Mr. Raybold was now in a much more pleasant mood than when he came to sit
in the shade with Mrs. Archibald. He was talking; he had found some one
who listened and who had very little to say for herself.

"Consequently," he remarked, "I ordered from Mr. Sadler the very best tent
that he had. It has two compartments in it, and it is really as
comfortable as a house, and as my sister wrote that she wished a female
attendant, not caring to have her meals cooked by boys--a very flippant
expression, by-the-way--I have engaged for her a she-guide."

"A what?" asked Mrs. Archibald.

"A person," said he, "who is a guide of the female gender. She was the
wife of a hunter who was accidentally shot, Sadler told me, by a young man
who was with him on a gunning expedition. I told Sadler that it was
reprehensible to allow such fellows to have guns, but he said that they
are not as dangerous now as they used to be. This is because the guides
have learned to beware of them, I suppose. This woman has lived in the
woods and knows all about camp life, and Sadler says there could not be a
better person found to attend a young lady in camp. So I engaged her, and
I must say she charged just as much as if she were a man."

"Why shouldn't she," said Mrs. Archibald, "if she is just as good?"

To this remark Raybold paid no attention. "I will tell you," he said,
"confidentially, of course, and I think you have as much reason to be
interested in it as I have, why I came to view with so much favor my
sister's coming here. She is a very attractive young woman, and I think
she cannot fail to interest Clyde, and that, of course, will be of
advantage to your niece."

"She is not my niece, you know," said Mrs. Archibald.

"Well," said he, "it is all the same. 'Let it be a bird wing or a flower,
so it pleases'--a quotation which is also Avonian--and if Clyde likes
Corona he will let Miss Dearborn alone. That's the sort of man he is."

"And in that case," said Mrs. Archibald, "I suppose you would not be
unwilling to provide Margery with company."

"Madam," said the young man, leaning forward and fixing his eyes upon the
ground, and then turning them upon her without moving his face towards
her, "with me all that is a different matter. I may have occasion later to
speak to you and your husband upon the subject of Miss Dearborn."

"In which case," said Mrs. Archibald, quickly, "I am sure that my husband
will be very glad to speak to you. But why, may I ask, were you so
disturbed when you came here, just now? You said the world was going
wrong."

"I declare," said he, knitting his brows and clapping one hand on his
knee, "I actually forgot! The world wrong? I should say it was wrong! My
sister can't come, and I don't know what to do about it."

"Can't come?" asked Mrs. Archibald.

"Of course not," said he, all his ill-humor having returned. "That fellow,
the bishop, is in our camp and in Clyde's bed. Clyde foolishly gave him
his bed because he said the cook-tent was too cramped for a man to stay in
it all day."

"Why need he stay?" asked Mrs. Archibald. "Has he taken cold? Is he
sick?"

"No indeed," said Raybold. "If he were sick we might send for a cart and
have him taken to Sadler's, but the trouble is worse than that. His
clothes, in which he foolishly jumped into the water, have shrunken so
much that he cannot get them on, and as he has no others, he is obliged to
stay in bed."

"But surely something can be done," said Mrs. Archibald.

"No," he interrupted, "nothing can be done. The clothes have dried, and if
you could see them as they hang up on the bushes, you would understand why
that man can never get into them again. The material is entirely
unsuitable for out-door life. Clyde proposes that we shall lend him
something, but there are no clothes in this party into which such a
sausage of a man could get himself. So there he is, and there, I suppose,
he will remain indefinitely; and I don't want to bring my sister to a camp
with a permanently occupied hospital bed in it. As soon as I agreed to
Corona's coming I determined to bounce that man, but now--" So saying, Mr.
Raybold rose, folded his arms, and knit his brows, and as he did so he
glanced towards the spot where Margery and Clyde had been sitting, and
perceived that the latter had departed, probably to get some more birch
bark; and so, with a nod to Mrs. Archibald, he sauntered away, bending his
steps, as it were accidentally, in the direction of the young lady left
alone.

When Mr. Archibald heard, that evening, of the bishop's plight and
Raybold's discomfiture, he was amused, but also glad to know there was an
opportunity for doing something practical for the bishop. He was beginning
to like the man, in spite of his indefiniteness, so he went to see the
bedridden prelate who was neither sick nor clerical, and with very little
trouble induced him to take a few general measurements of his figure.

"It is so good of you," said the delighted recumbent, "that I shall not
say a word, but step aside in deference to your conscience, whose
encomiums will far transcend anything I can say. You will pardon me, I am
sure, if I make my measurements liberal. The cost will not be increased,
and to live, move, and breathe in a suit of clothes which is large enough
for me is a joy which I have not known for a long time. Shoes, did you
say, sir? Truly this is generosity supereminent."

"Yes," said Mr. Archibald, laughing, "and you also shall have a new hat. I
will fit you out completely, and if this helps you to make a new and a
good start in life, I shall be greatly gratified."

"Sir," said the bishop, the moisture of genuine gratitude in his eyes,
"you are doing, I think, far more good than you can imagine, and pardon me
if I suggest, since you are going to get me a hat, that it be not of
clerical fashion. If everything is to be new, I should like everything
different, and I am certain the cost will be less."

"All right," said Mr. Archibald. "I will now make a list of what you need,
and I will write to one of my clerks, who will procure everything."

When Mr. Archibald went back to his camp he met Raybold, stalking moodily.
Having been told what had been done for the bishop's relief, the young man
was astonished.

