The Major

R >> Ralph Connor >> The Major


"Thank you, my dear," said Mrs. Waring-Gaunt. "I should be glad to have
you come over to us. I am sure my brother would be glad to know you."

"Do you think so," said Jane doubtfully. "You know I am not very clever.
I am not like Kathleen or Nora." The deep blue eyes looked wistfully at
her out of the plain little face.

"I am perfectly certain he would love to know you, Jane--if I may call
you so," said Mrs. Waring-Gaunt, impulsively kissing her.

"Oh, you are so kind," said Jane. "I will come then to-morrow."

The welcome to the Gwynne home was without fuss or effusiveness but had
the heart quality that needs no noisy demonstration.

"We are glad to have you with us at Lakeside Farm," said Mr. Gwynne
heartily, as he ushered Dr. Brown and Jane into the big living room,
where his wife stood waiting.

"You are welcome to us, Dr. Brown," said the little lady. And something
in the voice and manner made Dr. Brown know that the years that had
passed since his first meeting with her had only deepened the feeling of
gratitude and affection in her heart toward him. "We have not forgotten
nor shall we ever forget your kindness to us when we were strangers
passing through Winnipeg, nor your goodness to Larry and Kathleen while
in Winnipeg. They have often told us of your great kindness."

"And you may be quite sure, Mrs. Gwynne," said Dr. Brown heartily, "that
Larry brought his welcome with him, and as for Kathleen, we regard her
as one of our family."

"And this is Jane," said Mrs. Gwynne. "Dear child, you have grown. But
you have not changed. Come away to your room."

Once behind the closed door she put her arms around the girl and kissed
her. Then, holding her at arm's length, scrutinised her face with
searching eyes. "No," she said again with a little sigh of relief, "you
have not changed. You are the same dear, wise girl I learned to love in
Winnipeg."

"Oh, I am glad you think I am not changed, Mrs. Gwynne," said Jane, with
a glow of light in her dark blue eyes. "I do not like people to change
and I would hate to have you think me changed. I know," she added shyly,
"I feel just the same toward you and the others here. But oh, how lovely
they are, both Kathleen and Nora."

"They are good girls," said Mrs. Gwynne quietly, "and they have proved
good girls to me."

"I know, I know," said Jane, with impulsive fervour, "and through those
winters and all. Oh, they were so splendid."

"Yes," said the mother, "they never failed, and Larry too."

"Yes, indeed," cried Jane with increasing ardour, her eyes shining,
"with his teaching,--going there through the awful cold,--lighting the
school fires,--and the way he stuck to his college work. Nora's letters
told me all about it. How splendid that was! And you know, Mrs. Gwynne,
in the 'Varsity he did so well. I mean besides his standing in the
class lists, in the Societies and in all the college life. He was really
awfully popular," added Jane with something of a sigh.

"You must tell me, dear, sometime all about it. But now you must be
weary and hungry. Come away out if you are ready, and I hope you will
feel as if you were just one of ourselves."

"Do you know, that is just the way I feel, Mrs. Gwynne," said Jane,
putting the final touch to her toilet. "I seem to know the house,
and everything and everybody about it. Nora is such a splendid
correspondent, you see."

"Well, dear child, we hope the days you spend here will always be a very
bright spot in your life," said Mrs. Gwynne as they entered the living
room.

The next few days saw the beginning of the realisation of that hope, for
of all the bright spots in Jane's life none shone with a brighter and
more certain lustre than the days of her visit to Lakeside Farm.



CHAPTER XVI

HOSPITALITY WITHOUT GRUDGING


By arrangement made the previous evening Jane was awake before the
family was astir and in Nora's hands preparing for a morning ride with
Larry, who was to give her her first lesson in equitation.

"Your habit will be too big for me, Nora, I am afraid," she said.

"Habit!" cried Nora. "My pants, you mean. You can pull them up, you
know. There they are."

"Pants!" gasped Jane. "Pants! Nora, pants! Do you mean to say you wear
these things where all the men will see you?" Even in the seclusion of
her bedroom Jane's face at the thought went a fiery red. Nora laughed at
her scornfully. "Oh, but I can't possibly go out in these before Larry.
I won't ride at all. Haven't you a skirt, a regular riding habit?"

But Nora derided her scruples. "Why, Jane, we all wear them here."

"Does Kathleen?"

"Of course she does, and Mrs. Waring-Gaunt, and everybody."

"Oh, she might, but I am sure your mother would not."

Nora shouted joyfully. "Well, that is true, she never has, but then she
has never ridden out here. Put them on, hurry up, your legs are straight
enough, your knees don't knock."

