"I say, madam," I replied, with a bow, "the sands of which you are the
lady are the dust of diamonds, and your invitation is a golden joy."

"Bless me," she exclaimed, "what must you be out of check!"

That evening we sailed to Racket Island, brought away our belongings,
and established ourselves in the land-locked little bay, about a quarter
of a mile from the house of the Sand Lady.

Early the next morning I walked around to a pier where I had noticed a
good-sized yacht was moored. It was still there; apparently no one had
left the island. After our breakfast on the beach I told Walkirk to
devote himself to independent occupations, and walked up to the house. I
found the lady who had called herself a Person and the one of whom I did
not like to think as an Interpolation sitting together upon the piazza.
I joined them.

"Wouldn't you be very much obliged to me," asked the Person, after a
scattering conversation, in which I suppose I appeared as but a
perfunctory performer, "if I were to go away and leave you alone with
this lady?"

"As this is an island of plain speaking," I replied, "I will say, yes."

Both ladies laughed, and the Person retired to her hammock.

"Now, then," asked Mother Anastasia, "what is the meaning of this
alarming frankness?"

"I wish to talk to you of Sylvia," I answered.

"If you imagine," she said, "that I intend to spend the short time I
shall remain upon this island in talking of Sylvia, you are very much
mistaken."

"Then let us talk of yourself," I replied.

She turned upon me with a frown and a laugh.

"If I had known," she said, "your habits of ingenuousness and candor, I
should have made you dictate to Sylvia through a speaking-tube. You have
known me less than a day. You have known her for a month. Can it be
possible that you talk to her as freely as you talk to me?"

"Madam," I exclaimed, "I love Sylvia, and therefore could not speak
freely to her."

"Your distinctions are wonderfully clear-cut," she said; "but why do you
wish to talk of me? I suppose you want to know why I am Mother Superior
of the House of Martha?"

"Yes," I answered, "that is a thing I cannot understand; but of course I
should not feel justified in even alluding to it if, yesterday, you had
not so kindly given me your confidence in regard to yourself and
Sylvia."

"It seems to me," she remarked, "that, as you decline to recognize the
name given to that young woman by our institution, you should call her
Miss Raynor; but I will say no more of that."

"It would be well," said I. "She is Sylvia to me. You must remember that
I never met her in the circles of conventionalism."

She laughed. "This whole affair is certainly very independent of
conventionalism; and as to your curiosity about me, that is very easily
gratified. Nearly five years ago I connected myself with the House of
Martha. Although there were sisters older than myself, I was chosen
Mother Superior, because I possessed rather more administrative
abilities than any of the others. I think I have governed the House
fairly well, even if, in regard to the matter of furnishing secretaries
to literary men, there has been some dissatisfaction."

"You allude to Sister Sarah?" said I.

"Yes," she answered; "and had she been head of the House, your peace of
mind would not have been disturbed. But what I did in that case I did
conscientiously and with good intent."

"And you are not sorry for it?" I asked.

"It may be that I shall be sorry for you," she replied, "but that is all
I have to say on that point. In a very short time I shall return to my
duties and to my sombre bonnet and gown, and these interpolated days,
which in a manner have been forced upon me, should be forgotten."

"But one thing you must not forget," I exclaimed: "it was in this time
that you promised me"--

"You selfish, selfish man," she interrupted, "you think only of
yourself. I shall talk no more of yourself, of myself, or of Sylvia. My
friends are at the other side of the house, and I am going to them." And
she went.

While Walkirk and I were sailing that afternoon, he managing the boat
and I stretched upon some cushions, I told him of my conversations with
Mother Anastasia. I considered him worthy of my confidence, and it was
pleasant to give it to him.

"She is a rare, strange woman," said he. "I thought her very handsome
when I visited her at the House of Martha; but since I have seen her
here, dressed in becoming clothes, I consider that she possesses
phenomenal attractions."

"And I hope," I remarked, "that she may be phenomenally good-natured,
and give me some chances of seeing Sylvia Raynor."

"That would indeed be phenomenal," said Walkirk, laughing, "considering
that she is a Mother Superior, and the young lady is a member of the
sisterhood. But everything relating to the case is peculiar, and in my
opinion Mother Anastasia is more peculiar than anything else."

That evening we were invited to dine at the house of the Sand Lady. It
was a delightful occasion. Everybody was in good spirits, and the
general tone of the conversation was singularly lively and unrestrained.
Mother Anastasia would not play cards, but we amused ourselves with
various sprightly social games, in which the lady who preferred to be
called a Person showed a vivacious though sometimes nipping wit. I had
no opportunity for further private talk with Mother Anastasia, nor did I
desire one. I wished to interest her in my love for Sylvia, but not to
bore her with it.

The next day, at about eleven o'clock, the Sand Lady and the Shell Man
walked over to our little bay, where they found Walkirk and me fencing
upon the level beach.

"Stop your duel, gentlemen," said the lady. "I come to give you the
farewells of the Interpolation. She was sorry she could not do this
herself, but she went away very early this morning."

"Went away!" I cried, dropping my foil upon the sand. "Where did she
go?"

"She sailed in our yacht for Sanford," answered the Sand Lady, "to take
the morning train for her beloved House of Martha. My brother
accompanied her to the town, but he will be back to-day."

I was surprised and grieved, and showed it.

