When his two best friends had departed, Captain Barney sat long in front of his shack. He wondered what was to come of it all, but only the future could reveal that.
CHAPTER IX.
A FIRST LETTER
Muriel had almost forgotten the banded box of foreign appearance which she had in her Treasure Cave. So many things of unusual interest had occurred of late that even so wonderful a box had taken a secondary place in her thoughts.
That afternoon Captain Ezra devoted to polishing the lamp, a task he would not permit Rilla to share, saying that peeling potatoes and the like was her part of the drudgery, and, as he never helped her with that, neither should she help with the lamp.
Muriel did not insist, for she believed that her grand-dad took a great deal of pride in tending to the big light all by himself. “I reckon he’d think he was gettin’ old if he had to be helped,” the girl soliloquized as she walked along the top of the bluff, the dog at her side.
They descended the trail toward that part of the beach where she had first seen the lad. For a time she stood silently gazing down at the spot where he had been on that never to be forgotten day. Suddenly she laughed aloud. Stooping, she patted the head of her long-haired companion.
“Shagsie, ol’ dog,” she chuckled gleefully, “yo’ wouldn’t be eatin’ Gene Beavers up even when I tol’ yo’ to, would yo’ now?” Then merrily she added: “I’ll tell yo’ a secret, ol’ dog, if yo’ won’t be tellin’ it.” Then she whispered into the long shaggy ear: “I reckon I’m glad now that yo’ wouldn’t.” Then, springing up, she scrambled down the rocks and ran along the narrow pebbly beach, the dog racing and barking at her heels. When they were just below the lighthouse Rilla paused and looked up at the small entrance to her cave.
“Shags,” she suggested, “let’s take another look at the treasure.” Together they slowly ascended the perilously steep cliff where one unused to climbing could barely have found a foothold.
When the cave was reached Rilla uttered a little cry of eagerness, for under one of the straps on the box was a folded bit of paper.
Opening it, she looked at it, her cheeks flushed, her eyes glowing.
Doctor Winslow had tried to teach the girl to read, but, since he was the resident physician in a New York hospital most of the year, he had been able to make but little headway. Each autumn he took from one to two months’ vacation, returning to the home of his boyhood for what he called an absolute rest, but the fisherfolk, who loved him, flocked to him for advice and help, and the kind, elderly man welcomed them gladly. Too, he gave to every one who came a bit of optomistic philosophy which did much toward keeping them well and happy during the months of his absence.
Muriel had seated herself upon the closed box and studied the note. Luckily the words were simple and plainly printed. She picked out one here and there that she knew, then suddenly rising she went to a crevice in the rocks and brought forth a Second Reader which the doctor had given her. She knew every word in it, but she could not always recognize the same words if they were out of the book. After an hour’s diligent search, comparing the printed words with those in the note, she looked up, her expression joyous, exultant.
“Shagsie, ol’ dog, I can read it! I can read every word. It’s the fust letter as I ever had, an’ Gene Beavers, ’twas, as left it for me.” Then, as the faithful dog seemed to be interested, the girl slowly read aloud:
“Dear Storm Maiden: – I am going to try to reach town tonight. I hope to see you again, but if I do not I want you to know how much I like you. I wish girls were all as brave and kind as you are. Thank you and goodbye.
“Your friend,“Gene Beavers.”
When the reading was finished the girl sat for a long time looking out of the small opening at the gleaming blue waters beyond the cliff and her expression grew wistful and almost pensive. For the first time in her fifteen years she was wishing she had “learnin’.” Suddenly she sprang up, her face brightening. “Shags,” she said, “many’s the time Uncle Lem has said ‘regrettin’ doesn’t get you anywhere. It’s what you’re doin’ now that counts.’ We’ll learn to read, Shags, ol’ dog! I dunno how, but we’re goin’ to!”
That evening as Rilla sat close to her grand-dad she wanted to ask him if she might attend the Tunkett school, but he seemed hardly to know that she was there so occupied was he with his own thoughts, and so she decided to await a more opportune time.
The truth was that Captain Ezra could not forget the accusing expression in the Irish blue eyes of his old mate, nor the question, “D’y reckon yo’re actin’ honest, Ez? Hasn’t it been the same as stealin’ his little gal?”