"A complete outfit, and for him? I would not have dreamed of it; and
besides, it is of no use; it must be days before the clothes arrive, and
my sister wishes to come immediately."

"Do you suppose," exclaimed Mr. Archibald, "that I am doing this for the
sake of your sister? I am doing it for the man himself."

When Mr. Archibald told his wife of this little interview they both
laughed heartily.

"If Mr. Raybold's sister," said she, "is like him, I do not think we shall
care to have her here; but sisters are often very different from their
brothers. However, the bishop need not prevent her coming. If his clothes
do not arrive before she does, I am sure there could be no objection to
her tent being set up for a time in some of the open space in our camp,
and then we shall become sooner acquainted with her; if she is a suitable
person, I shall be very glad indeed for Margery to have a companion."

"All right," said Mr. Archibald; "let her pitch her tent where she
pleases. I am satisfied."




CHAPTER XIV

THE ASSERTION OF INDIVIDUALITY


It was a week after her brother had sent her his telegram before Miss
Corona Raybold arrived at Camp Rob, with her tent, her outfit, and her
female guide. Mrs. Archibald had been surprised that she did not appear
sooner, for, considering Mr. Raybold's state of mind, she had supposed
that his sister had wished to come at the earliest possible moment.

"But," said Raybold, in explaining the delay, "Corona is very different
from me. In my actions 'the thunder's roar doth crowd upon the lightning's
heels,' as William has told us."

"Where in Shakespeare is that?" asked Mrs. Archibald.

Mr. Raybold bent his brow. "For the nonce," said he, "I do not recall the
exact position of the lines." And after that he made no more Avonian
quotations to Mrs. Archibald.

The arrival of the young lady was, of course, a very important event, and
even Mr. Archibald rowed in from the lake when he saw her caravan
approaching, herself walking in the lead. She proved to be a young person
of medium height, slight, and dressed in a becoming suit of dark blue. Her
hair and eyes were dark, her features regular and of a classic cut, and
she wore eye-glasses. Her manner was quiet, and at first she appeared
reserved, but she soon showed that if she wished to speak she could talk
very freely. She wore an air of dignified composure, but was affable, and
very attentive to what was said to her.

Altogether she made in a short time an extremely favorable impression upon
Mr. and Mrs. Archibald, and in a very much less time an extremely
unfavorable impression upon Margery.

Miss Raybold greeted everybody pleasantly, even informing Matlack that she
had heard of him as a famous guide, and after thanking Mr. and Mrs.
Archibald for their permission to set up her tent on the outskirts of
their camp, she proceeded to said tent, which was speedily made ready for
her.

Mrs. Perkenpine, her guide, was an energetic woman, and under her orders
the men who brought the baggage bestirred themselves wonderfully.

Just before supper, to which meal the Raybolds and Mr. Clyde had been
invited, the latter came to Mr. Archibald, evidently much troubled and
annoyed.

"I am positively ashamed to mention it to you, sir," he said, "but I must
tell you that Raybold has ordered the men who brought his sister's tent to
bring our tent over here and put it up near her's. I was away when this
was done, and I wish to assure you most earnestly that I had nothing to do
with it. The men have gone, and I don't suppose we can get it back
to-night."

Mr. Archibald opened his eyes very wide. "Your friend is certainly a
remarkable young man," said he, "but we must not have any bad feeling in
camp, so let everything remain as it is for to-night. I suppose he wished
to be near his sister, but at least he might have asked permission."

"I think," said Clyde, "that he did not so much care to be near his sister
as he did to be away from the bishop, who is now left alone in our little
shelter-tent."

Mr. Archibald laughed. "Well," said he, "he will come to no harm, and we
must see that he has some supper."

"Oh, I shall attend to that," said Clyde, "and to his breakfast also. And,
now I come to think of it, I believe that one reason Raybold moved our
tent over here was to get the benefit of his sister's cook. The bishop did
our cooking, you know, before he took to his bed."

That evening Miss Raybold joined the party around the camp-fire. She
declared that in the open air she did not in the least object to the use
of tobacco, and then she asked Mr. Archibald if his two guides came to the
camp-fire after their work was done.

"They do just as they please," was the answer. "Sometimes they come over
here and smoke their pipes a little in the background, and sometimes they
go off by themselves. We are very democratic here in camp, you know."

"I like that," said Miss Raybold, "and I will have Mrs. Perkenpine come
over when she has arranged the tent for the night. Arthur, will you go and
tell her?"

Her brother did not immediately rise to execute this commission. He hoped
that Mr. Clyde would offer to do the service, but the latter did not
improve the opportunity to make himself agreeable to the new-comer, and
Raybold did the errand.

Harrison Clyde was sitting by Margery, and Margery was giving a little
attention to what he said to her and a great deal of attention to Corona
Raybold.

"More self-conceit and a better-fitting dress I never saw," thought
Margery; "it's loose and easy, and yet it seems to fit perfectly, and I do
believe she thinks she is some sort of an upper angel who has condescended
to come down here just to see what common people are like."

Corona talked to Mr. Archibald. It was her custom always to talk to the
principal personage of a party.

"It gives me pleasure, sir," said she, "to meet with you and your wife. It
is so seldom that we find any one--" She was interrupted by Mrs.
Perkenpine, who stood behind her.

The she-guide was a large woman, apparently taller than Matlack. Her
sunburnt face was partly shaded by a man's straw hat, secured on her head
by strings tied under her chin. She wore a very plain gown, coarse in
texture, and of a light-blue color, which showed that it had been washed
very often. Her voice and her shoes, the latter well displayed by her
short skirt, creaked, but her gray eyes were bright, and moved about after
the manner of searchlights.

