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Programming Fundamentals - A Modular
Structured Approach using C++

By: Kenneth Busbee

Online: <http://cnx.org/content/col10621/1.20>

This selection and arrangement of content as a collection is copyrighted by Kenneth

Busbee.
It is licensed under the Creative Commons Attribution License:
http://creativecommons.org/licenses/by/2.0/
Collection structure revised: 2010/06/06
For copyright and attribution information for the modules contained in this collection, see
the "Attributions" section at the end of the collection.
Programming Fundamentals - A Modular
Structured Approach using C++

Table of Contents

Preface
Author Acknowledgements
Orientation and Syllabus
Why You should Create a Personal Connexions Account
Creating a Connexions Account
Rating Connexions Modules
1. 1. Introduction to Programming
2. 2. Program Planning & Design
3. 3. Data & Operators
4. 4. Often Used Data Types
5. 5. Integrated Development Environment
6. 6. Program Control Functions
7. 7. Specific Task Functions
8. 8. Standard Libraries
9. 9. Character Data, Sizeof, Typedef, Sequence
10. 10. Introduction to Structured Programming
11. 11. Two Way Selection
12. 12. Multiway Selection
13. 13. Test After Loops
14. 14. Test Before Loops
15. 15. Counting Loops
16. 16. String Class, Unary Positive and Negative
17. 17. Conditional Operator and Recursion
18. 18. Introduction to Arrays
19. 19. File I/O and Array Functions
20. 20. More Array Functions
21. 21. More on Typedef
22. 22. Pointers
23. 23. More Arrays & Compiler Directives
24. 24. OOP & HPC
25. Review Materials
26. Appendix
A. Attributions
 Preface

1. About this Textbook/Collection

Programming Fundamentals – A Modular Structured
Approach using C++
Programming Fundamentals - A Modular Structured Approach using C++
is written by Kenneth Leroy Busbee, a faculty member at Houston
Community College in Houston, Texas. The materials used in this
textbook/collection were developed by the author and others as independent
modules for publication within the Connexions environment. Programming
fundamentals are often divided into three college courses:
Modular/Structured, Object Oriented and Data Structures. This
textbook/collection covers the first of those three courses.

Connexions Learning Modules

The learning modules of this textbook/collection were written as
standalone modules. Students using a collection of modules as a textbook
will usually view it contents by reading the modules sequentially as
presented by the author of the collection.

However, the majority of readers of these modules will find them as a result
of an Internet search. The Connexions Project allows the author of a module
to create web links to other Connexions modules and Internet locations.
These links are shown when viewing materials on-line and are categorized
into three types: Example, Prerequisite and Supplemental. The importance
of each link is numbered from 1 to 3 by the author. When viewing the
module each links shows a three part box with yellow or white rectangles.
All three yellow means it is a strongly related link. As the yellow
decreases the importance decreases.

Students using this collection for a college course should note that all of the
Prerequisite links within the modules will be modules that student should
have already read and most of the Supplemental links will be modules that
the student will read shortly. Thus, students should use Prerequisite links
for review as needed and not be overly concerned about viewing all of the
Supplemental links at the first reading of this textbook/collection.

Conceptual Approach
The learning modules of this textbook/collection were, for the most part,
written without consideration of a specific programming language. In many
cases the C++ language is discussed as part of the explanation of the
concept. Often the examples used for C++ are exactly the same for the Java
programming language. However, some modules were written specifically
for the C++ programming language. This could not be avoided as the C++
language is used in conjunction with this textbook/collection by the author
in teaching college courses.

Bloodshed Dev-C++ 5 Compiler/IDE

This open source compiler/IDE (Integrated Development Environment) was
used to develop the demonstration source code files provided within the
modules of this textbook/collection. The compiler/IDE is presented to the
student in the second module of Chapter 1, with instructions for
downloading, installing and using the compiler/IDE. A more complete
explanation of the IDE along with demonstration source code listings with
errors is presented in first module of Chapter 5. All of the source code files
provided in this textbook/collection contain only ANSI standard C++ code
and should work on any standard C++ compiler like Microsoft Visual
Studio (which includes C++), Microsoft Visual C++ Express or Borland
C++ Builder.
Instructor Materials
Encrypted instructor materials are available in a module that is not part of
this collection. It’s title: Instructor Materials for: Programming
Fundamentals - A Modular Structured Approach using C++ is available at:
http://cnx.org/content/m34529/latest/ and the encryption code is only
available to educational institutional faculty that are considering adoption of
this collection as a textbook.

2. About Connexions
Connexions Modular Content
The Connexions Project http://cnx.org is part of the Open Educational
Resources (OER) movement dedicated to providing high quality learning
materials free online, free in printable PDF format, and at low cost in bound
volumes through print-on-demand publishing. This textbook is one of many
collections available to Connexions users. Each collection is composed of a
number of re-usable learning modules written in the Connexions XML
markup language. Each module may also be re-used (or 're-purposed') as
part of other collections and may be used outside of Connexions.

Re-use and Customization

The Creative Commons (CC) Attribution license applies to all
Connexions modules. Under this license, any Connexions module may be
used or modified for any purpose as long as proper attribution to the
original author(s) is maintained. Connexions' authoring tools make re-use
(or re-purposing) easy. Therefore, instructors anywhere are permitted to
create customized versions of this textbook by editing modules, deleting
unneeded modules, and adding their own supplementary modules.
Connexions' authoring tools keep track of these changes and maintain the
CC license's required attribution to the original authors. This process
creates a new collection that can be viewed online, downloaded as a single
PDF file, or ordered in any quantity by instructors and students as a low-
cost printed textbook.
Read the book online, print the PDF, or buy a copy of
the book.
To browse this textbook online, visit the collection home page. You will
then have three options.

1. You may view the collection modules on-line by clicking on the "Start
>>" link, which takes you to the first module in the collection. You can
then navigate to the next module using "NEXT >>" and through the
subsequent modules by using the "<< PREVIOUS | NEXT >>" button
that is towards the upper right to move forward and backward in the
collection. You can jump to any module in the collection by clicking on
that module's title in the "TABLE OF CONTENTS" box on the left side
of the window. If these contents are hidden, make them visible by
clicking on the small triangle to the right of the "TABLE OF
CONTENTS". Chapters also have a small triangle to show or hide
contents.

2. You may obtain a PDF of the entire textbook to print or view offline by
clicking on the "Download PDF" link in the "Content Actions" box.

3. You may order a bound copy of the collection (for a reasonable printing
and shipping fee) by clicking on the "Order printed copy" button.

Connexions PDF Conversion Problems

Buying a copy of the textbook/collection is basically sending the PDF file
to a printing service that has a contract with the Connexions project. There
are several known printing problems and the Connexions Project is aware
of them and seeking a solution. In the mean time, be aware that quirks exist
for printed PDF materials. A description of the known problems are:

1. When it converts an "Example" the PDF displays the first line of an

example properly but indents the remaining lines of the example. This
 problem occurs for the printing of a book (because it prints a PDF) and
downloading either a module or a textbook/collection as a PDF.

2. Chapter numbering has been added to the on-line Table of Contents.

This will make it easier for students to quickly get to the chapter reading
materials. However this creates a "double" chapter numbering within
the textbook/collection’s PDF and custom printing formats.

3. Within C++ there are three operators that do not convert properly to
PDF format.

Table 1.
decrement -- which is two minus signs
insertion << which is two less than signs
extraction >> which is two greater than signs

Rating Connexion Modules

A rating feature was added during 2009 for Connexions modules. It will not
be useful until more people rate modules within the Connexions repository.
If a module is rated by several people, it can be used as a measure of
quality. Thus, your participation in rating modules is welcomed and helps
others determine the quality of the educational materials being viewed.

In order to rate modules you must have a Connexions account. Three (3)
modules have been added to the preface series of modules for this
collection. They explain why and how to create a Connexions account and
how to rate a Connexions module.
 Author Acknowledgements

I wish to acknowledge the many people who have helped me and have
encouraged me in this project.

1. Mr. Abass Alamnehe, who is a fellow faculty member at Houston

Community College. He has encouraged the use of Connexions as an
"open source" publishing concept. His comments on several modules
have led directly to the improvement of the materials in this
textbook/collection.