That night, long after Muriel was asleep in her loft room, Captain Ezra sat at the kitchen table trying to compose a letter to the father of Rilla, but each attempt was torn to shreds and many times the old man stealthily crossed the kitchen floor and placed the bits in the stove.
At last he thought, “I reckon Barney’s right, but thar’s no tarnation hurry. I’ve signed articles to tend to this light till I’m a long ways older’n I am tonight.”
So thinking, he went to his bed, meaning soon to send the letter to Muriel’s father, but one thing and another occupied his time and the letter remained unwritten.
CHAPTER X.
THE HOPED FOR MESSAGE
Each morning when Rilla had finished her task of “swabbing decks,” as Captain Ezra called it, and had put the kitchen and small bedrooms into shipshape (there were no other rooms in the lean-to adjoining the light), she would stand in the open door gazing out across the harbor, waiting, watching for what she barely confessed to herself. But on the third day her anxiety concerning her new friend’s condition overcame her timidity at broaching the subject and after breakfast she ventured: “Grand-dad, will yo’ be cruisin’ to town today?”
The old man shook his head. “No, Rilly gal,” he replied, “I wasn’t plannin’ to. Yo’ don’ need ’nother hair ribbon, do yo’, or – ” He had been filling a lantern as he spoke, but suddenly he paused and looked up. “Sho, now, fust mate, are yo’ prognosticatin’ ’bout that city chap?”
He arose and looked out across the water, shading his eyes with his big leathery hand.
“I reckon ’tis mos’ time for Lem to be lettin’ us know how things are comin’. I sartin do hope the young fellar is navigatin’ that frail craft of his into smoother waters. ’Pears like Doctor Lem ought to – ”
He said no more, for the girl had suddenly clutched his arm as she cried excitedly: “Look yo’, Grand-dad! I’m sure sartin there’s little Sol puttin’ out from the wharf in that Water Rat boat o’ his. Now he’s dippin’ along and scuddin’ right this way.”
“Yo-o! I reckon he has a message for us. More’n like, Uncle Lem is sendin’ him.”
The two gazed intently at the small boat, which did indeed seem to be headed directly for Windy Island. Rilla, her heart tripping, unconsciously held tighter to the arm of the old man.
“Pore little girl,” he thought, “was she that lonesome for young company?” He sighed and placed a big hand over the slender brown one. He felt the tenseness of the girl’s arm. “Grand-dad,” she said tremulously, “what if the message is that Gene Beavers has died. I reckon ’twould be all my fault. I’d ought to have brought him right up to the house an’ tol’ you straight out just what had happened.”
Anxiously they watched the oncoming boat. The wind, which had been fitful all the morning, dwindled to the softest breeze, then a calm settled over the harbor and the sail of the Water Rat flapped idly.
“Why don’t little Sol row?” Muriel exclaimed impatiently. Then, eagerly, “Grand-dad, may I go out in the dory an’ meet him? May I?”
“No use to, Rilly gal. The wind’s veered an’ thar goes Sol now on a tack. Yo’ can’t be rowin’ zigzag all over the harbor.” Then, as the boy seemed to be leisurely sailing away from the island, the old man stooped and picked up his lantern.
“Sho, fust mate,” he said, “I reckon we’re ’way off our bearin’s. Little Sol wa’n’t headin’ this way, ’pears like. Just cruisin’ about aimless, like he often does.”
The girl also decided that this was the truth, and so she went indoors to procure the week’s mending. When she returned to the armchair outside the lighthouse she saw that the Water Rat was scudding over the dancing waves in quite the opposite direction.
Captain Ezra had climbed the tower. Rilla seated herself and soon her fingers flew as she sewed a patch upon a blue denim garment, while her thoughts returned to Gene Beavers. She recalled that he had looked frail, but she had supposed his paleness was due to the fact that he lived in the city. Too, she realized that she had been hoping for days that Doctor Winslow would send a message telling her that Gene Beavers was sitting up and that she might visit him, for, wonder of wonders, her grand-dad had said that she might go.
Looking up from the garment a few moments later, her glance again swept over the gleaming waters of the harbor. The Water Rat was nowhere to be seen. Alarmed, the girl sprang to her feet and ran to the top of the steep flight of steps leading down to the shore. Her anxiety was quickly changed to joy, for clattering up toward her was the freckle-faced boy, and a grin of delight spread over his homely features when he saw her.
