Chapter 16

THE WORM TURNS

"Beatrice," said Mrs. Mackenzie, "what day of the month is it?"

"The eighth."

"Why, no, it isn't," put in Mackenzie; "it's the ninth—isn't it, Rob?"

"Certainly—the ninth of August."

"Have it your own way," pouted Beatrice; "what do you suppose I care?"

"There's George across the river," observed Mrs. Mackenzie. "I wonder why he doesn't come over!"

"He's busy, I guess," said Robert; "but I think he will be over this afternoon."

"How do you know?" inquired Beatrice, looking at him narrowly. "You haven't seen him to-day, have you?"

"N—no," stammered Robert, uncomfortably. "I—I just thought so." For the first time he saw how ridiculous, from one point of view, their arrangement was, and became more anxious than ever to keep Beatrice in ignorance of it. Still, it had worked well, for neither had made any evident progress and their friendship was still unbroken.

During the past week the girl had not failed to observe that she never saw Ronald and Forsyth together, except from her window, and had asked each of them in turn if there had been a quarrel. She had also noticed that her admirers were spasmodic, as it were, in their attentions, and had puzzled vainly over the fact. It seemed strange that, at the Fort, Ronald should leave her when Forsyth put in an appearance; or that when she sat on the piazza at the trading station, Forsyth should immediately find something else to do when Ronald came across the river.

The Ensign had taken Queen out for the appointed exercise and was wondering how to kill the time until noon. He was staring vacantly into space at the very moment Robert had said he was "busy," but he soon decided to wash Major in the river.

In spite of the heat the dog regarded the ceremony as a punishment rather than a luxury, and cowered as if from a blow when his master removed his coat and rolled up his sleeves. The basin of soft soap which Doctor Norton brought, in answer to a loud request from Ronald, was placed conveniently on the bank and operations began.

Beatrice was leaning on the gate, in the shade of the poplar, and chose to consider the affair as undertaken solely for her amusement. "Isn't it nice of Mr. Ronald," she said, with mock gratitude, "to wash Major where we can all see him do it! If he were selfish, he'd take him away."

Protesting barks from the victim punctuated her comment. "If he were selfish," replied Robert, pleasantly, "he wouldn't do it at all."

"I have a mind to go over there," said the girl, suddenly.

"Oh, don't!" begged Robert, with feeling.

"Why not?"

"Oh—because."

"A woman's reason," said Beatrice, scornfully. "I'm going, anyhow."

Robert was allowed to row her across, as a great favour; and Ronald, mindful of his agreement, was not particularly cordial.

"I don't believe he likes it because I've come," she said, to Doctor Norton.

"Oh, yes, he does," the Doctor assured her, gallantly.

"Do you?" she inquired, directly, of Ronald.

"Certainly."

The Ensign's face was red, partly because of his exertions and partly because of various concealed emotions. Major had been thoroughly lathered with soft soap, and was being rinsed with basin after basin of water, whining, meanwhile, because soap was in his eyes.

"There," said Ronald, when the black and white coat was thoroughly clean, "he'll be a beauty when he's dry—won't you, Major?"

The dog shook himself vigorously and sprinkled every one except Beatrice, who was out of range. "Indeed he will," she answered, with suspicious warmth. "It's strange, isn't it, how washing improves pets?"

Forsyth began to dread what was coming, but Ronald heedlessly stumbled into the snare. "Of course it improves 'em," he said. "It's worth doing, if only for artistic reasons."

Her eyes danced and the dimples came and went at the corners of her mouth. "I would like," she began demurely, "to have Queen washed."

"Lord!" muttered the Ensign, mopping his forehead with his sleeve.

"Will you do it for me, Mr. Ronald?" she continued coaxingly.

For an instant he hesitated, then the worm turned. "No," he said quietly, "I won't. You can wash your own horse."

"Will you, Cousin Rob?" she asked sweetly, turning to Forsyth.

The dull colour bronzed his face and he saw a steely glitter in Ronald's blue eyes. "No," he answered, emboldened by the other's example; "not by any means."

