EVELYN SEEKS COUNSEL

A few days later Evelyn, accompanied by Sarah, knocked at the door of St. Andrew's Mission, near Perdu. An Indian woman opened to her, and on her asking for Mr. Maclane, the minister came forward with a cordial welcome.

"I won't invite you in, since just at present my study is in requisition as a hospital, and in any case you will doubtless prefer the veranda with its vista of the mountains."

"And your lovely garden," added Evelyn, glancing at the beds in which vegetables and ornamental plants were growing in orderly profusion. "I never supposed that cultivation was possible so far north."

"That is a common mistake," replied the minister. "But it is the same with plants as with people: wherever it is possible for them to grow it is intended that they should be cultivated; by which I do not mean that we should take the nature out of them, teaching them tricks and artificial ways; I mean that we should improve the conditions surrounding them, in order that their natural tendencies and activities may have the widest scope for beneficent purposes."

"And yet"—Evelyn looked up and down the road—"you seem to be almost the only one who recognizes these possibilities. All the cabins seem to have been dropped in uncompromising rows along the highways, as if they were so many children's toys taken out of cardboard boxes labeled 'Made in Germany'."

"Ah, most of the folk who come here are so busily engrossed in spading up the soil for treasure they have no time to till and sow. Yet our short summer of long days is capable of harvests that would yield pure gold in a land of canned supplies, where men get to long for green food as for water in the desert. Metz, the pioneer baker of Perdu, a far-sighted German, is raking in the gold-dust that other men laboriously pan out, by the sackful, simply by adding a fresh lettuce leaf, or radish, to every plate of fried eggs and bacon that he serves. Brackett of Atlin is famous for the beauty of his poppy patch that blazes like a banner on a dusty mountainside, no less than for the succulence of the turnips with which he regales his friends, all grown on a tiny corner of an auriferous claim that overhangs the sluiceboxes. Dr. Milne of Dawson received a prize for the tomatoes and celery he took down from his far-north home to the exposition in Victoria, on the occasion of the visit of the Prince and Princess of Wales. Indeed, there was a story going the rounds that on the third day of the exposition, when the good doctor wanted to substitute fresh produce for his own, which, by that time had wilted, he could find none in Victoria to match their size. And I myself am not a little proud of my own sweet-peas." He handed Evelyn the fragrant blossoms he had been cutting as he talked.

"Thank you. They are indeed lovely. But I must not detain you too long. I have come to you for that which I rarely seek—advice."

"I am wholly at your service." Maclane installed her in a steamer-chair and placed himself on a bench beside her. "Some ethical question?"

"Oh, dear, no! I am an Episcopalian," answered Evelyn, loftily. "Not but what I am very liberal," she hastened to add. "I subscribe to worthy charities of all denominations."

There was charity without resentment on Maclane's good brow as he merely said: "Then in what way can I help you?"

"My troubles are all of a practical nature."

"In that respect, perhaps, I am not the best adviser."

"But there's no one else in whom I can confide. People up here treat me in the strangest way. I never had such an experience."

"Well, well, I'll do my best."

"In the first place I don't know how to manage about money. Sergeant Scarlett has deposited several hundred dollars to my account in the Canadian Bank of Commerce, and as much more in the Bank of British North America, yet this morning, when I went to draw some, the managers of each informed me, apparently on their own responsibility, that I am put on a weekly allowance; that I may only draw so much, at stated times, and not a penny more. When I threatened to withdraw my patronage, they said that would be impossible till the account was closed. I went to three lawyers in succession to get out injunctions and things against them—but not a man would undertake the case. Oh, evidently all the officials are leagued in some sort of a ring or another, for when I went to the office of the Perdu Claim and asked the editor to help me expose them, he only laughed. In New York, one or the other of the ten-cent magazines would have jumped at such an opportunity. However, that wouldn't matter so much if I could buy things from the stores on credit, but I find not a merchant will allow me to run up a bill. 'Cash down; spot cash for everything.' I never was so insulted in all my life."

