WHEREIN THE LIMBERLOST SINGS FOR PHILIP,AND THE TALKING TREES TELL GREAT SECRETSA few days later Philip handed Elnora a sheet of paper and she read:"In your condition Ishould think the moth hunting and life at that cabin would be very good for you,but for any sake keep away from that Grosbeak person,and don't come home with your head full of granger ideas.No doubt he has a remarkable voice,but I can't bear untrained singers,and don't you get the idea that a June song is perennial.
You are not hearing the music he will make when the four babies have the scarlet fever and the measles,and the gadding wife leaves him at home to care for them then.
Poor soul,I pity her!How she exists where rampant cows bellow at you,frogs croak,mosquitoes consume you,the butter goes to oil in summer and bricks in winter,while the pump freezes every day,and there is no earthly amusement,and no society!Poor things!
Can't you influence him to move?No wonder she gads when she has a chance!I should die.If you are thinking of settling in the country,think also of a woman who is satisfied with white and brown to accompany you!
Brown!Of all deadly colours!I should go mad in brown."Elnora laughed while she read.Her face was dimpling,as she returned the sheet."Who's ahead?"she asked.
"Who do you think?"he parried.
"She is,"said Elnora."Are you going to tell her in your next that R.B.Grosbeak is a bird,and that he probably will spend the winter in a wild plum thicket in Tennessee?""No,"said Philip."I shall tell her that I understand her ideas of life perfectly,and,of course,I never shall ask her to deal with oily butter and frozen pumps--""--and measley babies,"interpolated Elnora.
"Exactly!"said Philip."At the same time I find so much to counterbalance those things,that I should not object to bearing them myself,in view of the recompense.
Where do we go and what do we do to-day?""We will have to hunt beside the roads and around the edge of the Limberlost to-day,"said Elnora."Mother is making strawberry preserves,and she can't come until she finishes.Suppose we go down to the swamp and I'll show you what is left of the flower-room that Terence O'More,the big lumber man of Great Rapids,made when he was a homeless boy here.Of course,you have heard the story?""Yes,and I've met the O'Mores who are frequently in Chicago society.They have friends there.I think them one ideal couple.""That sounds as if they might be the only one,"said Elnora,"and,indeed,they are not.I know dozens.
Aunt Margaret and Uncle Wesley are another,the Brownlees another,and my mathematics professor and his wife.
The world is full of happy people,but no one ever hears of them.You must fight and make a scandal to get into the papers.No one knows about all the happy people.
I am happy myself,and look how perfectly inconspicuous I am.""You only need go where you will be seen,"began Philip,when he remembered and finished."What do we take to-day?""Ourselves,"said Elnora."I have a vagabond streak in my blood and it's in evidence.I am going to show you where real flowers grow,real birds sing,and if I feel quite right about it,perhaps I shall raise a note or two myself.""Oh,do you sing?"asked Philip politely.
"At times,"answered Elnora."`As do the birds;because I must,'but don't be scared.The mood does not possess me often.Perhaps I shan't raise a note."They went down the road to the swamp,climbed the snake fence,followed the path to the old trail and then turned south upon it.Elnora indicated to Philip the trail with remnants of sagging barbed wire.
"It was ten years ago,"she said."I was a little school girl,but I wandered widely even then,and no one cared.
I saw him often.He had been in a city institution all his life,when he took the job of keeping timber thieves out of this swamp,before many trees had been cut.It was a strong man's work,and he was a frail boy,but he grew hardier as he lived out of doors.This trail we are on is the path his feet first wore,in those days when he was insane with fear and eaten up with loneliness,but he stuck to his work and won out.I used to come down to the road and creep among the bushes as far as I dared,to watch him pass.He walked mostly,at times he rode a wheel.
"Some days his face was dreadfully sad,others it was so determined a little child could see the force in it,and once he was radiant.That day the Swamp Angel was with him.I can't tell you what she was like.I never saw any one who resembled her.He stopped close here to show her a bird's nest.Then they went on to a sort of flower-room he had made,and he sang for her.By the time he left,I had gotten bold enough to come out on the trail,and I met the big Scotchman Freckles lived with.
He saw me catching moths and butterflies,so he took me to the flower-room and gave me everything there.
I don't dare come alone often,so I can't keep it up as he did,but you can see something of how it was."Elnora led the way and Philip followed.The outlines of the room were not distinct,because many of the trees were gone,but Elnora showed how it had been as nearly as she could.
"The swamp is almost ruined now,"she said."The maples,walnuts,and cherries are all gone.The talking trees are the only things left worth while.""The `talking trees!'I don't understand,"commented Philip.
"No wonder!"laughed Elnora."They are my discovery.
You know all trees whisper and talk during the summer,but there are two that have so much to say they keep on the whole winter,when the others are silent.The beeches and oaks so love to talk,they cling to their dead,dry leaves.In the winter the winds are stiffest and blow most,so these trees whisper,chatter,sob,laugh,and at times roar until the sound is deafening.
