The heart of the ancient wood

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THE HEART
OF THE ANCIENT WOOD

BY THE SAME AUTHOR

BY THE MARSHES OF MINAS
THE FORGE IN THE FOREST
A SISTER TO EVANGELINE

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THE HEART OF THE
ANCIENT WOOD

BY

CHARLES G. D. ROBERTS

WITH SIX ILLUSTRATIONS

METHUEN & CO.

36 ESSEX STREET W.C.

LONDON

1902

Copyright by Silver, Burdbtt & Company
IN THE United States of America

All rig^hts reserved

To

L. W. V. U.

CONIENTS

Chapter

Page

I.

The Watchers of the Trail

I

II.

The Cabin in the Clearing

l8

III.

The Exiles from the Settlement

• 30

IV.

Miranda and the Furtive Folk .

. 46

V.

Kroof, the She-bear

. 64

VI.

The Initiation of Miranda

. 76

VII.

The Intimates

. 88

VIII.

Axe and Antler .

. 107

IX.

The Pax Mirandae

121

X.

The Routing of the Philistines .

• 133

XI.

Miranda and Young Dave

> 145

XII.

Yoimg Dave at the Clearing .

162

XIII.

Mil king- time . . . .

173

XIV.

Moonlight and Moose-call

187

XV.

A Venison Steak . . . .

203

XVI.

Death for a Little Life .

225

XVII.

In the Roar of the Rapids

H5

XVIII.

The Forfeit of the Alien

262

ILLUSTRATIONS

•* ' Get off ! ' she ordered sharply " . Frontispiece

FACING PAGE

** She . . . stood motionless, erect and formi-
dable " 50

** She sprang up, ... her whole weight strain-
ing on the tether " .... 102

*' He ran wildly over the snow patches " . 140

** The moose recognized her " . . . 196

** * Stroke on the right ! ' came Dave's sharp

order" ..,.•• 250

THE HEART OF THE
ANCIENT WOOD

Chapter I

The Watchers of the Trail

NOT indolently soft, like that which
sifts in green shadow through the
leafage of a summer garden, but tense,
alertly and mysteriously expectant, was the
silence of the forest. It was somehow
like a vast bubble of glass, blown to a
fineness so tenuous that a small sound,
were it but to strike the one preordained
and mystic note, might shatter it down in
loud ruin. Yet it had existed there flaw-
less for generations, transmuting into its
own quality all such infrequent and incon-
sequent disturbance as might arise from
the far-oflF cry of the panther, or the thin
chirp of the clambering nuthatch, the
long, solemn calling of the taciturn moose,

B I

2 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

twice or thrice repeated under the round
October moon, or the noise of some great
wind roaring heavily in the remote tops
of pine and birch and hemlock. Few and
slender were the rays of sun that pierced
down through those high tops. The air
that washed the endless vistas of brown-
green shadow was of a marvellous clarity,
not blurred by any stain of dust or vapour.
Its magical transparency was confusing to
an eye not born and bred to it, making
the far branches seem near, and the near
twigs unreal, disturbing the accustomed
perspective, and hinting of some elvish
deception in familiar and apparent things.
The trail through the forest was rough
and long unused. In spots the mosses
and ground vines had so overgrown it
that only the broad scars on the tree
trunks, where the lumberman's axe had
blazed them for a sign, served to distin-
guish it from a score of radiating vistas.
But just here, where it climbed a long,
gradual slope, the run of water down its
slight hollow had sufficed to keep its worn
stones partly bare. Moreover, though

The Watchers of the Trail 3

the furrowing steps of man had left it
these many seasons untrodden, it was
never wholly neglected. A path once
fairly differentiated by the successive pass-
ings of feet will keep, almost forever, a
spell for the persuasion of all that go
afoot. The old trail served the flat,
shuffling tread of Kroof, the great she-
bear, as she led her half-grown cub to
feast on the blueberry patches far up the
mountain. It caught the whim of Ten-
Tine, the caribou, as he convoyed his slim
cows down to occasional pasturage in the
alder swamps of the slow Quah-Davic.

On this September afternoon, when the
stillness seemed to wait wide-eyed, sud-
denly a cock-partridge came whirring up
the trail, alighted on a gnarled limb,
turned his outstretched head twice from
side to side as he peered with his round
beads of eyes, and then stiffened into the
moveless semblance of one of the fungoid
excrescences with which the tree was
studded. A moment more and the sound
of footsteps, of the nails of heavy boots
striking on the stones, grew conspicuous

4 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

against the silence. Up the trail came
slouching, with a strong but laborious
stride, a large, grizzled man in grey home-
spuns. His trousers were stufFed un-
evenly into the tops of his rusty boots ;
on his head was a drooping, much-bat-
tered hat of a felt that had been brown ;
from his belt hung a large knife in a fur-
fringed leather sheath ; and over his
shoulder he carried an axe, from the
head of which swung a large bundle.
The bundle was tied up in a soiled patch-
work quilt of gaudy colours, and from
time to time there came from it a flat
clatter suggestive of tins. At one side
protruded the black handle of a frying-
pan, half wrapped up in newspaper.

Had he been hunter or trapper, Dave
Titus would have carried a gun. Or
had he been a townsman, a villager, or
even an ordinary small country farmer,
he would have taken care to be well
armed before penetrating a day's journey
into the heart of the ancient wood. But
being a lumberman, he was neither quite
of the forest nor quite of the open. His

The Watchers of the Trail 5

winters he spent in the very deep of the
wilderness, in a log camp crowded with
his mates, eating salt pork, beans, hot
bread ; and too busy all day long with his
unwearying axe to wage any war upon the
furred and feathered people. His sum-
mers were passed with plough and hoe on
a little half-tilled farm in the Settlements.
He had, therefore, neither the desire to
kill nor the impulse to fear, as he traversed,
neutral and indifferent, these silent but
not desolated territories. Not desolated ;
for the ancient wood was populous in
its reserve. Observant, keen of vision,
skilled in woodcraft though he was, the
grave-faced old lumberman saw nothing
in the tranquillity about him save tree
trunks, and fallen, rotting remnants, and
mossed hillocks, and thickets of tangled
shrub. He noted the difference, not
known to the general eye, between white
spruce, black spruce, and fir, between grey
birch and yellow birch, between withe-
wood and viburnum ; and he read in-
stinctively, by the lichen growth about
their edges, how many seasons had laid

6 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

their disfeaturing touch upon those old
scars of the axe which marked the trail.
But for all his craft he thought himself
alone. He guessed not of the many eyes
that watched him.

In truth, his progress was the focus of
an innumerable attention. The furtive
eyes that followed his movements were
some of them timorously hostile, some
impotently vindictive, some indifferent;
but all alien. All were at one in the will
to remain unseen ; so all kept an unwink-
ing immobility, and were swallowed up, as
it were, in the universal stillness.

The cock-partridge, a well-travelled
bird who knew the Settlements and their
violent perils, watched with indignant
apprehension. Not without purpose had
he come whirring so tumultuously up the
trail, a warning to the ears of all the wood-
folk. His fear was lest the coming of
this grey man-figure should mean an in-
vasion of those long, black sticks which
went off with smoky bang when they
were pointed. He effaced himself till his
brown mottled feathers were fairiy one

The Watchers of the Trail 7

with the mottled brown bark of his perch ;
but his liquid eyes lost not a least move-
ment of the stranger.

The nuthatch, who had been walking
straight up the perpendicular trunk of a
pine when the sound of the alien footsteps
froze him, peered fixedly around the tree.
His eye, a black point of inquiry, had
never before seen anything like this
clumsy and slow-moving shape, but knew
it for something dangerous. His little
slaty head, jutting at an acute angle from
the bark, looked like a mere caprice of
knot or wood fungus; but it had the
singular quality of moving smoothly
around the trunk, as the lumberman
advanced, so as to keep him always in
view.

Equally curious, but quivering with
fear, two wood-mice watched him intently,
sitting under the broad leaf of a skunk-
cabbage not three feet from the trail.
Their whiskers touched each other's
noses, conveying thrills and palpitations
of terror as he drew near, drew nearer,
came — and passed. But not unless that

8 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

blind, unheeding heel had been on the
very point of crushing them would they
have disobeyed the prime law of their
tribe, which taught them that to sit still
was to sit unseen.

A little farther back from the trail,
under a spreading tangle of ironwood,
on a bed of tawny moss crouched a
hare. His ears lay quite flat along his
back. His eyes watched with aversion,
not unmixed with scorn, the heavy, tall
creature that moved with such effbrt and
such noise. " Never," thought the hare,
disdainfully, " would he be able to escape
from his enemies ! " As the delicate
current of air which pulses imperceptibly
through the forest bore the scent of the
man to the hare's hiding-place, the fine
nostrils of the latter worked rapidly with
dislike. On a sudden, however, came a
waft of other scent ; and the hare's form
seemed to shrink to half its size, the
nostrils rigidly dilating.

It was the scent of the weasel — to the
hare it was the very essence of death.
But it passed in an instant, and then the

The Watchers of the Trail 9

hare's exact vision saw whence it came.
For the weasel, unlike all the other folk
of the wood, was moving. He was keep-
ing pace with the man, at a distance of
some ten feet from the trail. So fitted,
however, was his colouring to his sur-
rounding, so shadow-like in its soundless
grace was his motion, that the man never
discerned him. The weasel's eyes were
fixed upon the intruder with a malignancy
of hate that might well have seared through
his unconsciousness. Fortunately for the
big lumberman, the weasel's strength, stu-
pendous for its size, was in no way com-
mensurate with its malice ; or the journey
would have come to an end just there, and
the gaudy bundle would have rested on
the trail to be a long wonder to the mice.
The weasel presently crossed the yet
warm scent of a mink, whereupon he threw
up his vain tracking of the woodman and
turned off in disgust. He did not like
the mink, and wondered what that fish-
eater could be wanting so far back from
the water. He was not afraid exactly, —
few animals know fear so little as the

lo The Heart of the Ancient Wood

weasel, — but he kept a small shred of
prudence in his savage little heart, and he
knew that the mink was scarcely less
ferocious than himself, while nearly thrice
his size.

From the mossy crotch of an old ash
tree, slanting over the trail, a pair of pale,
yellow-green eyes, with fine black slits
for pupils, watched the traveller's march.
They were set in a round, fiirry head,
which was pressed flat to the branch and
partly overhung it. The pointed, tufted
ears lay flat back upon the round brown
head. Into the bark of the branch four
sets of razor-edged claws dug themselves
venomously; for the wild-cat knew, per-
haps through some occult communication
from its far-off^ domesticated kin of hearth
and door-sill, that in man he saw the one
unvanquishable enemy to all the folk of
the wood. He itched fiercely to drop
upon the man's bowed neck, just where it
showed, red and defenceless, between the
gaudy bundle and the rim of the brown
hat. But the wild-cat, the lesser lynx, was
heir to a ferocity well tempered with dis-

The Watchers of the Trail 1 1

cretion, and the old lumberman slouched
onward unharmed, all ignorant of that
green gleam of hate playing upon his
neck.

It was a very different gaze which fol-
lowed him from the heart of a little colony
of rotting stumps, in a dark hollow near
the trail. Here, in the cool gloom, sat
Kroof, the bear, rocking her huge body
contemplatively from side to side on her
haunches, and occasionally slapping off a
mosquito from the sensitive tip of her
nose. She had no cub running with her
that season, to keep her busy and anxious.
For an hour she had been comfortably
rocking, untroubled by fear or desire or
indignation ; but when the whirring of the
cock-partridge gave her warning, and the
grating of the nailed boots caught her ear,
she had stiffened instantly into one of the
big brown stumps. Her little red eyes
followed the stranger with something like
a twinkle in them. She had seen men
before, and she neither actively feared
them nor actively disliked them. Only,
averse to needless trouble, she cared not

12 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

to intrude herself on their notice; and
therefore she obeyed the custom of the
wood, and kept still. But the bear is far
the most human of all the furry wood-
folk, the most versatile and largely toler-
ant, the least enslaved by its surroundings.
It has an ample sense of humour, also,
that most humane of gifts ; and it was with
a certain relish that Kroof recognized in
the grey-clad stranger one of those loud
axemen from whose camp, far down by
the Quah-Davic, she had only last winter
stolen certain comforting rations of pork.
Her impulse was to rock again with satis-
faction at the thought, but that would
have been out of keeping with her present
character as a decaying stump, and she
restrained herself. She also restrained a
whimsical impulse to knock the gaudy
bundle from the stranger's back with one
sweep of her great paw, and see if it might
not contain many curious and edifying
things, if not even pork. It was not till
she had watched him well up the trail and
fairly over the crest of the slope that, with
a deep, non-committal grunt, she again

The Watchers of the Trail 13

turned her attention to the mosquitoes,
which had been learning all the tenderness
of a bear's nose.

These were but a few of the watchers
of the trail, whose eyes, themselves unseen,
scrutinized the invader of the ancient wood.
Each step of all his journey was well noted.
Not so securely and unconsideringly would
he have gone, however, had he known
that only the year before there had come
a pair of panthers to occupy a vacant lair
on the neighbouring mountain side. No,
his axe would have swung free, and his
eyes would have scanned searchingly every
overhanging branch ; for none knew better
than old Dave Titus how dangerous a foe
was the tawny northern panther. But
just now, as it chanced, the panther pair
were hunting ^way over in the other valley,
the low, dense-wooded valley of the Quah-
Davic.

As matters stood, for all the watchers
that marked him, the old lumberman
walked amid no more imminent menace
than that which glittered down upon him
from four pairs of small bright eyes, high

14 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

up among the forking limbs of an old
pine. In a well-hidden hole, as in a nur-
sery window, were bunched the smooth
heads of four young squirrels, interested
beyond measure in the strange animal
plodding so heavily below them. Had
they been Settlement squirrels they would,
without doubt, have passed shrill com-
ments, more or less uncomplimentary;
for the squirrel loves free speech. But
when he dwells among the folk of the
ancient wood he, even he, learns reticence ;
and, in that neighbourhood, if a young
squirrel talks out loud in the nest, the
consequences which follow have a ten-
dency to be final. When the old lumber-
man had passed out of their range of view,
the four little heads disappeared into the
musky brown depths of the nest, and talked
the event over in the smallest of whispers.
As the lumberman journeyed, cover-
ing good ground with his long, slouch-
ing stride, the trail gradually descended
through a tract where moss-grown boul-
ders were strown thick among the trees.
Presently the clear green brown of the

The Watchers of the Trail 15

mid-forest twilight took a pallor ahead of
him, and the air began to lose its pun-
gency of bark and mould. Then came
the flat, soft smell of sedge ; and the trees
fell away; and the traveller came out
upon the shores of a lake. Its waters
were outspread pearly-white from a fringe
of pale green rushes, and the opposite
shore looked black against the pale, hazy
sky. A stone's throw beyond the sedge
rose a little naked island of black rock, and
in the sheen of water off its extremity there
floated the black, solitary figure of a loon.
As the lumberman came out clear of the
trees, and the gaudy colours of his bundle
caught its eye, the bird sank itself lower
in the water till only its erect neck and
wedge-shaped head were in view. Then,
opening wide its beak, it sent forth
its wild peal of inexplicable and discon-
certing laughter — an aflrront to the silence,
but a note of monition to all the creatures
of the lake. The loon had seen men
before, and despised them, and found
pleasure in proclaiming the scorn. It
despised even the long, black sticks that

1 6 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

went oiFwith smoky bang when pointed;
for had it not learned, in another lake
near the Settlement, to dive at the flash
and so elude the futile, spattering pellets
that flew from the stick.

The lumberman gave neither a first
nor a second thought to the loon at all,
but quickened his pace in the cheerful
open. The trail now led some way along
the lake-side, till the shore became higher
and rougher, and behind a cape of rock
a bustling river emptied itself, carrying
lines of foam and long ripples far out
across the lake's placidity. From the
cape of rock towered a bleak, storm-
whitened rampike, which had been a pine
tree before the lightning smote it. Its
broken top was just now serving as the
perch of a white-headed eagle. The
great bird bent fierce yellow eyes upon
the stranger, — eyes with a cruel-looking,
straight overhang of brow, — and stretched
its flat-crowned, snake-like head far out to
regard him. It opened the rending sickle
of its beak and yelped at him — three times
at deliberated interval. Then the traveller

The Watchers of the Trail 17

vanished again into the gloom of the
wood, and the arrogant bird plumed
himself upon a triumph.

The trail now touched the river, only
to forsake it and plunge into the heart
of a growth of young Canada balsam.
This sweet-smelling region traversed, the
soft roar of the stream was left behind,
and the forest resumed its former monu-
mental features. For another hour the
man tramped steadily, growing more con-
scious of his load, more and more unin-
terested in his surroundings; and for
another hour his every step was noted by
intent, unwinking eyes from branch and
thicket. Then again the woods fell apart
with a spreading of daylight. He came
out upon the spacious solitude of a clear-
ing; pushed through the harsh belt of
blackberry and raspberry canes, which
grew as a neutral zone between forest and
open ; picked his way between the burned
stumps and crimson fireweeds of a long
desolate pasture; and threw down his
bundle at the door of the loneliest cabin
he had ever chanced to see.

Chapter II
The Cabin in the Clearing

THOUGH a spur of black, uncom-
promising spruce woods gave it near
shelter on the north, the harshly naked
clearing fell away from it on the other
three sides, and left the cabin bleak. Not
a shrub nor a sapling broke the bareness
of the massive log walls, whence the peel-
ing bark hung in strips that fluttered
desolately to every wind. Only a few
tall and ragged weeds, pale green, and
with sparse, whitish grey seed-heads,
straggled against the foundation logs.
The rough deal door sagged on its hinges,
half open. The door-sill gaped with a
wide crack, rotted along the edges; and
along the crack grew a little fringe of
grass, ruthlessly crushed down by old
Dave's gaudy bundle. The two small win-
dows still held fragments of glass in their

i8

The Cabin in the Clearing 19

sashes, — glass thick with spiders' webs,
and captive dust, and the dibris of withered
insects. The wide-eaved roof, well built
of split cedar-slabs, with a double overlay
of bark, seemed to have turned a brave
front to the assault of the seasons, and
showed few casualties. Some thirty paces
to one side stood another cabin, lower and
more roughly built, whose roof had partly
fallen in. This had been the barn, —
this, with a battered lean-to of poles and
interwoven spruce boughs against its
southerly wall. The barn was set down
at haphazard, in no calculated or content-
ing relation to the main building, but
just as the lay of the hillocks had made
it simplest to find a level for the founda-
tions. All about it grew a tall, coarse
grass, now grey and drily rustling, the
brood of seeds which in past years had
sifted through the chinks from the hay
stored in the loft. The space between
the two buildings, and for many square
yards about the cabin door, was strewn
thick with decaying chips, through which
the dock and plantain leaves, hardy

0,0 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

strangers from the Settlement, pushed
up their broad, obtuse intrusion. Over
toward the barn lay the bleached skeleton
of a bob-sled, the rusted iron shoe partly
twisted from one runner; and in the
centre of the space, where the chips
gathered thickest and the plantains had
gained least ground, lay a split chopping-
log, whose scars bore witness to the
vigour of a vanished axe.

The old lumberman fetched a deep
breath, depressed by the immeasurable
desolation. His eye wandered over the
weedy fields, long fallow, and the rugged
stump lots aflame here and there with
patches of golden-rod and crimson fire-
weed. To him these misplaced flares of
colour seemed only to make the loneli-
ness more forlorn, perhaps by their asso-
ciation with homelier and kindlier scenes.
He leaned on his axe, and pointed indefi-
nitely with his thumb.

" Squat here ! an' farm yon ! " said
he, with contemplative disapproval. " I'd
see myself furder first! But Kirstie
Craig's got grit for ten men ! "

The Cabin in the Clearing 21

Then he pushed the door open, lifting
it to ease the hinge, and stepped peer-
ingly inside. As he did so, a barn-swal-
low flickered out through a broken pane.

The cabin contained two rooms, one
much smaller than the other. The ceil-
ing of the smaller room was formed by a
loft at the level of the eaves, open, toward
the main room, which had no ceiling but
the roof of slabs and bark. Here, run-
ning up through the east gable, was a
chimney of rough stone, arched at the
base to contain a roomy hearth, with
swinging crane and rusted andirons. A
settle of plank was fixed along the wall
under the window. Down the middle of
the room, its flank toward the hearth, ran
a narrow table of two planks, supported
by unsmoothed stakes driven into the
floor. In the corner farthest from the
chimney, over against the partition, was
a shallow sleeping bunk, a mere oblong
box partly filled with dry red pickings
of spruce and hemlock. The floor was
littered with dead leaves and with ashes
wind-drifted from the hearth.

22 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

Old Dave went over and glanced into
the bunk. He found the spruce pick-
ings scratched up toward one end^ and
arranged as they would be for no human
occupant.

" Critters been sleepin' here ! " he mut-
tered. Then laying down his bundle, he
turned his attention to the hearth, and
soon the old chimney tasted once more,
after its long solitude, the cheer of the
familiar heat.

It was now close upon sundown, and
the lumberman was hungry. He untied
the grimy, many-coloured quilt. Kroof, the
she-bear, had been right in her surmise as
to that bundle. It did contain pork, — a
small, well-salted chunk of it ; and pres-
ently the red-and-white-streaked slices
were sputtering crisply in the pan, while
the walls and roof saturated themselves
once more in old-remembered savours.

By the time the woodman had made
his meal of fried pork and bread, and
had smoked out his little pipe of black-
ened clay, a lonely twilight had settled
about the cabin in the clearing. He went

The Cabin in the Clearing 23

to the door and looked out. A white
mist, rising along the forest edges, seemed
to cut him off from all the world of
men ; and a few large stars, at vast inter-
vals, came out solemnly upon the round
of sky. He shut the door, dropped the
wooden latch into its slot, and threw a
dry sliver upon the hearth to give him
light for turning in. He was sparing of
the firewood, remembering that Kirstie,
when she came, would need it all. Then
he took his pipe from his mouth, knocked
out the ashes, wiped the stump on his
sleeve, and put it in his pocket ; took off
his heavy boots, rolled himself in the
coloured quilt, and tumbled comfortably
into the bunk, untroubled by any thought
of its previous tenants. No sooner was
he still than the mice came out and began
scampering across the loft. He felt the
sound homely and companionable, and
so fell asleep. As he slept the deep
undreaming sleep of the wholesomely
tired, the meagre fire burned low, sank
into pulsating coals, and faded into black-
ness.

24 The Heart of the Andent Wood

It was, perhaps, an hour later that Old
Dave sat up, suddenly wide awake. He
had no idea why he did it. He had
heard no noise. He was certainly not
afraid. There was no tremor in his sea-
soned nerves. Nevertheless, he was all
at once absolutely awake, every sense
alert. He felt almost as if there were
some unkindred presence in the cabin.
His first impulse was to spring from
the bunk, and investigate. But, doubt-
less because he had spent so great a
portion of his life in the forest, and
because he had all that day been subtly
played upon by its influences, another
instinct triumphed. He followed the
immemorial fashion of the folk of the
wood, and just kept still, waiting to learn
by watching.

He saw the two dim squares of the
windows, and once imagined that one of
them was for an instant shadowed. At
this he smiled grimly there in the dark,
well knowing that among all the forest-
folk there was not one, not even the
panther himself, so imprudent as to climb

The Cabin in the Clearing 25

through a small window into a shut-up
place, all reeking with the fresh and omi-
nous scent of man.

Still he listened, in that movelessness
which the haunted neighbourhood had
taught him. The scurrying of the mice
had ceased. There was no wind, and the
darkness seemed all ears. The door,
presently, gave a slow, gentle creaking,
as if some heavy body pushed softly
against it, trying the latch. The woods-
man noiselessly reached out, and felt the
handle of his axe, leaning by the head
of the bunk. But the latch held, and
the menacing furtive pressure was not
repeated. Then, upon the very middle
of the roof, began a scratching, a light
rattling of claws, and footfalls went pad-
ding delicately over the bark. This puz-
zled the woodsman, wh6 wondered how
the owner of those clawed and velveted
feet could have reached the roof without
some noise of climbing. The soft tread,
with an occasional scratch and snap,
moved up and down the roof several
times ; and once, during a pause, a deep

l6 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

breath, ending with a sharp sniffing sound,
was heard through the thin roof. Then
came a muffled thud upon the chips, as
of the drop of a heavy animal.

The spell was broken, and Old Dave
rose from the bunk.

^It^s jumped down off the roof! wild-
cat, mebbe, or lynx. No painters 'round,
'tain't likely; though't did sound heavy
fur a cat!'' said he to himself, as he
strode to the door, axe in hand.

Fearlessly he threw the door open, and
looked out upon the glimmering night.
The forest chill was in the air, the very
breath and spirit of solitude. The mists
gathered thickly a stone's throw from the
cabin. He saw nothing that moved.
He heard no stir. With a shrug of the
shoulders he turned, latched the door
again with just a trifle more exactness of
precaution than before, lounged back to
his bunk, and slept heedlessly till high
dawn. A long finger of light, coldly
rosy, came in through a broken pane to
rouse him up.

When he went outside, the mists yet

The Cabin in the Clearing 27

clung white and chill about the clearing,
and all the weed tops were beaded with
thick dew. He noted that the chips were
disturbed somewhat, but could find no
definite track. Then, following a grassy
path that led, through a young growth
of alder, to the spring, he found signs.
Down to the spring, and beyond, into
the woods, a trail was drawn that spoke
plain language to his wood-wise scrutiny.
The grass was bent, the dew brushed off,
by a body of some bulk and going close
to the ground.

" Painter ! " he muttered, knitting his
brows, and casting a wary glance about
him. " Reckon Kirstie'd better bring a
gun along!"

All that day Dave Titus worked about
the cabin and the barn. He mended the
roof, patched the windows, rehung the
door, filled the bunk — and the two simi-
lar ones in the smaller room — with aro-
matic fresh green spruce tips, and worked
a miracle of rejuvenation upon the barn.
He also cleaned out the spring, and
chopped a handy pile of firewood. An

28 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

old sheep-pen behind the barn he left in
its ruins, saying to himself: —

" What with the b'ars, an' the painters,
Kirstie ain't goin' to want to mess with
sheep, I reckon. She'll have lots to do
to look after her critters ! "

By "critters'* he meant the cow and
the yoke of steers which were Kirstie
Craig's property in the Settlement, and
which, as he knew, she was to bring with
her to her exile in the ancient wood.

That night, being now quite at home in
the lonely cabin, and assured as to the
stability of the door, Dave Titus slept
dreamlessly from dark to dawn in the
pleasant fragrance of his bunk. From
dark to dawn the mice scurried in the loft,
the bats flickered about the eaves, the un-
known furry bulks leaned on the door or
padded softly up and down the roof, but
troubled not his rest. Then the wild folk
began to take account of the fact that the
sovereignty of the clearing had been re-
sumed by man, and word of the new
order went secretly about the forest.
When, next morning, Dave Titus made

The Cabin in the Clearing 29

careful survey of the clearing's skirts, cal-
culating what brush and poles would be
needed for Kirstie's fencing, making rough
guesses at the acreage, and noting with
approval the richness of the good brown
soil, he thought himself alone. But he
was not alone. Speculative eyes, large
and small, fierce and timorous, from all
the edges of the ancient wood kept watch
on him.

Chapter III

The Exiles from the Settlement

LATE that afternoon Kirstie Craig
arrived. Her coming was a mi-
gration.

The first announcement of her approach
was the dull tank^ tank^ a-tonkj tank of cow-
bells down the trail, at sound of which Old
Dave threw aside his axe and slouched
away to meet her. There was heard a
boy's voice shouting with young author-
ity, "Gee! Gee, Bright! Gee, Star!"
and the head of the procession came into
view in the solemn green archway of the
woods.

The head of the procession was Kirstie
Craig herself, a tall, erect, strong-stepping,
long-limbed woman in blue-grey home-
spuns, with a vivid scarlet kerchief tied
over her head. She was leading, by a rope
about its horns, a meekly tolerant black-
and-white cow. To her left hand clung a

3^

The Exiles from the Settlement 31

skipping little figure in a pink calico frock,
a broad-brimmed hat of coarse straw flung
back from her hair and hanging by ribbons
from her neck. This was the five-year-
old Miranda, Kirstie Craig's daughter.
She had ridden most of the journey, and
now was full of excited interest over the
approach to her new home. Following
close behind came the yoke of long-
horned, mild-eyed steers, — Bright, a light
sorrel, and Star, a curious red-and-black
brindle with a radiating splash of white in
the middle of his forehead. These, lurch-
ing heavily on the yoke, were hauling a
rude "drag," on which was lashed the
meagre pile of Kirstie's belongings and
supplies. Close at Star's heaving flank
walked a lank and tow-haired boy from
the Settlement, his long ox-goad in hand,
and an expression of resigned dissatisfac-
tion on his grey-eyed, ruddy young face.
Liking, and thoroughly believing in,
Kirstie Craig, he had impulsively yielded
to her request, and let himself be hired to
assist her flight into exile. But in so do-
ing he had gone roughly counter to pub-

32 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

lie opinion ; for the Settlement, though
stupidly inhospitable to Kirstie Craig,
none the less resented her decision to
leave it. Her scheme of occupying the
deserted cabin, farming the deserted clear-
ing, and living altogether aloof from her
unloved and unloving fellows, was scouted
on every hand as the freak of a mad-
woman ; and Young Dave, just coming
to the age when public opinion begins to
seem important, felt uneasy at being iden-
tified with a matter of public ridicule. He
saw himself already, in imagination, a theme
for the fine wit of the Settlement. Never-
theless, he was glad to be helping Kirstie,
for he was sound and fearless at heart,
and he counted her a true friend if she
did seem to him a bit queer. He was
faithful, but disapproving. It was Old
Dave alone, his father, who backed the
woman's venture without criticism or de-
mur. He had known Kirstie from small
girlhood, and known her for a brave, loyal,
silent, strongly-enduring soul ; and in his
eyes she did well to leave the Settlement,
where a shallow spite, sharpened by her

The Exiles from the Settlement 33

proud reticence and supplied with arrows
of injury by her misfortunes, made life an
undesisting and immitigable hurt to her.

As she emerged from the twilight and
came out upon the sunny bleakness of
the clearing, the unspeakable loneliness of
it struck a sudden pallor into her grave
dark face. For a moment, even the
humanity that was hostile to her seemed
less cruel than this voiceless solitude.
Then her resolution came back. The
noble but somewhat immobile lines of
her large features relaxed into a half smile
at her own weakness. She took posses-
sion, as it were, by a sweeping gesture of
her head ; then silently gave her hand in
greeting to Old Dave, who had ranged up
beside her and swung the dancing Mi-
randa to his shoulder. Nothing was said
for several moments, as the party moved
slowly up the slope ; for they were folk of
few words, these people, not praters like
so many of their fellows in the Settlement.

At last the pink frock began to wriggle
on the lumberman's shoulder, and Mi«
randa cried out : —

34 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

" Let me down. Uncle Dave, I want to
pick those pretty flowers for my mother."

The crimson glories of the fireweed
had filled her eyes with delight; and in
a few minutes she was struggling after
the procession with her small arms full
of the long-stalked blooms.

In front of the cabin door the proces-
sion stopped. Dave turned, and said
seriously : —

"I've done the best I could by ye,
Kirstie; an' I reckon it ain't so bad a
site for ye, after all. But ye'U be power-
ful lonesome."

