Is any one down there? Is that you, Mr. Parmlee? she called.
There was a pause. Some invisible auditor said to another, Its a young lady. Then the first voice rose again in a more deferential tone: Are we anywhere near Sidon?
This is Sidon, answered Harkutt, who had risen, and was now quite obliterating his daughters outline at the window.
Thank you, said the voice. Can we land anywhere here, on this bank?
Run down, pop; theyre strangers, said the girl, with excited, almost childish eagerness.
Hold on, called out Harkutt, Ill be thar in a moment! He hastily thrust his feet into a pair of huge boots, clapped on an oilskin hat and waterproof, and disappeared through a door that led to a lower staircase. Phemie, still at the window, albeit with a newly added sense of self-consciousness, hung out breathlessly. Presently a beam of light from the lower depths of the house shot out into the darkness. It was her father with a bulls-eye lantern. As he held it up and clambered cautiously down the bank, its rays fell upon the turbid rushing stream, and what appeared to be a rough raft of logs held with difficulty against the bank by two men with long poles. In its centre was a roll of blankets, a valise and saddle-bags, and the shining brasses of some odd-looking instruments.
As Mr. Harkutt, supporting himself by a willow branch that overhung the current, held up the lantern, the two men rapidly transferred their freight from the raft to the bank, and leaped ashore. The action gave an impulse to the raft, which, no longer held in position by the poles, swung broadside to the current and was instantly swept into the darkness.
Not a word had been spoken, but now the voices of the men rose freely together. Phemie listened with intense expectation. The explanation was simple. They were surveyors who had been caught by the overflow on Tasajara plain, had abandoned their horses on the bank of Tasajara Creek, and with a hastily constructed raft had intrusted themselves and their instruments to the current. But, said Harkutt quickly, there is no connection between Tasajara Creek and this stream.
The two men laughed. There is NOW, said one of them.
But Tasajara Creek is a part of the bay, said the astonished Harkutt, and this stream rises inland and only runs into the bay four miles lower down. And I dont see how
Youre almost twelve feet lower here than Tasajara Creek, said the first man, with a certain professional authority, and thats WHY. Theres more water than Tasajara Creek can carry, and its seeking the bay this way. Look, he continued, taking the lantern from Harkutts hand and casting its rays on the stream, thats salt drift from the upper bay, and part of Tasajara Creeks running by your house now! Dont be alarmed, he added reassuringly, glancing at the staring storekeeper. Youre all right here; this is only the overflow and will find its level soon.
But Mr. Harkutt remained gazing abstractedly at the smiling speaker. From the window above the impatient Phemie was wondering why he kept the strangers waiting in the rain while he talked about things that were perfectly plain. It was so like a man!
Then theres a waterway straight to Tasajara Creek? he said slowly.
There is, as long as this flood lasts, returned the first speaker promptly; and a cutting through the bank of two or three hundred yards would make it permanent. Well, whats the matter with that?
Nothin, said Harkutt hurriedly. I am only considerin! But come in, dry yourselves, and take suthin.
The light over the rushing water was withdrawn, and the whole prospect sank back into profound darkness. Mr. Harkutt had disappeared with his guests. Then there was the familiar shuffle of his feet on the staircase, followed by other more cautious footsteps that grew delicately and even courteously deliberate as they approached. At which the young girl, in some new sense of decorum, drew in her pretty head, glanced around the room quickly, reset the tidy on her fathers chair, placed the resplendent accordion like an ornament in the exact centre of the table, and then vanished into the hall as Mr. Harkutt entered with the strangers.
They were both of the same age and appearance, but the principal speaker was evidently the superior of his companion, and although their attitude to each other was equal and familiar, it could be easily seen that he was the leader. He had a smooth, beardless face, with a critical expression of eye and mouth that might have been fastidious and supercilious but for the kindly, humorous perception that tempered it. His quick eye swept the apartment and then fixed itself upon the accordion, but a smile lit up his face as he said quietly,
I hope we havent frightened the musician away. It was bad enough to have interrupted the young lady.
No, no, said Mr. Harkutt, who seemed to have lost his abstraction in the nervousness of hospitality. I reckon shes only lookin after her sick sister. But come into the kitchen, both of you, straight off, and while youre dryin your clothes, motherll fix you suthin hot.
We only need to change our boots and stockings; weve some dry ones in our pack downstairs, said the first speaker hesitatingly.
Ill fetch em up and you can change in the kitchen. The old woman wont mind, said Harkutt reassuringly. Come along. He led the way to the kitchen; the two strangers exchanged a glance of humorous perplexity and followed.
The quiet of the little room was once more unbroken. A far-off commiserating murmur indicated that Mrs. Harkutt was receiving her guests. The cool breath of the wet leaves without slightly stirred the white dimity curtains, and somewhere from the darkened eaves there was a still, somnolent drip. Presently a hurried whisper and a half-laugh appeared to be suppressed in the outer passage or hall. There was another moment of hesitation and the door opened suddenly and ostentatiously, disclosing Phemie, with a taller and slighter young woman, her elder sister, at her side. Perceiving that the room was empty, they both said Oh! yet with a certain artificiality of manner that was evidently a lingering trace of some previous formal attitude they had assumed. Then without further speech they each selected a chair and a position, having first shaken out their dresses, and gazed silently at each other.
It may be said briefly that sitting thusin spite of their unnatural attitude, or perhaps rather because of its suggestion of a photographic posethey made a striking picture, and strongly accented their separate peculiarities. They were both pretty, but the taller girl, apparently the elder, had an ideal refinement and regularity of feature which was not only unlike Phemie, but gratuitously unlike the rest of her family, and as hopelessly and even wantonly inconsistent with her surroundings as was the elaborately ornamented accordion on the centre-table. She was one of those occasional creatures, episodical in the South and West, who might have been stamped with some vague ante-natal impression of a mother given to over-sentimental contemplation of books of beauty and albums rather than the family features; offspring of typical men and women, and yet themselves incongruous to any known local or even general type. The long swan-like neck, tendriled hair, swimming eyes, and small patrician head, had never lived or moved before in Tasajara or the West, nor perhaps even existed except as a personified Constancy, Meditation, or the Barons Bride, in mezzotint or copperplate. Even the girls common pink print dress with its high sleeves and shoulders could not conventionalize these original outlines; and the hand that rested stiffly on the back of her chair, albeit neither over-white nor well kept, looked as if it had never held anything but a lyre, a rose, or a good book. Even the few sprays of wild jessamine which she had placed in the coils of her waving hair, although a local fashion, became her as a special ornament.