“Rilly, look’t that, will yo’?” he sang out as he held up a silver dollar. “Made it as easy as sailin’. Yo’ couldn’t guess how, I bet. Could yo’ now?”
The girl shook her head and then listened eagerly, breathlessly, hoping that in reality she did know. Nor was she wrong.
“Well,” the boy confided, “that city guy that’s up to Doc Winslow’s, he ’twas guv it to me, if I’d fetch a note over to Windy Island and hand it to Cap’n Ezra and to no one else, says he.”
Rilla’s eyes shone like stars. Running to the door at the foot of the spiral stairs that led up to the light, she shouted: “Grand-dad! Yo-o! Are yo’ a-comin’ down or shall we come up? Little Sol’s here an’ he’s got a message for yo’.”
“Sho now, is that so? I snum yo’ was right, arter all, in yer calcalations, Rilly gal,” the beaming old man said as he descended the circling flight of stairs. “What’s in the message that Lem sent? Is the city fellar – ”
“We dunno,” Muriel interrupted. “’Twas Gene Beavers himself as sent the note and he said as it was to be given to no one but just yo’.”
The old sea captain was pleased. The boy was square and aboveboard, that was evident. “Wall,” he said as he reached the ground, “little Sol, hist up the message.”
The small boy thrust his hand in one of his pockets, but drew it empty. “Jumpin’ frogs!” he ejaculated. “If I didn’t go an’ change my jacket arter the city guy give me that letter. I reckon as how I’ll have to go back arter it.” But suddenly his expression changed and he beamed up at them. “By time, I rec’lect now! I stowed it in here for safe keepin’.” As he spoke he removed his cap and took the note from the ragged lining. He handed the envelope to the captain and then started running toward the steps leading to the beach, but the old man recalled him. “Ho, thar, little Sol, lay to a spell. I reckon there may be an answer to go ashore with you.”
The boy returned slowly and the girl eagerly watched the captain as he read the message which the note contained. Muriel knew by the expression in her grandfather’s face that the old-time struggle was going on in his heart, but it didn’t last long.
“Is Gene Beavers a-sittin’ up?” the girl asked.
“’Pears like he is,” Captain Ezra said as he folded the note and placed it in his pocket. “Lem’s writ for you to cruise over to town with little Sol and stay a spell.”
Muriel’s face shone, but, after glancing at the sun, she inquired: “Wouldn’t I better wait till arter mid-day? Who’ll be fryin’ the fish and pertaters for yo’, Grand-dad?”
The old man’s heart rejoiced, for his “gal” was really thinking of him first, after all, but his hearty laughter pealed out as he replied: “When yo’ was a little un who’d yo’ s’pose fried cod for the two of us if ’twa’n’t me? I was steward o’ the lighthouse craft long afore yo’ signed articles to sail along as fust mate.”
Impulsively the girl threw her arms about the neck of the old man and kissed his leathery cheek. She took this opportunity to whisper into his ear: “Yo’re that good to me, Grand-dad! I’ll never be leavin’ you, never, never, never!”
Instinctively the girl knew what was in the thought of the old man. Little Sol was eager to return to the mainland that he might display to his mother the first silver dollar that he had ever earned and so the happy girl climbed to the little room over the kitchen and put on what her grand-dad called her “Sunday riggin’s.” She hesitated just a moment between the red hair ribbon and the green, then choosing the latter, she peered into the broken bit of mirror to tie it as best she could on her red-brown hair. Then seizing her flower-wreathed hat by its strings, down the stairs she skipped. Shags, sensing the holiday spirit that was in the air, barked joyfully when she appeared and was quite crestfallen when he was told that he must stay and help grand-dad guard the light.
The old man stood at the top of the steps and swung his cap when Muriel, sitting in the stern of the Water Rat, turned at the first buoy and waved to him.
In the heart of Captain Ezra, for the second time in many years, there was a prayer that the One at the helm might guide his “gal” aright.
CHAPTER XI.
A PARTY FOR TWO
Brazilla Mullet, the elderly spinster sister of Jabez Mullet, who drove the stage, had been the doctor’s housekeeper for many years. She and her brother occupied the neat little cottage just beyond the hedge, and Jabez, when he was not driving, was gardener for both places.
Half an hour after Gene Beavers had sent the note to Windy Island by little sol from the glassed-in end of Doctor Winslow’s veranda he had been eagerly watching the road.
