Now, completely involved in the career of _Emma_, she says, "Oh, for that gift of the gods Jane Austen had! Her speech--a rippling stream of perfect and delicious English, the King's English indeed! Each phrase is as delicately constructed as a watch, and all her watches tick together as one."
Thus the incorrigible child goes on, unaware how many fascinating books she has longed to have written. From _Nicholas Nickleby_ to _Thunder on the Left_, from _Walter H. Page_ to the _Constant Nymph_, and from _Chaucer_ to _Edna St. Vincent Millay_! A veritable gourmande, she is.
But forgive her. Who has not felt that he might improve a text-book? Who has not longed, in reading a glorious book, for similar brilliance? What lover of books is unmoved to an occasional effort at emulation, even if he afterwards destroy it? You who do these things, sympathize with Shirley, who, by her own hand we do confess, is bitterly disillusioned every time she tries to write a theme.
Three Indians padded softly along through the tall dark pines. Their errand seemed peaceful, since their number was so small and they came so openly. Soon the path widened out, and finally led to a small glade in which stood a rough cabin. The Indians stopped to observe cautiously before making themselves known. What they saw filled them with curiosity and awe, for standing before the cabin was a white man praying, his deep voice echoing through the wild stillness of the forest. Beside him stood a younger man, whose attention, while respectful, was not undivided, for he had spied the Indians and waited restlessly for the "father" to finish his devotions. These done, he called his superior's attention to the savages lurking on the outskirts of the glade and beckoned to them to come forward. Both white men were eager to learn what the Indians might tell them, and the elder, who spoke the Indian tongue, talked glibly with the redskins. They, in turn, were curious about several things. First, the strange contrivance that hung from Father Hennepin's belt. He explained that it was to help him find his way through the uncharted country. Save for the compass he would quickly be lost.
"Hugh," grunted one of the braves, "that no good. I lead you," surprising the Jesuit by his use of English.