"Well," said she to Miss Raybold, "what do you want?"

Corona turned her head and placidly gazed up at her. "I simply wished to
let you know that you might join this company here if you liked. The two
men guides are coming, you see."

Mrs. Perkenpine glanced around the group. "Is there any hunting stories to
be told?" she asked.

Mr. Archibald laughed. "I don't know," he said, "but perhaps we may have
some. I am sure that Matlack here has hunting stories to tell."

Mrs. Perkenpine shook her head. "No, sir," said she; "I don't want none of
his stories. I've heard them all mostly two or three times over."

"I dare say you have," said Phil, seating himself on a fallen trunk, a
little back from the fire; "but you see, Mrs. Perkenpine, you are so
obstinate about keepin' on livin'. If you'd died when you was younger, you
wouldn't have heard so many of those stories."

"There's been times," said she, "when you was tellin' the story of the
bear cubs and the condensed milk, when I wished I had died when I was
younger, or else you had."

"Perhaps," said Miss Raybold, in a clear, decisive voice, "Mr. Matlack may
know hunting stories that will be new to all of us, but before he begins
them I have something which I would like to say."

"All right," said Mrs. Perkenpine, seating herself promptly upon the
ground; "if you're goin' to talk, I'll stay. I'd like to know what kind of
things you do talk about when you talk."

"I was just now remarking," said Miss Corona, "that I am very glad indeed
to meet with those who, like Mr. and Mrs. Archibald, are willing to set
their feet upon the modern usages of society (which would crowd us
together in a common herd) and assert their individuality."

Mr. Archibald looked at the speaker inquiringly.

"Of course," said she, "I refer to the fact that you and Mrs. Archibald
are on a wedding-journey."

At this remark Phil Matlack rose suddenly from the tree-trunk and Martin
dropped his pipe. Mr. Clyde turned his gaze upon Margery, who thereupon
burst out laughing, and then he looked in amazement from Mr. Archibald to
Mrs. Archibald and back again. Mrs. Perkenpine sat up very straight and
leaned forward, her hands upon her knees.

"Is it them two sittin' over there?" she said, pointing to Margery and
Clyde. "Are they on a honey-moon?"

"No!" exclaimed Arthur Raybold, in a loud, sharp voice. "What an
absurdity! Corona, what are you talking about?"

To this his sister paid no attention whatever. "I think," she said, "it
was a noble thing to do. An assertion of one's inner self is always noble,
and when I heard of this assertion I wished very much to know the man and
the woman who had so asserted themselves, and this was my principal reason
for determining to come to this camp."

"But where on earth," asked Mr. Archibald, "did you hear that we were on a
wedding-journey?"

"I read it in a newspaper," said Corona.

"I do declare," exclaimed Mrs. Archibald, "everything is in the
newspapers! I did think that we might settle down here and enjoy ourselves
without people talking about our reason for coming!"

"You don't mean to say," cried Mrs. Perkenpine, now on her feet, "that you
two elderly ones is the honey-mooners?"

"Yes," said Mr. Archibald, looking with amusement on the astonished faces
about him, "we truly are."

"Well," said the she-guide, seating herself, "if I'd stayed an old maid as
long as that, I think I'd stuck it out. But perhaps you was a widow,
mum?"

"No, indeed," cried Mr. Archibald; "she was a charming girl when I married
her. But just let me tell you how the matter stands," and he proceeded to
relate the facts of the case. "I thought," he said, in conclusion, turning
to Matlack, "that perhaps you knew about it, for I told Mr. Sadler, and I
supposed he might have mentioned it to you."

"No, sir," said Matlack, relighting his pipe, "he knows me better than
that. If he'd called me and said, 'Phil, I want you to take charge of a
couple that's goin' honey-moonin' about twenty-five years after they
married, and a-doin' it for somebody else and not for themselves,' I'd
said to him, 'They're lunatics, and I won't take charge of them.' And
Peter he knows I would have thought that and would have said it, and so he
did not mention the particulars to me. He knows that the only things that
I'm afraid of in this world is lunatics. 'Tisn't only what they might do
to me, but what they might do to themselves, and I won't touch 'em."

"I hope," said Mrs. Archibald, "that you don't consider us lunatics now
that you have heard why we are here."

"Oh no," said the guide; "I've found that you're regular common-sense
people, and I don't change my opinions even when I've heard particulars;
but if I'd heard particulars first, it would have been all up with my
takin' charge of you."

"And you knew it all the time?" said Clyde to Margery, speaking so that
she only could hear.

"I knew it," she said, "but I didn't think it worth talking about. Do you
know Mr. Raybold's sister? Do you like her?"

"I have met her," said Clyde; "but she is too lofty for me."

"What is there lofty about her?" said Margery.

"Well," said he, "she is lofty because she has elevated ideas. She goes in
for reform; and for pretty much all kinds, from what I have heard."

"I think she is lofty," remarked Margery, "because she is stuck-up. I
don't like her."

"It is so seldom," Corona now continued, "that we find people who are
willing to assert their individuality, and when they are found I always
want to talk to them. I suppose, Mr. Matlack, that your life is one long
assertion of individuality?"

"What, ma'am?" asked the guide.

"I mean," said she, "that when you are out alone in the wild forest,
holding in your hand the weapon which decides the question of life or
death for any living creature over whom you may choose to exercise your
jurisdiction, absolutely independent of every social trammel, every bond
of conventionalism, you must feel that you are a predominant whole and not
a mere integral part."

