# The Pines of Lory/Chapter 12

pp. 156–168

### XII
#### THE WOLF AT THE DOOR

During dinner, which occurred at noon, there were fewer words that day, and with somewhat more reflection than was usual. The store of provisions now rapidly disappearing, together with no prospect of immediate escape, furnished rich material for thought. Both knew the raft might prove a treacherous reliance. Instead of landing them on the opposite bank of the river there were excellent chances of its carrying them out to sea. And the prevailing westerly wind was almost sure to drive them backward to the east again. Pats had been all over this so many times in his own mind, and with Elinor, that the subject was pretty well exhausted. But still, from habit, he speculated.
“A penny for your thoughts.”
He raised his eyes, and as they met her own his habitual cheerfulness returned. “My thoughts are worth more than that, for I was thinking of you.”
“Something bad?”
“I was wondering how many days you could foot it through the wilderness before giving out.”
“For ever, little Patsy, if you were with me.”
“Then we have nothing to fear. We can both march on for ever. You are not only food and drink to me,–that is, the equivalent of corncake, potatoes, marmalade, and claret,–but your presence is life and strength and a spiritual tonic.”
“That is a good sentiment,” and she reached forth a hand, which he took.
“Merely to look at you,” he continued, “will be exhilarating on a long march. And to hear your voice, and touch you–why, my soul becomes drunk in thinking of it.”
“Then you expect to be in a state of intoxication during the whole journey?”
“That is my hope.”
It happened, a few minutes later, that she herself became preoccupied, her eyes fixed thoughtfully upon the little portrait on the opposite chair.
“A dollar for your thoughts.”
“Why so much?”
“Because any thought of yours,” said Pats, “is worth at least a dollar.”
“Thanks.”
“You are thinking, as usual, of that woman. The woman who has my place.”
“It is her place; she had it before we came.”
“But you ought to be looking at me all this time. I am the person for you to think about. I shall end by hating the woman.”
“Oh, you mustn’t be jealous. You can’t hate her. Such a gentle face! And then all the mystery that goes with her! I would give anything to know who she was.”
Pats scowled: “You would give Solomon and me, among other things.”
“No, never!” And again she extended the hand, but he frowned upon it and drew back into the farther corner of his chair. She laughed. “And is Fatsy really jealous?”
“No, not jealous; but hurt, disgusted, outraged, and upset.”
“Because I insist upon treating our hostess with respect and recognizing her rights?”
“Our hostess! More likely some female devil who beguiled the old man. Probably he was so ashamed of her he never dared go home again.”
“Oh, Pats! I blush for you.”
“It’s a silly face.”
“It is a face full of character.”
“Oh, come now, Elinor! It would pass for a portrait of the full moon.”
“Well, the full moon has character. And I love those big merry eyes with the funny little melancholy kind of droop at the outer corners. Poor thing! She must have had a sad life out here in the wilderness.”
“Thank you.”
As their eyes met he frowned again, and she, for the third time, extended the hand. “A sad life, because she had no Pats.”
But he refused the hand. “That is very clever, but too late. The stab had already reached home.”
She smiled and began to fold her napkin.
“To return to business, Miss Marshall, of Boston, the provisions are so low that we really must decide on something.”
“How long will they last?”
“Perhaps a month or six weeks. Could you pull through the winter on eggs and dried apples–and candles?”
“If necessary.”
He laughed. “I believe you could! You are an angel, a Spartan, and a sport. Your nature is simply an extravagant profusion of the highest human attributes. And the worst of it is, you look it. You are too beautiful–in a superior, overtopping way. You scare me.”
She pushed back her chair. “You have said all that before.”
“You remember the frog who was in love with the moon?”
She regarded him from the corners of her eyes, but made no reply.
“He used to sit in his puddle and adore her. One pleasant evening she came down out of the sky and kissed him.”
“That was very good of her. And then what happened?”
“It killed him.”
Elinor pushed back her chair, arose from the table and stood beside him. “Do you think it was a happy death?”
“Of course it was! Lucky devil!”
“Well, close your eyes and dream that I am the moon looking down at you.”
With face upturned, just enough to make it easier for the moon, Pats closed his eyes. In serene anticipation he awaited the delectable contact that never failed to send a thrill of pleasure through all his being. But the tranquil, beatific smile changed swiftly to a very different expression as he felt against his lips–a slice of dried apple. And the cold moon stepped back beyond his reach, and laughed.
When the table had been cleared and the dishes washed Pats, Elinor, and Solomon went out behind the house and stood near the edge of the cliff. Eastward, across the bay, Pats pointed to a distant headland running out into the Gulf, the highest land in sight.
“As near as I can guess that hill is about twenty miles away. If there is nothing between to hinder I can walk it in a day. Now, from that highest point I can probably get a view for many miles. Who knows what lies beyond? There may be a settlement very near. In that case we are saved.”
“And suppose there is none?”
“Then I return, and we are no worse off than we were before.”
Elinor stood beside him, regarding the distant promontory with thoughtful eyes. He put his arm around her waist. “You see the sense of it, don’t you?”
“Yes, I suppose so. How long would you be gone?”
“Not over three days.”
“That is, three days and two nights.”
“Yes.”
“And if the ground is very rough, and there are swamps, and divers things, it might be longer still.”
“Hardly likely.”
“And what am I to do while you are gone?”
“Oh, just wait.”
She moved away and stood facing him.
“Yes, that is like a man. Just wait! Just wait and worry. Just watch by day and lie awake at night. Just be sick with anxiety for four or five days. You would find me dead when you returned. Why should not I go with you?”
