the fortunes of oliver horn-第47章
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mming the forms of the giant trunks。
Our young enthusiast watched the Diaz of a wood interior turn slowly into a Corot； and with a cry of delight was about to unstrap his own and Margaret's sketching…kits； when the sun was suddenly blotted out by a heavy cloud； and the quick gloom of a mountain…storm chilling the sunlit vista to a dull slate gray settled over the forest。 Oliver walked over to the brook for a better view of the sky； and came back bounding over the moss…covered logs as he ran。 There was not a moment to lose if they would escape being drenched to the skin。
The outlook was really serious。 Old Bald Face had not only lost his smilea marvelously happy one with the early sun upon his wrinkled countenance but he had put on his judgment…cap of gray clouds and had begun to thunder out his disapproval of everything about him。 Moose Hillock evidently heard the challenge； for he was answering back in the murky darkness。 Soon a cold； raw wind； which had been asleep in the hills for weeks； awoke with a snarl and started down the gorge。 Then the little leaves began to quiver； the big trees to groan； in their anxiety not knowing what the will of the wind would be； and the merry little waves that had chased each other all the morning over the sunny shallows of the brook； grew ashy pale as they looked up into the angry face of the Storm…God； and fled shivering to the shore。
Oliver whipped out his knife； stripped the heavy outer bark from a white birch； and before the dashing rain could catch up with the wind； had repaired the slant so as to make it water…tightHank had taught him thisthen he started another great fire in front of the slant and threw fresh balsam boughs on the bed that had rested Hank's tired limbs； and he and Margaret crept in and were secure。
The equanimity of Margaret's temper； temporarily disturbed by her vivid misconception of Kennedy Square； was restored。 The dry shelter； the warm fire； the sense of escape from the elements； all filled her heart with gladness。 Never since the day she met him on the bridge had she been so happy。 Again； as when Oliver championed her in the old Academy school…room； there stole over her a vague sense of pleasure in being protected。
〃Isn't it jolly！〃 she said as she sat hunched up beside him。 〃I'm as dry as a bone； not a drop on me。〃
Oliver was even more buoyant。 There was something irresistibly cosey and comfortable in the shelter which he had provided for hersomething of warmth and companionship and rest。 But more intensely enjoyable than all was the thought that he was taking care of a woman for the first time in his life； as it seemed to him。 And in a house of his own making； and in a place； too； of his own choosing； surrounded by the big trees that he loved。 He had even outwitted the elementsthe wind and the rain and the chillin her defence。 Old Moose Hillock could bellow now and White Face roar； and the wind and rain vent their wrath； but Margaret； close beside him； would still be warm and dry and safe。
By this time she had hung her tam…o'…shanter and jacket on a nail that she had found in the bark over her head； and was arranging her hair。
〃It's just like life； Oliver； isn't it？〃 she said； as she tightened the coil in her neck。 〃All we want； after all； is a place to get into out of the storm and wet； not a big place； either。〃
〃What kind of a place？〃 He was on his knees digging a little trench with his knife； piling up the moist earth in miniature embankments； so that the dripping from the roof would not spatter this Princess of his whom he had saved from the tempest outside。
〃Oh； any kind of a place if you have people you're fond of。 I'd love a real studio somewhere； and a few things hung aboutsome old Delft and one or two bits of stuffand somebody to take care of me。〃
Oliver shifted his pipe in his mouth and looked up。 Would she； with all her independence； really like to have someone take care of her？ He had seen no evidence of it。
〃Who？〃 he asked。 He had never heard her mention anybody's namebut then she had not told him everything；
He had dropped his eyes again； finishing the drain and flattening the boughs under her； to make the seat the easier。
〃Oh； some old woman； perhaps； like dear old Mrs。 Mulligan。〃 There was no coquetry in her tone。 She was speaking truthfully out of her heart。
〃Anything more？〃 Oliver's voice had lost its buoyancy now。 The pipe was upside down； the ashes falling on his shirt。
〃Yeslots of portraits to paint。〃
〃And a medal at the Salon？〃 asked Oliver； brushing off the waste of his pipe from his coat…sleeve。
〃Yes； I don't mind； if my pictures deserve it；〃 and she looked at him quizzically； while a sudden flash of humor lightened up her face。 〃What would you want； Mr。 Happy…go…lucky； if you had your wish？〃
〃I； Madge； dear？〃 he exclaimed； with a sudden outburst of tenderness； raising his body erect and looking earnestly into her eyes； which were now within a hand's breadth of his own。 She winced a little； but it did not offend her； nor did she move an inch。 〃Oh； I don't know what I want。 What I want； I suppose； is what I shall never have； little girl。〃
She wasn't his little girl； or anybody else's； she thought to herselfshe was firmly convinced of that fact。 It was only one of his terms of endearment。 He had them for everybodyeven for Hank and for Mrs。 Taftwhom he called 〃Taffy；〃 and who loved to hear him say it； and she old enough to be his grandmother！ She stole a look into his face。 There was a cloud over it； a slight knitting of the brows； and a pained expression about the mouth that were new to her。
〃I'd like to be a painter；〃 he continued； 〃but mother would never consent。〃 As be spoke； he sank back from her slowly； his knees still bent under him。 Then be added； with a sigh； 〃She wouldn't think it respectable。 Anything but a painter； she says。〃
Margaret looked out through the forest and watched a woodpecker at work on the dry side of a hollow trunk； the side protected from the driving rain。
〃And you would give up your career because she wants it？ How do you know she's right about it？ And who's to suffer if she's wrong？ Be a painter； Oliver； if you want to！ Your mother can't coddle you up forever！ No mother should。 Do what you can do best； and to please yourself； not somebody else；〃 and then she laughed lightly as if to break the force of her words。
Oliver looked at her in indignation that anyone even Margaretshould speak so of his mother。 It was the first time in all his life that he had heard her name mentioned without the profound reverence it deserved。 Then a sense of the injustice of her words took possession of him； as the solemn compact he had made with his mother not to be a burden on her while the mortgage was unpaid； rose in his mind。 This thought and Margaret's laugh softened any hurt her words had given him； although the lesson that they were intended to teach lingered in his memory for many days thereafter。
〃You would not talk that way； Madge； if you knew my dear mother；〃 he said； quietly。 〃There is nothing in her life she loves better than me。 She doesn't want me to be a painter because〃 He stopped； fearing she might not understand his answer。
〃Go onwhy not？〃 The laugh had faded out of her voice now； and a tone almost of defiance had taken its place。
〃She says it is not the profession of a gentleman；〃 he answered； sadly。 〃I do not agree with her； but she thinks so； and nothing can shake her。〃
〃If those are her opinions； I wonder what she would think of ME？〃 There was a slight irritation in her voicesomehow she always became irritable when Oliver spoke of his mother。 She was ashamed of it； but it was true。
All his anger was gone now。 Whatever opinion the world might have on any number of things there could be but one opinion of Madge。 〃She would LOVE you； little girl；〃 he burst out as he laid his hand on her armthe first time he had ever touched her with any show of affection。 〃You'd make her love you。 She never saw anybody like you before； and she never will。 That you are an artist wouldn't make any difference。 It's not the same with you。 You're a woman。〃
The girl's eyes again sought the woodpecker。 It was stabbing away with all its might； driv
