And so Miss Jelliffe turns out to be an exceedingly womanly young woman, which, after all, is the only kind we poor imperfect men are able to admire. When the chance came for her to show courage and sympathy she seized upon it instinctively. I am sure Dora would be ever so fond of her, and I wish that they could meet one another.
From Miss Helen Jelliffe to Miss Jane Van Zandt
Dear Aunt Jennie:
Harry Lawrence was telling me one day that the proper study of man is girl, and vice versa. It is his modification of the ancient and mossy saw.
Daddy is doing very well, and now that he is asleep through the hypnotic virtues of a best seller which I have read to him in large doses, I resume my correspondence with you, and, incidentally, my study of man. He is really very interesting, Aunt Jennie, with the tiniest bit of secretiveness as to his own purposes in life which, of course, makes one more curious about him. In a frock coat, with gardenia in his button hole, he would make an ideal usher at a fashionable wedding. A few days ago, when we took that trip to Will's Island, I observed that he has capable limbs, properly clean-cut features and a general appearance of energetic efficiency. There are scores just like him, that we meet on golf links and tennis courts, and, in spite of his rough garb, he really is a most presentable young man.
I received your letter yesterday, and of course my own Auntie Jennie could not have foreborne to say that there is no island so deserted that I would not find a nice young man in it. I consider this statement as merely displaying the most ordinary and even superficial acquaintance with the laws of gravitation.
By this time I am naturally entirely at home in the social circles of Sweetapple Cove. The ancient dames grin at me, most toothlessly and pleasantly, and since I recklessly distributed all my stock of Maillard's among the urchins I have a large following among the juvenile population. To guard against the impending famine I have obtained from St. John's some most substantial and highly colored candies at very little a pound which are just now quite as popular to an undiscriminating taste. I wish I had not been so prodigal with the other ones.
I have foregathered with Mrs. Barnett a great deal and have simply fallen in love with her. Aunt Jennie, dear, she is a lady to her poor needle-pricked fingers' ends. She is one of the numerous offspring of an English parson who was the seventh or eighth son of an inpecunious baronet, I believe. Her husband starved as a curate in the most genteel fashion, for some years, and suddenly announced that he was coming here. We don't know whether Ruth was quite so subservient after the wedding was over, for I understand that some brides change to some extent after marriage. Mrs. Barnett was a Ruth before and remained one ever since.
She quietly packed up her trunks and her infants and doubtless bought the tickets, as Mr. Barnett was probably writing a sermon or visiting old ladies up to the last moment. Then she found herself here and immediately made the best of it, and that best is a thing to marvel at. She is a beautiful, tired-looking thing in dreadful clothes who wears an aureola of hair that is a perfect wonder. Her back is beautifully straight and she is capable of a smile I wish I could imitate.
She has the softest, cultured, sweet, English accent, which came with a little quiver of her voice when she told of a little one who died here, before there was any doctor. The three that are left are to her as Cornelia's jewels.
I would just give anything to bring her to New York, give her the run of the bestcouturièresand show her to some of our diamonds-at-breakfast dowagers. As Harry would say, she would make them look like thirty cents. They would perish with jealousy. She holds the savor and fragrance of centuries of refinement.
Yesterday I went to their little church. It was built by Mr. Barnett and the inhabitants, who cheerfully gave their labor. Every board of it represents untold begging and saving. It was a nice, simple, little service, in which the people were much interested and sang hymns with fervor and plenty of false notes. My voice is hardly worth the money that has been squandered upon it, but such as it is I began to sing also. To my intense dismay I was soon singing alone, for the rest of the congregation respectfully stopped. Mr. Barnett looked at me most benevolently over his spectacles, but this was hardly enough to subdue my sudden stage fright.
On the day before the nice little man called on us, soon after dinner, which here is a midday function. Before this particular feast I had apologized to Daddy for leaving him alone and going sailing for a few hours.
"That's the worst of you women-folk," he rebuffed me. "Just because a fellow happens to be fond of you, you must pretend that you are entirely indispensable. I got on very nicely, thank you, and your absence had no deleterious influence upon my leg. There is some slight pain in it, whether you are here or not."
"I know that the charm of my conversation makes you forget it at times,"I told him.
"I don't deny the charm," said Daddy, who is the most scrupulously polite man, as you know, "but just now the delight of something to eat is what I'm hankering for."
"You are going to have Newfoundland turkey," I told him.
Daddy looked at me incredulously, and then his countenance fell.
"Don't tell me you are referring to codfish," he said.
"That is the sad news," I told him. "It is going to be perfectly delicious, and you will have to wait a moment."
So I turned up my sleeves and armoured myself in a blue gingham apron before invading the realm of Susie Sweetapple, who only knows how to boil things, including the tea. Like a true artist I engaged in an improvisation. The only really bad thing about codfish, Aunt Jennie, is its intrusive quality when it is prepared by the hundreds and thousands of quintals. Otherwise, like eggs and potatoes, it is capable of a multiplicity of avatars. We brought the dish back in triumph.
"Here, at last, is some return for the money squandered upon my education," I announced. "Aren't you glad I took a course in cookery?"