"Oh, Nora, they are just terrible," said Jane, almost in tears. "I know
I will just squat down if Larry looks at me."

"Why should he look at you? Don't you ever let on but that you have worn
them often, and he will never think of looking at you."

In face of many protests Jane was at length arrayed in her riding
apparel.

"Why, you look perfectly stunning," said Nora. "You have got just the
shape for them. Pull them up a little. There, that is better. Now step
out and let me see you."

Jane walked across the room and Nora rocked in laughter. "Oh, Nora, I
will just take them off. You are as mean as you can be. I will pull them
off."

"Not a bit," said Nora, still laughing, "only stretch your legs a bit
when you walk. Don't mince along. Stride like a man. These men have
had all the fun in the matter of clothes. I tell you it was one of the
proudest moments of my life when I saw my own legs walking. Now step
out and swing your arms. There, you are fine, a fine little chap, Jane,
round as a barrel, and neat as a ballet dancer, although I never saw one
except in magazines."

Trim and neat Jane looked, the riding suit showing off the beautiful
lines of her round, shapely figure. Shrinking, blushing, and horribly
conscious of her pants, Jane followed Nora from her bedroom. A swift
glance she threw around the room. To her joy it was empty but for Mrs.
Gwynne, who was ready with a big glass of rich milk and a slice of
home-made bread and delicious butter.

"Good morning, my dear," said Mrs. Gwynne, kissing her. "You will need
something before you ride. You will have breakfast after your return."

Jane went close to her and stood beside her, still blushing. "Oh, thank
you," she cried, "I am really hungry already. I hope I won't get killed.
I never was on a horse before, you know."

"Oh, never fear, Lawrence is very careful. If it were Nora now I would
not be so sure about you, but Lawrence is quite safe."

At this point Larry came in. "Well, Jane, all ready? Good for you. I
like a girl that is always on time."

"How do you like her pants, Larry?" said Nora, wickedly.

"Perfectly splendiferous," cried Larry.

"Oh, you mean thing, Nora," cried Jane, dropping hurriedly into a chair
with scarlet face and indignant eyes.

"Come along, Jane, old chap, don't mind her. Those pants never looked
so well before, I assure you. We are going to have a great time. I
guarantee that in a few minutes you will be entirely oblivious of such
trivial things as mere pants."

They all passed out into the front yard to see Jane mount and take her
first lesson.

"This is Polly," said Larry. "She has taught us all to ride, and though
she has lost her shape a bit, she has still 'pep' enough to decline to
take a dare."

"What do I do?" said Jane, gazing fearfully at the fat and shapeless
Polly.

"There is just one rule in learning to ride," said Larry, "step on and
stick there. Polly will look after the rest."

"Step on--it is easy to say, but--"

"This way," said Nora. She seized hold of the horn of the saddle, put
her foot into the stirrup and sprang upon Polly's back. "Oh, there's
where the pants come in," she added as her dress caught on to the rear
of the saddle. "Now up you go. Make up your mind you are going to DO it,
not going to TRY."

A look of serious determination came into Jane's face, a look that
her friends would have recognised as the precursor of a resolute and
determined attempt to achieve the thing in hand. She seized the horn of
the saddle, put her foot into the stirrup and "stepped on."

The riding lesson was an unqualified success, though for some reason,
known only to herself, Polly signalised the event by promptly running
away immediately her head was turned homeward, and coming back down the
lane at a thundering gallop.

"Hello!" cried Nora, running out to meet them. "Why, Jane, you have been
fooling us all along. You needn't tell me this is your first ride."

"My very first," said Jane, "but I hope not my last."

"But, my dear," said Mrs. Gwynne, who had also come out to see the
return, "you are doing famously."

"Am I?" cried Jane, her face aglow and her eyes shining. "I think it is
splendid. Shall we ride again to-day, Larry?"

"Right away after breakfast and all day long if you like. You are a born
horsewoman, Jane."

"Weren't you afraid when Polly ran off with you like that?" inquired
Nora.

"Afraid? I didn't know there was any danger. Was there any?" inquired
Jane.

"Not a bit," said Nora, "so long as you kept your head."

"But there really was no danger, was there, Larry?" insisted Jane.

"None at all, Jane," said Nora, "I assure you. Larry got rattled when
he saw you tear off in that wild fashion, but I knew you would be all
right. Come in; breakfast is ready."

"And so am I," said Jane. "I haven't been so hungry I don't know when."

"Why, she's not plain-looking after all," said Nora to her mother as
Jane strode manlike off to her room.

"Plain-looking?" exclaimed her mother. "I never thought her
plain-looking. She has that beauty that shines from within, a beauty
that never fades, but grows with every passing year."