"We are all sorry to have her go," said the Sand Lady, "and sorry to see
her wearing that doleful gray garb, which my brother allowed her to
assume this morning."

"I am glad," I exclaimed, "that I did not see her in it!"

The lady looked at me with her pleasant, quiet smile.

"You seem very much interested in her."

"I am," I replied, "very much interested, both directly and indirectly,
and I am exceedingly sorry that she departed without my knowing it."

This time the Sand Lady laughed. "Good-morning, gentlemen," said she.
"Go on with your duel."




XXVII.

A PERSON.


I fenced no more. "Walkirk," I cried, "let us get our traps on board,
and be off!"

My under-study looked troubled,--more troubled than I had ever seen him
before.

"Why do you think of this?" he asked. "Where do you propose to go?"

"Home," said I, "to my own house. That is the place where I want to be."

Walkirk stood still and looked at me, his face still wearing an air of
deep concern.

"It is not my place to advise," he said, "but it seems to me that your
return at this moment would have a very odd appearance, to say the
least. Every one would think that you were pursuing Mother Anastasia,
and she herself would think so."

"No," said I, "she will not suppose anything of the kind. She will know
very well on whose account I came. And as for the people here, they
might labor under a mistake at first, because of course I should not
offer them any explanation, but they would soon learn the real state of
the case; that is, if they correspond with the Mother Superior."

"You propose, then," said Walkirk, "to lay siege to the House of Martha,
and to carry away, if you can, Miss Sylvia Raynor?"

"I have made no plans," I answered, "but I can look after my interests
better in Arden than I can here. I do not like this sudden departure of
the Mother Superior. I very much fear that something has induced her to
withdraw the good will with which she previously seemed to look upon my
attachment to Miss Raynor. Were this not so, she would have advised with
me before she left. Nothing could have been more natural. Now I believe
she has set herself against me, and has gone away with the intention of
permanently separating Sylvia and myself."

"Have you any reason," asked Walkirk, "to impute such an intention to
her?"

"Her sudden flight indicates it," I replied; "and besides, you know,
although she is not a Roman Catholic, she is at the head of a religious
house, and persons in that position are naturally averse to anybody
marrying the sisters under their charge. Even if she does not approve of
Miss Raynor's remaining in the House, she may not want her to date a
love affair from the establishment. If I remain here, Miss Raynor may be
spirited entirely out of my sphere of action."

"It strikes me," said Walkirk, "the way to get her spirited out of your
sight and knowledge is for you to go home at this juncture. In that
case, Mother Anastasia would be bound, in duty to the young lady and her
family, to send her away. Do you not agree with me that if you were to
reach Arden in the natural course of events, so to speak, and especially
if you got there after your grandmother had returned, you would avoid a
great deal of undesirable complication, and perhaps actual opposition?"

"You are right," I answered; "it would not look well for me to start
away so suddenly. We will wait a day or two, and then drop off
naturally."

Walking toward the house, in the afternoon, I met the Person. She
advanced toward me, holding out her hand with an air of peremptory
friendliness.

"I am heartily glad to see you. I want you to amuse me. I could not ask
this of you so long as that fascinating abbess was on the island."

I was a little surprised at this salutation, and not at all pleased. I
did not fancy this lady. She had an air as if she were availing herself
of her right to be familiar with her inferiors.

"I fear it is not in my power to do anything to amuse you," said I.

"Entirely too modest," she answered. "Let us walk over to this bench in
the shade. You are not desired at the house; everybody is taking a nap."

I went with her to the bench she had pointed out, and we sat down.

"Now, then," said she, turning toward me, "will you do me the favor to
flirt with me? Say for twenty-five minutes," looking at her watch; "that
will bring us to four o'clock, when I must go indoors."

At first I thought the woman was insane, but a glance at her face showed
that there was no reason for fear of that kind.

"That sounds crazy, doesn't it?" she asked, "but it isn't. It is an
honest expression of a very natural wish. Hundreds of ladies have
doubtless looked at you and had that wish; but social conventions
forbade their expressing it. Here we have no conventions, and I speak my
mind."

"Madam," said I, "or miss, there are few things I hold in such
abhorrence as flirtation." As I said this I looked at her severely, and
she looked at me quizzically. She had gray eyes, which were capable of a
great variety of expressions, and her face, suffused by the light of a
bantering jocularity, was an attractive one. I was obliged to admit
this, in spite of my distaste for her.

"I like that," she said; "it sounds so well, after your vigorous
flirtation with our abbess. If I had not seen a good deal of that, I
should not have dared to ask you to flirt with me. I thought you liked
it, and now that she is gone might be willing to take up with some one
else."

I was irritated and disquieted. I had been very earnest in my attentions
to Mother Anastasia. Perhaps this lady had seen me attempt to kiss her
hand. I must set myself right.

"You are utterly mistaken," said I. "What I had to say to Mother
Anastasia related entirely to another person."

"One of the sisters in her institution?" she asked. "She had nothing to
do with any other persons, so far as I know. Truly, that is a capital
idea!" she exclaimed, without waiting for response from me. "In order to
flirt with a member of the sisterhood, a gentleman must direct his
attentions to the Mother Superior who represents them, and the flirting
is thus done by proxy. Now don't attempt to correct me. The idea is
entirely too delightful for me to allow it to be destroyed by any bare
statements or assertions."

