"Yes ... Parnesius in Puck," said Pat.
"Oh, you know Puck too? Now, why can't we give that gift to each other?"
"Did you think," said Pat in a choked voice, "that I could be friends with any one who ... who laughed at Silver Bush?"
"Laugh at Silver Bush! Pat Gardiner, I never did. How could I? I've loved it from the first moment David and I looked down on it." Pat sat up on the creaking couch.
"You ... you asked in the Silverbridge store who lived in that QUEER old-fashioned place. Sid heard you."
"Pat! Let me think. Why, I remember ... I DIDN'T say 'queer.' I said, 'Who lives in that dear, quaint, old-fashioned house at the foot of the hill?' Sid forgot one of the adjectives and was mistaken in one of the others. Pat, I couldn't call Silver Bush 'queer.' You don't know how much I admire it. And I admire it all the more because it IS old-fashioned. That is why I loved the Long House at first sight."
Pat felt the ice round her heart thawing rapidly. "Quaint" was complimentary rather than not and she didn't mind the "old- fashioned." And she did want to be friends with Suzanne. Perhaps Suzanne was prose where Bets had been poetry. But such prose!
"I'm sorry I froze up," she said frankly. "But I'm such a thin- skinned creature where Silver Bush is concerned. I couldn't bear to hear it called queer."
"I don't blame you. And now everything is going to be all right. We just BELONG somehow. Don't you feel it? You're all so nice. I love Judy ... the wit and sympathy and blarney of her. And that wonderful old, wise, humorous face of hers. She's really a museum piece ... there's nothing like her anywhere else in the world. You'll like us, too. I'm decent in spots and David is nice ... sometimes he's very nice. One day he is a philosopher ... the next day he is a child."
"Aren't all men?" said Pat, tremendously wise.
"David more than most, I think. He's had a rotten life, Pat. He was years getting over his shell-shock. It simply blotted out his career. He was so ambitious once. When he got better it was too late. He has been sub-editor of a Halifax paper for years ... and hating it. His bit of a wife died, too, just a few months after their marriage. And I taught school ... and hated it. Then old Uncle Murray died out west and left us some money ... not a fortune but enough to live on. And so we became free. Free! Oh, Pat, you've never known what slavery meant so you don't know what freedom is. I LOVE keeping house ... it's really a lovely phrase, isn't it? Keeping it ... holding it fast against the world ... against all the forces trying to tear it open. And David has time to write his war book at last ... he's always longed to. We are so happy ... and we'll be happier still to have you as a friend. I don't believe you've any idea how nice you are, Pat. And now let's just talk all night."
They talked for a good part of it. And then Suzanne fell suddenly silent. Pat rather envied her the floor. It was level, at least ... not all bumps and hollows, like the couch. Would it ever stop raining? How the windows rattled! Great heavens, what was that? Oh, only a brick blowing off the chimney and thumping down over the roof. Those rats! Oh for an hour of Gentleman Tom! It was ... so nice ... to be friends ... with Suzanne ... she hoped ... a great wave of sleep rolled over Pat and engulfed her.
When she wakened the rain had ceased and the outside world was lying in the strange timeless light of early dawn. Pat raised herself on her elbow and looked out. Some squirrels were scolding and chattering in an old apple tree. A little pond at the foot of the slope was softly clear and pellucid, with spruce trees dark and soft beyond it. An old crone of a hemlock was shaking her head rebukingly at some giddy young saplings on the hill. Gossamer clouds were floating in a clear silvery eastern sky that looked as if it had not known a thunderstorm in a hundred years. And a huge black dog was sitting on the doorstep. This was like a place Judy used to tell of in Ireland that was haunted by the ghost of a black dog who bayed at the door before a death. However, this dog didn't look exactly like a ghost!
Suzanne was still asleep. Pat looked around and saw something that gave her an idea. She got to her feet cautiously.
7
When Suzanne wakened half an hour later she sat up and gazed around her in amazement. A most delectable odour came from a sizzling frying pan on the stove in which crisp bacon slices could be discerned. On the hearth was a plateful of golden-brown triangles of toast and Pat was putting a spoonful of tea in a battered old granite teapot.
The table was set with dishes and in the centre was a bouquet of ferns and meadow-queen in an old pickle jar.
"Pat, what magic is this? Are you a witch?"
"Not a bit of it. When I woke up I saw a pile of firewood behind the stove and a frying pan on a nail. I found plates and cups and knives and forks in the pantry. Evidently this house is occupied by times. The owner probably lives on some other farm and camps here for haying and harvest and things like that. I lit the fire and went out to the car. Took a chance with the dog ... there IS a dog ... but he paid no attention to me. I had a package of bacon in the car and a couple of loaves of bread. Mother likes baker's toast, you know. I found some tea in the pantry ... and so breakfast is served, madam."
"You're a born home-maker, Pat. This awful place actually looks quite homey and pleasant. I never thought a pickle jar bouquet could be so charming. And I'm hungry ... I'm positively starving. Let's eat. Our first meal together ... our first breaking of bread. I like that phrase ... breaking bread together ... don't you? Who is it speaks of 'bread of friendship'?"
"Carman," said Pat, dishing up her bacon.
"What a lovely CLEAN morning it is!" said Suzanne, scrambling up. "Look, Pat, there's a big pine down by that pond. I love pines so much it hurts me. And I love crisp bacon and crisper toast. Thank heaven there is plenty of it. I never was so hungry in my life."
They were half through their breakfast when a queer strangled noise behind them startled them. They turned around ... and stiffened with horror. In the hall doorway a man was standing ... a tall, gaunt, unshaven creature in a motley collection of garments, with an extraordinarily long grey moustache, which didn't seem to belong to his lean, lantern-jawed face at all, hanging down on either side of his chin. This apparition was staring at them, apparently as much taken aback as they were.
"I thought I was over it," he said mournfully, shaking a grizzled head. "I mostly sleeps it off."
Pat rose and stammered out an explanation. The gentleman waved a hand at her.
"It's all right. Sorry you had to sleep on the floor. If I'd been awake I'd have give you my bed."
"We knocked ... and called ..."
"Just so. Old Gabe's trump couldn't have roused me last night. I was a bit lit up, to state facts. You did right to make yourselves at home. But it's a wonder the dog didn't tear you to pieces. He's a savage brute."
"He wasn't here when we came ... and he seemed quite quiet this morning."