"I haven't any friends," remarked Beatrice, sadly, to the Doctor.

"Friends are one thing," retorted Ronald, hotly, "and body servants are another. I'm willing to lead your horse around, because it's too hot for you to ride her, and I wouldn't want to be seen riding a nag like that anyhow; but I won't bathe her nor comb her hair nor put on her shoes." He turned on his heel and walked away, the personification of offended dignity.

Beatrice laughed, while Forsyth and the Doctor looked at her in amazement. "Oh," she gasped, "isn't he—isn't he funny when he's mad!" Ronald strode into the Fort and gave no sign of having heard, save by a tell-tale redness of the ears.

Robert felt concerned in a way, but the Doctor was not. "You'll find, Miss Manning," he said judicially, "as you grow older, that there's a limit to everything and everybody."

"Of course," returned the girl, seriously; "I was just locating it."

"Shall we go back, now?" asked Robert.

"No; I'm going to see Katherine."

"Very well." He started toward the Fort with her and Norton followed them.

"What?" she asked; "are you both coming, too?"

"I'm not," said the Doctor, quietly.

"Are you, Cousin Rob?"

"Of course—I'm going wherever you do."

Ronald was talking with Mrs. Franklin, and did not seem to see the two who went to the Lieutenant's. Robert brought chairs for Mrs. Howard and Beatrice and seated himself on the upper step.

"Where's George?" asked Katherine. "Isn't he coming over?" She had grown accustomed to seeing the three together, and vaguely missed Ronald.

"He was bad," explained the girl, fanning herself with her handkerchief, "and I think he's ashamed to come."

"Bad—how?"

"He wouldn't wash Queen. I asked him to, and he said he wouldn't. Cousin Rob wouldn't, either."

"Well, I don't blame them. You seem to expect a good deal, Bee."

"Oh," laughed Beatrice, "how serious you all are! I believe Mr. Ronald and Cousin Rob thought I meant it!"

"You seemed to," put in Robert, in self-justification.

"Men are very stupid," she observed, dispassionately; "but suppose I did mean it—what then? Were you in earnest when you said you wouldn't?"

"Yes," said Robert, steadfastly; "whether you were joking or not, I was in earnest, and so was Ronald."

Hitherto, men had not openly defied the girl's imperious will, and she had the sensation of unexpectedly encountering a brick wall. "Would you mind going over after my sewing?" she asked, suddenly.

"Certainly not—where is it?"

"Aunt Eleanor knows."

"You're a sad flirt, Bee," remarked Mrs. Howard, as Forsyth went out of the Fort.

"I am not," retorted Beatrice, with spirit. "Why shouldn't he go after my sewing?"

"There's no reason why he shouldn't, if he wants to."

"Well, he wants to," replied Beatrice, "otherwise he wouldn't. That's the man of it."

"It seems strange," observed the other, meditatively, "that in a little place like this, on the very edge of the frontier, one girl can keep two men working hard all the time without half trying. On the face of it, there wouldn't seem to be enough to do."

"It requires talent," admitted Beatrice, modestly, "if not genius. Mr. Ronald!" she called.

The Ensign did not seem to hear. "Mr. Ronald!" she called again. There was no answer, though he must have heard.

"He's in the sulks," explained Beatrice, "and if he wants to stay there, he can."

"I wish you wouldn't do so, Bee," said Katherine, kindly.

"Do what?" demanded Beatrice, with her violet eyes wide open.

"You know what you're doing, and you needn't pretend that you don't."

There was a long silence, then Beatrice sighed heavily. "I think I'll move," she said. "I can go to Detroit, or Fort Mackinac, or back East."

Katherine's heart sank within her, for she knew she would miss the girl more than words could express. "You can't go," she said; "no one would go with you."

"I should hope not. Queen and I could make the trip alone. If I decide to go, why, I'll go—that's all there is about it, war or no war. I know where the pickets are and I could get through the lines without any trouble. If you miss me some morning, you'll know that I've made my escape to some peaceful spot where there is no lecturing."

She spoke with such calm assurance that Katherine was troubled. She swiftly determined to ask Captain Franklin to put an extra guard at the stables, then Beatrice laughed.