"I suppose," I answered, "that Mother Anastasia has taken you into her
confidence?"

"Thank you very much for that most gratifying testimony to my powers of
insight!" she cried. "The Mother Superior gave me no confidences. So you
have been smitten by a gray-gown. How did you happen to become
acquainted with her? I do not imagine they allow gentleman visitors at
the House of Martha?"

"Madam, you know, or assume to know, so much of my affairs," said I,
"that in order to prevent injurious conjectures regarding the House of
Martha, its officers and inmates, I shall say that I became acquainted
in a perfectly legitimate manner with a young lady living therein, who
has not yet taken the vows of the permanent sisterhood, and I intend, as
soon as circumstances will permit, to make her an offer of marriage. I
assure you, I regret extremely that I have been obliged to talk in this
way to a stranger, and nothing could have induced me to do it but the
fear that your conjectures and surmises might make trouble. I ask as a
right that you will say no more of the matter to any one."

"Would you mind telling me the lady's name?" she asked.

"Of course I shall do no such thing," I answered, rising from my seat,
with my face flushing with indignation.

"This is odd flirting, isn't it?" said she, still retaining her
seat,--"a quarrel at the very outset. I shall not be prevented from
informing you why you ought to tell me the name of the lady. You see
that if you don't give me her name my ungovernable curiosity will set me
to working the matter out for myself, and it is quite as likely as not
that I shall go to the House of Martha, and ask questions, and pry, and
watch, and make no end of trouble. If a blooming bride is to be picked
from that flock of ash-colored gruel-mixers, I want to know who it is to
be. I used to be acquainted with a good many of them, but I haven't
visited the House for some time."

I had never known any one assume toward me a position so unjustifiable
and so unseemly as that in which this lady had deliberately placed
herself. I could find no words to express my opinion of her conduct, and
was on the point of walking away, when she rose and quickly stepped to
my side.

"Don't go away angry," she said. "On this island we don't get angry; it
is too conventional. I am bound to find out all about this affair,
because it interests me. It is something quite out of the common; and
although you are in a measure right in saying that I have nothing to do
with your affairs, you must know you have in a measure mixed yourself up
with my affairs. I am one of the original subscribers to the House of
Martha, and used to take a good deal of interest in the establishment,
as was my right and privilege; but the sisters bored me after a time,
and as I have been traveling in Europe for more than a year I now know
very little of what has been going on there. But if there is a young
woman in that House who prefers marriage to hospital life and
tailor-made costumes to ash-bags, I say that she has mistaken her
vocation, and ought to be helped out of it; and although I know you to
be a pretty peppery gentleman, I am perfectly willing to help her in
your direction, if that is the way she wants to go. I offer myself to
you as an ally. Take me on your side, and tell me all about it. It would
be perfectly ridiculous to let me go down there imagining that this or
that underdone-griddle-cake-faced young woman was your lady-love. I
might make mistakes, and do more harm than good."

"Madam," I replied, "let us have done with this. I have never said one
word to the young lady in question of my feelings toward her, and it is
in the highest degree improper and unjust that she should be discussed
in connection with them. I have laid the matter before Mother Anastasia,
as she stands in position of parent to the young lady; but with no one
else can I possibly act, or even discuss the subject," and I bowed.

"I don't like this," she said, without noticing that I had taken leave
of her. "Mother Anastasia did not intend to leave here until to-morrow,
and she went away early this morning. She has some pressing business on
hand, and ten chances to one she has gone to fillip your young lady out
of your sight and hearing. Don't you see that it would not look at all
well for one of her sisters to marry, or even to receive the attentions
of a gentleman, immediately after she had left the institution?"

This suggestion, so like my own suspicions, greatly disturbed me.

"Are you in earnest," said I, "or is all this chaffer? What reasonable
interest can you take in me and my affairs?"

"I take no interest whatever," said she, "excepting that I have heard
you are both eccentric and respectable, and that I have found you
amusing, and in this class of people I am always interested. But I will
say to you that if there is a woman in that House who might make a
suitable and satisfactory marriage, if an opportunity were allowed her,
I believe she should be allowed the opportunity, and, acting upon
general principles of justice and a desire to benefit my fellow-mortals,
I should use my influence to give it to her. So you see that I should
really be acting for the girl, and not for you, although of course it
would amount to the same thing. And if Mother Anastasia has gone to pull
down the curtain on this little drama, I am all the more anxious to jerk
it up again. Come, now, Mr. Lover in Check,--and when I first heard your
name I had no idea how well it fitted,--confide in me. It would delight
me to be in this fight; and you can see for yourself that it would be a
very humdrum matter for me to join your opponents, even if I should be
of their opinion. They do not need my help."

This argument touched me. I needed help. Should Mother Anastasia choose
to close the doors of the House of Martha against me, what could I do?
It might divert this lady to act on my behalf. If she procured an
interview for me with Sylvia, I would ask no more of her. There was
nothing to risk except that Sylvia might be offended if she heard that
she had been the object of compacts. But something must be risked,
otherwise I might be simply butting my head against monastic brickwork.

"Madam," said I, "whatever your motives may be, I accept your offer to
fight on my side, and the sooner the battle begins the better. The young
lady to whom I wish to offer myself in marriage, and with whom I am most
eager to meet, is Miss Sylvia Raynor, a novice, or something of the
kind, in the House of Martha."