2. The hundreds (most likely a thousand plus) students that I have taken
programming courses that I have taught since 1984. The languages
include: COBOL, main frame IBM assembly, Intel assembly, Pascal,
"C" and "C++". They have often suggested that I write my own book
because they thought that I was explaining the subject matter better than
the author of the textbook that we were using. Little did my students
understand that directly or indirectly they aided in the improvement of
the materials from which I taught as well as improving me as a teacher.

3. To my future students and all those that will use this

textbook/collection. They will provide suggestions for improvement as
well as being the thousand eyes identifying the hard to find typos, etc.

4. My wife, Carol, who supports me in all that I do. She has tolerated the
many hours that I have spent in concentration on developing the
modules that comprise this work. Without her support, this work would
not have happened.
 Orientation and Syllabus

1. Orientation
Textbook/Collection Layout
The approach of this course will be to take the student through a
progression of materials that will allow the student to develop the skills of
programming. The basic unit of study is a Connexions module. Several
modules are collected into a chapter. The chapters are divided into five
groups.

Table 1.
Group Title Chapters Modules
Pre-Chapter Items N/A 6
Foundation Topics 1-5 27
Modular Programming 6-9 17
Structured Programming 10-16 30
Intermediate Topics 17-21 17
Advanced Topics 22-24 11
Review Materials N/A 5
Appendix N/A 7
Total Modules N/A 120
Some professors using this textbook/collection might decide to eliminate
certain modules or chapters. Some may eliminate the entire Advanced
Topics group. Other professors may choose to add additional study
materials. The advantage of this textbook/collection is that it may be
adapted by professors to suit the needs of their students.
Chapter Layout
Each chapter will usually flow from:

1. One or more Connexions modules built for independent delivery.

2. A Connexions Practice module built specifically for this

textbook/collection.

As you proceed with the Connexions modules that comprise a chapter, you
should:

Complete any tasks/demos that require downloading items.

Do any exercises.

Create 3x5 study cards for all definitions. When this material is used as a
textbook for a course the definitions are to be memorized. Confirm this
with your professor.

As you start the Practice module you will usually encounter:

Learning Objectives

Memory Building Activities aka MBAs Link – These could consist of

any of the following types of interactive computer activities: flash card,
crossword puzzle, seek a word, drag n drop, labeling, ordering or sorting.
When the materials are used as a textbook for a course, it is imperative
that students do a variety of repetitive activities in order to memorize
basic course material. Besides, have fun learning.

Exercises – In addition to any exercises within the study modules that

you completed before the practice module, there will be at least one
exercise for students to complete.

Miscellaneous Items – These will exist for some of the chapters.

 Lab Assignment – Usually, completed on one's own efforts. Review the
instructions/restrictions from your professor/teacher if using this for a
high school or college credit course.

Problems – The intent of this activity is for students to formulate their

own answers. Thus, solutions to the problems will not be provided.
When the materials are used as a textbook for a course, the
professor/teacher may assign students to a "Study Group" or let students
form study groups to discuss their solutions with each other. If you are
using this for a high school or college credit course, verify that you may
work as team at solving the problems. This type of approved activity is
called "authorized collusion" and is not a violation of "Academic or
Scholastic Dishonesty" rules.

A professor using this textbook/collection/course will most likely have

additional lab assignments, quizzes and exams that would be used in
calculating your grade.

Connexions Module Reading List

The modules in this textbook/collection have had content reviewed and are
believed to be sufficient, thus no additional textbook is required.
However, some students desire additional references or reading. The author
has used several textbooks over the years for teaching "COSC1436 –
Programming Fundamentals I" course at Houston Community College. A
reading reference list has been prepared and includes references for the
following textbooks:

1. Starting Out with C++ Early Objects, by: Tony Gaddis et. al., 6th
Edition, ISBN: 0-321-51238-3

2. Starting Out with C++ Early Objects, by: Tony Gaddis et. al., 5th
Edition, ISBN: 0-321-38348-6
 3. Computer Science – A structured Approach using C++, by: Behrouz A.
Forouzan et. al., 2nd Edition, ISBN: 0-534-37480-8

These textbooks are typically available in the used textbook market at a

reasonable price. You may use any one of the three books. If you acquire
one of the above optional traditional textbooks, you may want to download
and store the following file to your storage device (disk drive or flash drive)
in an appropriate folder.

Download from Connexions:

Connexions_Module_Reading_List_col10621.pdf

2. Syllabus
The syllabus for a course that is for credit will be provided by your specific
course professor. If you are using this textbook/collection for non-credit as
self-study, we have some suggestions:

1. Plan regular study periods

2. Review the three (3) Pre-Chapter Items modules

3. Review the last four (4) modules in the Appendix

4. Proceed with Chapter 1 going through all 24 chapters

5. Do all of the demo programs as you encounter them

6. Memorize all of the terms and definitions

7. Do all lab assignments

8. Prepare answers to all of the problems in the Practice modules

9. At the end of every section, do the Review module

These is no magic way to learn about computer programming other than to
immerse yourself into regular study and study includes more than casual
reading. To help you keep track of your study, we have included a check
off list for the textbook/collection.

Table 2.
Check Description # Modules
Pre-Chapter Items 6
Last four Appendix Items 4
Chapters 1 to 5 27
Review Materials for 1 to 5 1
Chapters 6 to 9 17
Review Materials for 6 to 9 1
Chapters 10 to 16 30
Review Materials for 10 to 16 1
Chapters 17 to 21 17
Review Materials for 17 to 21 1
Chapters 22 to 24 11
Review Materials for 22 to 24 1
First three Appendix Items 3
N/A Total Modules 120
 Why You should Create a Personal
Connexions Account

1. Several Good Reasons

With a Connexions account you can:

Provide feedback to authors and other users by rating modules – This

feedback from all users (other authors, students using textbook
collections, etc.) helps authors decide which modules need improving
and helps other users in evaluating the quality of respository content.

Have your own “My Favorites” lens and make other “Member List”
lenses

Save your place when reading through a collection is a feature of the

“My Favorites” lens

You can make yourown private “Member List” lenses to create the
ability for you to focus on part of the repository

Improve the quality of instructional materials and scholarly works

available to the world via the Internet – free 24/7

Contribute materials that you author to the Connexions repository

Remix or change (customize) materials provided by others that are in

the Connexions repository
 Build collections (a group of modules) that specifically serve your
students or audience from modules that you either create, improve or
use without changing

Often being an author, is over emphasized and pushed as the number one
reason to get a Connexions account. Having authors contribute to the
repository is important; however usage of the repository by users is equally
important. Increasing quality content in the Connexions repository goes
hand in hand with increased usage of that content. It’s like the Chinese
“Yin & Yang”, both are important. We encourage all to create an personal
account.

Figure 1.

Yin & Yang

2. Available Training
A link is provided (in the box at the upper right corner of this module’s
page) to the “Busbee’s Connexions Training” lens. It contains six
collections that cover:

1. Understanding the Vision of Connexions

2. How to Search and Browse the Connexions Web Site (includes rating
modules)

3. Effectively Using and Creating Connexions Lenses

4. Authoring Connexions Modules using Microsoft Word Documents

 5. Ideas and Tools for Improving Connexions Modules and Collections

6. Appendix Materials for a Connexions Collection used as a College

Course

Each collection consists of several modules. The items appear

alphabetically within the lens; however the “Lens Comments” for each item
has its item position number similar to the list above. The first four items
provide a natural progression for training.

You might want to bookmark the URL to the lens in your browser. The link
is: http://cnx.org/lenses/kbusbee/cnx-training

3. Connexions Help
Don’t hesitage to use the “Help” tab on the connexions home page at:
http://cnx.org/

It is organized differently than the above training collections, but contains

ample information on how to use the Connexions Project. Don’t be afraid to
click on something. Some of the menu items on the left expand as you click
on them.
 Figure 2.

Connexions Help Tab

 Creating a Connexions Account

1. Create an Account
From the Connexions home page at: http://cnx.org select the “Get an
account” under Step 1. Follow the process as directed. When prompted for
“Member Profile” information you should complete fields as appropriate.
The following will help you to complete certain areas.

