The Little Red Foot Part 61

"Do you not?"

"Good G.o.d!" cried he, "because this poor and moon-smitten gentleman hath rolled sheep's eyes upon a yellow-haired maid, then, in his mind, all the world's aflame to woo her too and take her from his honest arms!

What the plague do I want of your sweetheart, Jack Drogue, when I've one at Pigeon Wood and my eye on another, too!"

Then he fell a-laughing and smote his thighs with a loud slapping.

"Aha!" he cried, "did I not warn you? Did I not foresee, foretell, and prophesy that you would one day sicken of a pa.s.sion for this yellow-haired girl from Caughnawaga!"

"Idiot," said I in a rage, "I do not love her!"

"Then you bear all the earmarks!" said he, and went off stamping his moccasins and roaring with laughter.

And I went on watch to walk my post all a-tremble with fury, and fair sick of jealousy and my first boyish pa.s.sion.

Now, it is a strange thing how love undid me; but it is still stranger how, of a sudden, my malady pa.s.sed. And it came about in this way, that toward sunset one day, when I came from walking my post on the veranda roof to find why Nick had not relieved me, I descended the stairs and looked into the kitchen, where was a pleasant smell of cinnamon crullers fresh made and of johnnycake and of meat a-stewing.

And there I did see Nick push Penelope into a corner to kiss her, and saw her fetch him a clout with her open hand.

Then again, and broad on his surprised and silly face, fell her little hand like the clear crack of a drover's whip.

And, "There!" she falters, out o' breath, "there's for you, friend Nicholas!"

"My G.o.d!" says he, in foolish amaze, "why do you that, Penelope!"

"I kiss whom I please and none other!" says she, fast breathing, and her dark eyes wide and bright.

"Whom you please," quoth Nick, abashed but putting a bold face on it--"well then, you please me, and therefore ought to kiss me----"

"No, I will not! John Drogue hath shown me what is my privilege in this idle game of bussing which men seem so ready to play with me, whether I will or no!... Have I hurt you, Nick?"

She came up to him, still flushed and her childish bosom still rising and falling fast.

"You love Jack Drogue," said he, sulkily, "and therefore belabour me who dote on you."

"I love you both," said she, "but I am enamoured of neither. Also, I desire no kisses of you or of Mr. Drogue, but only kindness and good will."

"You entertain a pa.s.sion for Steve Watts!" he muttered sullenly, "and there's the riddle read for you!"

But she laughed in his face and took up her pan of crullers and set them on the shelf.

"I am chatelaine of Summer House," said she, "and need render no account of my inclinations to you or to any man. Who would learn for himself what is in my mind must court me civilly and in good order.... Do you desire leave to court me, Nick?"

"Not I!--to be beaten by a besom and flouted and mocked to boot! Nenni, my pretty la.s.s! I have had my mouthful of blows."

"Oh. And your comrade? Is he, do you think, inclined to court me?"

"Jack Drogue?"

"The same."

"You have bedeviled him," said Nick sulkily, "as you have witched all men who encounter you. He hath a fever and is sick of it."

She was slicing hot johnnycake with a knife in the pan; and now looked up at him with eyes full of curiosity.

"Bewitched him? I?"

"Surely. Who else, then?"

"You are jesting, Nick."

"No. Like others he has taken the Caughnawaga fever. The very air you breathe is full of it. But, with a man like my comrade, it is no more than a fever. And it pa.s.ses, pretty maid!--it pa.s.ses."

"Does it so?"

"It does. It burns out folly and leaves him the healthier."

"Oh, then--with a gentleman like your comrade, Mr. Drogue--l'amour n'est qu'une maladie legere qui se guerira sans medecin, n'est-ce pas?"

"Say that in Canada and doubtless the very d.i.c.ky-birds will answer wee-wee-wee!" he retorted. "But if you mean, does John Drogue mate below his proper caste, then there's no wee-wee-wee about it; for that the Laird of Northesk will never do!"

"I know that," said she coolly. And opened the pot to fork the steaming stew, then set on the cover and pa.s.sed her hand over her brow where a slight dew glistened and where her hair curled paler gold and tighter, like a child's.

"Friend Nick?"

"I hear thee, breeder of heart-troubles."

"Listen, then. No thought of me should trouble any man as yet. My heart is not awake--not troublesome,--not engaged,--no, not even to poor Stephen Watts. For the sentiment I entertain for him is only pity for a boy, Nick, who is impetuous and rash and has been too much flattered by the world.... Poor lad--in his play-hour regimentals!--and no beard on his smooth cheek.... Just a fretful, idle, and self-indulgent boy!...

Who protests that he loves me.... Oh, no, Nick! Men sometimes bewilder me; but I think it is our own pa.s.sion that destroys us women--not theirs.... And there is none in me,--only pity, and a great friendliness to men.... And these only have ever moved me."

He was sitting on a pine table and munching of a cruller. "Penelope,"

says he, "your honesty and wholesome spirit should physic men of their meaner pa.s.sions. If you are servant to Douw Fonda, nevertheless you think like a great lady. And I for one," he added, munching away, "shall quarrel with any man who makes little of the mistress of Summer House Point!"

And then--oh, Lord!--she turns from her oven, takes his silly head between both hands, and gives him a smack on the lips!

"There," says she, "you have had of your sister what you never should have had of the Scottish la.s.s of Caughnawaga!"

He got off the table at that, looking mighty pleased but sheepish, and muttered something concerning relieving me on post.

And so, lest I should be disgraced by my eavesdropping, and feeling mean and degraded, yet oddly contented that Penelope loved no man with secret pa.s.sion, I slunk away, my moccasins making no sound.

So when Nick came to relieve me he discovered me still on post; and said he pettishly: "Penelope Grant hath clouted me, mind and body; and I am the better man by it, though somewhat sore; and I shall knock the head of any popinjay who fails in the respect all owe this girl. And I wish to G.o.d I had a hickory stick here, and Sir John Johnson across my knee!"

I went into my chamber and laid me down on my trundle bed.

I was contented. I no longer seemed to burn for the girl. Also, I knew she burned for no man. A vast sense of relief spread over me like a soft garment, warming and soothing me.

And so, pleasantly pa.s.sed my sick pa.s.sion for the Scottish girl; and pleasantly I fell asleep.