But Daddy refused to commit himself until after he had thoroughly sampled my effort.
"It is first rate," he said, "and you can take another course if you like."
"You know I brought the cookery book with me," I informed him, "but I've stopped using it. It tells one to take pinches of this, and pints of that, and cupfuls of other things that have never been heard of in Sweetapple Cove. It is dreadfully discouraging. I suggested roast beef to Susie, for to-night, and she stared at me and I laughed at my own folly. There is just one recently imported cow in the place, and a small calf, and they're alive, as are the goats. I can't reconcile my mind to the idea of a live cow being beef, and the calf is a personal friend of mine."
"I have hitherto considered you as being somewhat ornamental," said Daddy. "Now that you are also proving useful I am deeming you a profitable investment."
So we had lunch together, for I can't get used to the custom of calling it dinner.
"That was a splendid sail we had," I said. "The sea was perfectly delightful. And that poor man was so glad to be brought here. Dr. Grant is doing wonderful things."
"A smart chap," commented Daddy. "If he has to do this for a living I'm sorry for him, and if he isn't compelled to he's probably some sort of useful crank."
"At any rate Sweetapple Cove appreciates him," I said.
"I have no doubt he's an angel with pin-feathers sprouting all over him," retorted Dad. "But it isn't business, which I take the liberty of defining as the way of making the best of one's opportunities instead of frittering them away. He has unquestionably done a few dozens of poor devils a lot of good, including myself. But he could find many more cripples in any big city, and a few of them might have bank accounts."
Just then we heard some one whistling. I was interested to note that the tune was from a fairly recent comic opera that can hardly have reached the general population of Sweetapple Cove.
"There is your crank," I said, rather viciously.
He knocked at the door and came in, breezily, as he generally does.
"I've got to be off," he announced. "I shall probably not return till to-morrow night, or perhaps the morning after. You are getting along very well, Mr. Jelliffe. Just let me have another look before I go away."
The inspection seemed to be entirely satisfactory.
"Well, I'll run now," said Dr. Grant. "I'll come and see you the moment I get back."
He hurried out again, and I saw him join Sammy and the Frenchman. I waved my hand at him as the boat was leaving the cove, but I suppose that he wasn't looking for he made no answer, though Yves wigwagged with a flaming bandanna.
"Now wouldn't that jar you?" said Daddy. "Wouldn't it inculcate into you a chastened spirit? Doesn't he consider me as an important patient? Just comes in and grins and runs away again, for a couple of days, as if I were not likely to need him at any moment. He's the limit!"
"I don't really think he is going away just for the fun of it," I objected.
At this moment Susie Sweetapple burst into the room like a Black Hand bomb. It is one of her little ways.
"Parson's coming," she declared, breathlessly, and nodded her head violently to emphasize the importance of her statement.
"I suppose it is Mr. Barnett," I said. "They expected him back to-day. He has been away to a place they call Edward's Bay."
"I presume it is," assented Daddy. "His arrival appears to cause the same sort of excitement on this population as the fire-engines produce among the juveniles of New York, judging from Susie's display."
The girl had run to the door and opened it widely. Then she backed away before a little man who removed a clerical hat that was desperately green from exposure to the elements, and which revealed a shock of hair of a dull flaxen hue doubtless washed free of any pigment by salt spray and rain. His garments were also of distinctive cut, though they frankly exposed well-meant though unvailing efforts at matching buttons and repairing small rents. He bowed to me, his thin face expanding into a most gentle and somewhat professional smile, and he expressed commiseration at the sight of Daddy in his bed.
"I hope I don't intrude upon your privacy," he said, with an intonation just as refined as that of his wife, though scarcely as sweet. "I took the liberty of calling, having been informed of your very distressing accident. I fear you have not finished your repast, and perhaps I had better…"
"Do come in and take a seat," I told him. "It is ever so kind of you to call."
"I am very glad to see you, sir," said Daddy, very cordially. "We have not had many opportunities to welcome visitors here, and even our doctor is too busy a man to pay long calls."
"Yes, quite so. Indeed he is at times exceedingly busy. We think him an extremely nice young man; quite delightful, I assure you, and he does a great deal of good."
The man was rubbing his thin little hands together, with his head cocked to one side, looking like an intellectual and benevolent sparrow.
I must say that I was impressed by him. From conversations with the fishermen I had gathered the impression that Mr. Barnett was a perfectly fearless man on land and water, and I had imagined an individual cast in a rather heroic mold.
It hardly seemed possible that this little parson was the subject of the tales I had heard, for he bore a tiny look of timidity and, I was sorry to see, of overwork and underfeeding. But the latter may have been dyspepsia.
"This is rather a large field to which we have been called," he continued. "It gives one very fine opportunities as well as some difficulties to contend with. But of course we keep on striving. It is not missionary work, you understand, for the people are all very firm believers. It is merely a question of lending a helping hand, to the best of one's ability."
"It must be dreadfully hard at times," I put in. "You had quite a long sail to get here, didn't you? And isn't it perfectly awful in winter?"