"Well," said Matlack, speaking slowly, "I may have had them feelin's, but
if I did they must have struck in, and not come out on the skin, like
measles, where I could see 'em."

"Corona," said her brother, in a peevish undertone, "what is the good of
all that? You're wasting your words on such a man."

His sister turned a mild steady gaze upon him. "I don't know any man but
you," she said, "on whom I waste my words."

"Is assertin' like persistin'?" inquired Mrs. Perkenpine at this point.

"The two actions are somewhat alike," said Corona.

"Well, then," said the she-guide, "I'm in for assertin'. When my husband
was alive there was a good many things I wanted to do, and when I wanted
to do a thing or get a thing I kept on sayin' so; and one day, after I'd
been keepin' on sayin' so a good while, he says to me, 'Jane,' says he,
'it seems to me that you're persistin'.' 'Yes,' says I, 'I am, and I
intend to be.' 'Then you are goin' to keep on insistin' on persistin'?'
says he. 'Yes,' says I; and then says he, 'If you keep on insistin' on
persistin' I'll be thinkin' of 'listin'.' By which he meant goin' into the
army as a regular, and gettin' rid of me; and as I didn't want to be rid
of him, I stopped persistin'; but now I wish I had persisted, for then
he'd 'listed, and most likely would be alive now, through not bein' shot
in the back by a city fool with a gun."

"I do not believe," said Mrs. Archibald to her husband, when they had
retired to their cabin, "that that young woman is going to be much of a
companion for Margery. I think she will prefer your society to that of any
of the rest of us. It is very plain that she thinks it is your
individuality which has been asserted."

"Well," said he, rubbing his spectacles with his handkerchief before
putting them away for the night, "don't let her project her individuality
into my sport. That's all I have to say."




CHAPTER XV

A NET OF COBWEBS TO CAGE A LION


"I think there's something besides a lunatic that you are afraid of," said
Martin to Matlack the next morning, as they were preparing breakfast.

"What's that?" inquired the guide, sharply.

"It's that fellow they call the bishop," said Martin. "He put a pretty
heavy slur on you. You drove down a stake, and you locked your boat to it,
and you walked away as big as if you were the sheriff of the county, and
here he comes along, and snaps his fingers at you and your locks, and, as
cool as a cucumber, he pulls up the stake and shoves out on the lake, all
alone by herself, a young lady that you are paid to take care of and
protect from danger."

"I want you to know, Martin Sanders," said Matlack, "that I don't pitch
into a man when he's in his bed, no matter what it is that made him take
to his bed or stay there. But I'll just say to you now, that when he gets
up and shows himself, there'll be the biggest case of bounce in these
parts that you ever saw."

"Bounce!" said Martin to himself, as he turned away. "I have heard so much
of it lately that I'd like to see a little."

Matlack also communed with himself. "He's awful anxious to get up a
quarrel between me and the parson," he thought. "I wonder if he was too
free with his tongue and did get thrashed. He don't show no signs of it,
except he's so concerned in his mind to see somebody do for the parson
what he ain't able to do himself. But I'll find out about it! I'll thrash
that fellow in black, and before I let him up I'll make him tell me what
he did to Martin. I'd do a good deal to get hold of something that would
take the conceit out of that fellow."

Mr. Arthur Raybold was a deep-minded person, and sometimes it was
difficult for him, with the fathoming apparatus he had on hand, to
discover the very bottom of his mind. Now, far below the surface, his
thoughts revolved. He had come to the conclusion that he would marry
Margery. In the first place, he was greatly attracted by her, and again he
considered it would be a most advantageous union. She was charming to look
upon, and her mind was so uncramped by conventionalities that it could
adapt itself to almost any sphere to which she might direct it. He
expected his life-work to be upon the stage, and what an actress Miss
Dearborn would make if properly educated--as he could educate her! With
this most important purpose in view, why should he waste his time? The
Archibalds could not much longer remain in camp. They had limited their
holiday to a month, and that was more than half gone. He must strike now.

The first thing to do was to get Clyde out of the way; then he would speak
to Mr. Archibald and ask for authority to press his suit, and he would
press that suit as few men on earth, he said to himself, would be able to
press it. What girl could deny herself to him when he came to her clad not
only with his own personal attributes, but with the fervor of a Romeo, the
intellectuality of a Hamlet, and the force of an Othello?

The Clyde part of the affair seemed very simple; as his party would of
course have their own table Clyde would see his sister at every meal, and
as Corona did not care to talk to him, and must talk to somebody, she
would be compelled to talk to Clyde, and if she talked to Clyde and looked
at him as she always did when she talked to people, he did not see how he
could help being attracted by her, and when once that sort of thing began
the Margery-field would be open to him.

He excused himself that morning for hurriedly leaving the breakfast-table
by saying that he wished to see Mr. Archibald before he started out
fishing.

He found that gentleman talking to Matlack. "Can I see you alone, sir?"
said Raybold. "I have something of importance I wish to say to you."

"Very good," said the other, "for I have something I wish to say to you,"
and they retired towards the lake.

"What is it?" inquired Mr. Archibald.

"It is this," said Raybold, folding his arms as he spoke. "I am a man of
but few words. When I have formed a purpose I call upon my actions to
express it rather than my speech. I will not delay, therefore, to say to
you that I love your ward, and my sole object in seeking this interview is
to ask your permission to pay my addresses to her. That permission given,
I will attend to the rest."

