PAGE 19
My Terminal Moraine
by
“Oh, Walter,” she answered, “it wasn’t at all necessary for you to say all that you did say, for I had suspected it before, and as soon as you began to call me Agnes I knew, of course, how you felt about it. And, besides, it really was necessary that you should move about to keep yourself from freezing. But the great reason for my not encouraging you to go on talking in that way was that I was afraid people might come into the tunnel, and as, of course, you would not know that they were there, you would go on making love to me through my diploma case, and you know I should have perished with shame if I had had to stand there with that old Mr. Boyce, and I don’t know who else, listening to your words, which were very sweet to me, Walter, but which would have sounded awfully funny to them.”
When she said that my words had been sweet to her I dropped the consideration of all other subjects.
When, about ten minutes afterward, we came out of the shaft we were met by Susan.
“Bless my soul and body, Mr. Cuthbert!” she exclaimed. “Did you find that young lady down there in the centre of the earth? It seems to me as if everything that you want comes to you out of the ground. But I have been looking for you to tell you that Mr. Havelot has been here after his daughter, and I’m sure if he had known where she was, he would have been scared out of his wits.”
“Father here!” exclaimed Agnes. “Where is he now?”
“I think he has gone home, miss. Indeed I’m sure of it; for my daughter Jennie, who was over here the same as all the other people in the county, I truly believe told him–and I was proud she had the spirit to speak up that way to him–that your heart was almost broke when you heard about Mr. Cuthbert being shut up in the ice, and that most likely you was in your own room a-cryin’ your eyes out. When he heard that he stood lookin’ all around the place, and he asked me if he might go in the house; and when I told him he was most welcome, he went in. I offered to show him about, which he said was no use, that he had been there often enough; and he went everywhere, I truly believe, except in the garret and the cellar. And after he got through with that he went out to the barn and then walked home.”
“I must go to him immediately,” said Agnes.
“But not alone,” said I. And together we walked through the woods, over the little field and across the Havelot lawn to the house. We were told that the old gentleman was in his library, and together we entered the room. Mr. Havelot was sitting by a table on which were lying several open volumes of an encyclopedia. When he turned and saw us, he closed his book, pushed back his chair and took off his spectacles. “Upon my word, sir,” he cried; “and so the first thing you do after they pull you out of the earth is to come here and break my commands.”
“I came on the invitation of your daughter, sir.”
“And what right has she to invite you, I’d like to know?”
“She has every right, for to her I owe my existence.”
“What rabid nonsense!” exclaimed the old gentleman. “People don’t owe their existence to the silly creatures they fall in love with.”
“I assure you I am correct, sir.” And then I related to him what his daughter had done, and how through her angelic agency my rescuers had found me a living being instead of a frozen corpse.
“Stuff!” said Mr. Havelot. “People can live in a temperature of thirty-two degrees above zero all winter. Out in Minnesota they think that’s hot. And you gave him victuals and drink through your diploma case! Well, miss, I told you that if you tried to roast chestnuts in that diploma case the bottom would come out.”