“Oh, this is a delightful place!” cried Margery. “I can lie here and look down into the very heart of the woods; it is a solitude like Robinson Crusoe’s island.”
“I am glad you like it,” said Martin. “I thought you would. I have put up the hammock strongly, so that you need not be afraid of it; but if there is any other way you want it I can change it. There is not a thing here that can hurt you, and if a little snake should happen along it would be glad to get away from you if you give it a chance. But if you should be frightened or should want anything you have only to call for me. I shall hear you, for I shall be out in the open just at the edge of the woods.”
“Thank you very much,” said Margery; “nothing could be nicer than this, and you did it so quickly.”
He smiled with pleasure as he answered that he could have done it more quickly if it had been necessary; and then he retired slowly, that she might call him back if she thought of anything she wanted.
Margery lay in the hammock, gazing out over the edge of the bluff into the heart of the woods; her closed book was in her hand, and the gentle breeze that shook the leaves around her and disturbed the loose curls about her face was laden with a moist spiciness which made her believe it had been wandering through some fragrant foliage of a kind unknown to her, far away in the depths of the forest, where she could not walk on account of the rocks, the great bushes, and the tall ferns. It was lovely to lie and watch the leafy boughs, which seemed as if they were waving their handkerchiefs to the breeze as it passed.
“I don’t believe,” she said to herself, as she cast her eyes upward towards an open space above her, “that if I were that little white cloud and could float over the whole world and drop down on any spot I chose that I could drop into a lovelier place than this.” Then she brought her gaze again to earth, and her mind went out between the shadowy trunks which stretched away and away and away towards the mysteries of the forest, which must always be mysteries to her because it was impossible for her to get to them and solve them—that is, if she remained awake. But if Master Morpheus should happen by, she might yet know everything—for there are no mysteries which cannot be solved in dreams.
Master Morpheus came, but with him came also Arthur Raybold; not by the little pathway that approached from the direction of the lake, but parting the bushes as if he had been exploring. When she heard footsteps behind her, Margery looked up quickly.
“Mr. Raybold!” she exclaimed. “How on earth did you happen here?”
“I did not happen,” said he, wiping his brow with his handkerchief. “I have been looking for you, and I have had tough work of it. I saw you go into the woods, and I went in also, although some distance below here, and I have had a hard and tiresome job working my way up to you; but I have found you. I knew I should, for I had bent my mind to the undertaking.”
“Well, I wish you hadn’t,” said Margery, in a vexed tone. “I came here to be alone and take a nap, and I wish you would find some other nice place and go and take a nap yourself.”