the fortunes of oliver horn-第42节

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　snarl　and　started　down　the　gorge。　Then　the　little　leaves　began　to　quiver；　the　big　trees　to　groan；　in　their　anxiety　not　knowing　what　the　will　of　the　wind　would　be；　and　the　merry　little　waves　that　had　chased　each　other　all　the　morning　over　the　sunny　shallows　of　the　brook；　grew　ashy　pale　as　they　looked　up　into　the　angry　　face　of　the　Storm…God；　and　fled　shivering　to　the　shore。

Oliver　whipped　out　his　knife；　stripped　the　heavy　outer　bark　from　a　white　birch；　and　before　the　dashing　　rain　could　catch　up　with　the　wind；　had　repaired　the　slant　so　as　to　make　it　water…tightHank　had　taught　him　thisthen　he　started　another　great　fire　in　front　of　the　slant　and　threw　fresh　balsam　boughs　on　the　bed　that　had　rested　Hank's　tired　limbs；　and　he　and　Margaret　crept　in　and　were　secure。

The　equanimity　of　Margaret's　temper；　temporarily　disturbed　by　her　vivid　misconception　of　Kennedy　Square；　was　restored。　The　dry　shelter；　the　warm　fire；　the　sense　of　escape　from　the　elements；　all　filled　her　heart　with　gladness。　Never　since　the　day　she　met　him　on　the　bridge　had　she　been　so　happy。　Again；　as　when　Oliver　championed　her　in　the　old　Academy　school…room；　there　stole　over　her　a　vague　sense　of　pleasure　in　being　protected。

〃Isn't　it　jolly！〃　she　said　as　she　sat　hunched　up　beside　him。　〃I'm　as　dry　as　a　bone；　not　a　drop　on　me。〃

Oliver　was　even　more　buoyant。　There　was　something　　irresistibly　cosey　and　comfortable　in　the　shelter　which　he　had　provided　for　hersomething　of　warmth　and　companionship　and　rest。　But　more　intensely　　enjoyable　than　all　was　the　thought　that　he　was　taking　care　of　a　woman　for　the　first　time　in　his　life；　as　it　seemed　to　him。　And　in　a　house　of　his　own　making；　and　in　a　place；　too；　of　his　own　choosing；　surrounded　by　the　big　trees　that　he　loved。　He　had　even　outwitted　the　elementsthe　wind　and　the　rain　and　the　chillin　her　defence。　Old　Moose　Hillock　could　bellow　now　and　White　Face　roar；　and　the　wind　and　rain　vent　their　wrath；　but　Margaret；　close　beside　him；　would　still　be　warm　and　dry　and　safe。

By　this　time　she　had　hung　her　tam…o'…shanter　and　jacket　on　a　nail　that　she　had　found　in　the　bark　over　her　head；　and　was　arranging　her　hair。

〃It's　just　like　life；　Oliver；　isn't　it？〃　she　said；　as　she　tightened　the　coil　in　her　neck。　〃All　we　want；　after　all；　is　a　place　to　get　into　out　of　the　storm　and　wet；　not　a　big　place；　either。〃

〃What　kind　of　a　place？〃　He　was　on　his　knees　digging　a　little　trench　with　his　knife；　piling　up　the　moist　earth　in　miniature　embankments；　so　that　the　dripping　from　the　roof　would　not　spatter　this　Princess　　of　his　whom　he　had　saved　from　the　tempest　outside。

〃Oh；　any　kind　of　a　place　if　you　have　people　you're　fond　of。　I'd　love　a　real　studio　somewhere；　and　a　few　things　hung　aboutsome　old　Delft　and　one　or　two　bits　of　stuffand　somebody　to　take　care　of　me。〃

Oliver　shifted　his　pipe　in　his　mouth　and　looked　up。　Would　she；　with　all　her　independence；　really　like　to　have　someone　take　care　of　her？　He　had　seen　no　evidence　of　it。

〃Who？〃　he　asked。　He　had　never　heard　her　mention　anybody's　namebut　then　she　had　not　told　him　everything；

