The ensuing days were filled with work demanding close attention and
concentration of thought, but often in the long, cool twilight, while
Darrell rested from his day's work before entering upon the night's
study, he recalled his visit to The Pines with a degree of pleasure
hitherto unknown. He had found Kate Underwood far different from his
anticipations, though just what his anticipations had been he did not
stop to define. There was at times a womanly grace and dignity in her
bearing which he would have expected from her portrait and which he
admired, but what especially attracted him was her utter lack of
affectation or self-consciousness. She was as unconscious as a child;
her sympathy towards himself and her pleasant familiarity with him were
those of a warm-hearted, winsome child.
He liked best to recall her as she looked that evening seated by the
fireside: the childish pose, the graceful outlines of her form
silhouetted against the light; the dreamy eyes, with their long golden
lashes curling upward; the lips parted in a half smile, and the gleam of
the firelight on her hair. But it was always as a child that he recalled
her, and the thought that to himself, or to any other, she could be
aught else never occurred to him. Of young Whitcomb's love for her, of
course, he had no recollection, nor had it ever been mentioned in his
hearing since his illness.
Day by day the work at the camp increased, and there also began to be
indications of an approaching outbreak among the men. The union
boarding-house was nearing completion; it was rumored that it would be
ready for occupancy within a week or ten days; the walking delegates
from the union could be frequently seen loitering about the camp,
especially when the changes in shifts were made, waiting to get word
with the men, and it was nothing uncommon to see occasional groups of
the men engaged in argument, which suddenly broke off at the appearance
of Darrell, or of Hathaway, the superintendent.
So engrossed was Mr. Underwood with the arrangement of details for the
inauguration of the new firm of Underwood & Walcott that he was unable
to be at the camp that week. On Saturday afternoon Darrell, having
learned that Hathaway was to be gone over Sunday, and believing it best
under existing circumstances not to leave the camp, sent Mr. Underwood a
message to that effect, and also informing him of the status of affairs
there.
Early the following week Mr. Underwood made his appearance at the camp,
and if the union bosses had entertained any hope of effecting a
compromise with the owner of Camp Bird, as it was known, such hope must
have been blasted upon mere sight of that gentleman's face upon his
arrival. Darrell himself could scarcely restrain a smile of amusement as
they met. Mr. Underwood fairly bristled with defiance, and, after the
briefest kind of a greeting, started to make his usual rounds of the
camp. He stopped abruptly, fumbled in his pocket for an instant, then,
handing a dainty envelope to Darrell, hastened on without a word.
Darrell saw smiles exchanged among the men, but he preserved the utmost
gravity until, having reached his desk, he opened and read the little
note. It contained merely a few pleasant lines from Kate, expressing
disappointment at his failure to come to The Pines on the preceding
Saturday, and reminding him of his promise concerning the violin; but
the postscript, which in true feminine style comprised the real gist of
the note, made him smile audibly. It ran: "Papa has donned his paint and feathers this morning and is
evidently starting out on the war-path. I haven't an idea whose
scalps he intends taking, but hope you will at least preserve your
own intact."