“But, O, please tell me how you got away.”
“Some day when we both feel like it I will tell you the beginning and end of this story. As for the middle part I can tell you now that my escape from the hut was not of a hair-breadth character, although the journey I had to take to put a safe space between myself and my enemies was sufficiently exciting.”
“I did not intend to tell any traveler’s stories this vacation,” he added, smiling at the intense interest in Marion’s face, “but you have almost beguiled me into it.”
“O, I should so like to hear how you got out of the hut,” said Marion.
“There is generally a story within a story. Six months before I had administered some generous doses of medicine to a chief who was believed to be dying, with the result of effecting a rapid cure. This man, with some attendant warriors, happened to call a halt in the vicinity of my prison. As a matter of etiquette the captives were exhibited to the visitor. I did not then recognize the recovered invalid in his feathers and paint, but during the night he stole into my tent and by signs and the use of the little of his native language which was at my command we had a short but delightful interview which ended in his taking me out of the hut, stepping over a dozen dark sleepers. They usually guarded me vigilantly, but my friend had managed to drug them into stupidity. After passing them safely I was given over to the care of two men who guided me on the way I wished to pursue till daylight, when they left me to my own devices.”
“O, how interesting!” said Marion, drawing a long breath. “I have read about savage countries and people, but I never expected to know any one who had really seen them.”
CHAPTER XIX.
A HAPPY DAY.
The next day was one of the happiest Marion had ever spent. Mr. Eaton took her for a long drive to a lovely distant village that looked sleepy enough in the winter, but was a gay scene in summer, he told her, when the two large hotels that were close to the lake were filled with a gay crowd. They were both closed now, but Mr. Eaton drove to a smaller one which was always open, and there, while the fat pony rested and enjoyed his oats, they took dinner. The table was quite long and full, and from where Marion sat she could look through a little hall to the kitchen where some women were washing piles of dishes at a long table. It reminded her vividly of the time when she spent hours every day at the same kind of work.
Was it only last summer? She lifted up her hand and looked at it inside and out. It was not white yet, but the palm was growing pink and soft.