Sweetapple Cove Part 33

I'll send the big chap here over, if there is any change."

"You are very good," I said. "I think--I think you are a very nice doctor."

To my surprise he blushed just a little.

"Thank you," he said. "Thank you very much."

There was a smile on his face, and I think I managed to smile a little too, and then I went off with Susie.

"They is some o' th' old women as tells about love medicines as can make folks jist crazy fer one another," she said, as we walked away, rapidly.

"Seems ter me 'twould be good enough if some o' them doctors found out some drug as worked t'other way. This bein' in love is harder'n the teethache, an' is enough ter make one feel like hopin' ter be an old maid."

"Perhaps it does, Susie," I a.s.sented.

"Come in," cried Dad, as I pushed the door open. "Glad to see you, Helen.

I hope the poor chap's better. I just had Stefansson up here, and he says that old Sammy tried his best to drown them all and smash the yacht to kindling. But he admitted that the way the old fellow slapped her through was a marvel. But next year he's going back to racing boats; says he's had enough of cruising."

He looked at me, as I sank wearily in a chair, too tired to answer.

"What's the matter, daughter?" he asked. "You are not ill, are you?"

He rose and came towards me, his dear loving face full of concern, and I jumped up too and kissed him.

"That's my own dear little girl," he said, much comforted. "And--and Helen dear, I don't suppose you will want to sail to-morrow, will you, or in a day or two?"

There was something very pleading in his voice, it seemed to me.

"Perhaps in a day or two it won't--it won't matter much what I shall do, Daddy dear," I answered.

He took me and pressed me to his breast and I felt as if many years were pa.s.sing away, and I was again the desolate little girl who used to come to him with her woes, when a kitten died or a doll was broken. He sat again in his armchair, and I rested on the arm.

"Let us talk as in the old days, girlie," he said. "Let us be the loving friends we've been all these years. I want to see you happy. Your happiness is the only thing in the world that really concerns me now. To obtain it for you I would spend my last cent and give the last drop of my blood. You believe me, don't you?"

"Indeed I do, Daddy dear," I answered. "I don't deserve such kindness.

I'm afraid I am a very selfish girl."

"You haven't an atom of selfishness in you, Helen. You are a woman, a true, strong, loving woman. We shall remain here as long as you want to.

Now that there is another doctor here I am not so much afraid for you. If Grant should--should not recover, your old Dad's love may comfort you.

And if, as I earnestly hope, he does get well, then come to me and tell me what you want. It shall be yours, girlie, with all my love. That's what I wanted to say."

I slipped off the arm of the chair, and sat down at his feet, looking up at him, through the blur that was in my eyes.

"I--I hardly dare hope he will get well, Daddy," I said, "and--and I don't know yet whether he loves me or not. This evening, in his delirium, he called me his darling, but never before this has he ever said a word of love to me. He's just been a friend to me, Daddy, such a friend!"

"How can he help loving you?" said the dear old man.

But I did not answer, and for a time we remained in silence, watching the wood fire in the tiny chimney, until Susie came in.

"Th' kittle's biled," she announced. "Me cousin Hyatt he've brung some meat off'n the mash, an' I briled some."

"I'm not very hungry, Susie," I told her.

"Nor me neither, ma'am, with all them goin'-ons," she confided. "But what's th' use o' despisin' any of th' Lord's blessin's, specially when they gits kinder scarce?"

So Daddy and I had our supper together, very comfortably, and really I did manage to eat a little, because the thought struck me that a girl couldn't possibly be beyond all hope of comfort as long as she had such a Dad, and I did my best to be brave. But soon after we had finished I became very restless and nervous, and Dad looked at me and patted my hand.

"I expect you'd better run along, my dear," he told me. "But you must really try to have some rest to-night. If that doctor promised to sit up you might just as well have a little sleep. You mustn't be ill, you know, for we all need you too much for that."

So I kissed him and hurried back to the shack, overtaking Mr. Barnett, who was also going there. Frenchy met us at the door.

"Mebbe heem Docteur no die now, _hein_! Mebbe heem leeve now. I think heem no die. What you think?"

"We hope and pray he may get well, my good man," answered the parson.

We went in, and Dr. Johnson rose.

"I can see no change as yet," he said, "but then it is hardly possible that any should occur so soon. At any rate he is no worse."

So Mr. Barnett and I sat down by the bed, and Dr. Johnson went away for some supper; I am sure he must have been nearly starving.

"He's been muttering a good deal," said the doctor before leaving, "but that is of no very great moment. The important thing is to watch him to prevent his getting out of bed, if he should become excitable. We must have no undue strain on his weakened heart."

So the little parson and I sat quietly by the patient, who appeared to be sleeping, and for a long time there was no sound at all, and I think we dreaded to move lest the slightest noise might rouse him.

But after a time, so suddenly that it startled me, came the hoa.r.s.e, low voice that was so painful to hear, and I bent further forward to listen.

At first the words were disconnected, with queer interruptions, so that they possessed no meaning, but presently I was listening, breathlessly.

He appeared to be giving orders.

"You, Sammy, cast away the lines! Look lively there! Time, time, time!"

he muttered. Then he seemed to be waiting for something and began again.

"I told you to be ready! The years, do you hear me? You are wasting the years. She's good for sixty miles an hour and it will take forty million years to reach the nearest star, where Helen waits. Can't make it, you say? Don't I see her beckoning!"

Then he turned his head, slightly, as if he were addressing some one very near.

"One has to have patience," he said. "They don't understand, and their fingers are all thumbs, and the hawser is fouling my propeller, and Helen calls, and--and I can do nothing."

His head, that had been slightly uplifted, fell back again, and two great drops gathered in the dark, sunken eyes and slowly ran down the hollowed cheeks.

Mr. Barnett turned to me. In his eyes there was a strange look of apprehension, as when one awaits yet fears an answer. But there was nothing that I could say to him. My heart was beating as though ready to burst. I cared nothing then for the little man who stared at me, and sank on my knees beside my poor unconscious John, lifting his limp hand to my lips.

CHAPTER XXI

_From Miss Helen Jelliffe to Miss Jane Van Zandt_