Affiliation – Institution
You should review how others are typing their “Affiliation” and type yours
the same. For example: authors from Houston Community College could
use: HCC or Houston CC or Houston Community College. However, they
should all use: Houston Community College. This is not super important for
the profile, but you will want to type the “Institution” field in a collection
consistently so collections created by authors from the same institution will
all show up together when users do an institution search. The following two
slides show you how to browse to the “Institutions” search and review what
authors from your institution are using for their affiliation/institution name.
Figure 3.

Browsing
 Figure 4.

Reviewing institution names

Note

You could be the first author and might need to decide what to use for
your institution.

Biography – Short Biographical Sketch

Prepare a short biography about yourself. Information should include your
current job, past employment, educational and professional attainments, etc.
Portrait – Picture
Using your picture processing skills; modify a picture of yourself cropping
it square. It should be no greater than 150 by 150 pixels on each side.
Usually this file is stored in a .jpg format.

Note

The Connexions web site will shrink your picture to fit its allocated
space; thus, to avoid distortion, you should make sure to crop the
picture square.

Example
A link is provided (in the box at the upper right corner of this module’s
page) to my “Member Profile” (for Kenneth Leroy Busbee) at Connexions.

2. Editing your Member Profile

You can change your “Member Profile” at any time. This slide shows how
to get to the page for changing it.
Other documents randomly have
different content
 “Hurrah! Out of the way there!” shouted Paul, heading his pony
toward the jump. With his ears pricked forward the pinto
approached the stream on an easy lope. “Up there, old chap,” cried
Paul, lifting his pony with the reins. With never a pause, the pony
gathered himself in two or three quick strides and went sailing over
the stream like a bird.
“That’s nothing,” cried Asa, a stocky youth of fourteen, mounted
on a fine rangy cow pony. “Watch old Kicker do it.” He took his
broncho back a few yards and at racing speed cleared the stream
with ease.
“That’s the way we do it, eh?” he shouted back at the others.
“Aw, pshaw! Who couldn’t do that?” cried Paul scornfully.
“She can’t! She’s afraid!” jeered Asa, pointing to Peg, who, sitting
quietly on the fat and placid Tubby, was looking gloomily upon the
swift-flowing water.
“Come on Peg,” called Asa, “if old Tubby can’t jump she kin float
acrost.”
“Of course she can jump it if she wants to,” said Paul, who had
taken in the whole situation. “But Peg needn’t do it if she doesn’t
want to.” As he spoke he circled round on the pinto and once more
cleared the stream.
“She daren’t. She’s afraid.” Asa’s laugh made Peg wince.
“I’m not afraid to jump, but I don’t think Tubby wants to try,” she
said to Paul. Asa shouted.
“I came acrost as easy as anything,” said Adelina sweetly. “An’ I
kin do it again.”
“O’ course you did. An’ yeh kin do it again any ole time yeh want
to,” said her brother.
Paul’s glance wandered from one girl to the other. Peg’s face was
pale and set. She was the youngest of the party, tall for her age, but
slight in body and of a highly nervous and sensitive temperament.
Asa’s taunting jeers disturbed her but little, but Adelina’s smooth
superior tone stung her like the lash of a whip. Her pale face flushed
a bright red.
“I’m not afraid, and I can do it if I want to,” she said with quick
defiance.
“Go it then! Let’s see you!” cried Asa.
“Don’t you do it, Peg, if you don’t want to,” said Paul quietly.
“Never mind him!”
“Here, young feller, you keep y’re mouth shut,” said Asa
truculently, rushing his broncho at Paul.
“I’m going to do it,” said Peg, as Paul swerved his pinto out of
Asa’s way.
“Don’t try it, Peg,” said Adelina’s smooth voice. “You know old
Tubby’s pretty slow, an’ she might fall in.” The insult was more than
Peg could bear, to whom Tubby was a friend greatly beloved.
“I’m going, Paul,” said Peg, between her shut teeth.
“All right, Peg, I’ll go with you. Come on, we’ll take it together.” As
he spoke they took their ponies back and went at the jump full
gallop.
“Hai-yai!” yelled Asa, as, thundering down on them from behind,
he put his broncho between the ponies. Whether it was the sudden
yell that caused poor old Tubby to lose her stride, or whether it was
the sudden rush of the broncho’s feet behind her that made Peg lose
her nerve, as Tubby rose for the leap Peg pulled hard and next
instant Tubby was floundering in the swift running water and Peg
floating down toward the pool.
“Swim, Peg,” shouted Asa, rather alarmed at the event, springing
from his broncho and running toward the bank. But poor Peggy’s
swimming powers, at best of the smallest, were more than
neutralised by the shock and terror of her sudden plunge, and it was
all she could do to keep afloat while she was being swept down
toward the pool and the rocks below. The roar and splash of the
rapids struck terror to her heart.
“Oh, Paul, save me!” she shrieked, beginning to splash wildly.
 “All right, Peg, I’ll get you,” cried Paul. Like a flash he swung his
pony on its heels, dashed down the stream and plunged into the
pool. As the water came up over the saddle he slipped off, holding to
the stirrup. “Here you are, Peg,” he shouted, as the pony headed off
the floating girl from the rapid. Reaching out, he seized her dress
and held firm, while Joseph gallantly made for the farther bank and
clambered up to safety, Tubby meantime managing to scramble out
of danger.
“All right, Peg, eh?” gasped Paul, holding the child close to him.
“Oh, Paul,” cried Peg, crying and choking. “It wasn’t—Tubby’s—
fault. I pulled her.”
“No! It wasn’t Tubby’s fault, nor your fault. It was that—that—that
—damn beast, Asa,” pointing across the stream to the bigger boy
who stood, white and shaken, beside his sister. “I don’t care, I’ve
said it and I mean it and I say it again. He’s a damn, damn, damn
beast! So he is!”
The boy was beside himself with fury. “And I don’t care either. I
won’t repent. It’s true! And God doesn’t want me not to tell the
truth, and he is a beast and a damn beast, and he will go to hell, I
know. And he just deserves to go. And I’ll ask God to send him
there.”
“Oh, Paul!” gasped Peg in sobbing delight. “I think you’re just
lovely.”
“Here!” said the boy in a gruff voice, pulling off his coat and
wringing it dry. “Put this on and let us get home. It must be nearly
one, and I promised.”
Meekly Peg put on the coat. The warm June sun soon had their
soaked garments steaming. Paul caught Tubby, helped Peg to
mount, swung himself on Joseph and with never a glance at the
others across the stream rode off at a gallop to keep his one o’clock
appointment. For a full half mile he let the pinto have his head, to
the great and audible distress of old Tubby, heroically resolved not to
be distanced. Suddenly he pulled up and waited for Tubby to draw
level.
 “Your mother will be awful mad,” he growled.
“I don’t care,” said Peg serenely. Already she was revelling in the
thrills which would follow her tale. “Oh, Paul, you were awful mad,
weren’t you?” said Peg with a delighted shiver at the memory of
Paul’s terrible outburst. Never had he used such dreadful words in all
his life, no matter what the provocation. Indeed, she had often
heard him gloatingly predict Asa’s post mortem state because of his
indulgence in that very same sort of language.
“Oh, shut up!” said Paul rudely. “It was all your fault.”
“I know it was, Paul,” replied Peg sweetly. She understood quite
well what Paul meant, and she was not a little pleased that she had
been the occasion of Paul’s moral downfall, the depth of which was
