Silver Wings

  “Perhaps you began at the wrong end,” said the young man, smiling enigmatically.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that to the natural man, these things are foolishness. Spiritual things must be spiritually discerned.”

  “Well,” said Diana, “how do you do that? Can’t you tell me tomorrow?”

  “If you are in earnest.”

  “Yes, I’m in earnest,” said the girl, lifting clear liquid eyes to his face, eyes that would deceive the very elect with their loveliness. But what she saw in his eyes was utter doubt of her, and in spite of her nonchalance, she colored.

  “You don’t think I am!” she challenged.

  “No, I don’t think you are,” said the young man, with a drawing of breath that sounded like a sigh.

  “You have no right to say that!” said Diana in a vexed tone.

  “Haven’t I?” he asked, looking searchingly into her face.

  “I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” she said again, half angry, but the more determined to get him to tell her. “I want to understand you very much. I want to know what it is that makes you different.”

  “Different?”

  “Yes, you are different. I can’t understand it. You are good looking and well educated, you are young, can talk well and act well, and could be popular if you half tried, and you don’t seem to get a thing out of life for yourself.”

  He smiled. “I suppose I ought to thank you for painting such a pleasant portrait of me, but you see, the truth is I’ve found something better than just getting things out of life for myself.”

  “What is it?” she asked eagerly, and there was a ring of genuineness to her tone for the first time.

  He studied her a moment, and then he said earnestly, “It is to let God get the best He has planned for me out of life.”

  “Oh!” said she, her face perceptibly lengthened. “But why? How? I’m sure I don’t understand at all what you mean. It seems such a perfect waste, you young and good looking and bright, and able to do something worthwhile in the world, to be shut up to a stuffy thing like preaching to a lot of old women and children. What’s the good of it all, anyhow? I wish you’d give it all up and get into some real business, and be my friend. I like you, see? It makes me cross to have you waste your splendid self on such things when we might have such good times if you only would be reasonable. Come, here’s a challenge! Be a good sport and a real man! I can’t bear to think of you wasted this way.”

  “You mean,” said the young man, looking at her amusedly, “you mean that you want me to play around with you for a little while and have a good time. You don’t care in the least whether my life is wasted or not. You just want to see me do as the other men do that you like. Come, be honest and own up!”

  She turned from him with offended air.

  “Oh, well, of course, if you are going to continue to doubt me,” she said and made a move as if to leave him.

  “I wish with all my soul I did not have to,” he said sadly. “I wish that you were as beautiful as you look. I wish that you really wanted to know what has come into my life that has made me different from what I used to be.”

  “Well, I do,” said Diana suddenly, with a desire born of the moment showing keenly in her eyes. “Tell me! There is something, and it is real. Tell me now. I want to understand it. I think you have no right to treat me this way.”

  “Perhaps not,” said John Dunleith, still studying her face. “Well then, come outside and we will walk a few minutes, and I will tell you.”

  So, much to the disappointment of Neddy, who was hovering outside the long window, hoping that Cousin John would come and tell him more about the stars and how airplanes were made as he did last night, John Dunleith stepped out into the moonlight with Diana by his side.

  He did not ask her to take his arm, and Diana for some strange reason, perhaps fearing to break the charm of her brief success, did not dare.

  When they had walked quite away from the house he spoke. “It is very simple,” he said, “yet I am not sure you will understand. It is something you have got to experience yourself before you can know what it means. And there is always self standing in the way of personal experience.”

  “Go on, please,” she urged.

  “Well, five years ago I came to know myself as a sinner, and Jesus Christ as my Savior.”

  “A sinner? You?” said the girl in astonishment.

  “Yes, a sinner. Someday you will know yourself that way.”

  Diana visibly shrank and was silent.

  “Since then,” went on the steady voice, “it is my greatest joy to let others know of the salvation that has come to me. Besides, you know, He’s coming back!”