With her brows slightly knitted, as if she did not exactly understand my
words, my companion looked at me for an instant. Then her eyes sparkled,
her lips parted, and a flush of quick comprehension passed over her
face. She put back her head and laughed until she almost lost her
breath. I looked upon her, shocked and wounded to the soul.

"Pardon me," she said, her eyes filled with the tears of laughter, "but
it can't be helped; I withdraw my offer. I cannot be on your side, at
least just now. But I shall remain neutral,--you can count on that,"
and, still laughing, she went her way.

Any one more disagreeably unpleasant than this woman I had never met.
When I told Walkirk what had happened I could not restrain my burning
indignation, and I declared I would not remain another hour on the
island with her. He listened to me with grave concern.

"This is very unfortunate," he said, "but do not let us be precipitate."




XXVIII.

THE FLOATING GROCERY.


I now positively decided that the next day I would leave this island,
where people flew off at such disagreeable tangents; but as I was here
on invitation, I could not go away without taking leave of my hostess.
Accordingly, in the evening Walkirk and I went up to the house.

The Sand Lady was manifestly grieved when she heard of our intended
departure, and her brother was quite demonstrative in his expressions of
regret; even the Shell Man, who had discovered in Walkirk some tastes
similar to his own, demurred at our going. The Person, however, made no
allusion to the subject, and gave us, indeed, as little of her society
as she apparently did of her thoughts.

In order not to produce the impression that I was running after Mother
Anastasia, as Walkirk had put it, I announced that we should continue
our cruise for an indefinite time. I was sorry to leave these good
people, but to stay with that mocking enigma of a woman was impossible.
She had possessed herself, in the most crafty and unwarrantable manner,
of information which she had no right to receive and I had no right to
give, and then contemptuously laughed in my face. My weakness may have
deserved the contempt, but that made no difference in my opinion of the
woman who had inflicted it upon me. I was glad, when we bade good-night
and farewell to the little party, that the Person was not present.

But early the next morning, just as we were hoisting sail on our boat,
this lady appeared, walking rapidly down to our beach. She was dressed
in a light morning costume, with some sort of a gauzy fabric thrown over
her head, and if I had not hated her so thoroughly I should have
considered her a very picturesque and attractive figure.

"I am glad I am in time," she called out. "I don't want you to go away
with too bad an opinion of me, and I came to say that what you have
confided to me is just as safe with me as it would be with anybody else.
Do you think you can believe that if you try?"

It was impossible for me to make any answer to this woman, but I took
off my hat and bowed. The sail filled, and we glided away.

Walkirk was not in good spirits. It was plain enough that he liked the
Tangent Island and wanted to stay; and he had good reason, for he had
found pleasant company, and this could not always be said to be the case
when sailing in a small boat or camping out with me. My intention was to
sail to a town on the mainland, some thirty miles distant, there leave
our boat, and take a train for Arden. This, I considered, was
sacrificing to appearances as much time as I could allow.

But the breeze was light and fitful, and we made but little progress,
and about the middle of the forenoon a fog came slowly creeping up from
the sea. It grew thicker and heavier, until in an hour or two we were
completely shut out from all view of the world about us. There was now
no wind. Our sail hung damp and flabby; moisture, silence, and obscurity
were upon us.

The rest of the day we sat doleful, waiting for the fog to lift and the
wind to rise. My fear was that we might drift out to sea or upon some
awkward shoals; for, though everything else was still, the tide would
move us. What Walkirk feared, if anything, I do not know, but he kept up
a good heart, and rigged a lantern some little distance aloft, which, he
said, might possibly keep vessels from running into us. He also
performed, at intervals, upon a cornet which he had brought with him.
This was a very wise thing to do, but, for some reason or other, such
music, in a fog, depressed my spirits; however, as it seemed quite
suitable to the condition of my affairs I did not interfere, and the
notes of Bonnie Doon or My Old Kentucky Home continued to be soaked into
the fog.

Night came on; the fog still enveloped us, and the situation became
darker. We had our supper, and I turned in, with the understanding that
at midnight I was to take the watch, and let Walkirk sleep. It was of no
use to make ourselves any more uncomfortable than need be.

It was between two and three o'clock when I was called to go on watch;
and after I had been sitting in the stern smoking and thinking for an
hour or more, I noticed that the light on the mast had gone out. It was,
however, growing lighter, and, fancying that the fog was thinner, I
trusted to the coming of the day and a breeze, and made no attempt to
take down and refill the lantern.

Not long after this my attention was attracted by something which
appeared like the nucleus of a dark cloud forming in the air, a short
distance above the water, and not far away on our port quarter. Rapidly
the cloud grew bigger and blacker. It moved toward us, and in a few
moments, before I had time to collect my thoughts and arouse Walkirk, it
was almost upon us, and then I saw that it was the stern of a vessel,
looming high above my head.

I gave a wild shout; Walkirk dashed out of his bunk; there was a call
from above; then I felt a shock, and our boat keeled over on her
starboard side. In a moment, however, she receded from the other vessel,
and righted herself. I do not know that Walkirk had ever read in a book
what he ought to do in such an emergency, but he seized a boat hook and
pushed our boat away from the larger vessel.

"That's right!" cried a voice from above. "I'll heave ye a line. Keep
her off till we have drifted past ye, and then I'll haul ye in."

