The Stolen Singer Part 12

CHAPTER X

THE HEART OF YOUTH

"Agatha Redmond, can you hear me?"

She caught the voice faintly, as if it were a child's cry.

"I'm right here, yes; only wait just a second." She could not instantly free herself from her sandy coverings, but she was wide awake almost at the first words James had spoken. Faint as the voice had been, she recognized the natural tones, the strongest he had uttered since coming out of the water.

The night had grown cold and dark, and at first she was a trifle bewildered. She was also stiff and sore, almost beyond bearing. She had to creep along the sand to where Jim lay. The fire had burned wholly out, and the sand felt damp as she crawled over it. When she came near, she reached out her hand and laid it on Jim's forehead. He was shivering with cold.

"You poor man! And I sleeping while I ought to be taking care of you!

I'll make the fire and get some milk; there is still a little left."

As she tried to make her aching bones lift her to her feet, she became aware that the man was fumbling at his coverings and trying to say something.

She bent down to hear his words, which were incredibly faint.

"I don't want any fire or any milk. I only wanted to know if you were there," he said diffidently, as if ashamed of his childishness.

She leaned over him, speaking gently and touching his head softly with her firm, cool hands.

"You're a little better now, aren't you, after your sleep? Don't you feel a little stronger?"

"Yes, I'm better, lots better," he whispered. "I must have been sleeping for ages. When I woke up I thought I had a beastly chill or something; but I'm all right now; only suddenly I felt as if I must know if you were there, and if it _was_ you."

He smiled at his own words, and Agatha was rea.s.sured.

"I think you'll be still better for a little milk," she said, and crept away to get the pail, which had been hidden on a shelf of rock. When she came back with it, James tried manfully to sit up; but Agatha slipped an arm under his neck, in skilful nurse fashion, and held the bucket while he drank, almost greedily. As he sank back on his bed he whispered: "You are very good to take care of me."

"Oh, no; I'm only too glad! And now I'm going to build up the fire again; your hands are quite cold."

"No, don't go," he pleaded. "Please stay here; I'm not cold any more.

And you must go to sleep again. I ought not to have wakened you; and, really, I didn't mean to."

"Yes, you ought. I've had lots of sleep; I don't want any more."

"It's dark, but it's better than it was that other night, isn't it?"

said James.

"Much better," answered Agatha.

James visibly gathered strength from the milk, and presently he took some more. Agatha watched, and when he had finished, patted him approvingly on the hand, "Good boy! You've done very well," she cried.

"I was so thirsty, I thought the whole earth had run dry. Will you think me very ungrateful if I say now I wish it had been water?"

"Oh, no; I wish so, too. But Mr. Hand could only get us a little bit from a spring, for there isn't any other pail."

It was some time before Jim made out to inquire, "Who's Mr. Hand?"

"He's the man that helped us--out of the water--when we became exhausted."

Agatha hesitated to speak of the night's experience, uncertain how far Jim's memory carried him, and not knowing how a sick man, in his weakness, might be affected. Still, now that he seemed almost himself again, save for the chill, she ventured to refer to the event, speaking in a matter-of-fact way, as if such endurance tests were the most natural events in the world. James' speech was quite coherent and distinct, but very slow, as if the effort to speak came from the depths of a profound fatigue.

"Hand--that's a good name for him. I thought it was the hand of G.o.d, which plucked me, like David, or Jonah, or some such person, out of the seething billows. But I didn't think of there being a man behind."

Then, after a long silence, "Where is he?"

"He's gone off to find somebody to help us get away from here: a carriage or wagon of some sort, and some food and clothes."

Something caused Jim to e.j.a.c.u.l.a.t.e, though quite feebly, "You poor thing!" And then he asked, very slowly, "Where is 'here'?"

"I don't know; and Mr. Hand doesn't know."

"And we've lost our tags," laughed Jim faintly.

Agatha couldn't resist the laugh, though the weakness in Jim's voice was almost enough to make her weep as well.

"Yes, we've lost our tags, more's the pity. Mr. Hand thinks we're either on the coast of Maine, of on an island somewhere near the coast.

I myself think it must at least be Nova Scotia, or possibly Newfoundland. But Hand will find out and be back soon, and then we'll get away from here and go to some place where we'll all be comfortable."

Agatha stole away, and with much difficulty succeeded in kindling the fire again. She tended it until a good steady heat spread over the rocks, and then returned to James. She curled up, half sitting, half lying, against the rocks.

Clouds had risen during the recent hours, and it was much darker than the night before had been. The ocean, washing its million pebbles up on the little beach, moaned and complained incessantly. In the long intervals between their talk, Agatha's head would fall, her eyes would close, and she would almost sleep; but an undercurrent of anxiety concerning her companion kept her always at the edge of consciousness.

James himself appeared to have no desire to sleep. He was trying to piece together, in his mind, his conscious and unconscious memories.

At last he said:

"I guess I haven't been much good--for a while--have I?"

Agatha considered before replying. "You were quite exhausted, I think; and we feared you might be ill."

"And Handy Andy got my job?" She laughed outright at this, as much for the feeling of rea.s.surance it gave her as for the jest itself.

"Handy Andy certainly _had_ a job, with us two on his hands!" she laughed.

"I bet he did!" cried James, with more vigor than he had shown before.

"He's a great man; I'm for him! When's he coming back?"

"Early in the morning, I hope," said Agatha, swallowing her misgivings.

"That's good," said James. "I think I'll be about and good for something myself by that time."

There was another long pause, so long that Agatha thought James must have gone to sleep again. He thought likewise of her, it appeared; for when he next spoke it was in a careful whisper:

"Are you still awake, Agatha Redmond?"

"Yes, indeed; quite. Do you want anything?"