"I have been carried out to sea, and things have looked rather badly sometimes," he said, deprecatingly. "But one must expect a little trouble now and then, you know."
Daddy began to ask him questions. You know how he prides himself on his ability to turn people inside out, as he expresses it. The poor little man answered, slowly, smiling blandly all the time and looking quite unfit, physically, to face the perils of such a hard life. I became persuaded that under that frail exterior there must be a heart full of strength to endure, of determination to carry out that which he considers to be his duty.
"You know I really am afraid I'm a dreadful coward," he suddenly confessed. "I have been rather badly frightened some times."
"My father was the bravest man I ever knew," said Daddy, "and he acknowledged that he was scared half to death whenever he went into battle, during the war. Yet he was several times promoted for gallantry in the field. I feel quite sure that you must have deserved similar advancement, more than once."
Mr. Barnett looked at him, doubtfully, and with a funny little frightened air.
"I am afraid you must be chaffing me," he said, with a tentative smile.
"No, sir, I am not," clamored Daddy. "Bravery lies in facing the odds, when you have to, and putting things through regardless of one's fears. The chap who never gets scared hasn't enough brains to know danger."
The uneasy look of the parson's face gave way to a pleased expression.
It was interesting to watch Daddy getting at all the facts, as he calls it, and I suppose that it is a precious talent. In the shortest possible time he knew the birth rate, the chief family histories, the rates for the transportation of codfish to the remotest parts of the world, and how many barrels of flour it took to keep a large family alive for one year, besides a few hundred other things.
During a lull I asked Mr. Barnett whether he would have some tea. Your cultivated taste is the one I have followed as regards this beverage, and I have an ample provision. Before the full-flavored North China infusion, which I kept out of Susie's devastating hands, and the little biscuits coming from the most British-looking tin box, I saw the Reverend Basil Barnett, late of Magdalen, gradually becoming permeated by a sense of something that had long been missing from his life. When he first caught the aroma he looked incredulous, then his features relaxed in the smile of the expert utterly satisfied.
"Mrs. Barnett and I are exceedingly fond of tea," he said, after I had compelled him to let me fill his cup for the third time.
To-morrow I shall discover some manner of making the dear woman accept a pound or two of it. The appreciation of her spouse made me think of some lion-hearted, little, strenuous lady with an inveterate tea-habit. Can you understand such a confused statement? I realize that it is badly jumbled. At any rate he held his cup daintily, with three fingers, and looked at it as Daddy looks at a glass of his very special Château-Larose.
"I shall have to go now," he announced, perhaps a little regretfully. "I hear, Miss Jelliffe, that you have helped minister to the needs of that poor Dick Will. I am going to see him now. By the way, I trust I may have the pleasure of seeing you to-morrow at our little church, if you can leave your dear patient long enough."
"Of course I'll come," I promised, "and I would be glad to go with you now and see Dick. I know Daddy won't mind, and I should like to see whether I can do anything to make the man more comfortable."
"Run along, my dear," said Daddy.
Mr. Barnett expressed thanks, and we walked away together. I actually had to shorten my steps a little to accommodate myself to his quick, shuffling gait. It is queer, Aunt Jennie, but before this tiny, unpretentious parson I feel a sense of deference and high regard. To think he is able to overcome his fears, that his gracile body has been called upon to withstand the bufferings of storms, and that his notion of duty should appear to raise him, physically, to the level of these rough vikings among whom he labors, is quite bewildering. And the best of it is that when he talks he is entirely free from that didactic authority so often assumed by men of his cloth. He just admits you into his confidence, that is all.
"Mrs. Barnett has told me of your kindness to her and the little chaps," he said. "I am so pleased that you have become acquainted. The thing a woman misses most, in places like this, is her circle of friends. But she is the bravest soul in the world, and although she worries a good deal when I am away in bad weather she always looks cheerful when I return. I have been blessed beyond my deserts, Miss Jelliffe."
The little man looked up at me, and I could see that his face was bright with happiness, so that I had to smile in sympathy. I don't know that I have ever realized before what a huge thing love and affection mean in the lives of some people, how they can cast a glamour over sordid surroundings and reward one for all the hardships.
"I am glad that you are happy," I told him. "I think that you have become very fond of the place and of these people."
"I shall miss them if ever I am called away," he acknowledged, looking at the poor, unpainted houses and the rickety flakes.
Dear Auntie Jennie, it looks to me as if these were people to be envied. To the parson life is the prosecution of a work he deems all-important, and which he carries on with the knowledge that there is always a helping hand lovingly to uphold his own. And yet I admire his wife still more deeply, for she looks like a queen who loves her exile, because the king is with her.
We went into the house in which Dick found shelter. The men were away fishing, of course, but two women were there, with their fair share of the children who swarm in the Cove. At once aprons were produced for the polishing of the two rough chairs of the establishment.
"We has some merlasses now," one of the women told me, proudly. "Th' little bye he be allers a puttin' some on bread an' leavin' it on th' cheers."
Daddy is calling me, so good by for the present. I am so glad the people of Sweetapple Cove interest you.
