The Blue Goose

  CHAPTER XV

  _Bending the Twig_

  Firmstone had done a very unusual thing for him in working himself up tothe point where anything that threatened delay in his proposed rescue ofElise made him impatient. The necessity for immediate action hadimpressed itself so strongly upon him that he lost sight of the factthat others, even more deeply concerned than himself, might justly claimconsideration. He knew that in some way Zephyr was more or less in touchwith Pierre and Madame. Just how or why, he was in no mood to inquire.

  Only a self-reliant mind is capable of distinguishing between that whichis an essential part and that which seems to be. So it happened thatFirmstone, when for the second time he met Zephyr at the Devil's Elbow,listened impatiently to the latter's comments on the loss of the safe.When at last he abruptly closed that subject and with equal abruptnessintroduced the one uppermost in his mind the cold reticence of Zephyrsurprised and shocked him.

  The two men had met by chance, almost the first day that Firmstone hadassumed charge of the Rainbow properties, and each had impressed theother with a feeling of profound respect. This respect had ripened intoa genuine friendship. Zephyr saw in Firmstone a man who knew hisbusiness, a man capable of applying his knowledge, whose duty to hisemployers never blinded his eyes to the rights of his workmen, a man whosaw clearly, acted decisively, and yielded to the humblest the respectwhich he exacted from the highest. These characteristics grew on Zephyruntil they filled his entire mental horizon, and he never questionedwhat might be beyond. Yet now he had fear for Elise. Firmstone was sofar above her. Zephyr shook his head. Marriage was not to be thought of,only a hopeless love on the part of Elise that would bring misery in theend. This was Zephyr's limit, and this made him coldly silent in thepresence of Firmstone's advances. Firmstone was not thus limited.Zephyr's silent reticence was quickly fathomed. His liking for the mangrew. He spoke calmly and with no trace of resentment.

  "Of course, Elise is nothing to me in a way. But to think of a girl withher possibilities being dwarfed and ruined by her surroundings!" Hepaused, then added, "I wish my sister had come out with me. She wantedto come."

  Zephyr caught at the last words for an instant, then dropped them. Hisanswer was abrupt and non-committal. "There are some things that arebest helped by letting them alone."

  Firmstone rose. "Good night," he said, briefly, and started for themill.

  Firmstone was disappointed at Zephyr's reception; but he had reasonedhimself out of surprise. He had not given up the idea of freeing Elisefrom her associates. That was not Firmstone.

  The next morning, as usual, he met Miss Hartwell at breakfast.

  "I am going up to the mine, this morning. Wouldn't you like to go as faras the Falls? It is well worth your effort," he added.

  "I would like to go very much." She spoke meditatively.

  "If that means yes, I'll have a pony saddled for you. I'll be ready bynine o'clock."

  Miss Hartwell looked undecided. Firmstone divined the reason.

  "The trail is perfectly safe every way, and the pony is sure-footed, soyou have nothing to fear."

  "I believe I will go. My brother will never find time to take mearound."

  "I'll get ready at once."

  A seeming accident more often accomplishes desirable results than agenuine one. Firmstone was fairly well satisfied that one excursion tothe Falls would incline Miss Hartwell to others. If she failed to meetElise on one day she was almost certain to meet her on another.

  Promptly at nine the horses were at the door, and as promptly MissHartwell appeared in her riding habit. In her hand she carried asketch-book. She held it up, smiling.

  "This is one weakness that I cannot conceal."

  "Even that needn't trouble you. I'll carry it."

  "You seem to have a weakness as well." She was looking at a small boxwhich Firmstone was fastening to his saddle.

  "This one is common to us all. We may not be back till late, so Bennyput up a lunch. The Falls are near Paradise; but yet far enough thisside of the line to make eating a necessity."

  They mounted and rode away. Firmstone did not take the usual trail bythe Blue Goose, though it was the shorter. The trail he chose was longerand easier. At first he was a little anxious about his guest; but MissHartwell's manner plainly showed that his anxiety was groundless.Evidently she was accustomed to riding, and the pony was perfectly safe.The trail was narrow and, as he was riding in advance, conversation wasdifficult, and no attempt was made to carry it on. At the FallsFirmstone dismounted and took Miss Hartwell's pony to an open place,where a long tether allowed it to graze in peace.

  Miss Hartwell stood with her eyes resting on reach after reach of thechanging vista. She turned to Firmstone with a subdued smile.

  "I am afraid that I troubled you with a useless burden," she said.

  "I do not know to what you refer in particular; but I can truthfullydeny trouble on general principles."

  "Really, haven't you been laughing at me, all this time? You must haveknown how utterly hopeless a sketch-book and water-colours would be insuch a place. I think I'll try botany instead. That appeals to me asmore attainable."

