Carnac's Folly: Chapter 1

Chapter 1

IN THE DAYS OF CHILDHOOD

"Carnac! Carnac! Come and catch me, Carnac!" It was a day of perfect
summer and hope and happiness in the sweet, wild world behind the near
woods and the far circle of sky and pine and hemlock. The voice that
called was young and vibrant, and had in it the simple, true soul of
things. It had the clearness of a bugle-call-ample and full of life and
all life's possibilities. It laughed; it challenged; it decoyed.

Carnac heard the summons and did his best to catch the girl in the wood
by the tumbling stream, where he had for many an hour emptied out his
wayward heart; where he had seen his father's logs and timbers caught in
jams, hunched up on rocky ledges, held by the prong of a rock, where
man's purpose could, apparently, avail so little. Then he had watched the
black-bearded river-drivers with their pike-poles and their levers loose
the key-logs of the bunch, and the tumbling citizens of the woods and
streams toss away down the current to the wider waters below. He was only
a lad of fourteen, and the girl was only eight, but she--Junia--was as
spry and graceful a being as ever woke the echoes of a forest.

He was only fourteen, but already he had visions and dreamed dreams. His
father--John Grier--was the great lumber-king of Canada, and Junia was
the child of a lawyer who had done little with his life, but had had
great joy of his two daughters, who were dear to him beyond telling.

Carnac was one of Nature's freaks or accidents. He was physically strong
and daring, but, as a boy, mentally he lacked concentration and decision,
though very clever. He was led from thing to thing like a ray of errant
light, and he did not put a hand on himself, as old Denzil, the partly
deformed servant of Junia's home, said of him on occasion; and Denzil was
a man of parts.

Denzil was not far from the two when Junia made her appeal and challenge.
He loved the girl exceedingly, and he loved Carnac little less, though in
a different way. Denzil was French of the French, with habit of mind and
character wholly his own.

Denzil's head was squat upon his shoulders, and his long, handsome body
was also squat, because his legs were as short, proportionately, as his
mind was long. His face was covered by a well-cared-for beard of dark
brown, streaked with grey; his features were rugged and fine; and his
eyes were like two coals burning under a gnarled headland; for his
forehead, ample and full, had lines which were not lines of age, but of
concentration. In his motions he was quiet and free, yet always there was
a kind of stealthiness in his movements, which made him seem less frank
than he really was.

For a time, with salient sympathy in his eyes, he watched the two
children playing. The whisking of their forms among the trees and over
the rocks was fine, gracious, and full of life-life without alarm. At
length he saw the girl falter slightly, then make a swift deceptive
movement to avoid the boy who pursued her. The movement did not delude
the boy. He had quickness of anticipation. An instant later the girl was
in his arms.

As Denzil gazed, it seemed she was in his arms too long, and a sudden
anxiety took hold of him. That anxiety was deepened when he saw the boy
kiss the girl on the cheek. This act seemed to discompose the girl, but
not enough to make drama out of an innocent, yet sensuous thing. The boy
had meant nothing more than he had shown, and Denzil traced the act to a
native sense of luxury in his nature. Knowing the boy's father and mother
as he did, it seemed strange that Carnac should have such demonstration
in his character. Of all the women he knew, Carnac's mother was the most
exact and careful, though now and again he thought of her as being
shrouded, or apart; while the boy's father, the great lumber-king,
cantankerous, passionate, perspicuous, seemed to have but one passion,
and that was his business.

It was strange to Denzil that the lumber-king, short, thin, careless in
his clothes but singularly clean in his person, should have a son so
little like himself, and also so little like his mother. He, Denzil, was
a Catholic, and he could not understand a man like John Grier who, being
a member of the Episcopal Church, so seldom went to service and so defied
rules of conduct suitable to his place in the world.

As for the girl, to him she was the seventh wonder of the earth. Wantonly
alive, dexterously alert to all that came her way, sportive, indifferent,
joyous, she had all the boy's sprightliness, but none of his weaknesses.
She was a born tease; she loved bright and beautiful things; she was a
keen judge of human nature, and she had buoyant spirits, which, however,
were counterbalanced by moments of extreme timidity, or, rather, reserve
and shyness. On a day like this, when everything in life was singing, she
must sing too. Not a mile away was a hut by the river where her father
had brought his family for the summer's fishing; not a half-mile away was
a tent which Carnac Grier's father had set up as he passed northward on
his tour of inspection. This particular river, and this particular part
of the river, were trying to the river-man and his clans. It needed a
dam, and the great lumber-king was planning to make one not three hundred
yards from where they were.

The boy and the girl resting idly upon a great warm rock had their own
business to consider. The boy kept looking at his boots with the
brass-tipped toes. He hated them. The girl was quick to understand. "Why
don't you like your boots?" she asked.