Slowly the larger vessel, which was not very large, but which drifted
faster than our little boat, floated past us, until we were in tow at
her bow. We could now see the form of a man leaning over the rail of the
vessel, and he called out to us to know if we were damaged, and if we
wanted to come aboard. I was about to reply that we were all right, and
would remain where we were, when Walkirk uttered an exclamation.

"We are taking in water by the bucketful," said he; "our side has been
stove in."

"Impossible!" I exclaimed. "We were not struck with enough force for
that."

But examination proved that he was correct. One or more of our planks
had been broken just below the water line and our boat was filling,
though not rapidly.

"Stoved in, eh?" shouted the voice from above. "Well, ye needn't sink.
I'll haul yer bowline taut, and I'll heave ye another to make fast to
yer stern. That'll keep yer little craft afloat until ye can unlade her;
and the quicker ye get yer traps up here the better, if ye don't want
'em soaked."

Acting upon these suggestions, Walkirk and I went vigorously to work,
and passed up our belongings as rapidly as possible to the man above,
who, by leaning over the rails, could easily reach them. When everything
movable had been taken out of our boat, the man let down a ladder and I
climbed on board the larger vessel, after which he came down to our
boat, detached the boom, gaff, and sail, and unshipped the mast; all of
which we afterwards hoisted on board his vessel by means of a block and
tackle.

"Now, then," said our new companion, "ye're safe, and yer boat can
capsize if it's a mind to, but it can't sink; and when it's better
daylight, and Abner's on deck, perhaps we'll rig out a couple of spars
and haul her up at the stern; but there's time enough to settle all
that. And now I'd like to know how ye came to be driftin' around here
with no light out."

I explained, but added I had not seen any light on his vessel.

"Well," said the man, looking upward, "that light's out, and ten to one
it was out when we run inter ye. I'spect Abner didn't calkerlate for
fillin' it for day work and night work too."

The speaker was a grizzled man, middle-aged, and rather too plump for a
sailor. He had a genial, good-natured countenance, and so far as I could
see was the only occupant of the vessel.

His craft was truly a peculiar one. It was sloop-rigged, and on the
after part of the deck, occupying about one third of the length of the
vessel, was a structure resembling a small one-storied house, which rose
high above the rest of the deck, like the poop of an old-fashioned
man-of-war. In the gable end of this house, which faced upon the deck,
there was a window and a door. The boom of the mast was rigged high
enough to allow it to sweep over the roof.

"I reckon you gents think this is a queer kind of a craft," said the
man, with a grin of pleasure at our evident curiosity; "and if ye think
that, ye are about right, for there isn't jist such another one as far
as I know. This is a floating grocery, and I am captain of the sloop or
keeper of the store, jist as it happens. In that house there is a good
stock of flour, sugar, feed, trimmings, notions, and small dry goods,
with some tinware and pottery, and a lot of other things which you
commonly find in a country grocery store. I have got the trade of about
half the families in this bay; all of them on the islands, and a good
many of them on the mainland, especially sech as has piers of their own.
I have regular days for touching at all the different p'ints; and it is
a mighty nice thing, I can tell ye, to have yer grocery store come round
to ye instead of yer having to go to it, especially if ye live on an
island or out in the country."

Walkirk and I were very much interested in this floating grocery store,
which was an entirely novel thing to us, and we asked a good many
questions about it.

"There's only me and Abner aboard," said the grocer-skipper, "but that's
enough, for we do a good deal more anchorin' than sailin'. Abner, he's
head clerk, and don't pretend to be no sailor at all; but he lays a hold
of anythin' I tell him to, and that's all I ask of him in the sailorin'
line. But he is first class behind the counter, I can tell ye, and in
keepin' the books I couldn't find nobody like Abner,--not in this State.
Now it may strike ye, gents, that I am not much of a sailor neither, to
be driftin' about here at night in this fog instead of anchorin' and
tootin' a foghorn; but ye see, I did anchor in the fore part of the
night, and after Abner had gone to his bunk--we don't keep regular
watches, but kinder divide the night between us, when we are out on the
bay, which isn't common, for we like to tie up at night, and do our
sailin' in the daytime--it struck me that as the tide was runnin' out we
might as well let it take us to Simpson's Bar, which, if ye don't know
this bay, is a big shallow place, where there is always water enough for
us, bein' a good deal on the flat-bottomed order, but where almost any
steamin' craft at low tide would stick in the mud before they could run
into us. So thinks I, If we want to get on in the direction of Widder
Kinley's (whose is the last house I serve down the bay), and to feel
safe besides, we had better up anchor, and I upped it. But I had ought
to remembered about that light; it wasn't the square thing to be
driftin' about without the light, no more fur me than fur ye. I've
sounded a good many times, but we don't seem to have reached the bar
yet. It must be pretty near time for Abner to turn out," and he looked
at his watch.

"Your assistant must be a sound sleeper," I remarked.

"Yes, he is," replied the man. "He needs lots of sleep, and I make it a
p'int to give it to him. If it isn't positively necessary, I don't wake
him up until the regular time. Of course, if it had been our boat that
had been stoved in, and she had been like to sink, I'd have called
Abner; but as it was yer boat, and none of us was in no danger, I didn't
call him. Here he is, though, on time."

At this, a tall, lean man, not quite so much grizzled as the other, made
his appearance on deck. He gazed from one to the other of us, and upon
our various belongings, which were strewn upon the deck, with
undisguised amazement.

