“Good-morning,” said Mr. Clyde, as he approached Mr. and Mrs. Archibald, seated opposite each other at their breakfast-table. “So you still eat together? Don’t ask me to join you; I have had my breakfast.”

“Yes,” said Mr. Archibald, “we did think that, as we were hermits, we ought to eat in some separate, out-of-the-way fashion; but we could not think of any, and as we were both hungry and liked the same things, we concluded to postpone the assertion of our individualities.”

“And Miss Dearborn?” asked Clyde.

“Oh, she had her breakfast long ago, so she told us,” said Mrs. Archibald. “I suppose she took some bread and jam, for I do not know what else she could have had.”

“As for me,” said Clyde, “I thought I would do something of the sort. I like an early breakfast, and so I turned out, more than an hour ago and went to look up Mrs. Perkenpine; and I might as well say, sir, that I am now looking for the bishop to come and help me carry our tent back to our own camp, where he is going to cook for us. I never wanted to be a trespasser on your premises, and I don’t intend to be such any longer.”

“That’s the right feeling,” said Mr. Archibald; “although, in fact, it doesn’t make any difference to us whether your party camps here or not. At first I thought it would, but I find it does not.”

“By which he means,” said Mrs. Archibald, “that if you want to go away he is perfectly willing to have you stay, but if you don’t want to go away he doesn’t like it, and would have you move.”

Clyde laughed. “I haven’t anything to say for the others,” he answered, “but as long as I have a camp of my own I think I ought to live there.”

“But how about Mrs. Perkenpine?” asked Mrs. Archibald. “Did you find her willing to wait on you, one at a time?”

“Not exactly,” said Clyde. “I discovered her, by her kitchen tent, hard at work eating her own breakfast. I must have looked surprised, for she lost no time in telling me that she was a hermit, and was living for one person at a time—herself first—and that she was mighty glad to get a chance to have her breakfast before anybody else, for she was always hungry and hated waiting. I looked at the table, and saw that she had the breakfast ready for the whole party; so I said, ‘I am a hermit too, and I am living for myself, and so I am going to sit down and eat.’ ‘Squat,’ said she, and down I sat; and I had the best meal of her cooking that I have yet tasted. I told her so, and she said she shouldn’t wonder. ‘Because,’ said she, ‘I cooked this breakfast for myself—me, one—and as I wasn’t thinkin’ what other people ’d like, I got things a little more tasty than common, I guess.’”

“And what does she expect Miss Raybold and her brother to do?” asked Mrs. Archibald.

“When she had finished she got up,” Clyde answered, “and went away, merely remarking that the victuals were there, and when the others were ready for them they might come and get them.”

“I hope,” said Mr. Archibald, “that Matlack will not fancy that sort of a hermit life. But as for me, I am greatly taken with the scheme. I think I shall like it. Is Miss Raybold about yet?”

“I see nothing of her,” said Clyde, looking over towards her tent.

“Good,” said Mr. Archibald, rising. “Harriet, if you want me, I shall be in my cave.”

“And where is that?” she asked.

“Oh, I can’t say exactly where it will be,” he answered, “but if you will go down to the shore of the lake and blow four times on the dinner-horn I’ll come to you, cave and all. I can easily pull it over the water.”

“You forget,” said Mrs. Archibald, with a smile, “that we are associate hermits.”

“No, I do not,” said her husband, “I remember it, and that is the reason I am off before Miss Raybold emerges upon the scene.”

“I do not know,” said Mrs. Archibald to Clyde, “exactly how I am going to assert myself to-day, but I shall do it one way or the other; I am not going to be left out in the cold.”

Clyde smiled, but he had no suggestion to offer; his mind was filled with the conjecture as to what sort of a hermit life Margery was going to lead, and if she had already begun it. But just then the bishop came up, and together they went to carry the tent back to Camp Roy.

It was at least an hour afterwards, and Mrs. Archibald was comfortably seated in the shade darning stockings, with an open book in her lap. Sometimes she would read a little in the book and then she would make some long and careful stitches in the stocking, and then she would look about her as if she greatly enjoyed combining her work and her recreation in such a lovely place on such a lovely summer morning. During one of these periods of observation she perceived Corona Raybold approaching.

“Good-morning,” said the elder lady. “Is this your first appearance?”

“Yes,” said Corona, with a gentle smile. “When I woke this morning I found myself to be an individual who liked to lie in bed and gaze out through an open fold in my tent upon the world beyond, and so I lay and dozed and gazed, until I felt like getting up, and then I got up, and you cannot imagine how bright and happy I felt as I thought of what I had been doing. For one morning at least I had been true to myself, without regard to other people or what they might think about it. To-morrow, if I feel like it, I shall rise at dawn, and go out and look at the stars struggling with Aurora. Whatever my personal instincts happen to be, I shall be loyal to them. Now how do you propose to assert your individuality?”