Lovingly,HELEN.
From Miss Helen Jelliffe to Miss Jane Van Zandt
Dearest Auntie:
Would you believe that the time here flies at least as fast as in New York during Horse-Show week, although one gets to bed earlier. I am beginning actually to enjoy this place, strange as it may seem. Had it not been for poor Daddy's accident I should have been the most contented thing you ever saw. He sends his love and says I've just got to learn stenography and type-writing so that when he breaks more legs he can write to you daily. I believe he's forgotten the use of a pen except to sign checks with. His patience is wonderful, but he calls it being a good sportsman. I believe there is a great deal in that word.
It is queer that one can make oneself at home in such a little hole, and find people that are quite absorbing; I mean the natives, as well as the others. The whole place is asleep by eight or nine, unless there has been a good catch of fish, when the little houses on the edge of the cove are full of weary men still ripping away at the cod, that are brought in huge piles dwindling very fast after they are spread out to dry. Daddy gets batches of newspapers, by the uncertain mail, but finishes by nine and requests to be permitted to snore in peace. I write hurriedly for an hour or two, and finally succumb to the drowsiness you may find reflected in these pages.
On returning from my visit to Dick Will, Daddy looked at me enquiringly, as I am his chief source of local news and the dear old man is becoming nearly as absorbed in Sweetapple Cove as in Wall Street.
"The parson has gone to pay other visits," I told him, "but I couldn't leave you any longer. He is such a nice little man. He asked if he could read a chapter from the Bible, and Dick said he would be very glad. When it was finished the man looked as if he were thinking very hard, and Mr. Barnett asked if anything were puzzling him. Then Dick asked about the ice in the Sea of Galilee, because big floes were often ankle-deep and he had often seen men who looked as if they were walking on the water. Mr. Barnett explained that there was no ice in that country."
"And what did Dick say?" asked Daddy.
"'Then how does they do for swiles?'" was what he asked, and when he was informed that there were no seals in Galilee Dick expressed commiseration for the poor people.
"They are a pretty ignorant lot," commented Dad, laughing heartily.
"Few of them have the slightest chance of obtaining any education," I replied. "And Mr. Barnett was so nice to him, explaining things. Then he said nothing at all about the chastening effect of suffering. That seems to be something these people know about. The parson just said that we were all so glad to see him getting well again. You know, Daddy, the admonitions of some dominies sound rather like hitting a fellow when he's down. Mr. Barnett isn't that kind."
"I expect that he belongs to a first-rate kind, my dear," said Daddy. "There are all kinds of religions, but the only one I respect is that of the simple, trusting soul."
"I met Mrs. Barnett and asked her to come in to supper," I informed Dad. "We have plenty of canned chicken left and Susie's brother brought in a lot of beautiful trout. The man thought that fifteen cents a dozen would be about the right price, but he left it to me, and I couldn't beat him down. When he brought them Susie disdainfully informed him that fish was grub for poor people, and that we had lots of lovely things in cans. I insisted on taking the trout."
"If you continue to squander money in that way I'll have to cut down your allowance," threatened Daddy, whereupon I reminded him that he had never made me one and that I had always sent the bills to him.
He was laughing. I think it's the nicest thing in the world for a girl to be such pals with her father. I wouldn't give one of the nice grey hairs on his temples for all the nobility and gentry of Europe and the millionaires of America. Then I went to get the chess-board and the dear man gave me all the pawns I wanted and proceeded to wipe the floor with me, as Harry says. We played on till it began to get dark and Susie came in with the lamp which she placed in the bracket fastened to the wall.
"Like as not it'll be rainin' soon," she announced. "The swallers is flyin' low and the wind he've turned to sou-east, so belike it'll be pourin' in a while. How's yer leg feelin' the night, Mister, an' is there anythin' else I might be doin' fer yer?"
"No thank you, Susie," he replied.
"So long as parson's comin' I better make hot biscuits too. He's after likin' them, an' I kin open one o' they little white crocks o' jam. He holds more'n what ye'd think a wee bit man the likes o' he would manage to, though he don't never fat up, an' it goes ter show as grub makes brains with some folks, an' blubber in others."
I could make no answer to such highly scientific statements, and in a few moments a knock was heard at the door, upon which our handmaiden precipitated herself.
"Come right in," she said. "Don't take notice if yer boots is muddy fer I'll be scrubbin' th' floor ter-morrer. Yer must have been ter the Widdy Walters, for they is a big puddle afore her door, even this dry weather we've had couple o' days. Come right in an' welcome fer everybody's glad ter see yer."
Having thus amply done the honors Susie backed away and our two guests came in. The parson actually had a dress-suit which smelt most powerfully of camphor balls and Mrs. Barnett wore something that must have been a dear little dress some years ago, in which she looked as sweet as sweet can be. They were both smiling ever so brightly, and the little lump that was rising in my throat at the sight of these pathetic clothes went back to wherever is its proper place.
"Good evening, Mr. Jelliffe," said the parson, and repeated his greeting to me. "It feels a little like rain. I see that you have been playing chess. Dear me, it is such a long time since I have had a game."