  “There! That’s it!” cried Diana, suddenly halting his voice. “That’s what I don’t understand. What on earth do you mean by that? You don’t really believe that the One they call Jesus is coming back to the earth again, after He died all those years ago?”

  “I certainly do.”

  “Why do you think that?”

  “Because He said He would.”

  “You mean He said so when He was alive? You mean the Bible tells about it?”

  “Yes.”

  “But why do you think He knew about the future any more than any other man that ever lived?”

  “Because He was God!”

  Diana shivered.

  “When is He coming?” she asked sharply. “When do you think He is coming?”

  “We do not know that. We are told that we must watch for it and that those who do so will have great blessing, but that the day and hour of His coming is known only to God, the Father, not even to the angels in heaven. But there are signs of His coming. And by those we know that He must be coming now very soon.”

  “Signs? What signs?”

  There was a frightened look in the girl’s eyes as she watched his face.

  “Oh, signs of the times today. The Jews establishing their nation at Jerusalem for one thing—”

  “Diana! Oh, Diana! Where are you? We’re coming out to dance on the lawn by moonlight!” called Susanne, and a bevy of young people detached themselves from the house and came toward the two who were walking down by the garden.

  “Will you tell me more about this tomorrow?” asked Diana, putting a detaining hand upon his arm as she saw him about to stand aloof.

  “Yes, if there is opportunity,” he answered gravely and then saw her whirled away by Barry to the tune of a blaring radio.

  A few minutes later Amory was not surprised to be summoned to Mrs. Whitney’s rooms and told that her presence would be required on the excursion the next day. She would have to look after the serving of the lunch, which would be packed in hampers and taken along.

  Amory knew that Mrs. Whitney had come on the terrace a few minutes before and had seen Diana and John Dunleith walking together in the garden. The inference was obvious. Mrs. Whitney, for some reason, was trying to prevent Diana from any designs upon the young minister, and Amory could not believe that it was for the minister’s sake. Was she, perhaps, reserving Diana for her nephew, Theodore Kingsley? The thought was somehow not pleasant to her.

  Chapter 12

  The party started off very early in the morning, early, that is for them. It was a matter of nine o’clock or a little after. They ate their breakfast in a wild gale of laughter and jokes, and in the midst of it all the radio crisped in with a message about the flier. He had passed Fort Resolution between eight and nine o’clock the night before and should be well on his way to Nome.

  They paused long enough to hear and then broke forth into hilarious excitement again.

  Amory, going about with Christine and gathering up the different portions of the bountiful lunch and stowing them in hampers, felt that her heart was not in her work. Oh! That she might remain at the house and work hard, rather than go with this joyous crowd who didn’t care that their friend was in the air, after such a long strain. Sometimes she wondered at hersel
f for caring so much for this stranger, and then she would remember his good-bye —“Darling!” And the color would spring to her cheeks and the light to her eyes. Who would ever have imagined that she would turn out romantic just like all silly girls! So she chided herself and worked gravely, carefully.

  Mrs. Whitney had arranged the young people in the cars at least so far as it affected John Dunleith, Neddy, Christine, and her secretary. She put them all in one of the servants’ small cars with a chauffeur to drive, but she paid well for it afterward. For the master of the house discovered what she had one as that last car rounded the curve from the garage and drove away.

  “What on earth is John doing in that car with Christine and the chauffeur and your secretary? Why isn’t he in with the other young people?” he demanded furiously.

  “I’m sure I don’t see why you act that way, Henry,” soothed his wife. “You surely know that the young people piled in as they wished, and it would be hard to restrain them. I think John is very well satisfied. He said he didn’t in the least mind Neddy and Christine riding with them. He has the lovely girl with him that you admired so extravagantly yesterday, and I have an idea they won’t worry much about the rest. Of course Neddy is there as one of the family. John shouldn’t be hurt.”