“Unfortunately,” said Mrs. Archibald, “I cannot do that exactly as I would like to. If we had not promised my daughter and her husband that we would stay away for a month, I should go directly home and superintend my jelly-making and fruit-preserving; but as I cannot do that, I have determined to act out my own self here. I shall darn stockings and sew or read, and try to make myself comfortable and happy, just as I would if I were sitting on my broad piazza, at home.”

“Good!” said Corona. “I think it likely that you will be more true to yourself than any of us. Doubtless you were born to be the head of a domestic household, and if you followed your own inclination you would be that if you were adrift with your family on a raft in the middle of the ocean. Now I am going away to see what further suggestions my nature has to offer me. What is Mr. Archibald doing?”

Mrs. Archibald smiled. She knew what Corona’s nature would suggest if she met a man who could talk, or rather, listen. “Oh, his nature has prompted him to hie away to the haunts of game, and to stay there until he is half starved.”

Miss Raybold heaved a little sigh. “I see very few persons about here,” she said—“only the two guides, in fact.”

“Yes,” said Mrs. Archibald, “the bishop has gone to help Mr. Clyde with his tent.”

Corona moved slowly away, and as she walked her nature suggested that she would better eat something, so she repaired to the scene of Mrs. Perkenpine’s ordinary operations. There she found that good woman stretched flat on her back on the ground, fast asleep. Her face and body were shaded by some overhanging branches, but her great feet were illumined and gilded by the blazing sun. On a camp table near by were the remains of the breakfast. It had been there for two or three hours. Arthur Raybold had taken what he wanted and had gone, and before composing herself for her nap Mrs. Perkenpine had thrown over it a piece of mosquito-netting.

Corona smiled. “Their natures are coming out beautifully,” she said. “It really does me good to see how admirably the scheme is unfolding itself.” She sat down and ate what she could find to her taste, but it was not much. “I shall send for some fruit and some biscuit and some other little things,” she thought, “that I can keep in my tent and eat when I please. That will suit me much better than the ordinary meals.” Then, without awakening Mrs. Perkenpine, she strolled away, directing her steps towards Camp Roy.

When Margery had gone to her room, and had changed her wet clothes, she was thoroughly miserable. For some time she sat on the side of her little cot, unwilling to go out, on account of a nervous fear that she might meet Mr. Raybold. Of course, if he should again speak to her as he had done, she would immediately appeal to Mr. Archibald, but she did not want to do this, for she had a very strong desire not to make any trouble or divisions in the camp; so she lay down to think over the matter, and in less than two minutes she was asleep. Mrs. Archibald had come to call her to breakfast, but upon being told that she had been up ever so long, and had had her breakfast, she left the girl to her nap.

“I shall sleep here,” thought Margery, “until they have all gone to do whatever it is they want to do, and then perhaps I may have a little peace.”

When she awoke it was nearly eleven o’clock, and she went immediately to her little side window, from which she could see the lake and a good deal of the camp-ground. The first thing which met her reconnoitering gaze was a small boat some distance out on the lake. Its oars were revolving slowly, something like a pair of wheels with one paddle each, and it was occupied by one person. This person was Arthur Raybold, who had found the bishop calking the boat, and as soon as this work was finished, had moodily declared that he would take a row in her. He had not yet had a chance to row a boat which was in a decent condition. He wanted to be alone with his aspirations. He thought it would be scarcely wise to attempt to speak to Margery again that morning; he would give her time for her anger to cool. She was only a woman, and he knew women!

“It’s that Raybold,” said Margery. “He knows no more about rowing than a cat, and he’s floating sideways down the lake. Good! Now I can go out and hope to be let alone. I don’t know when he will ever get that boat back again. Perhaps never.”

She was not a wicked girl, and she did not desire that the awkward rower might never get back; but still she did not have that dread of an accident which might have come over her had the occupant of the boat been a brother or any one she cared very much about. She took a novel, of which, during her whole stay in camp, she had read perhaps ten pages, and left the cabin, this time by the door.

“How does your individuality treat you?” asked Mrs. Archibald, as Margery approached her.

“Oh, horribly, so far,” was the answer; “but I think it is going to do better. I shall find some nice place where I can read and be undisturbed. I can think of nothing pleasanter such a morning as this.”

“I am very much mistaken in your nature,” thought Mrs. Archibald, “if that is the sort of thing that suits you.”

“Martin,” said Margery, not in the least surprised that she should meet the young guide within the next three minutes, “do you know of some really nice secluded spot where I can sit and read, and not be bothered? I don’t mean that place where you hung the hammock. I don’t want to go there again.”