"Thank you kindly, Dave. But we
ain't going to be lonesome, Miranda and
me.

"But there's painters 'round. You'd
ought to hev a gun, Kirstie. I'll be
sackin' out some stuflF fur ye nex' week,
Davey an' me, an' I reckon as how I'd
better fetch ye a gun."

" We'll be right hungry for a sight of
your faces by that time, Dave," said
Kirstie, sweeping a look of tenderness
over the boy's face, where he stood lean-

ii

The Exiles from the Settlement 35

ing on Starts brindled shoulder. "But
I ain't scared of panthers. Don't you
mind about the gun, now, for I don't
want it, and I won't use it!"

"She ain't skeered o* nothin' that
walks," muttered Young Dave, with ad-
miration.

The strong face darkened.

"Yes, I am, Davey," she answered;

I'm afeard of evil tongues."

Well, my girl, here ye're well quit
of *em," said the old lumberman, a slow
anger burning on his rough-hewn face as
he thought of certain busy backbiters in
the Settlement.

Just then Miranda's small voice chimed
in.

" Oh, Davey," she cried, catching glee-
fully at the boy's leg, " look at the nice,
great big dog ! " And her little brown
finger pointed to a cluster of stumps, of
all shapes and sizes, far over on the limits
of the clearing. Her wide, brown eyes
danced elvishly. The others followed her
gaze, all staring intently; but they saw
no excuse for her excitement.

36 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

"It might be a b'ar she sees," said
Old Dave ; " but I can't spot it."

"They're plenty hereabouts, I sup-
pose," said Kirstie, rather indifferently,
letting her eyes wander to other portions
of her domain.

" Ain't no bear there," asserted Young
Dave, with all the confidence of his years.
" It's a stump ! "

" Nice big dog ! I want it, mother,"
piped Miranda, suddenly darting away.
But her mother's firm hand fell upon her
shoulder.

" There's no big dog out here, child,"
she said quietly. And Old Dave, after
puckering his keen eyes and knitting his
shaggy brows in vain, exclaimed : —

"Oh, quit yer foolin', Mirandy, ye
little witch. 'Tain't nothin' but stumps, I
tell ye."

It was the child's eyes, however, that
had the keener vision, the subtler know-
ledge; and, though now she let herself
seem to be persuaded, and obediently
carried her armful of fireweed into the
cabin, she knew it was no stump she had

The Exiles from the Settlement 37

been looking at. And as for Kroof;
the she-bear, though she had indeed sat
moveless as a stump among the stumps,
she knew that the child had detected her.
She saw that Miranda had the eyes that
see everything and cannot be deceived.

For two days the man and the boy
stayed at the clearing to help Kirstie get
settled. The fields rang pleasantly with
the tanky tanky a-tonky tank of the cow-bells,
as the cattle fed over the new pasturage.
The edges of the clearing resounded with
axe strokes, and busy voices echoed on
the autumn air. There was much rough
fencing to be built, — zig-zag arrange-
ments of brush and saplings, — in order
that Kirstie's "critters" might be shut
in till the sense of home should so grow
upon them as to keep them from straying.

The two days done, Old Dave and Young
Dave shouldered their axes and went away.
Kirstie forthwith straightened her fine
shoulders to the Atlas load of solitude
which had threatened at first to overwhelm
her; and she and Miranda settled down
to a strangely silent routine. This was

38 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

broken, however, at first, by weekly visits
from Old Dave, who came to bring hay,
and roots, and other provisions against
the winter, together with large " hanks *'
of coarse homespun yarn, to occupy
Kirstie's fingers during the long winter
evenings.

Kirstie was well fitted to the task she
had so bravely set herself. She could
swing an axe ; and the fencing grew
steadily through the fall. She could guide
the plough; and before the snow came
some ten acres of the long fallow sod had
been turned up in brown furrows, to be
ripened and mellowed by the frosts for next
spring's planting. The black-and-white
cow was still in good milk, and could be
depended on not to go dry a day more
than two months before calving. The
steers were thrifty and sleek, and showed
no signs of fretting for old pastures. The
hoarse but homely music of the cow-bells,
sounding all day over the fields, and giv-
ing out an occasional soft tonk-a-tonk from
the darkness of the stalls at night, came
to content her greatly. The lines which

The Exiles from the Settlement 39

she had brought from the Settlement
smoothed themselves from about her
mouth and eyes^ and the large^ sufficing
beauty of her face was revealed in the
peace of her new life.

About seven years before this move to
the cabin in the clearing, Kirstie Craig —
then Kirstie MacAlister — had gone one
evening to the cross-roads grocery which
served the Settlement as General Intel-
ligence Office. Here was the post-office
as well, in a corner of the store, fitted up
with some dozen of lettered and dusty
pigeon-holes. Nodding soberly to the
loafers who lounged about on the soap
boxes and nail kegs, Kirstie stepped up
to the counter to buy a quart of molasses.
She was just passing over her gaudy blue-
and-yellow pitcher to be filled, when a
stranger came in who caught her attention.
He did far more than catch her attention;
for the stately and sombre girl, who had
never before taken pains to look twice on
any man's face, now felt herself grow hot
and cold as this stranger's eyes glanced
carelessly over her splendid form. She

40 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

heard him ask the postmaster for lodg^
ings. He spoke in a tired voice, and
accents that set him apart from the men
of the Settlement. She looked at him
twice and yet again, noted with a pang
that he seemed ill, and met his eye fairly
for just one heart-beat. At once she
flushed scarlet under it, snatched up her
pitcher, and almost rushed from the store.
The loafers were too much occupied with
the new arrival to notice her perturbation ;
but he noticed it, and was pleased. Never
before had he seen so splendid a girl as
this black-haired, sphinx-faced creature,
with the scarlet kerchief about her head.
She was a picture that awoke the artist in
him, and put him in haste to resume his
palette and brushes.

For Frank Craig, dilettante and man
of the world, was a good deal of an artist
when the mood seized him strongly
enough. When another mood seized
him, with sufficient vigour to overcome
his native indolence, he was something of
a musician ; and again, more rarely, some-
thing of a poet. The temperament was

The Exiles from the Settlement 41

his; but the steadiness of purpose, the
decision of will, the long-enduring patience,
these were not. He had just enough
money to let him float through his world
without work. Health he had not, and
the poor semblance of it which mere youth
supplied he had squandered childishly.
Hearing of new health in the gift of the
northern spruce woods, with their high,
balsam-sweet airs, he had drifted away
from his temptations, and at last sought
out this remote backwoods settlement as
a place where he might expect to get
much for little. He was very good to look
upon, — about as tall as Kirstie herself, —
slender, active, alert in movement when
not wearied, thoroughbred in every line
of face and figure. His eyes, of a very
deep greyish green under long black
lashes, were penetrating in their clearness,
but curiously unstable. In their beauti-
ful depths there was waged forever a
strange conflict between honesty and in-
constancy. His face, pale and sallow, was
clothed with a trimly pointed, close, dark
beard ; and his hair, just a trifle more

42 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

abundant than the fashion of his wqrld
approved, was of a peculiar, tawny dark
bronze.

The air of the Settlement was healing
and tonic to the lungs, and before he had
breathed it a month he felt himself aglow
with joyous life. Before he had breathed
it a month he had won Kirstie MacAlister,
to whom he seemed little less than a god.
To him, on her part, she was a splendid
mystery. Even her peculiarities of gram-
mar and accent did no more than lend
a piquancy to her strangeness. They ap-
pealed as a rough, fresh flavour to his
wearied senses. Here, safe from the wast-
ing world, he would really paint, would
really write, and life would come to mean
something. One day he and Kirstie went
away on the rattling old mail-waggon, which
visited the Settlement twice a week. Ten
days later they came back as man and
wife, whereat the Settlement showed no
surprise whatever.

For a whole year after the birth of his
child, the great-eyed and fairy-like Mi-
randa, Frank Craig stayed at the Settle-

The Exiles from the Settlement 43

ment, seemingly content. He was loving,
admiring, tactful, proud of his dark im-
pressive wife, and the quickness with which
she caught his purity of speech. Then
one day he seemed restless. He talked
of business in the city — of a month's
absence that could not be avoided. With
a kind of terror at her heart Kirstie heard
him, but offered no hint of opposition to
so reasonable a purpose. And by the next
trip of the rattling mail-waggon he went,
leaving the Settlement dark to Kirstie's
eyes.

But — he never came back. The months
rolled by, and no word came of him ; and
Kirstie gnawed her heart out in proud
anguish. Inquiry throughout the cities of
the coast brought no hint of him. Then,
as the months climbed into years, that ten-
der humanity which resents misfortune as
a crime started a rumour that Kirstie had
been fooled. Perhaps there had been
no marriage, went the whisper at first.
" Served her right, with her airs, thinkin*
she could ketch a gentleman ! " — was the
next development of it. Kirstie, with her

44 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

superior air, had never been popular at
best ; and after her marriage the sufficiency
and cxclusiveness of her joy, coupled with
the comparative fineness of speech which
she adopted, made her the object of jeal-
ous criticism through all the country-side.
When the temple of her soaring happiness
came down about her ears, then was the
time for her chastening, and the gossips
of the Settlement took a hand in it with
right good-will. Nothing else worth talk-
ing about happened in that neighbourhood
during the next few years, so the little
rumour was cherished and nourished.
Presently it grew to a great scandal, and
the gossips came to persuade themselves
that things had not been as they should
be. Kirstie, they said, was being very
properly punished by Providence, and it
was well to show that they, chaste souls,
stood on the side of Providence. If Provi-
dence threw a stone, it was surely their
place to throw three.

At last some one of imagination vivid
beyond that of the common run added a
new feature. Some one else had heard

The Exiles from the Settlement 45

from some one else of some one having
seen Frank Craig in the city. There was
at first a difference of opinion as to what
city ; but that little discrepancy was soon
smoothed out. Then a woman was sug-
gested, and forthwith it appeared that he
had been seen driving with a handsome
woman, behind a spanking pair, with liv-
eried coachman and footman on the box.
Thus gradually the myth acquired a colour
to endear it to the unoccupied rural imagi-
nation. Kirstie's inquiries soon proved to
her the utter baselessness of the scandal ;
but she was too proud to refute what she
knew to be a cherished lie. She endured,
for Miranda's sake, till the dark face grew
lined, and the black eyes smouldered
dangerously, and she began to fear lest
she should do some one a hurt. At last,
having heard by chance of that deserted
clearing in the forest, she sold out her
cottage at a sacrifice and fled from the
bitter tongues.

Chapter IV
Miranda and the Furtive Folk

FROM the very first day of her new
life at the clearing, Miranda had
found it to her taste. Her mother loved
it for its peace, for its healing ; but to the
elvish child it had an incomparably deeper
and more positive appeal. For her the
place was not solitary. Her wide eyes
saw what Kirstie could not see; and to
her the forest edges — which she was not
allowed to pass — were full of most satis-
fying playmates just waiting for her to
invite their confidence. Meanwhile, she
had the two steers and the black-and-
white cow to talk to. Her mother noticed
that when she sat down in the grass by the
head of one of the animals, and began her
low mysterious communication, it would
stop its feeding and hearken motionless.
The black-and-red brindle. Star, would

46

Miranda and the Furtive Folk 47

sometimes follow her about like a dog,
as if spelled by the child's solemn eyes.
Then the solemn eyes on a sudden would
dance with light; her lips would break
into a peal of whimsical mirth^ shrill but
not loud; and the steer, with a flick of
his tail and an offended snort, would turn
again to his pasturing.

In a hole in one of the logs, just under
the eaves of the cabin, there was a family
of red squirrels, the four youngsters about
three-fourths grown and almost ready to
shift for themselves. No sooner had the
old lumberman and his son gone away
than the squirrels began to make them-
selves much at home. They saw in
Kirstie a huge and harmless creature,
whose presence in the cabin was useful
to scare away their enemies. But in
Miranda they found a sort of puzzling
kinship. The two old squirrels would
twitch up and down on the edge of the
roof, chattering shrilly to her, flirting their
airy tails, and stretching down their heads
to scan her searchingly with their keen
protruding eyes; while Miranda, just be-

48 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

low, would dance excitedly up and down
in response, nodding her head, jerking her
elbows, and chattering back at them in a
quick, shrill voice. It was a very differ-
ent voice to the soft murmurs in which
she talked to the cattle; but to the
squirrels it appeared satisfactory. Before
she had been a week at the clearing the
whole squirrel family seemed to regard
her as one of themselves, snatching bread
from her tiny brown fingers, and running
up her skirt to her shoulder whensoever
the freak possessed them. Kirs tie, they
ignored — the harmless, necessary Kirstie,
mother to Miranda.

No sooner were they fairly settled than
the child discovered an incongruity in her
gay pink calico frocks, and got her mother
to bury them out of sight in the deal
chest behind the door. She was at ease
now only in the dull, blue-grey home-
spun, which made her feel at one with
her quiet surroundings. Nevertheless the
vein of contradiction which streaked her
baby heart with bright inconsistencies bade
her demand always a bit of scarlet ribbon

Miranda and the Furtive Folk 49

about her neck. This whim Kirstie hu-
moured with a smile, recognizing in it a
perpetuation of the scarlet kerchief about
her own black hair. As for Miranda's
hair, it was black like her mother's when
seen in shadow; but in the sunshine it
showed certain tawny lights, a pledge of
her fetherhood to all who had known
Frank Craig.

So the autumn slipped by; and the
silent folk of the wood, watching her
curiously and unwinkingly as she played
while her mother built fences, came to
know Miranda as a creature in some way
not quite alien to themselves. They
knew that she often saw them when her
mother's eyes could not. Perceiving that
her mother did not quite understand her,
at times, when she tried to point out
pretty animals among the trees, the child
grew a little sensitive and reticent on the
subject ; and the furtive folk, who had at
first inclined to resent her inescapable
vision, presently realized her reserves and
were appeased. Her grey little sprite of
a figure might have darted in among the

50 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

trees, turned to a statue, and become sud-
denly as invisible as any lynx, or cat, or
hare, or pine-marten amongst them, ex-
cept, indeed, for that disquieting flame
of scarlet at her neck. This was a puzzle
to all the folk of the wood, continually
reminding them that this quiet-flitting
creature did not really bfelong to the
wood at all, but to the great woman with
the red about her head, whose axe made
so vexing a clamour amid the trees.
As for Kroof, the bear, that bit of scarlet
so interested her that one day, being
curious, she came much nearer than she
intended. Miranda saw her, of course,
and gazed with wide-eyed longing for the
"great big dog" as a playmate. Just
then Kirstie saw her, too — very close
at hand, and very huge.

For the first time, Kirstie Craig felt
something like fear, not for herself, but
for the child. Thrusting Miranda roughly
behind her, she clutched her axe, and
stood motionless, erect and formidable,
awaiting attack. Her great black eyes
blazed ominously upon the intruder. But

:

Minuida and the FurtiTe FoQc 51

E^ioo^ wdl filled vidi hte bcnies, and
sweet wild iools» and hiMicjcoinb, was in
most amiaMc hninoiir, and jost shambled
off laz3 J wiien she saw herself detected ;
whcie up o n Kirsde, widi a diort Ln^h of
relief threw down her axe and snatched
Ac child to her breast. Nliranda, how^
crer, was weqiing salt tears of disappoint-

^ I want i^ mother," she sobbed ; ^die
nke Ing dog, Toa scared it awar."

Kimie had heard more than' enoogh
about the dc^.

^Hark now, NCianda," she said se-
verdT, giving her shoahfcr a sHght shake
to enforce attentuxL, ^ Yoa just lemem-
ber wbat I say. That ain't a dog; tiax^s
a bear: s teoTy I sar! And don't Toa
crer go near i^ or itll eat joa up. Mind
yoo now, Miranda, or 111 just whip joa
wdL-

Kirsde was a little fluttered and thrown
off her poise at the idea of Mlrzndz en-
coontering the great animal alone, and
perhaps attempti ng to bring it home to
play with; so she forgot for a moment

g2 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

the wonted stringency of her logic. As
for Miranda, she consented to obey, and
held her tongue; but she clung secretly
to her own opinion on the subject of the
big dog. She knew very well that the
fascinating animal did not want to eat
her; and her mother's order seemed to
her just one of those bits of maternal per-
versity which nobody can ever hope to
understand.

The incident, however, overshadowed
the child's buoyant spirits for the best
part of two whole days. It thrust so very
far off the time she hoped for, when she
might know and talk to the shy, furtive
folk of the wood, with their strange, un-
winking eyes. Her mother kept her now
ever close to her skirts. She had no one
to talk to about the things her mother
did not understand, except the steers and
the black-and-white cow, and the rather
irrepressible squirrels.

The winter, which presently fell white
and soundless and sparkling about the
lonely cabin, was to Miranda full of
events. Before the snow Kirstie had re-

Miranda and the Furtive Folk 53

paired the old lean-to, turning it into a
fowl-house; and now they had six prim
hens to occupy it, and a splendid, flame-
red cock who crowed most loftily. Mi-
randa felt that this proud bird despised
her, so she did not get on very well with
him ; but the hens were amiable, if unin-
teresting, and it was a perennial joy to
search out their eggs in the loft or the
corners of the stalls. Then there were
the paths to be kept clear after every
snow-fall, — the path to the spring, the
path to the barn door and hen-house, the
path to the woodpile. Uncle Dave had
made her a hand-sled, and she had the
exhilarating duty of hauling in the wood
from the pile as fast as her mother could
split it. It was a spirited race, this, in
which her mother somehow always man-
aged to keep just about one stick ahead.
And the fishing — this was a great
event, coming about once a week, if the
weather suited. Both Kirstie and Mi-
randa were semi-vegetarians. Frank Craig
had been a decryer of flesh-meat, one who
would have chosen to live on fruits and

54 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

roots and grains and eggs, had not his
body cried out against the theory of his
brain. But he had so far infected his wife
with his prejudice that neither she nor the
child now touched meat in any form. The
aversion, artificial on Kirstie's part, was
instinctive on Miranda's. But as for fish
— fish seemed to them both quite another
matter. Even Miranda of the sympathies
and the perceptions had no sense of fellow-
ship for these cold-blooded, clammy, un-
pleasant things. She had a fierce little
delight in catching them ; she had a con-
tented joy in eating them when fried to a
savory brown in butter and yellow corn-
meal. For Miranda was very close to
Nature, and Nature laughs at consistency.
The fishing in which Miranda so de-
lighted took place in winter at the lake.
When the weather seemed quite settled,
Kirstie would set out on her strong snow-
shoes, with Miranda, on her fairy fac-
similes of them, striding bravely beside
her, and fellow the long, white trail down
to the lake. Even to Miranda's discern-
ing eyes the trail was lonely now, for most

Miranda and the Furtive Folk 55

of the forest folk were either asleep, or
abroad, or fearful lest their tinted coats
should reveal them against the snowy sur-
face. Once in a while she detected the
hare squatting under a spruce bush, look-
ing like a figure of snow in his winter
coat ; and once or twice, too, she saw the
weasel, white now, with but a black tip to
his tail as a warning to all who had cause
to dread his cruelty. Miranda knew noth-
ing about him, but she did not quite like
the weasel, which was just as well, seeing
that the weasel hated Miranda and all the
world besides. As for the lynx and the
brown cat, they kept warily aloof in their
winter shyness. The wood-mice were
asleep, — warm, furry balls buried in their
dry nests far from sight ; and Kroof, too,
was dreaming away the frozen months in
a hollow under a pine root, with five or
six feet of snow drifted over her door to
keep her sleep unjarred.

Arrived at the lake, Kirstie would cut
two holes through the ice with her nimble
axe, bait two hooks with bits of fat pork,
and put a line into Miranda's little mit*

g6 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

tened hands. The trout in the lake were
numerous and hungry; and somehow
Miranda's hook had ever the more
deadly fascination for them, and Mi-
randa's catch would outnumber Kirstie's
by often three to one. Though her
whole small being seemed absorbed in
the fierce game, Miranda was all the time
vividly aware of the white immensity en-
folding her. The lifeless white level of
the lake ; the encircling shores all white ;
the higher fringe of trees, black beneath,
but deeply garmented with white; the
steep mountain-side, at the foot of the
lake, all white ; and over-brooding, glim-
mering, opalescent, fathomless, the flat
white arch of sky. Across the whiteness
of the mountain-side, one day, Miranda
saw a dark beast moving, a beast that
looked to her like a great cat. She saw
it halt, gazing down at them ; and even at
that distance she could see it stretch wide
its formidable jaws. A second more and
she heard the cry which came from those
formidable jaws, — a high, harsh, screech-
ing wail, which amused her so that she

Miranda and the Furtive Folk 57

forgot to land a fish. But her mother
seemed troubled at the sound. She
gazed very steadily for some seconds at
the far-off shape, and then said : " Pan-
thers, Miranda ! I don't mind bears ; but
with panthers we've got to keep our eyes
open. I reckon we'll get home before
sundown to-day ; and mind you keep
right close by me every step."

All this solicitude seemed to Miranda
a lamentable mistake. She had no doubt
in her own mind that the panther would
be nice to play with.

As I have said, the winter was for Mi-
randa full of events. Twice, as she was
carrying out the morning dish of hot
potatoes and meal to the hens, she saw
Ten-Tine, the bull caribou, cross the clear-
ing with measured stately tread, his curi-
ous, patchy antlers held high, his muzzle
stretched straight ahead of him, his de-
mure cows at his heels. This was before
the snow lay deep in the forest. Later
on in the winter she would look out with
eager interest every morning to see what
visitors had been about the cabin during

58 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

the night. Sometimes there was a fox
track, very dainty, cleanly indented, and
regular, showing that the animal who made
it knew where he was going and had some-
thing definite in view. Hare tracks there
were sure to be — she soon came to rec-
ognize those three-toed, triplicate clusters
of impressions, stamped deeply upon the
snow by the long, elastic jump. When-
ever there was a weasel track, — narrow,
finely pointed, treacherously innocent, —
it was sure to be closely parallel to that
of a leaping hare ; and Miranda soon ap-
prehended, by that instinct of hers, that
the companionship was not like to be well
for the hare. Once, to her horror, she
found that a hare track ended suddenly,
right under the cabin window, in a blood-
stained patch, bestrewn with fur and
bones. All about it the snow was swept
as if by wings, and two strange foot-
prints told the story. They were long,
these two footprints — forked, with deep
hooks for toes, and an obscure sort of
brush mark behind them. This was
where the owl had sat up on the snow

Miranda and the Furtive Folk 59

for a few minutes after dining, to ponder
on the merits of the general order of
things, and of a good meal in particular.
Miranda's imagination painted a picture
of the big bird sitting there in the moon-
light beside the bloody bones, his round,
horned head turning slowly from one side
to the other, his hooked beak snapping
now and again in reminiscence, his sharp
eyes wide open and flaming. There was
also the track of a fox, which had come
up from the direction of the barn, investi-
gated the scene of action, and gone off at
a sharp, decisive angle toward the woods.
Miranda had no clew to tell her how
stealthily that fox had come, or how nearly
he had succeeded in catching an owl for
his breakfast ; but from that morning she
bore a grudge against owls, and never could
hear without a flash of wrath their hollow
two-hoo-hoO'Whoo-00 echoing solemnly from
the heart of the pinewood.

But the owl was not the only bird that
Miranda knew that winter. Well along
In January, when the haws were all gone,
and most of the withered rowan-berries

6o The Heart of the Ancient Wood

had been eaten, and famine threatened
such of the bird-folk as had not jour-
neyed south, there came to the cabin brisk
foraging flocks of the ivory-billed snow-
bird. For these Miranda had crumbs
ready always, and as word of her bounty
went abroad in the forest, her feathered
pensioners increased. Even a hungry crow
would come now and then, glossy and side-
ling, watchful and audacious, to share the
hospitality of this kind Miranda of the
crumbs. She liked the crows, and would
hear no ill of them from her mother ; but
most of all she liked those big, rosy-
headed, trustful children, the pine-gros-
beaks, who would almost let her take them
in her hands. Whenever their wandering
flocks came down to her, she held winter
carnival for them.

During those days when it was not fine
enough to go out, — when the snow drove
in great swirls and phantom armies across
the open, and a dull roar came from the
straining forest, and the fowls went to
roost at midday, and the cattle munched
contentedly in their stanchions, glad to be

Minuida and the Furtive FcSk 6i

shut In, — then the cabin sfmifH very
pleasant to Miruida. On such days the
drifts were sometimes piled haUway up
the windows. On such days the dry logs
on the hearth blazed more brightly than
their wont,and die flames sang more mer-
rily up the chimney. On such days die
piles of hot buckwheat cakes, drenched in
butter and brown molasses, tasted more
richly toothsome than at any time else,
and on such davs she learned to knit.
This was very interesting. At first she
knit gay black-and-red garters for her
mother; and then, speedily mastering
diis nufimentary process, she was fairly
launched on a stocking, with four needles.
The stocking, of course, was for her
mother, who would not find fault if it
were knitted too tighdy here and too
loosely there. As for Kirstie herself, her
nimble needles would click all day, turn-
ing out socks and mittens of wonderful
thickness to supply the steady market of
the lumber camps.

One night, after just such a cosey, shut-
in day, Miranda was awakened by a

6i The Heart of the Ancient Wood

scratching sound on the roof. Through-
out the cold weather Miranda slept with
her mother in the main room, in a broad
new bunk which had been substituted for
the narrow one wherein Old Dave had
slept on his first visit to the clearing.
Miranda caught her mother's arm, and
shook it gently. But Kirstie was already
awake, lying with wide eyes, listening.

"What's that, mother, trying to get
in ? " asked the child in a whisper.

" Hush-sh-sh," replied Kirstie, laying
her fingers on the child's mouth.

The scratching came louder now, as
the light snow was swept clear and the
inquisitive claws reached the bark. Then
it stopped. After a second or two of
silence there was a loud, blowing sound,
as if the visitor were clearing his nostrils
from the snow and cold. This was fol-
lowed by two or three long, penetrating
sniffs, so curiously hungry in their sug-
gestion that even Miranda's dauntless lit-
tle heart beat very fast. As for Kirstie,
she was decidedly nervous. Springing
out of bed she ran to the hearth, raked

Miranda and the Furtive Folk 63

the coals from the ashes, fanned them,
heaped on birch bark and dry wood, and
in a moment had a great blaze roaring up
the chimney-throat. The glow from the
windows streamed far out across the snow.
To the visitor it proved disconcerting.
There was one more sharp rattle of claws
upon the roof, then a fluffy thump below
the eaves. The snow had stopped falling
hours before; and when, at daylight, Kirstie
opened the door, there was the deep hollow
where the panther had jumped down, and
there was the floundering trail where he
had fled.

This incident made Miranda amend,
in some degree, her first opinion of pan-
thers.

Chapter V

Kroof, the She-bear

SPRING came early to the clearing
that year. Kirsde's autumn fur-
rows^ dark and steaming, began to show
in patches through the diminished snow.
The chips before the house and the litter
about the bam, drawing the sun strongly,
were first of all uncovered; and over
them, as to the conquest of new worlds,
the haughty cock led forth his dames to
scratch. ^^ Saunders," Miranda had called
him, in remembrance of a strutting beau
at the Settlement; and with the advent
of April cheer, and an increasing abun-
dance of eggs, and an ever resounding
cackle from his complacent partlets, his
conceit became insufferable. One morn-
ing, when something she did offended his
dignity, he had the presumption to face

her with beak advanced and wide-ruffled

64

Kroof, the She-bear 65

neck feathers. But Saunders did not
know Miranda. Quick as a flash of
light she seized him by the legs, whirled
him around her head, and flung him head-
long, squawking with fear and shame, upon
his own dunghill. It took him a good
hour to recover his self-esteem, but after
that Miranda stood out in his eyes as the
one creature in the world to be respected.

When the clearing was quite bare, ex-
cept along the edges of the forest, and
Kirstie was again at work on her fencing,
the black-and-white cow gave birth to a
black-and-white calf, which Miranda at
once claimed as her own property. It
was a very wobbly, knock-kneed little
heifer; but Miranda admired it im-
mensely, and with lofty disregard of its
sex, christened it Michael.

About this time the snow shrank away
from her hollow under the pine root, and
Kroof came forth to sun herself. She
had lived all winter on nothing but the
fat stored up on the spaces of her capa-
cious frame. Nevertheless she was not
famished — she had still a reserve to come

66 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

and go on, till food should be abundant.
A few days after waking up she bore a
cub. It was the custom of her kind to
bear two cubs at a birth ; but Kroof,
besides being by long odds the biggest
she-bear ever known in that region, had a
pronounced individuality of her own, and
was just as well satisfied with herself over
one cub as over two.

The hollow under the pine root was
warm and softly lined — a condition quite
indispensable to the newcomer, which
was about as unlike a bear as any baby
creature of its size could well manage to
be. It was blind, helpless, whimpering,
more shapeless and clumsy-looking than
the clumsiest conceivable pup, and almost
naked. Its tender, hairless hide looked a
poor thing to confront the world with ;
but its appetite was astounding, and
KrooPs milk inexhaustible. In a few
days a soft dark fur began to appear. As
the mother sat, hour by hour, watching
it and suckling it, half erect upon her
haunches, her fore legs braced wide apart,
her head stretched as far down as possible.

Kroof, the She-bear 67

her narrow red tongue hanging out to one
side, her eyes half closed in rapture, it
seemed to grow visibly beneath her ab-
sorbing gaze. Before four weeks had
passed, the cub was covered with a jet
black coat, soft and glossy. This being
the case, he thought it time to open his
eyes and look about.

He was now about the size of a small
cat, but of a much heavier build. His
head, at this age, was shorter for its
breadth than his mother's ; the ears much
larger, fan-like and conspicuous. His
eyes, very softly vague at first, soon
acquired a humorous, mischievous ex-
pression, which went aptly with the erect,
inquisitive ears. Altogether he was a
fine baby — a fair justification of Kroof 's
pride.

The spring being now fairly forward,
and pale, whitish-green shoots upthrust-
ing themselves numerously through the
dead leaves, and the big crimson leaf-bud
of the skunk-cabbage vividly punctuating
the sombreness of the swamp, Kroof led
her infant forth to view their world. He

68 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

had no such severe and continued educa-
tion to undergo as that which falls to the
lot of other youngsters among the folk of
the ancient wood. For those others the
first lesson, the hardest and the most
tremendous in its necessity, was how to
avoid their enemies. With this lesson
ill-learned, all others found brief term ;
for the noiseless drama, in which all the
folk of the forest had their parts, moved
ever, through few scenes or through many,
to a tragic close. But the bear, being for
the most part dominant, had his immuni-
ties. Even the panther, swift and fierce
and masterful, never deliberately sought
quarrel with the bear, being mindful of
his disastrous clutch and the lightning
sweep of his paw. The bear-cub, there-
fore, going with its mother till almost full
grown, gave no thought at all to enemies ;
and the cub with such a giantess as Kroof
for its mother might safely make a mock
even at panthers. Kroof 's cub had thus
but simple things to learn, following close
at his mother's flank. During the first
blind weeks of his cubhood he had, indeed.

Kroof, the She-bear 69

to acquire the prime virtue of silence, which
was not easy, for he lovdd to whimper and
grumble in a comfortable little fashion of
his own. This was all right while Kroof
was at home ; but when she was out forag-
ing, then silence was the thing. This he
learned, partly from Kroof *s admonitions,
partly from a deep-seated instinct ; and
whenever he was left alone, he held his
tongue. There was always the possibility,
slight but unpleasant, of a fox or a brown
cat noting KrooPs absence, and seizing
the chance to savour a delicate morsel of
sucking bear.

