Sweetapple Cove Part 24

With kindest regards, Very sincerely yours, JOHN GRANT.

I stared at Daddy, hardly knowing what to say.

"That boy has a lot of good sound horse-sense!" he exclaimed. "I am just going to follow his advice. Bring me my check-book. I am going to make out something for that little parson. He needs a place to give the folks what he calls readings, and other things. He told me that two-fifty would give him unutterable joy. I'll make it five hundred so that he can shout.

Now in regard to Dr. Grant...."

"Are we really going to-morrow, Daddy?" I interrupted.

"You bet we are going to-morrow, always providing that yacht of ours is ready. I gave orders yesterday to have something done and...."

But I didn't listen any more. I went to the window and drew aside the little curtain. Down below, in the cove, I could see the _s...o...b..rd's_ anchor light, gleaming brilliantly. The windows of some of the houses shed a sickly pale radiance, but beyond this everything was in darkness, with just the faintest suggestion of enormous ma.s.ses representing the jagged cliffs. There was not a single star in the heavens, and all at once everything seemed to be plunged in desolation. It felt as when one awakes in the darkness from some beautiful dream. I knew then that I would be actually home-sick for Sweetapple Cove when I returned to New York.

Please don't laugh at me, Aunt Jennie dear, you know I have had no one but you to confide in since I have grown out of short skirts. Perhaps it was this thing I saw in Atkins' house that has upset me so, and I suppose that my life has always been too easy, and that I have not been prepared to meet some of the grim horrors it can reveal to one.

I could not think of leaving without saying good-by to Mrs. Barnett. My hand shook as I pushed a hatpin through my cap. Then I told Daddy where I was going and ran out into the darkness.

When I reached the poor little house they insist on calling the rectory the dear woman opened her arms to greet me, and I saw that her beautiful eyes were filled with tears.

"What is the matter, dear?" I asked.

"I was a coward to-day," she cried. "Such an awful coward! I had no business to leave when Dr. Grant told me to. I should have stayed and helped. But when he spoke of diphtheria I couldn't help it and thought of my little chaps. I have already seen that dreadful thing come and sweep little lives away, just in a day or two. It took the one we buried on the other side of the cove, and we saw it suffocating, helpless to aid. And that's why I ran out, terror-stricken. But I hear that you held the baby for him. You don't know what it is to have babies of your own, and were not afraid. It is dreadful, you know, that fear that comes in a mother's heart!"

She looked quite weak when she sat down, in a poor, worn, upholstered chair that was among the things they brought from England, and I sat on the arm of it, beside her.

"I have changed all my clothes," I told her, "and I don't think I'm dangerous. Now Daddy insists that we must leave to-morrow, and I'm just broken-hearted about it. Dr. Grant wrote him that it would be better for us to leave, but I don't want to go."

"Did the doctor write that?" she exclaimed.

"Yes, because there might be danger in my staying longer. Why can't I share it with all the others who will have to stay here? I shall never forgive him!"

I suppose that we were both rather excited, and I know I had to dab my eyes with my handkerchief. Then Mrs. Barnett forgot all about her own worries, for she was patting me on the arm, looking at me intently all the time, just as Daddy has been doing, in a queer way that I can't understand.

"I daresay it will be best for both of you," she said, in that sweetest voice of hers.

"Yes, I think Daddy wants to get back," I said, and she stared at me again, as I rose and bade her good-by.

"Don't say it yet, dear," she told me, "I will certainly come down to see you off in the morning. It has been so delightful to have had you here all these weeks, and I shall miss you dreadfully when you are gone. I can hardly bear to think of it."

So I kissed her and had to tear myself away. Like a pair of silly women we were on the verge of tears once more, and there was nothing left for me to do but to run.

It was perhaps some unusual effect of the night air, but I was quite husky when I spoke to Daddy again.

"You will be glad to get back, won't you. Daddy?" I asked him. "It will be so nice for you to go to the club again, and see all your old friends."

He looked at me, and only nodded in a noncommittal way.

"I will leave you now," I said. "There is a lot of packing to do, and that poor silly Susie is perfectly useless, since she heard we were going. She is sitting on a stool in the kitchen and weeping herself into a fit. Her nose is the reddest thing you ever saw. But you and I are old travelers, aren't we, and used to quick changes? You remember, in Europe, how we used to get to little towns and decide in a moment whether we would stay or not, when we were tired of all those old museums and cathedrals?"