He seemed surprised. Into the ever-cheerful face came a look of anxiety. “I am afraid it would be a hard tramp for you, Angel Cook. And there would be twice as much luggage to carry, and we should be a longer time away.”
“I will carry my own luggage.”
“Never!”
“But I shall go with you.”
“Is that a final decision?”
She nodded, an emphatic, half-fierce little nod, and frowned.
Pats smiled. “Miss Elinor Marshall, I am, as I have before remarked, your humble and adoring slave. Your will is law. When shall we start?”
“Whenever you say.”
“To-morrow?”
She nodded, this time with a smile.
“Early?”
“As early as you please.”
“Then at crack o’ dawn we go.”
And the next morning, at crack o’ dawn, they started off, Pats with a knapsack so voluminous that he resembled a pedler.
Elinor thought it too much for him to carry. “You can never walk all day with that on your back. Pedestrians that I have seen never carry such loads.”
“Then you have never seen pedestrians who carry their food and lodgings with them. And you forget that we are not in the zone of large hotels.”
“I feel very guilty. If I were not along you would have less to carry.”
“Have no fears, Light of the North. If one of us three falls by the wayside it will be neither Solomon nor myself.”
This knapsack consisted of three blankets,–two of flannel, one of rubber,–some claret bottles filled with water, and food for five days. There was also coffee and a little brandy.
As they started off, along their own little beach, the sun was just appearing over the strip of land ahead. Solomon, in high spirits, galloped madly about on the hard sand, with an occasional plunge among the breakers. But Pats and Elinor, although similarly affected by the morning air, economized their steps, for a long day’s tramp was before them.
At the eastern end of the beach, before entering the woods, both stopped and took a final look toward home. A rosy light was on sea and land. Beyond the beach, with its tumbling waves all aglow from the rising sun, stood the Point of Lory, and their eyes lingered about the cottage. Nestling peacefully among the pines, it also caught the morning light.
“Adieu, little house,” said Elinor. And then, turning to Pats, “Why, I am really sorry to leave it.”
“So am I, for it has given me the happiest days of my life–or of anybody’s life.”
In and out among the trees they tramped, three hours or more, with intervals for rest, generally through the woods, but always keeping near the coast unless for a shorter cut across the base of some little peninsula. Elinor stood it well and enjoyed with Pats the excitement of discovery. After a long nooning they pushed on until nearly sunset. When they halted for the night both explorers were still in good condition; but the next morning, in starting off, each confessed to a stiffness in the lower muscles. This disappeared, however, after an hour’s walking.
Early in the afternoon of this second day’s march they stood upon the top of the hill which, from a distance, had promised a commanding view. But they found, as so often happens to every kind of climber, that another hill, still higher and farther on, was the one to be attained. So they pushed ahead. Just before reaching the summit of this final hill Pats halted.
“Now comes a critical moment. What do you think we shall see?”
Elinor shook her head sadly. “I am prepared for the worst; for the wilderness, without a sign of human life.”
Pats’s ever-cheerful face took on a smile. “I suspect you are right, but I am not admitting it officially. I prophesy that we shall look down upon a large and very fashionable summer hotel.”
“Awful thought!” And she smiled as she surveyed her own attire and that of Pats. “What a sensation we should create! You with that faded old flannel shirt, your two days’ beard, and those extraordinary South African trousers; and I, sunburnt as a gypsy, with my hair half down–”
“No hair like it in the world–”
“And this weather-beaten dress. What would they take us for?”
“For what we are–tramps, happy tramps.”
Five minutes later they stood upon the summit. To the eastward, as far as sight could reach, lay the same wild coast. For several miles every detail of the shore stood clearly out beneath a cloudless sky. Of man or his habitation they saw no sign. To the vast sweep of pines–like an ocean of sombre green–there was no visible limit either to the east or north. And southward, over the blue expanse, no sail or craft of any kind disturbed the surface of the sea. Here and there along the coast shone a strip of yellow beach with its fringe of glistening foam. Not far away an opening among the trees, extending inland for several miles, showed the grasses of a salt marsh.
In silence Pats and Elinor gazed upon this scene. Beautiful it was, grand, indescribably impressive; but it brought to both observers the keenest sense of their isolation. The vastness of it, and the stillness, brought a vague despair, and, to the girl, a sort of terror. Tears came to her eyes.
Pats turned and saw them. His own face had taken on a sadder look than was often allowed there, but his eyes met hers with their customary cheerfulness. For the first time since their acquaintance, Elinor wept–very gently, but she wept. All that a sympathetic and unskilful lover could do was done by Pats. He patted her back, kissed her hair, and suggested brandy. Her collapse, however, was of short duration. She drew back and smiled and apologized for her weakness.
“I am ashamed of myself for breaking down. But it’s the first time, isn’t it?”
“Yes, it is; and I have wondered at your courage. But do it all the time if you feel the least bit better.”
She smiled and shook her head. “No, I shall not collapse again. I shall follow your example. You are always in good spirits.”
“I? Well, I should think I might be! Here I am alone in the wilderness with the girl that all men desire,–and not a rival in sight! Why, I am in Heaven! I had never dreamed that a fellow could have such an existence.”
When they descended the hill and started leisurely on the homeward march two smiling faces were illumined by the western sun.