but the measure of his regard for her. She was never quite sure of
her standing with Paul when Adelina was about. Adelina was so
much stronger and braver and could do so many more things that
boys could do. Too often had she endured silent agonies of jealousy
and humiliation over Paul’s evident admiration of Adelina’s many
masculine virtues. Today she was quite sure that Paul would never
have flung himself headlong from his pinnacle of moral rectitude for
Adelina’s sake. Her mother might be “mad at her,” might indeed
punish her. In her present mood of exaltation she felt she would
enjoy punishment. Paul glanced at her face, puzzled not a little at
her pleased serenity, and all the more deeply enraged because of
that serenity.
“It was your fault,” he repeated, “and I just know I’ll have to
repent—or go to hell. And I don’t want to repent. I just hate to.”
“Oh, never mind, Paul,” comforted Peg. “I don’t think God will care
about Asa. He’s just a horrid boy, and he’s going to hell anyway, you
know.”
But this view of the matter brought Paul little cheer. Not but that
he was quite clear in his mind as to Asa’s destiny, but he was equally
clear that he could not keep up his feeling of righteous indignation
against him, that in very truth before he went to sleep that night he
would have to repent, a thought most distasteful to him. He turned
wrathfully upon his companion.
“Much you know about it,” he said scornfully, and, disdaining
further conversation with her, he set off again at a gallop, lest he
should fail of keeping his “point of honour” engagement.
The meeting with Aunt Augusta, if a matter of no great concern to
Peg, was fraught to Paul with a certain amount of anxiety. It was an
accepted if tacit understanding that on these excursions Peg was
under his charge and for her he must assume responsibility, by no
means an insignificant burden, as he had discovered on more
occasions than one. He had no notion of seeking to escape trouble.
There was no escaping Aunt Augusta’s penetration, and to do him
justice it never occurred to Paul to attempt to do so. He was fully
prepared to accept the full consequences of the escapade. A greater
burden, however, weighed down his spirits, the burden of his moral
delinquency. For the ordinary sins of his daily life, the way to
forgiveness and to consequent restoration of his peace and of his
self-respect was quite plain. The removal of this sin, however, by the
simple method of repentance and forgiveness was complicated by
new and perplexing elements. It was a grave complication, for
instance, that repentance was an antecedent condition to
forgiveness. He was at present conscious of no regret for his
language. Back in the shadows of his mind he knew there lurked a
secret and distinctly pleasurable satisfaction in recalling the phrase in
which he had described the boy who had undoubtedly acted in a
thoroughly beastly fashion. The phrase he had used continued, even
while violating his sense of rectitude, to give him a thrill of unholy
joy. How could he repent of that phrase which he felt to be at once
true and wholly adequate? Then, too, the pathway to pardon was
hedged by the condition of his forgiving Asa. In his mood that was
hopelessly impossible.
Before he had reached a solution of these moral and theological
problems, they had arrived at Peg’s home. At the door they were
welcomed by Peg’s mother.
 “Why, Peggy!” she exclaimed. “What do you mean by wearing
Paul’s coat a hot day like this?”
“Oh, Mamma,” cried Peg, her voice vibrant with excitement, “Paul
put it on me to keep me from taking cold.”
“Taking cold, child? Why should you take cold? Here, let me see
you.” She pulled the coat off the little girl and discovered her soaked
condition. “Why, good heavens! What has happened to you? Where
have you been? What does this mean, Paul?” she added severely,
turning to Paul.
“She fell into the creek, Aunt Augusta. We were jumping our
horses across, and Tubby slipped and fell in.”
“Oh, Mamma—” began Peg in high excitement.
“It was our fault, Aunt Augusta,” cut in Paul, meantime scowling
heavily at Peg, hoping to check the exuberance of her recital. “Asa
and I were jumping our horses across the stream, and Peggy tried
and Tubby fell in.”
“Well, you ought to have known better, Paul. I trust Peggy to you,
and you ought to take better care of her.”
“I know, Aunt Augusta, and—and—and I’m awfully sorry.”
“You have a right to be sorry,” said Aunt Augusta indignantly.
“Well, get your horses away and come in to lunch. And take off
those wet things. Come away, Peg. You are a foolish little thing.”
When Paul returned to the house after rubbing down the ponies
and turning them loose in the paddock, he found Aunt Augusta’s
mood quite changed, and he knew that Peggy must have told the
whole story. Whether her recital had covered the story of his moral
collapse remained an anxious uncertainty in his mind. He could only
await developments.
“Come here, boy,” said the Colonel, as Paul entered the room.
“You are a plucky little chap, and I want to tell you that I shan’t
forget what you did for Peg today.” The little Colonel’s voice grew
suddenly husky. He shook Paul warmly by the hand and turned
away, leaving Paul standing overwhelmed with embarrassment and
filled with rage at Peggy. But an even more trying experience
awaited the unhappy Paul, when Aunt Augusta came to him and,
putting her arms around him, drew him close and kissed him, a most
unusual proceeding with her.
“Paul,” she said, “I am sorry I spoke to you as I did. And I am glad
it was not your fault. I know I can trust Peggy with you always.
Now, come away to lunch.”
Paul found himself gulping and fighting hard to keep back the
tears, tears caused partly by Aunt Augusta’s unusual demonstration
of affection and partly by his furious indignation at Peg, that she
should have given him away. It did not help matters much that Peg
insisted during the lunch hour of reiterating her various thrilling
experiences, her emotions of fear and despair and relief and joy, her
admiration of Paul’s heroic courage, her gratitude, and all the rest of
it. Paul was grateful, however, that apparently up to this point Peg
had so far observed the decencies as to make no reference to his
lamentable “fall from grace.”
Immediately after lunch, with the timely assistance of Aunt
Augusta, who seized upon Peg and promptly put her to bed, Paul
was able to effect his escape from the household, and betook
himself to the solitude of Pine Croft Ranch. There, under the pines
on the hill at the back of the bungalow, which had become to him a
holy place, a very temple of God, where he was wont to hold his
secret communions with his own spirit and with the world unseen,
he entered upon the soul conflict which had to be fought out before
he could sleep in peace.
How it came he could not tell, but somehow, before the pines at
the far horizon across the river had cast their long lance-shaped
shadows upon the plain below, he had found his way to peace. As
he lay upon his back, looking up through the waving tops of the
great pine trees into the blue of the sky above, the surging tides of
furious rage against Asa and his sense of ill-desert which had
deepened within him throughout the early afternoon faded, in some
mysterious way, from his soul, as the mists before the rising sun.
There, beneath the pines, he became aware of a mighty Presence,
comforting, cleansing, healing, that made all else seem insignificant.
He was his own man again, and once more in tune with those vast
infinities in the midst of which he moved and had his being.
Chastened and at peace with himself and all his world, he returned
to the big white house, ready to meet with a serene heart whatever
life might bring to him.
It was well that it was so, for the morrow had in store for him
experiences that should test to the uttermost the quality of that
serene peace.
 CHAPTER IX