"I am sorry people have seemed inhospitable," began Maclane, "but——"

"Oh, when it comes to that," Evelyn interrupted, "every one has been hospitality itself. Even the bank people, while officially they were insulting me, in the name of their wives and sisters offered to put up my party in some sort of fashion till we get settled. Hastie refuses to charge one penny for accommodating us till we find permanent quarters, though he had the impertinence—I'm sure he didn't mean to be impertinent—to suggest that we could stay indefinitely if we liked to work our way as chambermaids and waitresses and dishwashers and things. Even that impudent editor offered to turn out of the wretched cupboard of a room at the back of his office where he lives, and sleep on a printing press if we liked to go stay there. At least a dozen families have invited us to bunk in their stuffy little cabins till my father's return. But that isn't my way of doing things at all. I'm accustomed to having the best and paying for it. Yet not a soul will accept my note or give me one pennyworth of credit. Just wait till my father hears how I am being treated!"

"Ah, your father!" Maclane caught at the idea. "A talk with your father would clear things up immediately."

"Yes, of course. But where is my father? how to get at him? I ask, ask, ask. Everyone has seen him quite recently. Every one assures me he is in his usual perfect health. Yet when I insist on knowing definitely which path he took, every one points vaguely north, south, east, west, toward the mountains."

"Then, for the present, why not accept that view of it?" the minister suggested. "It seems to be a matter of general knowledge that he is well, and off on a prospecting tour—and to a born prospector, such as is your father, there seem to be no limitations in the way of time, space, endurance, when searching for treasure. Only one thing can be predicated with certainty: sooner or later a man must turn up at some base of supplies to renew his outfit. And then, knowing your anxiety, the whole district will see to it that he and you are put into communication with each other."

Miss Durant moved her daintily shod feet impatiently. "I'm not accustomed to waiting for anything that money can procure me. Why can't I send messengers flying to recall him, in every direction where there is a trail? One would think that hordes of these out-at-elbow camp hangers-on would be on their knees to me, begging for the chance—yet, though I have notices posted up everywhere offering a liberal salary and a thousand dollar bonus, I have had not one single application, not though I offer for security the Rainbow Mine."

"Poor child!" Maclane looked at her compassionately, wondering in what way the bitter truth might be most gently broken to her, and examining his own honest conscience to know if his should be the task. Before this was clear to him, however, to his infinite relief he saw the handsome person of the Sergeant, now clad in full uniform, coming up the garden path. "Why not take our friend Scarlett into our counsels?" he hastened to suggest.

"What! That insolent young man who pretended to take service with me!" Miss Durant ignored the soldier's military salute.

"My dear," remonstrated the good Maclane, "our friend is greeting you."

"Ah, Sergeant," cried Evelyn, with hauteur, "I did not see you! That is to say, in my world a lady does not see a gentleman until she recognizes him."

"Faith, then, I'd best make myself invisible, lest when recognized I mayn't be seen." Scarlett turned to go.

"Oh, please remain," pleaded Maclane, "and help me advise with Miss Durant. Pending her father's arrival, she finds herself, er—financially embarrassed—or rather at a loss to proportion her finances to her wants in the style to which she is accustomed. Now what do you suggest?"

"The first word lies with you, Dominie." His back toward the two, Scarlett had seated himself on the veranda steps and was playing with Telegraph and Wrangel, who, after a series of critical sniffings, had taken him unreservedly into their favor.

"Oh, not with me; not with any son of man," hastily disclaimed Maclane, who quite forgot that he had tried to throw the responsibility on Scarlett. "First always comes prayer. Take your troubles, my daughter, to the Divine Footstool."

"Oh, of course," replied Evelyn, petulantly, "I always say my prayers, and make the responses in church. But just now I'm asking you how I am to pay for daily bread."

"Well," Scarlett considered, "I should advise—to begin with—well——"

"You've said well twice," Evelyn sharply pulled him up. "Best let well alone."

"Pardon," retorted Scarlett. "Truth lies at the bottom of my well."

In spite of herself Evelyn smiled, and perceiving his advantage he went on: "After all, well is the best beginning when you can't find a better. Why not for the present—just for a lark, you know—try roughing it?"

