Sweetapple Cove Part 27

"Come for me, Yves," I told the man, "if he seems worse, or if there is anything I can do."

He came to me, and I saw that his eyes were full of tears as I put my hand out to him. He lifted it up to his lips with a sob.

So we two hurried back home. By this time the wind had abated a little, and the moon was shining through some great rifts in the clouds, the waters of the cove reflecting a shiny path. The road was no longer in darkness; I could see it dimly, rising to higher ground.

I will write again very soon, Your loving HELEN.

CHAPTER XVII

_From Mr. Walter B. Jelliffe to Miss Jane Van Zandt_

_My dear Jennie_:

You know I'm no great hand at letter writing when I have no stenographer at hand. It may not be courteous of me to say I am writing to you because I am the lonesomest old party you have seen in a half a century, but you have your dear sister's sweet disposition, and I know you will forgive me. I am all alone in this packing-box of a house, when I expected to be at sea and sailing for Newport to say how d'you do on my way to New York.

I wanted to have the pleasure of seeing your kindly face and of having you take that niece of yours in hand for a time. The girl is getting beyond me, and when I want to bl.u.s.ter she looks at me just as her mother used to and I get so weak that you could knock me over with a feather.

She looks so much like Dorothy that sometimes I have to pinch myself to make sure it is not her mother sitting at the other end of the table.

When a man is sixty, and begins to think he owns his fair share of the earth, or even a bit more, I daresay that it does him good to be humbled a little, but it's a hard thing to become used to. Hitherto when Helen wanted anything I always let her have it, for on the whole she has always been sensible in her desires and requests, or maybe I have been an old fool. Didn't some Frenchman say once that an old man is a fellow who thinks himself wise because he's been a fool longer than other people?

Anyway, that's me! For the last few days I have been itching to sc.r.a.p with her, and I find she minds me about as much as the man in the moon.

Of course, Jennie, it is a disgruntled old brother-in-law who writes this, and you will have to make allowances.

Would you believe that last night she went out and remained till after midnight in a sailor's house, watching a sick child, after I had objected to her doing so, as forcibly as I could? I had to send the queer female native who looks after us to that shanty to bring her back, and the child returned with swollen eyes and a drawn face that positively hurt me to see. She has derived so much benefit from her stay here, and was looking so splendidly just a few days ago, that I felt angry enough to have whipped her, if a silly old chap like me could ever chastise a daughter like Helen. At any rate I rushed her off to bed, and I know she never went there for a long time. I have no doubt that instead of sleeping she was probably scribbling to you.

This morning she was down before eight, and I will acknowledge that she looked better than I had expected. Yet there were great dark rings under her eyes, and I tried to look as disagreeable as possible. But you women are too smart for an old fellow like me. She simply cuddled up to me as I sat in the only armchair in Sweetapple Cove and put her arm around my neck, and I could only grumble a little like a decrepit idiot.

Then she looked out of doors and rushed back again, and put on that crazy woollen cap you crocheted for her, and opened the door to the kitchen, where Susie was singing some hoa.r.s.e ditty of her own, and told her that she was going out again to see that child, and that she would be back in a few minutes. That Susie showed her sense, and I'm going to give her a big tip.

"Ye'll not be doin' no sich thing," shrieked our domestic. "They be plenty sickness already in th' Cove, an' Doctor not back yet. Ye'll jist take yer coffee as is waitin' fer ye, an' not be goin' ter see illness on a empty stummick. An' Captain he've been round ter say they is still quite a jobble of a sea outside but he can make it fine, and he've steam up. So it's good-by to th' Cove this fine marnin.'"

"Yes," I said hurriedly. "We're off just as soon as we've had breakfast and the men have moved everything down to the yacht. It is a corking fine day, and as we're all proof against sea-sickness we've got nothing to worry over. Of course you're all played out after that nursing all night, and are a foolish girl, but I suppose one can't keep women away from those jobs. Sit right down and have your breakfast."

"I'll have to see that child before we leave, Daddy," she said, "and--and--and then I will be all ready."

She spoke in such a queer way that I was positively alarmed. I am sure I have never seen her look like that.

"What's the matter?" I asked her. "You speak in such a weary, discouraged way that you must be getting ill. You have simply tired yourself to death over that boy of Frenchy's. By George! But I'll be glad when we get away from this place!"

And then the minx looked at me, just as sweetly as ever, and her voice had that little caressing tone of hers.

"Don't worry, dear Daddy, I'll have plenty of rest at sea," she told me.

So we had our breakfast, very pleasantly, and I was thanking my stars that all our troubles would be over in no time, little thinking that they were just beginning. So I rose, and took my stout cane, very proud of showing the population how nicely I could walk, and went out on the porch, ready to go on board the yacht. The men were coming up to get our baggage and the furniture we had taken from the _s...o...b..rd_, and Susie was ready to boss them. Then Helen, who had run upstairs, came down and joined me.