  Firmstone looked at his watch.

  "I must go on. You are quite sure you won't get tired waiting? I haveput your lunch with your sketch-book. I'll be back by two o'clock,anyway."

  Miss Hartwell assured him that she would not mind the waiting, andFirmstone went on his way.

  Miss Hartwell gathered a few flowers, then opened her botany, and beganpicking them to pieces that she might attach to each the hard name whichothers had saddled upon it. At first absorbed and intent upon her work,at length she grew restless and, raising her eyes, she saw Elise. On thegirl's face curiosity and disapprobation amounting almost to resentmentwere strangely blended. Curiosity, for the moment, gained theascendency, as Miss Hartwell raised her eyes.

  "What are you doing to those flowers?" Elise pointed to the fragments.

  "I am trying to analyse them."

  "What do you mean by that?"

  "Analysis?" Miss Hartwell looked up inquiringly; but Elise made noreply, so she went on. "That is separating them into their componentparts, to learn their structure."

  "What for?" Elise looked rather puzzled, but yet willing to hear thewhole defence for spoliation.

  "So that I can learn their names."

  "How do you find their names?"

  It occurred to Miss Hartwell to close the circle by simply answering"analysis"; but she forebore.

  "The flowers are described in this botany and their names are given. Byseparating the flowers into their parts I can find the names."

  "Where did the book get the names?"

  If Miss Hartwell was growing impatient she concealed it admirably. Ifshe was perplexed in mind, and she certainly was, perplexity did notshow in the repose of her face. Her voice flowed with the modulatedrhythm of a college professor reciting an oft-repeated lecture toever-changing individuals with an unchanging stage of mentaldevelopment. If her choice of answer was made in desperation nothingshowed it.

  "Botanists have studied plants very carefully. They find certainresemblances which are persistent. These persistent resemblances theyclassify into families. There are other less comprehensive resemblancesin the families. These are grouped into genera and the genera aredivided into species and these again into varieties, and a name is givento each."

  Elise in her way was a genius. She recognised the impossible. MissHartwell's answers were impossible to her.

  "Oh, is that all?" she asked, sarcastically. "Have you found the namesof these?" Again she pointed to the torn flowers.

  Miss Hartwell divided her prey into groups.

  "These are the Ranunculaceae family. This is the Aquilegia Caerulea. Thisis the Delphinium Occidentale. This belongs to the Polemoniaceae family,and is the Phlox Caespitosa. These are Compositae. They are a difficultgroup to name." Miss Hartwell was indulging in mixed emotions. Mingledwith a satisfaction in reviewing her erudition
was a quiet revengeheightened by the unconsciousness of her object.

  "You don't love flowers." There was no indecision in the statement.

  "Why, yes, I certainly do."

  "No; you don't, or you wouldn't tear them to pieces."

  "Don't you ever pick flowers?"

  "Yes; but I love them. I take them to my room, and they talk to me. Theydo, too!" Elise flashed an answer to a questioning look of MissHartwell, and then went on, "I don't tear them to pieces and throw themaway. Not even to find out those hideous names you called them. Theydon't belong to them. You don't love them, and you needn't pretend youdo." Elise's cheeks were flushed. Miss Hartwell was bewildered in mind.She acknowledged it to herself. Elise was teaching her a lesson that shehad never heard of before, much less learned. Then came elusivesuggestions, vaguely defined, of the two-fold aspect of nature. Shelooked regretfully at the evidences of her curiosity. She had not yetgone far enough along the new path to take accurate notes of heremotions; but she had an undefined sense of her inferiority, a sense ofwrong-doing.

  "I am very sorry I hurt you. I did not mean to."

  Elise gave a quick look of interrogation. The look showed sincerity. Hervoice softened.

  "You didn't hurt me; you made me mad. I can help myself. They can't."

  Miss Hartwell had left her sketch-book unclosed. An errant breath ofwind was fluttering the pages.

  "What is that?" Elise asked. "Another kind of book to make you tear upflowers?" Her voice was hard again.

  Miss Hartwell took up the open book.

  "Perhaps you would like to see these. They may atone for my otherwrong-doing."

  Elise seated herself and received the sketches one by one as they werehanded to her. Miss Hartwell had intended to make comments as necessityor opportunity seemed to demand; but Elise forestalled her.

  "This is beautiful; only----" She paused.

  Miss Hartwell looked up.

  "Only what?"

  Elise shook her head impatiently.

  "You've put those horrid names on each one of them. They make me thinkof the ones you tore to pieces."

  Miss Hartwell stretched out her hand.

  "Let me take them for a moment, please."

  Elise half drew them away, looking sharply at Miss Hartwell. Then herface softened, and she placed the sketches in her hand. One by one theoffending names were removed.