Wandering the silent woods with Kroof,
the cub would sniff carefully at the moist
earth and budding shoots wheresoever his
mother stopped to dig. He thus learned
where to find the starchy roots which
form so large a part of the bear's food in
spring. He fopnd out the important dif-
ference between the sweet groundnuts
and the fiery bitter bulb of the arum, or
Indian turnip ; and he learned to go
over the grassy meadows by the lake and
dig unerringly for the wild bean's nour-

70 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

ishing tubers. He discovered, also, what
old stumps to tear apart when he wanted
a pleasantly acid tonic dose of the larvae
of the wood-ant. Among these serious
occupations he would gambol between his
mother's feet, or caper hilariously on his
hind legs. Soon he would have been
taught to detect a bee tree, and to rob it
of its delectable stores without getting his
eyes stung out; but just then the myste-
rious forest fates dropped the curtain on
his merry little play, as a reminder that
not even for the great black bear could
the rule of doom be relaxed.

KrooPs first wanderings with the cub
were in the neighbourhood of the clear-
ing, where both were sometimes seen by
Miranda. The sight of the cub so over-
joyed her that she departed from her
usual reticence as to the forest-folk, and
told her mother about the lovely, glossy
little dog that the nice, great big dog took
about with her. The only result was that
Kirstie gave her a sharp warning.

" Dog !" she exclaimed severely ; "didn't
I tell you, Miranda, it was a bear ? Bears

u^^ Mm^ waasc J ibx -utm, ym. tss3L

ish iknsig fitunu^ invux^ iasr wxn, ^ix-

lead dke ndi vi^ so^iC* Tie Jtirt^sr

and dred Hm; k^ ^sks: ifwasaaust ie ti^tnuc
throw faiixttdtf' dgnrs ut va v^€j wr^
ymky-whaiJt »i« vf prsia« it tie ^jar,
and tdbse to ^ a ftt^^ ^Earner, lii:r it
spite of dbe appcs3 ^ 3q3^ oxczzacal Irrie
black snout, b^ tar*, aad tBczjc^czq^ era,
old Kroof would h/^xi losk itsrtjr rll ie
was g^ enoo^ to jum^ tip zzd. t^zju^w
the march. With the ezercbe he gc/t a
little leaner, bat much harder, and soon
came to delight in the widest wandering.
Nothing could tire him, and at the end
of the journey he would chase rabbits, or
weasels, or other elusive creatures, till con-

72 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

victed of futility by his mother's sarcastic
comments.

These wide wanderings were, indeed,
the making of him, so that he promised to
rival Kroof herself in prowess and stature;
but alas ! poor cub, they were also his un-
doing. Had he stayed at home — but
even that might have little availed, for
among the folk of the wood it is right at
home that fate most surely strikes.

One day they two were exploring far
over in the next valley — the valley of
the Quah-Davic, a tract little familiar to
Kroof herself. At the noon hour Kroof
lay down in a little hollow of coolness
beside a spring that drip-dropy drip-dropy
drip-dropped from the face of a green rock.
The cub, however, went untiringly explor-
ing the thickets for fifty yards about, out
of sight, indeed, but scrupulously never
out of ear-shot.

Near one of these thickets his nostrils
caught a new and enthralling savour. He
had never, in his brief life, smelled any-
thing at all like it, but an unerring instinct
told him it was the smell of something very

Kroof, the She-bear 73

good to eat. Pushing through the leafage
he came upon the source of the fragrance.
Under a slanting structure of logs he found
a piece of flesh, yellowish-white, streaked
thickly with dark reddish-brown, — and,
oh, so sweet smelling ! It was stuck tempt-
ingly on a forked point of wood. His ears
stood up very wide and high in his eager-
ness. His sensitive nostrils wrinkled as
he snified at the tempting find. He de-
cided that he would just taste it, and then
go fetch his mother. But it was a little
high up for him. He rose, set his small
white teeth into it, clutched it with his soft
forepaws, and flung his whole weight upon
it to pull it down.

Kroof, dozing in her hollow of coolness,
heard a small agonized screech, cut short
horribly. On the instant her great body
went tearing in a panic through the under-
brush. She found poor cub crushed flat
under the huge timbers of "a dead-fall,"
his glossy head and one paw sticking out
piteously, his little red tongue protruding
from his distorted mouth.

Kroof needed no second look to know

74 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

in her heart he was dead, stone dead ; but
in the rage of her grief she would not ac-
knowledge it. She tore madly at the
great timber, — so huge a thing to set to
crush so small a life, — and so astonishing
was the strength of her claws and her vast
forearms that in the course of half an
hour she had the trap fairly demolished.
Softly she removed the crushed and shape-
less body, licking the mouth, the nostrils,
the pitifully staring eyes ; snuggling it
lightly as a breath, and moaning over it.
She would lift the head a little with her
paw, and redouble her caresses as it fell
limply aside. Then it grew cold. This
was testimony she could not pretend to
ignore. She ceased the caresses which
proved so vain to keep warmth in the little
body she loved. With her snout held
high in air she turned around slowly twice,
as if in an appeal to some power not clearly
apprehended ; then, without another glance
at her dead, she rushed off madly through
the forest.

All night she wandered aimlessly, hither
and thither through the low Quah-Davic

Kroof, the She-bear 75

valley, over the lower slopes of the moun-
tain, through tracts where she had never
been, but of which she took no note ; and
toward noon of the following day she found
herself once more in the ancient wood, not
far from the clearing. She avoided widely
the old den under the pine root, and at
last threw herself down, worn out and
with unsuckled teats fiercely aching, behind
the trunk of a fallen hemlock.

She slept heavily for an hour or two.
Then she was awakened by the crying of
a child. She knew it at once for Mi-
randa's voice ; and being in someway stirred
by it, in spite of the preoccupation of her
pain, she got up and moved noiselessly
toward the sound.

Chapter VI

The Initiation of Miranda

THAT same day, just after noon-
meat, when Miranda had gone out
with the scraps in a yellow bowl to feed
the hens, Kirstie had been taken with
what the people at the Settlement would
have called "a turn." All the morning
she had felt unusually oppressed by the
heat, but had thought little of it. Now,
as she was wiping the dishes, she quite
unaccountably dropped one of them on
the floor. The crash aroused her. She
saw with a pang that it was Miranda's
little plate of many colours. Then things
turned black about her. She just managed
to reel across to the bunk, and straight-
way fell upon it in a kind of faint. From
this state she passed into a heavy sleep,
which lasted for several hours, and prob-
ably saved her from some violent sickness.

76

The Initiation of Miranda 77

When Miranda had fed the hens she
did not go straight back to her mother.
Instead, she wandered off toward the
edge of the dark firwood, where it came
down close behind the cabin. The broad
light of the open fields, now green with
buckwheat, threw a living illumination
far in among the cool arcades.

Between the straight grey trunks Mi-
randa's clear eyes saw something move.

She liked it very much indeed. It
looked to her extremely like a cat, only
larger than any cat she had seen at the
Settlement, taller on its legs, and with a
queer, thick stump of a tail. In fact, it
was a cat, the brown cat, or lesser lynx.
Its coat was a red brown, finely mottled
with a paler shade. It had straight brushes
of bristles on the tips of its ears, like its
big cousin, the Canada lynx, only much
less conspicuous than his ; and the expres-
sion on the moonlike round of its face
was both fierce and shy. But it was a cat,
plainly enough; and Miranda's heart went
out to it, as it sat up there in the shadows,
watching her steadily with wide pale eyes.

78 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

" Oh, pretty pussy ! pretty pussy ! '*
called Miranda, stretching out her hands
to it coaxingly, and running into the
wood.

The brown cat waited unwinking till
she was about ten paces ofF, then turned
and darted deeper into the shadows.
When it was all but out of sight it
stopped, turned again, and sat up to
watch the eager child. It seemed curious
as to the bit of scarlet at her neck. Mi-
randa was now absorbed in the pursuit,
and sanguine of catching the beautiful
pussy. This time she was suffered to
come almost within grasping distance,
before the animal again wheeled with an
angry pfuff and darted away. Disap-
pointed, but not discouraged, Miranda
followed again ; and the little play was
repeated, with slight variation, till her
great, eyes were full of blinding tears, and
she was ready to drop with weariness.
Then the malicious cat, tired of the game
and no longer curious about the ribbon,
vanished altogether; and Miranda sat
down to cry.

The Initiation of Miranda 79

But she was not a child to make much
fuss over a small disappointment. In a
very few minutes she jumped up, dried
her eyes with the backs of her tiny fists,
and started, as she thought, straight for
home. At first she ran, thinking her
mother might be troubled at her absence.
But not coming to the open as soon as
she expected, she stopped, looked about
her very carefully, and then walked for-
ward with continual circumspection. She
walked on, and on, till she knew she had
gone far enough to reach home five times
over. Her feet faltered, and then she
stood quite still, helplessly. She knew
that she was lost. All at once the ancient
wood, the wood she had longed for, the
wood whose darkness she had never
feared, became lonely, menacing, terrible.
She broke into loud wailing.

This is what Kroof had heard and was
coming to investigate. But other ears
heard it, too.

A tawny form, many times larger than
the perfidious brown cat, but not alto-
gether unlike it in shape, crept stealthily

8o The Heart of the Ancient Wood

toward the sound. Though his limbs
looked heavy, his paws large in com-
parison with his lank body and small,
flat, cruel head, his movements neverthe-
less were noiseless as light. At each low-
stooping, sinuous step, his tail twitched
nervously. When he caught sight of
the crying child he stopped, and then
crept up more stealthily than before,
crouching so low that his belly almost
touched the ground, his neck stretched
out in line with his tail.

He made absolutely no sound, yet some-
thing within Miranda's sensitive brain
heard him, before he was quite within
springing distance. She stopped her cry-
ing, glanced suddenly around, and fixed
a darkly clear look upon his glaring green
eyes. Poor little frightened and lonely
child though she was, there was yet some-
thing subtly disturbing to the beast in
that steady gaze of hers. It was the
empty gloom, the state of being lost^
which had made Miranda's fear. Of an
animal, however fierce, she had no in-
stinctive terror ; and now, though she

The Initiation of Miranda 8i

knew that the crael-eyed beast before her
was the panther, it was a sort of indig-
nant curiosity that was uppermost in her
mind.

The beast shifted his eyes uneasily
under her unwavering look. He experi-
enced a moment's indecision as to whether
or not it was well, after all, to meddle
with this unterrified, clear-gazing creature.
Then an anger grew within him. He fixed
his hypnotizing stare more resolutely, and
lashed his tail with angry jerks. He was
working himself up to the final and fatal
spring, while Miranda watched him.

Just then a strange thing happened.
Out from behind a boulder, whence she
had been eying the situation, shambled
the huge black form of Kroof. She was
at Miranda's side in an instant ; and ris-
ing upon her hind quarters, a towering,
indomitable bulk, she squealed defiance to
the panther. As soon as Miranda saw
her "great big dog," — which she knew
quite well, however, to be a bear, — she
seemed to realize how frightened she had
been of the panther ; and she recognized

82 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

that strong defence had come. With a
convulsive sob she sprang and hid her
tear-stained little face in the bear's shaggy
flank, clutching at the soft fur with both
hands. To this impetuous embrace Kroof
paid no attention, but continued to glower
menacingly at the panther.

As for the panther, he was unaflFectedly
astonished. He lost his stealthy, crouch-
ing, concentrated attitude, and rose to his
full height; lifted his head, dropped his
tail, and stared at the phenomenon. If
this child was a protegee of Kroof *s, he
wanted none of her ; for it would be a day
of famine indeed when he would wish to
force conclusions with the giant she-bear.
Moreover, he recognized some sort of
power and prerogative in Miranda her-
self, some right of sovereignty, as it were,
which had made it distinctly hard for him
to attack her even while she had no other
defence than her disconcerting gaze.
Now, however, he saw clearly that there
was something very mysterious indeed
about her. He decided that it would be
well to have an understanding with his

The Iniriarion of Miranda 83

mate — who was more savage though less
powerful than himself — that the child
should not be meddled with, no matter
what chance should arise. With this con-
clusion he wheeled about, and walked off
indifferently, moving with head erect and
a casual air. One would hardly have
known him for the stealthy monster of
five minutes before.

When he was gone Kroof lay down on
her side and gently coaxed Miranda against
her body. Her bereaved heart went out
to the child. Her swollen teats, too, were
hotly aching, and she had a kind of hope
that Miranda would ease that hurt. But
this, of course, never came within scope
of the child's remotest idea. In every
other respect, however, she showed her-
self most appreciative of Kroof 's atten-
tions, stroking her with light little hands,
and murmuring to her much musical
endearment, to which Kroof lent earnest
ear. Then, laying her head on the fine
fiir of the bear's belly, she suddenly went
fast asleep, being wearied by her wander-
ings and her emotions.

84 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

Late in the afternoon, toward milking-
time, Kirsde aroused herself. She sat up
with a startled air in her bunk in the
corner of the cabin. Through the win-
dow came the rays of the westering sun.
She felt troubled at having been so long
asleep. And where could Miranda be?
She arose, tottering for a moment, but
soon found herself steady ; and then she
realized that she had slept off a sickness.
She went to the door. The hens were
diligently scratching in the dust, and
Saunders eyed her with tolerance. At the
fence beyond the barn the black-and-white
cow lowed for the milking ; and from her
tether at the other side of the buckwheat
field, Michael, the calf, bleated for her
supper of milk and hay tea. But Miranda
was nowhere to be seen.

"Miranda!" she called. And then
louder, — and yet louder, — and at last
with a piercing wail of anguish, as it burst
upon her that Miranda was gone. The
sunlit clearing, the grey cabin, the dark
forest edges, all seemed to whirl and swim
about her for an instant. It was only for

The Initiation of Miranda 85

an instant. Then she snatched up the
axe from the chopping log, and with a
sure instinct darted into that tongue of
fir woods just behind the house.

Straight ahead she plunged, as if fol-
lowing a plain trwl ; though in truth she
was little learned in woodcraft, and by her
mere eyes could scarce have tracked an
elephant. But her heart was clutched by
a grip of ice, and she went as one tranced.
All at once, however, over the mossy
crest of a rock, she saw a sight which
brought her to a standstill. Her eyes
and her mouth opened wide in sheer
amazement. Then the terrible tension
relaxed. A strong shudder passed through
her, and she was her steadfast self again.
A smile broke up the sober lines of her
lace.

" Sure enough," she muttered ; " the
child was right. She knows a sight more
about the beasts than I do."

And this is what she saw. Through
the hoary arcades of the firwood walked
a huge black bear, with none other than
Miranda trotting by its side, and playfully

86 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

stroking its rich coat. The great animal
would pause from time to time, merely to
nuzzle at the child with its snout or lick
her hand with its narrow red tongue ; but
the course it was making was straight for
the cabin. Kirstie stood motionless for
some minutes, watching the strange scene ;
then, stepping out from her shelter, she
hastened after them. So engrossed were
they with each other that she came up
undiscovered to within some twenty paces
of them. Then she called out : —

" Miranda, where have you been ? '*

The child stopped, looked around, but
still clung to Kroof 's fur.

"Oh, mother!" she cried, eager and
breathless, and trying to tell everything
at once, " I was all lost — and I was just
going to be eaten up — and the dear, good,
big bear came and frightened the panther
away — and we were just going home — and
do come and speak to the dear, lovely, big
bear ! Oh, don't let it go away ! don't let
it!"

But on this point Kroof had her own
views. It was Miranda she had adopted.

The Initiation of Miranda 87

not Kirstie; and she felt a kind of jeal-
ousy of Miranda's mother. Even while
Miranda was speaking, the bear swung
aside and briskly shambled off, leaving
the child half in tears.

It was a thrilling story which Miranda
had to tell her mother that evening, while
the black-and-white cow was getting milked,
and while Michael, the calf, was having its
supper of milk and hay tea. It made a
profound impression on Kirstie's quick
and tolerant mind. She at once realized
the value to Miranda of such an affection
as KrooPs. Most mothers would have
been crazed with foolish fear at the situa-
tion, but Kirstie Craig was of no such
weak stuff. She saw in it only a strong
shield for Miranda against the gravest
perils of the wood.

Chapter VII
The Intimates

AFTER this experience Miranda felt
herself initiated, as she had so longed
to be, into the full fellowship of the folk
of the ancient wood. Almost every day
Kroof came prowling about the edges of
the clearing. Miranda was sure to catch
sight of her before long and run to her
with joyous caresses. Farther than a few
steps into the open the big bear would not
come, having no desire to cultivate Kirstie,
or the cabin, or the cattle, or aught that
appertained to civilization. But Kirstie,
after watching from a courteous distance
a few of these strange interviews, wisely
gave the child a little more latitude.
Miranda was permitted to go a certain
fixed distance into the wood, but never so
far as quite to lose sight of the cabin ; and
this permission was only for such times as

88

The Intimates 89

she was with Kroof. Kirstie knew some-
thing about wild animals; and she knew
that the black bear, when it formed an
attachment, was inalienably and uncalcu-
latingly loyal to it.

As sometimes happens in an affection
which runs counter to the lines of kinship,
Kroof seemed more passionately devoted
to the child than she had been to her own
cub. She would gaze with eyes of rap-
ture, her mouth hanging half open in fool-
ish fondness, while Miranda, playing about
her, acquired innumerable secrets of forest-
lore. Whatsoever Miranda wanted her to
do, she would strive to do, as soon as she
could make out what it was ; for, in truth,
Miranda's speech, though very pleasant
to her ear, was not very intelligible to her
brain. On one point, however, she was
inflexible. Perhaps for a distance of thrice
her own length she would follow Miranda
out into the clearing, but farther than that
she would not go. Persuasions, petulance,
argument, tears — Miranda tried them all,
but in vain. When Miranda tried going
behind and pushing, or going in front

go The Heart of the Ancient Wood

and pulling, the beast liked it, and her
eyes would blink humorously. But her
mind was made up. This obstinacy, so
disappointing to Miranda, met with Kirs-
tie's unqualified but unexpressed approval.
She did not want Kroofs ponderous bulk
hanging about the house or loafing around
and getting in the way when she was at
work in the fields.

Though Kroof was averse to civiliza-
tion, she was at the same time sagacious
enough to see that she could not have
Miranda always with her in the woods.
She knew very well that the tall woman
with red on her head was a very superior
and mysterious kind of animal, — and
that Miranda was her cub, — a most su-
perior kind of cub, and always to be
regarded with a secret awe, but still a
cub, and belonging to the tall woman.
Therefore she was not aggrieved when
she found that she could not have Mi-
randa with her in the woods for more
than an hour or two at a time. In that
hour or two, however, much could be
done ; and Kroof tried to teach Miranda

The Intimates 91

many things which it is held good to
know among the folk of the ancient
wood. She would sniff at the mould
and dig up sweet-smelling roots; and
Miranda, observing the stems and leaves
of them, soon came to know all the edi-
ble roots of the neighbourhood. Kroof
showed her, also, the delicate dewberry,
the hauntingly delicious capillaire, hidden
under its trailing vines, the insipidly
sweet Indian pear, and the harmless but
rather cotton-woolly partridge-berry ; and
she taught her to shun the tempting pur-
ple fruit of the trillium, as well as the
deadly snake-berry. The blueberry, dear
alike to bears and men, did not grow in
the heavy-timbered forest, but Miranda
had known that fruit well from those ear-
liest days in the Settlement, when she had
so often stained her mouth with blueberry
pie. As for the scarlet clusters of the
pigeon-berry, carpeting the hillocks of
the pasture, Miranda needed no teach-
ing from Kroof to know that these were
good. Then, there were all sorts of for-
est fungi, of many shapes and colours, —

92 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

white, pink, delicate yellow, shining
orange covered with warts, creamy drab,
streaky green, and even strong crimson.
Toadstools, Miranda called them at first,
with indiscriminating dread and aversion.
But Krpof taught her better. Some, in-
deed, the red ones and the warty ones in
particular, the wise animal would dash to
pieces with her paw ; and these Miranda
understood to be bad. In fact, their very
appearance had something ominous in it,
and to Miranda's eye they had poison
written all over them in big letters. But
there was one very white and dainty-look-
ing, sweet-smelling fungus which she
would have sworn to as virtuous. As
soon as she saw it, she thought of a
peculiarly shy mushroom (she loved
mushrooms), and ran to pick it up in
triumph. But Kroof thrust her aside
with such rudeness that she fell over a
stump, much offended. Her indignation
died away, however, as she saw Kroof
tearing and stamping the pale mushrooms
to minutest fragments, with every mark
of loathing. From this Miranda gath-

The Intimates 93

ered that the beautiful toadstool was a
very monster of crime. It was, indeed;
for it was none other than the deadly
amanita, one small morsel of which
would have hushed Miranda into the
sleep which does not wake.

Though Miranda was safe under
KrooPs tutelage, it was perhaps just as
well for her at that period of her youth
that she was forbidden to stray from the
clearing. For there was, indeed, one
tribe among the folk of the wood against
whose anger KrooPs protection would
have very little availed. Had Miranda
gone roaming, she and Kroof, they might
have found a bee tree. It is doubtful if
KrooPs sagacity would have told her that
Miranda's skin was not adequate to an
enterprise against bee trees. The zealous
bear would have probably wanted honey
for the child, and the result would have
been such as to shake Kirstie's confidence
in KrooPs judgment.

There were, however, several well -in-
habited ant-logs in that narrow circuit
which Miranda was allowed to tread, and

94 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

on a certain afternoon Kroof discovered
one of these. She was much pleased.
Here was a chance to show Miranda
something very nice and very good for
her health. Having attracted the child's
attention, she ripped the rotten log to its
heart, and began licking up the swarming
insects and plump white larvae together.
Here was a treat ; but the incomprehen-
sible Miranda, with a shuddering scream,
ran away. Kroof was bewildered. She
finished the ants, however, while she was
about it. Whereafter she was called upon
to hear a long lecture from Miranda, to
the effect that ants were not good to eat,
and that it was very cruel to tear open
their nests and steal their eggs. Of
course, as Kroof did not at all understand
what she was driving at, there was no
room for an argument ; which, considering
the points involved, is much to be re-
gretted.

Though Miranda had now, so to speak,
the freedom of the wood, she was not
really intimate with any of the furtive folk,
saving only, of course, the irrepressible

The Intimates 95

squirrels who lived in the cabin roof. She
saw the wild creatures now very close at
hand, and they went about their business
under her eye without concern. They
realized that it was no use trying with
her their game of invisibility. No mat-
ter how perfect their stillness, no matter
how absolutely they made themselves one
with their surroundings, they felt her clear,
unwavering, friendly eyes look them
through and through. This was at first
a troubling mystery to them. Who was
this youngling, — for youth betrays itself
even to the most primitive perceptions, —
who, for all her youth, set their traditions
and elaborate devices so easily at naught ?
Their instincts told them, however, that
she was no foe to the weakest of them ;
and so they let her see them at their affairs
unabashed, though avoiding her with a
kind of careful awe.

Kroof, too, they all avoided, but with
a difference. They knew that she was
not averse to an occasional meal of flesh
meat, but that she would not greatly
trouble herself in pursuit of it. All they

96 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

had to do, these lesser folk of the wood,
was to keep at a safe distance from the
sweep of her mighty paw, and they felt
at ease in her neighbourhood. All but
the hare — he knew that Kroof considered
him and his long-eared children a special
delicacy, well worth the effort of a bear.
Miranda wondered why she could never
see anything of the hare when she was out
with Kroof. She did see him sometimes,
indeed ; but always at a distance, and for
an instant only. On these occasions,
Kroof did not see him at all ; and Mi-
randa soon came to realize that she could
see more clearly than even the furtive folk
themselves. They could hide themselves
from each other by stillness and by self-
effacement; but Miranda's eyes always
inexorably distinguished the ruddy fox
from the yellow-brown, rotten log on
which he flattened himself. She instantly
differentiated the moveless nuthatch from
the knot on the trunk, the squatting grouse
from the lichened stone, the wood-mouse
from the curled brown leaf, the crouching
wild-cat from the mottled branch. Con-

The Intimates 97

sequently the furtive folk gradually began
to pay her the tribute of ignoring her,
which meant that they trusted her to let
them alone. They kept their reserve;
but under her interested scrutiny the nut-
hatch would walk up the rough-barked
pine trunk and pick insects out from under
the grey scales ; the golden-winged wood-
pecker would hunt down the fat, white
grubs which he delighted in, and hammer
sharply on the dead wood a few feet above
her head ; the slim, brown stoat would
chase beetles among the tree roots, un-
troubled by her discreet proximity; the
beruffed cock-grouse would drum from
the top of his stump till the air was full
of the soft thunder of his vauntings, and
his half-grown brood would dust them-
selves in the deserted ant-hill in the sun-
niest corner of the clearing. Only the
pair of crows which, seeing great oppor-
tunities about the reoccupied clearing, had
taken up their dwelling in the top of a
tall spruce close behind the cabin, held
suspiciously aloof from Miranda. They
often talked her over, in harsh tones that

98 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

jarred the ancient stillness ; and they con-
sidered her intimacy with Kroof altogether
contrary to the order of things. Being
themselves exemplars of duplicity, they
were quite convinced that Miranda had
ulterior motives, too deep for them to
fathom ; and they therefore respected her
immensely. But they did not trust her,
of course. The shy rain-birds, however,
trusted her, and would whistle to each
other their long, melancholy calls foretell-
ing rain, even though she were standing
within a few steps of them, and staring at
them with all her might; and this was
a most unheard-of favour on the part of
the rain-birds, who are too reticent to let
themselves be heard when any one is near
enough to see them. There might be
three or four uttering their slow, inex-
pressibly pathetic cadences all around the
clearing ; but Kirstie could never catch a
glimpse of them, though many a time she
listened with deep longing in her heart
as their remote voices thrilled across the
dewy oncoming of the dusk.

Miranda saw the panther only once

The Intimates 99

again that year. It was about a month
after her meeting with Kroof. She was
alone, just upon the edge of the buck-
wheat field, and peering into the shadowy,
transparent stillness to see what she could
see. What she saw sent her little heart
straight up into her mouth. There, not
a dozen paces from her, lying flat along
a fallen tree, was the panther. He was
staring at her, with his eyes half shut.
Startled though she was, Miranda's expe-
rience with Kroof had made her very self-
confident. She stood moveless, staring
back into those dangerous, half-shut eyes.
After a moment or two the beautiful beast
arose and stretched himself with great
deliberation, reaching out and digging in
his claws, as an ordinary cat does when it
stretches. At the same time he yawned
prodigiously, so that it seemed to Miranda
he would surely split to his ears, and she
looked right into his great pink throat.
Then he stepped lightly down from the
tree, — on the side farthest from Miranda,
— and walked away with the air of not
wishing to intrude.

1

lOO The Heart of the Ancient Wood

This same summer, too, so momentous
in its events, Miranda first met Wapiti,
the delicate-antlered buck, and Ganner,
the big Canada lynx. Needless to say,
they were not in company. One morn-
ing, as she sat in a fence corner, absorbed
in building a little house of twigs around
a sick butterfly, she heard a loud snort
just at her elbow. Much startled, she
gave a little cry as she looked up, and
something jumped back from the fence.
She saw a bright brown head, crowned
with splendid, many-pronged antlers, and
a pair of large, liquid eyes looking at her
with mild wonder.

" Oh, you be-auttful deer, did I frighten
you ? " she cried, knowing the visitor by
pictures she had seen ; and she poked her
little hand through the fence in greeting.
The buck seemed very curious about the
scarlet ribbon at her neck, and eyed it
steadily for half a minute. Then he
came close up to the fence again, and
sniflfed her hand with his fine black nos-
trils, opening and closing them sensitively.
He let her stroke his smooth muzzle, and

The Intimates loi

held his head quite still under the caress-
ing of her hand. Then some unusual
sound caught his ear. It was Kirstie
hoeing potatoes near by; and presently
the furrow she was following brought her
into view behind the corner of the barn.
The scarlet kerchief on her hair flamed
hotly in the sun. The buck raised his
head high, and stared, and finally seemed
to decide that the apparition was a hostile
one. With a snort, and an impatient
stamp of his polished hoof, he wheeled
about and trotted off into the wood.

Her introduction to Ganner, the lynx,
was under less gracious auspices.

Michael, the calf, who had been grow-
ing excellently all summer, was kept teth-
ered during the daytime to a stake in a
corner of the wild-grass meadow, about
fifty yards from the edge of the forest.
A little nearer the cabin was a long
thicket of blackberry brakes and elder
bushes and wild clematis, forming a dense
tangle, in which Miranda had, with great
pains and at the cost of terrific scratches,
formed herself a delectable hiding-place.

I02 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

Here she would play house, and some-
times take a nap, in the hot mornings,
while her mother would be at work acres
away, at the very opposite side of the
clearing.

One day, about eleven in the morning,
Michael was lying at the limit of her
tether nearest the cabin, when she saw a
strange beast come out of the forest and
halt to look at her. The animal was of a
greyish rusty brown, very pale on the
belly and neck, and nearly as tall as
Michael herself; but its body was curi-
ously short in proportion to the length
of its powerful legs. It had a perfectly
round face, with round glaring eyes, long
stiff black tufts on the tips of its sharp-
pointed ears, and a fierce-looking, whitish
brown whisker brushed away, as it were,
from under its chin. Its tail was a mere
thick, brown stump of a tail, looking as if it
had been chopped off short. The creature
gazed all around, warily ; then crouched
low, its hind quarters rather higher in the
air than its fore shoulders, and stepping
softly, came straight for Michael.

The Intimates 103

Inexperienced as Michael was, she
knew that this was nothing less than
death itself approaching her. She sprang
up, her awkward legs spread wide apart,
her whole weight straining on the tether,
her eyes, rolling white, fixed in horror on
the dreadful object. From her throat
came a long, shrill bleat of appeal and
despair.

There was no mistaking that cry. It
brought Miranda from her playhouse in
an instant. In the next instant she took
in the situation. " Mother ! Mothe-e-er! "
she screamed at the top of her voice,
and flew to the defence of her beloved
Michael.

The lynx, at this unexpected interfer-
ence, stopped short. Miranda did not
look formidable, and he was not alarmed
by any means. But she looked unusual,
— and that bit of bright red at her throat
might mean something which he did not
understand, — and there was something
not quite natural, something to give him
pause, in a youngster displaying this reck-
less courage. For a second or two,

I04 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

therefore, he sat straight up like a cat,
considering ; and his tufted ears the while,
very erect, with the strange whiskers
under his chin, gave him an air that was
fiercely dignified. His hesitation, how-
ever, was but for a moment. Satisfied
that Miranda did not count, he came on
again, more swiftly ; and Miranda, seeing
that she had failed to frighten him away,
just flung her arms around Michael's
neck and screamed.

The scream should have reached Kirs-
tie's ear across the whole breadth of the
clearing; but a flaw of wind carried it
away, and the cabin intervened to dull its
edge. Other ears than Kirstie's, however,
heard it; heard, too, and understood
Michael's bleating. The black-and-white
cow was far away, in another pasture.
(Kirstie saw her running frantically up
and down along the fence, and thought
the flies were tormenting her.) But just
behind the thicket lay the two steers.
Bright and Star, contemplatively chew-
ing their midday cud. Both had risen
heavily to their feet at Michael's first

The Intimates 105

appeal. As Miranda's scream rang out,
Bright's sorrel head appeared around the
corner of the thicket, anxious to investi-
gate. He stopped at sight of Ganner,
held his muzzle high in air, snorted
loudly, and shook his head with a great
show of valour. Immediately after him
came Star, the black-and-white brindle.
But of a different temper was he. The
moment his eyes fell upon Michael's foe
and Miranda's, down went his long,
straight horns, up went his brindled tail,
and with a bellow of rage he charged.