"I'll help you down the road, Daddy," she said, "and after that I'll run back to Frenchy's. I hear that Mr. Barnett went off somewhere in the middle of the night, so as to return in time to see us off. He will be back soon, and an hour or so won't matter, will it? The _s...o...b..rd_ doesn't run on a schedule, Dad."

I looked at my watch, it was a quarter to nine.

"We're off by ten," I said. "First thing I know we won't get away till afternoon if I listen to you another minute."

We had gone but a very little way down the road, which is nothing but a deplorable sort of goat-path or gutter running down the side of the hill, when we saw Dr. Grant coming down from Sammy's house, and the old fisherman was remonstrating with him. My dear Jennie, it gave me the shock of my life! The young man was actually staggering, and I immediately decided that he was drunker than a whole batch of lords.

"Yer isn't fit ter be goin'," the old fellow was objecting. "Ye jist come back ter th' house an' git ter bed, where ye belongs. Ye'll get a mite o' sleep an' feel better. 'Tain't fair ter be goin' again right off. You can't hardly be a-holdin' of yerself up."

Of course all this made me positive that the doctor had been hitting a bottle pretty hard, and I was angry and sorry that Helen should see it too, because she's taken a huge liking to that chap, and hitherto I could hardly blame her. When I turned to her she was staring at him, and looked as if some one had hit her with a club.

"It is too bad, daughter," I said. "I would never have thought that he was that kind of a man."

Then the poor girl grabbed my arm with a clutch which actually hurt.

The doctor and the old man were coming very near. I saw the lad look up at us, and it was really pathetic to see how he tried to straighten himself up and steady his gait as he took his cap off, with a shaking hand.

"It's really too bad," I said again.

And then Helen just stared at me for an instant, shaking her head.

"I don't believe it," she cried. "I won't believe it."

She let go my arm and dashed away from me. I could see that the poor child was moved again by that instinct of helpfulness which you dear women have, and by the sense of loyalty to friends which girls like Helen always show.

"Oh! What is the matter?" she cried.

Then I saw the doctor move back, and hold up his hand as if seeking to repel her.

"Go back! Don't come near me," he said, hoa.r.s.ely, and hurried on, unsteadily, while she stood there, dumbfounded, unable to understand.

I saw her sense of helplessness grow into resentment and wounded pride.

The poor little girl was hurt, Jennie, deeply hurt.

Our men had already invaded the house and were carrying the things away, and the population of Sweetapple Cove was gathering, for our departure was even a more wonderful event than our arrival. There was not a house in the Cove that Helen had not visited, and she has made friends with every last Tom, d.i.c.k and Harry in the place, and their wives and children. I know that the women have appreciated her friendly interest in their humble lives. Some little children were howling, possibly at the prospect of being henceforth deprived of the sweets she has distributed among them. All the fish-houses and the flakes were deserted, though it was a fine drying day. The men came towards us, with slightly embarra.s.sed timidity, and I shook hands all around as they grinned at us and wished us a good journey. They actually wanted to carry me down to the yacht.

So I took Helen's arm again, after declining their kind offers, and began my slow descent to the cove.

My poor girl was walking very erect, and she often smiled at the people who surrounded us. But I could see that it took the greatest effort on her part. I'm sure she was impatient to be gone and wanted to shut herself up in her stateroom. It was so hard, Jennie, to see the dear child whose nature has ever been such a happy, cheery one, and who has never seemed to have a moment's suffering in her life, give such evidence of pain and sorrow.

It was at this moment, Jennie, that the suspicion entered my soul, that I had been wrong in letting her enjoy so much of the society of this young man, who is certainly a fine, attractive fellow when in his right mind.

Isn't it wonderful how young people become attracted by one another, and their heads and hearts get filled while we old people can only worry, for whether they choose well or ill it always ends in our being left alone.

I noticed that Frenchy and Sammy were not among the people who crowded about us to say good-by. I looked for them in vain, and was a bit hurt that they should be absent, for we have become very fond of them. Helen was also searching the friendly faces, and I knew that she missed them.

Her head was held high up, and but for the little curling up of her lip, in which her teeth bit hard, she would have looked a picture of serene indifference. We were nearing Frenchy's shack, in front of which the path leads to the cove, and finally we were opposite the ramshackle place. It must be very dreadful to a girl, who has learned to admire a man, perhaps even to love him, to discover that her idol has feet of clay. She had allowed the best of her nature, I could see it now, to be drawn in admiration and regard towards a man she deemed unworthy. That odor of the fish-houses had always been bad enough before, but now it seemed to rise in her nostrils and sicken her. And now, Jennie, I can only repeat Puck's words, "What fools we mortals be!"

That man Frenchy rushed out of the door as we were going by. His face looked as if he had been suffering tortures.

"Please, please!" he cried. "Come, vite, heem Docteur hawful seek. Me no can stan' it no more! You so good in de las' night, mademoiselle, now please come in, for de lofe of _le bon Dieu_!"