"After you have dropped your penny in the slot," remarked Mr. Archibald.
"I must say," he continued, "that I am rather surprised at the nature of
your communication. I supposed you were going to explain your somewhat
remarkable conduct in bringing your tent into my camp without asking my
permission or even speaking to me about it; but as what you have said is
of so much more importance than that breach of good manners I will let the
latter drop. But why did you ask my permission to address Miss Dearborn?
Why didn't you go and do it just as you brought your tent here? Did you
think that if you had a permit from me for that sort of sport you could
warn off trespassers?"

"It was something of that kind," said Raybold, "although I should not have
put it in that trifling way."

"Then I will remark," said Mr. Archibald, "that I know nothing of your
matrimonial availability, and I do not want to know anything about it. My
wife and I brought Miss Dearborn here to enjoy herself in the woods, not
to be sought in marriage by strangers. For the present I am her guardian,
and as such I say to you that I forbid you to make her a proposal of
marriage, or, indeed, to pay her any attentions which she may consider
serious. If I see that you do not respect my wishes in this regard, I
shall ask you to consider our acquaintance at an end, and shall dispense
with your visits to this camp. Have I spoken plainly?"

The knitted brows of Raybold were directed towards the ground. "You have
spoken plainly," he said, "and I have heard," and with a bow he walked
away.

As he approached his tent a smile, intended to be bitter, played about his
features.

"A net of cobwebs," he muttered, "to cage a lion!"

The weather had now grown sultry, the afternoon was very hot, and there
was a general desire to lie in the shade and doze. Margery's plans for a
siesta were a little more complicated than those of the others. She longed
to lie in a hammock under great trees, surrounded by the leafy screens of
the woodlands; to gaze at the blue sky through the loop-holes in the
towering branches above her, and to dream of the mysteries of the forest.

"Martin," said she, to the young guide, "is there a hammock among the
things we brought with us?"

His face brightened. "Of course there are hammocks," he said. "I wonder
none of you asked about them before."

"I never thought of it," said Margery. "I haven't had time for lounging,
and as for Aunt Harriet, she would not get into one for five dollars."

"Where shall I hang it?" he asked.

"Not anywhere about here. Couldn't you find some nice place in the woods,
not far away, but where I would not be seen, and might have a little time
to myself? If you can, come and tell me quietly where it is."

"I know what she means," said Martin to himself. "It's a shame that she
should be annoyed. I can find you just such a place," he said to Margery.
"I will hang the hammock there, and I will take care that nobody else
shall know where it is." And away he went, bounding heart and foot.

In less than a quarter of an hour he returned. "It's all ready, Miss
Dearborn," he said. "I think I have found a place you will like. It's
generally very close in the woods on a day like this, but there is a
little bluff back of us, and at the end of it the woods are open, so that
there is a good deal of air there."

"That is charming," said Margery, and with a book in her hand she
accompanied Martin.

They were each so interested in the hammock business that they walked side
by side, instead of one following the other, as had been their custom
heretofore.

"Oh, this is a delightful place!" cried Margery. "I can lie here and look
down into the very heart of the woods; it is a solitude like Robinson
Crusoe's island."

"I am glad you like it," said Martin. "I thought you would. I have put up
the hammock strongly, so that you need not be afraid of it; but if there
is any other way you want it I can change it. There is not a thing here
that can hurt you, and if a little snake should happen along it would be
glad to get away from you if you give it a chance. But if you should be
frightened or should want anything you have only to call for me. I shall
hear you, for I shall be out in the open just at the edge of the woods."

"Thank you very much," said Margery; "nothing could be nicer than this,
and you did it so quickly."

He smiled with pleasure as he answered that he could have done it more
quickly if it had been necessary; and then he retired slowly, that she
might call him back if she thought of anything she wanted.

Margery lay in the hammock, gazing out over the edge of the bluff into the
heart of the woods; her closed book was in her hand, and the gentle breeze
that shook the leaves around her and disturbed the loose curls about her
face was laden with a moist spiciness which made her believe it had been
wandering through some fragrant foliage of a kind unknown to her, far away
in the depths of the forest, where she could not walk on account of the
rocks, the great bushes, and the tall ferns. It was lovely to lie and
watch the leafy boughs, which seemed as if they were waving their
handkerchiefs to the breeze as it passed.

"I don't believe," she said to herself, as she cast her eyes upward
towards an open space above her, "that if I were that little white cloud
and could float over the whole world and drop down on any spot I chose
that I could drop into a lovelier place than this." Then she brought her
gaze again to earth, and her mind went out between the shadowy trunks
which stretched away and away and away towards the mysteries of the
forest, which must always be mysteries to her because it was impossible
for her to get to them and solve them--that is, if she remained awake. But
if Master Morpheus should happen by, she might yet know everything--for
there are no mysteries which cannot be solved in dreams.

Master Morpheus came, but with him came also Arthur Raybold; not by the
little pathway that approached from the direction of the lake, but parting
the bushes as if he had been exploring. When she heard footsteps behind
her, Margery looked up quickly.

"Mr. Raybold!" she exclaimed. "How on earth did you happen here?"

"I did not happen," said he, wiping his brow with his handkerchief. "I
have been looking for you, and I have had tough work of it. I saw you go
into the woods, and I went in also, although some distance below here, and
I have had a hard and tiresome job working my way up to you; but I have
found you. I knew I should, for I had bent my mind to the undertaking."