A council of war was called by Nora immediately after breakfast, at
which plans were discussed for the best employment of the three precious
days during which the visitors were to be at the ranch. There were so
many things to be done that unless some system were adopted valuable
time would be wasted.

"It appears to me, Miss Nora," said Dr. Brown after a somewhat prolonged
discussion, "that to accomplish all the things that you have suggested,
and they all seem not only delightful but necessary, we shall require at
least a month of diligent application."

"At the very least," cried Nora.

"So what are we going to do?" said the doctor.

It was finally decided that the Browns should extend their stay at
Lakeside House for a week, after which the doctor should proceed to the
coast and be met on his return at Banff by Jane, with Nora as her guest.

"Then that's all settled," said Larry. "Now what's for to-day?"

As if in answer to that question a honk of a motor car was heard
outside. Nora rushed to the door, saying, "That's Mrs. Waring-Gaunt."
But she returned hastily with heightened colour.

"Larry," she said, "it's that Mr. Wakeham."

"Wakeham," cried Larry. "What's got him up so early, I wonder?" with a
swift look at Jane.

"I wonder," said Nora, giving Jane a little dig.

"I thought I would just run up and see if you had all got home safely
last night," they heard his great voice booming outside to Larry.

"My, but he is anxious," said Nora.

"But who is he, Nora?" inquired her mother.

"A friend of Jane's, and apparently terribly concerned about her
welfare."

"Stop, Nora," said Jane, flushing a fiery red. "Don't be silly. He is a
young man whom we met on the train, Mrs. Gwynne, a friend of some of our
Winnipeg friends."

"We shall be very glad to have him stay with us, my dear," said Mrs.
Gwynne. "Go and bring him in."

"Go on, Jane," said Nora.

"Now, Nora, stop it," said Jane. "I will get really cross with you.
Hush, there he is."

The young man seemed to fill up the door with his bulk. "Mr. Wakeham,"
said Larry, as the young fellow stood looking around on the group with
a frank, expansive smile upon his handsome face. As his eye fell upon
a little lady the young man seemed to come to attention. Insensibly he
appeared to assume an attitude of greater respect as he bowed low over
her hand.

"I hope you will pardon my coming here so early in the morning," he said
with an embarrassed air. "I have the honour of knowing your guests."

"Any friend of our guests is very welcome here, Mr. Wakeham," said Mrs.
Gwynne, smiling at him with gentle dignity.

"Good morning, Mr. Wakeham," said Jane, coming forward with outstretched
hand. "You are very early in your calls. You could not have slept very
much."

"No, indeed," replied Mr. Wakeham, "and that is one reason why I waked
so early. My bed was not so terribly attractive."

"Oh," exclaimed Nora in a disappointed tone, as she shook hands with
him, "we thought you were anxious to see us."

"Quite right," said the young man, holding her hand and looking boldly
into her eyes. "I have come to see you."

Before his look Nora's saucy eyes fell and for some unaccountable
reason her usually ready speech forsook her. Mr. Wakeham fell into easy
conversation with Mr. Gwynne and Dr. Brown concerning mining matters, in
which he was especially interested. He had spent an hour about the Manor
Mine and there he had heard a good deal about Mr. Gwynne's mine and was
anxious to see that if there were no objections. He wondered if he might
drive Mr. Gwynne--and indeed, he had a large car and would be glad to
fill it up with a party if any one cared to come. He looked at Mrs.
Gwynne as he spoke.

"Yes, Mother, you go. It is such a lovely day," said Nora
enthusiastically, "and Jane can go with you."

"Jane is going riding," said Larry firmly.

"I am going to Mrs. Waring-Gaunt's," said Jane. "I arranged with her
last night."

While they were settling Mrs. Gwynne's protests, and covered by the
noise of conversation, Mr. Wakeham managed to get close to Nora. "I want
you to come," he said in a low voice. "That's what I came for."

Startled and confused by this extraordinary announcement, Nora could
think of no answer.

"I think you were to show me the mine," he added. Then while Nora gasped
at him, he said aloud, "My car is a seven passenger, so we can take
quite a party."

"Why not Kathleen?" suggested Jane.

"Yes, indeed, Kathleen might like to go," said Mrs. Gwynne.

"Then let's all go," cried Nora.

"Thank you awfully," murmured Mr. Wakeham. "We shall only be two or
three hours at most," continued Nora. "We shall be back in time for
lunch."

"For that matter," said Mr. Gwynne, "we can lunch at the mine."

"Splendid," cried Nora. "Come along. We'll run up with you to the
Waring-Gaunts' for Kathleen," she added to Mr. Wakeham.