Three years of neglect had left their mark upon the Pine Croft
bungalow. The stables, the corral, the paddock for the thoroughbred
riding horses were in woeful disrepair. The garden was riotous with a
tangled mass of weeds and flowers. The water main from the little
lake in the hills above, an engineering triumph of Gaspard and the
joy of his wife, was broken and the water running in a flood over the
lawn.
“What a shame! What a ghastly shame! And the whole place used
to be so wonderful! So perfect! It is a cruel shame!” The Colonel’s
wife was quite petulant over it. “And so unnecessary! Why didn’t he
pull himself together and play the man?”
“Why? Don’t you know? I wonder if you can understand?” The
little Colonel’s voice was slightly wistful.
“What do you mean?” his wife asked impatiently.
“Oh, dash it all, Augusta! Don’t you see? Can’t you see? The man’s
life was broken off short. Why should he—how could he care to
carry on?”
His wife glanced curiously at her husband. She felt at times that
there was in this loyal, gallant little man something more than the
commonplace and quietly controlled gentleman he appeared to be,
something she had failed to explore. “He had the place, and——”
“The place!” snorted the Colonel. “Pardon me, my dear. I mean, to
one of Gaspard’s temperament, you know—well——” The Colonel’s
voice trailed off into silence.
“But there was the boy,” said his wife, covertly watching his face.
 “Yes! Yes! Of course, there was the boy,” the Colonel hurried to
acquiesce. “Certainly, there was the boy. He ought to have got
himself in hand. A shame it was, an inexcusable weakness.” His
quick laugh puzzled his wife.
“Well, I do wish he would return,” continued the Colonel, in a
quick change of voice. “The boy needs him, and will need him more
and more.”
“At least, the boy is not suffering,” said his wife sharply.
“Of course, the little chap’s quite all right. He has everything he
needs. I don’t mean he hasn’t,” replied the Colonel quickly. “Don’t
imagine anything, Augusta. He’s a lucky beggar to tumble into such
a home as he has got. But there’s his future. He has parts, you know
—brilliant parts. And not much chance for development here.”
“He is a tremendous responsibility,” sighed his wife. “I frankly
confess he puzzles me more than a little.”
They were on the upper trail, a favourite ride of theirs. On the left
hand the wide valley in rich, varied, colourful beauty stretched far
across the gleaming river to the purple mountains at the horizon. On
the grassy levels could be seen the herds of Saddle-back Holsteins
and “bunches” of Percheron horses, mares with their colts at their
sides, with here and there a splendid stallion running wild where he
had no right to be. The trail climbed up over rough ledges sparsely
timbered with pines, then led down into thick brushwood of spruce,
cedar and birch, with here and there clumps of sumachs which later
would splash the landscape with vivid crimson. Slowly they picked
their way in single file along the winding trail, turning down from the
high land to the lower road. In the thick of the underbrush Augusta’s
horse suddenly threw its head into the air, snorted and stood still.
“What’s up?” asked the Colonel, drawing level with her.
“Some one coming. I hear horses, and a man’s voice,” replied his
wife, urging her horse forward through the brush into the clearing
beyond.
“Good Heavens, Edgar! Come, look!” She sat, pointing with her
riding crop at a little cavalcade approaching, a man, a small boy and
a woman with a child in her arms.
“My word! It’s Gaspard! Gaspard back again!”
On the leading horse the man rode, his face covered with a heavy
beard tinged with grey, hollow-eyed, gaunt, his huge frame falling in,
and clothed in the ragged, coarse garb of a trapper. It was indeed
Gaspard, but how dreadfully changed from the Gaspard of three
years ago! Behind him, on an Indian pony, a boy, upright,
handsome, with shy yet fearless eyes, his son Peter. And last of all
the Indian woman, with a baby in her arms, Onawata, her face as
calmly beautiful as ever, yet with lines of suffering deep cut upon it.
“Hello, Gaspard,” shouted the Colonel heartily, when he had
recovered his breath. “Back again?”
“How do you do, Colonel?” replied the man. “How do you do, Mrs.
Pelham?” He bowed low over his horse, removing his slouch hat.
“Yes, back again. ‘A bad penny,’ eh?” His laugh had in it an ugly
note. He spoke a few words to the Indian woman, who passed on
before with her children, receiving from Augusta as they passed a
keen and appraising look.
“Where have you been all this time?” inquired the Colonel.
“Oh,” replied Gaspard, with an attempt at nonchalant bravado, “up
in the North country, up through the Athabasca, pottering about with
the Chippewayans, doing some sketching, hunting a bit, trapping,
and the like.” He set his hat on the back of his head and looked the
Colonel fair in the face, a challenging look, daring him to think and
say his worst.
“And—and—how are you feeling now?” The Colonel found it hard
to get on, and his wife, sitting her horse straight and stiff behind
him, gave him no assistance at all. “You don’t look any too well.”
“No, I’m not what you would say in the pink. Caught a bit of a
cold, got into my bronchial tubes—exposure, you know, hard living,
and that sort of thing. I do feel knocked up a bit, I must confess. I
thought perhaps a change to the old place might set me up again.”
In spite of his attempted bravado his eyes were hungry and wistful.
 “Why, it certainly will,” said the Colonel heartily, turning to his wife
for support. “A few months here in the old place with some one to—
that is, with good food and—that sort of thing, you know, will set
you up. What do you say, Augusta? He needs to be fed up, that is
all.”
“Yes, indeed he does,” said his wife. “I am sure that Mr. Gaspard
will soon recover his strength in these surroundings.”
“Well,” said the Colonel, “I’m fearfully glad to see you, old man.
And you’ll come along and put up with us until we get your
bungalow in order. Things are a bit run down there and in no shape
to receive you. We have plenty of room, and Paul—yes, Paul will be
overjoyed to see you. Eh, Augusta?”
“Yes, certainly, Mr. Gaspard. We shall be delighted to have you
spend a few days with us.” Augusta’s tone rather belied her words.
“And I am quite sure Paul will be delighted.”
“Paul?” replied Gaspard in a low voice, his face contracting as with
a sudden pain. “How is the boy?”
“How is he?” shouted the Colonel. “Fit! Splendidly fit! A splendid
chap! You will be proud of him. And he will be tremendously glad to
see you. He has longed for you.”
“Longed for me?” Gaspard repeated the words to himself. “My
God!” He sat with his eyes averted from the Colonel’s face, looking
far across the valley, between the mountains. “I say, Colonel, Mrs.
Pelham,” he said, with an obvious effort controlling his voice, “could
you, would you mind keeping him for a few days, a little while
longer, until I get things straightened away?”
“Surely! Surely!” said Augusta heartily. “We shall be more than
glad to keep him as long as you can spare him, as long indeed as he
cares to stay.”
“But come along with us now. You will dine with us and spend the
night,” urged the Colonel.
“Thank you,” said Gaspard, searching his face with his gaunt and
wistful gaze. “Thank you all the same, I know you mean it, but I
shall camp tonight”—he paused a moment or two as if gathering
strength to continue—“at the bungalow. You see,” he continued,
hurrying over the words, “I am a bit tired, I have a lot of things to
do, I am in no shape to appear anywhere, I must get cleaned up.
I’m a perfect savage, Mrs. Pelham. I have been living among
savages, I have become dehumanised. I must be alone tonight.” He
raised his hat, bowed with his old grace, and disappeared into the
bush.
“God in Heaven!” breathed the Colonel. “What a wreck! Poor devil!
Poor devil! What a wreck!”
“Horrible!” echoed his wife. “Ghastly! Horrible! Disgusting!”
The Colonel caught her up quickly. “Disgusting? Well, that’s rather
hard, isn’t it, Augusta? Horrible, yes. Ghastly, too. Poor soul! My
heart aches for him.”
“You are really most trying, Edgar,” burst out his wife. “Have you
no eyes? Can you see nothing? Disgusting is the only word.”
“Why, my dear!” began the Colonel in astonishment.
“Oh, I have no patience with you,” replied his wife. “Can’t you
see? That—that woman! Those children! And to flaunt that all in our
faces here, who knew his wife! Horrible! Disgusting! And yet you
asked him to our house! You remember the rumours of three years
ago? You were keen then that we should give him the benefit of the
doubt. Well, there is doubt no longer.” Her laugh was hard and
scornful.
“But, my dear Augusta, why imagine the worst? Why not give the
man a chance? It may be—there may be some satisfactory
explanation.”
“Oh, you are quite impossible! Surely one look at that—that—
menage is enough to sicken anybody.”
“What?” said the Colonel in a shocked voice. “Do you think that
the woman is not his wife?”
“Oh, Edgar, you are indeed impossible. Let us go home. I am quite
ill. Let us go home. Oh, why did he come back? How could he bear
to come back to this place, to his old friends, to his son? Why should
he curse that boy with his presence, and with all this ghastly shame
of his?”
“My God! What will Paul do, Augusta?”
“Paul!” exclaimed his wife. “Good heavens, Edgar! Paul? What can