"Roughing it!" echoed Evelyn, in dismay. "Wouldn't that be a bit rough?"

"That's where the lark comes in," Scarlett assured her. "And we'd all make it as smooth as we know how."

"A capital idea!" Maclane slapped his knee and looked toward the sweet-pea vines as if calling on them to agree with him. "So—er—original. Think what letters you can write to your friends at home, Miss Durant. And then that is the only way to get the full—er—bouquet of a country, so to speak; not from the tourist standpoint, but by living the life of the people of any class who, by their work, are making it."

Miss Durant frowned, pondered a little, then smiled. "I rather like the notion. We came here largely to do good, and it will make the inhabitants feel more at ease; bridge over the social difference, as it were, if I adopt their mode of life. I really am very democratic."

"Then that's where ye'll feel out of place," Scarlett remarked. "Wherever the surface is flat as a billiard table, as regards conditions, all class distinctions being wiped out, it's there that aristocracy begins. The democrats insist on it!"

"Perhaps I can accommodate myself even to your idea of aristocracy," Evelyn remarked, ironically. "The first question is, can we find a suitable dwelling?"

"I've been investigating," answered Scarlett, "and I find at Lost Shoe Creek there is an abandoned cabin ye can have rent free; a really very decent affair 'twill be with a little patching, which the boys will be only too proud to lend a hand with."

Evelyn gasped. "And you call that suitable for me!"

Scarlett shrugged his shoulders. "This is the wilderness, my lady."

"My dear," interposed Maclane, "you must remember that building is a costly matter. Even unskilled labor, when you can obtain it, commands five dollars a day. Talk of democracy; no man here is looking for a day's wage at carpentering, when any turn of the pick and shovel may make him a Croesus! Make up your mind to it that the Sergeant is offering you the equivalent of New York's most costly hostelry."

"Oh, very well!" Miss Durant condescended to the cabin. "I suppose we can have tents for the servants? I shall need two women besides Sarah."

"Pardon, miss." At her name, the maid's stout form appeared from behind the angle of the veranda, where she had been conducting a discreet flirtation with the waterman, who with a bucket supported by a frame on wheels and drawn by eight frisky little huskies, supplied Perdu with water from the lake at five cents the pail. "Do not count on me, miss. When my month is up I am looking to settle down on my own account."

"You are going to desert me? You are planning to set up in business, Sarah?" asked Evelyn, dismayed.

"Business!" Sarah laughed, scornfully. "With men growing on the bushes, as one might say."

"You don't mean to say you are going to get married?"

"Why not me as well as the next lady, miss, and sooner than some, in a place where ladies is valued far more for their practical abilities than for mere youth and skin-deep beauty. I am told that two French-Canadian gentlemen, who are starting rival laundries, came to blows about me in the Pioneer Bakery last night; this gentleman with the waterworks concession has just passed some extremely gratifying remarks about me—though my own preference is for a Scotch gentleman with religious views and a copper proposition. Dear knows one needs something stable to tie up to in this outlandish place, where day and night get all mixed up!"

"But, Sarah," Evelyn laughed, "you know you haven't changed your watch hands since we left the Grand Central Station."

"Time is time, miss," stated Sarah, "and twisting the hands of a watch don't affect it. I've always heard that mining camps was immoral places, and I'll answer for it this monkeying-with-the-clock business was invented by some scapegrace that wanted to deceive his poor wife about the hour he got home at night. But my choice, whichever I decide on, won't take me in that way!" She shook her umbrella with a mixture of coquetry and warning in the direction of the waterman.

Again Evelyn laughed, rather helplessly. "And I have been so indulgent with you, allowing you to gratify your crude taste for colors, where any other mistress would have insisted on black, serge or alpaca, with at most for your bonnet a quill or wing. However, I mustn't stand in your light, Sarah."

"You can't, miss," the maid informed her, respectfully, but with finality. "As for deserting you, as a married lady I shall only be too happy to chaperon you till your father gets back or till you settle down on your own account. And to start with, though my month isn't up, let me give you a bit of advice as from one lady to another. Policemen," she eyed Scarlett with disparagement, "are all very well in their way, but as from my own experience I know they are apt to be triflers, particularly on promotion. Measured by a New York figure of speech among us below-stairs ladies, miss, I myself wouldn't think of permitting an arm with fewer than three stripes on it round my waist."

