Madge awoke early. Outside the house the dogs were stirring, the two young ones chasing one another over the snow and rolling over it while the others nosed about more sedately. She heard a ponderous yawn from Papineau, on the other side of the slender partition, and a general scurrying of small feet and the moving of washbasins. When she came out Mrs. Papineau had already kindled the wood in the fireplace and was stirring the hot embers in the stove. From without she heard sounds of lusty chopping.
She wrapped a borrowed knitted scarf about her neck and put on Hugo’s woolen tuque, after which she stepped out. There 190 was a wondrous brilliancy over the world. On trees hung icicles that took on the appearance of gems. The cold air made her breathe so deeply that she felt amazingly strong and well. The oldest boy’s smiting with his axe came in thumps that awakened a little echo, coming from over there where the river narrowed down between high banks. It was very wonderful; it gave one a desire to live; it seemed a pity that one must so soon say good-by to all this. It––it was perhaps better not to think of that just now.
She went indoors again. There were potatoes to be peeled and the girl, in spite of protests, took up a knife and went to work. It was such a pleasure to do something to help. Indeed she had been idle too long, allowing these people to do everything for her while she crouched disconsolately in warm corners. At present all the weariness and weakness seemed to have left her. It was just like a fresh beginning instead of the ending of a life. It would have made her happy to think that, somewhere in the world, providing it were away from the city, she might have found honest work to do in exchange for some of this wonderful peace. If she could only have remained among these gentle and placid people and let her existence flow on, easily, without 191 pain and the constant worry for the morrow. It was like some marvelous dream from which she was compelled to awaken at once, for she realized that there was no place for her in this household. The older children were already of the greatest assistance to their parents, and there was no room for her in the crowded shack. She had caused these people some inconvenience, which they had accepted cheerfully, it was true, but which she could not keep on inflicting on them. But for some hours––some blessed hours, she could play at being happy and pretend that life was sweet. She could smile now, when these people spoke to her, and she hugged some of the little ones without apparent reason.
“You stay ’ere some more day,” Mrs. Papineau told her, “an’ den you look lak’ oder gal sure. Get fat an’ lose de black roun’ you h’eyes. You now a tousan’ time better as ven you come, you bet. Dis a fine coontree, Canada, for peoples get strong an’ hoongree an’ work ’ard an’ sleep good.”
“It’s a perfectly beautiful and wonderful country,” cried the girl, enthusiastically. “I––I wish I could always live here.”
“You one so prettee gal,” commented the good woman. “Some day you fin’ one good ’usban’ an’ marry an’ h’always lif in dis coontree. 192 Den you is happy and strong. Plenty mans in dis coontree want wife to ’elp an’ mak’ good ’ome. It one h’awful big lan’.”
Yes, there was any amount of room in this great country. And the woman wanted her to go and find a good husband! Well, she had come far to seek one. It––it had not been a pleasant experience. She saw herself wandering about this wilderness looking for another man who would take her to wife. Oh, the shame of it––the hot flashing of her cheeks when she thought of it! No, she was now looking on all this as a pauper looks into the shop-front displaying the warm clothing that would keep the bitter cold from him, or as starvelings of big cities, through the windows of great restaurants and hostelries, stare upon the well-fed people sating themselves with an abundance of good cheer. She must remain outside and now the end of it all was near.
They had their breakfast, during which Mrs. Papineau said that she was becoming anxious about Hugo. Presently she would send one of the children again. Papineau wouldn’t do because he knew nothing about sick people. She would go over there herself soon. If he was sick she would bring him a loaf of bread. It would soon be ready to 193 bake; the dough was still rising behind the stove. There might be other things to be attended to. Not more than an hour would elapse before she was ready to go. She remarked that men were a very helpless lot whenever they were ill, and became grumpy and took feminine tact to manage.
The feeling of anxiety that had gradually come over the girl became deeper. If the man was ill, it was her fault. What had possessed her to spend some of her scant store of money in that dirty little shop for a pistol? Of course, she realized that a vague feeling of danger had guided her––that the thing could be a means of defense or offer a way to end her troubles. And it had only served to injure a man who, if he had sinned against her, manifested at any rate some desire to treat her kindly.
But the thought that he might not be guilty returned to her, insistently. It was on her part a change of thought that was not due to carefully reasoned considerations, to any deep study of conditions, for when she tried to argue the matter out she became involved in a thousand contradictions and her head would begin to ache in dizzy fashion. Rather it was some sort of instinct, one of the conclusions so often and quickly reached by the feminine 194 mind and apt, in spite of everything, to prove accurate and reliable.