The gaunt steer was an antagonist whom
Ganner had no stomach to face. With an
angry snarl, which showed Miranda a ter-
rifying set of white teeth in a very red
mouth, he turned his stump of a tail, laid
flat his tufted ears, and made for the forest
with long, splendid leaps, his exaggerated
hind legs seeming to volley him forward
like a ball. In about five seconds he was
out of sight among the trees; and Star,
snorting and switching his tail, stood paw-
ing the turf haughtily in front of Miranda
and Michael.

io6 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

It was Miranda who named the big
lynx " Ganner " that day ; because, as she
told her mother afterward, that was what
he said when Star came and drove him
away.

Chapter VIII
Axe and Antler

THE next winter went by in the main
much like the former one. But
more birds came to be fed as the season
advanced, because Miranda's fame had
gone abroad amongst them. The snow
was not so deep, the cold not so severe.
No panther caipe again to claw at their
roof by night. But there were certain
events which made the season stand out
sharply from all others in the eyes of both
Kirstie and Miranda.

Throughout December and January Wa-
piti, the buck, with two slim does accom-
panying him, would come and hang about
the barn for several days at a time, nibbling
at the scattered straw. With the two
steers. Star and Bright, Wapiti was not on
very good terms. They would sometimes
thrust at him resentfully, whereupon he

107

io8 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

would jump aside, as if on springs, stamp
twice sharply with his polished fore hoofs,
and level at them the fourteen threatening
spear points of his antlers. But the chal-
lenge never came to anything. As for the
black-and-white cow, she seemed to admire
Wapiti greatly, though he met her admi-
ration with the most lofty indifference.
One day Miranda let him and the two
does lick some coarse salt out of a dish,
after which enchanting experience all three
would follow her straight up to the cabin
door. They even took to following Kirs-
tie about, which pleased and flattered her
more than she would acknowledge to
Miranda, and earned them many a cold
buckwheat pancake. To them the cold
pancakes, though leathery and tough, were
a tit-bit of delight ; but along in January
they tore themselves away from such
raptures and removed to other feeding
grounds.

Toward spring, to Miranda's great de-
light, she made acquaintance with Ten-
Tine, the splendid bull caribou whom she
had just seen the winter before. He and

Axe and Antler 109

his antlered cows were migrating south-
ward by slow stages. They were getting
tired of the dry moss and lichen of the
barrens which lay a week's journey north-
ward from the clearing. They began to
crave the young shoots of willow and pop-
lar that would now be bursting with sap
along the more southerly streams. Look-
ing from the window one morning, before
the cattle had been let out, Miranda saw
Ten-Tine emerge from the woods and
start with long, swinging strides across the
open. His curiously flattened, leaf-like
antlers lay back on a level with his shoul-
ders, and his nose pointed straight before
him. The position was just the one to
enable him to go through the woods with-
out getting his horns entangled. From
the middle of his forehead projected, at
right angles to the rest of the antlers, two
broad, flat, palmated prongs, a curious en-
largement of the central ones. His cows,
whose antlers were little less splendid than
his own, but lacking in the frontal pro-
jection, followed at his heels. In colour
he was of a very light, whitish -drab.

no The Heart of the Ancient Wood

quite unlike the warm brown of Wapiti's
coat.

In passing the barn Ten-Tine caught
sight of some tempting fodder, and stopped
to try it. Kirstie's straw proved very much
to the taste of the whole herd. While
they were feeding delightedly, Miranda
stole out to make friends with them. She
took, as a tribute, a few handfuls of the
hens' buckwheat, in a bright yellow bowl.
As she approached, Ten-Tine lifted his
fine head and eyed her curiously. Had
it been the rutting season, he would no
doubt have straightway challenged her
to mortal combat. But now, unless he
saw a wolf, a panther, or a lynx, he was
good-tempered and inquisitive. This
small creature looked harmless, and there
was undoubtedly something quite remark-
able about her. What was that shining
thing which she held out in front of her ?
And what was that other very bright thing
around her neck? He stopped feeding,
and watched her intently, his head held
in an attitude of indecision, just a little
lower than his shoulders. The cows took

Axe and Antler iii

a look also, and felt curious, but were
concerned rather to satisfy their hunger
than their curiosity. They left the matter
easily to Ten-Tine.

Miranda had learned many things al-
ready from her year among the folk of
the wood. One of these things was that
all the furtive folk dreaded and resented
rough movement. Their manners were
always beyond reproach. The fiercest of
them moved ever with an aristocratic grace
and poise. They knew the difference be-
tween swiftness and haste. All abrupt-
ness they abhorred. In lines of beauty
they eluded their enemies. They killed
in curves.

She did not, therefore, attempt to go
straight up and take Ten-Tine's acquaint-
ance by storm. She paused discreetly
some dozen steps away, held out the dish
to him, and murmured her inarticulate,
soft persuasions. Not being versed in
the caribou tongue, she trusted the tones
of her voice to reveal her good intention.

Seeing that she would come no nearer,
Ten-Tine's curiosity refused to be balked.

112 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

But he was dubious, very dubious. Like
Wapiti, he stamped when he was in doubt ;
but the hoofs he stamped with were much
larger, broader, clumsier, less polished than
Wapiti*s, being formed for running over
such soft surfaces as bogland and snow
insufficiently packed, where Wapiti's trim
feet would cut through like knives.

Step by step he drew nearer. There
was something in Miranda's clear gaze
that gave him confidence. At length he
was near enough to touch the yellow bowl
with his flexible upper lip. He saw that
the bowl contained something. He ex-
tended his muzzle over the rim, and, to
Miranda's surprise, blew into it. The
grain flew in every direction, some of it
sticking to his own moist lips. He drew
back, a little startled. Then he licked his
lips ; and he liked the taste. Back went
his muzzle into the interesting bowl ; and,
after sniffing again very gently, he licked
up the whole contents.

" Oh, greedy ! " exclaimed Miranda, in
tender rebuke, and started back to the
cabin to get him some more.

Axe and Antler 113

"Wouldn't Saunders be cross," she
thought to herself, "if he knew I was
giving his buckwheat to the nice deer ? "

Ten-Tine followed close behind her,
sniffing inquisitively at the red ribbon on
her neck. When Miranda went in for the
buckwheat, he tried to enter with her, but
his antlers had too much spread for the
doorway. Kirstie, who was busy sweep-
ing, looked up in amazement as the great
head darkened her door.

"Drat the child!" she exclaimed;
" she'll be bringing all the beasts of the
wood in to live with us before long."

She did not grudge Ten-Tine the few
handfuls of buckwheat, however, though
he blew half of it over the floor so that she
had to sweep it up. When he had fin-
ished, and perceived that no more was
forthcoming, he backed oflT reluctantly
from the door and began smelling around
the window-sill, pushing his curious nose
tentatively against the glass.

Now it chanced that all the way down
from the barrens Ten-Tine and his little
herd had been hungrily pursued, although

1 14 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

they did not know it. Four of the great
grey timber wolves were on their track.
Savage but prudent, the wolves were un-
willing to attack the herd, for they knew
the caribou's fighting prowess. But they
awaited a chance to cut off one of the
cows and hunt her down alone. For days
they had kept the trail, faring very scantly
by the way ; and now they were both
ravenous and enraged. Emerging from
the woods, they saw the five cows at feed
by the barn, with Ten-Tine nowhere in
sight. The opportunity was too rare a
one to miss. They seized it. All four
gaunt forms abreast, they came gallop-
ing across the snow in silence, their long,
grey snouts wrinkled, their white fangs
uncovered, their grey-and-white shoulders
rising and falling in unison, their cloudy
tails floating straight out behind them.

Just in time the cows saw them coming.
There was a half second of motionless con-
sternation. Then nimbly they sprang into
a circle, hind quarters bunched together,
levelled antlers all pointing outward. It
was the accurate inherited discipline of
generations.

Axe and Antler 115

Without a sound, save a deep, gasping
breath, the wolves made their leap, striv-
ing to clear that bayonet hedge of horns.
Two were hurled back, yelping. One
brought a cow to her knees, half clear of
the circle, his fangs in her neck, and would
have finished her but that her next neigh-
bour prodded him so fiercely in the flank
that he let go with a shrill snarl. But the
fourth wolf found the weak point in the
circle. The foolish young cow upon whom
he sprang went wild at once with fright.
She broke from the ring and fled. The
next instant the wolf was at her throat.

The moment he pulled her down the
other wolves sprang upon her. The rest
of the cows, maintaining their position of
defence, viewed her plight with consider-
able unconcern, doubtless holding that her
folly was well served, and that she was
worth no better end. But Ten-Tine,
who had suddenly taken in the situation,
had other views about it. To him the
foolish young cow was most important.
With a shrill note of rage, half bleat, half
bellow, he charged down to the rescue.

Ii6 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

The first wolf he struck was hurled against
the comer of the bam, and came limping
back to the fray with no great enthusiasm.
Upon the next he came down with both
front feet, &irly breaking the creature's back.
Instantly the other two fastened upon his
flanks, trying to pull him down ; while he,
bounding and rearing, strove heroically to
shake them off in order to reach them
with horns and hoofs. The bleeding cow,
meanwhile, straggled to her feet and took
refuge within the dauntless circle, which
rather grudgingly opened to admit her.
For this they must not be judged too
harshly ; for in caribou eyes she had com-
mitted the crime of crimes in breaking
ranks and exposing the whole herd to
destruction.

At this stage in the encounter the val-
iant Ten-Tine found himself in desperate
straits ; but help came from an unexpected
quarter. The factor which the wolves had
not allowed for was Kirstie Craig. At
the first sight of them Kirstie had been
filled with silent rage. She had believed
that wolves were quite extinct throughout

Axe and Antler 117

all the neighbouring forests ; and now in
their return she saw a perpetual menace.
But at least they were scarce, she knew
that ; and on the instant she resolved
that this little pack should meet no milder
fate than extermination.

" It*s wolves ! Don't you stir outside
this door ! " she commanded grimly, in
that voice which Miranda never dreamed
of disobeying. Miranda, trembling with
excitement, her eyes wide and her cheeks
white, climbed to the window, and flat-
tened her face against it. Kirstie rushed
out, slamming the door.

As she passed the chopping-block,
Kirstie snatched up her axe. Her fine
face was set like iron. The black eyes
blazed fury. It was a desperate venture,
to attack three maddened wolves, with no
ally to support her save a caribou bull ;
but Kirstie, as we have seen, was not a
woman for half measures.

The first sweep of that poised and
practised axe caught the nearest wolf just
behind the fore quarters, and almost shore
him in two. Thus suddenly freed on

1 1 8 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

one side, Ten-Tine wheeled like lightning
to catch his other assailant, but the animal
sprang back. In evading Ten-Tine's
horns, he almost fell over Kirstie, who,
thus balked of her full deadly swing, just
managed to fetch him a short stroke under
the jaw with the flat of the blade. It
was enough, however, to fell him for an
instant, and that instant was enough for
Ten-Tine. Bounding into the air, the
big caribou came down with both sharp
fore hoofs, like chisels, squarely on the
middle of his adversary's ribs. The
stroke was slaughterously decisive. Ribs
of steel could not have endured it, and in
a very few seconds the shape of bloody
grey fur upon the snow bore scant re-
semblance to a wolf.

The last of the pack, who had been
lamed by Ten-Tine's onslaught, had pru-
dently drawn off when he saw Kirstie
coming. Now he turned tail. Kirstie,
determined that not one should escape,
gave chase. She could run as can few
women. She was bent on her grim pur-
pose of extermination. At first the wolf's

Axe and Antler 119

lameness hindered him; but just as he
was about to turn at bay and fight dumbly
to the death, after the manner of his kind,
the effort which he had been making
loosened the strained muscles, and he
found his pace. Stretching himself out
on his long gallop, he shot away from
his pursuer as if she had been standing
still.

Kirstie stopped, swung her axe, and
hurled it after him with all her strength.
It struck the mark. Had it struck true,
edge on, it would have fulfilled her utmost
intention ; but it struck, with the thick
of the head, squarely upon the brute's
rump. The blow sent him rolling end
over end across the snow. He yelped
with astonishment and terror ; but recover-
ing himself again in a second, he went
bounding like a grey ball of fur over a
brush heap, and vanished down the forest
arches.

When Kirstie turned round she saw
Miranda, white, pitiful, and bewildered,
in the doorway ; while Ten-Tine and his
cows, without waiting to thank her, were

tao The Heart of the Ancient Wood

trotting away across the white fields, their
muzzles thrust far forward, their antlers
laid along their backs. From Ten-Tine
himself, and from the wounded young
cow, the blood dripped scarlet and steam-
ing at every stride.

Chapter IX
The Pax Mirandae

AFTER this experience, Kirstie would
have been more anxious than be-
fore about Miranda, had it not been for
the child's remarkable friendship with the
great she-bear. As soon as the snow was
gone, and the ancient wood again began
to lure Miranda with its mystic stillness
and transparent twilight, K roof reappeared,
as devoted as ever. When Kroof was
absent, the woods were to the child a
forbidden realm, into which she could
only peer with longing and watch the
furtive folk with those initiated eyes of
hers.

A little later when the mosses were
dry, and when the ground was well heart-
ened with the fecundating heats of June,
Miranda had further proof of her peculiar
powers of vision. One day she and

121

i!22 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

Kroof came upon a partridge hen with
her new-hatched brood, at the edge of a
thicket of young birches. The hen went
flopping and fluttering off among the
trees, as if sorely wounded; and Kroof,
convinced of a speedy capture, followed
eagerly. She gave a glance about her
first, however, to see if there were any
partridge chicks in the neighbourhood.
To Miranda's astonishment, the wise
animal saw none. But Miranda saw
them distinctly. There they were all
about her, moveless little brown balls,
exactly like the leaves and the moss and
the scattered things of the forest floor.
Some were half hidden under a leaf or
twig ; some squatted in the open, just in
the positions in which the alarm had
found them. They shut their eyes even,
to make themselves more at one with
their surroundings. They would have
endured any fate, they would have died
on the spot, rather than move, so per-
fect was their baby obedience to the part-
ridge law. This obedience had its reward.
It gave them invisibility to all the folk cf

The Pax Mirandae 123

the wood, friends and foes alike. But there
was no such thing as deceiving Miranda's
eyes. She was not concerned about the
mother partridge, because she saw through
her pretty trick and knew that Kroof could
never catch her. Indeed, in her inno-
cence she did not think good Kroof would
hurt her if she did catch her. But these
moveless chicks, on the other hand, were
interesting. One — two — three — Mi-
randa counted ten of them, and there were
more about somewhere, she imagined.
Presently the mother bird came flopping
around in a circle, to see how things were
going. She saw Miranda stoop and pick
up one of the precious brown balls, and
then another, curiously but gently. In
her astonishment the distracted bird for-
got Kroof for a second, and was almost
caught. Escaping this peril by a sudden
wild dash, and realizing that from Mi-
randa there was no concealment, she flew
straight into the densest part of the
thicket and gave a peremptory call. At
the sound each little motionless ball came
to life. The two that were lying as if

124 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

dead on Miranda's outstretched palms
hopped .to the ground ; and all darted
into the thicket. A few low but sharply
articulated clucks, and the mother bird
led her brood off swiftly through the
bush ; while Kroof, somewhat crestfallen,
came shambling back to Miranda.

All this time, in spite of the affair of
the wolves, the attack of Ganner, the lynx,
on Michael, and that tell-tale spot of
blood and fur on the snow, where the
owl had torn the hare for his midnight
feast, Miranda had regarded the folk of
the ancient wood as a gentle people,
living for the most part in a voiceless
amity. Her seeing eyes quite failed to
see the unceasing tragedy of the stillness.
She did not guess that the furtive folk,
whom she watched about their business,
went always with fear at their side and
death lying in wait at every turn. She
little dreamed that, for most of them, the
very price of life itself was the ceaseless
extinguishing of life.

It was during the summer that Miranda
found her first and only flaw in KrooPs

The Pax Mirandse 125

perfections ; for Kroof she regarded as
second only to her mother among created
beings. But on one memorable day,
when she ran across the fields to meet
Kroof at the edge of the wood, the great
bear was too much occupied to come for-
ward as usual. She was sniffing at some-
thing on the ground which she held
securely under one of her huge paws.
Miranda ran forward to see what it was.

To her horror it was the warm and
bleeding body of a hare.

She shrank back, sickened at the sight.
Then, in flaming indignation she struck
Kroof again and again in the face with the
palms of her little hands. Kroof was
astonished, — temperately astonished, —
for she always knew Miranda was peculiar.
She lifted her snout high in the air to
escape the blows, shut her eyes, and
meekly withdrew the oflFending paw.

" Oh, Kroof, how could you ! I hate
you, bad Kroof! You are just like the
wolves ! " cried Miranda, her little bosom
bursting with wrath and tears. Kroof
understood that she was in grievous dis-

i!26 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

grace. Carrying the dead hare with her,
Miranda ran out into the potato patch,
fetched the hoe, returned to the spot
where the bear still sat in penitential con-
templation, and proceeded in condemna-
tory silence to dig a hole right under
Kroof's nose. Here she buried the hare,
tenderly smoothing the ground above it.
Then throwing the hoe down violently,
she flung her arms about Kroof's neck,
and burst into a passion of tears.

"How could you do it, Kroof?" she
sobbed. " Oh, perhaps you'll be wanting
to eat up Miranda some day ! "

Kroof suffered herself to be led away
from the unhappy spot. Soon Miranda
grew calm, and the painfiil scene seemed
forgotten. The rest of the afternoon was
spent very pleasantly in eating wild rasp-
berries along the farther side of the clear-
ing. To Kroof's mind it gradually became
clear that her offence lay in killing the
hare ; and as it was obvious that Miranda
liked hares, she resolved never to offend
again in this respect, at least while Mi-
randa was anywhere in the neighbourhood.

The Pax Mirandae 127

After Miranda had gone home, however,
the philosophical Kroof strolled back dis-
creetly to where the hare was buried. She
dug it up, and ate it with great satisfac-
tion, and afterward she smoothed down the
earth again, that Miranda might not know.
After this trying episode Miranda had
every reason to believe that Kroof 's refor-
mation was complete. Little by little,
as month followed month, and season fol-
lowed season, and year rolled into year
at the quiet cabin in the clearing, Mi-
randa forgot the few scenes of blood which
had been thrust upon her. The years
now little varied one from another; yet
to Miranda the life was not monotonous.
Each season was for her full of events,
full of tranquil uneventflilness for Kirstie.
The cabin became more homelike as cur-
rant and lilac bushes grew up around it,
a green, sweet covert for birds, and abun-
dant scarlet-blossomed bean-vines mantled
the barrenness of its weathered logs. The
clearing prospered. The stock increased.
Old Dave hardly ever visited at the clear-
ing but he went back laden with stuff to

128 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

sell for Kirstie at the Settlement. Among
the folk of the forest Miranda's ascendency
kept on growing, little by little, till, though
none of the beasts came to know her as
Kroof did, they all had a tendency to fol-
low her at respectful distance, without
seeming to do so. They never killed in
her presence, so that a perpetual truce, as
it were, came at last to rule within eyeshot
of her inescapable gaze. Sometimes the
advent of spring would bring Kroof to the
clearing not alone, but with a furry and
jolly black morsel of a cub at her side.
The cub never detracted in the least from
the devotion which she paid to Miranda.
It always grew up to young bearhood in
more or less amiable tolerance of its
mother's incomprehensible friend, only
to drift away at last to other feeding
grounds ; for Kroof was absolute in her
own domain, and suffered not even her
own offspring to trespass thereon, when
once they had reached maturity. Cubs
might come, and cubs might go ; but the
love of Kroof and Miranda was a thing
that rested unchanging.

The Pax Mirandae 1:29

In the winters, Miranda now did most
of the knitting, while Kirstie wove, on a
great clacking loom, the flax which her
little farm produced abundantly. They
had decided not to keep sheep at the
clearing, lest their presence should lure
back the wolves. One warm day toward
spring, when Old Dave, laden with an
ample pack of mittens, stockings, and
socks which Miranda's active fingers had
fashioned, was slowly trudging along the
trail on his way back to the Settlement,
he became aware that a pair of foxes fol-
lowed him. They came not very near,
nor did they pay him any marked atten-
tion. They merely seemed to "favour
his company," as he himself put it. He
was thus curiously escorted for perhaps a
mile or two, to his great bewilderment;
for he knew no reason why he should be
so chosen out for honour in the wood.
At another time, when similarly burdened.
Wapiti, the buck, came up and sniffed at
him, very amicably. During the next
winter, when he was carrying the same
magic merchandise, several hares went

ijo The Heart of the Ancient Wood

■i^^"^^^'^"^^^^— ^^^-^^■■— -^.^»^ ■— ^»^—— ^^

leaping beside him, not very near, but as
if seeking the safety of his presence. The
mystery of all this weighed upon him.
He was at first half inclined to think that
he was " ha'nted " ; but fortunately he took
thought to examine the tracks, and so
assured himself that his inexplicable com-
panions were of real flesh and blood.
Nevertheless, he found himself growing
shy of his periodical journey ings through
the wood, and at last he opened his mind
to Kirstie on the subject.

Kirstie was amused in her grave way.

"Why, Dave," she explained, "didn't
you know Miranda was that thick with
the wild things she's half wild herself?
Weren't you carrying a lot of Miranda's
knit stuff when the creatures followed
your

" That's so, Kirstie ! " was the old lum-
berman's reply. " I recollec' as how the
big buck kep' a-sniffin' at my pack of
socks an' mits, too ! "

"They were some of Miranda's friends;
and when they smelled of those mits they
thought she was somewhere around, or

The Pax Mirandae 131

else they knew you must be a friend of
hers/'

Thenceforward Old Dave always looked
for something of a procession in his
honour whenever he carried Miranda's
knittings to the Settlement; and he was
intensely proud of the distinction. He
talked about it among his gossips, of
course; and therefore a lot of strange
stories began to circulate. It was said by
some that Kirstie and Miranda held con-
verse with the beasts in plain English such
as common mortals use, and knew all the
secrets of the woods, and much besides
that "humans" have no call to know.
By others, more superstitious and fanat-
ical, it was whispered that no mere an-
imals formed the circle of Kirstie's asso-
ciates, but that spirits, in the guise of
hares, foxes, cats, panthers, bears, were
her familiars at the solitary cabin. Such
malicious tales cost Old Dave many a bit-
ter hour, as well as more than one sharp
combat, till the gossips learned to keep a
bridle on their tongues when he was by.
As for Young Dave, he had let the clear-

132 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

ing and all its affairs drop from his mind,
and, betaking himself to a wild region to
the north of the Quah-Davic, was fast
making his name as a hunter and trapper.
He came but seldom to the Settlement,
and when he came he had small ear for
the Settlement scandals. His mind was
growing large, and quiet, and tolerant,
among the great solitudes.

Chapter X
The Routing of the Philistines

IN the seventh year of Kirstie's exile,
something occurred which gave the
Settlement gossip a fresh impulse, and
added a colour of awe to the mystery
which surrounded the clearing.

The winter changed to a very open one,
so that long before spring Kroof awoke
in her lair under the pine root. There
was not enough snow to keep her warm
and asleep. But the ground was frozen,
food was scarce, and she soon became
hungry. Miranda observed her growing
leanness, and tried the experiment of
bringing her a mess of boiled beans from
the cabin pot. To the hungry bear the
beans were a revelation. She realized that
Miranda's mother was in some way con-
nected with the experience, and her long
reserve melted away in the warmth of her

133

134 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

responsive palate. The next day, about
noon, as Kirstie and Miranda were sitting
down to their meal, Kroof appeared at
the cabin door and sniffed longingly at
the threshold.

"What's that sniffing at the door?"
wondered Kirstie, with some uneasiness
in her grave voice. But Miranda had
flown at once to the window to look out.

" Why, mother, it's Kroof! " she cried,
clapping her hands with delight, and be-
fore her mother could say a word, she had
thrown the door wide open. In sham-
bled the bear forthwith, blinking her
shrewd little eyes. She seated herself on
her haunches, near the table, and gazed
with intent curiosity at the fire. At this
moment a dry stick snapped and crackled
sharply, whereupon she backed off to a
safer distance, but still kept her eyes upon
the strange phenomenon.

Both Kirstie and Miranda had been
watching her with breathless interest, to
see how she would comport herself, but
now Miranda broke silence.

"Oh! you dear old Kroof, we're so

The Routing of the Philistines 135

glad you've come at last to see us ! " she
cried, rushing over and flinging both
arms around the animal's neck. Kirstie's
face looked a doubtful indorsement of
the welcome. Kroof paid no attention
to Miranda's caresses beyond a hasty lick
at her ear, and continued to study the
fascinating flames. This quietness of
demeanour reassured Kirstie, whose hos-
pitality thereupon asserted itself.

" Give the poor thing some buckwheat
cakes, Miranda," she said. " I'm sure
she's come because she's hungry."

Miranda preferred to think the visit
was due to no such interested motives;
but she at once took up a plate of cakes
which she had drenched in molasses for
the requirements of her own taste. She
set the plate on the edge of the table
nearest to her visitor, and gently pulled
the bear's snout down toward it. No
second invitation was needed. The fire
was forgotten. The enchanting smell of
buckwheat cakes and molasses was a new
one to Kroof 's nostrils, but the taste for
it was there, full grown and waiting. Out

136 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

went her narrow red tongue. The cakes
disappeared rather more rapidly than was
consistent with good manners : the mo-
lasses was deftly licked up, and with a
grin of rapture she looked about for
more. Just in front of Kirstie stood a
heaping dish of the dainties hot from the
griddle. With an eager but tentative
paw Kroof reached out for them. This
was certainly not manners. Kirstie re-
moved the dish beyond her reach, while
Miranda firmly pushed the trespassing
paw from the table.

" No, Kroof, you shan't have any more
at all, unless you are good ! " she admon-
ished, with hortatory finger uplifted.

There are few animals so quick to take
a hint as the bear, and KrooPs wits had
grown peculiarly alert during her long inti-
macy with Miranda. She submitted with
instant meekness, and waited, with tongue
hanging out, while Miranda prepared her
a huge bowl of bread and molasses. When
she had eaten this, she investigated every-
thing about the cabin, and finally went to
sleep on a mat in the corner of the inner

The Routing of the Philistines 137

room. Before sundown she got up and
wandered off to her lair, being still drowsy
with winter sleep.

After this the old bear came daily at
noon to the cabin, dined with Kirstie and
Miranda, and dozed away the afternoon
on her mat in the chosen corner. Kirstie
came to regard her as a member of the
household. To the cattle and the poultry
she paid no attention whatever. In a few
days the oxen ceased to lower their horns
as she passed; and the cock, Saunders's
equally haughty successor, refrained from
the shrill expletives of warning with which
he had been wont to herald her approach.

One afternoon, before spring had fairly
set in, there came two unwelcome visitors
to the cabin. In a lumber-camp some
fifteen miles away, on a branch of the
Quah-Davic, there had been trouble. Two
of the "hands," surly and mutinous all
winter, had at last, by some special bru-
tality, enraged the "boss" and their mates
beyond all pardon. Hooted and beaten
from the camp, they had started through
the woods by the shortest road to the

13 8 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

Settlement. Their hearts were black with
pent-up fury. About three o'clock in the
afternoon, they happened upon the clearing,
and demanded something to eat.

Though sullen, and with a kind of men-
ace in their air, their words were civil
enough at first, and Kirstie busied herself
to supply what seemed to her their just
demands. The laws of hospitality are
very binding in the backwoods. Miranda,
meanwhile, not liking the looks of the
strangers, kept silently aloof and scruti-
nized them.

When Kirstie had set before them a
good meal, — hot tea, and hot boiled
beans, and eggs, and white bread and
butter, — they were disappointed because
she gave them no pork^ and they were
not slow to demand it.

"I've got none," said Kirstie; "we
don't eat pork here. You ought to get
along well enough on what's good enough
for Miranda and me."

For a backwoods house to be without
pork, the indispensable, the universal, the
lumberman's staff of life, was something

The Routing of the Philistines 139

unheard of. They both thought she was
keeping back the pork out of meanness,

" You lie!" exclaimed one, a lean, short,
swarthy ruffian. The other got up and
took a step toward the woman, where she
stood, dauntlessly eying them. His
scrubby red beard bristled, his massive
shoulders hunched themselves ominously
toward his big ears.

"You git that pork, and be quick
about it ! " he commanded, with the addi-
tion of such phrases of emphasis as the
lumberman uses, but does not use in the
presence of women.

" Beast ! " exclaimed Kirstie, eyes and
cheeks flaming. " Get out of this house.'*
And she glanced about for a weapon. But
in a second the ruffian had seized her.
Though stronger than most men, she was
no match for him — a noted bully and a
cunning master of the tricks of the ring.
She was thrown in a second. Miranda,
with a scream of rage, snatched up a table
knife and darted to her mother's aid ; but
the shorter ruffian, now delighted with the
game, shouted: "Settle the old woman.

i^Adkari^ha*.

140 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

Bill. lil see to the gal ! " and made a
grab for Miranda.

It had all happened so suddenly that
Kirstie was, for a moment, stunned. Then,
realizing the full horror of the situation, a
strength as of madness came upon her.
She set her teeth into the wrist of her
assailant with such fury that he yelled
and for a second loosed his hold. In that
second, tearing herself half free, she clutched
his throat with her long and powerful fin-
gers. It was only an instant's respite, but
it was enough to divert the other scoun-
drel's attention from Miranda. With a
huge laugh he turned to free his mate
from that throttling grip.

His purpose was never fulfilled. Kroof,
just at this instant, thrust her nose from
the door of the inner room, half awake,
and wondering at the disturbance. Her
huge bulk was like a nightmare. The
swarthy wretch stood for an instant spell-
bound in amazement. With a savage
growl, Kroof launched herself at him, and
he, darting around the table, wrenched the
door open and fled.

The Routing of the Philistines 141

The other miscreant, though well occu-
pied with Kirstie's mad grip at his throat,
had seen, from the corner of his eyes, that
black monster emerge like fate and charge
upon his comrade. To him, Kroof looked
as big as an ox. With a gasping curse he
tore himself free ; and, hurling Kirstie
half across the table, he rushed from the
cabin. His panic was lest the monster
should return and catch him, like a rat in
a pit, where there was no chance of escape.

As a matter of fact, Kroof was just re-
turning, with an angry realization that her
foe could run faster than she could. And
lo ! here was another of the same breed in
the very doorway before her. As she con-
fronted him, his eyes nearly started from
his head. With a yell he dodged past,
nimble as a loon's neck. Savagely she
struck out at him with her punishing paw.
Had she caught him, there would have
been one rogue the fewer, and blood on
the cabin threshold. But she missed, and
he went free. He ran wildly over the
snow patches in pursuit of his fleeing com-
rade ; while Kroof, all a-bristle with indig-

142 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

nation, hurried into the cabin, to be hugged
and praised with grateful tears by Kirstie
and Miranda.