On this Scarlett assured Sarah, to her great indignation, that she, at any rate, would be safe from his advances, his arm not being long enough to meet her figure-of-speech's measurements. When she had returned to the waterman, Evelyn, recovering from the indignant embarrassment into which Sarah's advice had thrown her, sighed: "Such an admirable maid! However will my hair get dressed?"

"Do it yourself," suggested Scarlett. "I always do mine." A girl in a red cloak just then happening to pass by he beckoned her. "I think after all I can find some one to do your work. Come here, Gelly. Miss Durant wants to talk with you."

Evelyn surveyed the girl's unkempt, though now sober comeliness dubiously. "She doesn't look very—— However, is she willing, clean and honest?"

"No, I ain't," snapped out Gelly, irritated by the inspection. "Not one of 'em. I'm as bad as they make 'em!"

"Do you mean to tell me——" Evelyn's voice dropped to a shocked whisper. "Sergeant, have you dared recommend me a young person who is not—not virtuous?"

"But she has so many other virtues," pleaded Scarlett for his protÉgÉe, "I thought ye might give her a chance." He appealed to Sarah, who had drawn near. "Perhaps ye'll let me explain to you as being the older woman."

Sarah pursed her lips primly. "There's some things I'll never be old enough to hear."

"I beg your pardon, heartily," Scarlett was heard quietly to say.

"I am by no means sure that I shall grant it," replied Miss Durant, with a haughty toss of the head.

"Oh, I was addressing Gelly here," he hastened to set her straight. "I had no right to let her be present at her own dissection."

"Wait!" Evelyn had an inspiration. "I spend a week every Lent in a Settlement, and we came up here to do good, so why not——"

"Now, look here!" Confronting her, arms akimbo, Gelly let loose the coarsely expressed, though not wholly unjustifiable, anger that in deference to Maclane and Scarlett she had been trying to restrain. "You better just dry up on that good-doin' proposition, else it ull be the worse fer yer round these diggin's! I know yer kind. I was in a Home oncet, and they came and sang to us, sometimes in fine duds ter show thet they regarded us like as their equals, which is lies! And sometimes dressed, oh my! so goody-goody plain, ter show thet rich folk don't reely care fer silk and sealskin—which is lies! And then they sent me to a convent, and the Sisters, they meant all right, but they cheated the doctor about the medicines they put in his prescriptions to save money fer the Church, and kidded to the saints about their souls. Souls! Shucks! Thar was a missioner oncet who thought she'd got a holt of me all right, all right. She were a-prospectin' ter launder my soul and show it tied up with baby-blue ribbons and sashayed with sanctity as a prize sample to the Lord. Want ter know what I done ter her? Not a thing, you betcherlife! Only smashed her face with a sody-water bottle! Soft drinks, cos thet kind puts most heft in the bottle and least ter the booze. See? Now you better get busy and earn your own salt, virtuous ef you're so plumb struck on virtue, and ef not, anyway——"

A firm hand on her shoulder cut her short, as, wheeling her right-about-face, Scarlett sternly bade her, "Come!" And, like a little cowering dog about to be whipped for a victory in which, while half ashamed of it, it wholly glories, Gelly meekly followed him.

The color which the girl's attack had driven from Evelyn's face came flooding back as she turned reproachfully upon Maclane: "And you never said a word to stop her!"

"Ah," replied the minister, "I have learned that I always gain so much from listening to the other fellow's point of view."

"But surely"—for Miss Durant was not a little proud of her capacity for "emanating gracious influences," as the dilettanti of her kind were apt to phrase it—"surely you believe in missionary work; in doing good?"

Before replying, Maclane stooped forward and drew back a spray of vine that was spreading itself obtrusively over a little pink-faced daisy making a sturdy effort to look up to the god of light. "The best we can do is to try to give created things their chance. And in the end, my dear," he patted Evelyn's hand kindly, "it's the missionaries, the good-doers, to whom the good is done."

