The Major [38]
A loud call came from the woods.
"There's Nora," said Kathleen. "O-o-o-o-o-h! O-o-o-o-o-h!" The girl's answering call was like the winding of a silver horn. "Here she is."
Out from the woods, striding into the clearing, came a young girl dressed in workmanlike garb in short skirt, leggings and jersey, with a soft black hat on the black tumbled locks. "Hello, Kathleen, dinner ready? I'm famished. Oh, Mrs. Waring-Gaunt, glad to see you."
"And my brother, Nora, Mr. Jack Romayne, just come from England, and hungry as a bear."
"Just from England? And hungry? Well, we are glad to see you, Mr. Romayne." The girl came forward with a quick step and frankly offered her brown, strong hand. "We're awfully glad to see you, Mr. Romayne," she repeated. "I ought to be embarrassed, I know, only I am so hungry."
"Just my fix, Miss Nora," said the young man. "I am really anxious to be polite. I feel we should decline the invitation to dinner which your sister has pressed upon us; we know it is a shame to drop in on you like this all unprepared, but I am so hungry, and really that smell is so irresistible that I feel I simply cannot be polite."
"Don't!" cried the girl, "or rather, do, and stay. There's enough of something, and Joe will look after the horses." She put her hands to her lips and called, "J-o-o-e!"
A voice from the woods answered her, followed by Joe himself. "Here, Joe, take the horses and unsaddle them and tether them out somewhere."
Despite Kathleen's fears there was dinner enough for all.
"This is perfectly stunning!" said Romayne, glancing round the little clearing and up at the trees waving overhead, through the interstices of whose leafy canopy showed patches of blue sky. "Gorgeous, by Jove! Words are futile things for really great moments."
"Ripping," said Nora, smiling impudently into his face. "Awfully jolly! A-1! Top hole! That's the lot, I think, according to the best authorities. Do you know any others?"
"I beg pardon, what?" said Romayne, looking up from his fried pork and potatoes.
"Those are all I have learned in English at least," said Nora. "I am keen for some more. They are Oxford, I believe. Have you any others?"
Mr. Romayne diverted his attention from his dinner. "What is she talking about, Miss Gwynne? I confess to be entirely absorbed in these fried potatoes."
"Words, words, Mr. Romayne, vocabulary, adjectives," replied Nora.
"Ah," said Romayne, "but why should one worry about words, especially adjectives, when one has such divine realities as these to deal with?"
"Have some muffles, Mr. Romayne," said Nora.
"Muffles? Now what may muffles be?"
"Muffles are a cross between muffins and waffles."
"Please elucidate their nature and origin," said Mr. Romayne.
"Let me show you," said Kathleen. She sprang up, dived into the cabin and returned with a large, round, hard biscuit in her hand. "This is Hudson Bay hard tack, the stand-by of all western people-- Hudson Bay freighters and cowboys, old timers and tenderfeet alike swear by it. See, you moisten it slightly in water, fry it in boiling fat, sugar it and keep hot till served. Thus Hudson Bay hard tack becomes muffles."
"Marvellous!" exclaimed Mr. Romayne, "and truly delicious! And to think that the Savoy chef knows nothing about muffles! But now that my first faintness is removed and the mystery of muffles is solved, may I inquire just what you are doing up here to-day, Miss Gwynne? What is the business on hand, I mean?"
"Oh, Nora is getting out some logs for building and firewood for next winter. The logs, you see, are cut during the winter and hauled to the dump there."
"Dump!" exclaimed Mr. Romayne faintly.
"Yes. The bank there where you dump the logs into the creek below."
"But what exactly has Miss Nora to do with all this?"
"I?" enquired Nora, "I only boss the job."
"Don't you believe her," said Mrs. Waring-Gaunt. "I happen to remember one winter day coming upon this young lady in these very woods driving her team and hauling logs to the
"There's Nora," said Kathleen. "O-o-o-o-o-h! O-o-o-o-o-h!" The girl's answering call was like the winding of a silver horn. "Here she is."
Out from the woods, striding into the clearing, came a young girl dressed in workmanlike garb in short skirt, leggings and jersey, with a soft black hat on the black tumbled locks. "Hello, Kathleen, dinner ready? I'm famished. Oh, Mrs. Waring-Gaunt, glad to see you."
"And my brother, Nora, Mr. Jack Romayne, just come from England, and hungry as a bear."
"Just from England? And hungry? Well, we are glad to see you, Mr. Romayne." The girl came forward with a quick step and frankly offered her brown, strong hand. "We're awfully glad to see you, Mr. Romayne," she repeated. "I ought to be embarrassed, I know, only I am so hungry."
"Just my fix, Miss Nora," said the young man. "I am really anxious to be polite. I feel we should decline the invitation to dinner which your sister has pressed upon us; we know it is a shame to drop in on you like this all unprepared, but I am so hungry, and really that smell is so irresistible that I feel I simply cannot be polite."
"Don't!" cried the girl, "or rather, do, and stay. There's enough of something, and Joe will look after the horses." She put her hands to her lips and called, "J-o-o-e!"
A voice from the woods answered her, followed by Joe himself. "Here, Joe, take the horses and unsaddle them and tether them out somewhere."
Despite Kathleen's fears there was dinner enough for all.
"This is perfectly stunning!" said Romayne, glancing round the little clearing and up at the trees waving overhead, through the interstices of whose leafy canopy showed patches of blue sky. "Gorgeous, by Jove! Words are futile things for really great moments."
"Ripping," said Nora, smiling impudently into his face. "Awfully jolly! A-1! Top hole! That's the lot, I think, according to the best authorities. Do you know any others?"
"I beg pardon, what?" said Romayne, looking up from his fried pork and potatoes.
"Those are all I have learned in English at least," said Nora. "I am keen for some more. They are Oxford, I believe. Have you any others?"
Mr. Romayne diverted his attention from his dinner. "What is she talking about, Miss Gwynne? I confess to be entirely absorbed in these fried potatoes."
"Words, words, Mr. Romayne, vocabulary, adjectives," replied Nora.
"Ah," said Romayne, "but why should one worry about words, especially adjectives, when one has such divine realities as these to deal with?"
"Have some muffles, Mr. Romayne," said Nora.
"Muffles? Now what may muffles be?"
"Muffles are a cross between muffins and waffles."
"Please elucidate their nature and origin," said Mr. Romayne.
"Let me show you," said Kathleen. She sprang up, dived into the cabin and returned with a large, round, hard biscuit in her hand. "This is Hudson Bay hard tack, the stand-by of all western people-- Hudson Bay freighters and cowboys, old timers and tenderfeet alike swear by it. See, you moisten it slightly in water, fry it in boiling fat, sugar it and keep hot till served. Thus Hudson Bay hard tack becomes muffles."
"Marvellous!" exclaimed Mr. Romayne, "and truly delicious! And to think that the Savoy chef knows nothing about muffles! But now that my first faintness is removed and the mystery of muffles is solved, may I inquire just what you are doing up here to-day, Miss Gwynne? What is the business on hand, I mean?"
"Oh, Nora is getting out some logs for building and firewood for next winter. The logs, you see, are cut during the winter and hauled to the dump there."
"Dump!" exclaimed Mr. Romayne faintly.
"Yes. The bank there where you dump the logs into the creek below."
"But what exactly has Miss Nora to do with all this?"
"I?" enquired Nora, "I only boss the job."
"Don't you believe her," said Mrs. Waring-Gaunt. "I happen to remember one winter day coming upon this young lady in these very woods driving her team and hauling logs to the