When the first of the fugitives, the lean
and swarthy one, reached the edge of the
woods, he paused to look back. There
was no one following but his comrade, who
came up a moment later and clutched at
him, panting heavily. Neither, for a minute
or two, had breath for any word but a
broken curse. The big, bristly scoundrel
called Bill was bleeding at the wrist from
Kirstie's bite, and his throat, purple and
puffed, bore witness to the strength of
Kirstie's fingers. The other had got off
scot free. The two stared at each other,
cowed and discomfited.

"Ever see the likes o' that?" queried
Bill, earnestly.

" Be damned ef 't wan't the devil him-
self!" asseverated his companion.

" Oh, hell ! 't were jest a b'ar ! " retorted
Bill, in a tone of would-be derision. " But
bigger'n a steer ! / don't want none of it! "

" B'ar er devil, what's the odds ? Let's
git, says I ! " was the response ; and simul-

The Routing of the Philistines 143

taneously the two lifted their eyes to ob-
serve the sun and get their bearings. But
it was not the sun they saw. Their jaws
fell. Their hair rose. For a moment
they stood rooted to the ground in abject
horror.

Right above their heads, crouched close
upon the vast up-sloping limb of a hoary
pine, lay a panther, looking down upon
them with fixed, dilating stare. They saw
his claws, protruding, and set firmly into
the bark. They saw the backward, snarl-
ing curl of his lips as his head reached
down toward them over the edge of his
perch. For several choking heart-beats
the picture bit itself into their coarse
brains; then, with a gurgling cry that
came as one voice from the two throats,
both sprang aside like hares and ran wildly
down the trail.

Within a few hours of their arrival at
the Settlement, this was the story on all
lips, — that Kirstie's cabin was guarded
by familiars, who could take upon them-
selves at will the form of bear, panther,
wolf, or mad bull moose, for the terroriz-

144 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

ing of such travellers as might chance to
trespass upon that unholy solitude. The
Settlement held a few superstitious souls
who believed this tale ; while the rest pre-
tended to believe it because it gave them
something to talk about. No one, in fact,
was at all the worse for it, except the ruf-
fian called Bill, who, on one of Young
Dave's rare visits to the Settlement, got
into an argument with him on the subject,
and incidentally got a licking.

Chapter XI
Miranda and Young Dave

AFTER this the cabin in the clearing
ran small risk of marauders. To
the most sceptical homespun philosopher
in the Settlement it seemed obvious that
Kirstie and Miranda had something mys-
terious about them, and had forsaken
their kind for the fellowship of the furtive
kin. No one but Old Dave had any
relish for a neighbourhood where bears
kept guard, and lynxes slily frequented,
and caribou bulls of a haughty temper
made themselves free of the barnyard.
As for Young Dave, unwilling to fall
foul of the folk who were so friendly to
Kirstie and Miranda, he carried his traps,
his woodcraft, and his cunning rifle to a
tract more remote from the clearing.

Thus it came that Miranda grew to
womanhood with no human companion
L 145

146 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

but her mother. To her mother she
stood so close that the two assimilated
each other, as it were. Such education as
Kirstie possessed, and such culture, nar-
row but significant, were Miranda's by
absorption. For the rest, the quiet folk
of the wood insensibly moulded her, and
the great silences, and the wide wonder
of the skies at night, and the solemnity
of the wind. At seventeen she was a
woman, mature beyond her years, but
strange, with an elfish or a faun-like
strangeness : as if a soul not all human
dwelt in her human shape. Silent, wild,
unsmiling, her sympathies were not with
her own kind, but with the wild and
silent folk who know not the sweetness of
laughter. Yet she was given to moods
of singing mirth, at long intervals ; and
her tenderness toward all pain, her horror
of blood, were things equally alien to the
wilderness creatures, her associates. It
was doubtless this unbridgable divergence,
combining with her sympathy and subtle
comprehension, which secured her mys-
terious ascendency in the forest; for by

Miranda and Young Dave 147

this time it would never have occurred to
her to step aside even for a panther or
a bull moose in his fury. Something,
somehow, in the air about her, told all the
creatures that she was supreme.

In appearance, Miranda was a contrast
to her mother, though her colouring was
almost the same. Miranda was a little
less than middle height, slender, graceful,
fine-boned, small of hand and foot, deli-
cate-featured, her skin toned with the
clear browns of health and the open air
and the matchless cosmetic of the sun.
Her abundance of bronze-black hair, shot
with flame-glints wheresoever the sun-
light struck it, came down low over a
broad, low forehead. Her eyes, in which,
as we have seen, lay very much of her
power over the folk of the wood, were
very large and dark. They possessed a
singular transparency, akin to the magical
charm of the forest shadows. There was
something unreal and haunting in this
inexplicable clarity of her gaze, something
of that mystery which dwells in the reflec-
tions of a perfect mirror of water. Her

148 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

nose, straight and well modelled, was
rather large than small, with nostrils
alertly sensitive to discern all the wilding
savours, the clean, personal scents of the
clean-living creatures of the wood, and
even those inexpressibly elusive perfume-
heralds which, on certain days, come upon
the air, forerunning the changes of the
seasons. Her mouth was large, but not
too large for beauty, neither thin nor full,
of a vivid scarlet, mobile and mutable,
yet firm, and with the edges of the lips
exactly defined. Habitually reposeful
and self-controlled in movement, like her
mother, her repose suggested that of a
bird poised upon the wing, liable at any
instant to incalculable celerities; while
that of Kirstie was like the calm of a hill
with the eternal disrupting fire at its
heart. The scarlet ribbon which Miranda
the woman, like Miranda the child, wore
always about her neck, seemed in her the
symbol of an ineradicable strangeness of
spirit, while Kirstie's scarlet kerchief ex-
pressed but the passion which burned
perennial beneath its wearer's quietude.

Miranda and Young Dave 149

Being in all respects natural and un-
selfconscious, it is not to be wondered
at that Miranda was inconsistent. The
truce which she had created about her

— the pax Miranda — had so long kept
her eyes from the hated sight of blood
that she had forgotten death, and did not
more than half believe in pain. Never-
theless she was still a shaft of doom to the
trout in the lake and river. Fishing was
a delight to her. It satisfied some fierce
instinct inherited from her forefathers,
which she never thought to analyze.
The musical rushing of the stream ; the
foam and clamour of the shallow falls ;
the deep, black, gleaming pools with the
roots of larch and hemlock overhanging ;
the sullen purple and amber of the eddies
with their slowly swirling patches of froth,

— all these allured her, though with a
threat. And then the stealthy casting of

^the small, baited hook or glittering fly,
the tense expectancy, the electrifying tug
upon the line, the thrill, the exultation of
the landing, and the beauty of the spotted
prey, silver and vermilion, on the olive

150 The Heart of the Andent Wood

czrpet of the moss ! It hardly occurred
to her that they were breadung, sentient
creatures, these fish of the pools. She
would doubtless have resented the idea
of any kinship between herself and these
cold inhabiters of a hostile element. In
£ACt^ Miranda was very close to nature,
and she could not escape her part in
nature's never ceasing war of opposites.

Late one afternoon in summer Miranda
was loitering homeward from the stream
with a goodly string of trout. It was a
warm day and windless, and the time of
year not that which favours the fisherman.
But in those cold waters the fish will rise
even in July and August, and Miranda's
bait, or Miranda's home-tied fly, was al-
ways a killing lure to them. She carried
her catch — one gaping-jawed two-pounder,
and a half dozen smaller victims — strung
through the crimson gills on a forked
branch of alder. Her dark face was
flushed ; her hair (she never wore a hat) was
dishevelled ; her eyes were very wide and
abstracted, taking in the varied shadows, —
the boulders, the markings on the bark

:rr

of the tree -iiutli,^, zhi^ irrggmrrar rfrraar--
m^ nmtlis; sot :ixe: sftiriiin .rrrt*= iruwu
owl cfasr 3St: in Tine: itetT' >r Ttue: xoc: Trr .
yet Hfrnriffg ai see: nor tticse inr TBTnc-
tbini^ witinix or besroitd rtTcrrr.

Snifairtriv, iMweyer: -iu^ ^ctr arcKst

pTWBnair aiu€gm:*tgd -xi x Ttnanesx

sit7, then: ]j^jtB:iti. ox x

aigEsr 2K she ochuc x rcsarr 'sz^ sirvarrt^

aod paoaed^ nacsrsan. 5xt x mnmeat: -vhac

todo.

€}£»ia, accare and Ixvrr.rviz^ Ar its ia>
tbcr cd^ X rnicir-^tgiTrTrifCy low b«c&:
trc^ rrau^mtl one &;m tic cGnfas wo: <^"
tninfa grd TJfflSBy eat x pieaaa^t £ifereo^
tettcd ^acr,. Hare En tfe shade a vouugj.
maa lay ifccpcig^ sprxvlcd car«tessiy> hb
head on ocdc arm. He was tall> gauat>
cfad in atCT homespuns and a weU-wwa
buckskin ^KJtet. Hb red-brown K^iut
was cat somewhat short> his light yel-
low moustache, long and $ilky> )ook^) thi^
lighter by contrast with the ruddy t*u s>i

152 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

his face. His rifle leaned against the tree
near by, while he slept the luxurious sleep
of an idle summer afternoon.

But not five paces away crouched an
immense panther, flattened to the ground,
watching him.

The beast was ready, at the first move-
ment or sign of life, to spring upon the
sleeper's throat. Its tail rigidly out-
stretched, twitched slightly at the tip.
Its great, luminous eyes were so intently
fixed upon the anticipated prey that it did
not see Miranda's quiet approach.

To the girl the sleeper seemed some-
thing very beautiful, in the impersonal
way that a splendid flower, or a tall young
tree in the open, or the scarlet-and-pearl
of sunrise is beautiful — not a thing as
near to herself as the beasts of the wood,
whom she knew. But she was filled with
strange, protective fury at the thought
of peril to this interesting creature. Her
hesitation was but for a moment. She
knew the ferocity of the panther very
well, and trembled lest the sleeper should
move, or twitch a muscle. She stepped

Minndai and Tonu^ Dxve 153

up dose to his sdc, and fixed die animal's
eyes with her disconcerting gaze.

"Get oflF!" she oidcred sharply, with
a gesture of command.

The beast had doabdess a very plenti-
ful Ignorance of the Eng^h language, but
gesture is a universal speech. He under-
stood it quite clearly. He £iced her eye,
and endured it for some seconds, bdng
minded to dispute its authority. Then
his glance shifted, his whole atdtude
changed. He rose fix>m his crouching
posture, his tail drooped, his tension
relaxed, he looked back over his shoulder,
then turned and padded furtively away.
Just as he was leaving, the man awoke
with a start, sat up, gave one wondering
look at Miranda, caught sight of the
panther's retreating form, and reached for
his rifle.

Quick as light, Miranda intervened.
Stepping between his hand and its pur-
pose, she flamed out against him with
sudden anger.

" How dare you — go to shoot him ! **
she cried, her voice trembling.

154 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

He had sprang to his feet, and was
staring at her flushed face with a mixture
of admiration and bewilderment.

" But he was goin' to jump onto me ! "
he protested.

" Well," rejoined Miranda, curtly, " he
didn't ! And you've got no call to shoot
him ! "

" Why didn't he ? " asked the young man.

" I drove him off. If I'd thought you'd
shoot him, I'd have let him jump onto
you," was the cool reply.

"Why didn't he jump onto you?^^
asked the stranger, his keen grey eyes
lighting up as if he began to understand
the situation.

" Because he durs'n't, — and he wouldn't
want to, neither ! "

" I calculate," said the stranger, hold-
ing out his hand, while a smile softened
the thoughtful severity of his face, " that
you must be little Mirandy."

" My name is Miranda," she answered,
ignoring the outstretched hand; "but I'm
sure I don't know who you are, coming
here into my woods to kill my friends."

Miranda and Toang Dave 155

" I wouldn't hurt a hdr of *em ! ** he
asserted^ with a mingling of fervour and
amusement. "But ain't I one o' your
friends, too, Mirandy? I used to be,
anyway."

He took a step nearer, still holding
out a pleading hand. Miranda drew
back, and put her hands behind her.
"I don't know you," she persisted,
but now with something of an air of
wilfulness rather than of hostility. Old
memories had begun to stir In forgotten
chambers of her brain.

"You used to be friends with Young
Dave," he sdd. In an eager half whisper.
Miranda's beauty and the strangeness of
it were getting into his long-untroubled
blood.

The girl at once put out her hand with
a frank kindness. "Oh, I remember!"
she said. " You've been a long time for-
getting us, haven't you ? But never mind.
Come along with me to the clearing, and
see mother, and get some supper."

Dave flushed with pleasure at the invi-
tation.

156 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

" Thank ye kindly, Mirandy, I reckon
I will," said he ; and stepping to one side
he picked up his rifle. But at the sight
of the weapon Miranda's new friendliness
froze up, and a resentful gleam came into
her great eyes.

" Let me heft it," she demanded
abruptly, holding out an imperative
hand.

Dave gave it up at once, with a depre-
cating air, though a ghost of a smile flick-
ered under the long, yellow droop of his
moustache.

Miranda had no interest in the weight
or balance of the execrated weapon : pos-
session of it was all her purpose.

rU carry it," she remarked abruptly.

You take these," and handing over to
him the string of trout, she turned to the
trail.

Dave followed, now at her side, now
dropping respectfully behind, as the exi-
gencies of the way required. Nothing
was said for some time. The girl's in-
stinctive interest in the man whom she
had so opportunely protected was now

Miranda and Young Dave 157

quenched in antagonism, as she thought
upon his murderous calling. With sharp
resentment she imagined him nursing an
indulgent contempt for her friendship
with the fiirry and furtive creatures. She
burned with retrospective compassion for
all the beasts which had fallen to his bul-
lets, or his blind and brutal traps. A
trap was, in her eyes, the unpardonable
horror. Had she not once, when a small
girl, seen a lynx — perhaps it was Ganner
himself — caught by the hind quarters in
a dead-fall ? The beast was not quite
dead — it had been for days dying; its
eyes were dulled, yet widely staring, and
its tongue, black and swollen, stuck out
between its grinning jaws. She had seen
at once that the case was past relief; and
she would have ended the torture had her
little hands known how to kill. But help-
less and anguished as she was, she had fled
from the spot, and shudderingly cried her
eyes out for an hour. Then it had come
over her with a wrenching of remorse that
the dreadful tongue craved water ; and she
had flown back with a tin cup of the as-

158 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

suaging fluid, only to find the animal just
dead. The pain of thinking that she
might have eased its last torments, and
had not, bit the whole scene ineffaceably
into her heart ; and now, with this splen-
did trapper, the kind friend of her baby-
hood, walking at her side, the picture and
its pangs returned with a horrible incon-
gruity. But what most of all hardened
her heart against the man was a sense of
threat which his atmosphere conveyed to
her, — a menace, in some vague way, to
her whole system of life, her sympathies,
her contentments, her calm.

Dave, on his part, felt himself deep
in the cold flood of disfavour, and solici-
tously pondered a way of return to the
sunshine of his companion's smile. His
half-wild intuition told him at once that
Miranda's anger was connected with his
rifle, and he in part understood her aver-
sion to his craft. He hungered to con-
ciliate her ; and as he trod noiselessly the
scented gloom of the arches, the mottled
greens and greys and browns of the trail,
he laid his plans with far-considering pru-

Miranda and Young Dave 159

dence. It was characteristic of his quietly
masterful nature that he not once thought
of conciliating by giving up gun and trap
and turning to a vocation more humane.
No, the ways and means which occupied
his thoughts were the ways and means
of converting Miranda to his own point
of view. He felt, though not philosophic
enough to formulate it clearly, that he had
all nature behind him to help mould the
girl to his will, while she stood not only
alone, but with a grave peril of treason in
her own heart.

His silence was good policy with
Miranda, who was used to silence and
loved it. But being a woman, she loved
another's silence even better than her own.
" You are a hunter, ain't you ? " she in-
quired at last, without turning her head.

" Yes, Mirandy."

" And a trapper, too ? "

"Yes, Mirandy; so they call me."
And you like to kill the beasts ? "
Well, yes, Mirandy, kind of, least-
ways, I like them ; and, well, you've jest
got to kill them, to live yourself. That's

i6o The Heart of the Ancient Wood

jest what they do, kill each other, so's
they can live themselves. An' it*s the
only kind of life / can live — 'way in the
woods, with the shadows, an* the silence,
an* the trees, an' the sky, an' the clean
smells, an' the whispers you can't never
understand."

Dave shut his mouth with a firm snap
at the close of this unwonted outburst.
Never to any one before had he so
explained his passion for the hunter's
life; and now Miranda, who had turned
square about, was looking at him with a
curious searching expression. It discon-
certed him ; and he feared, under those
unescapable eyes, that he had talked non-
sense. Nevertheless when she spoke
there was a less chilling note in her voice,
though the words were not encouraging.

"If you like killing the creatures," she
said slowly, " it's no place for you here.
So maybe you hadn't better come to the
clearing."

" I don't like killing your beasts, any-
ways," he protested eagerly. "An' ever
sence I heard how you an' the bears an'

Miranda and Young Dave i6i

the caribou was friends like, Fve kep*
clear the other side of the divide, an'
never set a trap this side the Quah-Davic
valley. As for these critters you take
such stock in, Mirandy, I wouldn't harm
a hair of one of 'em, I swear ! "

" You hadn't better ! I'd kill you my-
self," she rejoined sharply, with a swift,
dangerous flame in her strange gaze ; " or
I'd set Kroof on you," she added, a gleam
of mirth suddenly irradiating her face, and
darkening her eyes richly, till Dave was
confused by her loveliness. But he kept
his wits sufficiently to perceive, as she set
her face agdn up the trail, that he was
permitted to go with her.

"Who's Kroof?" he asked humbly,
stepping close to her side and ignoring
the fact that the pathway, just there, was
but wide enough for one.

My best friend," answered Miranda.
You'll see at the clearing. You'd bet-
ter look out for Kroof, let me tell you ! "

Chapter XII
Young Dave at the Clearing

DURING the rest of the journey —
a matter of an hour's walking —
there was little talk between Miranda and
Dave; for the ancient wood has the
property that it makes talk seem trivial.
With those who journey through the
great vistas and clear twilight of the trees,
thoughts are apt to interchange by the
medium of silence and sympathy, or else
to remain uncommunicated. Whatever
her misgivings, her resentments and hos-
tilities, Miranda was absorbed in her com-
panion. So deeply was she absorbed that
she failed to notice an unwonted empti-
ness in the shadows about her.

In very truth, the furtive folk had all
fled away. The presence of the hunter
filled them with instinctive fear; and in
their chief defence, their moveless self-

162

Young Dave at the Clearing 163

efFacement, they had no more any confi-
dence while within reach of Miranda's
eyes. The stranger was like herself —
and though they trusted her in all else,
they knew the compulsion of nature, and
feared lest she might betray them to her
own kind. Therefore they held prudently
aloof, — the hare and the porcupine, the
fox and the red cat ; the raccoon slipped
into his hole in the maple tree, and the
wood-mice scurried under the hemlock
root, and the woodpecker kept the thick-
ness of a tree beween his foraging and
Miranda's eye. Only the careless and
inquisitive partridge, sitting on a birch
limb just over the trail, curiously awaited
their approach ; till suddenly an intuition
of peril awoke him, and he fled on wild
wings away through the diminishing
arches. Even the little brown owl in the
pine crotch snapped his bill and hissed
uneasily as the two passed under his
perch. Yet all these signs, that would
have been to her in other moods a loud
proclamation of change, now passed un-
noted. Miranda was receiving a new

164 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

impression, and the experience engrossed
her.

Arrived at the edge of the clearing,
Dave was struck by the alteration that had
come over it since that day, thirteen years
back, when he had aided Kirstie's flight
from the Settlement. It was still bleak,
and overbrooded by a vast unroutable
stillness, for the swelling of the land lifted
it from the forest's shelter and made it
neighbour to the solitary sky. But the
open fields were prosperous with blue-
flowered flax, pink-and-white buckwheat,
the green sombreness of potatoes, and the
gallant ranks of corn ; while half a dozen
sleek cattle dotted the stumpy pasture.
The fences were well kept. The cabin
and the barn were hedged about with
shining thickets of sunflower, florid holly-
hocks, and scarlet-runner beans. It gave
the young woodman a kind of pang, —
this bit of homely sweetness projected, as
it were, upon the infinite solitude of the
universe. It made him think, somehow,
of the smile of a lost child that does not
know it is lost.

Young Dave at the Clearing 165

Presently, to his astonishment, there
rose up from behind a blackberry coppice
the very biggest bear he had ever seen.
The huge animal paused at sight of a
stranger, and sat up on her hind quarters
to inspect him. Then she dropped again
upon all fours, shuffled to Miranda's side,
and affectionately smuggled her nose into
the girl's palm. Dave looked on with
smiling admiration. The picture appealed
to him. And Miranda, scanning his face
with jealous keenness, could detect therein
nothing but approval.

"This is Kroof," said she, graciously.

" Never seen such a fine bear in all my
life ! " exclaimed the young man, sincerely
enough ; and with a rash unmindfulness
of the reserve which governs the manners
of all the furtive folk (except the squir-
rels), he stretched out his hand to stroke
KrooPs splendid coat.

The presumption was instantly re-
sented. With an indignant squeal Kroof
swung aside and struck at the oflfending
hand, missing it by a hair's breadth, as
Dave snatched it back out of peril. A

1 66 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

flush of anger darkened his face, but
he said nothing. Miranda, however,
was annoyed, feeling her hospitality dis-
honoured. With a harsh rebuke she
slapped the bear sharply over the snout,
and drew a little away from her.

Kroof was amazed. Not since the
episode of the hare had Miranda struck
her, and then the baby hand had con-
veyed no offence. Now it was different :
and she felt that the tall stranger was the
cause of the difference. Her heart swelled
fiercely within her furry sides. She gave
Miranda one look of bitter reproach, and
shambled off slowly down the green alleys
of the potato field.

During some moments of hesitation,
Miranda looked from Kroof to Dave, and
from Dave to Kroof. Then her heart
smote her. With a little sob in her
throat, she ran swiftly after the bear, and
clung to her neck with murmured words
of penitence. But Kroof, paying no
attention whatever, kept her way steadily
to the woods, dragging Miranda as if she
had been a bramble caught on her fur.

Young Dave at the Clearing 167

Not till she had reached the very edge of
the forest, at the sunny corner where she
had been wont to play with Miranda dur-
ing the far-off first years of their friend-
ship, did the old bear stop. There she
turned, sat up on her haunches, eyed the
girl's face steadily for some seconds, and
then licked her gently on the ear. It
meant forgiveness, reconciliation; but
Kroof was too deeply hurt to go back
with Miranda to the cabin. In response
to the girl's persuasions, she but licked
her hands assiduously, as if pleading to
be not misunderstood, then dropped upon
all fours and moved off into the forest,
leaving Miranda to gaze after her with
tearful eyes.

When she went back to where the
young hunter awaited her, Miranda's
friendly interest had vanished, and in a
chilly silence — very unlike that which
had been eloquent between them a short
half hour before — the two walked on up
to the cabin. In Kirstie's welcome Dave
found all the warmth he could wish, with
never a reproach for his long years

1 68 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

of neglect, — for which, therefore, he the
more bitterly reproached himself. The
best of all protections against the stings
of self-reproach is the reproach of others ;
and of this protection Kirstie ruthlessly
deprived him. She asked about all the
details of his life as a solitary trapper,
congratulated him on his success, ap-
peared sympathetic toward his calling,
and refrained from attempting his con-
version to vegetarianism. Looking at
her noble figure, her face still beautiful
in its strength and calm, the young man
harked back in his memory to the Settle-
ment's scandals and decided that Frank
Craig had never, of his own will, forsaken
a woman so altogether gracious and de-
sirable. He resolved that he would come
often to the cabin in the clearing — even
if Miranda was unpleasant to him.

Unpleasant she certainly was, all the
evening, coldly unconscious of his pres-
ence, except, of course, at supper, where
civility as well as hospitality obliged her
to keep his plate supplied, and not to
sour his meal with an obstinate silence.

Young Dave at the Clearing 169

He watched her stealthily while he talked
to her mother ; and the fact that her wild
and subtle beauty, thrilling his blood,
made ridiculous the anger in his heart,
did not prevent his accomplishing a
brave meal of eggs, steaming buttered
pancakes with molasses, and sweet cottage
cheese with currant jelly. Kirstie would
not hear of his going that night, so he
stayed, and slept in the bunk which his
father had occupied a dozen years before.

In the morning he was diligent to help
with the barnyard chores, and won golden
comment from Kirstie; but he found
Miranda still ice to his admiration.
About breakfast time, however, Kroof
reappeared, with an air of having quite
forgotten the evening's little unpleasant-
ness. Of Dave she took no notice at all,
looking through, beyond, and around him ;
but with her return Miranda's manner
became a shade less austere. Her self-
reproach was mitigated when she saw that
her passing interest in the newcomer had
not unpardonably wronged her old friend.

Dave was bound for the Settlement, to

170 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

arrange some business of bounties and
pelt sales. In spite of Kirstie's hospita-
ble arguments, he insisted on setting out
as soon as breakfast was over. As he
picked up his rifle from the corner be-
side his bunk, Miranda, as a sign of
peace between them, handed him his
pouch of bullets. But not so his big
powder-flask, on its gay green cord. This
she took to the door, and coolly emptied
its contents into a clump of burdocks.
Then, with an enigmatic smile, she handed
back the flask to its owner.

The young hunter was annoyed. Pow-
der was, in his eyes, a sacred thing, and
such a wanton waste of it seemed to him
little less than criminal.

"That was all the powder I had 'twixt
here an' the Settlement," he said, in a tone
of rebuke.

"So much the better," said Miranda.

"But I don't see no sense in wastin'
it that way," he persisted.

" No knowing what may happen be-
tween here and the Settlement," rejoined
the girl, meaningly.

Young Dave at the Clearing 171

Dave flushed with anger. "Didn't I
pass ye my word I'd not harm a hair of
one of your beasts ? " he demanded.

"Then what do you want with the
powder this side of the Settlement ? " she
inquired, with tantalizing pertinence.

The young hunter, though steady and
clear in his thought, was by no means apt
in repartee, and Miranda had him at a
cruel disadvantage. Confused by her last
question, he blundered badly in his reply.
"But — what if a painter should jump
onto me, like he was goin' to yesterday ? "
he protested.

" I thought you promised you wouldn't
harm a hair of one of them," suggested
Miranda, thoughtful yet triumphant.

"Would you have me let the critter
kill me, jest to keep my promise ? " he
asked, humour beginning to correct his
vexation.

"I don't see why not," murmured
Miranda. "Anyhow, you've got to do
without the powder. And you needn't
be frightened, Dave," — this very patro-
nizingly, — " for your father never carries

172 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

a gun on our trail, and he's never needed
one yet."
« " Well, then," laughed Dave, " I'll try
an* keep my hair on, an' not be clean
skeered to death. Good-by, Kirstie !
Good-by, Mirandy ! I'll look 'round this
way afore long, like as not."

" Inside of twelve years ? " said Kirstie,
with a rare smile, which robbed her words
of all reproach.

" Likely," responded Dave, and he
swung off with long, active strides down
the trail.

Miranda's eyes followed him with re-
luctance.

Chapter XIII

Milking-time

YOUNG Dave Titus was not without
the rudiments of a knowledge of
woman, few as had been his opportunities
for acquiring that rarest and most difficult
of sciences. He made no second visit to
the cabin in the clearing till he had kept
Miranda many weeks wondering at his
absence. Then, when the stalks were
whitey grey, and the pumpkins golden
yellow in the corn-field, and the buck-
wheat patch was crisply brown, and the
scarlet of the maples was beginning to
fade out along the forest edges, he came
drifting back lazily one late afternoon,
just as the slow tink-a-tonk of the cow-bells
was beginning the mellow proclamation of
milking-time and sundown. The tonic
chill of autumn in the wilderness open
caught his nostrils deliciously as he

173

174 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

emerged from the warmer stillness of the
woods. The smell, the sound of the cow-
bells, — these were homely sweet after the
day-long solitude of the trail. But the
scene — the grey cabin lifted skyward on
the gradual swell of the fields — was lone-
liness itself. The clearing seemed to Dave
a little beautiful lost world, and it gave
him an ache at the heart to think of the
years that Miranda and Kirstie had dwelt
in it alone.

Just beyond the edge of the forest he
came upon Kroof, grubbing and munch-
ing some wild roots. He spoke to her
deferentially, but she swung her huge
rump about and firmly ignored him. He
was anxious to win the shrewd beast's
favour, or at least her tolerance, both be-
cause she had stirred his imagination and
because he felt that her good-will would
be, in Miranda's eyes, a most convincing
testimonial to his worth. But he wisely
refrained from forcing himself upon her
notice.

"Go slow, my son, go slow. It's a
she; an' more'n likely you don't know

Milking-time 175

jest how to take her," he muttered to him-
self, after a fashion acquired in the intermi-
nable solitude of his camp. Leaving Kroof
to her moroseness, he hastened up to the
cabin, in hopes that he would be in time
to help Kirstie and Miranda with the
milking.

Just before he got to the door he expe-
rienced a surprise, so far as he was capable
of being surprised at anything which might
take place in these unreal surroundings.
From behind the cabin came Wapiti the
buck, or perhaps a younger Wapiti, on
whom the spirit of his sire had descended
in double portion. Close after him came
two does, sniffing doubtfully at the smell
of a stranger on the air. To Wapiti a
stranger at the cabin, where such visitants
were unheard of, must needs be an enemy,
or at least a suspect. He stepped deli-
cately out into the path, stamped his fine
hoof in defiance, and lowered his armory
of antlers. They were keen and hard, these
October antlers, for this was the moon
of battle, and he was ready. In rutting
season Wapiti was every inch a hero.

176 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

Now Dave Titus well knew that this
was no bluff of Wapiti's. He was amused
and embarrassed. He could not fight
this unexpected foe, for victory or defeat
would be equally fatal to his hope of pleas-
ing Miranda. As a consequence, here he
was, Dave Titus, the noted hunter, the
Nimrod, held up by a rutting buck !
Well, the trouble was of Miranda's mak-
ing. She'd have to get him out of it.
Facing the defiant Wapiti at a distance
of five or six paces, he rested the butt of
his rifle on his toe and sent a mellow,
resonant heigh-loy heigh-lo! echoing over
the still air. The forest edges took it up,
answering again and again. Kirstie and
Miranda came to the door to see who
gave the summons, and they understood
the situation at a glance.

"Call oflf yer dawg, Mirandy," cried
Young Dave, " an' I'll come an' pay ye a
visit.

" He thinks you're going to hurt us,"
explained Kirstie; and Miranda, with a
gay laugh, ran to the rescue.

"You mustn't frighten the good little

Milking-time 177

boy, Wapiti," she cried, pushing the big
deer out of her path and running to Dave's
side. As soon as Wapiti saw Miranda
with Dave, he comprehended that the
stranger was not a foe. With a flourish
of his horns he stepped aside and led his
herd off through the barnyard.

Arriving at the door, where Kirstie,
gracious, but impassive, awaited him, Dave
exclaimed: "She's saved my life ag'in,
Kirstie, that giri o' yourn. First it's a
painter, an' now it's a rutting buck.
Wonder what it'll be next time ! "

"A rabbit, like as not, or a squir'l,
maybe," suggested Miranda, unkindly.