I told him that this was a very imprudent remark, for which my father would make him pay dearly. I am afraid his sense of humor is drawn down rather fine, or lying fallow, or something. I had to explain that he would be captured and made to play whether he wanted to or not, whereat he beamed.
Susie came in again to get our little table ready, and brought up the barrel-top which is her latest improvisation of a tray for Daddy's use. I rose to assist in the preparatives but Susie scorned my aid.
"Ye jist set down an' enj'y yerself," she commanded me. "'T ain't every day one has th' parson to talk ter. I kin shift ter do it all an' it's no use havin' a dog an' doin' yer own barkin', like the sayin' is. Th' biscuits is done brown an' th' kittle's on the bile."
She ran out again for our dishes, and Daddy turned to our two friends.
"You are looking at an abject slave and a young lady who is getting fairly tamed, though at times she still rebels. Both of these young women exercise authority over me all day long until the ownership of my own soul has become a moot question. When my leg is properly spliced again I shall take that freak Susie to New York and exhibit her as the greatest natural curiosity I have been able to find on the island."
Mrs. Barnett laughed, ever so pleasantly, and declared that Susie was a good girl whose intentions were of the best.
Then Daddy went on to explain to Mrs. Barnett the mystery of our presence here. He told how our second mate had boasted of the salmon that swarmed in Sweetapple Cove, and how in a moment of folly he had decided to forsake the Tobique for that year and explore new ground. I was the one who had suggested camping out, practically, if we could find a little house, while we sent back the yacht for repairs, at St. John's. We were expecting it soon. The accident, of course, had to be thoroughly described.
"It was a beautiful fish, madam, a perfect beauty," he went on. "A clean run salmon of twenty pounds, if he was an ounce, and as strong as a horse. I had to follow him down stream and, first thing you know, I toppled over those confounded rocks and my leg was broken. The fish went away, towing my best rod and reel towards the Cove."
The parson said grace and we sat down. I am happy to say that they enjoyed Susie's culinary efforts, and we had the nicest chatty time. Just as we finished we all stopped conversing and listened. The rain was pelting down upon our little window panes and the wind came in heavy gusts, while, far away, the thunder was rolling. Then, after a time, we heard steps upon the little porch and I rose to open the door. It was Dr. Grant, engaged in the very necessary formality of removing his dripping oilskins.
"May I come in?" he asked.
"Please do so," I answered. "We didn't expect you back until to-morrow.My father will be delighted to see you, as will your other friends."
He came in and sat down after he had greeted everybody. The poor man looked quite worn and harassed. It was a distinct effort that he made to speak in his usual pleasant way, and I could see that something troubled him.
"I think I will leave you now," he said, after a few moments. "I just wanted to find out how Mr. Jelliffe was getting on. They are expecting me at Sammy's,"
"Oh! Do rest for a moment," I told him. "You look very tired."
He sat down again, looking at his feet.
"The wind died down and the tide was bearing us away," he explained. "We had to take to the oars. Pulled a good fifteen miles. We were rather hurried, for we could see this storm coming up. I'm glad we made the Cove just in time."
We could all hear the rain spattering down violently. Flashes of lightning were nearly continuous and the thunder claps increased in intensity while the wind shook our little house.
"It is all white water outside now," he said, listening. "Well, I'll be off now."
"Yer ain't a goin' ter do nothin' o' the kind," interrupted Susie, who had just entered with another plate. "There's plenty tea left an' if there ain't I kin make more. Ye jist bide there till I brings yer some grub. Ye're dead weary an' needs it bad."
"Do stay," I sought to persuade him.
"Thank you, you are very kind," he said.
One could see that for the moment he didn't care whether he had anything to eat or not, yet he managed to do fair justice to Susie's cooking.
"I am feeling a great deal better now," he soon announced. "I think I was rather fagged out. We came back so early because I found I was no longer needed. I am ever so much obliged to you. I'm afraid I am not very good company to-night and I will be back early in the morning. That plaster cast is getting a little loose. We will split it down to-morrow and have a good look at things."
Mrs. Barnett had risen also and was looking at him. In her eyes I detected something that was a very sweet, motherly sympathy. Her quick intuition had shown her that something had gone entirely wrong. Her smile was so kind and friendly that it seemed to dissolve away something hard that had come over the surface of the man.
"Isn't there anything that we can do for you?" she asked.
"Nothing!" he exclaimed. "What can any one expect to do? What is the use of keeping on trying when one has to be forever bucking against ignorance and stupidity? There is nothing the matter with me. Just a dead woman and baby, that is all. Just a poor, hard-working creature that has scarcely known a moment of real happiness in this world. She had five little ones already, clinging to her skirts, and a lot of stupid neighbors. I know the kind of advice she got from those silly old women. 'No use callin' in th' doctor. Them things comes on all right if yer has patience. They doctors does dreadful things. I's had seven an' here I be, an' no doctor ever nigh me.' Oh! I can hear the poor fools speaking, and naturally she took their advice. Then, of course, when she was gasping for breath and beginning to grow cold they sent for me, thirty miles away, and when I landed they told me it was all over, and I found them moaning, with a wild-eyed man huddled up in a corner hardly able to understand, and a lot of little ones crying for food."