Martin was pale, and his voice trembled as he spoke. “Miss Dearborn,” said he, “I think it is a wicked and a burning shame that you should be forced to look for a hiding-place where you may hope to rest undisturbed if that scoundrel in the boat out there should happen to fancy to come ashore. But you needn’t do it. There is no necessity for it. Go where you please, sit where you please, and do what you please, and I will see to it that you are not disturbed.”

“Oh, no, no!” exclaimed Margery. “That would never do. I know very well that you could keep him away from me, and I am quite sure that you would be glad to do it, but there mustn’t be anything of that kind. He is Miss Raybold’s brother and—and in a way one of our camping party, and I don’t want any disturbances or quarrels.”

Martin’s breast heaved, and he breathed heavily. “I have no doubt you are right,” he said—“of course you are. But I can tell you this: if I see that fellow troubling you again I’ll kill him, or—”

“Martin! Martin!” exclaimed Margery. “What do you mean? What makes you talk in this way?”

“What makes me?” he exclaimed, as if it were impossible to restrain his words. “My heart makes me, my soul makes me. I—”

“Your heart? Your soul?” interrupted Margery. “I don’t understand.”

For a moment he looked at the astonished girl in silence, and then he said: “Miss Dearborn, it’s of no use for me to try to hide what I feel. If I hadn’t got so angry I might have been able to keep quiet, but I can’t do it now. If that man thinks he loves you, his love is like a grain of sand compared to mine.”

“Yours?” cried Margery.

“Yes,” said Martin, his face pallid and his eyes sparkling, “mine. You may think it is an insult for me to talk this way, but love is love, and it will spring up where it pleases; and besides, I am not the common sort of a fellow you may think I am. After saying what I have said, I am bound to say more. I belong to a good family, and am college bred. I am poor, and I love nature. I am working to make money to travel and become a naturalist. I prefer this sort of work because it takes me into the heart of nature. I am not ashamed of what I am, I am not ashamed of my work, and my object in life is a nobler one, I think, than the practice of the law, or a great many other things like it.”

Margery stood and looked at him with wide-open eyes. “Do you mean to say,” she said, “that you want to marry me? It would take years and years for you to become naturalist enough to support a wife.”

“I have made no plans,” he said, quickly, “I have no purpose. I did not intend to tell you now that I love you, but since I have said that, I will say also that with you to fight for there could be no doubt about my success. I should be bound to succeed. It would be impossible for me to fail. As for the years, I would wait, no matter how many they should be.”

He spoke with such hot earnestness that Margery involuntarily drew herself a little away from him. At this the flush went out of his face.

“Oh, Miss Dearborn,” he exclaimed, “don’t think that I am like that man out there! Don’t think that I will persecute you if you don’t wish to hear me; that I will follow you about and make your life miserable. If you say to me that you do not wish to see me again, you will never see me again. Say what you please, and you will find that I am a gentleman.”

She could see that now. She felt sure that if she told him she did not wish ever to see him again he would never appear before her. But what would he do? She was not in the least afraid of him, but his fierce earnestness frightened her, not for herself, but for him. Suddenly a thought struck her.

“Martin,” said she, “I don’t doubt in the least that what you have said to me about yourself is true. You are as good as other people, although you do happen now to be a guide, and perhaps after a while you may be very well off; but for all that you are a guide, and you are in Mr. Sadler’s employment, and Mr. Sadler’s rights and powers are just like gas escaping from a pipe: they are everywhere from cellar to garret, so to speak, and you couldn’t escape them. It would be a bad, bad thing for you, Martin, if he were to hear that you make propositions of the kind you have made to the ladies that he pays you to take out into the woods to guide and to protect.”

Martin was on the point of a violent expostulation, but she stopped him.

“Now I know what you are going to say,” she exclaimed, “but it isn’t of any use. You are in his employment, and you are bound to honor and to respect him; that is the way a guide can show himself to be a gentleman.”

“But suppose,” said Martin, quickly, “that he, knowing my family as he does, should think I had done wisely in speaking to you.”

A cloud came over her brow. It annoyed her that he should thus parry her thrust.

“Well, you can ask him,” she said, abruptly; “and if he doesn’t object, you can go to see my mother, when she gets home, and ask her. And here comes Mr. Matlack. I think he has been calling you. Now don’t say another word, unless it is about fish.”

But Matlack did not come; he stopped and called, and Martin went to him.

Margery walked languidly towards the woods and sat down on the projecting root of a large tree. Then leaning back against the trunk, she sighed.

“It is a perfectly dreadful thing to be a girl,” she said; “but I am glad I did not speak to him as I did to Mr. Raybold. I believe he would have jumped into the lake.”