"Oh no, not severe. I should be afraid of you if you were. I shouldn't have dared to come to Campobello."He looked at her across the blueberry bushes. His gay speech meant everything or nothing. She could parry it with a jest, and then it would mean nothing. She let her head droop over her work, and made no answer.
"I wish you could have seen those fellows on the boat," said Mavering.
"Hello, Mavering!" called the voice of John Munt, from another part of the woods.
"Alice!--Miss Pasmer!" came that of Miss Anderson.
He was going to answer, when he looked at Alice. "We'll let them see if they can find us," he said, and smiled.
Alice said nothing at first; she smiled too. "You know more about the woods than I do. I suppose if they keep looking--""Oh yes." He came toward her with a mass of clusters which he had clipped. "How fast you do them!" he said, standing and looking down at her. "I wish you'd let me come and make up the withes for you when you need them.""No, I couldn't allow that on any account," she answered, twisting some stems of the grass together.
"Well, will you let me hold the bunches while you tie them; or tie them when you hold them?""No."
"This once, then?"
"This once, perhaps."
"How little you let me do for you!" he sighed.
"That gives you a chance to do more for other people," she answered; and then she dropped her eyes, as if she had been surprised into that answer.
She made haste to add: "That's what makes you so popular with--everybody!""Ah, but I'd rather be popular with somebody!"He laughed, and then they both laughed together consciously; and still nothing or everything had been said. A little silly silence followed, and he said, for escape from it, "I never saw such berries before, even in September, on the top of Ponkwasset.""Why, is it a mountain?" she asked. "I thought it was a--falls.""It's both," he said.
"I suppose it's very beautiful, isn't it! All America seems so lovely, so large.""It's pretty in the summer. I don't know that I shall like it there in the winter if I conclude to--Did your--did Mrs. Pasmer tell you what my father wants me to do?""About going there to--manufacture?"
Mavering nodded. "He's given me three weeks to decide whether I would like to do that or go in for law. That's what I came up here for."There was a little pause. She bent her head down over the clusters she was grouping. "Is the light of Campobello particularly good on such questions?" she asked.
"I don't mean that exactly, but I wish you could help me to some conclusion.""Yes; why not?"
"It's the first time I've ever had a business question referred to me."Well, then, you can bring a perfectly fresh mind to it.""Let me see," she said, affecting to consider. "It's really a very important matter?""It is to me."
After a moment she looked up at him. "I should think that you wouldn't mind living there if your business was there. I suppose it's being idle in places that makes them dull. I thought it was dull in London. One ought to be glad--oughtn't he?--to live in any place where there's something to do.""Well, that isn't the way people usually feel," said Mavering. "That's the kind of a place most of them fight shy of."Alice laughed with an undercurrent of protest, perhaps because she had seen her parents' whole life, so far as she knew it, passed in this sort of struggle. "I mean that I hate my own life because there seems nothing for me to do with it. I like to have people do something.""Do you really?" asked Mavering soberly, as if struck by the novelty of the idea.
"Yes!" she said, with exaltation. "If I were a man--"He burst into a ringing laugh. "Oh no; don't!""Why?" she demanded, with provisional indignation.
"Because then there wouldn't be any Miss Pasmer."It seemed to Alice that this joking was rather an unwarranted liberty.
Again she could not help joining in his light-heartedness; but she checked herself so abruptly, and put on a look so austere, that he was quelled by it.
"I mean," he began--"that is to say--I mean that I don't understand why ladies are always saying that. I am sure they can do what they like, as it is.""Do you mean that everything is open to them now?" she asked, disentangling a cluster of the berries from those in her lap, and beginning a fresh bunch.
"Yes," said Mavering. "Something like that--yes. They can do anything they like. Lots of them do.""Oh yes, I know," said the girl. "But people don't like them to.""Why, what would you like to be?" he asked.
She did not answer, but sorted over the clusters in her lap. "We've got enough now, haven't we?" she said.
"Oh, not half," he said. "But if you're tired you must let me make up some of the bunches.""No, no! I want to do them all myself," she said, gesturing his offered hands away, with a little nether appeal in her laughing refusal "So as to feel that you've been of some use in the world?" he said, dropping contentedly on the ground near her, and watching her industry.
"Do you think that would be very wrong?" she asked. "What made that friend of yours--Mr. Boardman--go into journalism?""Oh, virtuous poverty. You're not thinking of becoming a newspaper woman, Miss Pasmer!""Why not?" She put the final cluster into the bunch in hand, and began to wind a withe of sweet-grass around the stems. He dropped forward on his knees to help her, and together they managed the knot. They were both flushed a little when it was tied, and were serious.
"Why shouldn't one be a newspaper woman, if Harvard graduates are to be journalists?""Well, you know, only a certain kind are.""What kind?"