He　had　dropped　his　eyes　again；　finishing　the　drain　and　flattening　the　boughs　under　her；　to　make　the　seat　the　easier。

〃Oh；　some　old　woman；　perhaps；　like　dear　old　Mrs。　Mulligan。〃　There　was　no　coquetry　in　her　tone。　She　was　speaking　truthfully　out　of　her　heart。

〃Anything　more？〃　Oliver's　voice　had　lost　its　buoyancy　now。　The　pipe　was　upside　down；　the　ashes　falling　on　his　shirt。

〃Yeslots　of　portraits　to　paint。〃

〃And　a　medal　at　the　Salon？〃　asked　Oliver；　brushing　　off　the　waste　of　his　pipe　from　his　coat…sleeve。

〃Yes；　I　don't　mind；　if　my　pictures　deserve　it；〃　and　she　looked　at　him　quizzically；　while　a　sudden　flash　of　humor　lightened　up　her　face。　〃What　would　you　want；　Mr。　Happy…go…lucky；　if　you　had　your　wish？〃

〃I；　Madge；　dear？〃　he　exclaimed；　with　a　sudden　outburst　of　tenderness；　raising　his　body　erect　and　looking　earnestly　into　her　eyes；　which　were　now　within　a　hand's　breadth　of　his　own。　She　winced　a　little；　but　it　did　not　offend　her；　nor　did　she　move　an　inch。　〃Oh；　I　don't　know　what　I　want。　What　I　want；　I　suppose；　is　what　I　shall　never　have；　little　girl。〃

She　wasn't　his　little　girl；　or　anybody　else's；　she　thought　to　herselfshe　was　firmly　convinced　of　that　fact。　It　was　only　one　of　his　terms　of　endearment。　He　had　them　for　everybodyeven　for　Hank　and　for　Mrs。　Taftwhom　he　called　〃Taffy；〃　and　who　loved　to　hear　him　say　it；　and　she　old　enough　to　be　his　grandmother！　She　stole　a　look　into　his　face。　There　was　a　cloud　over　it；　a　slight　knitting　of　the　brows；　and　a　pained　expression　about　the　mouth　that　were　new　to　her。

〃I'd　like　to　be　a　painter；〃　he　continued；　〃but　mother　would　never　consent。〃　As　be　spoke；　he　sank　back　from　her　slowly；　his　knees　still　bent　under　him。　Then　be　added；　with　a　sigh；　〃She　wouldn't　think　it　respectable。　Anything　but　a　painter；　she　says。〃

Margaret　looked　out　through　the　forest　and　watched　a　woodpecker　at　work　on　the　dry　side　of　a　hollow　trunk；　the　side　protected　from　the　driving　rain。

〃And　you　would　give　up　your　career　because　she　wants　it？　How　do　you　know　she's　right　about　it？　And　who's　to　suffer　if　she's　wrong？　Be　a　painter；　Oliver；　if　you　want　to！　Your　mother　can't　coddle　you　up　forever！　No　mother　should。　Do　what　you　can　do　best；　and　to　please　yourself；　not　somebody　else；〃　and　then　she　laughed　lightly　as　if　to　break　the　force　of　her　words。

Oliver　looked　at　her　in　indignation　that　anyone　even　Margaretshould　speak　so　of　his　mother。　It　was　the　first　time　in　all　his　life　that　he　had　heard　her　name　mentioned　without　the　profound　reverence　it　deserved。　Then　a　sense　of　the　injustice　of　her　words　took　possession　of　him；　as　the　solemn　compact　　he　had　made　with　his　mother　not　to　be　a　burden　　on　her　while　the　mortgage　was　unpaid；　rose　in　his　mind。　This　thought　and　Margaret's　laugh　softened　　any　hurt　her　words　had　given　him；　although　the　lesson　that　they　were　intended　to　teach　lingered　in　his　memory　for　many　days　thereafter。

〃You　would　not　talk　that　way；　Madge；　if　you　knew　my　dear　mother；〃　he　said；　quietly。　〃There　is　nothing　in　her　life　she　loves　better　than　me。　She　doesn't　want　me　to　be　a　painter　because〃　He　stopped；　fearing　she　might　not　understand　his　answer。