he do?”
“He is only a boy,” replied the Colonel.
“A boy? He is twelve years old, nearly thirteen, and in many ways
with a man’s mind and a man’s heart. What will happen, the Lord
only knows! The whole thing is terrible beyond words. Edgar, we
must think and think quickly about this. And whatever happens one
thing is quite certain, that we must keep out of this mess. That is
quite clear. No more of Pine Croft for us!” His wife’s lips had
assumed that thin line that the Colonel had come to recognise as
indicative of the ultimate and final thing in decision.
“But, Augusta, we have got to be decent to the poor devil,” said
her husband.
“Edgar, in this you must allow me to judge. I am quite decided
that there shall be no nonsense about it. There must be no comings
and goings with the Pine Croft bungalow. Think of the horrid
creature, with that woman and his half-breed children! No! That is
all over and done with. Of course, he may come to the house;
indeed, he must come once, and we shall have him to dinner. And of
course you need not cut him——”
“Cut him?” exclaimed the little Colonel, sitting very straight on his
horse. “Cut him? Not if I know myself! That sort of thing isn’t done,
Augusta, among decent men. We must know the facts at any rate.
Besides, he won’t trouble any one long. He is about done in. He’ll
blow out before long.”
“The sooner the better! It’s about the most decent thing he could
do, under the circumstances. Oh, you may look at me! I can’t, I
simply can’t work up any compassion for that man.”
For some time they rode on in silence, the Colonel’s wife setting a
rattling pace and refusing all conversation. As they drew near home,
however, she slowed down to a walk.
 “Edgar, I want to speak to you quite seriously.” Her tone prepared
the Colonel for the fixed and inevitable. “We shall say nothing to
Paul tonight. I must have—we must have time to think. You may
have thought me harsh just now, but the thing is really most
perplexing and demands the most careful consideration. You can see
that, Edgar?”
“Certainly, my dear. Most obvious, I am sure,” replied her husband,
fully convinced of impending evil.
“And you will have to make clear to that—to Mr. Gaspard that all
interchange of social amenities must of course cease.”
“But, my dear, I don’t——”
“He will at once see the propriety of the suggestion.”
“He would,” muttered the Colonel.
“For, after all, he is—he was a gentleman.”
“Ah, that is something,” said the Colonel bitterly.
“And you will have no difficulty in making clear to him that since
he has deliberately chosen to outrage all the decencies of civilised
society he cannot expect his friends to ignore the fact.”
“Exactly,” murmured the Colonel, deeply disturbed at the prospect
before him.
“As for Paul——”
“Yes, Paul! You can’t think——”
“Please don’t catch me up that way, Edgar. As I was saying, Paul
must just make his choice. He is quite old enough to understand—
make his choice between his father and—and the rest of us.”
“You can’t mean, Augusta, that the boy——”
“Allow me to finish. You do interrupt so.”
“Beg pardon, I’m sure.”
“I am quite prepared to receive Paul as one of our family. He is a
very nice boy and will easily fit in. But there must be no coming and
going——”
 “But, great Heaven! Augusta, you can’t mean that the boy must
repudiate his father——”
“Or us. I exactly do.” His wife’s voice carried the inexorable calm
of fate.
“It would kill him to leave his father and——”
“Pooh! Let us not indulge ourselves in heroics.”
“But the boy is not to blame. It is not his fault that——”
“No. It is his misfortune. But in that misfortune I do not propose
that our family is to be involved. Edgar, do listen to reason. If the
boy chooses Pine Croft and his father and—that—that whole
menage, as I have said, let him choose, but that must end all
intercourse with us.”
“But why, Augusta? In the name of all that’s reasonable and sane,
why? A boy like that—I can’t see——”
“Oh, Edgar, you can be so tiresome. You can’t see? Can’t you see
that the boy is thirteen—and Peg nearly eleven, and adores him, and
——”
The Colonel drew his horse to a standstill. “Peg!” he gasped.
“Peggy! Good Lord! Peggy! That infant! Is it that you have been
driving at? Well, I’m——” The Colonel’s laugh rang out long and
loud. His wife, whose horse was now facing his, gazed at him, with
flushed face and glistening eyes.
“My dear, you must forgive me,” said the Colonel hurriedly. “I
apologise most humbly. But, really, you know, the thing is so—so
grotesque. Please forgive me. I can’t see it otherwise, really,
Augusta.”
“No, I hardly expected you to see it.”
“But those children, Augusta! I do hope you will forgive me.”
“Those children? Yes, those children!” His wife’s voice was vibrant
with emotion. “In two years the boy will be fifteen and the girl
thirteen. In this country a girl at thirteen is like a girl at fifteen or
seventeen at home. Look at that Pincher girl, married at sixteen!
Edgar, I know about this—I know!” Her voice broke suddenly. “No,
let me speak,” she demanded, recovering herself with a desperate
struggle. “Let those children grow up together for two, three years—
till they are sixteen and fourteen—and the thing will be past our
handling. Edgar, you must give me my way in this. Let the boy come
to us. He will be happy—he likes—us—he adores you. Or let him go
from us. There is no middle way. Oh, I know—” her voice rose in a
cry, “I know, God knows I know!” She turned her horse quickly and
put him to a gallop, the Colonel following in a maze of wonder,
indignation and confused indecision. The mental processes by which
his wife had arrived at her present attitude of mind were quite
hidden from him. Her sudden display of emotion, so unusual with
her, paralysed all consecutive thinking for him. What had come to
her? What unknown, secret spring within her had swamped that
cool, clear head of hers?
He could not know that in one swift backward leap her mind had
cleared the intervening years, and that in vivid clarity there stood
before her a girl of fifteen, in pigtail and short dresses, wild,
impulsive and mad with a child’s passion for a youth, a young
subaltern of the Guards, glorious in his first uniform, who bullied her,
teased her, kissed her and went away, leaving in her soul a vision of
entrancing splendour. Returning two years later, a handsome,
dashing wastrel, already deep in the harvesting of his wild oats, he
found it wise to accept a hint from headquarters and resign his
commission. But even so she was wild to go with him to the world’s
end. Instead, her mother, ignoring passionate and tearful
protestations, carried her off on the Grand Tour till the youth had
disappeared from his kind, and her world knew him no more. The
wound had healed, but the scar remained and in odd moments and
in certain weathers still ached. Yes, she knew. And her knowledge
steeled her resolve that her child should be spared a like experience,
at what cost so ever.
With face pale and set she rode, without further word, straight to
her door. As her husband assisted her to alight, she said quietly, “We
shall say nothing to Paul tonight.”
 One glance at her face was enough for him. “No, no, my love. It
shall be as you say,” was his reply.
“And tomorrow you shall arrange matters with Mr. Gaspard.”
The little Colonel looked at her in piteous dismay, but his mind
was not working with sufficient celerity to furnish words for an
answer.
No peaceful slumber visited the Colonel that night. The prospect
of the task laid upon him by his wife, of “arranging” matters with
Gaspard, did not invite reposeful emotions. He had sought more
exact instructions from his wife as to what proposals should be
made to their neighbour and in what terms. He received little aid
and less sympathy. It was surely a simple matter, after all. Gaspard
had created a social situation for himself which would outrage the
whole community. They were still a primitive country in many ways,
but they had some regard for the foundations of the social order.
The old days when men’s passions and desires determined their
conduct, with utter disregard of the opinion of decent society, had
gone. None knew this better than Gaspard. And all that would be
necessary would be to suggest that he must accept the social
consequences. “You won’t need to rub it in.”
“Oh, not in the least. He will probably kick me out of the house,”
observed the Colonel cheerfully. “And I shall deserve it,” he added.
“Oh, nonsense!” replied his wife scornfully. “He is no fool. Of
course, I don’t mean you men can’t meet, and all that. You will do
that sort of thing anyway. And you can lay the blame, as you will,
doubtless, upon the inexplicable eccentricities of the women. It will
only be another burden laid upon our shoulders.”
“I wish you would undertake the job,” her husband pleaded, “since
it seems so simple to you.”
“Certainly, I shall if you feel like funking it. Have no doubt about
that. And I shall do it thoroughly,” said his wife promptly.
“Oh, Lord!” groaned the Colonel, as he swiftly visualised the
interview. “The poor devil has hell enough now.”
 “Thank you, Edgar. It is a dainty compliment. But I would rather
give him hell, as you so delicately suggest——”
“Augusta!” protested the Colonel.
“Than allow him to bring hell to my house and family. But that’s
my last word. I’m going to sleep.” So saying she gave her back to
her husband, snuggled down under the covers and, with a little sigh