A whimsical, exasperated look came into his face. "I don't know why they
brass a boy's toes like that, but when I marry I won't wear them--that's
all," he replied.

"Why do you wear them now?" she asked, smiling.

"You don't know my father."

"He's got plenty of money, hasn't he?" she urged. "Plenty; and that's
what I can't understand about him! There's a lot of waste in
river-driving, timber-making, out in the shanties and on the river, but
he don't seem to mind that. He's got fads, though, about how we are to
live, and this is one of them." He looked at the brass-tipped boots
carefully. A sudden resolve came into his face. He turned to the girl and
flushed as he spoke. "Look here," he added, "this is the last day I'm
going to wear these boots. He's got to buy me a pair without any brass
clips on them, or I'll kick."

"No, it isn't the last day you're going to wear them, Carnac."

"It is. I wonder if all boys feel towards their father as I do to mine.
He don't treat me right. He--"

"Oh, look," interrupted Junia. "Look-Carnac!" She pointed in dismay.

Carnac saw a portion of the bank of the river disappear with Denzil. He
ran over to the bank and looked down. In another moment he had made his
way to a descending path which led him swiftly to the river's edge. The
girl remained at the top. The boy had said to her: "You stay there. I'll
tell you what to do."

"Is-is he killed?" she called with emotion.

"Killed! No. He's all right," he called back to her. "I can see him move.
Don't be frightened. He's not in the water. It was only about a
thirty-foot fall. You stay there, and I'll tell you what to do," he
added.

A few moments later, the boy called up: "He's all right, but his leg is
broken. You go to my father's camp--it's near. People are sure to be
there, and maybe father too. You bring them along."

In an instant the girl was gone. The boy, left behind, busied himself in
relieving the deformed broken-legged habitant. He brought some water in
his straw hat to refresh him. He removed the rocks and dirt, and dragged
the little man out.

"It was a close call--bien sur," said Denzil, breathing hard. "I always
said that place wasn't safe, but I went on it myself. That's the way in
life. We do what we forbid ourselves to do; we suffer the shames we damn
in others--but yes."

There was a pause, then he added: "That's what you'll do in your life,
M'sieu' Carnac. That's what you'll do."

"Always?"

"Well, you never can tell--but no."

"But you always can tell," remarked the boy. "The thing is, do what you
feel you've got to do, and never mind what happens."

"I wish I could walk," remarked the little man, "but this leg of mine is
broke--ah, bah, it is!"

"Yes, you mustn't try to walk. Be still," answered the boy. "They'll be
here soon." Slowly and carefully he took off the boot and sock from the
broken leg, and, with his penknife, opened the seam of the corduroy
trouser. "I believe I could set that leg myself," he added.

"I think you could--bagosh," answered Denzil heavily. "They'll bring a
rope to haul me up?"

"Junia has a lot of sense, she won't forget anything."

"And if your father's there, he'll not forget anything," remarked Denzil.

"He'll forget to make me wear these boots tomorrow," said the boy
stubbornly, his chin in his hands, his eyes fixed gloomily on the
brass-headed toes.

There was a long silence. At last from the stricken Denzil came the
words: "You'll have your own way about the boots."

Carnac murmured, and presently said:

"Lucky you fell where you did. Otherwise, you'd have been in the water,
and then I couldn't have been of any use."

"I hear them coming--holy, yes!"

Carnac strained his ears. "Yes, you're right. I hear them too."

A few moments later, Carnac's father came sliding down the bank, a rope
in his hands, some workmen remaining above.

"What's the matter here?" he asked. "A fall, eh! Dang little fool--now,
you are a dang little fool, and you know it, Denzil."

He nodded to his boy, then he raised the wounded man's head and
shoulders, and slipped the noose over until it caught under his arms.

The old lumber-king's movements were swift, sure and exact. A moment
later he lifted Denzil in his arms, and carried him over to the steep
path up which he was presently dragged.

At the top, Denzil turned to Carnac's father. "M'sieu', Carnac hates
wearing those brass-toed boots," he said boldly.

The lumber-king looked at his boy acutely. He blew his nose hard, with a
bandana handkerchief. Then he nodded towards the boy.

"He can suit himself about that," he said.

With accomplished deftness, with some sacking and two poles, a hasty but
comfortable ambulance was made under the skilful direction of the
river-master. He had the gift of outdoor life. He did not speak as he
worked, but kept humming to himself.

"That's all right," he said, as he saw Denzil on the stretcher. "We'll
get on home now."

"Home?" asked his son.

"Yes, Montreal--to-night," replied his father. "The leg has to be set."

"Why don't you set it?" asked the boy.

The river-master gazed at him attentively. "Well, I might, with your
help," he said. "Come along."

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