“You’ll break a leg and lie for days before anyone knows you are hurt,” said Cousin John.
“You’ll be snowed in and no one will find you until spring,” said Brother Henry.
“You are a city woman and not strong. What do you know of a pioneer’s life? It is the most foolish plan we ever heard of,” chorused all.
Descending from prophecy to argument, they continued:
“That I will not,” I answered. “I have been jerked at the end of a telephone wire for years. I want rest.”
“At least you will have a good dog. That will be some protection.”
“A dog would drive away all the wild things. I want to study them,” I objected.
“Then, for mercy’s sake, find some other woman to stay there with you. Surely there is another lunatic willing to freeze to death on the precious island. You should have a companion, if only to send for help.”
“I don’t want a companion,” I protested, tearfully. “I won’t be responsible for another person’s comfort or safety. I will do this thing alone or not at all.”
“I am tired to death,” I stormed. “I need rest for at least one year. I want to watch the procession of the seasons in some place that is not all paved streets, city smells and noise. Instead of the clang of car bells and the honk of automobile horns, I want to hear the winds sing across the ice fields, instead of the smell of asphalt and hot gasoline, I want the odor of wet earth in boggy places. I have loved the woods all my life, I long to see the year go round there just once before I die.”
At which outburst they shrugged exasperated shoulders and were silent, but each one drew me aside, at parting, and pressed a gift into my hand.
“Be sure to let us know if anything goes wrong. Write to us if you need the least thing. Don’t be ashamed to come back, if the experiment proves a failure”—and so on and so on, God bless them!
Of all this the bogy reminded me as he danced ahead up the winding trail.
The house looked lonely, even in the brightness of the late afternoon. I hurried supper, to be indoors before the twilight fell. Big Canadian hares hopped along the paths and sat at the kitchen door, their great eyes peering, long, furry ears alert, quivering noses pressed against the wire screen. Grouse pecked on the hill side, as tame as barnyard fowl. From the water came the evening call of the loons.