Miss Brazilla busied herself in the rooms adjoining that she might hear the boy’s slightest movement. Doctor Winslow had cautioned her that Gene, who was restless because of his prolonged inactivity, must not be permitted to leave the couch, where he was comfortably propped to a position that was half reclining by many pillows.
The doctor himself, after having written the note to Captain Ezra, had been suddenly called on an emergency case out at the Life Saving Station on The Point, and that was why Gene had been the one to give instructions concerning the delivery of the message.
“What time is it now, Miss Brazilla?” the boy asked.
“It’s nigh to eleven, Master Gene,” the housekeeper appeared in the doorway to remark, “an’ I’m hopin’ the pore gal will get here in time for a bite with yo’. In all the years I’ve heerd tell about that child she’s never tuk a meal off Windy Island. ’Twill be a reg’lar party for Rilla, that it will – if she’s let to come. I don’t want to be disappointin’, Master Gene, yo’ and doctor settin’ so much store on her comin’, but I know Cap’n Ezra purty well and a man more sot in his opinion don’t live – not in Tunkett anyhow, an’ many’s the time I’ve heerd him say that his gal should never ever set eyes on city folks, if he could be helpin’ it.”
If the elderly spinster, Miss Brazilla, might be said to have a failing it was loquacity, and Gene moved restlessly.
Instantly she was at his side. “There now, dearie,” the really kind-hearted woman exclaimed self-rebukingly, “I’d ought to’ve pushed that couch farther to the starboard side o’ this deck.” Then she laughed apologetically. “That salt water language will crop out now’n then, try as I may to talk fine, like city folks. There! Is that better? The sun don’t shine right into your eyes now like it did. Wall, as I was sayin’, if Rilly can come in time to eat with yo’, ’twill be a reg’lar party for her an’ – ”
Poor Gene, realizing that Miss Brazilla was launched again upon another flood of conversation, tried to think of a way to politely interrupt, if an interruption ever can be polite. The word “party” caught his attention. Many a time he had heard his sister Helen say, “It’s never a real party unless there’s ice cream.” Maybe all girls felt that way.
The housekeeper was actually turning to leave, having reached a period, and Gene made haste to inquire: “Miss Brazilla, is there any place in Tunkett where we could get some ice cream?”
The amazed spinster shook her head, on which the rather sparse red-grey hairs were drawn back and down with oily smoothness.
“Why, no, Master Gene, not arter the summer colony folks go. When the hot weather’s on, Mrs. Sol makes it.”
“Telephone her, please, Miss Brazilla, and ask her if she couldn’t make some right away now and put strawberries in it. Tell her that she may name her own price.”
Miss Mullet lifted her hands in amazement. “Land o’ Goshen!” she ejaculated. “Ice cream with strawberries in October.”
Then noting that the lad had dropped back among the pillows and closed his eyes as though he were suddenly very weary, the good woman slipped away to do his bidding, strange as it might seem. “Sick folks take notions,” she said to herself, “but this is the tarnal queerest I ever heerd of.”
Half an hour later there was a timid rap on the side door. Miss Brazilla hurried to open it, and, as she had hoped, there stood Muriel Storm.
Gene had fallen into a light slumber, which had greatly refreshed him, and when he awakened he heard Muriel’s voice. “Top o’ the morning to you, Storm Maiden,” he called. “Do hurry! I’m eager to see if you look as I remember you.”
But she did not, for the Muriel with her long red-brown hair neatly tied back with a wide green ribbon, which Miss Brazilla had made for her into a truly beautiful butterfly bow, did not look quite like his memoried picture of that stormy girl who with long hair wind-blown about her shoulders, had ordered him to leave the Lighthouse Island or be devoured by her dog.
Almost shyly the girl, in her neat green gingham dress, paused in the open doorway, hardly knowing what to do. Gene held out a frail white hand. “Won’t you come and shake hands with me?” he asked. “I’m sorry that I can’t come to you, but I have had orders to lie here until mine host decrees otherwise.”
The girl, touched by the boy’s paleness, forgot her embarrassment and went toward him, placing her strong brown hand in the one he had stretched forth to greet her. Then, seating herself in the wicker chair nearest, she said: “I hope yo’re forgivin’ me, Mr. Beavers, for makin’ it so that yo’ had to swim.”