"Well, I wish you hadn't," said Margery, in a vexed tone. "I came here to
be alone and take a nap, and I wish you would find some other nice place
and go and take a nap yourself."

He smiled deeply. "That would not answer my purpose at all," said he.
"Napping is far from my desires."

"But I don't care anything about your desires," said Margery, in a tone
which showed she was truly vexed, "I have pre-empted this place, and I
want it to myself. I was just falling into a most delightful doze when you
came, and I don't think you have any right to come here and disturb me."

"The sense of right, Miss Dearborn," said he, "comes from the heart, and
we do not have to ask other people what it is. My heart has given me the
right to come here, and here I am."

"And what in the name of common-sense are you here for?" said Margery.
"Speaking about your heart makes me think you came here to make love to
me. Is that it?"

"It is," said he, "and I wish you to hear me."

"Mr. Raybold," said she, her eyes as bright, he thought, as if they had
belonged to his sister when she was urging some of her favorite views upon
a company, "I won't listen to one word of such stuff. This is no place for
love-making, and I won't have it. If you want to make love to me you can
wait until I go home, and then you can come and speak to my mother about
it, and when you have spoken to her you can speak to me, but I won't
listen to it here. Not one word!"

Thus did the indignant craftiness of Margery express itself. "It's a good
deal better," she thought, "than telling him no, and having him keep on
begging and begging."

"Miss Dearborn," said Raybold, "what I have to say cannot be postponed.
The words within me must be spoken, and I came here to speak them."

With a sudden supple twist Margery turned herself, hammock and all, and
stood on her feet on the ground. "Martin!" she cried, at the top of her
voice.

Raybold stepped back astonished. "What is this?" he exclaimed. "Am I to
understand--"

Before he had time to complete his sentence Martin Sanders sprang into the
scene.

"What is it?" he exclaimed, with a glare at Raybold, as if he suspected
why he had been called.

"Martin," said Margery, with a good deal of sharpness in her voice, "I
want you to take down this hammock and carry it away. I can't stay here
any longer. I thought that at least one quiet place out-of-doors could be
found where I would not be disturbed, but it seems there is no such place.
Perhaps you can hang the hammock somewhere near our cabin."

Martin's face grew very red. "I think," said he, "that you ought not to be
obliged to go away because you have been disturbed. Whoever disturbed you
should go away, and not you."

Now Mr. Raybold's face also grew red. "There has been enough of this!" he
exclaimed. "Guide, you can go where you came from. You are not wanted
here. If Miss Dearborn wishes her hammock taken down, I will do it." Then
turning to Margery, he continued: "You do not know what it is I have to
say to you. If you do not hear me now, you will regret it all your life.
Send this man away."

"I would very much like to send a man away if I knew how to do it," said
Margery.

"Do it?" cried Martin. "Oh, Miss Dearborn, if you want it done, ask me to
do it for you!"

"You!" shouted Raybold, making two steps towards the young guide; then he
stopped, for Margery stood in front of him.

"I have never seen two men fight," said she, "and I don't say I wouldn't
like it, just once; but you would have to have on boxing-gloves; I
couldn't stand a fight with plain hands, so you needn't think of it.
Martin, take down the hammock just as quickly as you can. And if you want
to stay here, Mr. Raybold, you can stay, but if you want to talk, you can
talk to the trees."

Martin heaved a sigh of disappointment, and proceeded to unfasten the
hammock from the trees to which it had been tied. For a moment Raybold
looked as if he were about to interfere, but there was something in the
feverish agility of the young guide which made his close proximity as
undesirable as that of a package of dynamite.

Margery turned to leave the place, but suddenly stopped. She would wait
until Martin was ready to go with her. She would not leave those two young
men alone.

Raybold was very angry. He knew well that such a chance for a private
interview was not likely to occur again, and he would not give up. He
approached the young girl.

"Margery," he said, "if you--"

"Martin," she cried to the guide, who was now ready to go, "put down that
hammock and come here. Now, sir," she said, turning to Raybold, "let me
hear you call me Margery again!"

She waited for about a half a minute, but she was not called by name. Then
she and Martin went away. She had nearly reached the cabin before she
spoke, and then she turned to the young man and said: "Martin, you needn't
trouble yourself about putting up that hammock now; I don't want to lie in
it. I'm going into the house. I am very much obliged to you for the way
you stood by me."

"Stood by you!" he exclaimed, in a low voice, which seemed struggling in
the grasp of something which might or might not be stronger than itself.
"You don't know how glad I am to stand by you, and how I would always--"

"Thank you," said Margery; "thank you very much," and she walked away
towards the cabin.

"Oh, dear!" she sighed, as she opened the door and went in.




CHAPTER XVI

A MAN WHO FEELS HIMSELF A MAN


Towards the end of the afternoon, when the air had grown cooler, Mr.
Archibald proposed a boating expedition to the lower end of the lake. His
boat was large enough for Matlack, the three ladies, and himself, and if
the two young men wished to follow, they had a boat of their own.

When first asked to join the boating party Miss Corona Raybold hesitated;
she did not care very much about boating; but when she found that if she
stayed in camp she would have no one to talk to, she accepted the
invitation.

Mr. Archibald took the oars nearest the stern, while Matlack seated
himself forward, and this arrangement suited Miss Corona exactly.

The boat kept down the middle of the lake, greatly aided by the current,
and Corona talked steadily to Mr. Archibald. Mrs. Archibald, who always
wanted to do what was right, and who did not like to be left out of any
conversation on important subjects, made now and then a remark, and
whenever she spoke Corona turned to her and listened with the kindest
attention, but the moment the elder lady had finished, the other resumed
her own thread of observation without the slightest allusion to what she
had just heard.