His companion laughed aloud. "I don't wonder, Abner," he cried, "that ye
open yer eyes; 't ain't often two gentlemen come on board in the night,
bag and baggage; but these two stoved in their boat agin our rudder, and
here they are, with their craft triced up to keep her from sinkin'."

Abner made no answer, but walked to the side of the vessel, looked over,
and satisfied himself that this last statement was correct.

"Capt'n Jabe," said he, turning to the other, "we can't sail much, can
we, with that thing hangin' there?"

"Well, now, Abner," replied the captain, "we are not sailin' at the
present time,--we are driftin'; for it is my idee to drop anchor as soon
as we get to Simpson's Bar, and this tide is bound to carry us over it
if we wait long enough, so we must keep soundin', and not slip over
without knowin' it."

"It strikes me," said Abner, "that we should save a lot of trouble if we
should put the anchor out and let it hang; then, when we come to the
bar, she'll ketch and fetch us up without our havin' it on our minds."

"You see, gents," said Captain Jabe to us, "Abner don't pretend to be no
sailor, but he's got his idees about navigation, for all that."

Abner took no notice of this remark. "Capt'n," said he, "does these
gents want to turn in?"

"Not till they have had some breakfast," replied Captain Jabe, and we
assented.

"All right," said Abner, "I'll tackle the grub," and, opening the door
of the grocery store, he went inside. In a few minutes he reappeared.
"Capt'n," said he, in a voice which he intended to be an aside, "are you
goin' to count 'em as mealers, or as if they was visitin' the family?"

Captain Jabe laughed. "Well, Abner," said he, "I guess we will count
them as mealers, though I don't intend to make no charge."

Abner nodded, and again entered the little house.

"What are mealers?" I asked of the captain.

"In this part of the country," he answered, "there's a good many city
folks comes for the summer, and they take houses; but they don't want
the trouble of cookin', so they make a contract with some one livin'
near to give them their meals regular, and this sort of folks goes by
the general name of mealers. What Abner wanted to know fur was about
openin' the cans. You see, most of our victuals is in cans, and if Abner
knowed you was regular payin' mealers he would open fresh ones; but if
you was visitin' the family, he'd make you help eat up what was left in
the cans, just as we do ourselves."

It was not long before the thrifty Abner had given us a substantial
breakfast; and then Walkirk and I were glad to take possession of a
spare couple of bunks, for we were tired and sleepy, and the monotonous
fog still hung around us.

It was about noon when I waked and went on deck, where I found Walkirk,
Captain Jabe, and Abner engaged in consultation. There was a breeze
blowing, and every particle of fog had disappeared.

"We've been considerin'," said the captain, addressing me, "what's the
best thing to do with yer boat; there's no use tryin' to tinker her up,
for she has got a bad hole in her, and it is our fault, too. One of the
iron bands on our rudder got broke and sprung out a good while ago, and
it must have been the sharp end of that which punched into yer boat when
we drifted down on her. We ain't got no tackle suitable to h'ist her on
board, and as to towin' her--a big boat like that, full of water,--'t
ain't possible. We've lost a lot of time already, and now there's a good
wind and we are bound to make the best of it; so me and Abner thinks the
best thing ye can do is to sink yer boat right here on the bar where we
are now anchored, having struck it all right, as ye see, and mark the
spot with an oil-cag. Anybody that knows this bay can come and git her
if she is on Simpson's Bar, buoyed with an oil-cag."

I was sorry that we should not be able to repair our boat and continue
our trip in her, but I saw that this would be impossible, and I asked
Captain Jabe if he could take us to Brimley.

"I can do that," he answered, "but not straight. I have got fust to sail
over to Widder Kinley's, which is on that p'int which ye can just see
over there on the edge of the water, and where I was due yesterday
afternoon. Then I've got to touch at three or four other places along
the east shore; and then, if this wind holds, I guess I can git across
the bay to my own house, where I have got to lay up all day to-morrow.
The next day is Saturday, and then I am bound to be in Brimley to take
in stock. There ye two gents can take the cars for wherever ye want to
go; and if ye choose to give me the job of raisin' yer boat and sendin'
it to its owners, I'll do it for ye as soon as I can fix things
suitable, and will charge ye just half price for the job, considerin'
that nuther of us had our lights out, and we ought to share damages."

I agreed to the proposed disposition of our boat, and asked Captain Jabe
if I could not hire him to take us direct to Brimley.

"No, sir!" he answered. "I never pass by my customers, especially Widder
Kinley, for she is the farthest off of any of them."

"And she must be lookin' out sharp for us, too," said Abner, "for she
bakes Thursdays, and she ought to sot her bread last night."

"And I am a great deal afeard," continued Captain Jabe, "that her yeast
cakes won't be any too fresh when she gits 'em; and the quicker that
boat's down to the bottom and our anchor up off the bottom, the better
it will be for the Widder Kinley's batch of bread."

In the course of half an hour an empty oil-keg was moored over the spot
where our boat lay upon the sandy bar, and we were sailing as fast as
such an unwieldy vessel, with her mainsail permanently reefed above the
roof of her grocery store, could be expected to sail. Our tacks were
long and numerous, and although Walkirk and I lent a hand whenever there
was occasion for it, and although there was a fair wind, the distant
point rose but slowly upon our horizon.