"Whatever it be," persisted Dave,
" third time's luck for me, anyways. If
you save my life agin, Mirandy, you'll
hev' to take care o* me altogether. I'll git
to kind of depend on ye."

" Then I reckon, Dave, you'll get out
of your next scrape by yourself," answered
Miranda, with discourapng dcdsion.

" That's one on you, Dave," remarked
Kirstie, with a stricdy neutrsd jur. But
behind Miranda's back she shot him a

N

178 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

look which said, " Don't you mind what
she says, she's all right in her heart!"
which, indeed, was far from being the
case. Had Dave been so injudicious as
to woo openly at this stage of Miranda's
feelings, he would have been dismissed
with speedy emphasis.

Dave was in time to help with the
milking, — a process which he boyishly
enjoyed. The cows, five of them, were
by now lowing at the bars. Kirstie
brought out three tin pails. "You can
help us, if you like, Dave," she cried,
while Miranda looked her doubt of such
a clumsy creature's capacity for the gentle
art of milking. " Can you milk ? " she
asked.

" ' Course I can, though I haven't had
much chance, o' late years, to practise,"
said Dave.

"Can you milk without hurting the
cow? Are you sure? And can you
draw off the strippings clean ? " she per-
sisted, manifestly sceptical.

" Try me," said Dave.

" Let him take old Whitey, Miranda.

Milking-time 179

He'll get through with her, maybe, while
we're milking the others," suggested
Kirstie.

" Oh, well, any one could milk Whitey,"
assented Miranda; and Dave, on his
mettle, vowed within himself that he'd
have old Whitey milked, and milked dry,
and milked to her satisfaction, before
either Kirstie or Miranda was through
with her first milker. He stroked the
cow on the flank, and scratched her belly
gently, and established friendly relations
with her before starting; and the elastic
firmness of his strong hands chanced to
suit Whitey's large teats. The animal
eyed him with favour and gave down her
milk affluently. As the full streams
sounded more and more liquidly in his
pail, Dave knew that he had the game in
his hands, and took time to glance at his
rivals. To his astonishment there was
Kroof standing up on her haunches close
beside Miranda, her narrow red tongue
lolling from her lazily open jaws, while she
watched the milky fountains with interest.

While Kirstie's scarlet kerchiefed head

i8o The Heart of the Ancient Wood

was still pressed upon her milker's flank,
and while Miranda was just beginning to
draw oflF the rich " strippings " into a tin
cup, Dave completed his task. His pail
— he had milked the strippings in along
with the rest — was foaming creamily to
the brim. He arose and vaunted him-
self. " Some day, when I've got lots of
time," he drawled, " I'll I'arn you two how
to milk."

"You needn't think you're done al-
ready," retorted Miranda, without look-
ing up. " I'll get a quart more out of
old Whitey, soon as I'm through here."

But Kirstie came over and looked at
the pail. " No, you won't, Miranda, not
this time," she exclaimed. " Dave's beaten
us, sure. Old Whitey never gave us a
fuller pail in her life. Dave, you can
milk. You go and milk Michael over
there, the black-an'-white one, for me.
I'll leave you and Miranda, if you won't
fall out, to finish up here, while I go and
get an extra good supper for you, so's
you'll come again soon. I know you
men keep your hearts in your stomachs.

Milking-time i8i

just where we women know how to reach
them easy. Where'd we have been if the
Lord hadn't made us cooks ! "

Such unwonted pleasantry on the part
of her sombre mother proved to Miranda
that Dave was much in her graces, and
she felt moved to a greater austerity in
order that she might keep the balance
true. Throughout the rest of the milk-
ing, she answered all Dave's attempts at
conversation with briefest yes or no^ and
presently reduced him to a discouraged
silence. During supper, — which consisted
of fresh trout fried in corn meal, and
golden hot johnny-cake with red molasses,
and eggs fried with tomatoes, and sweet
curds with clotted cream, all in a perfec-
tion to justify Kirstie's promise, — Mi-
randa relented a little, and talked freely.
But Dave had been too much subdued
to readily regain his cheer. It was his
tongue now that knew but yes and no.
Confronted by this result of her unkind-
ness, Miranda's sympathetic heart • soft-
ened. Turning in her seat to slip a piece
of johnny-cake, drenched in molasses,

1 82 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

into the expectant mouth of Kroof who
sat up beside her, she spoke to Dave in a
tone whose sweetness thrilled him to the
finger-tips. The instinct of coquetry,
native and not unknown to the furtive
folk themselves, was beginning to stir
within Miranda's untaught heart.

" I'm going down to the lake to-night,
Dave," she said, " to set a night line and
see if I can catch a togue.^ There's a full
moon, and the lake'U be worth looking at.
Won't you come along with us ? "

" Won't I, Miranda ? Couldn't think
of nothin' I'd like better ! " was the eager
response.

"We'll start soon as ever we get the
dishes washed up," explained the girl.
"And you can help us at that — what
say, mother ? "

" Certainly, Dave can help us," answered
Kirstie, " if you have the nerve to set the
likes of him at woman's work. But I
reckon I won't go with you to-night to
the lake. Kroof and Dave'll be enough
to look after you."

^ A species of large, grey lake trout.

Milking-time 183

" rU look after Dave, more like," ex-
claimed Miranda, scornftiUy, remembering
both Wapiti and the panther. " But what's
the matter, mother ? Do come. It won't
be the same without you."

" Seems to me I'm tired to-night, kind
of, and I just want to stay at home by the
fire and think."

Miranda sprang up, with concern in
her face, and ran round to her mother's
seat.

"Tired, mother!" she cried, scanning
her features anxiously. " Who ever heard
of people like you and me, who are strong,
and live right, being tired? I'm afraid
you're not well, mother; I won't go one
step ! "

"Yes, you will, dearie," answered her
mother, and never yet had Miranda re-
belled against that firm note in Kirstie's
voice. " I really want to be alone to-night
a bit, and think. Dave's visit has stirred
up a lot of old thoughts, and I want to
take a look at them. I reckoned they
were dead and buried years ago ! "

"Are you sure you're not sick, mother?"

184 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

went on Miranda, hesitatingly returning to
her seat.

" No, child, I'm not sick. But I have
felt tired off an' on the last few days when
there was no call to. I do begin to feel
that this big solitude of the woods is wear-
ing on me, someway. I've stood up under
it all these years, Dave, and it's given me
peace and strength when I needed it bad
enough, God knows. But someway I
reckon it's too big for me, and will crush
me in the long run. I love the clearing,
but I don't just want to end my days
here."

" Mother," cried Miranda, springing up
again, " I never heard you talk so before
in my life ! Leave the clearing ! Leave
the woods ! I couldrCt live, I just couldn't,
anywheres else at all ! "

" There's other places, Miranda," mur-
mured Dave. But Kirstie continued the
argument.

" It's a sight different with you, child,"
she said thoughtfully. " You've grown up
here. The woods and the sky have made
you. They're in your blood. You live and

Milking-dme 185

breathe them. You were a queer baby —
more a fairy or a wild thing than a human
youngster — before ever you came to the
clearing ; and all the wild things seem to
think you're one of themselves ; and you
see what other folks can't see — what the
folks of the woods themselves can't see*
Oh, yes ! it's a sight different with you^ Mi-
randa. Your father used to watch you and
say you'd grow up to be a hun woman
or wood goddess, or else the ^ries would
carry you off. This place is all right for you.
And I used to think I was that big and
strong of spirit that I could stand up to
it all the rest of my Ufe. But I begin to
think it's too big for me. I don't want
to die here, Miranda!"

Miranda stared at her, greatly troubled*
" You won't die till I'm old enough to
die too, mother," she cried, ^for I just
couldn't live without you one day. But/'
she added passionately, ^ I know I should
die, quick, right off, if I had to go away
from the clearing ! I know I would ! ''

She spoke with the fiercer pot itivenetf ,
because, just as she was fpcaking, there

1 86 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

came over her a doubt of her own words.
In a flash she saw herself growing old here
in the vast solitude, she and Kirstie to-
gether, and no one else anywhere to be
seen. The figure so cruelly conspicuous
in its absence bore a strange, dim likeness
to Young Dave. She did not ask herself
if it were possible that she could one day
wish to desert the clearing, and the still-
nesses, and all the folk of the ancient wood^
but somewhere at the back of her heart
she felt that it might even be so, and her
heart contracted poignantly. She ran and
flung both arms about Kroof 's neck, and
wiped a stealthy tear on the shaggy coat.

Dave, with a quickening intuition born
of his dread lest the trip to the lake should
fall through, saw that the conversation was
treading dangerous ground. He dis-
creetly changed the subject to johnny-
cake.

Chapter XIV

Moonlight and Moose-call

WHEN Miranda was ready to start,
the moon was up, low and large,
shining broadly into the cabin window.
Miranda brought forward a small, tin-cov-
ered kettle, containing some little fish for
bait.

" Where's your line an* hooks ? " asked
Dave.

" I keep them in a hollow tree by the
lake," said Miranda. "But don't you
go to take that thing along, or you don't
go with me!" she added sharply, as the
young man picked up his rifle.

He set it down again with alacrity.

" But at night, Mirandy ! " he pro-
tested. " Air ye sure it's safe ? "

" Don't come if you're afraid ! " she
answered witheringly, stepping out into
the white light and the coldly pungent air.

187

1 88 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

Dave was at her side in a moment, ig-
noring a taunt which could touch him
least among men. At Miranda's other
side was the great lumbering form of
Kroof, with the girl's hand resting lov-
ingly on her neck.

"We'll not be long, mother," called
Miranda to Kirstie, in the doorway.

But before they had gone twenty paces,
Kroof stopped short, and sat down to
deliberate. She regarded it as her own
peculiar office to protect Miranda (who
needed no protection) on these nocturnal
expeditions to which the girl was given
in some moods. Was the obnoxious
stranger to usurp her office and her privi-
lege? Well, she would not share with
him. She would stay where she was
needed.

"Come along, Kroof!" urged Mi-
randa, with a little tug at her fur. But
the jealous bear was obstinate. She
wheeled and made for the cabin door.

Miranda was irritated.

" Let her stay, then ! " she exclaimed,
setting her face to the forest, and smiling

Moonlight and Moose-call 189

in more gracious fashion upon Young
Dave. Kroof was certainly very pro-
voking.

"That's all right!** said Dave, more
pleased than he dare show. "She*ll be
company for yer mother till we git
back.**

" Kroof seems to think she owns me ! **
mused Miranda. " I love her better than
any one else in the world except mother ;
but I mustn*t spoil her when she gets
cross about nothing. She oughtn't to be
so jealous when I'm nice to you, Dave !
Fm very angry at her for being so silly.
She ought to know you're nothing to me
alongside of her ; now, oughtn't she ? "

" Of course," assented Dave, with
such cheerfulness as he could assume.
Then he set himself craftily to win Mi-
randa's approval by a minute account of
the characteristics — mental, moral, and
physical — of a tame bear named Pete,
belonging to one of the lumbermen at
the Settlement. The subject was saga-
ciously chosen, and had the effect of
making Miranda feel measurably less re-

190 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

mote from the world of men. It sug-
gested to her a kind of possible under-
standing between the world of men and
the world of the ancient wood.

As they left the moonlit open, the long
white fingers of the phantom light reached
after them, down the dissolving arches.
Then the last groping ray was left behind,
and they walked in the soft dark. Dave
found it an exquisite but imperative ne-
cessity to keep close at Miranda's elbow,
touching her very skirt indeed, for even
his trained woodland eyes could at first
distinguish nothing. Miranda, however,
with her miraculous vision, moved swiftly,
unhesitatingly, as if in broad day and a
plain way.

Soon, however, Dave's eyes adapted
themselves, and he could discern vague
differences, denser masses, semi-translu-
cencies in the enfolding depth of black-
ness. For there was a light, of a kind,
carried down by countless reflections and
refractions from the lit, wet surfaces of the
topmost leaves. Moreover, clean-blooded
and fine-nerved as he was from his years

Moonlight and Moose-call 191

of living under nature's ceaseless purga-
tion, his other senses came to the aid of
his baffled sight. He seemed to feel,
rather than see, the massive bulk of the
pine and birch trunks as his face ap-
proached them to the nearness of an
arm's length. He felt, too, an added
hardness and a swelling under the moss,
wherever the network of roots came close
to the parent trunk. His nostrils dis-
cerned the pine, the spruce, the hemlock,
the balsam poplar, the aromatic moose-
wood, as he passed them ; and long be-
fore he came to it he knew the tamarack
swamp was near. Only his ears could
not aid him. Except for Miranda's foot-
steps, feather-soft upon the moss, and his
own heavier but skilfully muffled tread,
there was no sound in the forest but an
indeterminate whisper, so thin that it
might have been the speech of the leaves
conferring, or the sap climbing through
the smaller branches. Neither he nor
Miranda uttered a word. The stillness
was such that a voice would have pro-
faned it. Finding it difficult to keep up

192 The Heart of the Andent Wood

without stumbUng and making a rough
„oi«. Dave fialll., ,«ig«d^hioJ?t

the girl's supenor craft.

"YouVc got to be eyes fer me here,
you wonderful Mirandy, er I can't keep
up with ye ! '' he whispered at her ear.
The light warmth of his breath upon her
neck made her tingle in a way that beml-
dered her; but she found it pleasant.
When he took hold of her arm, very
gently, to steady himself, rather to his
surprise he was permitted. He was wise
enough, however, not to attach too much
importance to the favour. He pondered
the fact that to Miranda, who was not a
Settlement girl, it meant altogether nothing.

Presently, just ahead of them, they saw
a pair of palely-glowing eyes, about two feet
from the ground. Miranda squeezed the
hand inside her arm, as a sign that Dave
was not to regret his rifle. As a matter
of fact, he was not disposed to regret any-
thing at that moment.

" Lou^-cerfie ! " he whispered at her ear,
meaning the lynx, or loup-cervier of the
camps.

Moonlight and Moose-call 193

" No, panther ! " murmured Miranda,
indifferently, going straight forward. At
this startling word, Dave could not, under
the circumstances, refrain from a certain
misgiving. A panther is not good to
meet in the dark. But the palely-glow-
ing eyes sank mysteriously toward the
ground and retreated as Miranda ad-
vanced ; and in a few seconds they went
floating off to one side and disappeared.

" How on earth do ye do it, Mirandy ? "
whispered Dave, rather awestruck.

"They know me," replied the girl;
which seemed to her, but not to Dave, an
all-sufficient answer.

There was no more said. The magic
of the dark held them both breathless.
They were strung to a strange, electric
pitch of sympathy and expectation.
Dave's fingers, where they rested on the
girl's arm, tingled curiously, deliciously.
Once, close beside them, there was a sharp
rattle of claws going up the bark of a fir
tree, and then two little points of light,
close together, gleamed down upon them
from overhead. Both Miranda and Dave

194 T^ Heaft cf tbe Andent Wood

knew it was a raccoon^ and said nodung.
Faither on diey came saddenljr upcm a
spectrally luminous figure just in tlidr
path* It was neariy the height of a man.
The ghosdy light waxed and waned before
thdr eyes* A timorous imagination
might have been pardoned for calling it
a spirit sent to warn them back from their
venture* But they knew it was only a
rotting birch stump turned phosphores-
cent* As they pa»ied, Dave broke off a
piece and crumbled it, and for some
minutes the bluish light clung to his
fingers, like a perfume.

At last they heard an owl hoot solemnly
in the distance* " Tw^ob-boo-boo-boo-ooo,**
it went, a cold and melancholy sound.

"We're near the lake," whispered
Miranda. " I know Wah-hoo ; he lives
in an old tree close to the water. We're
almost there." Then glimpses of light
came, broken and thin, from the far-off
moon-silvered surface. Then a breath of
chill, though there was no wind. And
then they came out upon the open shore.

Miranda, with a decisive gesture, re^

Moonlight and Moose-call 195

moved her arm from Dave's grasp, and
side by side the two followed the long
sweep of sandy beach curving off to the
right.

" See that point yonder," said Miranda,
"with the lop-sided tree standing alone
on it ? Tve got my line and hooks hidden
in that tree."

"How do ye set a night line without a
boat ? " queried Dave.

" Got one, of course ! " answered the
girl. "Your father made me a dugout,
last summer a year ago, and I keep it
drawn up behind the point."

The moon was high now, sailing in icy
splendour of solitude over the immensity
of the ancient wood. The lake was a
windless mirror. The beach was very
smooth and white, etched along its land-
ward edges with the shadows of the trees.
At one spot a cluster of three willows
grew very near the water's brink, spread-
ing a transparent and mysterious shadow.
Just as Dave and Miranda came to this
little oasis in the shining sand, across the
water came the long, sonorous call of a

196 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

bull moose. It was a deep note, melodi-*
ous and far carrying, and seemed in some
way the very spoken thought of the vast-
ness.

" That's what I call music ! ** said Dave.

But before Miranda could respond, a
thunderous bellow roared in answer from
the blackness of the woods close by ; there
was a heavy crashing in the underbrush,
and the towering front of another bull
appeared at the edge of the sands, look-
ing for his challenger. Catching sight of
Dave and Miranda, he charged down upon
them at once.

" Get up a tree, quick ! " cried Dave,
slipping his long knife from its sheath and
stepping in front of the girl.

" Don't you meddle and there'll be no
trouble ! " said Miranda, sharply. " You
stand behind that tree ! " and seizing him
by the arm she attempted to push him
out of sight. But for a second he stupidly
resisted.

" Fool ! " she flamed out at him. "What
do you suppose I've done all these years
without you?"

Moonlight and Moose-call 197

The anger in her eyes pierced his senses
and brought wisdom. He realized that
somehow she was master of the situation,
and he reluctantly stepped behind the big
willow trunk. It was just in the nick of
time, for the furious animal was almost
upon them. At this moment a breath of
air from the water carried Miranda's scent
to the beast's nostrils, and he checked
himself in doubt. At once Miranda gave
a soft whistle and stepped out into the
clear flood of moonlight. The moose rec-
ognized her, stood still, raised his gigantic
antlers to their full height, and stretched
toward her his long, flexible snout, sniflT-
ing amicably. Then, step by step, he
approached, while she waited with her
small hand held out to him, palm upward;
and Dave looked on in wonder from be-
hind his tree, still doubtful, his fingers
gripping his knife-hilt.

At this moment the first call sounded
again across the lake. The moose forgot
Miranda. He wheeled nimbly, lowered
his head toward the great challenge, bel-
lowed his answer, and charged along the

198 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

shore to mortal combat. As he disappeared
around a jutting spur of pines, a tall cow
moose emerged from the shades and trotted
after him.

Miranda turned to Dave with an dr of
triumph, her anger forgotten.

" I swan, Mirandy ! " excldmed the
young hunter, "the girl as can manage
a bull moose in callin' season is the Queen
of the Forest, sure. I take off my cap
to yer majesty ! "

" Put it on again, Dave," said she, not
half displeased, " and we'll go set the
night lines."

Behind the point, hidden in a thicket
of mixed huckleberry and ironwood, they
found the wooden canoe, or dugout, in
good condition. Dave ran it down into
the water, and Miranda tossed in a roll of
stout cod-line, with four large hooks de-
pending from it, at four-foot intervals, by
drop strings a foot and a half in length.
The hooks she proceeded to bait from the
tin kettle.

"Why don't ye have more hooks on
sech a len'th of line ? " inquired Dave.

Moonlight and Moose-call 199

" Don't want to catch more togue than
we can eat/* explained Miranda. "It's
no fun catching them this way, and they're
not much good salted."

There was but one paddle, and this
Dave captured. "You sit in the bow,
Mirandy, an' see to the lines, an' FU
paddle ye out," said he.

But Miranda would have none of it.
" Look here, Dave," she exclaimed, " I'm
doing this, and you're just a visitor. I
declare, I'm almost sorry I brought you
along. You just sit where you're put, and
do as I tell you, or you won't come with
me again."

The young man squatted himself meekly
on his knees, a little forward of amidship,
but not far enough for his superior weight
to put the canoe down by the bow. Then
Miranda stepped in delicately, seated her-
self on a thwart at the stern, and dipped
her paddle with precise and masterful
stroke. The canoe shot noiselessly out
of the shadow and into the unrippled
sheen. Just off the point, about twenty
yards from shore, lay a light wooden float

2CX) The Heart of the Ancient Wood

at anchor. Beside this Miranda brought
her canoe to a standstill, backing water
silently with firm flexures of her wrist.
To a rusty staple in the float she fastened
one end of the line.

" Deep water off this here point, I
reckon/* commented Dave.

" Of course," answered Miranda. " The
togue only lie in deep water."

Dave was permitted to make comments,
but to take no more active part in the pro-
ceedings. As he was a man of deeds and
dreams rather than of speech, this was
not the role he coveted, and he held his
tongue ; while Miranda, deftly paying out
the line with one hand, with the other
cleverly wielded the paddle so that the
canoe slipped toward shore. She was too
much absorbed in the operation to vouch-
safe any explanation to Dave, but he saw
that she intended making fast the other
end of the line to a stake which jutted up
close to the water's edge.

Miranda now slipped the line under
her foot to hold it, and, taking both
hands to her paddle, was about to make

Moonlight and Moose-call 201

a landing, when suddenly there was a vio-
lent tug at one of the hooks. The line
was torn from under her light foot, and
at once dragged overboard. Dave saw
what had happened; but he was wise
enough not to say, even by look or tone,
" I told you so ! " Instead, he turned and
pointed to the float, which was now acting
very erratically, darting from side to side,
and at times plunging quite under water.
The glassy mirror of the lake was shat-
tered to bits.

"You've got him a' ready, Mirandy,"
he cried in triumph; and his palpable
elation quite covered Miranda's chagrin.
Two or three strong strokes of her paddle
brought the canoe back to the float, and
Dave had his reward.

" Catch hold of the float, Dave," she
commanded, " and pull him aboard, while
I hold the canoe."

With a great splashing and turmoil he
hauled up a large togue, of twelve pounds
or thereabouts, and landed it flopping in
the bottom of the dugout. A stroke in
the back of the neck from Miranda's knife.

i_

202 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

sharp but humane, put a term to its strug-
gles.

While Dave gazed admiringly at the
glittering spoil, Miranda began untying
the line from the float.

**What air ye doin' now, Mirandy?"
he inquired, as she proceeded to strip the
bait from the remaining hooks, and throw
the pieces overboard.

**We won't want any more togue for
a week," she explained. " This is such
a fine, big one." And she headed the
canoe for the landing-place, under the
shadow of the point.

Chapter XV
A Venison Steak

THROUGHOUT the succeeding
winter Dave managed to visit the
clearing two or three times in the course
of each month, but he could not see that
he made any progress in Miranda's favour.
As at first, she was sometimes friendly,
sometimes caustically indifferent. Only
once did he perceive in her the smallest
hint of gratification at his coming. That
was the time when he came on his snow-
shoes through the forest by moonlight,
the snow giving a diffused glimmer that
showed him the trail even through the
densest thickets. Arriving in the morn-
ing, he surprised her at the door of the
cow stable, where she had been foddering
the cattle. Her face flushed at the sight
of him ; and a look came into her wide,
dark eyes which even his modesty could

203

204 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

not quite misunderstand. But his delight
quickly crumbled. Miranda was loftily
indifferent to him during all that visit, so
much so that after he had gone Kirstie
reproached her with incivility.

"I can't help it, mother!" she ex-
plained. " I don't want to hate him, but
what better is he than a butcher? His
bread is stained with blood. Pah ! I
sometimes think I smell blood, the blood
of the kind wood creatures, when he's
around."

" But you don't want him not to come,
girl, surely," protested her mother.

"Well, you know, it's a pleasure to
you to have him come once in a while,"
said the girl, enigmatically.

Dave continued his visits, biding his
time. He lost no chance of familiarizing
Miranda's imagination with the needs of
man as he imagined them, and with a
rational conception of life as he conceived
it. This he did not directly, but through
the medium of conversation with Kirstie,
to whom his words were sweetness. He
was determined to break down Miranda's

A Venison Steak 205

prejudice against his calling, which to him
was the only one worth a man's while, —
wholesome, sane, full of adventure, full of
romance. He was determined, also, to
overcome her deep aversion to flesh food.
He felt that not till these two points were
gained would Miranda become sufficiently
human to understand human love or any
truly human emotions. In this belief he
strictly withheld his wooing, and waited till
the barriers that opposed it should be un-
dermined by his systematic attacks. He
was too little learned in woman to realize
that with Miranda his best wooing was
the absence of all wooing; and so he
builded better than he knew.

During the cold months he was glad to
be relieved of the presence of Kroof, who
had proved, in her taciturn way, quite
irreconcilable. He had tried in vain to
purchase her favour with honey, good
hive bees' honey in the comb, carried all
the way from the Settlement She would
have nothing to do with him at any price ;
and he felt that this discredited him in
Miranda's eyes. He hoped that Kroof

ao6 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

would sleep late that spring in her lair
under the pine root.

But while Dave was labouring so assid-
uously, and, as he fancied, so subtly, to
mould and fashion Miranda, she all un-
awares was moulding him. Unconsciously
his rifle and his traps were losing zest for
him ; and the utter solitude of his camp
beyond the Quah-Davic began to have
manifest disadvantages. Once he hesi-
tated so long over a good shot at a lynx,
just because the creature looked unsus-
pecting, that in the end he was too late,
and his store of pelts was the poorer by
one good skin. Shooting a young cow
moose in the deep snow, moreover, he
felt an unwonted qualm when the gasping
and bleeding beast turned upon him a look
of anguished reproach. His hand was
not quite so steady as usual when he gave
her the knife in the throat. This was
a weakness which he did not let himself
examine too closely. He knew the flesh
of the young cow was tender and good,
and after freezing it he hung it up in his
cold cellar. Though he would not for

A Venison Steak 207

an instant have acknowledged it, even to
himself, he was glad that bears were not
his business during the winter, for he
would almost certainly have felt a sense
of guilt, of wrong to Miranda, in shooting
them. For all this undercurrent of qualm
in the hidden depths of his heart, how-
ever, his hunting was never more prosper-
ous than during the January and February
of that winter ; and fox, lynx, wolverine,
seemed not only to run upon his gun, but
to seek his traps as a haven. He killed
with an emphasis, as if to rebuke the wak-
ing germ of softness in his soul. But
he had little of the old satisfaction, as he
saw his peltries accumulate. His craft
was now become a business, a mere rou-
tine necessity. For pleasure, he chose to
watch Miranda as her feathered pen-
sioners — snowbirds, wrens, rose gros-
beaks, and a glossy crow or two —
gathered about her of a morning for their
meal of grain and crumbs. They alighted
on her hair, her shoulders, her arms ; and
the round-headed, childlike grosbeaks
would peck bread from her red lips ; and

ao8 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

a crow, every now and then, would sidle
in briskly and give a mischievous tug at
the string of her moccasin. To the girl,
his heart needed no warming, — it burned
by now with a fire which all his back-
wood's stoicism could but ill disguise, —
but to the birds, and through them to all
the furry folk of the wood, his heart
warmed as he regarded the beautiful sight.
He noted that the birds were quite un-
afraid of Kirstie, who also fed them ; but
he saw that toward Miranda they showed
an active, even aggressive ardour, striving
jealously for the touch of her hand or foot
or skirt when no tit-bits whatever were
in question. And another sight there was,
toward shut of winter's evening, that
moved him strangely. The wild, white
hares (he and Kirstie and Miranda called
them rabbits) would come leaping over
the snow to the cabin door to be fed, with
never cat or weasel on their trail. They
would press around the girl, nibbling
eagerly at her dole of clover, hay, and
carrots; some crouching about her feet,
some erect and striking at her petticoat

A Venison Steak 109

with their nervous fore paws, all twin-
kHng-eared, and all implicitly trustful of
this kind Miranda of the clover.

Toward spring Miranda began to be
troubled about Kirstie*s health. She saw
that the firm lines of her mother's face
were growing unwontedly sharp, the bones
of her cheek and jaw strangely conspicu-
ous. Then her solicitous scrutiny took
note of a pallor under the skin, a greyish
whiteness at the corners of her eyes, a lack
of vividness in the usually brilliant scarlet
of the lips ; for up to now Kirstie had
retained all the vital colouring and tone
of youth. Then, too, there was a listless-
ness, a desire to rest and take breath after
very ordinary tasks of chopping or of
throwing fodder for the cattle. This
puzzled the girl much more than Kirstie's
increasing tendency to sit dreaming over
the hearth fire when there was work to be
done. Miranda felt equal to doing all
the winter work, and she knew that her
mother, like herself, was ever a dreamer
when the mood was on. But even this
brooding abstraction came to worry her

aio The Heart of the Ancient Wood

at last, when one morning, after a drifting
storm which had piled the snow halfway
up the windows, her mother let her shovel
out all the paths unaided, with never a
comment or excuse. Miranda was not
aggrieved at this, by any means ; but she
began to be afraid, sorely afraid. It was
so unlike the alert and busy Kirs tie of
old days. Of necessity, Miranda turned
to Dave for counsel in her alarm, when
next he came to the clearing.

The conference took place in the warm
twilight of the cow stable, where Dave,
according to his custom, was helping
Miranda at the milking, while Kirstie got
supper. The young hunter looked seri-
ous, but not surprised.

" I've took note o' the change this two
month back, Mirandy," he said, "an'
was a-wonderin' some how them big eyes
of yourn, that can see things us ordinary
folks can't see, could be blind to what
teched ye so close."

" I wasrCt blind to it, Dave," protested
the girl, indignantly; "but I didn't see
how you could help any. Nor I don't

A Venison Steak 211

see now; but there was no one else I
could speak to about it," she added, with
a break in her voice that distantly pre-
saged tears.

" I could help some, if you'd let me,
Mirandy," he hesitated, "for I know
right well what she's needin'."

" Well, what is it ? " demanded the
girl. There was that in his voice which
oppressed her with a vague misgiving.

" It's good, fresh, roast meat she
wants ! " said Dave.

There was a pause. Miranda turned
and looked out through the stable door,
across the glimmering fields.

" It's her blood's got thin an' poor,"
continued Dave. "Nothin' but flesh
meat'U build her up now, an' she's jest
got to have it." He was beginning to
feel it was time that Miranda experienced
the touch of a firm hand.

" I don't believe you ! " said the girl,
and turned hotly to her milking.

" Well, we'll see," retorted Dave. In
Miranda's silence he read a tardy triumph
for his views.

212 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

That evening he took note of the fact
that Kirstie came to supper with no appe-
tite, though every dish of it was tempting
and well cooked. Miranda observed this
also. Her fresh pang of apprehension on
her mother's account was mixed with a
resentful feeling that Dave would inter-
pret every symptom as a confirmation of
his own view. She was quite honest in her
rejection of that view, for in her eyes flesh
food was a kind of subtle poison. But
she was too anxious about her mother's
health to commit herself in open hostil-
ity to anything, however extreme, which
might be suggested in remedy. On this
point she was resolved to hold aloof, let-
ting the decision rest between her mother
and Dave.

Aroused by the young hunter's talk,
Kirstie was brighter than usual during the
meal ; but, to her great disappointment,
Dave got up to go immediately after
supper. He would take no persuasion,
but insisted that he had come just to see
if she and Miranda were well, and de-
clared that affairs of supreme importance

A Venison Steak 213

called him straight back to the camp.
Kirstie was not convinced. She turned a
face of reproach on Miranda, so frankly
that the girl was compelled to take her
meaning.