He stopped and wiped his brow with his handkerchief, and looked around him, without appearing to see any of us. It was like a pent-up stream that had burst from its dam, and the flood was not yet exhausted.
"I felt like cursing the lot of them," he continued, "and giving them the tongue-lashing of their lives. But much good it would have done, and I managed to hold myself back! I couldn't help telling them that they should have sent for me three days ago, when things began to go wrong. They know well enough how to weep over their misery, but no one can make them use their silly heads. They keep on coming with infected gurry sores as if arms could be saved after they've nearly rotted away, and send for me to see the dying, as if I could raise them from their beds."
He had stopped suddenly, and looked embarrassed.
"I beg your pardon," he said. "I should not have spoken of these things. They are all a part of the game. I daresay I ought to have gone up on the hill, back of the cliffs, and had a good bout of bad language all to myself, where none could hear me."
Neither the parson nor his wife appeared to be the least bit shocked at this. They knew from long experience the things that try men's souls.
"I'm glad you've spoken," I told him. "It has relieved you, I'm sure, and we all sympathize with you."
Long ago, Aunt Jennie, you told me that a man is nothing but a grown-up boy. This one looked around the room. Daddy was smiling at him in his dear friendly fashion, and the other two were kindliness itself.
"A fellow doesn't always take his medicine like a little man," he said, apologetically, "and you're all ever so good."
Then he left, still looking just a little bit ashamed of himself, as I've seen fellows do in a defeated crew when they have sunk down for a moment on their sliding seats.
"I think the boy feels alone, sometimes," said Mrs. Barnett. "He has really a great deal to contend with. But he is a splendid fellow, and I'm sorry for him. Every one loves him in Sweetapple Cove, you know."
Presently the two left us, after I had promised to go to the little church on the next day. Susie had come in with a lighted lantern, clad to her feet in an ancient oilskin coat, and insisted on seeing them home. They thanked us very charmingly and I watched their departure, the reflections of the light playing over the deep puddles on the road.
Then I sat down by Daddy's bed, pondering.
"A penny for your thoughts, daughter," he said.
"I was thinking that men are very interesting," I told him. "Dr. Grant always looks like such a strong man."
"And now you think you have discovered the feet of clay?"
"Well, it seemed quite strange, Daddy."
"I'll tell you one thing, girly," he said. "Never make the fatal error of thinking any one is perfect. It is a mistake that young people are rather apt to indulge in. There are little weak points, and sometimes big ones, in all of us."
"I suppose so," I assented, "but these were such dreadful things he told us about. It seems so terrible that they should happen at all. It has made me feel unhappy. I thought that doctors got used to such things."
"There are a lot of things a fellow never gets used to, my dear," answered Daddy. "This one is young yet, but he will probably never get over the sense of rebellion which comes over a man, a real man, who finds himself butting his head against stupidity and ignorance. Don't you make any mistake about that fellow Grant! The poorest kind of chap is the one who is always letting things slide. This is a tough, square-jawed, earnest chap, of the sort who put their hearts and souls into things, right or wrong. The man who has never felt or shown weakness is a contemptible egotist. The cocksure fools always have perfect faith in themselves. Those two men, the big and the little one, are both pretty fine specimens, and in their own ways they are equally strong. They're made of the right stuff."
I don't exactly know why, but I felt greatly pleased. Daddy is a mighty keen man of the world, and his judgment of others has been one of his great assets.
"I wish we could help too, Daddy," I told him.
"We may, if we find a way," he answered. "I'm going to investigate the matter."
When Daddy says he is to investigate, something is going to drop, with a dull thud. At least that's the way Harry Lawrence puts it. By the way, Aunt Jennie, what has become of him, and why hasn't he written to me?
Your lovingHELEN.
From John Grant's Diary
I slept rather late, this morning, and came out of the house feeling very fit. Had it not been for my blistered hands nothing would have remained to show what a hard pull we had yesterday, excepting the unpleasant feeling that I made rather a donkey of myself last evening. My only excuse, and a mighty poor one, is that I was rather played out and developed a silly grouch.
I had only gone a little way when I met Mrs. Barnett. She came towards me with her hand outstretched, smiling in her usual pleasant way.
"Right again and topside up," she exclaimed, brightly. "Sammy was just telling me what a hard time you had to make the cove, yesterday. Those broad shoulders of yours give you an advantage over my husband. He would have had to go off towards North Cove. It is fine to be as strong and big as you."
"Mrs. Barnett," I said, fervently, "you are an awful humbug."
She cocked her head a little to one side, with a pretty motion she sometimes unconsciously affects.
"Out with it," she said. "Explain yourself so that I may repent and be forgiven."
"There is nothing to be forgiven you," I declared. "I would like to place you on a pedestal and direct the proper worshipping of you. None but the most superior kind of a woman can take a fool chap and turn his folly around so that he may be rather pleased with it. I expected a good wigging from you, and deserve it."