At the Waring-Gaunts' they had some difficulty persuading Kathleen to
join the party, but under the united influence of Jack and his sister,
she agreed to go.

"Now then," said Mrs. Waring-Gaunt, "you have your full party, Mr.
Wakeham--Mr. and Mrs. Gwynne, Dr. Brown, and the three girls."

"What about me?" said Larry dolefully.

"I shall stay with you," cried Nora, evading Mr. Wakeham's eyes.

"No, Nora," said Jane in a voice of quiet decision. "Last night Mrs.
Waring-Gaunt and I arranged that I should visit her to-day."

There was a loud chorus of protests, each one making an alternative
suggestion during which Jane went to Mrs. Waring-Gaunt's side and said
quietly, "I want to stay with you to-day."

"All right, dear," said Mrs. Waring-Gaunt. "Stay you shall." And, then
to the company announced, "We have it all arranged. Jane and I are to
have a visit together. The rest of you go off."

"And what about me, Jane?" again said Larry.

"You are going with the others," said Jane calmly, "and in the afternoon
we are to have our ride."

"And this is Jane," said Jack Romayne as Mrs. Waring-Gaunt ushered the
girl into his room. "If half of what I have heard is true then I am a
lucky man to-day. Kathleen has been telling me about you."

Jane's smile expressed her delight. "I think I could say the same of
you, Mr. Romayne."

"What? Has Kathleen been talking about me?"

"No, I have not seen Kathleen since I came, but there are others, you
know."

"Are there?" asked Jack. "I hadn't noticed. But I know all about you."

It was a hasty introduction for Jane. Kathleen was easily a subject for
a day's conversation. How long she discoursed upon Kathleen neither
of them knew. But when Mrs. Waring-Gaunt had finished up her morning
household duties Jane was still busy dilating upon Kathleen's charms
and graces and expatiating upon her triumphs and achievements during her
stay in Winnipeg the previous winter.

"Still upon Kathleen?" inquired Mrs. Waring-Gaunt.

"Oh, I am learning a great deal and enjoying myself immensely," said
Jack.

"You must be careful, Jane. Don't tell Jack everything about Kathleen.
There are certain things we keep to ourselves, you know. I don't tell
Tom everything."

Jane opened her eyes. "I have not told Jane yet, Sybil," said Jack
quietly. "She doesn't know, though perhaps she has guessed how dear to
me Kathleen is."

"Had you not heard?" inquired Mrs. Waring-Gaunt.

"No, I only came last night, you see." Then turning to Jack, she added,
"And is--is Kathleen going to marry you?" Her astonishment was evident
in her voice and eyes.

"I hope so," said Jack, "and you are no more astonished than I am
myself. I only found it out night before last."

It was characteristic of Jane that she sat gazing at him in silence; her
tongue had not learned the trick of easy compliment. She was trying to
take in the full meaning of this surprising announcement.

"Well?" said Jack after he had waited for some moments.

"Oh, I beg your pardon," she said hurriedly. "I congratulate you. I
think you are a very lucky man."

"I am, indeed," said Jack with emphasis. "And Kathleen? You are not so
sure about her luck?"

"Well, I don't know you yet," said Jane gravely, "and Kathleen is a very
lovely girl, the very loveliest girl I know."

"You are quite right," said Jack in a tone as grave as her own. "I am
not good enough for her."

"Oh, I did not say that. Only I don't know you, and you see I know
Kathleen. She is so lovely and so good. I love her." Jane's face was
earnest and grave.

"And so do I, Jane, if I may call you so," said Jack, "and I am going to
try to be worthy of her."

Jane's eyes rested quietly on his face. She made up her mind that it was
an honest face and a face one could trust, but to Jane it seemed as if
something portentous had befallen her friend and she could not bring
herself immediately to accept this new situation with an outburst of
joyous acclaim such as ordinarily greets an announcement of this kind.
For a reason she could not explain her mind turned to the memory she
cherished of her own mother and of the place she had held with her
father. She wondered if this man could give to Kathleen a place so high
and so secure in his heart. While her eyes were on his face Jack could
see that her mind was far away. She was not thinking of him.

"What is it, Jane?" he said gently.

Jane started and the blood rushed to her face. She hesitated, then said
quietly but with charming frankness, "I was thinking of my mother. She
died when I was two years old. Father says I am like her. But I am not
at all. She was very lovely. Kathleen makes me think of her, and father
often tells me about her. He has never forgotten her. You see I think he
loved her in quite a wonderful way, and he--" Jane paused abruptly.

Mrs. Waring-Gaunt rose quietly, came to her side. "Dear Jane, dear
child," she said, kissing her. "That's the only way to love. I am sure
your mother was a lovely woman, and a very happy woman, and you are like
her."

