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Page 20
"_Viens, corps, ta fosse t'attend!_" for Pere S---- was a heretic,
and could not have slept in consecrated ground had he died before the
R�publique Fran�aise removed religious restrictions from all
burial-places. All the consular corps in all the region round about
followed the old man to his long home, all our public buildings hung
their flags half-mast high, all our little world told queer stories of
the dead old man. But our own hearts grew tender with thoughts of this
life finished at fourscore years with its longing of almost half a
century unfulfilled. "Philip Nolan" we often called the old man, who
sometimes said to us, with yearning, pathetic voice,--
"I am an American; I am here only till I make my fortune. When I am rich
enough I shall go _Home_. I shall die and be buried at Home,--when
I am rich enough."
Temperament is Fate. P�re S----'s temperament of Harpagon fated him to
die as he had lived,--a man without a country.
MARGARET BERTHA WRIGHT.
THE PRIMITIVE COUPLE.
I.
PARADISE.
The island in Magog Lake was like a world by itself. Though there were
but fifteen or twenty acres of land in it, that land was so diversified
by dense woods, rocks, verdant open spots, and smooth shore-rims that it
seemed many places in one.
Adam's tent was set in the arena of an amphitheatre of hills, upon
close, smooth sward sloping down to the lake-margin of milk-white sand.
Beyond the lake stood up a picture as heavenly to man's vision as the
New Jerusalem appearing in the clouds.
This was a mountain bounded at the base by two spurs of the lake, and
clothed by a plumage of woods, except upon spaces near the centre of its
slope. Here green fields disclosed themselves and two farm-houses were
nested, basking in the light of a sky which deepened and deepened
through infinite blues.
Though it was high noon, dew yet remained upon the abundance of ferns
and rock-mosses on those heights around the camp. The tent stood open at
both ends, framing a triangular bit of lake-water and shore. Within it
were a table piled with books, an oval mirror hung over a toilet-stand,
garments suspended along a line, a small square rug overlying the sward,
and camp-chairs.
The two cots had been stripped of their blankets--which were out sunning
upon a pole--and set in the thickest shade, and upon one of these cots
Eva was stretched out, having a pillow under her head. Her dress was of
a green woollen stuff, and barely reached the instep of her low shoes. A
mighty bunch of trailing ferns, starred with furry azure flowers and
ox-eyed daisies, was fastened from her neck to her girdle. She had drawn
her broad sun-hat partly over the bewitching mystery of her eyes and
forehead, to keep the sky-glow at bay, but left space enough through
which to search the whole visible world, and her face was smiling with
pure joy. To be alive beside Lake Magog was sufficient; and she was both
alive and beloved.
She thought within herself how indescribable all this beauty was. A
pleasant wind smelling of world-old fern-loam fanned her. There were
neither mosquitoes nor flies to sting, and, had there been, Adam was
provided with a bottle of pennyroyal oil, wherewith he would anoint her
face and hands, kissing any lump planted there before he came to the
rescue.
Eva felt sure she never wanted to go back to civilization again. Days
and days of shining weather, fog-or dew-drenched in the morning,
wine-colored or opaline in the evening; cool, starry nights, so cool, so
dense with woods-shade that they drove her to hide her head in the
blankets under Adam's arm; glowing noons, when the world swam in
ecstasy; long pulls at the oars from point to point of this magic lake,
she holding the trolling-line at the stern of the boat, her husband
sometimes resting and leaning forward to get her smile at nearer range
upon his face; plunges into the warm lake-water in the afternoon when
time stood still in a trance of satisfaction:--what a honeymoon she was
having! Why should it ever end? There were responsible folks enough to
carry the world's work forward. Two people might be allowed to spend
their lives in paradise, if a change of seasons could only be prevented.
Anyhow, Eva was soaking up present joy. She half closed her eyes, and
whispered fragmentary words, feeling that her heart was a censer of
incense, swinging off clouds of thanksgiving at every beat.
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