Captain Pott's Minister Part 21

"The very idea! You calling the minister by his first name."

"I've done it ever since I knowed him, and he wouldn't like me to change now. Hey, Mr. McGowan?"

"Call me by my first name, Cap'n. Too much dignity doesn't sit well on your shoulders. You needn't mind, Miss Pipkin, for that is a habit that was formed before I became a minister, and there is no disrespect, I a.s.sure you."

"You mean you two knowed each other before you come here?"

"You see, Mack come to me one summer when I was starting on a cruise, and he was such a good sailor that we spent four seasons together after that."

"You never told me that," said Miss Pipkin.

"I didn't think to, Clemmie. Mack, have some more of these waffles.

They're mighty tasty. It takes Clemmie to cook 'em to a turn."

"Just listen to that!" rejoined the housekeeper. "He ain't had none yet."

The minister did the unheard-of thing: he refused the offer of waffles!

"Mack, you ain't going to let them hypocrites and wolves in sheep's clothing come right up and steal your appet.i.te out of your mouth, be you?"

Mr. McGowan a.s.sured him that he had no such intention.

"You don't know what you're missing," declared the Captain, smacking his lips to make the waffles appear more appetizing. "Have just one. Maybe your appet.i.te is one of them coming kind, and I'll swan if 'tis that one taste of these would bring it with a gallop."

"Don't urge him if he don't want 'em, Josiah."

"Cal'late your talking must have gone to his stomach, hey, Clemmie?"

"Josiah!" she exclaimed, coloring. "He'll soon forget all I said to him."

"You sartin give it to 'em good last night, Mack. It was the best I ever heard. Got most of 'em where they lived, and you took 'em out into the deep beyond their wading-line, too. How about you, Clemmie?"

Miss Pipkin had important business in the kitchen.

"Yes, Mack, that sure was a ringer," continued the Captain as he helped himself to another layer of waffles. "Wonder if Clemmie took what you said about launching out as literal?"

Miss Pipkin returned with a plate of smoking waffles and placed them at the Captain's side.

"Thanks, Clemmie. I was 'feared you'd be setting out to sea in my dory after hearing that sermon last night," he said banteringly, with a twinkle in his eyes. "You'd best explain that your meaning was figur'tive, Mack. I looked up that word once and it means----"

"Josiah Pott! How can you be so cruel!"

With a sob that rose from the depths, Miss Pipkin fled, slamming the kitchen door after her.

"I'll swear, if she ain't crying!" exclaimed the surprised seaman. "What in tarnation do you suppose is up, Mack? You don't cal'late she thought I was relating to her for earnest, do you?"

He rose and started toward the door. Mr. McGowan laid a hand on his friend's sleeve.

"You'd better leave her alone."

"But I never meant nothing. She'd otter know that. I'm going to tell her," he said, pulling away from the minister, and trying the closed door. "Clemmie, be sensible, and come out of there. I didn't mean nothing, honest, I didn't."

But Miss Pipkin did not come out. She did not so much as answer his importunings. When the men were out of the dining-room she went up-stairs, not to appear again that day.

It was afternoon when Mr. McGowan hobbled out of his study, ate a light lunch, put a few sandwiches in his pocket, and started in the direction of the peninsula road that led to the beach.

CHAPTER X

Mr. McGowan left the highway a little beyond the Fox estate, and followed a crooked, narrow old footpath across-lots. The path dipped and rose with the contour of the land till at last it lost itself in the white level stretch of sandy beach. He walked on and on, so deeply absorbed in his thoughts that he was unmindful of the blistered foot. It was only when hunger pains conspired with the irritation of his foot that he dropped on a log. He drew the sandwiches from his pocket, and proceeded to devour them with genuine relish. For hours after he had finished his lunch, he sat with his back to the warming rays of the afternoon sun, and gazed vacantly across the wide stretches of sand-dunes.

The chill of the evening air roused him at length to the fact that he must be going home. But when he tried to rise, he discovered that his long walk had produced an ill effect on Miss Pipkin's remedy for sprained ankles. He dropped back again on the log, pondering on how he was to retrace his steps. The sun slipped into the misty haze that hung low above the horizon of the autumn sky. The shadows crept slowly up out of the waters and over the landscape. A thin cloud drifted in over the Sound, through which a pale moon pushed a silvery edge. With the gathering darkness there came a deep mystery over land and sea which seemed to creep round and envelop him.

Suddenly, the chill of the evening air was filled with a glowing warmth, as when one senses the presence of a friend. He stared about him. He listened intently. Could it be possible that this sudden change was only a mental fancy? He hobbled a short way up the beach, and as he rounded a promontory his weakened ankle turned on a loose stone. With an exclamation he settled down on the sand.

A figure near the water's edge rose as though startled. She paused, ready for flight. Then with an involuntary cry came toward the man huddled up on the sand.

"O dear, you are hurt!" she cried, as he attempted to rise.

"Elizabeth!" He spoke her name without thought of what he did, even as she had unknowingly used the word of endearment in her exclamation of surprise and concern.

"You should not have walked so far," she said, her tone cordial, but her eyes holding a smoldering fire. She helped him to a near-by stone, and sat down beside him.

"I somehow felt that you were near."

"You thought--what?"

"No, I did not think it, I just sensed it."

"You certainly have a very fertile imagination."

"Yes. It has been both my blessing and curse."

"But how did you come to feel I was about here?"

"I don't know. It does seem strange, doesn't it?" he mused. "But I was certain----"

"Perhaps you were thinking----" She stopped abruptly.

"Of you," he finished for her. "I was. I was feeling quite lonely, and couldn't help wishing I could talk with you."

"I heard to-day that you are thinking of leaving Little River," she suggested, tactfully changing what she considered a dangerous subject.

"You heard that I intend to leave? Pray, tell----"

"Then you're not going?"