〃Go　onwhy　not？〃　The　laugh　had　faded　out　of　her　voice　now；　and　a　tone　almost　of　defiance　had　taken　its　place。

〃She　says　it　is　not　the　profession　of　a　gentleman；〃　　he　answered；　sadly。　〃I　do　not　agree　with　her；　but　she　thinks　so；　and　nothing　can　shake　her。〃

〃If　those　are　her　opinions；　I　wonder　what　she　would　think　of　ME？〃　There　was　a　slight　irritation　in　her　voicesomehow　she　always　became　irritable　when　Oliver　spoke　of　his　mother。　She　was　ashamed　of　it；　but　it　was　true。

All　his　anger　was　gone　now。　Whatever　opinion　the　world　might　have　on　any　number　of　things　there　could　be　but　one　opinion　of　Madge。　〃She　would　LOVE　you；　little　girl；〃　he　burst　out　as　he　laid　his　hand　on　her　armthe　first　time　he　had　ever　touched　her　with　any　show　of　affection。　〃You'd　make　her　love　you。　She　never　saw　anybody　like　you　before；　and　she　never　will。　That　you　are　an　artist　wouldn't　make　any　difference。　It's　not　the　same　with　you。　You're　a　woman。〃

The　girl's　eyes　again　sought　the　woodpecker。　It　was　stabbing　away　with　all　its　might；　driving　its　beak　far　into　the　yielding　bark。　It　seemed　in　some　way　to　represent　her　own　mood。　After　a　moment's　thought　she　said　thoughtfully　as　she　rested　her　head　on　the　edge　of　the　slant：

〃Ollie；　what　is　a　gentleman？〃　She　knew；　she　thought；　but　she　wanted　him　to　define　it。

〃My　father　is　one；〃　he　said；　positively；　〃and　so　is　yours；〃　and　he　looked　inquiringly　into　her　face。

〃That　depends　on　your　standard。　I　don't　know　your　father；　but　I　do　mine；　and　from　what　you　have　told　me　about　yours　I　think　they　are　about　as　different　　as　two　men　can　be。　Answer　my　questionwhat　is　a　gentleman？〃　She　was　leaning　over　a　little；　and　tucking　a　chip　under　her　toes　to　keep　the　water　away　from　her　shoes。　Her　eyes　sought　his　again。

〃A　gentleman；　Madgewhy；　you　know　what　a　gentleman　is。　He　is　a　man　well　born；　well　educated；　　and　well　bred。　That's　the　standard　at　home　at　least；　that's　my　mother's。　Father's　standard　is　the　same；　only　he　puts　it　in　a　different　way。　He　says　a　gentleman　is　a　man　who　tolerates　other　people's　　mistakes　and　who　sympathizes　with　other　people's　　troubles。〃

〃Anything　else？〃　She　was　searching　his　face　now。　There　were　some　things　she　wanted　to　settle　in　her　own　mind。

〃I　don't　think　of　anything　else；　Madge；　deardo　you？〃　He　was　really　dismissing　the　question。　His　thoughts　were　on　something　elsethe　way　her　hair　curled　from　under　her　worsted　cap　and　the　way　her　pink　ears　nestled　close　to　her　head；　especially　the　　little　indents　at　each　corner　of　her　mouth。　He　liked　their　modelling。

〃And　so　according　to　your　mother's　and　father's　ideas；　and　those　of　all　your　aristocratic　people　at　home；　Hank　here　could　not　be　a　gentleman　if　he　tried？〃

The　idea　was　new　to　Oliver。　He　had　become　conscious　　now。　What　had　gotten　into　Margaret　to…day！

〃Hank？no；　certainly　not。　How　could　he？〃

〃By　BEING　a　gentleman；　Mr。　Aristocrat。　Not　in　clothes；　mind　younor　money；　nor　furniture；　nor　wines；　nor　carriages；　but　in　HEART。　Think　a　moment；　Ollie；〃　and　her　eyes　snapped。　〃Hank　finds　a　robin　that　has　tumbled　out　of　its　nest；　an