As for Mr. Archibald, he seldom said a word. He listened, sometimes his
eyes twinkled, and he pulled easily and steadily. Doubtless he had a good
many ideas, but none of them was expressed. As for Margery, she leaned
back in the stern, and thought that, after all, she liked Miss Raybold
better than she did her brother, for the young lady did not speak one word
to her, nor did she appear to regard her in any way.

"But how on earth," thought Margery, "she can float over this beautiful
water and under this lovely sky, with the grandeur of the forest all about
her, and yet pay not the slightest attention to anything she sees, but
keep steadily talking about her own affairs and the society she belongs
to, I cannot imagine. She might as well live in a cellar and have
pamphlets and reformers shoved down to her through the coal-hole."

Messrs. Clyde and Raybold accompanied the larger boat in their own skiff.
It was an unwieldy craft, with but one pair of oars, and as the two young
men were not accustomed to rowing together, and as Mr. Raybold was not
accustomed to rowing at all and did not like it, Mr. Clyde pulled the
boat. But, do what he could, it was impossible for him to get near the
other boat. Matlack, who was not obliged to listen to Miss Corona, kept
his eye upon the following skiff, and seemed to fear a collision if the
two boats came close together, for if Clyde pulled hard he pulled harder.
Arthur Raybold was not satisfied.

"I thought you were a better oarsman," he said to the other; "but now I
suppose we shall not come near them until we land."

But the Archibald party did not land. Under the guidance of Matlack they
swept slowly around the lower end of the lake; they looked over the big
untenanted camp-ground there; they stopped for a moment to gaze into the
rift in the forest through which ran the stream which connected this lake
with another beyond it, and then they rowed homeward, keeping close to the
farther shore, so as to avoid the strength of the current.

Clyde, who had not reached the end of the lake, now turned and determined
to follow the tactics of the other boat and keep close to the shore, but
on the side nearest to the camp. This exasperated Raybold.

"What are you trying to do?" he said. "If you keep in the middle we may
get near them, and why should we be on one side of the lake and they on
the other?"

"I want to get back as soon as they do," said Clyde, "and I don't want to
pull against the current."

"Stop!" said Raybold. "If you are tired, let me have the oars."

Harrison Clyde looked for a minute at his companion, and then deliberately
changed the course of the boat and rowed straight towards the shore,
paying no attention whatever to the excited remonstrances of Raybold. He
beached the boat at a rather poor landing-place among some bushes, and
then, jumping out, he made her fast.

"What do you mean?" cried Raybold, as he scrambled on shore. "Is she
leaking more than she did? What is the matter?"

"She is not leaking more than usual," said the other, "but I am not going
to pull against that current with you growling in the stern. I am going to
walk back to camp."

In consequence of this resolution the two young men reached Camp Rob about
the same time that the Archibald boat touched shore, and at least an hour
before they would have arrived had they remained in their boat.

The party was met by Mrs. Perkenpine, bearing letters and newspapers. A
man had arrived from Sadler's in their absence, and he had brought the
mail. Nearly every one had letters; there was even something for Martin.
Standing where they had landed, seated on bits of rock, on the grass, or
on camp-chairs, all read their letters.

While thus engaged a gentleman approached the party from the direction of
Camp Roy. He was tall, well built, handsomely dressed in a suit of
light-brown tweed, and carried himself with a buoyant uprightness. A neat
straw hat with a broad ribbon shaded his smooth-shaven face, which
sparkled with cordial good-humor. A blue cravat was tied tastefully under
a broad white collar, and in his hand he carried a hickory walking-stick,
cut in the woods, but good enough for a city sidewalk. Margery was the
first to raise her eyes at the sound of the quickly approaching
footsteps.

"Goodness gracious!" she exclaimed, and then everybody looked up.

For a moment the new-comer was gazed upon in silence. From what gigantic
bandbox could this well-dressed stranger have dropped? Then, with a loud
laugh, Mr. Archibald cried, "The bishop!"

No wonder there had not been instant recognition. The loose, easy-fitting
clothes gave no hint of redundant plumpness; no soiled shovel-hat cast a
shadow over the smiling face, and a glittering shirt front banished all
thought of gutta-percha.

"Madam," exclaimed the bishop, raising his hat and stepping quickly
towards Mrs. Archibald, "I cannot express the pleasure I feel in meeting
you again. And as for you, sir," holding out his hand to Mr. Archibald, "I
have no words in which to convey my feelings. Look upon a man, sir, who
feels himself a man, and then remember from what you raised him. I can say
no more now, but I can never forget what you have done," and as he spoke
he pressed Mr. Archibald's hand with an honest fervor, which distorted for
a moment the features of that gentleman.

From one to the other of the party the bishop glanced, as he said, "How
glad, how unutterably glad, I am to be again among you!" Turning his eyes
towards Miss Raybold, he stopped. That young lady had put down the letter
she was reading, and was gazing at him through her spectacles with calm
intensity. "This lady," said the bishop, turning towards Raybold, "is your
sister, I presume? May I have the honor?"

Raybold looked at him without speaking. Here was an example of the silly
absurdity of throwing pearls before swine. He had never wanted to have
anything to do with the fellow when he was in the gutter, and he wanted
nothing to do with him now.

With a little flush on her face Mrs. Archibald rose.