"I hope," I remarked to Captain Jabe, "that the Widow Kinley will buy a
good bill of you, after you have taken all this trouble to get to her."

"Dunno," said he; "she don't generally take more than she has ordered
the week before, and all she has ordered this time is two yeast cakes."

"Do you mean," exclaimed Walkirk, "that you are taking all this time and
trouble to deliver two yeast cakes, worth, I suppose, four cents?"

"That's the price on 'em," said the captain; "but if the Widder Kinley
didn't git 'em she wouldn't do no bakin' this week, and that would upset
her housekeepin' keel up."

Late in the afternoon we delivered the yeast cakes to the Widow Kinley,
whom we found in a state of nervous agitation, having begun to fear that
another night would pass without her bread being "sot." Then we coasted
along the shore, tying up at various little piers, where the small
farmers' and fishermen's families came on board to make purchases.

Now Abner was in his glory. Wearing a long apron made of blue-and-white
bed-ticking, he stood behind the counter in the little house on deck,
and appeared to be much more at ease weighing sugar, coffee, and flour
than in assisting to weigh anchor. I seated myself in the corner of this
floating grocery, crowded, shelves, floor, and counter, with such goods
as might be expected to be found at an ordinary country store.

It seemed to me that nearly every one who lived near the points at which
we touched came on board the floating grocery, but most of them came to
talk, and not to buy. Many of those who did make purchases brought farm
produce or fish, with which to "trade." It was an interesting spectacle,
and amused me. During our slow progress from one place to another,
Captain Jabe told me of an old woman who once offered him an egg which
she wished to take out in groceries, half in tea and half in snuff.

"We don't often do business down as fine as that," said the captain;
"but then, on the other hand, we don't calkerlate to supply hotels, and
couldn't if we wanted to."

Walkirk appeared uneasy at the detentions which still awaited us.

"Couldn't you take us straight on to Brimley," he asked of the captain,
"and sail back to your home in the morning?"

"No, sir!" answered Captain Jabe, with much decision. "My old woman
'spects me to-night,--in p'int of fact, she 'spected me a good deal
before night,--and I am not goin' to have her thinkin' I am run down in
a fog, and am now engaged in feedin' the sharks. There is to be a
quiltin' party at our house to-morrer arternoon, and there's a lot to be
done to get ready for it. Abner and me will have to set up pretty late
this night, I can tell yer!"

"Is there no way of getting to the railroad," I asked, "but by your
boat?"

"No," said Captain Jabe, "I can't see that there is. Pretty nigh all the
folks that will be at the bee to-morrow will come in boats. None of them
live nigh to a railroad station, and if they did, and could take ye back
with 'em, they wouldn't leave early enough for ye to ketch the last
train: so the best thing ye can do is to stick by me, and I'll guarantee
to git ye over to Brimley in time for the mornin' train on Saturday."




XXIX.

FANTASY?


We reached Captain Jabe's house a little after nightfall, and received a
hearty welcome and a good supper from his wife. Walkirk and I slept on
board the floating grocery, as also did Abner; that is to say, if he
slept at all, for he and the captain were busy at the house when we
retired. The quilting party, we were informed, was expected to be a
grand affair, provided, of course, there were no signs of rain; for
country people are not expected to venture out for pleasure in rainy
weather.

Captain Jabe's house, as we saw it the next morning, was a good-sized
waterside farmhouse, wide-spreading and low-roofed. The place had a sort
of amphibious appearance, as if depending for its maintenance equally
upon the land and the water. The house stood a little distance back from
the narrow beach, and in its front yard a net was hung to dry and to be
mended; a small boat, in course of repair, lay upon some rude stocks,
while bits of chain, an old anchor, several broken oars, and other
nautical accessories were scattered here and there.

At the back of the house, however, there was nothing about the barn, the
cow-yard, the chicken-yard, and the haystacks to indicate that Captain
Jabe was anything more than a thrifty small-farmer. But, farmer and
sailor as he was, Captain Jabe was none the less a grocer, and I think
to this avocation he gave his chief attention.

He took me into a small room by the side of his kitchen, and showed me
what he called his "sinkin' fund stock."

"Here, ye see," said he, "is canned fruit and vegetables, smoked and
salted meat and fish, cheeses, biscuits, and a lot of other things that
will keep. None of these is this year's goods. Some of them have been
left over from last year, some from the year before that, and some is
still older. Whenever I git a little short, I put a lot of these goods
on board and sell 'em with the discount off,--twenty per cent for last
year's stock, forty per cent off for the year before that, and so on
back. So, ye see, if I have got anythin' on hand that is five years old,
I am bound to give it away for nothin', if I stick to my principles. At
fust me and my old woman tried eatin' what was left over; but discount
isn't no good to her, and she wants the best victuals that is goin'. Did
ye ever think, sir, what this world would be without canned victuals?"

I assured him that I never had, but would try to do so if possible.

The day proved to be a very fine one, and early in the afternoon the
people invited to the quilting party began to arrive, and by two o'clock
the affair was in full swing. The quilting frame was set up in a large
chamber at the right of the parlor, the "comfortable" to be quilted was
stretched upon it, and at the four sides sat as many matrons and elderly
maidens as could crowd together, each with needle in hand. Long cords
rubbed with chalk were snapped upon the surface of the quilt to mark out
the lines to be stitched; wax, thread, and scissors were passed from one
to another; and every woman began to sew and to talk as fast as she
could.

