This is the full text of my declaration of independence, made at twelve of the clock,—I heard it striking in the kitchen below,—on the night of the twentieth of February, nineteen hundred and ten.
From that hour, I lost all desire to know my parentage, to question Doctor Rugvie, to see the papers; all desire to establish the fact that I was a legitimate child. And I lost it because a greater interest, the dominating interest of love, was claiming all my thoughts, ruling my desires, regulating my wishes. My hour had struck and, knowing it, I regulated my clock by Mr. Ewart's timepiece, which is another way of saying I lived, henceforth, not only in his home, but in him and his interests.
All that Cale told us I had known in part, but never had I known the circumstances in detail, freed from the accumulation of gossip. Now, with Delia Beaseley's relation of my birth and its attendant circumstances, the account, except on two points, seemed complete. On one, I intended to ask explanation from Cale, when an opportunity offered; in the second matter, the identity of my father, I took no interest. But to Cale I would speak. Dear old Cale! Had he known me all these months? Why had n't he spoken to me and told me?
As I thought it over, I saw that I had given him no opportunity to question me, or to speak to me, concerning his surmise. He should have it soon—and again look me squarely in the eyes. Dear old Cale!
It was noticeable the next day, that the Doctor was fairly well occupied with his own thoughts. During the hour in which I took my first lesson with skis, I caught him, more than once, looking at me as if searching for enlightenment on some subject, or object, projected, obscure and undefined, from his consciousness. My own high spirits were seemingly inexplicable to him. How could he know that my elation was due to the fact, that the express from Montreal would arrive in eight hours!
"Cale," he said abruptly, while helping me out of some particularly awkward floundering, "when does the mail leave the house for the south bound trains?"
"We cal'late ter get it off 'bout noon; little Pete takes it over."
The Doctor looked at his watch. "Sorry, Marcia, to cut short this fun, especially after my urgent invitation, but I must get some letters off by that mail. We 'll try it again to-morrow."
"Don't mind me, but I don't want to go in; it's great sport, the best yet. Cale, you can stay a little longer, can't you?"
"To be sure; I ain't nothing special on hand fer the rest of the forenoon."