"Gelly," Scarlett meanwhile was admonishing his stubborn charge, "in all this lowdown district there isn't a man so mean he could be hired to tell that poor girl yonder the truth about her father till we've made her feel at home among us and somehow fitted her to bear it. Now, Gelly, are you, a girl that has known trouble, going to be meaner than the men?"

Gelly looked at him. "Better hev yer uniform let out fer the wings ter sprout," she advised him, with unfeigned homage, if with mocking tongue. "As fer thet thar stuck-up piece——" A rude grimace completed her estimate of Evelyn, but in the midst of it she paused suddenly, her ill-bred thumb dropping from her saucy nose. "I'm jiggered ef I don't b'lieve yer gone on her!"

"That's neither here nor there," answered the young soldier. "I'll lock up your tongue in jail if it disturbs the peace, but I'd so much sooner put you on your honor, Gelly."

"Till next time," promised Gelly, "yer kin let it go at that!" Then, as she went down the road, she burst into loud sobbing: "And I cud be decent ef some decent woman ud believe in me!"

Maclane, who had been considering, had a new idea. "I wonder if Chilkat Jo couldn't be persuaded to help you, Miss Durant; that is, if you feel you must have service."

"Of course I must," said Evelyn. "The orphans have been brought up to work, and make themselves useful, but they are my guests, my partners in this expedition; and naturally I cannot expect them to do things that I should not do myself."

"Naturally," Maclane agreed with her, more readily than she deemed politeness required. Going to the door he opened it, and called to some one within. "O Joseph! Chilkat Jo!"

The trader, who had been enjoying the hospitality of the mission, came forth with alacrity. Seeing Maclane, "Godam you! what do you want?" he asked, in tones at once amiable and fraught with high respect.

"Oh, Joseph, what expressions!" The minister shook his head. "You see," he explained to Evelyn, "like all the Indians, he learned bad habits from the white traders before the missionaries came his way. I sometimes wonder, if any Indians survive civilization, whether morally they will recover from contact with the whites. But, come, Joseph, our friends here are looking for a handy man to——"

"Mally them, eh?" inquired the Indian, nimbly. After a quick glance at Evelyn he shook his head disparagingly. "Damn pletty gal, but not good business ploposition!" He then turned a considering attention upon Sarah, and nodded his head approvingly. "She all light. Fat squaw! Skukum squaw. Not lightfoot gadabout! Damfine cook, eh?" he inquired of the maid. "Squat by fire, fly venison, leady chiefs leturn flom hunting? Shake!" He held out a covenanting hand.

"What, me become the bride of a heathen!" shrieked Sarah, horrified.

"Me no heathen," indignantly protested Chilkat Jo. "Me swear, gamble, dlink like hell, plenty wives, laise Cain, all same as white man."

"Joseph, my son, I will revise your code later," Maclane told him. "Meanwhile, this is not a marriage proposition. Are you willing to help Miss Durant here with her household chores—as a favor, you know," he hastened to add.

"Not as a favor at all," broke in Evelyn, in a high, hard voice. "I wish to engage a man-servant, at good wages; one who knows his place and can take orders, and——"

Her voice died before the Indian's fixed regard. "No squaw say to me, Mush! Get up, there! like dog. Mush! Lie down like dog. Me damn high muckamuck Skukum chief!" Wrapping more closely about him the blanket that, with a boiled shirt and store trousers, formed his costume, he re-entered the mission with the unsurpassable dignity of his race.

Evelyn rose without a glance in the direction of Scarlett, who had rejoined them. "Come, Sarah. Thank you very much for all your good offices, Mr. Maclane. I anticipate the suggestion you and the Sergeant are obviously about to make: that I cook, wash, scrub, sew for myself."

"Considering the conditions of camp life, my dear, it might be wise," acquiesced the minister, as he shook hands.

"Just for a lark, ye know," murmured Scarlett, pacifically, saluting. But though her pretty lip trembled, Evelyn held her head high and passed him without a sign.

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