boy," laughed Marjorie. "I certainly do like something in myhands, and a spade will look much more ladylike than a cooky-bag!"
The big brick house from which Mrs. Merrithew and the children set outon their walk stood on one of the back streets of a little NewBrunswick city,--a very small but beautiful city, built on a woodedpoint that juts out into the bright waters of the St. John River. Ofthis river the little Canadian Cousins are justly proud, for, from itssource in the wilds of Quebec to its outlet on the Bay of Fundy, it isindeed "a thing of beauty and a joy for ever."
Our little party soon left the streets, went through a wide green spacecovered with venerable maples, crossed a tiny stream and a railwaytrack, and entered the woods that almost covered the low hill behind thetown. Though it was really but one hill, the various roads thatsubdivided it gave it various names, some derived from the settlementsthey led to, and some from buildings on the way. It was through thewoods of "College Hill" that Marjorie and Jack and their motherwandered. Being all good walkers, they were soon back of the fine oldcollege, which stands looking gravely out over the tree-embowered townto the broad blue river.
When the delicious green and amber shadows of the woods were reached,little Jack at once began to search for fairies. Marjorie contentedherself with looking for wild flowers, and Mrs. Merrithew sought forferns young enough to transplant to her garden.
"I am afraid I have left it rather late," she said at last. "They areall rather too well-grown to stand moving. But I will try a few of thesmallest. What luck have my chicks had? Any fairies, Jackie?"
Jackie lifted a flushed face from its inspection of a tiny hole in thetrunk of a fir-tree.
"No fairies _yet_, mother; but I think one lives in here, only she won'tcome out while I am watching."
Mrs. Merrithew smiled sympathetically. She heartily agreed with thewriter (though she could not remember who it was) who said: "I alwaysexpect to find something wonderful, unheard-of, in a wood."
"In olden days," she said, "people believed that there were beautifulwood-spirits, called dryads, who had their homes in trees. They werelarger than most fairies, and yet they were a kind of fairy."
"Please tell more about them, mother," said Marjorie, coming up with herhands full of yellow, speckled adder's-tongue.
"I know very little more, I am sorry to say," their mother answered,laughing. "Like Jackie with _his_ fairies, I have always hoped to seeone, but never have as yet."
"Are they good things?" Jackie asked, "or would they frighten littleboys?"
"Oh, my dear, they were always said to be kind and beautiful, and rathertimid, more apt to be frightened themselves than to frighten any oneelse. But remember, dears, mother did not say there _were_ such things,but only that people used to think so."
"Please tell us a story about one, mother," Jack pleaded.
But Mrs. Merrithew shook her head.
"We will keep the story for some other time," she said. "Let us have acooky now, and a little rest, before we go home."
This proposal was readily agreed to. They chose a comfortable spot wherea little group of white birches gave them backs on which to lean, openedthe precious bag, and were soon well occupied with its crisp andtoothsome contents. Mrs. Merrithew, knowing well that little folk aregenerally troubled with a wonderful thirst, had also brought a cup and abottle of lemonade. How doubly delicious things tasted in the clear,spicy air of the woods!
By the time Jack had disposed of his sixth cooky he felt ready forconversation.
"Mother," he said, "I wish you would tell us all about Dora."
"All about Dora, dearie? That would take a long time, I expect. But itwould _not_ take long to tell you all that I know about her. I have onlyseen her twice, and on one of those occasions she was a baby a monthold, and the next time only two years,--and as she is now,
I do not knowher at all."
"But--oh, you know, mother--tell us about her father and mother, and herhome, and everything like that. It makes her more interesting," urgedMarjorie.
Mrs. Merrithew saw that she was to be beguiled into a story in any case,so she smiled and resigned herself to her fate.
"Well, my dears, I know a great many things about Dora's father, for heis my only brother, and we were together almost constantly until we wereboth grown up. Then your Uncle Archie, who had studied electricalengineering, went up to Montreal, and there secured a good position. Hehad only been there a short time when he met a very charming young lady"("_This_ sounds quite like a book-story," Marjorie here interposed) "bywhom he was greatly attracted. She was partly French, her mother havingbeen a lady of old French family. But her father was an English officer,of the strongest English feelings, so this charming young lady (whosename was Denise Allingham) combined the characteristics--at least allthe best characteristics--of both races. Do you know what that means,Jackie?"
Jack nodded, thoughtfully.
"I think so, mother. I think it means that she--that young lady--had allthe nicenesses of the French and all the goodnesses of the English."
"That is just it, my dear, and a very delicate distinction, too," criedhis mother, clapping her hands in approval, while Jackie beamed withdelight.
"Well, to continue: Miss Denise Allingham, when your Uncle Archie mether, was an orphan, and not well off. She was teaching in an Englishfamily, and not, I think, very happy in her work. She and your uncle hadonly known each other about a year when they were married."
"And lived happily ever after?" Marjorie asked.
Mrs. Merrithew considered a moment, then:
"Yes, I am sure I can say so," she answered. "They have had somebusiness troubles, and a good deal of sickness, but still they have beenhappy through it all. And they have one dear little daughter, whom theylove devotedly, and who is named 'Dora Denise,' after her motherand--who else?"
"You, mother, you," both children exclaimed.
"The chief trouble this happy trio has had," Mrs. Merrithew continued,"has been the delicate health of your uncle. For the last four years hehas not been strong. Twice they have all three gone away for his health,and now the doctors have ordered him to try the delightful climate ofBritish Columbia, and to spend at least a year there if it agrees withhim. He needs all his wife's attention this time, and that, my dears, iswhy little Dora Denise Carman is coming to spend a year with her NewBrunswick relations.
"And now, chicks, look at that slanting, golden light through the trees.That means tea-time, and homeward-bound!"