The Window-Gazer | Page 9

"Quite so," said the professor. There was a dryness in his tone not
calculated to encourage rhapsody. The old gentleman's gurgle changed
to a note of practical helpfulness.
"You wish to bathe, I see. I will not detain you. Our sylvan bathroom
you will find just down the trail and behind those alders. Pray take your
time. You will be quite undisturbed."
With another dry "Thank you," the professor passed on. He was
limping slightly, otherwise he would have passed on much faster. His
instinct was to seek cover before giving vent to the emotion which
consumed him.
Behind the alders, and taking the precaution of stuffing his mouth with
a towel, he could release this rising gust of almost hysterical laughter.
That was Dr. Herbert Farr! The fulfilled vision of the learned scholar he
had come so far to see capped with nicety the climax of this absurd
adventure. What an utter fool, what an unbelievable idiot he had made
of himself! For the moment he saw clear and all normal reactions
proved inadequate. There was left only laughter.
When this was over he felt better. Withdrawing the towel and wiping
the tears of strangled mirth from his eyes he looked around him. The
sylvan bathroom was indeed a charming place. Great rocks, all smooth
and brown with velvet moss, curved gently down to form a basin into
which fell the water from the tiny stream whose musical flowing had
called to him through his window. Around, and somewhat back beneath
tall sentinel trees, crept the bushes and bracken of the mountain; but,
above, the foliage opened and the sun shone in, turning the
brown-green water of the pool to gold. With a sigh of pure delight the
laughter-weary professor stepped into its cool brightness--and with a
gasp of something very different, stepped quickly out again. But, quick
as he was, the liquid ice of that green-gold pool was quicker. It ran
through his tortured nerve like mounting fire--"Oh-- oh--damn!" said

the professor heartily.
The sweat stood out on his forehead before he had rubbed and warmed
the outraged limb into some semblance of quietude again. The pool
seemed no longer lovely. Very gingerly he completed such ablutions as
were strictly necessary and then, very cold, very stiff and very, very
empty he turned back toward the house.
This time, instead of passing through the small vegetable garden behind
the kitchen, he skirted the clearing, coming out into the wide, open
space in front of the cottage. On one side of him, and behind, spread the
mountain woods but before him and to the right the larger trees were
down. There was a vista--for the first time since he had sat upon a keg
in the fog he forgot him-self and his foolishness, his hunger, his aching
nerves, his smarting pride, everything! The beauty before him filled his
heart and mind, leaving not a cranny anywhere for lesser things. Blue
sea, blue sky, blue mountains, blue smoke that rose in misty spirals as
from a thousand fairy fires and, nearer, the sun-warmed, dew-drenched
green--green of the earth, green of the trees, green of the graceful,
sweeping curves of wooded point and bay. Far away, on peaks half
hidden, snow still lay--a whiteness so ethereal that the gazer caught his
breath.
And with it all there was the scent of something--something so fresh, so
penetrating, so infinitely sweet--what could it be?
"Ambrosia!" said Benis Spence, unconscious that he spoke aloud.
"Balm of Gilead," said a practical voice beside him. "It smells like that
in the bud, you know."
"Does it?" The professor's tone was dreamy. "Honey and wine--that's
what it's like--honey and wine in the wilderness! You didn't tell me it
would be like this," he added, turning abruptly to his companion of the
night before.
"How could I tell what it would be like--to you?" asked the girl. "It's
different for everyone. I've known people stand here and think of

nothing but their breakfast."
At the word "breakfast" (which had temporarily slipped from his
vocabulary) the famished professor wheeled so quickly that his knee
twisted. Miss Farr smiled, her cool and too-understanding smile.
"There's something to eat," she said. "Come in."
She did not wait for him but walked off quickly. The professor
followed more slowly. The path, even the front path, was rough (he had
noticed that last night); but the cottage, seen now with the glamour of
its outlook still in his eyes, seemed not quite so impossible as he had
thought. The grace of early spring lay upon it and all around. True, it
was small and unpainted and in bad repair, but its smallness and its
brownness seemed not out of keeping with the mountain-side. Its
narrow veranda was railed by unbarked branches from the cedars. Its