of content as with a good day’s work well done, settled herself to
enjoy the slumber of the just.
“And who will tell Paul?” The Colonel’s pitiful appeal broke the long
silence.
“Well! I must say, Edgar, you are most annoying, breaking in upon
one’s sleep that way! Who will tell Paul? I will. Now, go to sleep.”
“God help the boy!” muttered the Colonel to his pillow. Then, after
a few moments, he said sharply, “I’ll do it myself.”
“What?” asked his wife sleepily. Then, quite crossly, “Oh, go ahead
and do it, whatever it is.”
The Colonel’s monosyllabic reply was indistinct, but rich in
emphasis.
But as is so frequently the case, the Colonel need not have lost his
sleep over the prospect of his unpleasant task, for the job fell into
other hands than his. For two days he postponed his visit to Pine
Croft, keeping Paul close with him under various pretexts. The third
afternoon, reading the weather signs in his wife’s face, he girded his
loins and addressed himself to the business assigned him. With a
heart full of compassion for the wretched creature he had last seen
humped upon the shaggy Indian pony making his hopeless way
through the brushwood in the train of what his wife described as
“that horrible menage,” he rode up to the bungalow in his best
military style and whistling a cheerful ditty. So he had ridden upon a
Boer entrenchment, at the head of his men, and with a like
sensation at the point of junction between stomach and abdomen.
He was greeted with a shout from the studio window.
“Hello, Pelham, old boy! Right welcome art thou, most gallant
knight! Wilt alight and quaff a posset?” There were not lacking signs
that the speaker had been indulging himself in several possets
during the afternoon.
“Ah, Gaspard, you are looking very fit, much better than you were
when I saw you last.”
“My dear fellow, new worlds are born every day. Richard is himself
again. Come in and have something. I feel as a snake must feel
when he sloughs off the old and emerges in his brand new skin.”
And in very truth, the change in the man was nothing other than a
transformation. Clean shaven, well groomed, garbed in hunting
tweeds and immaculate linen, and with his gun over his arm, he was
once more the Gaspard of the old days, handsome, cheery,
insouciant, with today a touch of patronising insolence. For Gaspard
was now in his studio and among his pictures. He was the artist
once more, after three years of exile, and with the divine frenzy
stirring in his blood he was lord of his world and of the men and
things therein. Certainly no object of compassion, and as certainly
no man to approach with a proposal of social ostracism. Small
wonder that the little Colonel fidgeted nervously with his glass and
wondered within himself how the deuce he could lead up to the
matter in hand.
“Have another drink, Pelham,” said Gaspard, helping himself and
passing the decanter. “Jove, this stuff has mellowed and ripened
these three years. Three years? Three and a half years now. A
millennium of hell!” He shuddered visibly as he tossed off his glass.
“But it’s over, thank God! Over! Jove, it was often a near touch with
me. There were days when I dared not trust myself alone with my
gun in the woods. Ah-h-h, God!” Again he shuddered. “But it’s over.
I’m going to paint again—and as I never painted. I have great
pictures here,”—he struck his breast violently, “angels, devils, waiting
release. Devils? Yes, I can paint devils now. God knows I have
reason to know them!” He turned swiftly upon the Colonel, pouring
himself another glass.
“Pelham, do you believe in the devil?”
The Colonel was frankly startled. “Well, of course, I——”
 “Ah-h-h, I see, you know nothing about him. Yours is a sickly
abstraction. Well, thank God you don’t. But that is all done with.
Here I am back where a man can get a bath and sleep in a bed and
see the face of a white man. Pelham, I love to look at you, old sport.
I’m not saying you’re a beauty, but you are white. You’re my kind.
Have another, eh? No? Hear me, Pelham, it is good to be back
home. Thought I’d never have the nerve to return. But—man! Man!
to die in a far land with never a kent face to look upon as you go out
—I just cudna thole it, as old Jinny would say. By the way, how is old
Jinny?”
“Oh, very well. Very useful and fairly happy, I think. You see she
has Paul.”
“Paul!” His voice lost its harsh, feverish note of bravado. “The boy,
you say, is well and happy, eh? Happy? What?” His voice was eager,
his look keenly inquiring.
“Yes, Paul is fine and fit and happy. Yes, I’m sure he is happy. Of
course, you know, he is awfully keen about you and has wanted to
hear from you and all that——”
“Come, let’s go about a bit,” said Gaspard abruptly, leading the
way out of doors. “Can’t understand how that main burst. Frost, I
fancy. Must put that right. Things are in an awful mess.”
“Couldn’t help being in a mess very well,” said the Colonel stiffly.
“Oh, I didn’t mean any criticism, Pelham. I’ll have a deuce of a
time straightening things out with you. Awfully grateful. Old Tom has
told me some and I’ve seen some too. And then there’s Paul.” He
paused, looking steadfastly at the Colonel.
“Don’t say a word about Paul. He has more than repaid any care
we have given him. He is one of us, and very dear to us. Indeed, we
would be only too glad to keep him with us,” said the Colonel, seeing
an opening, as he thought. “We—my wife and I——”
“He hasn’t been over,” said Gaspard. “Does he know I am home?”
“No, he doesn’t know. Augusta thought—we thought till you had
got things straightened out a bit we would not let him bother you.”
 “Ah—I see. Very considerate of you both. I appreciate it. It was
better, of course. Must do something with that boy. He is what friend
Barrie would call a ‘lad o’ pairts.’ But we’ll think of that again. A lot of
things to do. My affairs are in a frightful mess. Have had a talk with
Sleeman. Shrewd chap, Sleeman—devilish shrewd! Must see my
banker. Oh, I hardly know where to begin. The old place has run a
bit to seed. But I shall soon get it into shape. Some things I want to
consult you about, old man—some developments that I have been
planning.” So he rattled on, giving the Colonel no opportunity of
speech, but rushing with feverish speed from one subject to another.
They wandered about the stables, noting the decay on every hand,
till as they passed beyond the paddock toward the hill Gaspard
suddenly sat down upon a fallen tree.
“Let’s—sit—a little,” he said, his breath coming quick. The Colonel,
glancing at him, was shocked and startled at his appearance. His
face was a ghastly, pallid yellow, his forehead heavily beaded with
perspiration, his hands trembling.
“You’re ill, Gaspard. What’s wrong? Feel faint? Let me get you
something.” He set off toward the bungalow.
“No, no—don’t go,” said Gaspard impatiently. “In—a moment—I
shall be—all right. Don’t go—a little too much—excitement. Heart
rotten—I think. Soon—be—fit.” He sat huddled forward on the tree
trunk, his hands upon his knees, his eyes staring, fighting for breath.
“Don’t worry,” he said, striving to smile. “I am often like this. Last
—two days—like hell—again. Nerves all—shot to pieces. Sorry you—
saw me—like this.”
After some minutes’ rest, the spasm passed, the colour came back
to his face, his breath came more evenly, his hands grew steady. He
slid off the tree and lay quietly upon the ground.
“I’m all right now,” he said, looking up at the Colonel. “It was this
that drove me home from the North Country. One hates to be ill,
helpless, to pass out among those heathen, you know. And then
there was—Paul.” His bravado was all gone. His tone was low and
wistful like that of a child wanting its mother. The Colonel was
smitten to the heart with pity for him. The thought of the mission
which had brought him there was repugnant to him. Come what
might, it would not be his hand that would deal him a blow that
might well be his death.
Slowly they returned to the bungalow. Gaspard poured himself a
stiff glass of spirits. “Ah, that’s better,” he said, after he had finished
the glass. “You see, I can’t stand much of a strain, especially
emotional strain. Seeing you again, and all that, got to my vitals. I
must go softly for a bit.”
“You ought to have a doctor see you right away,” said the Colonel
with decision. “Better let me send you McGillivray, what?”
“No, no. Thanks all the same. I mean to ride down to the Post and
see him one of these days. Today and tomorrow I am going to lie
up.” Then after a pause he added, “The day following I hope to
accept Mrs. Pelham’s kind invitation to lunch. Then I shall see Paul.”
The Colonel’s report to his wife was given in a forlorn-hope-now-
do-your-worst sort of manner.
“Did you see that Indian woman?” she asked.
“I did not. Would you have had me ask for her?” replied the
Colonel, with the air of a man who has dared the ultimate.
“No, dear, you did perfectly right. And it’s my opinion that
everybody else will follow your example.” His wife knew better than
to goad a man gone wholly desperate.
The third day at lunch she had her opportunity with Gaspard, but,
as the Colonel said, shamelessly crowing over her, nothing was said
about the conventions. The Colonel’s report of Gaspard’s grave heart
seizure had driven in her front line. Augusta, however, was merely
biding her time. She was still on guard, and waiting a favourable
moment to make the counter-attack.
 CHAPTER X