"Poor Kit," she said affectionately, "why, you look as solemn as a priest! You don't think I'd go away and leave you, do you? You're too sweet," she cooed, rubbing her soft cheek against her cousin's.

Forsyth, coming back with the sewing, was transfixed with sudden envy of Mrs. Howard. "I thought you were never coming," said the girl, smiling.

"Did it seem long?" he asked, dazed by the implied compliment, for he had been in great haste.

"Yes," said Beatrice; "but it wasn't your fault. It was because I was being lectured."

Katherine's face grew delicately pink, and she looked at Beatrice imploringly.

"Lectured!" repeated Forsyth. "Why, what for?"

"She said I flirted—with you and Mr. Ronald."

"When?"

"Oh, you goose," laughed Beatrice. "She meant I did it all the time; but you don't care, do you?"

"I don't know just what it is," said Robert, truthfully; "but if it's anything you do, I like it."

"There!" said the girl, in a tone of great satisfaction; "you see, don't you, Kit?"

"Yes," answered Mrs. Howard, "I see that you are incorrigible."

Forsyth was content to listen and to watch Beatrice as she sewed. Prosaic needles and thread assumed a mysterious charm in the dimpled hands of the girl he loved. Pretty frowns and troubled shadows flitted across her face as the thread knotted, twisted, or broke, as it frequently did, because she was not familiar with her task.

Ronald left Captain Franklin's and came across the parade-ground with a rapid stride. "Twelve o'clock!" he said, with a radiant smile. "You wouldn't think it, would you?" he added.

"I shouldn't have suspected it," answered Forsyth, with double meaning; "I must be going back."

"I'll go with you, Cousin Rob."

"Me, too," put in Ronald, joyously.

"You needn't," said the girl, coolly.

"I'd just as soon—I'm going to row you across."

"No, you're not; I came with Cousin Rob and I'm going back with him."

"Suit yourself," returned the Ensign, good-humouredly, "the river is a public highway; but I'm going over to dinner."

He was there first, and had wheedled an invitation from Mrs. Mackenzie before they got into the house. "Put me next to Beatrice, please," he said, as they came in.

During dinner every one was in high spirits except Robert, who knew that he must efface himself all the afternoon. Some way, it was harder to have Ronald there than to know that he was with her at the Fort.

However, he felt a wicked thrill of satisfaction when Beatrice pushed back her chair and began to gather up the dishes. "You needn't do that, Bee," remonstrated Mrs. Mackenzie.

"I'm going to help you, Aunty, and then I'm going to take a nap. I'm dreadfully sleepy."

Ronald's face fell. "You're lazy," he said reproachfully.

"No, I'm not," she returned; "but I have to get rested, because to-morrow I'm going to wash Queen."

"Beatrice Manning!" exclaimed Mrs. Mackenzie. "What in the world do you mean?"

"I'll tell you all about it, Aunt Eleanor." In her own mind Beatrice had determined to make a pretence at Queen's bath the next morning, in front of the Fort, and see who would offer to help her.

"I'm going to help with the dishes, too," announced Ronald.

"You needn't, George," said Mrs. Mackenzie.

"I'd rather he wouldn't," remarked Beatrice, critically, "because I don't think he's clean. He washed Major this morning."

The shaft glanced aside harmlessly, because he prided himself upon his neatness. "I got my hand in this morning," he said imperturbably, "and I've washed many a dish in this very kitchen, long before you came, Miss Bee; didn't I, Aunt Eleanor?"

"Indeed you did," answered Mrs. Mackenzie, warmly. "I don't know how I could have managed without you."

"Very well," said the girl, lightly; "as long as you're used to it, and since you insist upon doing it, I'll go and take my nap right now."

Robert, inwardly joyous, but outwardly calm, took his well-thumbed copy of Shakespeare and went out to read under the trees, while Mrs. Mackenzie and the Ensign laboured with the dishes, and Beatrice slept the sleep of the just.

It was late in the afternoon when she came out, her eyes still languorous under their drooping lids, and found Ronald sitting alone upon the piazza.

