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After that, Hazel's whole day was occupied in stripping a tree that stood on the high western promontory of the bay, and building up the materials of a bonfire a few yards from it, that, if any whaler should stray that way, they might not be at a loss for means to attract her attention. Welch was very ill all day, and Miss Rolleston nursed him.
It was late in the morning now: Mr. Rollo's slumbers had been allowed to extend themselves somewhat indefinitely in the direction which most men approve; and still breakfast waited, down stairs; and Mrs. Bywank at the tower window gazed down the slope and over the trees towards Wych Hazel's present abiding place. Not expecting to see her, but watching over her in her heart.
The sun slipped lower; leaf shadows began to tremble on Hazel's pinafore, which, with its faded blue and its many stains, was transmuted in the vivid light, and looked like the flowers of virgin's pride. "The Ash Tree"! said Abel, who always announced his tunes in this way, as singers do at a choir supper. The forlorn music met Edward at the gate.
Above all, it will enable the reader to follow our personages in their little excursions past and future, and also to trace the course of a mysterious event we have to record. Relieved of other immediate cares, Hazel's mind had time to dwell upon the problem.
Stout and one of her boarders sat there chatting, and at Hazel's entrance the landlady greeted her with a startling bit of news: "Evenin', Miss Weir. 'Ave you 'eard about Mr. Bush, pore gentleman?" Mrs. Stout was very English. "Mr. Bush? No. What about him?" Hazel resented Mr. Bush, his name, and his affairs being brought to her attention at every turn.
Primrose came to Wych Hazel's side and threw her arms around her. 'It's only I, dear Hazel, she said in tones of mingled trouble and tenderness. Miss Kennedy disengaged herself, not roughly but decidedly, holding Primrose off, and looking at her. 'What is the matter? she said. 'Is Mr. Falkirk ill? 'No, dear. 'Who then? said Wych Hazel. 'Prim, never kill people by degrees.
She saw Hazel roll Flossie's chair back under the elm-tree, and saw her sit down on the grass beside it and cover her eyes with both hands. "What game are they playing?" she asked herself; and she smiled, well pleased by the friendship that had begun. "I wish health was catching," she sighed. "Little Hazel's a picture. I wonder how long it'll be before she finds out who I am.
It was irreverent. It was like looking too close into heaven when you weren't intended to. And then a blood-curdling sound arose! It made her very hair stand on end. She turned with wild eyes and grasped Hazel's arm, but she was too frightened to utter a sound. Hazel had just come out to sit with her.
Bill laughed at Hazel's confusion. "Away off." He gestured southward, and the Indian grunted some unintelligible remark in his own tongue at which Roaring Bill laughed again. Before they started home Bill succeeded in purchasing, after much talk, a pair of moccasins that Hazel conceded to be a work of art, what with the dainty pattern of beads and the ornamentation of colored porcupine quills.
'Mother, Edward said, when the last unruly guest had disappeared in the wild April night, and Hazel's vivid presence and violet fragrance and young laughter had been taken by the darkness, 'I've asked Hazel Woodus to tea on Wednesday. 'She is not of your class, Edward. 'What does class matter? 'Martha's brother calls you "sir," and Martha looks down on this young person.
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