“Look!”
I stopped at once and followed the direction of his glance. Before I had time to wonder if he had seen a bear I saw, standing on the ledge above, Mr. Rogers—and Bertie! The light was full upon them and I saw in a flash that Bertie was stouter and had lost his terrible pallor. He was not ruddy, but he was brown, and there was colour in his cheeks.
Polly, did you ever have a wild whirl of emotions inside of you while you forced your exterior to be as impassive as a shell? I wanted to give one of the war-whoops with which they call to one another up here, and I felt so much like bursting into a storm of tears that I dared not even speak.
When Bertie and I met we merely shook hands, and he remarked that he was glad to see me back, but I knew he wanted to hug me. Then I gave my hand to Mr. Rogers—and was just in time to see the look with which my two knights were measuring each other.
I walked ahead with Bertie and he said that between the air and the milk he certainly was getting well, and I found my voice and told him that I never had felt so happy in my life. But my absorption in Bertie was divided for the moment by a new surprise.
We had left the level stretch and were walking down the incline to the boat landing (I had been too interested to notice that we had not turned off into the path leading to our camp), when I stopped short with half a sentence forgotten. Waiting at the pier was a gondola—a gondola with silken curtains and cushions and an Italian gondolier.
Bertie laughed gaily at my startled face, for in truth I was afraid for the moment that something in my brain had gone wrong.
“Rogers sent for it—to Chicago, of all places!” he said. “It is a remnant of the World’s Fair.”
And then I remembered I once had said to Mr. Rogers that I could not understand why they did not have gondolas on these beautiful lakes instead of commonplace boats.
All my coquetry was enchanted and I turned to Mr. Rogers with such a radiant face that he must have felt a bit rewarded. While I was thanking him—glad of that much outlet for my excitement—and he was making one of his charming speeches and looking so dignified and not the least bit of an ass, I stole a glance at Mr. N. His face wore a cynical grin that was almost sardonic.