" Oh ! it isn't my fault, mother," she
protested, with a little vexed laugh.
" I've not been doing anything ugly to
him. If he goes, it's just his own obsti-
nacy, for he knows we'd like him to stay
as he always does. Let him go if he
wants to ! "

" Mirandy," said her mother, in a voice
of grave rebuke, " I wish you would not
be so hard with Dave. If you treated
your dumb beasts like you treat him, I
reckon they would never come to you a
second time. You seem to forget that
Dave and his father are our only friends,
— and just now, Dave's father being in
the lumber camp, we've nobody but Dave
here to look to."

" Oh ! I've nothing against Dave,
mother, except the blood on his hands,"
retorted the girl, turning her face away.

The young hunter shrugged his shoul-

214 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

ders, deprecatingly, smiled a slow smile
of understanding at Kirstie, and strode to
the door.

"Good night, both of ye," he said
cheerfully. "Ye'U see me back, liker'n
not, by this time to-morrow."

As he went, Miranda noticed with
astonishment and a flush of warmth that
for once in his career he was without his
inseparable rifle. Kirstie, in the vacant
silence that followed his going, had it on
her tongue to say, " I do wish you could
take to Dave, Miranda." But the woman's
heart within her gave her warning in time,
and she held her peace. Thanks to this
prudence, Miranda went to bed that night
with something of a glow at her heart.
Dave's coming without the rifle was a di-
rect tribute to her influence, and to some
extent outweighed his horrible suggestion
that her mother should defile her mouth
with meat.

The next evening the chores were all
done up ; the " rabbits " had come and
gone with their clover and carrots ; and
Kirstie and Miranda were sitting down

A Venison Steak 215

to their supper, when in walked Dave.
He carried a package of something done
up in brown sacking. This time, too, he
carried his rifle. Kirstie's welcome was
frankly eager, but Miranda saw the rifle,
and froze. He caught her look, and with
a flash of intuition understood it.

" Had to bring it along, Mirandy," he
explained, with a flush of embarrassment.
" Couldn't ha' got here without it* The
wolves have come back again, six of 'em.
They set on to me at my own camp
door."

" Oh, wolves ! " exclaimed Miranda, in
a tone of aversion. " They're vermin."

Since that far-oflT day when, with her
childish face flattened against the pane,
her childish heart swelling with wrath and
tears, she had watched the wolves attack
Ten-Tine's little herd, she had hated the
ravening beasts with a whole-souled hate.

" I hope to goodness you killed them
all ! " said Kirstie, with pious fervour.

"Two got oflT; got the pelts of the
others," answered Dave.

Not too bad, that," commented

cc

21 6 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

Kirstie, with approval; "now come and
have some supper."

" Not jest yet, Kirstie," he replied, un-
doing his package. "I've noticed lately
ye was looking mighty peaked, an' hadn't
much appetite, like. Now when folks has
anything the matter with 'em I know as
much about it as lots of the doctors, and
I know what's goin' to set ye right up.
If ye'U lend me the loan of yer fire, an'
a frying-pan, I'll have something for yer
supper that'll do ye more good than a
bucketful of doctor's medicine."

Miranda knew what was coming. She
knew Dave had been all the way back to
the camp, beyond the Quah-Davic, for
meat, that he might run no risk of kill-
ing any of the beasts that were under
her protection. She knew, too, that to
make such a journey in the twenty-four
hours he could scarce have had one hour's
sleep. None the less, she hardened her
heart against him. She kept her eyes on
her plate and listened with strained inten-
sity for her mother's word upon this vital
subject.

A Venison Steak 117

Kirstie's interest was now very much
awake. "There's the fire, Dave," she
said, " and there's the frying-pan hanging
on the side of the dresser. But what
have you got ? I've felt this long
while I'd like a bit of a change — not
but what the food we're used to, Miranda
and me, is real good food and wholesome."

" Well, Kirstie," he answered, taking a
deep breath before the plunge, and at the
same time throwing back the wrapping
from a rosy cut of venison steak, "it's
jest nothin' more nor less than fresh meat.
It's venison, clean an' wholesome; and
I'll fry ye right now this tender slice I'm
cuttin' for ye."

Kirstie was startled quite out of her
self-possession. The rule of the cabin
against flesh meat was so long established,
so well known at the Settlement, so fenced
about with every sanction of principle and
prejudice, that Dave's words were of the
nature of a challenge. She felt that she
ought to be angry; but, as a matter of
fact, she was only uneasy as to how
Miranda would take so daring a proposal.

;*.- ^

fti8 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

At the same time she was suddenly con-
scious of an unholy craving for the for-
bidden thing. She glanced anxiously
at Miranda, but the girl appeared to be
¥mipped up in her own thoughts.

" But you know, Dave," she protested
rebukingly, " we neither of us ever touch
meat of any Idnd. You know our opin-
ions on this point/*

The words themselves would have sat-
isfied Miranda had she not detected a cer-
tain irresolution in the tone. They did
not aflfect Dave in the least. For a mo-
ment he made no reply, for he was busy
cutting thin slices off the steak. He
spread them carefully in the hot butter,
now spluttering in the pan over the coals ;
and then, straightening himself up from
the task, knife in hand, he answered cheer-
fully: "That's all right. But, ye see,
Kirstie, all the folks reckon me somethin*
of a doctor, an' this here meat I'm cookin*
for ye ain't rightly food at all. It's medi-
cine ; 't ain't right ye should hold off now,
when ye need it as medicine. 'T ain't fair
to Mirandy. I can see ye've jest been

A Venison Steak 219

pinin* away like, all winter. It's new
blood, with iron in it, ye need, It*s flesh
meat, an' flesh meat only, that'll give ye
iron an' new blood. When ye' re well, an'
yer old strong self agin, ye can quit meat
if ye like, — an' kick me out o' the cabin
for interferin' ; but now — "

He paused dramatically. He had talked
right on, contrary to his silent habit, for a
purpose. He knew the power of natural
cravings. He was waiting for Kirstie's
elemental bodily needs to speak out in
support of his argument. He waited just
time for the savoury smell of the steak to
fill the cabin and work its miracle. Now
the spell was abroad. He looked to
Kirstie for an answer.

The instant she smelled that savour
Kirstie knew that he was right. Steak,
venison steak fried in butter, was what
she required. For weeks she had had no
appetite ; now she was ravenous. More-
over, a thousand lesser forces, set in mo-
tion by Dave's long talks, were impelling
her to just such a change as the eating
of flesh would symbolize to her. But —

220 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

Miranda ? Kirstie stared at her in nervous
apprehension, expecting an outburst of
scorn. But Miranda was seemingly ob-
livious of all that went on in the cabin.
Her unfathomed eyes, abstractedly wide
open, were staring out through the white
square of the window. She was trying
hard to think about the mysterious blue-
white wash of radiance that seemed to
pour in palpable floods from the full
moon ; — about the furred and furtive
creatures passing and repassing noise-
lessly, as she knew, across the lit patches
of the glades ; — about the herd of moose
down in the firwoods, sleeping securely
between walls of deep snow in the " yard,"
which they had trodden for themselves a
fortnight back ; — of Kroof, coiled in her
warm den under the pine root, with five
feet of drift piled over her. But in reality
she was steeling herself, with fierce desper-
ation, against a strange appetite which was
rising within her at the call of that insidi-
ous fragrance. With a kind of horror she
realized that she was at war with herself
— that one half her nature was really more

A Venison Steak aai

than ready to partake of the forbidden
food.

Dave noticed the look of question which
Kirstie had turned upon Miranda.

" Oh, ye needn't look to her, Kirstie, to
back ye up in no foolishness," he went on.
" I spoke to her last night about it, an* she
hadn't a word to say agin my medicine."

Still there was no comment from Mi-
randa. If Miranda, to whom abstinence
from flesh was a religion, could tolerate a
compromise, why she herself, to whom it
was merely a prejudice and a preference,
might well break an ancient rule for an
instant's good. She had been inwardly
anxious for months about her condition.
After a second or two of doubt, her mind
was made up ; and when Kirstie made up
her mind, it was in no halfway fashion.

" I'll try your doctoring, Dave," she
said slowly. "I'll give it a fair trial.
But while you're about it, why don't you
cook enough for yourself, too? Have
you put salt in the pan ? And here's a
dash of pepper."

" No," answered the young hunter^

222 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

concealing his elation as he sprinkled the
steak temperately with the proffered salt
and pepper, " I don*t want none myself,
I need meat onct in a while, er I git weak
an* no good. But there's nothin' suits my
taste like the feeds I git here, — the pipin'
hot riz buckwheat cakes, with lots o' but-
ter an* molasses, an* the johnny-cake, an*
the potater pie, an* the tasty ways ye cook
eggs. I often think when I'm here that
I wouldn*t care if I never seen a slice o*
fresh meat, er even bacon, agin. But our
bodies is built a certain way, an* there's
no gittin* over Nature's intention. We*ve
got the teeth to prove it, an* the in-
sides, too, — I've read all about it in
doctors* books. I read a heap in camp.
Fact is, Kirstie, we*re built like the bear,
— to live on all kinds of food, includin'
flesh, — an* if we don't git all kinds onct
in a while, somethin's bound to go wrong,"
Never had Dave talked so much be-
fore ; but now he was feverishly eager to
have no opening for discussion. While
he talked the venison was cooked and
served. Kirstie ate it with a relish, which

A Venison Steak 223

convinced him of the wisdom of his
course. She ate all that he had fried ;
and he wisely refrained from cooking
more, that her appetite might be kept on
edge for it in the morning. Then she
ate other things, with an unwonted zest.
Miranda returned to the table, talking
pleasantly of everything but health, and
food, and hunting. Against herself she
was angry ; but on Dave, to his surprise,
she smiled with a rare graciousness. She
was mollified by his tact in characterizing
the steak as medicine ; and, moreover, by
his statement of a preference for their or-
dinary bloodless table, he seemed in some
way to range himself on her side, even
while challenging her principles. But —
oh, that savoury smell ! It still enriched
the air of the cabin ; it still stirred riot-
ous cravings in her astonished appetite.
She trembled with a fear and hatred of
herself.

When Kirstie, with a face to which the
old glow was already venturing back, laid
down her knife and fork, and explained to
her guest, "You're a good doctor, and

224 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

no mistake, Dave Titus; I declare I feel
better already/' Miranda got up and
went silently out into the moonlight to
breathe new air and take counsel with
herself.

Dave would have followed her, but
Kirstie stopped him. **Best let her
be/' she said meaningly, in a low voice.
"She's got a heap to think over in the
last half hour."

"But she took it a sight better'n I
thought she would," responded Dave.

And all on account of a venison steak^
his hopes soared higher than they had
ever dared before.

Chapter XVI
Death for a Little Life

THENCEFORWARD Kirstie twice
or thrice a week medicined herself
with fresh venison, provided assiduously
by Young Dave, and by the time spring
was fairly in possession of the clearing,
she was her old strong self again. But
as for Dave's hopes, they had been re-
duced to desolation. Miranda had taken
alarm at her sudden carnivorous craving,
and in her effort to undo that moment's
weakness she had withdrawn herself to
the utmost from Dave's influence. She
had been the further incited to this by an
imagined aloofness on the part of her
furred and feathered pensioners. A pair
of foxes, doubtless vagrants from beyond
her sphere, had spread slaughter among
the hares as they returned from feeding
at the cabin. The hungry raiders had
Isud an ambush at the edge of the clear-

Q 225

226 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

ing on two successive nights. They had
killed recklessly. Then they vanished,
doubtless driven away by the steady resi-
dents who knew how to kill discreetly and
to guard their preserves from poachers.
But the hares had taken alarm, and few
came now o* nights for Miranda's carrots
and clover. Miranda, with a little ache
at her heart, concluded from this that
she had forfeited her ascendency among
the kin of the ancient wood. There had
been a migration, too, among the squir-
rels, so that now these red busybodies
were perceptibly fewer about the cabin
roof. And the birds — they were nearly
all gone. An unusually early spring, lay-
ing bare the fields in the lower country,
and bringing out the insects before their
wont, had scattered Miranda's flocks a
fortnight earlier than usual. No crumbs
could take the place of swelling seeds
and the first fat May-fly. But Miranda
thought they were fled through distrust
of her. Kroof, old Kroof the constant,
was all unchanged when she came from
her winter's sleep; but this spring she

Death for a Little Life 227

brought an unusually fine cub with her,
and the cub, of necessity, took a good
deal of her time and attention away from
Miranda. When Miranda was with her,
roaming the still, transparent corridors,
all the untroubled past came back, crystal-
line and flawless as of old. Once more
the furtive folk went about their business
in the secure peace of her neighbour-
hood; once more she revelled with a
kind of intoxication in the miraculous
fineness of her vision; once more she
felt assured of the mastery of her look.
But this was in the intervals between
Dave's visits. When he was at the clear-
ing, everything was diflFerent. She was
no longer sure of herself on any point.
And the worst of it was that the more
indiflFerence to him she feigned, the less
she felt. She was quite unconscious, all
the while, that her mother was shrewdly
watching her struggles. She was not un-
conscious, however, of Dave's attitude.
She saw that he seemed dull and worried,
which gratified her, she knew not why,
and confirmed her in her coolness. But

rr f Tiu Hear: of the AndcDt Wood

IT u»t« witn £ slow anger beghimi^ to
hi2^ a: h!« hssn, hr adopted die policy
«v ipnnnTit her ahocrerfaer, and ^visg all
n:> rnourti: rr Kirsric, wbeicupon Mi-
rsnofi £w:)Cr to th; conduson diat it
v£> tier r^uiir. dun* ro he dril to her
Tnr»rncr> cuesi,

Tr*tf riuLTurr- ace obrrusirc, but <rf great
mnnr-r: r:^ Drvc, rxne over the giri in
j^Tir, abr.r rhr daaielions were staning
TTjf ricjcurt £:^"8S!L The sowing and the
r^^rirr* pitrda^ werr just done. The lihc
Sun^k: Sesiie the oibin were a mass of
rurr'r f rrhi^raert. I: was not a time
tVr hrri :- dirererce : and Dave was quick
:o rjirri the =:e:dng n:ood. His manner
wx? such, however, th^t Miranda could

" M:ri::dT/' said he, w::h the merest
good comradeship in tone and sdr, '^ would
ye take a little trip with me to-morrow^ now
that the crops can spare ye a bit ? "

" Where to, Dave ? " interposed Kirstie,
fearful lest the girl should refuse out of
hand, before she knew what Dave proposed
to do.

Death for a Little Life 229

" Why, I've got to go over the divide
an' run down the Big Fork in my canoe to
Gabe White's clearin', with some medicine
I've brought from the Settlement for his
little boy what's sick. He's a leetle mite of
a chap, five year old, with long, yaller curls,
purty as a picture, but that peaked an'
thin, it goes to yer heart to see him. Gabe
came in to the Settlement yesterday to
see the doctor about him an' git medicine ;
but he's had to go right on to the city to
sell his pelts, an' git some stuff the doctor
says the little feller must hev, what can't
be got in the Settlement at all. So Gabe
give me this " (and he pulled a bottle out
of the inside pocket of his hunting shirt)
" to take to him right now, coz the little
feller needs it badly. It's a right purty
trip, Mirandy, an* the Big Fork's got some
rapids 'at'U please ye. What ye say ? "

Dave was growing subtle under Mi-
randa's discipline. He knew that the
picture of the small boy would draw her ;
and also that the sight of the ailing child,
acting upon her quick sympathies, would
iawaken a new human interest and work se-

230 The Heart of the Andent Wood

cretly in favour of himself. The beauty of
the scenery, the excitement of the rapids, —
these were a secondary influence, yet he
knew they would not be without appeal
to the beauty-worshipping and fearless
Miranda.

The girl's deep eyes lightened at the
prospect. She would see something a
little different, yet not alien or hostile,
— a new river, other hills and woods, a
deeper valley, a ruder cabin in a remoter
clearing, a lonely woman, — above all, a
little sick boy with long, yellow hair.

" But it must be a long way off, Dave,"
she protested, in a tone that invited con-
tradiction.

"Not so fur as to the Settlement,"
answered Dave; "an* it don't take half
so long to go because o' the quick run
down river. I reckon, though, we'd best
stay over night at White's clearin' and
come back easy nex' day — if you don't
mind, Kirstie ! Sary Ann White's a power-
ful fine woman, an' Mirandy's sure to like
her. It'll do her a sight of good, poor
thing, to hev Mirandy to talk to a bit."

Death for a Little Life 23 1

He wanted to say that just a look at
Miranda's wild loveliness would do Mrs.
White a lot of good ; but he had not quite
the courage for such a bold compliment.

" No, I don't mind, if Miranda likes to
go," said Kirstie ; " I shan't be lonesome,
as Kroof '11 be round most of the time."

It had come to be understood, and ac-
cepted without comment, that when Dave
went anywhere with Miranda the jealous
old bear remained at home.

Until they were fairly off, Dave was in
a fever of anxiety lest Miranda should
change her mind. But this venture had
genuinely caught her interest, and no whim
tempted her to withdraw. After a break-
fast eaten so early that the early June
dawn was still throwing its streaks of cool
red through the cabin window and dis-
couraging the fire upon the hearth, Dave
and Miranda set out. They followed the
path to the spring among the alders, and
then plunged direct into the woods, aim-
ing a little to the east of north. The dew
was thick in silver globules on the chips
of the yard and on the plantain leaves. It

ik

«7« The Hart of -die

MM'l t|K young ibHaee of a
f li<' <lr//ling vdh of tfat c
I liin lime Dave took i^ sific
nfi'l Miunda paid no heed to x
I III- woiA% were drcndcac
iiiMKiiiiilly pervaded widi Eg^
i)(i«M HUM M;nr itf fr»h nt^
nfMififlltdci vi^U«, and every
nlilMlii^ fu< ''t of hark diffused its £zfie
ffl lifdiM fo fliin the gloom. As
^»ll li){ilM'r Mttd the dew exhaled
iwill^lH (ilt(/jitly deepened^ the
\t\i^ iliMiiy ni flif! shadowed air inuTTira^

fii»»l iIm: lirrfif of flic ancient wood
litf iMfiiiit . 'I'hr ttwc, ai» of an mrharrr-
iHuiii WMikiii|{ iiMt^ccn, the meaning
i.)i|iLthiiil fcililliirtiKf the confusion of n
iuni III! I (li(^ utirriility of the familiar, — all
\U\ti uHplH'tl (lie irnii({i nation of the two
fiavL:lU:i4 jiifctt ufii ttliurply as if they had
iimI lircti hII flirir liven accustomed to it.
Tliu iiiytitrry cifthc undent wood was not
(u lie tiUliul by uue. 'Jlicse two, sensitive
III iiti bjirjl ad a Niirftice of glass to a breathy
Uy opiMi to it in every nerve, and a tense

Death for a Little Life 233

silence fell upon their lips. In the silence
was understanding of each other. It was
Dave's most potent wooing, against which
Miranda had no warning, no defence.

As they walked thus noiselessly, light-
footed as the furtive folk themselves, sud-
denly from a bit of open just ahead of
them there came the slender, belling cry
of a young deer. They had arrived now,
after three hours' rapid walking, at a part
of the forest unknown to Miranda. The
open space was rock thinly covered with
mosses and vines, an upthrust of the
granite foundations of a hill which tow-
ered near by.

It was an unheard-of thing for a young
deer to give cry so heedlessly amid the
perilous coverts of the wood. Both the
travellers instinctively paused, and then
stole forward with greater caution, peering
through the branches. To the forest
dwellers, beast or human, the unusual is
always the suspicious, and therefore to be
investigated. A few paces carried them
both to a point where Miranda caught
sight of the imprudent youngling.

aj4 ^he Heart of tfac Aadent Wood

''Ilu»h!" she whispaicd, Isjii^ lier
hand on Dave's arm. " Look ! die poor
tittle thing's lost Don't fiig^nm it!*

'* 'Jliere'll be something dsell liigLigu
it ttforc long/' muttered Dave, ''if it dosi^t
(jiut itti hia'tin'/'

The words were hardly oat of Us
month when the little animal jnsqxd,
ti'ciiihlcdy started to run, and then kxdocd
piteuusly from side to side, as if unocitna
which way to flee and from what periL
An instant more and the greyish-brawn
furni of tt lynx shot like lightning from the
unclerhrush. It caught the young deer
by the throaty dragged it down, tore it
uuvagcly, and began drinking its blood.

"Kill it! kill it!" panted Miranda,
starting forward. But Dave's hand
checked her.

" Wait ! " he said firmly. "The little
critter's dead; we can't do it no good.
Wait an' we'll git both the varmints.
There'll be a pair of 'em."

Under ordinary circumstances, Miranda
would have resented the idea of getting
" both the varmints " ; but just now she

Death for a Little Life 235

was savage with pity for the young deer,
and she chose to remember vindictively
that far-off day when Ganner had come to
the clearing, and only the valour of Star,
the brindled ox, had saved herself and
Michael, the calf, from a cruel death. She
obeyed Dave's command, therefore, and
waited.

But there was another who would not
wait. The mother doe had heard her
lost little one's appeal. In wild haste,
but noiseless on the deep carpet of the
moss, she came leaping to the cry. She
saw what Miranda and Dave saw. But
she did not pause to calculate, or weigh the
odds against her. With one bound she
was out in the open. With the next she
was upon the destroyer. The hungry
lynx looked up just in time to avoid the
fair impact of her descending hooves,
which would have broken his back. As
it was, he caught a glancing blow on the
flank, which ripped his fine fur and hurled
him several paces down the slope.

Before he could fully recover, the deer
was upon him again; and Miranda, her

236 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

eyes glowing, her cheeks scarlet with
excitement and exultation, clutched her
companion's arm with such a grip that
her slim fingers hurt him ddidously.
The lynx, alarmed and furious, twisted
himself over and fixed both daws and
teeth in his adversary's leg, just below the
shoulder. Fierce and strong as he was,
he was nevertheless getting badly pun-
ished, when his mate appeared bounding
down the slope, and with a sharp snarl
sprang upon the doe's neck, bearing her
to her knees.

" Shoot! shoot!" cried Miranda, spring-
ing away from Dave's side to give him
room. But his rifle was at his shoulder
ere she spoke. With the word his shot
rang out ; and the second assailant dropped
to the ground, kicking. Immediately
Dave ran forward. The male lynx, dis-
entangling himself, darted for cover ; but
just as he was disappearing, Dave gave
him the second barrel, at short range, and
the bullet caught him obliquely across the
hind quarters, breaking his spine. Dave
was noted as the best shot in all that

Death for a Little Life 237

region; but the marksmanship which he
had just displayed was lost on Miranda.
She took it for granted that to shoot was
to hit, and to hit was to kill, as a matter
of course. Dave's first shot had killed.
The animal was already motionless. But
the writhings of the other lynx, prone in
the bush, tore her heart.

"Oh, how it's suffering! Kill it,
quick!" she panted. Dave ran up,
swung his rifle in a short grip, and struck
the beast a settling blow at the base of
the skull. The deer, meanwhile, limping
and bleeding, but not seriously the worse
for her dreadful encounter, hobbled back
to where the body of her young lay
stretched upon the moss. She sniffed at
it for a moment with her delicate nose,
satisfied herself that it was quite dead,
then moved off slowly into the shadows.

Miranda went to each of the three
slain animals in turn, and looked at them
thoughtfully, while Dave waited in silence,
uncertain what to do next. He felt that
it behooved him to step warily while
Miranda was wrestling with emotions.

23 8 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

At last she said, with a sob in her voice,
and her eyes very bright and large, —

'^ Come, let's get away from this horrid
place ! "

Dave experienced a certain mild pang
at the thought of leaving two good pelts
behind him to be gnawed by foxes ; but
he followed Miranda without a word. It
would have been a fatal error to talk of
furs at that moment. As soon, however,
as they were out of sight of the open
slope, he turned aside and headed their
course toward a rocky knoll which was
visible through the trees.

" What are you going that way for ? "
asked Miranda.

" Likely the lou'-cerfies had their den
in the rocks yonder," was the reply ; "we
must find it."

" What do we want of their den ? **
queried the girl in surprise.

** There'll be a couple of lou'-cerfie kit-
tens in it, I reckon," said Dave, " an' we
must find 'em."

" What for ? " demanded Miranda, sus-
piciously.

Death for a Little Life 239

Dave looked at her.

"You've had me shoot the father an'
mother, Mirandy," he said slowly, "for
the sake of the deer. An' now would ye
hev the little ones starve to death ? "

" I never thought of that, Dave,"
answered the girl, smitten with remorse ;
and she looked at him with a new ap-
proval. She thought to herself that he,
hunter and blood-stained as he was,
showed yet a readier and more reasonable
tenderness for the fiirry kindred than she
herself.

For nearly half an hour they searched
the hollows of the rocky knoll, and at
last came upon a shallow cave overhung
darkly by a mat of dwarf cedar. There
were bones about the entrance, and inside,
upon a bed of dry moss, were two small
rusty brown, kitten-like objects curled
softly together. Miranda's discerning
vision perceived them at once, but it took
Dave's eyes some seconds to adapt them-
selves to the gloom. Then the furry ball
of " lou'-ccrfie " kittens looked to him
very pretty — something to be fondled

240 The Heart of the Andent Wood

and protected. He knew wiell how their
helplessness would appeal to Miranda's
tender heart. Nevertheless, with a firm-
ness of courage which, under the cir-
cumstances, few heroes would have arisen
to, he stepped forward, stooped, untangled
the soft ball, and with the heavy handle
of his hunting-knife struck each kitten
just one sharp stroke on the neck, killing
it instantly and easily.

" Poor little critters ! " he muttered ;
" it was the only thing to do with *em,'*
and he turned to Miranda.

The girl had backed out of the cave
and now stood, with flushed face, staring
at him fiercely.

" You brute ! " she exclaimed.

Dave had been prepared for some discus-
sion of his action. But he was not pre-
pared for just this. He drew himself up.

" I did think ye was a woman grown ;
an* for all yer idees were kind of far-
fetched, I've respected *em a heap ; an' I
won't say but what they've influenced
me, too. But now I see ye're but a silly
child an' don't reason. Did ye think.

Death for a Little Life 241

maybe, these here leetle mites o' things
could live an' take keer o' themselves ? "

He spoke coldly, scornfully ; and there
was a kind of mastery in his voice that
quelled her. She was astonished, too.
The colour in her face deepened, but
she dropped her eyes.

" I wanted to take them home, and tame
them," she explained, quite humbly.

Dave's stern face softened.

" Ye'd never 'a' been able to raise 'em.
They're too young, a sight too young.
See, their eyes ain't open. They'd have
jest died on yer hands, Mirandy, sure an'
sartain ! "

" But — how could you ! " she protested,
with no more anger left, but a sob of pity
in her throat.

" It was jest what j^« do to the fish ye
ketch, Mirandy, to stop their sufFerin'."

Miranda looked up quickly, and her
eyes grew large.

" Do you know, I never thought of
that before, Dave," she replied. "I'll
never catch a fish again, long as I live I
Let's get away from here."

242 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

'' Ye see," began Dave, making up his
mind to sow a few seeds of doubt in
Miranda's mind as to the correctness of
her theories, "ye see, Mirandy, 't ain't
possible to be consistent right through in
this life ; but what ye'll find, life'U make
a fool o' ye at one point or another. I
ain't a-goin' to say I think ye're all wrong,
not by no means. Sence I've seen the
way ye understand the live critters of the
woods, an' how they understand you,
I've come to feel some different about
killin' *em myself. But, Mirandy, Na-
ture's nature, an' ye can't do much by
buckin' up agin her. Look now, ye told
me to shoot the lou'-cerfie coz he killed
the deer kid. But he didn't go to kill it
for ugliness, nor jest for himself to make
a dinner off of — you know that. He
killed it for his mate, too. Lou'-cerfie
ain't built so's they can eat grass. If the
she lou'-cerfie didn't git the meat she
needed, her kittens'd starve. She's jest
got to kill. Nature's put that law onto
her, an' onto the painters, an' the foxes
an* wolves, the 'coons an' the weasels.

Death for a Little Life 243

An' she's put the same law, only not so
heavy, onto the bears, an' also onto
humans, what's all built to live on all
kinds of food, meat among the rest. An'
to live right, and be their proper selves,
they've all got to eat meat sometimes,
for Nature don't stand much foolin' with
her laws ! "

^^Fm well," interrupted Miranda,
eagerly, with the obvious retort.

" Maybe ye won't be always ! " sug-
gested Dave.

"Then I'll be sick — then I'll die
before I'll eat meat ! " she protested pas-
sionately. "What's the good of living,
anyway, if it's nothing but kill, kill, kill,
and for one that lives a lot have got to
die ! "

Dave shook his head soberly.

" That's what nobody, fur's I can sec,
Mirandy, has ever been able to make out
yet. I've thought about it a heap, an'
read about it a heap, alone in camp, an' I
can't noways see through it. Oftentimes
it's seemed to me all life was jest like a
few butterflies flitterin' over a graveyard.

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244 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

But all the same, if we don't go to too
|. much foolish worryin* 'bout what we can't

' understand, we do feel it's good to be

! alive; an' I do think, Mirandy, this

life migbl be somethin' finer than the
j ' finest kind of a dream."

Something in his voice, at these last

words, thrilled Miranda, and at the same

time put her on her guard.

"Well," she exclaimed positively, if

not relevantly, " I'm never going to catch

another fish."

The answer not being just what Dave

needed for the support of his advance,

he lost courage, and let the conversation

drop.

Chapter XVII
In the Roar of the Rapids

A LITTLE before noon, when the
midsummer heat of the outside
world came filtering faintly down even
into the cool vistas of the forest, and here
and there a pale-blue butterfly danced
with his mate across the clear shadow,
and the aromatic wood smells came out
more abundantly than was their wont, at
the lure of the persuasive warmth, the
travellers halted for noonmeat. Sitting
on a fallen hemlock trunk beside a small
but noisy brook, it was a frugal meal they
made on the cheese and dark bread which
Kirstie had put in Dave's satchel. Their
halt was brief; and as they set out again,
Dave said : —

" 'T ain't a mile from here to the Big
Fork. Gabe's canoe's hid in the bushes
just where this here brook falls in.
Noisy, ain't it?" '

245

246 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

^' I love the sound/' exclaimed Miranda,
stepping quickly and gaily, as if the light,
musical clamour of the stream had got
into her blood.

" Well, the Big Fork's a sight noisier,"
continued Dave. " It's heavy water, an*
just rapids on rapids all the ways down to
Gabe's clearing. Ye won't be skeered,
Mirandy ? "

The girl gave one of her rare laughs^
very high-pitched, but brief, musical, and
curiously elusive. She was excited at the
prospect.

" I reckon you know how to handle a
canoe, Dave," was all she said. The
trust in her voice made Dave feel meas-
urably nearer his purpose. He durst not
speak, lest his elation should betray itself.

In a little while there came another
sound, not drowning or even obscuring the
clear prattle of the brook, but serving as a
heavy background to its brightness. It
was a large, yet soft, pulsating thunder,
and seemed to come from all sides at once ;
as if far-off herds, at march over hollow
lands, were closing in upon them. Dave

In the Roar of the Rapids 247

looked at Miranda. She gave him a shin-
ing glance of comprehension.

" It's the rapids ! " she cried. " Do we
go through those ? "

Dave laughed.

