XXVII
After a few days Courtney asked Helen to take Winchie to the laboratory. "You can arrange with Richard as to future visits," she said. "And in talking with him—and with me—please remember he and I don't exist for each other. I can trust you?"
"Yes," presently came from Helen in so reluctant a tone that Courtney congratulated herself on having thought to exact the promise.
Winchie said little about his father at the supper table, but a great deal about a streak of light his father had made for him with an electrical apparatus—"clear across the room, mamma—real lightning—only there wasn't any thunder—just noise—like when Jimmie snaps the whip fast." Several times in the next three or four weeks she discovered evidence of visits to the laboratory in remarks Winchie let drop; for he said nothing direct, having somehow divined that the visits were not to be talked about. But he had not the faintest suspicion there was anything wrong between his father and his mother. He had always been used to their leading separate lives; the mere surface cleavage was too unimportant to affect him, all-observant though he was, with his natural mind which Courtney had not spoiled by false education. And the parents of the only children he played with—those along the shore—were exceeding discreet in discussing the divorce in the family circle.
In the first winter storm one of the maples near the edge of the lake, about the oldest and finest tree on the place, blew down and in its fall destroyed the summer-house. Courtney was awakened by the resounding crash. Before breakfast she, in short skirt and close-fitting jacket, went to see and to decide what should be done. As she reached the scene Dick in shaggy ulster and cap came from behind the towering mass of wreckage. She could not be certain whether his ease, so superior to hers, was due to his having seen her coming and having got ready, or to absolute indifference. "Jimmie told me what happened," explained he. "I came early, thinking I'd not be caught trespassing." He looked sadly at the great tree, with its enormous boughs sprawled upon the frozen surface of the lake. "Jimmie and I," said he, "used to have a swing in it that went out over the water. We used to dive from the seatboard."
Courtney could see the swing go up and up, high as the tree itself, then a daring boy release his hold and shoot through the air, slim and straight, to plunge into the lake. "You'd almost touch bottom away out where it's deepest—wouldn't you?" she said, her eyes sparkling.
"I've brought up mud in my hands from where it's twenty feet deep."
They stood in silence, in the presence of the fallen giant whose life had begun when the Indians trapping and fishing there were getting from the far coast beyond the mountains the first rumors of the great winged boats and the white man. "It was a grand tree," she sighed. "I'll miss it as I'd not miss many people I'm more or less fond of.... I remember that swing."
"You do?"
"One day my mother brought me along when she was calling here. I must have been about the age Winchie is now. I had on red shoes—I remember because they hurt terribly and I didn't dare show a sign for fear they'd be taken away. You lured me out to play—and put me in the swing—and made it go—the limit."