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"I didn't kiss anybody but Louis Satanette," maintained Eva, "and I didn't really want to kiss him" "Never mind," said Adam. "Don't trouble your butterfly soul about it." And he turned away and walked toward the tent. "I'll not love you if you say such awful things to me," she flashed after him. "Ye can't take the breeks off a Hielandman," he replied, facing about, "Ye never loved me.
Look, now, there were two rough laddies up Glazka way, in my country, and they came to fists aboot a sweethairt, the fools. But when they are stripped and ready, one hits the table wi's hond, and says he, 'Ay, Georgie, I'm wullin' to feight ye, but wha's goin' to pay the fine?" Louis Satanette laughed again, but as if he did not know just what was meant."
Features formed in the blur under the rower's hat; his individuality sprung suddenly from a shape which a moment ago might have been any man's. "Oh, Adam, it will be Louis Satanette from Toronto," exclaimed Eva. "And what's a Toronto man doing away up on Lake Magog?" "What will a Glasgow man be doing away off here on Lake Magog?"
"It's nothing but my wraith," said Adam, lifting his eggs and butter and milk, and stepping from the boat. "The mon in me died aboot noon." Eva walked along by his side to the cool-box, where he deposited his load. "What is the matter with you, laddie, that you look and talk so strangely?" "Oh, naught," said Adam, turning and facing her. "I but saw you kissing Louis Satanette on the hill to-day."
"Beg pardon?" said Louis Satanette, bending forward, and giving the upward inflection to that graceful Canadian phrase which asks a repetition while implying that the fault is with the hearer. "I said I'd go in presently. There's no hurry." "Allow me to take you in," said Louis. "You have approached too close to the altars of the sylvan gods, and their sacrificial smoke has overcome you.
He did, however, turn his eyes and set his jaws in the direction of the passing oarsman. Louis Satanette was all in white flannel, and flush-faced like a cream-pink rose with pleasant exhilaration. He held his oars poised and let his boat run slowly past Adam. "What have you the matter?" he exclaimed, with sincere anxiety. "Oh, it's naught," said Adam. "I'm just weary, weary."
Sometimes this Satanette came in a blue-flannel suit, the collar turned well back from the throat, and in a broad straw hat wound with pink and white tarlatan. He looked like a flower, if any flower ever expressed along with its beauty the powerful nerve of manliness. Frequently he sailed out from Magog House and stayed all night on the island, slinging his own hammock between trees.
Don't you see it rising everywhere from the woods?" "The sylvan gods are none of my clan," remarked Adam, shifting his position impatiently, "and it's little I know of them. There's a graat dail of ignorance consailed aboot my pairson." Louis Satanette laughed with enjoyment: "Well, au revoir. I will put up my sail when I turn the points.
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