“Day before yesterday—I think. I hardly know. The time seems confused. As if I had been wandering, round and round, forever. I—was almost dead, wasn’t I?”
“Yes. But ’twas Angelique who was first to see it was starvation. Angelique is a Canadian. She lived in the woods long before we came to them. She is very wise.”
He made no comment, being then too busy eating; but at length even his voracity was satisfied, and he had leisure to examine his surroundings. He looked at Margot as if girls were as unknown as eagles; and, indeed, such as she were—to him, at least. Her dress was of blue flannel, and of the same simple cut that she had always worn. A loose blouse, short skirt, full knickers, met at the knees by long shoes, or gaiters of buckskin. These were as comfortable and pliable as Indian moccasins, and the only footgear she had ever known. They were made for her in a distant town, whither Mr. Dutton went for needed supplies, and like the rest of her costume, after a design of his own. She was certainly unconventional in manner, but not from rudeness so much as from a desire to study him—another unknown specimen from an outside world. Her speech was correct beyond that common among school girls, and her gaze was as friendly as it was frank.
Their scrutiny of each other was ended by her exclaiming:—
“Why—you are not old! Not much older than Pierre, I believe! It must be because you are so dirty that I thought you were a man like uncle.”
“Thank you,” he answered, dryly.
But she had no intention of offense. Accustomed all her own life to the utmost cleanliness, in the beginning insisted upon by Angelique because it was proper, and by her guardian for health’s sake, she had grown up with a horror of the discomfort of any untidiness, and she felt herself most remiss in her attentions that she had not earlier offered soap and water. Before he realized what she was about, she had sped into the little outer room which the household used as a lavatory, and whirled a wooden tub into its centre. This she promptly filled with water from a pipe in the wall, and, having hung fresh towels on a chair, returned to the living room.
“I’m so sorry. I ought to have thought of that right away. But a bath is ready now, if you wish it.”
The stranger rose, stammered a little, but accepted what was in truth a delightful surprise.
“Well, this is still more amazing! Into what sort of a spot have I stumbled? It’s a log house, but with apparently several rooms. It has all the comforts of civilization, and at least this one luxury. There are books, too. I saw them in that inner apartment as I passed the open door. The man looks like a gentleman in the disguise of a lumberman, and the girl—what’ll she do next? Ask me where I came from, and why, I presume. If she does, I’ll have to answer her, and truthfully. I can’t fancy anybody not telling the truth to those blue eyes. Maybe she won’t ask.”