I stood in the doorway and watched this scene with considerable
interest, for I had never before seen anything of the kind. The quilting
ladies, to every one of whom I had been presented, cordially invited me
to enter and take a seat with them; some of the more facetious offering
to vacate their places in my favor, and, more than that, to show me how
to thread and use a needle. I found from their remarks that it was
rather an unusual thing for a man to take an interest in this part of
the proceedings at a quilting party.

After a time I went into the parlor, which room was then occupied by the
young men and young women. It was ever so much pleasanter out-of-doors
than in this somewhat gloomy and decidedly stuffy parlor; but as these
people were guests at a quilting party, they knew it was proper to enjoy
themselves within the house to which they had been invited.

The young folks were not nearly so lively and animated as their elders
in the next room, but they had just begun to play a game which could be
played in the house, and in which every one could participate, and as
the afternoon wore on they would doubtless become warmed up. Walkirk was
making the best of it, and had entered the game; but I declined all
invitations to do so.

Before long there was some laughing and a good deal of romping, and I
fancied that the girls, some of whom were not at all bad looking, would
have been pleased if I had joined in the sport. But this did not suit
me; I still was, as I declared myself, a Lover in Check, and the society
of young women was not attractive to me.

I went outside, where a group of elderly men were discussing the tax
rates; and after remaining a few minutes with them, I came to the
conclusion that the pleasantest thing I could do would be to take a
stroll over the country.

I made my way over some rolling meadow land, where three or four of
Captain Jabe's cows were carefully selecting the edible portions of the
herbage, and, having passed the crest of a rounded hill, I found myself
on the edge of a piece of woodland, which seemed to be of considerable
extent. This suited my mood exactly, and I was soon following the curves
and bends of a rude roadway, in places almost overgrown by vines and
bushes, which led me deeper and deeper into the shadowed recesses of the
woods. It was now about four o'clock in the afternoon. The sun was still
well up, and out in the open the day was warm for an up-and-down-hill
stroll; but here in the woods it was cool and quiet, and the air was
full of the pleasant summer smells that come from the trees, the leaves,
and the very earth of the woods.

It was not long before I came upon a stream of a character that somewhat
surprised me. It was not very wide, for at this spot the trees met above
it, darkening its waters with their quivering shadows; but it was
evidently deep, much deeper than the woodland streams of its size to
which I had been accustomed. I would have liked to cross it and continue
my walk, but I saw no way of getting over. With a broken branch I
sounded the water near the shore, and found it over two feet deep; and
as it was no doubt deeper toward the middle, I gave up the idea of
reaching the other side. But as I had no particular reason for getting
over, especially as I should be obliged to get back again, I contented
myself easily with my present situation, and, taking a seat on the
upheaved root of a large tree, I lighted a cigar, and gave myself up to
the delights of this charming solitude. I was glad to be away from
everybody, even from Walkirk, the companion I had chosen for my summer
journey.

There were insects gently buzzing in the soft summer air; on the other
side of the stream, in a spot unshadowed by the trees, the water was
sparkling in the sunlight, and every little puff of the fitful breeze
brought to me the smell of wild grapes, from vines which hung from the
trees so low that they almost touched the water. It was very still in
these woods. I heard nothing but the gently rustling leaves, the faint
buzzing in the air, and an occasional tiny splash made by some small
fish skimming near the surface of the stream. When I sat down on the
root of the tree, I intended to think, reflect, make plans, determine
what I should do next; but I did nothing of the sort. I simply sat and
drank in the loveliness of this woodland scene.

The stream curved away from me on either hand, and the short stretch of
it which I could see to the left seemed to come out of the very heart of
the woods. Suddenly I heard in this direction a faint regular sound in
the water, as if some animal were swimming. I could not see anything,
but as the sounds grew stronger I knew that it must be approaching. I
did not know much of the aquatic animals in this region; perhaps it
might be an otter, a muskrat, I knew not what. But, whatever it was, I
wanted to see it, and, putting down my cigar, I slipped softly behind
the tree at whose foot I had been sitting.

Now the swimming object was in view, coming rapidly toward me down the
middle of the stream. There was but little of it above the water, and
the shadows were so heavy that I could see nothing but a dark point,
with a bright ripple glancing away from it on either side. Nearer and
nearer it came into the better lighted portion of the stream. It was not
a small animal. The ripples it made were strong, and ran out in long
lines; its strokes were vigorous; the head that I saw grew larger and
larger. Steadily it came on; it reached the spot in the clear light of
the sun. It was the head of a human swimmer. On the side nearest me, I
could see, under the water, the strokes of a dark-clad arm. Above the
water was only a face, turned toward me and upward. A mass of long hair
swept away from it, its blue eyes gazed dreamily into the treetops; for
a moment the sunbeams touched its features. My heart stopped
beating,--it was the face of Sylvia.

Another stroke and it had passed into the shadow. The silvery ripples
came from it to me, losing themselves against the shore. It passed on
and on, away from me. I made one step from behind the tree; then
suddenly stopped. On went the head and upturned face, touched once more
by a gleam of light, and then it disappeared around a little bluff
crowned with a mass of shrubbery and vines. I listened, breathless; the
sounds of the strokes died away. All was still again.