"Why, I didn't expect to see you here," she said, in a tone of pleased surprise.

"You aren't very well acquainted with me," murmured Ronald, twisting uneasily in his chair.

"I'd like to be," remarked Beatrice, with a winning smile.

"Now's your chance, then, for I'm going to stay here until six o'clock."

"That's a long time," sighed the girl, with a sidelong glance at him. "It isn't much after four now."

He cleared his throat and coloured deeply. While he was casting about for a suitable reply, Forsyth appeared with his book. "Come and read to us, Cousin Rob," said Beatrice, sweetly.

Ronald looked daggers at him when he hesitated. "Can't," he answered shortly; "I'm going to read to myself."

He went back to his place under the poplars, in sight, but not intentionally within hearing, and Ronald was unreasonably vexed with him, deeming him outside the spirit, though within the letter of the bond.

"I'm sorry he wouldn't read to us," observed Beatrice. "Cousin Rob has such a deep, melodious voice, don't you think so?"

The Ensign was writhing inwardly, but managed to say, "Yes; very deep."

Mackenzie came out and wasted half of a precious hour in talking, though Ronald answered only in monosyllables. Beatrice exerted her rarest powers of entertainment for her uncle's benefit, and he did not notice how the time passed.

"Well," he said, at length, "I guess I'll go across for a bit. I want to see the Captain." Forsyth joined him at the gate, and Ronald heaved a sigh of relief when they were safely on their way to the Fort.

"Your face is red, Mr. Ronald," said Beatrice. She was rewarded by seeing the colour deepen.

"What makes it that way?" she asked, with the air of one pursuing a subject of scientific interest.

"It's the heat," explained the Ensign, miserably; "didn't you know it was hot?"

She shook her head. "I never know anything unless I'm told."

"I believe you," he growled.

"Mr. Ronald," she said, with a bewildering smile, "what makes you so cross to me?"

"I—I'm not," he answered thickly.

"Yes, you are—you're dreadfully cross to me, but you seem to get on all right with everybody else. I don't believe you like me!"

The last remnant of his self-control deserted him. "No, I don't," he said, hotly. "Good God, Beatrice, I love you—can't you see that? Why do you torture me all the time?"

Her face grew a shade paler, and her eyes refused to meet his. She knew she had been playing with fire, but none the less was surprised at the natural result, and was genuinely sorry that she had gone so far. She stared at the Fort, unseeing, and inwardly reproached herself bitterly.

"Beatrice!" he gasped. "Say something to me, can't you?"

She pointed to a cloud of dust in the south-west. "Look, some one is coming!"

"I don't care," he said, roughly, possessing himself of her hand; "you've got to say something to me!"

"I did," she returned, drawing away from him, "I told you somebody was coming. I think it's my relatives from Fort Wayne coming to take me back there."

Ronald turned away, deeply pained, and the pathetic droop in his shoulders got safely through the thorns to the girl's heart. The cloud of dust came nearer and nearer, until at last the rider turned his foam-flecked horse and dashed up the esplanade to the Fort.

Beatrice's temporary tenderness was obscured by curiosity, for the rider was an Indian, with the British flag girded at his loins.

"Why," she said, in an odd little voice, "what has happened!"

Ronald came swiftly toward her. "I don't know and I don't care," he said, in a voice she scarcely recognised; then he put his arm around her and drew her to him. "Beatrice, darling," he pleaded, "haven't you a word for me—don't you love me just the least little bit in the world?"

Then the violet eyes looked up into his and the sweet lips quivered. "I—I don't know," she whispered brokenly; "please let me go!"

His arms fell to his sides and she was free, but there was a lump in his throat and a wild hope in his heart. "My darling," he began, but she stopped him with a warning gesture.

Forsyth was pulling across the river as if his life depended upon it, and for the first time they perceived that something was wrong. With his face white and every muscle of his body tense, he ran toward them.

"What's up?" shouted Ronald.

"Orders!" cried Forsyth, gasping for breath. "Fort Mackinac has fallen and we are ordered to evacuate the post!"