  But Henry Whitney fumed and stormed and declared that this was the last house party he would countenance, until his wife was glad to escape to her room and rest for a while. It was a part of the plan that the host and hostess should drive up to the Old Fort a couple of hours later and be there to take lunch with the young people. By that time Henry would be smoothed down and have forgotten. And anyway, Leila Whitney was glad she had kept Diana from riding with John. Such a ridiculous pairing off as that was, and that silly joke that might bring trouble later if she did not stop it! Of course Henry must not be allowed to know her reasons, but she felt she had acted most wisely. When Teddy came back all would be well. Teddy knew how to manage Diana, and he was crazy about her. Such a lovely wife Diana would make for Teddy. Just a charming couple. Leila Whitney was a born matchmaker. Besides, she had an eye to Barry for Caroline. Caroline had always been fond of him, though he never would look at her when Diana was about. Of course, Barry was a little wild, and Henry had the most unreasoning dislike for him, but Barry would settle down. There was nothing like a nice wife to settle a man down. So she reasoned as she submitted herself to the hands of her maid for a facial and a shampoo, and then a rest before it was time to go. Poor Teddy! She did hope he would soon be somewhere that he could rest a little! This flying really was awfully hard on one’s family. She felt exhausted just knowing that he had been flying all these hours without sleep!

  Then she dropped off into a nice doze and forgot all about her dead brother’s only child far away in the icy air.

  John Dunleith and Neddy and Amory had a pleasant ride in the backseat, with Christine in front with the chauffeur. The conversation naturally was brought down to Neddy’s level, and it was surprising how many things along the roadside were made to serve as topics of interest. There were peculiar flowers growing like embroidery in a field, and the minister knew all about their formation and habits. He knew their botanical names and a lot of interesting things about them. He also knew when a song sparrow was singing and when it was meadowlark they heard; knew the lash of a cardinal’s wing and what the bluebirds did in winter. He could tell a snake story of the far west that made their hair stand on end, or he could describe a baseball game till they almost saw the batter slide into base. He knew some of the big league players, had been to college with them, and told amusing anecdotes about them. And once, when they were passing a particularly beautiful view, he said it reminded him of a symphony, and he began to describe the music until even Neddy was interested and sat dreamily watching the landscape and seeing things he had never noticed before. It had never occurred to him that beautiful mountains and trees meant anything. He had always taken them for granted.

  Amory asked a few questions, by and by, about the Sunday sermon, and Neddy listened as if he understood and was interested, especially when the conversation turned to the recent troubles between the Jews and the Arabs in Jerusalem, and Dunleith told of his travels in that land.

  Then they spoke of the flier. The minister, it appeared, had been in Siberia during the war. And the talk drifted to the far lands, with many a thrill, till even Christine and the chauffeur were openly listening.

  On the whole, the entire carful was sorry when they reached the old Fort and the party had to get out and begin to try to have a good time.

  They walked about awhile, looking at the old building and reading various inscriptions. Then for ten cents they went through a building that professed to be a museum and looked at various relics of an old war long forgotten, and then the company broke up into groups again.

  Coming out into the bright world once more from the stuffy museum, everybody decided it was time to have lunch, so Amory and Christine, with the help of Dunleith and the chauffeur, began to get the hampers out. Dunleith discovered as he passed Barry Blaine that he had already visited the hamper of bottles that seemed to be an inevitable accompaniment of any festivity with this group. Barry was noisy and dictatorial. He insisted that Diana go off with him into the woods to hunt wildflowers.

  The elder Whitneys arrived about the time that lunch was ready, and the young people gathered back like a swarm of hungry bees to honey.

  The meal was hilarious, and the liquor flowed freely. Amory had opportunity to see how often some of the young men, especially Barry, visited the hamper where the bottles were.

  John Dunleith proved himself a most efficient helper. He looked after everyone’s comfort and did little unobtrusive things like discovering that someone was without olives or needed another sandwich, and then supplying the need. Neither was he a silent robot. As if the crowd had been a congenial one, just as if they were a group of college fellows he knew well, he entered as far as he could into the mirth of the hour, saying witty things, giving bright answers, and making them all look at him in surprise. Some of the girls quite warmed to his favor and considered whether after all he might not be worth cultivating.

