guides sitting at the table with them, but she restrained herself. She did not want Mr. Archibald to know anything about the condition of her back.
“So long as they don’t want to do it, and don’t do it,” said she, “pray don’t let us say anything about it. Let’s try to make things as pleasant as we can.”
Mr. Archibald was lighting his pipe, and when he was sure the tobacco was sufficiently ignited he took the pipe from his mouth and turned towards his wife.
“Harriet,” said he, “you have been too much alone to-day. I don’t know what I shall do to-morrow; but whatever it is, I am going to take you with me.”
“Of course that depends on what it is you do,” she answered. “But I will try to do everything I can.”
Mr. Archibald heaved a little sigh, which was not noticed by any one, because it sounded like a puff.
“I am afraid,” he thought, “that this camping business is not going to last very much longer, and we shall be obliged to make the rest of our wedding-journey in a different style.”
The next morning, when Mr. Archibald went out of his cabin door, he looked over the lake and saw a bird suddenly swoop down upon the water, breaking the smooth surface into sparkles of silver, and then rise again, a little silvery fish glittering in its claws.
“Beautifully done!” said he. “A splendid stroke!” And then turning, he looked up the lake, and not far from the water’s edge he saw Margery walking with Mr. Clyde, while Mr. Raybold followed a little in the rear.
“Harriet,” he cried, quickly stepping into the cabin again, “look out here! What is the meaning of this?”
Mrs. Archibald was dressed, and came out. When she saw the trio approaching them, she was not so much surprised as was her husband.
“I don’t know the meaning of anything that happens in these woods,” she said; “but if a lot of people have come from the hotel with those young men I cannot say I am sorry.”
“Come,” said her husband, “we must look into this.”
In two minutes the Archibalds had met the new-comers, who advanced with outstretched hands, as if they had been old friends. Mr. Archibald, not without some mental disquietude at this intrusion upon the woodland privacy of his party, was about to begin a series of questions, when he was forestalled by Margery.
“Oh, Uncle Archibald and Aunt Harriet!” she exclaimed, “Mr. Clyde and Mr. Raybold have come out here to camp. Their camp is right next to ours, and it is called Camp Roy. You see, some years ago there was a large camping party came here, and they called the place Camp Rob Roy, but it was afterwards divided, and one part called Camp Rob and the other Camp Roy.”
“Indeed!” interrupted Mr. Archibald. “Mr. Sadler did not tell us that ours was only half a camp with only half a name.”
“I don’t suppose he thought of it,” said Margery. “And the line between the two camps is just three hundred feet above our cabin. I don’t suppose anybody ever measures it off, but there it is; and Mr. Clyde and Mr. Raybold have taken Camp Roy, which hasn’t any house on it. They started before daybreak this morning, and brought a tent along with them, which they have pitched just back of that little peninsula; and they haven’t any guide, because they want to attend to their own cooking and everything, and the man who brought the tent and other things has gone back. They are going to live there just like real backwoodsmen, and they have a boat of their own, which is to be brought up from the bottom of the lake somewhere – I mean from the lower end of the lake. And, Aunt Harriet, may I speak to you a moment?”
With this the young woman drew Mrs. Archibald aside, and in a low voice asked if she thought it would be out of the way to invite the two young men to take breakfast with them, as it was not likely they had all their cooking things in order so early.
Five people sat down to breakfast under the great oak-tree, and it was a lively meal. Mr. Archibald’s mental disquiet, in which were now apparent some elements of resentment, had not subsided, but the state of his mind did not show itself in his demeanor, and he could not help feeling pleased to see that his wife was in better spirits. He had always known that she liked company.
After breakfast he took Matlack aside. “I don’t understand this business,” said he. “When I hired this camp I supposed we were to have it to ourselves; but if there are other camps jammed close against it we may be in the midst of a great public picnic before a week is out.”
“Oh, that camp over there isn’t much of a camp,” replied the guide. “The fact is, it is only the tail end of a camp, and I don’t suppose Peter Sadler thought anybody would be likely to take it just now, and so didn’t think it worth while to speak of it. Of course it’s jammed up against this one, as you say; but then the people in one camp haven’t the right to cross the line into another camp if the people in the other camp don’t want them to.”
“Line!” said Mr. Archibald. “It is absurd to think of lines in a place like this. And I have no intention of making myself disagreeable by ordering people off my premises. But I would like to know if there is another camp three hundred feet on this side of our cabin, or three hundred feet back of it.”
“No, sir,” said Matlack, speaking promptly; “there isn’t another camp between this and the lower end of the lake. There’s a big one there, and it’s taken; but the people aren’t coming until next month.”
“If a larger party had taken Camp Roy,” said Mr. Archibald to his wife a little later, “I should not mind it so much. But two young men! I do not like it.”
CHAPTER VII
A STRANGER
It was at the close of a pleasant afternoon four days after the arrival of the young men at Camp Roy, and Mrs. Archibald was seated on a camp-stool near the edge of the lake intently fishing. By her side stood Phil Matlack, who had volunteered to interpose himself between her and all the disagreeable adjuncts of angling. He put the bait upon her hook, he told her when her cork was bobbing sufficiently to justify a jerk, and when she caught a little fish he took it off the hook. Fishing in this pleasant wise had become very agreeable to the good lady, and she found pleasures in camp life which she had not anticipated. Her husband was in a boat some distance out on the lake, and he was also fishing, but she did not care for that style of sport; the fish were too big and the boat too small.
A little farther down the lake Martin Sanders sat busily engaged in putting some water-fowl into the foreground of Margery’s sketch. A critical observer might have noticed that he had also made a number of changes in said sketch, all of which added greatly to its merits as a picture of woodland scenery. At a little distance Margery was sitting at her easel making a sketch of Martin as an artist at work in the woods. The two young men had gone off with their guns, not perhaps because they expected to find any legitimate game at that season, but hoping to secure some ornithological specimens, or to get a shot at some minor quadrupeds unprotected by law. Another reason for their expedition could probably have been found in some strong hints given by Mr. Archibald that it was unwise for them to be hanging around the camps and taking no advantage of the opportunities for sport offered by the beautiful weather and the forest.
It was not long before Margery became convinced that the sketch on which she was working did not resemble her model, nor did it very much resemble an artist at work in the woods.
“It looks a good deal more like a cobbler mending shoes,” she said to herself, “and I’ll keep it for that. Some day I will put a bench under him and a shoe in