The semi-conscious moments of waking to a new day were filled

with foreboding for the Colonel. Some horrid evil was impending. It
took him some moments to clothe the thing with reality. Once
realised, however, its potence was immediate and irresistible. It
brought the Colonel sitting bolt upright in bed. With a groan he lay
down again, determined to obliterate the spectre in that most
completely satisfying of sensuous delights, the luxuriating in forty
winks stolen from the morning hours rightfully dedicated to the toils
of the new day. In vain. Not one wink, much less forty, could he
purloin. Paul was in his mind’s eye—Paul now in one pose, now in
another: Paul smiling, Paul tensely earnest; Paul astride Joseph and
dashing about like a centaur; Paul wide-eyed in wonder, in dismay, in
mute, pallid grief, and himself gibbering now in one formula, now in
another, the announcement that Paul’s father must be ostracised
from the polite circles of the Windermere Valley and that Paul must
make choice between his father thus ostracised and the “big white
house” and its dwellers.
The thing was a ghastly and cruel outrage, imposed upon him by
fate inexorable, in the person of his clear-eyed, clear-headed,
resolute wife. She was right, doubtless, though the soft-hearted little
Colonel could not properly appraise the full ethical value of her
arguments. The boy would be horribly hurt, and during those three
years the roots of comradeship had struck deep into the lives of both
boy and man, perhaps more deeply in man than in boy. They had
ridden the valley for long miles together, they had hunted and
fished, they had camped, they had boxed together, and in all these
the boy had showed an eager aptitude in acquiring a finish and
perfection of attainment that had filled his instructor with
affectionate pride. The boy’s high spirit, his courage, his quick, keen
perceptive powers, his grace in motion, his artistic passion for finish
in everything he did, had knit the Colonel’s very soul to him. It
warmed the little Colonel’s fighting heart, for instance, to have the
boy in his boxing lessons come back again and again with a spirit
that only grew more insatiable with punishment. For the Colonel was
no dilettante instructor in the manly art, and every lesson ended in a
fight that left the boy on the point of taking the count and the man
pumping for wind.
No wonder the Colonel loathed his task. One consideration, and
one only, held him to it. Either he must accomplish it or leave it to
his wife, and, loyal soul as he was, he shuddered to think how very
thoroughly and conscientiously Augusta could do her duty. No, there
was nothing else for it. The task was his, and he would see it
through. He would lure Paul off for a ride and somewhere in the
environment of the open woods offering distraction he would deliver
himself of his message.
But fate, in the shape of a young Holstein bull, took a hand, and
to some purpose.
“There he is again, Uncle Colonel, among the Sleeman cattle, and
you know they roam for ever and ever. Shall I cut him out?” Paul
was pointing an indignant finger at the young Holstein bull which
had broken through the Pine Croft fence.
“Can’t understand how that fence won’t hold the brute,” replied
the Colonel. “It is supposed to be bull tight. Well, he’s got a bunch of
your cattle with him. We must quietly edge them along toward the
bars. That will be easier than finding the break. Ride ’em quietly,
Paul. No hurry. Sing to ’em, boy.”
Easily the pinto cantered round the herd, gradually edging the
Holsteins toward the bars, the young bull going quietly enough with
them. It was very easily accomplished, and after half an hour’s
cutting out the straying cattle, bull and all, were within their own
“policies,” as the Colonel said.
 “Hadn’t we better run young Braeside into the bull field while we
are here?” suggested the Colonel. “I don’t like him wandering off all
over the place.”
“All right, Uncle Colonel, I’ll just cut him out,” replied Paul, proud
of his cowboy attainments.
But the bull had a mind of his own, and with a bellow and flourish
of heels was away in a wild race toward the stables and corrals, Paul
dashing madly at his heels. The race brought up at the cattle corral,
into which Paul steered the surprised and winded animal, where he
was made safe for the time being.
“Now, young fellow, you can stay there for a bit,” said the boy
triumphantly, swinging his pony into a lope in the direction of the
bungalow. A hundred yards, and the boy jerked his pony to his
haunches and sat rigid, breathless, listening. Out of the bush rode
the Colonel.
“You’ve got him, Paul,” he cried, catching sight of the boy.
But, heedless of him, Paul sat his pony as if turned into stone.
From the bungalow came a rushing flood of weird harmonies. A look
of uncertainty, almost of terror, was on the boy’s face.
“What’s that—who’s that?” he whispered. “It’s like——Is it my
Daddy? Daddy! Daddy! Daddy!” His voice rang out in a shrill,
quavering cry. He shook the pinto into a gallop, flung himself
headlong from the saddle and disappeared within the bungalow.
The Colonel waited, listening, fearful. There was the crashing of
an unearthly chord, then silence.
“Well!” ejaculated the Colonel. “They don’t need me just at
present.” He rode up quietly toward the bungalow, dismounted, tied
his horse and, pulling out his pipe, threw himself down upon the
grass near the door and waited. He finished his second pipeful, then,
mounting his horse, he rode quietly homeward.
One part of his task at least was done. There was no need to
break gently to the boy the news of his father’s homecoming. But
the bite in the announcement still remained. He would have given
something to have seen Paul meet his father and to know the
reaction upon the boy of Gaspard’s menage, to employ his wife’s
designation. Meantime he rode slowly home to his wife, sorely
distressed for the boy who had become to him as his own son. The
day would doubtless bring its own revelations, and he was
philosopher enough to resolve that he would await developments.
Later events justified the wisdom of this resolve.
The dinner hour brought Gaspard to the big white house in the
proud convoy of his son, to be at first shyly, then warmly welcomed
by Peg, an ardent admirer in the old days. During the dinner there
was something pathetic in the eager, wistful anxiety of the father to
appear quite at his ease and to carry off the situation with his old
time aplomb, and equally pathetic in the boy’s apologetic pride in his
father, whose whole manner somehow did not ring true.
Gaspard was obviously excited and overstrained, eager to please,
too eager indeed, and yet insolently defiant, ready to fight. He
seemed to be continuously conscious of an air of disapproval, if not
contempt, on the part of his hostess. For, do her best, Augusta could
not get out of her mind’s eye the little cavalcade which had
accompanied Gaspard to the bungalow. Hence her disapproving
contempt. Why did he bring them back with him? This was the
question which, with irritating insistence, kept inserting itself among
Gaspard’s efforts at brilliant conversation. Not the existence of that
doubtful appanage of his, but his stupid effrontery in daring to flaunt
the whole thing in the face of his friends and forcing them all to cut
him. Augusta had no patience with such stupidity; indeed, she could
not conceive how a man of the world could be guilty of any such
ridiculous proceeding. It was a crime, not so much against the
ethical standards of the valley, but against good form and common
sense. In spite of herself, however, she began to be conscious of
Gaspard’s old time charm. A brilliant conversationalist when he
cared, a man of quite unusual intellectual culture, an art critic with a
sure touch and true feeling, as the dinner advanced and as the
Colonel’s generous old port began to warm the courage of his guest,
Gaspard’s apologetic and wistful air began to evaporate and to give
place to one of confident and complaisant ease. He was talking of
“art,” with a very large capital A, to which he had been led by an
appreciative reference to two new Raeburns which had recently
arrived from England. He knew the artist’s work and his school. Once
launched, he was off on a very even keel and with a steady breeze,
over somewhat troubled waters, stretching from the pre-Raphaelites
to the Cubists. From that to student days in the Quartier Latin,
thence to his struggles with the hanging committee of the Academy,
he roamed with ever increasing confidence and charm. Even the
children were fascinated, while the Colonel was jubilantly delighted,
for with all her resolution to preserve a coldly courteous attitude
toward her visitor, Augusta, herself an enthusiast in art, found
herself engaged in a vigorous discussion with the artist over the
merits of the modern impressionists, whom she detested, eagerly
challenging, agreeing, appealing, with all her old time enthusiasm.
Suddenly Gaspard paused in the full tide of his discussion, caught
by the starry eyes of the fascinated Peggy opposite him at table.
“Mrs. Pelham,” he exclaimed eagerly, “there’s a picture for you.
Why not let me do her? I’d love to!”
A grey curtain fell over the animated face of his hostess.
“Portraits are not really my strong suit. But I believe I could do
Peg. I know I could. Eh, Peggy?” The little girl flashed a radiant
smile at him.
“Come over in the morning with Paul, and I shall have a go at you,
eh, what?”
“Peg has her lessons to do in the morning,” said her mother coldly.
Her tone drew Gaspard’s eyes to her face. Had it not been for his
state of exhilaration he would have been warned.
“Well, the early afternoon, then. Though I like the morning light
better, and one is fresher in the morning.”
“I think we shall not consider a portrait of Peg just now, Mr.
Gaspard.” Even in his present condition Gaspard got the full effect of
the icy chill in her voice. Indeed, the whole table got it. The children
gazed at her with wide eyes, questioning. They knew the tone and
all its implications. The Colonel hastened to man the breach.
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