"Not those! Not by a long chalk!
That's the 'Big Soo* ye hear, an' it's
more a fall than a rapid. Ther's an eddy
an' a still water jest below, an' that's where
we take to the canoe."

As they went on, the great swelling
noise seemed to Miranda to fill her soul,
and worked a deep yet still excitement
within her. Nevertheless, rapidly as its
volume increased, the light chatter of the
brook was upborne distinctly upon the
flood of it. Then, suddenly, as the forest
thinned ahead, and the white daylight con-
fronted them, the voice of the brook was
in an instant overwhelmed, utterly effaced.
The softly pervasive thunder burst all at
once into a trembling roar, vehement, con-
flicting, explosive ; and they came out full
in face of a long, distorted slope of cataract.
White, yellow, tawny green, the waves
bounded and wallowed down the loud

248 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

steep ; and here and there the black bulks
of rock shouldered upward, opposing them
eternally.

Spellbound at the sight, Miranda stood
gazing, while Dave fetched from the bushes
a ruddy-yellow canoe of birch bark, and
launched it in a quiet but foam-flecked
back-water at their feet. In the bow he
placed a compact bundle of bracken for
Miranda to sit upon, with another flat
bundle at her back, that the cross-bar
might not gall her.

" Best fer ye to sit low, Mirandy, 'stead
o* kneelin'," he explained, " coz I'll be
standin' up, with the pole, goin' through
some o' the rips, an' ye'U be steadier sittin*
than kneelin'."

"But I paddle better kneeling," pro-
tested Miranda.

" Ye won't need to paddle," said Dave,
a little grimly. " Ye'U jest maybe fend a
rock now an' agin, that's all. The current
an' me'U do the rest."

The fall of the " Big Soo " ended in a
basin very wide and deep, whose spacious
caverns absorbed the fury of the waters

In the Roar of the Rapids 249

and allowed them to flow off sullenly.
Dave knelt in the stern^ paddle in hand,
and the long pole of white spruce sticking
out behind the canoe, where he could lay
his grasp upon it in an instant. A couple
of strokes sent the little craft out into the
smooth, purplish-amber swirls of the deep
current, whereon the froth clusters wheeled
slowly. A few minutes more and a green
fringed overhang of rock was rounded,
the last energy of the current spent itself
in a deep and roomy channel, the uproar
of the cataract mellowed suddenly to that
pulsating thunder which they had heard at
first, and the canoe, under Dave's noise*
less propulsion, shot forward over a sur-
face as of dark brown glass. There was a
mile of this still water, along which Mi-
randa insisted upon paddling. The rocks
rose straight from the channel, and the
trees hung down from their rim, and the
June sun, warmly flooding the trough of
rock and water, made its grimness greatly
beautiful. Then the rocks diminished,
and the steep, richly green slopes of the
hillsides came down to the water's edge.

a 50 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

"■"■^■■^^"■■^■^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^■"^^^^■■^^™"""^"*

and a rushing clamour began to swell in
the distance. The currents awakened
under the canoe, which darted forward
more swiftly. The shouting of the "rips "
seemed to rush up stream to meet them.
The surface of the river began to slant
away before them, not breaking yet, but
furrowing into long, thready streaks. Then,
far down the slant, a tossing white line of
short breakers, drawn right across the chan-
nel, clambered toward them ravenously.

"Ye'd better not paddle now. Mi-
randy," said Dave, in a quiet voice, standing
up for a moment to survey the channel,
while the canoe slipped swiftly down tow-
ard the turmoil. "There's rapids now
all the way down to Gabe's clearing. An'
we won't be long goin*, neither."

A moment more, and to Miranda it
seemed that the leafy shores ran by her,
that the gnashing phalanx of the waves
sprang up at her. She had never run a
rapid before. Her experience of canoeing
had all been gained on the lake. She
caught her breath, but did not flinch as
the tumbling waters seethed and yammered

4\

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II;

In the Roar of the Rapids 251

around her. Then her blood ran hot with
the excitement of it ; her nerves tingled.
She wanted to cry out, to paddle wildly
and fiercely. But she held herself under
curb. She never moved. Only the grip
of her hands on the paddle, which lay idle
before her, tightened till the knuckles
went white. There was no word from
Dave; no sign of his presence save that
the canoe shot straight as an arrow, and
bit firmly upon the big surges, so that she
knew his wrist of steel was in control.
Suddenly, just ahead, sprang a square black
rock, against which the mad rush of water
upreared and fell back broken to either
side. The canoe leaped straight at it, and
Miranda held her breath.

"Stroke on the right!'' came Dave'i
sharp order. She dipped her paddle
strenuously, twice — thrice — and, iwcrv-
ing at the last moment, while the currcnti
seethed up along her bulwarks, the canoo
darted safely past.

Miranda stopped paddling. There WAi
a steeper slope in front, but a clear chan-
nel, the waves not high but wallowing in-

1^2 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

ward toward the centre. Straight down
this centre rushed the canoe, the surges
clutching at her on both sides, yellow
green, with white foam-streaks veining
their very hearts. At the foot of the
slope, singing sharply and shining in the
sun, curved a succession of three great
" ripples,** stationary in mid-channel, their
back-curled crests thin and prismatic.
Straight through these Dave steered.
The three thin crests, thus swiftly divided,
one after another, slapped Miranda coldly
in the face, drenching her, and leav-
ing a good bucketful of water in the
canoe.

" Oh ! " gasped Miranda, at the shock,
and shook her hair, laughing excitedly.

There was gentler water now for a
hundred yards or so, and Dave steered
cautiously for shore.

" We'll hev to land an* empty her out,"
said he. " Ther's no more big ' ripples *
like them there on the whole river; an*
we won't take in water agin 'twixt here
an' Gabe's."

" I don't care if we do ! " exclaimed

In the Roar of the Rapids 253

Miranda, fervently. "It was splendid,
Dave ! And you did it just fine ! "

This commendation took him aback
somewhat, and he was unable to show his
appreciation of it except by a foolish grin,
which remained on his face while he turned
the canoe over and while he launched it
again. It was still there when Miranda
resumed her place in the bow; and,
strangely enough, she felt no disposition
to criticise him for it.

The rest of the journey, lasting nearly an
hour longer, was a ceaseless succession of
rapids, with scant and few spaces of quiet
water between. None were quite so long
and violent as the first ; but by the time the
canoe slowed up in the reach of still water
that ran through the interval meadow of
Gabe*s clearing, Miranda felt fagged from
the long-sustained excitement. She felt
as if it had been she, not Dave, whose
unerring eye and unfailing wrist had
brought the canoe in triumph through
the menace of the roaring races.

They landed on the blossoming meadow
strip, and Dave turned the canoe over

254 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

among the grasses, under the shade of an
elm that would serve to keep the after-
noon sun from melting the rosin off the
seams. Gabe's cabin stood a stone's throw
back from the meadow, high enough up
the slope to be clear of the spring freshets.
It was a bare, uncared-for place, with black
stumps still dotting all the fields of buck-
wheat and potatoes, a dishevelled-looking
barn, and no vine or bush about the house.
It gave Miranda a pang of pity to look
at it. Her own cabin was lonely enough,
but with a high, austere, clear loneliness
that seemed to hold communion with the
stars. The loneliness of this place was a
shut-in, valley loneliness, without horizons
and without hope. She felt sorry almost
to tears for the white and sad-eyed woman
who appeared in the cabin door to wel-
come them.

" Sary Ann, this is Mirandy I spoke to
ye about."

The two women shook hands somewhat
shyly, and, after the silent fashion of their
race, s^d nothing.

" How's Jimmy ? " asked Dave.

In the Roar of the Rapids 255

" * Baout the same, thank ye, Dave," re-
plied the woman, wearily, leading the way
into the cabin.

In a low chair near the window, playing
listlessly with a dingy red-and-yellow rag
doll, sat a thin-faced, pallid little boy with
long, pale curls down on his shoulders.
He lifted sorrowful blue eyes to Miranda's
face, as she, with a swift impulse of tender-
ness and compassion, rushed forward and
knelt down to embrace him. Her vitality
and the loving brightness of her look won
the child at once. His wan little face
lightened. He lifted the baby mouth to
be kissed. Miranda pressed his fair head
to her bosom gently, and had much ado
to keep her eyes from running over, so
worked the love and pity and the mother-
ing hunger in her heart.

"He takes to ye, Mirandy," said the
woman, smiling upon her. And Dave,
his passion almost mastering him, blurted
out proudly, —

" An' who wouldn't take to her, I'd like
to know ? "

He felt at this moment that Miranda was

256 The Heart of the Andent Wood

now all human, and could never quite go
back to her mystic and uncanny wildness,
her preference for the speechless, furry kin
over her own warm, human kind. He pro-
duced the medicine from his satchel ; and
from Miranda's attentive hand Jimmy
took the stuff as if it had been nectar.
Jimmy's mother looked on with undis-
guised approval of the girl. Had she
thought Miranda was going to stay any
length of time, her mother-jealousy would
have been aroused ; but as it was she was
only exquisitely relieved at the thought
of Jimmy's being in some one else's care
for a few hours. She whispered audibly
— a mere chaffing pretence of a whisper
it was — to Dave : —

" It's a right purty an' a right smart
little wife she'll make fer ye, Dave Titus,
an' she'll know how to mind yer babies.
Ye're a lucky man, an' I hope ye under-
stand how lucky ye air ! "

Poor Dave ! She might as well have
thrown a bucket of cold water in his face.
For an instant he could have strangled the
kindly, coarse-grained, well-meaning, silly

In the Roar of the Rapids 257

woman, who stood beaming her pale good-
will upon them both. He cursed himself
for not having warned her that Miranda
could not be chaffed like a common Set-
tlement girl. He saw Miranda's face go
scarlet to the ears, though she bent over
Jimmy and pretended to have heard noth-
ing; and he knew that in that moment
his good work was all undone. For a few
seconds he could say nothing, and the
silence grew trying. Then he stammered
out : —

"I'm afeard ther's no sich luck fer me,
Sary Ann, though God knows I want her.
But Mirandy don't like me very well."

The woman stared at him incredu-
lously.

" Lord sakes, Dave Titus, then what's
she doin' here alone with you ? " she ex-
claimed, the weariness coming back into
her voice at the last of the phrase. " Oh,
you go 'long ! You don't know nothin'
about women ! "

This was quite too much for Dave, whose
instincts, fined by long months in the com-
panionship of only the great trees, the great

258 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

winds, and the grave stars, had grown un-
erringly delicate. His own face flushed
up now for Miranda's sake.

" I'd take it kindly of ye, Sary Ann, if
ye'd quit the subject right there," he said
quietly. But there was a firmness in his
voice which the woman understood.

" The both of ye must be nigh dead
for somethin' to eat," she said. " I must
git ye supper right ofl^." And she turned
to the fireplace and filled the kettle.

Thereafter, through supper, and through
the short evening, Miranda had never a
word for Dave. She talked a little, kindly
and without showing her resentment, to
Mrs. White ; but her attentions were en-
tirely absorbed in little Jimmy. Indeed,
she had Jimmy very much to herself, for
Mrs. White got Dave to help with the
chores and the milking. Afterward, about
the hearth-fire, — maintained for its cheer
and not for warmth, — Mrs. White con-
fined her conversation largely to Dave.
She was not angry at him on account of
his rebuke — but vaguely aggrieved at
Miranda as the cause of it. She began

In the Roar of the Rapids 259

to feel that Miranda was different from
other girls, from what she herself had been
as a girl. Miranda's fineness and sensi-
tiveness were something of an offence to
her, though she could not define them at
all. She characterized them vaguely by
the phrase " stuck up " ; and became
presently inclined to think that a fine fel-
low like Dave was too good for her. Still,
she was a fair-minded woman in her worn,
colourless way; and she could not but
allow there must be a lot in Miranda if
little Jimmy took to her so — "For a
child knows a good heart," she said to
herself.

Next morning, soon after dawn, the
travellers were off, Miranda tearing her-
self with difficulty from little Jimmy's em-
brace, and leaving him in a desolation of
tears. She was quite civil and ordinary
with Dave now, so much so that good,
obtuse, weary Mrs. White concluded that
all was at rights again. But Dave felt the
icy difference ; and he was too proud, if
not for the time too hopeless, to try to
thaw it. During all the long, laborious

26o The Heart of die Andent Wood

jourttcy up ^ aij dirough the rapids, by
poling;, he did wonders of skill and
screngtb^ but in utter silence. His feats
were sot lost upon Miranda, but she
hardened her heart resolutely ; for now a
shan2e> which she had never known be-
fore^ gave tenacity to her anger. Through
tr a!I> however, she couldn't help thrilling
to the strllfe with the loud rapids, and
exulting in the slow, inexorable conquest
of them. The return march through the
woods was in the main a silent one, as
before ; but how different a silence ! Not
electric with meaning, but cold, the silence
of a walled chamber. And, as if the spirits
of the wood maliciously enjoyed Dave's
discomfiture, they permitted no incident,
no diversion. They kept the wood-folk
all away, they emptied of all life and sig-
nificance the forest spaces. And Dave
grew sullen.

Arriving back at the clearing just before
sundown, they paused at the cabin door.
Dave looked into Miranda*s eyes with
something of reproach, something of ap-
peal. Kirstie's voice, talking cheerfolly

In the Roar of the Rapids 261

to Kroof, came from the raspberry bram-
bles behind the house. Miranda stretched
out her hand with a cool frankness, and
returned his look blankly.

" I Ve had a real good time, thank you,
Dave," she said. "You'll find mother
yonder, picking raspberries."

Chapter XVIII
The Forfeit of the Alien

ALL through the summer and early
autumn Dave continued his fort-
nightly visits to the cabin in the clearing,
and always Miranda treated him with the
same cold, casual civility. She felt, or
pretended to herself that she felt, grateful
now to the blunt-fingered, wan woman
over at Gabe White's, who had rudely
jostled her back to her senses when she
was on the very edge of giving up her
freedom and her personality to a man —
a strong man, who would have absorbed
her. She flung herself passionately once
more into the fellowship of the furtive
folk, the secrecy and wonder of the wood.
As it was a human love which she was
crushing out, and as she felt the need
of humanity cravingly, though not under-
standingly, at her heart, she lavished upon

262

The Forfeit of the Alien 263

Kirstie a demonstrativeness of affection
such as she had never shown before. It
pleased Kirstie, and she met it heartily
in her calm, strong way; but she saw
through it, and smiled at the back of her
brain, scarcely daring to think her thought
frankly, lest the girPs intuition should
discern it. She made much of Dave, but
never before Miranda; and she kept
encouraging the rather despondent man
with the continual assertion : " It'll be all
right, Dave. Don't fret, but bide your
time." To which Dave responded by
biding his time with a quiet, unaggressive
persistence; and if he fretted, he took
pains not to show it.

If Dave had an ally in Kirstie, he had
consistent antagonists in all the folk of
the wood; for never before in all Mi-
randa's semi-occult experience had the
folk of the wood come so near to her.
Kroof was her almost ceaseless companion,
more devoted, if possible, than ever, and
certainly more quick in comprehension
of Miranda's English. And KrooPs cub,
a particularly fine and well-grown young

264 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

animal, was well-nigh as devoted as his
mother. When these two were absent on
some rare expedition of their own, under-
taken by Kroof for the hardening of the
cub's muscles, then the very foxes took
to following Miranda, close to heel, like
dogs; and one drowsy £dl afternoon,
when she had lain down to sleep on a
sloping patch of pine needles, the self-
same big panther from whom she had
rescued Dave came lazily and lay down
beside her. His large purring at her ear
awoke her. He purred still more loudly
when she gently scratched him under the
throat. She was filled with a curious
exaltation as she marked how her influ-
ence over the wild things grew and wi-
dened. Nothing, she vowed, should ever
lure her away from these clear shades,
these silent folks whom she ruled by hand
and eye, and this mysterious life which
she alone could know. When Old Dave,
for whom she cared warmly, made his
now infrequent visits to the clearing, she
had an inclination to avoid him, lest he
should attack her purpose; and the

The Forfeit of the Alien 265

thought of little Jimmy's white face and
baby mouth she put away obstinately, as
most dangerous of all. And so it came
that when October arrived, and all the
forest everywhere was noiselessly astir
with falling leaves, and the light of the
blue began to peer in upon the places
which had been closed to it all summer,
by that time Miranda felt quite secure in
her resolve ; and Dave's fight now was to
keep the despair of his heart from writ-
ing itself large upon his face.

Toward the end of that October Dave's
hunting took him to the rocky open
ground where, in the previous June, he
and Miranda had encountered the lynxes.
He was looking for fresh meat for Kirstie,
and game, that day, had kept aloof. Just
as he recognized, with a kind of homesick
ache of remembrance, the spot where he
and Miranda had seemed, for a brief
space, to be in perfect accord with each
other, — how long ago and how unbe-
lievable it appeared to him now ! — his
hunter's eye caught a sight which brought
the rifle to his shoulder. Just at the

266 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

edge of the open a young bear stood
greedily stripping blueberries from the
laden bushes, and grunting with satisfac-
tion at the sweet repast.

" A bit of bear steak/' thought Dave,
" will be jest the thing for Kirstie. She's
gittin* a mite tired o' deer's meat ! **

An unhurried aim, a sharp, slapping
report, and the handsome cub sank for-
ward upon his snout, and rolled over,
shot through the brain. Dave strode up
to him. He had died instantly — so in-
stantly and painlessly that his half-open
mouth was still full of berries and small,
dark green leaves. Dave felt his soft and
glossy dark coat.

" Ye're a fine young critter," he mut-
tered half regretfully. " It was kind o*
mean to cut ye off when ye was havin*
such a good time all to yerself."

But Dave was not one to nurse an idle
sentimentality. Without delay he skinned
the carcase, and cached the pelt carefully
under a pile of heavy stones, intending to
return for it the first day possible. He
was going to the clearing now, and could

The Forfeit of the Alieiv 267

not take a raw pelt with him, to damn
him finally in Miranda's eyes; but the
skin was too fine a one to be left to the
foxes and wolverines. When it was safely
bestowed, he cut off the choicest portions
of the carcase, wrapped them in leaves
and tied them up in birch bark, slung the
package over his shoulder, and set out in
haste for the clearing. He was anxious
that Kirstie should have bear steaks for
supper that night.

He had been but a little while gone
from the rocky open, where the red car-
case lay hideously aflfronting the sunlight,
when another bear emerged in leisurely
fashion from the shadows. It was an
animal of huge size and with rusty fur
that was greying about the snout. She
paused to look around her. On the
instant her body stiffened, and then she
went crashing through the blueberry
bushes to where that dreadful thing lay
bleeding. She walked around it twice,
with her nose in the air, and again with
her nose to the ground. Then she backed
away from it slowly down the slope, her

268 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

stare fixed upon it as if she expected it
might rise and follow. At the edge of
the wood she wheeled quickly, and went
at a savage gallop along the trail which
Dave had taken.

It was old Kroof ; and Dave had killed
her cub.

She rushed on madly, a terrible avenger
of blood ; but so fast was Dave journey-
ing that it was not much short of an hour
before her instinct or some keen sense told '
her that he was close at hand. She was
not blinded by her fury. Rather was she
coolly and deliberately set upon a sufficing
vengeance. She moderated her pace, and
went softly ; and soon she caught sight
of her quarry some way ahead, striding
swiftly down the brown -shadowed vistas.

There was no other bear in all the forests
so shrewd as Kroof; and she knew that
for the hunter armed all her tremendous
strength and fury were no match. She
waited to catch him at a disadvantage.
Her huge bulk kept the trail as noise-
lessly as a weasel or a mink. Young
Dave, with all his woodcraft, all his alert-

The Forfeit of the Alien 269

ness of sense, all his intuition, had no
guess of the dark Nemesis which was so
inexorably dogging his stride. He was in
such haste that in spite of the autumn
chill his hair clung moistly to his fore-
head. When he reached the rivulet flow-
ing away from the cabin spring, he felt that
he must have a wash-up before presenting
himself Under a big hemlock he dropped
his bundle, threw off his cap, his belt, his
shirt, and laid down his loaded rifle. Then,
bare to the waist, he went on some twenty
paces to a spot where the stream made a
convenient pool, and knelt down to give
himself a thorough freshening.

KrooPs little eyes gleamed redly. Here
was her opportunity.

She crept forward, keeping the trunk
of the hemlock between herself and her
foe, till she reached the things which Dave
had thrown down under the tree. She
snifled at the rolled-up package and turned
it over with her paw. Then, with one
short, grunting cough of rage and pain,
she launched herself upon the murderer
of her cub.

'^-••••A-.

. Te Tiigs uTiTTgi v^s us xLimi mil ;

^I'l'ii'n im 5 giu ' JL Wsi

10 rack ta rie gronrrrf 2=d his rifle ; azid
Kz'jOt, ^LZZST 2 r!:odcrit*s patisTy dzmbed
2Xzsr h:m« Bur Dztc oxild not find what
ht nought. Few were the trees in the
ancient wood whose topmost branches did
not twine closely with their neighbour
trees. But with a man*s natural aversion
to bathing in water that is not enlivened
and inspirited by the direct sunlight, Dave
had chosen a spot where the trees were
scattered and the blue of the sky looked

The Forfeit of the Alien 271

in. He climbed to a height of some forty
or fifty feet from the ground before he
found a branch that seemed to offer any
hope at all. Out upon this he stepped,
steadying himself by a slenderer branch
above his head. Following it as far as the
branch would support him, he saw that his
position was all but hopeless. He could
not, even by the most accurate and fortu-
nate swing, catch the nearest branch of the
nearest tree. He turned back, but Kroof
was already at the fork. Her claws were
already fixed upon the branch; she was
crawling out to him slowly, inexorably ;
she had him in a trap.

Dave stood tense and moveless, await-
ing her. His face was white, his mouth
set. He knew that in all human proba-
bility his hour was come ; yet what might
be done, he would do. Far below, be-
tween him and the mingling of rock and
moss which formed the ground (he looked
down upon it, chequered with the late
sunlight), was a stout hemlock branch.
At the last moment he would drop ; and
the branch — he would clutch at it —

27^ The Heart of the Ancient Wood

might perhaps break his hl\, at least in
part. It was a meagre chance, but his only
one. He was not shaken by fear, but he
felt aggrieved and disappointed at such a
termination of his hopes ; and the deadly
irony of his fate stung him. The branch
bent lower and lower as KrooPs vast
weight drew near. The branch above, too
frail to endure his weight alone, still served
to steady him. He kept his head erect,
challenging death.

It chanced that Miranda, not hv off, had
heard the roar with which Kroof had rushed
to the attack. The fury of it had brought
her in haste to the spot, surprised and ap-
prehensive. She recognized Dave's rifle
and hunting-shirt under the hemlock tree,
and her heart melted in a horrible fear.
Then she saw Dave high up in the beech
tree, his bare shoulders gleaming through
the russet leaves. She saw Kroof, now
not three feet from her prey. She saw the
hate in the beast's eyes and open jaws.

" Kroof! " she cried, in a tone of fierce
command ; and Kroof heeded her no more
than if she had been the wind whispering.

The Forfeit of the Alien 273

" Kroof ! Kroof ! " she cried again, in an-
guished appeal, in piercing terror, as the
savage animal crept on. Dave did not
turn his head, but he called down in a
quiet voice: "Ye can't do it this time,
Mirandy. I guess it's good-by now, for
good ! "

But Miranda's face had suddenly set
itself to stone. She snatched up the
rifle. " Hold on ! " she cried, and taking
a careful, untrembling aim she pulled first
one trigger, then the other, in such quick
succession that the two reports came al-
most as one. Then she dropped the
weapon, and stood staring wildly.

The bear's body heaved convulsively
for a moment, then seemed to fall to-
gether on the branch, clutching at it. A
second later and it rolled off, with a leis-
urely motion, and came plunging down-
ward, soft, massive, enormous. It struck
the ground with a sobbing thud. Mi-
randa gave a low cry at the sound, turned
away, and leaned against the trunk of the
hemlock. Her face was toward the tree,
and hidden in the bend of her arm.

274 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

Dave knew now that all he had hoped for
was his. Yet, after the first overwhelm-
ing, choking throb of exultation, his heart
swelled with pity for the girl, with pity
and immeasurable tenderness. He de-
scended from his refuge, put on his hunt-
ing-shirt and belt, looked curiously at the
empty rifle where it lay on the moss, and
kicked the corded package of meat into a
thicket. Then he went and stood close
beside Miranda.

After a moment or two he laid an arm
about her shoulders and touched her with
his large hand, lightly firm. "Ye won-
derful Mirandy," he said, "you've give
me life over agin ! I ain't a-goin' to
thank ye, though, till I know what ye' re
goin' to do with me. My life's been jest
all yours since first I seen ye a woman
grown. What'U ye do with the life ye've
saved, Mirandy ? "

He pressed her shoulder close against
his heart, and leaned over, not quite dar-
ing to kiss the bronze-dark hair on which
he breathed. The girl turned suddenly,
with a sob, and caught hold of him.

The Forfeit of the Alien 275

Mam^BB— B>aaa»s— ^-^~— ^B>aa^»— ^— ^o^— •— ma^a^— ^■•—^■■••-i^ii— ^^^^^^a^^^^i^a^^aaa^

and hid her face in his breast. "Oh,
Dave ! " she cried, in a piteous voice,
"take mother and me away from this
place ; I don't want to live at the clearing
any more. You've killed the old life I
loved." And she broke into a storm of
tears.

Dave waited till she was quieter. Then
he said : " If I've changed your life. Mi-
randy, ye've changed mine a sight, too.
rU hunt and trap no more, dear, an' the
beasts'll hev no more trouble 'long o' me.
We'll sell the clearin', an* go 'way down
onto the Meramichi, where I can git a
good job survey in' lumber. I'm right
smart at that. An' I reckon — oh, I
love ye, an' I need ye, an' I reckon I
can make ye happy, ye wonderful Mi-
randy."

The girl heard him through, then
gently released herself from his arms.
" You go an' tell mother what I've done,
Dave," she said, in a steady voice, " and
leave me here a little while with Kroof."

That evening, after Miranda had re-
turned to the cabin, Kirsde and Dave

276 The Heart of the Ancient Wood

came with spades and a lantern to the
beech tree by the pool. Where they
could find room in the rocky soil, they
dug a grave; and there they buried old
Kroof deeply, that neither might the claws
of the wolverine disturb her, nor any lure
of spring suns waken her from her sleep.

PLYMOUTH
WILLIAM BRENDON AND SON, PRINIERS

A CATALOGUE OF BOOKS

PUBLISHED BY METHUEN

AND COMPANY: LONDON

36 ESSEX STREET

W.C.

CONTENTS

PAGB

PACK

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a-ao

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a7

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30

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ao

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ao

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99

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ax

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99

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39

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aa

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«3

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as

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31

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aa

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33

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H

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as

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37

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•

a6

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•

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Methuen's Sixpenny Books,

39

NOVEMBER 1907

A CATALOGUE OF

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DANTE rCaryX
DnrleJA. Coiuui). ROUND THE RED

Daaam (Sara jMiuMtte). A VOYAGE

OF CONSOLATION.
THOSE DELIGHTFUL AMERICANS.
Bitot (Qaorge). THE MILL ON THE

FLOSS.
PtaMOater (Jane HA THE GREEN

GRAVES OF BALGOWRIE.
(lalioo(Tom). RICKERBY'S FOLLY.
OaskellCMrs.). CRANFORD.
MARY BARTON.
NORTH AND SOUTH.
Oerard (Dorothea). HOLY MATRI-
MONY.
THE CONQUEST OF LONDON.
MADE OF MONEY.
Otoslaff (Oaorffe). THE TOWN TRAVEL-

LER.
THE CROWN OF LIFE.
Olanvllle (Brnett). THE INCA'S

TREASURE.
THE KLOOF BRIDE.
aieig (Charles). BUNTER'S CRUISE.
Orlmiii (The Brothers). GRIMM'S

FAIRY TALES, ntnstrated.
Hope (Anthomr). A MAN OF MARK.
A CHANGE OF AIR.
THE CHRONICLES OF COUNT

ANTONIO.
PHROSO.

THE DOLLY DIALOGUES.
Homung (6. W.). DEAD MEN TELL

NO ivlLES.
Ingraham (J. H.). THE THRONE OF

I)AVID.
LeQaeiu(W.). THE HUNCHBACK OF

WESTMINSTER.
Levett-Yeate(S. K.). THE TRAITOR'S

WAY.
Unten (E. Lynn). THE TRUE HIS-
TORY OF JOSHUA DAVIDSON.
LyaU(Bdna). DERRICK VAUGHAN.
Maiet (Lucas). THE CARISSIMA.
A COUNSEL OF PERFECTION.
Mann (Mrs. M. B.). MRS. PETER

HOWARD.
A LOST ESTATE.
THE CEDAR STAR.
ONE ANOTHER'S BURDENS.
Marchmont (A. W.). MISER HOAD-

LEY'S SECRET.
A MOMENT'S ERROR.
Marryat (Captain). PETER SIMPLE.

iACOB FAITHFUL.
larsh (Richard). THE TWICKENHAM
PEERAGE.
THE GODDESS. J

THE TOSS.

A MtfTAMORPHOSIS.

Masoo(A.B. W.). CLEMENTINA.

Mathers (Heton). HONEY.

GRIFF OF GRtFFITHSCOURT.

SAM'S SWEETHEART.

Meade (Mrs. L. T.). DRIFT.

MitferdjCBertnun). THE SIGN OF THE

SPIDER.
MontresorVP. P.). THE ALIEN.
Morrison (Arthur). THE HOLE IN

THE WALL.
NesUt(B.). THE RED HOUSE.
Norris(W. E.). HIS GRACE.
GILES INGILBY.

THE CREDIT OF THE COUNTY.
LORD LEONARD.
MATTHEW AUSTIN.
CLARISSA FURICSA.
Oiipfauit(Mrs.). THE LADY'S WALK.
SIR ROBERTS FORTUNE.
THE PRODIGALS.
Owpenhehn (B. PhlUliw). MASTER OF

Parker (Ollbert). THE POMP OF THE

LAVILE'TTEa. i "

WHEN VALMOND CAME TO PONTIAC.
THE TRAIL OF THE SWORD.
Pemberton (MasO. THE FOOTSTEPS

OF A THRONE. '

I CROWN THEE KING.
Phlllpotte (Bden). THE HUMAN BOY.
CHILDREN OF THE MIST.
*Q.' THE WHITE WOLF.
Rfdffe(W. Pett). A SON OFTHE STATE.
LOST PROPERTY.
GEORGE AND THE GENERAL.
Russell (W. Chu-k). A MARRIAGE AT

SEA
ABANDONED.

MY DANISH SWEETHEART.
HIS ISLAND PRINCESS.
Sergeant (Adeline) THE MASTER OF

BEECHWOOD.
BARBARA'S MONEY.
THE YELLOW DIAMOND.
THE LOVE THAT OVERCAME.
Surtees (R. S.). HANDLEY CROSS.

Illustrated.
MR. SPONGE'S SPORTING TOUR.

Illustrated.
ASK MAMMA. Illustrated.
Walford(Mrs. L. B.). MR. SMITH.
COUSINS.

THE BABY'S GRANDMOTHER.
Walhice (General Lew). BEN-HUR.
THE FAIR GOD.
Watson (H. B. Marrlot). THE ADVEN

TURERS.
Weekes (A. B.). PRISONERS OF WAR
White (Percy). A PASSIONATE

PILGRIM.

Jf

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