“Aw right.... Tol’ me, he did, ’at he didn’t believe in work. Pfut!” he spluttered out an ironic laugh; “no use workin’ when you c’n jus’ pick it up easy. Oh, he’s a very smart, clever boy!”
It took all Jerry’s will to control her instinctive desire to slap the boy’s smirking face.
“Well,” she smiled; “it’s rather late for a skipper, isn’t it? Early to bed nowadays if you want to have a chance in these races.”
“Tha’s right,” he agreed and yawned prodigiously. “Guess I’ll be goin’ to bed.” But the single idea was not easily dislodged from his mind. “Clever boy, he is! Clever and—smart!”
“Good-night, Walter.” Jerry spoke very sweetly, a great tribute to her growing power of control over speech.
As Walter sauntered in the great central door she heard the voices of Jawn and Richard. Evidently they were coming out upon the porch.
“Where’s Jerry?” she heard Richard ask.
While Walter was mumbling his reply—his tones were cheerful, she was glad to note—she slipped into the grounds at the side and made quickly off to the winding road at the back which leads up to the top of the ridge. Until she could collect her thoughts she did not want to see either man. In her perturbed condition Richard’s mildness would have stirred her to quarrel, and Jawn’s hearty volubility would have led to a blow. She was quite sure that if he had attempted another limerick she would have screamed.
The walk up the old familiar road was a soothing delight. She went on till she came to the hunter’s hut wherein she had spent many a fine winter night. An old kitchen chair was waiting invitingly on its slender porch. There she sat and tried to get her mental bearings while the serene moon grew higher and higher in the sky.
Alone on the porch of the hunter’s lodge with the dark valley before her and a patch of the white-blue Lake shining brilliantly in the moonlight, Jerry called herself to account. The quickly planned “fib” which she had just told to Walter was worrying her. To be sure, Richard of all persons would understand exactly the motive that led her to her supposed confession and he would see the necessity of it. That did not bother her half so much as the effect which the spoken words had had upon herself. The moment they were uttered she experienced a most uncomfortable feeling of joy and guilt. It was as if she had unwittingly expressed her very self.