“It was I who used poor judgment,” the boy told her. “Don’t feel that you were in the least bit to blame.” Then, smiling up at her in his friendliest fashion, he added: “We are only in our teens, you and I, and that’s not so very grown up. Don’t you think you could call me Gene and permit me to call you Muriel? It’s a beautiful name.”
“’Twas my mother’s.” The boy thought he had never heard that word spoken with greater tenderness. Shyly, the girl was saying: “An’ I’d be that pleased if yo’ would call me the whole of it Thar’s no one as calls me Muriel. Folks here jest call me Rilly.”
“Then I will gladly. Now, Muriel,” the lad leaned on his elbow, “the best way for two people to become acquainted is by asking questions. Won’t you tell me how you pass your time, what books you read, and – ”
Gene paused, almost startled by the sudden flush that had crimsoned the cheeks of his guest. When it was too late he tried to prevent her from having to make the admission, but falteringly she made it. “I can’t read books,” she said. Then the resolve of the day before gave her new courage, and lifting her head and looking directly into his eyes with an eager expression, she added: “But I’m goin’ to learn. I don’ know how, but I’m goin’ to.”
“Of course you are, Muriel,” was his hearty response. “And if I am laid up long in ‘dry dock for repairs,’ as Mr. Jabez Mullet calls my confinement, perhaps you will let me help you. I had to be helped, you know. We all do, just in the beginning.” The lad’s smile was winsome. Then he quickly added: “There are the noon bells from the church tower, and if I’m not mistaken, Miss Brazilla is coming to serve our lunch.”
Muriel sprang up when the housekeeper appeared. “Why, Miss Brazilla, me settin’ here and lettin’ yo’ wait on me! Mayn’t I help somehow? I’m real handy at it.”
“So you are, Rilly. Fetch that little wicker table over here and stand it near the couch. Then draw your chair and set opposite. Yo’re company today, just like a grand young lady, and yo’ve nothin’ to do but eat.”
Muriel went to the far end of the veranda to get the small wicker table, and when she turned she was amazed to see Miss Brazilla and Gene exchanging nods and smiles. What could it mean, the girl wondered.
The lunch was daintily served and Gene became so interested in his companion’s tales of storms and wrecks at sea, simply yet dramatically told, that he ate far more heartily than he would have done alone. Miss Brazilla made no comment, but she was secretly pleased.
Having cleared the table, she surprised Muriel by bringing in two dishes heaped with ice cream in which were preserved strawberries.
Gene Beavers was to pay a fabulous price for that out-of-season dessert, but when he saw the glad light dawning in the hazel eyes of his guest he decided it was well worth it.
“I only had ice cream once before,” she confessed, “an’ that was when Mis’ Sol had some left over that was like to melt.”
After lunch Muriel told her host that he ought to sleep a while, and, when she assured him that she could stay all afternoon, the truly weary lad consented to rest, while Rilla helped Miss Brazilla in the kitchen.
An hour later when the lad awakened, refreshed, he saw that Muriel was again in the comfortable wicker chair at his side, looking with great interest at the beautifully colored pictures in a large book that she held.
She glanced up glowingly when she heard a movement on the couch. “The readin’ in it is about the sea, I reckon, from the pictures of boats and pirates,” she told him.
“It is indeed,” Gene exclaimed with enthusiasm. “That’s Treasure Island. If you’ll prop me up more I’ll read to you, if you wish.”
Some time later, when Dr. Winslow returned, he found Gene reading aloud from his favorite book, while Muriel, leaning forward, listened hungrily.
“Well, little Nurse Rilla,” the good man exclaimed, “our patient is much better, I can see that at a glance. I’m sorry to hurry you away, but your boatswain Sol is waiting for you down at the gate. Your grand-dad told him to sail you back to Windy Island along about this time, but you’re to come again and often.”
That night Captain Ezra pushed his armchair back from the table, and while he was lighting his pipe he looked at his “gal,” his eyes twinkling. “Rilly,” he said, “yo’ve been gabblin’ faster’n chain lightnin’ one hour by the clock, an’ things are sort o’ muddled in my mind. I dunno, for sure sartin, whether it’s Billy Bones or Gene Beavers yo’ve been over to the mainland a visitin’.”
“Both of ’em, thanks to yo’, dear ol’ Grand-dad,” Muriel said. Then, kissing him good-night, she went up to her little loft room. But when she was snugly in her bed it was not of Billy Bones that she dreamed.