, with entire efficiency. That he had no
initiative at all and by no chance did anything he was not told to, even
when most obvious, that he was lacking in any characteristic of
interest, that he was moreover a supreme coward, afraid to be left alone
in the woods--these things were after all immaterial, for, as John
pointed out, we didn't really need to love our guides.

John also pointed out that the Lizzie--his name was, incidentally,
Aristophe--had one nice quality. Of course, it was a quality which
appealed most to the beneficiary, yet it seemed well to me also to have
my guests surrounded with mercy and loving kindness. John had but to
suggest building a fire or greasing his boots or carrying a canoe over
any portage to any lake, and the Lizzie at once leaped with a bright
smile as who should say that this was indeed a pleasure. "C'est bien,
M'sieur," was his formula. He would gaze at John for sections of an
hour, with his flabby mouth open in speechless surprise as if at the
unbelievable glory and magnificence of M'sieur. A nice lad, John Dudley
was, but no subtle enchanter; a stocky and well-set-up young man with a
whole-souled, garrulous and breezy way, and a gift of slang and a
brilliant grin. What called forth hero-worship towards him I never
understood; but no more had I understood why Mildred Thornton, Colonel
Thornton's young sister, my very beautiful cousin, should have selected
him, from a large assortment of suitors, to marry. Indeed I did not
entirely understand why I liked having John in camp better than anyone
else; probably it was essentially the same charm which impelled Mildred
to want to live with him, and the Tin Lizzie to fall down and worship.
In any case the Lizzie worshipped with a primitive and unashamed and
enduring adoration, which stood even the test of fear. That was the
supreme test for the Tin Lizzie, who was a coward of cowards. Rather
cruelly I bet John on a day that his satellite did not love him enough
to go out to the club-house alone for him, and the next day John was in
sore need of tobacco, not to be got nearer than the club.

"Aristophe will go out and get it for me," he announced as
Aristophe--the Lizzie--trotted about the table at lunch-time purveying
us flapjacks.

The Tin Lizzie stood rooted a second, petrified at the revolutionary
scheme of his going to the club, companions unmentioned. There one saw
as if through glass an idea seeking a road through his smooth gray
ma