"That sort of thing is one of the most important functions and privileges of a woman," she answered. "Men need it all the time for the smoothing out of their ruffled feelings."
"The men shouldn't allow them to get ruffled," I said.
"There speaks the wise man," she laughed, "nor should the sea permit itself to get stormy. Were you not explaining to me the other day that the wind allows the climbing up of the sap in swaying trees, and that the stirring of the waters keeps them pure and fit to maintain the unending life beneath them?"
"It seems to me that I did."
"Well, I suppose that a little storminess now and then serves some useful purpose in a man, and if he only can have a woman about him, to see that it doesn't go too far, it will do him a lot of good. You should get married."
"Of course I ought to," I replied, "and moreover I would give everything in the world if only…."
I interrupted myself, considering that since Dora Maclennon and I are not engaged, and that she merely represents to me a longing which I often consider as a hopeless one, I have no right to discuss her, even with this dear kind woman.
"You have already found the girl?" asked Mrs. Barnett, her eyes filled with the interested sympathy always shown by the gentler sex in such matters.
"I have found her," I replied, "but she is very far away from me, and it is just a case of having to grin and bear it."
Then her blue eyes opened widely, and with an exquisitely gentle touch she placed her hand on my arm.
"You poor dear boy!" she said, with the sweetest little inflection of voice, that held a world of friendliness and compassion.
"I am afraid you will think I am in a perpetually disgruntled state," I told her. "Nothing of the kind! I eat the squarest kind of square meals every day and really enjoy the work here. If it were not a bit trying, from time to time, it wouldn't be worth a man's while to tackle it."
"That is the way to talk," approved Mrs. Barnett.
So we shook hands again and I left her, thinking what a splendid thing it must be for a fellow to have such a tower of gentle strength to lean upon.
I went over to the Jelliffes' and cut down the plaster dressing. The broken leg is doing very well, as was to be expected, and I was much pleased.
"That's doing splendidly," I told him. "A little more patience for a couple of weeks and we'll have you walking up and down the village, a living advertisement of my accomplishments."
"A couple of weeks!" exclaimed Mr. Jelliffe. "That sounds like three or four. I know you fellows. No one ever managed to get anything definite out of a doctor, with the possible exception of his bill."
I laughed, but refused to commit myself by making any hard and fast promises, and Miss Jelliffe came in.
"Daddy enjoyed himself ever so much last evening," she said. "He likes Mr. Barnett and grows enthusiastic when he speaks of Mrs. Barnett. I must say that I share his views."
"They are made of the salt of the earth," I asserted.
"Yes, there can be no doubt of that," she said. "But doesn't it seem dreadful that a gently nurtured woman should be placed in such surroundings, with no means of obtaining anything but the barest needs of existence? She has to stand all the worries of her own household and, in addition, is compelled to listen to the woes of all the others."
"And any help that she can extend to them," I added, "saving that of sympathy and kind words, is always at the cost of depriving herself and her little ones. And yet she is doing it unceasingly, and goes about in shocking clothes and with a smile on her face, cheerfully, as if her path in life lay over a bed of roses."
"That's what I call a fine woman, and a good one," said Mr. Jelliffe, "but I'm sure it is her devotion to that little man that has brought out all her fine points. His people are her people and she has adopted his ideals."
The front door was widely opened on this pleasant day, and, as I was finishing the dressing, Miss Jelliffe was dreamily looking out over the cove and following the circling gulls. I think that, like myself, she wondered at the simplicity of it all. A woman loved a man and clung to him, and from that moment their personalities merged, and their thoughts were shared, and a rough, rock-bound, fog-enwrapped land became, for all its hardships, a place where a man could do great work while the woman developed to the utmost her glorious faculties of helpfulness and tender unselfishness.
To me there could be no doubt that this couple had made of their union something very noble in achievement, though they were so quiet and simple about it all. In so many marriages the partnership is but a poor doggerel, while in others it is a poem of entrancing beauty, filling hearts with happiness and heads with generous thought.
"You have been staring at me for a whole minute, Doctor," said Mr. Jelliffe, suddenly. "Anything particularly wrong or fatal in my general appearance?"
"I'm sure I beg your pardon," I said, in some confusion. "You are looking ever so well and I wish I could hurry your leg on a little faster. Nature has ordained that bones will take just about so long to mend. And now I am going away to play. Practice happens to be quite slack to-day and Frenchy should be waiting outside with my rod. I am going to see whether I cannot deceive an innocent salmon into swallowing a little bunch of feathers."
"How dare you speak of such things to an inveterate old angler, after tying him up by one leg!" exclaimed my patient, shaking his fist at me. "You fill my heart with envy and all manner of uncharitableness. I call it the meanest thing I ever heard of on the part of a doctor. Here I am, without even a new Wall Street report wherewith to possess my soul in patience. Run away before I throw something at you, and good luck to you!"
"I haven't dared to ask Miss Jelliffe whether she would like to cast a fly also," I said. "I suppose she will have to stay and nurse your wounded feelings."