  But as soon as the lunch things were cleared away, Dunleith and Neddy disappeared from the scene into the woods, so they had no further opportunity to cultivate him.

  Amory had wandered off by herself to sit down under a tree when she saw that all the work was done. She had no desire to sit on the edge of a group and try to pretend she was one of the girls. She knew they did not want her, and she certainly did not want them under those conditions. So she sat and looked at the sky, which was beginning now to cloud over. She wondered if it was clear up in Alaska and whether there would be news of the flier when they reached home. She reflected that if they had only seen fit to leave her at home she might have had a nice time reading in the library and perhaps ventured to turn on the radio to see if there was further information about the flight.

  She took out a book she had brought with her to read, but glancing back to the spot where they had eaten lunch, she saw Christine standing alone, looking rather forlorn. The chauffeur had strolled away with his pipe. Evidently he and Christine had nothing in common either.

  An idea came to her, and she turned it over in her mind for a moment or two before she acted upon it. Why shouldn’t she be nice to Christine? So she got up and went over to her.

  “Come over here and let us read this story together,” she said pleasantly. “I’m sure you’re bored having to stand around all alone, and so am I.”

  “Oh, thank you, Miss Lorrimer,” said Christine gratefully, “but you mustn’t put yourself out for me. I’ll do very well. I’m used to it.”

  “Well, come, I’d like it,” smiled Amory pleasantly, and Christine came. So they sat together under the big tree with a wide valley spread out before them and a purple mountain or two in the distance, and read their story. Presently they were just two girls laughing together over a funny situation of the
heroine and smiling in sympathy when the crisis turned and brought the hero to his desired goal.

  “See those two!” said Mr. Whitney, standing by his wife as they started out to walk about the hillside. “What did I tell you? That secretary is a real girl! There’s no snobbery about her. You never had one before that didn’t order the maids around as if she were paying them.”

  “Oh, really, Henry, you are quite impossible!” sighed his wife.

  “This little Lorrimer girl is a gem. She’s intelligent, too. I caught her reading some very deep books in the library. It’s all wrong, this class business, anyway. Why isn’t one girl as good as another?”

  “Well, you talk a great deal!” snapped his wife. “But I haven’t noticed you hobnobbing with the chauffeur. And you seem to enjoy being waited upon as much as I do. Besides, you wouldn’t want Caroline or Doris to be friends with Christine, you know you wouldn’t.”

  “Fat chance I’d have of getting them to do it, if I did want it,” snapped the father. “Caroline and Doris are queens of all the snobs I know. Perhaps I wouldn’t want them to spend their time playing tennis with Christine, because she’s earning her living working for you, but I certainly would like to see them show a little human kindness to another girl who lives under the same roof with them. This morning I heard Caroline giving Christine a terrible going over for not picking up some garment Caroline had left on the floor, and it was the most unkind line of words I’ve ever been witness to. It’s time you spoke to those two daughters of yours about treating the servants decently.”

  “How about you doing it? They are your daughters, too, aren’t they?”

  They wrangled on, looking with unseeing eyes at a marvelous panorama of valley and hill and mountain, and finally wandered into the woods to hunt up the various groups of young people and see how things were going.

  Down in the woods there was a stream, still and beautiful, under trailing hemlocks, and there were canoes that could be hired. Most of the young people had divided into groups and were off in canoes. John Dunleith and Neddy had been upstream as far as it was navigable, down again to the falls, and now were coming up once more. Neddy had persuaded John to let him paddle stern, and John was paddling at the bow with swift silent strokes that hardly made a ripple in the smooth surface, nor disturbed the little water bugs that were waltzing on its sheen. As they rounded a great moss-covered rock that bulged out into the water, they heard voices just above them on the bank, angry voices, and the sound of a brief struggle. Then swift feet running down the hillside, stepping on the little crackling twigs and starting small stones rolling down to the water. A moment more and they came where they could see her.