But Daddy only patted my hand, and I have decided that he is a wonderfully clever man. I am sure he understood that I was just forcing myself to talk, and that he could say nothing that would make me feel better.

Then there was a knock at the door, and Stefansson came in with one of his long faces.

"Good evening," said Daddy. "Have a cigar? The box is there on the table.

I have good news for you, since I know you don't enjoy this place much.

Too far from Long Island Sound, isn't it? I want to sail to-morrow morning."

Our skipper's long Swedish face lengthened out a bit more, and he looked a very picture of distress.

"But you told me yesterday that you were going to stay at least another week, Mr. Jelliffe," he objected. "So to-day when the engineer he tells me about bearings needing new packing, and about a connecting rod being a bit loose, I told him to get busy."

"I'd like to know what you fellows were doing all the time in St.

John's?" asked Daddy, angrily.

"Engines always need looking after, Mr. Jelliffe," replied the skipper in an injured tone that was not particularly convincing. "Of course I can make him work all night, and to-morrow, with his helper, so that maybe we can start day after to-morrow early. Everything is all apart now. If you say so we can start under sail, but I know you don't like bucking against contrary winds without a bit of steam to help, and this is a forsaken coast to be knocking about, Mr. Jelliffe, and I'll be glad to get away from it."

"Well, I suppose that a day or so won't make much difference," said Daddy. "How's your coal?"

"Plenty coal, sir."

"All right, get those fellows at work in the engine room, Stefansson.

They haven't had much to do of late."

Our skipper departed and I was so happy that I wanted to dance. In the kitchen Susie was washing dishes and a.s.sisting her work by intoning the most doleful hymn. I turned up the lamp a little, and things seemed ever so much more cheerful.

So I suppose that I have been ever so foolish. Just now I can hear Daddy and Mr. Barnett saying good night, and I know that they have been fighting tooth and nail over that chess board. And I hear Mr. Barnett thanking Daddy, in a voice that is all choked up with emotion. I am so glad to think the dear little man is happy. Isn't it too bad, Aunt Jennie, that we can't all be happy all the time?

Your loving HELEN.

CHAPTER XV

_From John Grant's Diary_

Here I am writing again, just for the purpose of trying to keep awake. A fellow in my profession, in such places as this, is much like a billiard ball that finds itself shot into all sorts of corners, without the slightest ordering from any consciousness of its own. I left that child at Atkins' doing fairly well, and have once more been compelled to make one of those rather harrowing choices I dread. I had either to abandon that child, though its mother is fairly intelligent and seems to understand my instructions, fortunately, or to refuse to answer this call, where another man with a large family is lying at the point of death.

It seems strange that I shall probably never see Miss Jelliffe again. The yacht has been delayed for several days, and they did not start as they expected to. But when I return I have no doubt that the _s...o...b..rd_ will be gone, and with it two charming people who will be but delightful memories. I had thought to show Dora how willing I was to do what she calls a man's work, and expected to accomplish it at the cost not only of hard toil, which is an easy enough thing to get through with, but also at the price of exile among dull people. I have had plenty of work, but for the last two months there has not been a stupid moment. The girl's bright intelligence and fine womanliness, the old gentleman's kindly and practical ways, have made my visits to them ever so pleasant, and those journeys to the barrens and the river have been delightful.

And now the Barnetts will be left, pleasanter companions by far than I had any right to expect in this out-of-the-way corner of the island. And then I always hope that Dora will soon be coming home, as she calls it, and I will hasten away to her, and perhaps plead with her for the last time. I do hope she will approve of the man's work; perhaps also of the man!

I last saw Miss Helen the day before yesterday morning, just before the summons came for me to go to Edward's Bay, and she told me she hoped I would return before her departure. She said it so kindly that I am rather proud of having won the friendship of such a splendid girl.

Here I found a man with pneumonia, who has still a chance. His wife and children are sleeping on the floor, all around me. Once more I am seeking to preserve one life, that others may go on too, and I ordered the woman to take a rest, for she has been up two nights.

When I last went to the Jellifies', after changing all my clothes, and taking all possible precautions, I told her that the child was better, and that I was under the impression that the ant.i.toxine was having a favorable effect. Also I informed her that I was going to start Atkins off to St. John's for another supply in case the malady should spread, for I only had about enough left for one bad case.

"I hope he makes good time," I said, "but of course one can never tell, though he's a first rate man and can make his way into the cove in weather of all kinds, barring an offsh.o.r.e gale. Fog doesn't bother him."