But Jack kept his face turned away from them.

"Oh, Mrs. Waring-Gaunt," cried Jane, shaking her head emphatically,
"I am not the least bit like her. That is one of the points on which I
disagree with father. We do not agree upon everything, you know."

"No? What are some of the other points?"

"We agree splendidly about Kathleen," said Jane, laughing. "Just now we
differ about Germany."

"Aha, how is that?" inquired Jack, immediately alert.

"Of course, I know very little about it, you understand, but last winter
our minister, Mr. McPherson, who had just been on a visit to Germany
the summer before, gave a lecture in which he said that Germany had made
enormous preparations for war and was only waiting a favourable moment
to strike. Papa says that is all nonsense."

"Oh, Jane, Jane," cried Mrs. Waring-Gaunt, "you have struck upon a very
sore spot in this house. Jack will indorse all your minister said. He
will doubtless go much further."

"What did he say, Jane?" inquired Jack.

"He was greatly in earnest and he urged preparation by Canada. He thinks
we ought at the very least to begin getting our fleet ready right away."

"That's politics, of course," said Mrs. Waring-Gaunt, "and I do not know
what you are."

"I am not sure that I do either," she replied, "but I believe too that
Canada ought to get at her fleet without loss of time."

"But what did he say about Germany?" continued Jack.

"I can't tell you everything, of course, but he assured us that Germany
had made the greatest possible preparation, that the cities, towns and
villages were full of drilling men; that there were great stores of war
material, guns and shells, everywhere throughout Germany; that they were
preparing fleets of Zeppelins and submarines too; that they were ready
to march at twenty-four hours' notice; that the whole railroad system
of Germany was organised, was really built for war; that within the last
few years the whole nation had come to believe that Germany must go to
war in order to fulfil her great destiny. Father says that this is all
foolish talk, and that all this war excitement is prompted chiefly by
professional soldiers, like Lord Roberts and others, and by armament
makers like the Armstrongs and the Krupps."

"What do you think about it all, Jane?" inquired Jack, looking at her
curiously.

"Well, he had spent some months in Germany and had taken pains to
inquire of all kinds of people, officers and professors and preachers
and working people and politicians, and so I think he ought to know
better than others who just read books and the newspapers, don't you
think so?"

"I think you are entirely right, and I hope that minister of yours will
deliver that lecture in many places throughout this country, for there
are not many people, even in England, who believe in the reality of the
German menace. But this is my hobby, my sister says, and I don't want to
bore you."

"But I am really interested, Mr. Romayne. Papa laughs at me, and Larry
too. He does not believe in the possibility of war. But I think that if
there is a chance, even the slightest chance, of it being true, it is
so terrible that we all ought to be making preparation to defend
ourselves."

"Well, if it won't bore you," said Jack, "I shall tell you a few
things."

"Then excuse me," said Mrs. Waring-Gaunt. "I have some matters to attend
to. I have no doubt that you at least, Jack, will have a perfectly
lovely time."

"I am sure I shall too," cried Jane enthusiastically. "I just want to
hear about this."

"Will you please pass me that green book?" said Jack, after Mrs.
Waring-Gaunt had left the room. "No, the next one. Yes. The first thing
that it is almost impossible for us Britishers to get into our minds is
this, that Germany, not simply the Kaiser and the governing classes, but
the whole body of the German people, take themselves and their empire
and their destiny with most amazing seriousness. Listen to this, for
instance. This will give you, I say, the psychological condition out of
which war may easily and naturally arise." He turned the leaves of the
book and read:

"'To live and expand at the expense of other less meritorious peoples
finds its justification in the conviction that we are of all people the
most noble and the most pure, destined before others to work for the
highest development of humanity.'

"One of their poets--I haven't got him here--speaks of the 'German life
curing all the evils of humanity by mere contact with it.' You see that
row of books? These are only a few. Most of them are German. They are
all by different authors and on different subjects, but they are quite
unanimous in setting forth the German ideal, the governing principle
of German World politics. They are filled with the most unbelievable
glorification of Germany and the German people, and the most
extraordinary prophecies as to her wonderful destiny as a World Power.
Unhappily the German has no sense of humour. A Britisher talking in
this way about his country would feel himself to be a fool. Not so the
German. With a perfectly serious face he will attribute to himself and
to his nation all the virtues in the calendar. For instance, listen to
this:

"'Domination belongs to Germany because it is a superior nation, a noble
race, and it is fitting that it should control its neighbours just as
it is the right and duty of every individual endowed with superior
intellect and force to control inferior individuals about him.'