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Updated: May 2, 2025
Early in August Big Shanty was ready for its owner; ready, too, when it had been promised. Thayor was expected within a few days. He had written Holcomb that he would come alone; Mrs. Thayor and Margaret were to arrive a week later, accompanied by Blakeman and Annette; the rest of the servants being already in camp under charge of the housekeeper.
"You must go," she said with an effort; "it is late. Blakeman will be here in a moment to turn on the lights." She stretched forth her hands to him. For a second he held them warm and trembling in his own, then Blakeman's rapid step in the conservatory was heard. "Good-night," he said in a louder tone, as the butler appeared.
Every now and then she would rise, walk to the edge of the firelight, stand listening for a few moments and sink back again on her seat by the embers. Suddenly Blakeman rose to his feet, his hand cupped to his ear, his whole body tense. His knowledge of the woods had taught him their unusual sounds.
"Miss Margaret is quite well, sir," he returned in the unctious, calm voice he assumed in service. "Ah, that's good. She's asleep, I suppose, at this hour." "I presume so, sir, as she was out rather late last night. I beg pardon, sir, but might I ask if you have had good luck?" "Well, I managed to kill a fine buck, Blakeman," returned his master, as he continued up the stairs.
Before, however, the man could reach him, Thayor had thrown both aside, and had stepped to a carved oak table on which were carefully arranged ten miniature envelopes. He bent over them for a moment and then turning to the butler asked in an impatient tone: "How many people are coming to dinner, Blakeman?" "Twenty, sir," answered Blakeman, his face preserving its habitual Sphinx-like immobility.
The housekeeper, the cook, the two maids and the valet all but Blakeman and Annette, who had awakened at the first alarm had made their escape in terror down the macadam road; they were just in time; this road the only open exit leading out from Big Shanty being now barred by flame.
At luncheon Blakeman served the Burgundy without a trace upon his round, smug face of the indignation surging within him. His skilled hand replenished Sperry's glass generously.
Sperry" nor did the real cause of the doctor's welcome set her mind at rest. "This way, doctor," continued Thayor, dragging Sperry with him. "Blakeman will bring your bag. One of our men is badly hurt; I was on my way to him when I heard you driving up. He's only a few rods away hurry!" The little man lay on his back on the floor of the lower shanty where the men had carried him.
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