  "I think that is better."

  Elise watched curiously, and her expression did not change with thereception of the sketches.

  "Don't you ever get mad?" she asked.

  "Sometimes."

  "That would have made me awfully mad."

  "But I think you were quite right. The names are not beautiful. Theflowers are."

  "That wouldn't make any difference with me. I'd get mad before Ithought, and then I'd stick to it anyway."

  "That is not right."

  Elise looked somewhat rebuked, but more puzzled.

  "How old are you?" she asked.

  This was too much. Miss Hartwell could not conceal her astonishment. Sherecovered quickly and answered, with a smile:

  "I was twenty-five, last February."

  Elise resumed her examination of the water-colours. There was a look ofsatisfaction on her face.

  "Oh, well, perhaps when I get to be as old as that I won't get mad,either. How did you learn to make flowers?" Her attention was fixed allthe time on the colours.

  "I took lessons."

  "Is it very hard to learn?"

  "Not very, for some people. Would you like to have me teach you?"

  Elise's face was flushed and eager.

  "Will you teach me?" she asked.

  "Certainly. It will give me great pleasure."

  "When can you begin?"

  "Now, if you like."

  Miss Hartwell had taste, and she had been under excellent instruction.Her efforts had been praised and herself highly commended; but nosweeter incense had ever been burned under her nostrils than the intenseabsorption of her first pupil. It was not genius; it was love, pure andsimple. There was no element of self-consciousness, only a wild love ofbeauty and a longing to give it expression. Nominally, at least, MissHartwell was the instructor and Elise the pupil; but that did notprevent her learning some lessons which her other instructors had failedto suggest. The comments of Elise on the habits and peculiarities ofevery plant and flower that they attempted demonstrated to Miss Hartwellthat the real science of botany was not wholly dependent upon forcepsand scalpel. Another demonstration was to the effect that the first andhardest step in drawing, if not in painting, was a clear-cut conceptionof the object to be delineated. Elise knew her object. From the firstdowny ball that pushed its way into the opening spring, to the unfoldingof the perfect flower, every shade and variety of colour Elise knew toperfection.

  Miss Hartwell's lessons had been purely mechanical. She had brought tothem determination and faithful application; but unconsciously theobject had been herself, not her subject, and her work showed it. Elisewas no genius; but she was possessed of some of its most imperativeessentials, an utter oblivion of self and an abounding love of hersubjects. Miss Hartwell was astonished at her easy grasp of detailswhich had come to her after much laborious effort.

  They were aroused by the click of iron shoes on the stony trail asFirmstone rode toward them.

  He was delighted that his first attempt at bringing Elise in contactwith Miss Hartwell had been so successful. There was a flush of pleasureon Miss Hartwell's face.

  "I believe you knew I would not be alone. Why didn't you tell me aboutElise?"

  "Oh, it's better to let each make his own discoveries, especially ifthey are pleasant."

  Firmstone looked at the paint-smudged fingers of Elise. "You refused myhelp in square root, and are taking lessons in painting from MissHartwell."

  "Miss who?"

  Firmstone was astonished at the change in the girl's face.

  "Miss Hartwell," he answered.

  Elise rose quickly to her feet. Brush and pencil fell unheeded from herlap.

  "Are you related to that Hartwell at the mill?" she demanded.

  "He is my brother."

  Fierce anger burned in the eyes of Elise. Without a word, she turned andstarted down the trail. Miss Hartwell and Firmstone watched theretreating figure for a moment. She was first to recover from hersurprise. She began to gather the scattered papers which Elise haddropped. She was utterly unable to suggest an explanation of the suddenchange that had come over Elise on hearing her name. Firmstone was atfirst astonished beyond measure. A second thought cleared his mind. Heknew that Hartwell had been going of late to the Blue Goose. Elise, nodoubt, had good grounds for resentment against him. That it should beabruptly extended to his sister was no matter of surprise to Firmstone.Of course, to Miss Hartwell he could not even suggest an explanation.They each were wholly unprepared for the finale which came as anunexpected sequel.

  A delicate little hand, somewhat smudged with paint, was held out toMiss Hartwell, who, as she took the hand, looked up into a resoluteface, with drooping eyes.

  "I got mad before I thought, and I've come back to tell you that itwasn't right."

  Miss Hartwell drew the girl down beside her.

  "Things always look worse than they really are when one is hungry. Won'tyou share our lunch?"

  With ready tact she directed her words to Firmstone, and she was notdisappointed in finding in him an intelligent second. Before manyminutes, Elise had forgotten disagreeable subjects in things which toher never lacked interest.

  At parting Elise followed the direct trail to the Blue Goose. AsFirmstone had hoped, another series of lessons was arranged for.