"Miss Raybold," she said, "let me present to you"--and she hesitated for a
moment--"the gentleman we call the bishop. I think you have heard us speak
of him."

"Yes," said Miss Raybold, rising, with a charming smile on her handsome
face, and extending her hand, "I have heard of him, and I am very glad to
meet him."

"I have also heard of you," said the bishop, as he stood smiling beside
Corona's camp-chair, "and I have regretted that I have been the innocent
means of preventing you for a time from occupying your brother's camp."

"Oh, do not mention that," said Corona, sweetly. "I walked over there
yesterday, and I think it is a great deal pleasanter here, so you have
really done me a favor. I am particularly glad to see you, because, from
the little I have heard said about you, I think you must agree with some
of my cherished opinions. For one thing, I am quite certain you favor the
assertion of individuality; your actions prove that."

"Really," said the bishop, seating himself near her, "I have not given
much thought to the subject; but I suppose I have asserted my
individuality. If I have, however, I have done it indefinitely. Everybody
about me having some definite purpose in life, and I having none, I am, in
a negative way, a distinctive individual. It is a pity I am so different
from other people, but--"

"No, it is not a pity," interrupted Corona, the color coming into her
cheeks and a brighter light into her eyes. "Our individuality is a sacred
responsibility. It is given to us for us to protect and encourage--I may
say, to revere. It is a trust for which we should be called to account by
ourselves, and we shall be false and disloyal to ourselves if we cannot
show that we have done everything in our power for the establishment and
recognition of our individuality."

"It delights me to hear you speak in that way," exclaimed the bishop. "It
encourages and cheers me. We are what we are; and if we can be more fully
what we are than we have been, then we are more truly ourselves than
before."

"And what can be nobler," cried Corona, "than to be, in the most
distinctive sense of the term, ourselves?"

Mr. and Mrs. Archibald walked together towards their cabin.

"I want to be neighborly and hospitable," said he, "but it seems to me
that, now that the way is clear for Miss Raybold to move her tent to her
own camp and set up house-keeping there, we should not be called upon to
entertain her, and, if we want to enjoy ourselves in our own way, we can
do it without thinking of her."

"We shall certainly not do it," said his wife, "if we do think of her. I
am very much disappointed in her. She is not a companion at all for
Margery; she never speaks to her; and, on the other hand, I should think
you would wish she would never speak to you."

"Well," said her husband, "that feeling did grow upon me somewhat this
afternoon. Up to a certain point she is amusing."

Here he was interrupted by Mrs. Perkenpine, who planted herself before
him.

"I s'pose you think I didn't do right," she said, "'cause, when that big
bundle came it had your name on it; but I knew it was clothes, and that
they was for that man in our camp, and so I took them to him myself. I
heard Phil say that the sooner that man was up and dressed, the better it
would be for all parties; and as Martin had gone off, and there wasn't
nobody to take his clothes to him, I took them to him, and that's the long
and short of it."

"I wondered how he got them," said Mr. Archibald, "but I am glad you
carried them to him." Then, speaking to his wife, he added, "It may be a
good thing that I gave him a chance to assert his individuality."




CHAPTER XVII

MRS. PERKENPINE ASSERTS HER INDIVIDUALITY


About half an hour after the beginning of the conversation between the
bishop and Miss Corona, Mrs. Perkenpine came to the latter and informed
her that supper was ready, and three times after that first announcement
did she repeat the information. At last the bishop rose and said he would
not keep Miss Raybold from her meal.

"Will you not join us?" she asked. "I shall be glad to have you do so."

The bishop hesitated for a moment, and then he accompanied Corona.

As Mrs. Perkenpine turned from the camp cooking-stove, a long-handled pan,
well filled with slices of hot meat, in her hand, she stood for a moment
amazed. Slowly approaching the little table outside of the tent were the
bishop and Miss Raybold, and glancing beyond them towards the lake, she
saw Clyde and Raybold, to whom she had yelled that supper was ready, the
one with his arms folded, gazing out over the water, and the other
strolling backward and forward, as if he had thought of going to his
supper, but had not quite made up his mind to it.

Mrs. Perkenpine's face grew red. "They are waitin' for a chance to speak
to that Archibald gal," she thought. "Well, let them wait. And she's
bringing him! She needn't s'pose I don't know him. I've seen him splittin'
wood at Sadler's, and I don't cook for sech." So saying, she strode to
some bushes a little back of the stove, and dashed the panful of meat
behind them. Then she returned, and seizing the steaming coffee-pot, she
poured its contents on the ground. Then she took up a smaller pan,
containing some fried potatoes, hot and savory, and these she threw after
the meat.

The bishop and Corona now reached the table and seated themselves. Mrs.
Perkenpine, her face as hard and immovable as the trunk of an oak,
approached, and placed before them some slices of cold bread, some butter,
and two glasses of water.

Still earnestly talking, her eyes sometimes dimmed with tears of
excitement as she descanted upon her favorite theories, Corona began to
eat what was before her. She buttered a slice of bread, and if the bishop
chanced to say anything she ate some of it. She drank some water, and she
talked and talked and talked. She did not know what she was eating. It
might have been a Lord Mayor's dinner or a beggar's crust; her mind took
no cognizance of such an unimportant matter. As for her companion, he knew
very well what he was eating, and as he gazed about him, and saw that
there were no signs of anything more, his heart sank lower and lower; but
he ate slice after slice of bread, for he was hungry, and he hoped that
when the two young men came to the table they would call for more
substantial food.