"She has stuck to me like a leech since yesterday morning," complained the old gentleman, "excepting for the short time when she went to church. I don't seem to be able to get rid of her. Wish you would take her away with you and get me some salmon that doesn't come in cans. She will doubtless have plenty of rainy days during which she will be compelled to stay indoors with me, whether I like it or not."
"I have a half a mind to take you at your word, to punish you," said MissJelliffe.
"This should be a great day for a rise," I sought to tempt her.
"I suppose I can be back in time for lunch?" she asked.
"Certainly. You can come back whenever you want to," I assured her.
"Don't you really care, Daddy?" she asked her father.
"What I care for is broiled salmon, fresh caught and such as has not been drowned in a net like a vulgar herring," answered the latter.
We were away in a few minutes, walking briskly down to the cove, where we entered a dory which Frenchy propelled. Our craft was soon beached at the mouth of the small river and we walked up the bank by the side of the brawling water. When we reached the first pool we sat down on the rocks while I moistened a long leader and opened my fly-book.
"I think we will begin with a Jock Scott," I proposed.
"No, let us try a Silver Doctor," she urged me. "It seems best adapted to present company. It's just a fancy I have, and I'm generally lucky."
As we were speaking a silver crescent leaped from the still surface, flashed for a second in the sunlight and came down again to disappear in the ruffled water.
"Heem a saumon magnifique!" exclaimed Yves.
"You must try for him, Miss Jelliffe," I said. "You are to make good that statement that you are lucky. There is a big rock under the water, just over there where you see that dark spot. He will be likely to rest there. It is a beautiful clean run fish. Now take my rod and cast well up stream and draw your fly back so that it will pass over that spot."
"Oh, no, you try," she said, eagerly. "Isn't he a beauty!"
But I insisted and she took the rod, a fourteen-foot split bamboo. She looked behind her, to see that the coast was clear. There were no bushes for her to hook and no rise of ground to look out for.
"Steady, Miss Jelliffe," I said. "Don't get nervous. If he rises don't try to strike. They will hook themselves as often as not. Begin by casting away from that place until you get out enough line, then get your fly a little beyond that spot and draw in gently."
"I've caught plenty of big trout," she said, excitedly, "but I've never landed a salmon. I am nearly hoping that he won't take the fly. I won't know what to do."
"There has to be a first time in everything," I told her. "Just imagine you're after a big trout."
She appeared to become cooler and more confident, letting out a little line, retrieving it nicely, and lengthening her cast straight across the stream. The rod was going back expertly, just slightly over her right shoulder, and the line whizzed overhead.
"Easy," I advised her; "it is a longer rod than you are used to."
She waited properly until the line had straightened out behind her, and cast again.
"That is plenty, now for that rock, Miss Jelliffe," I said.
There was another cast, with a slight twist of her supple waist. The fly flew out, falling two or three yards beyond the rock and she pulled back, gently, her lure rippling the dark surface. Then came a faint splash, a vision of a silvery gleam upon the water, which smoothed down again while the line came back as light as ever.
"Easy, easy, don't cast again in the same place," I advised.
She obeyed, but sore disappointment was in her eyes.
"Did I do anything wrong?" she asked, eagerly.
"Not a bit. He never touched the fly. But I always like to wait a minute before casting again after a rise, and I think we will put on a smaller Doctor. His attention has been awakened and he will be more likely to take it."
I quickly changed the fly and Miss Jelliffe, with grim determination, went to work again. Soon she brought the lure over the exact spot but met with no response. Once more without the faintest sign of a rise. A third time, and suddenly the reel sang out and a gleaming bolt shot out of the water.
"Now steady, Miss Jelliffe! Easy on his mouth. Let him run. If he slackens reel in. That's the way! We'll have to follow him a little, but try to keep him from going down stream too far."
Her eyes were eager and her face flushed with the excitement. The wisps of her glorious hair were floating in the wind as she stepped along the bank, steadily, while I stood at her side without touching her, but with a hand ready in case of a slip or a misstep. Frenchy followed us, carrying a big landing-net and a gaff. His face bore a wide grin and he was jumping with excitement.
The fish turned and took a run up the pool, again shooting out of the water in a splendid leap. Then he turned once more, giving Miss Jelliffe a chance to reel in some line. For a short time he swam about slowly, as if deeply considering a plan of conduct. At any rate this was followed by furious fighting; he was up in the air again, and down to the bottom of the pool, and dashing hither and yon, the line cleaving the water. At times he seemed to try to shake his jaws free from the hook. Miss Jelliffe was now pale from the excitement of it. Her teeth were close set, excepting when she uttered sharp little exclamations of fear and renewed hope. But always she met his every move, deftly, and was quick to follow my words of advice. Then followed a period of sulking, when he went down deep and refused to budge, with the tense line vibrating a little with the push of the current. I began to meditate on the wisdom or folly of throwing a stone in the water to make him move, but suddenly he cut short my cogitations and shot away again, heading up-stream.
"Fight him just a bit harder, Miss Jelliffe," I advised. "Don't allow him to get rested and try to put a little more strain on the rod; it can stand it and I'm sure he's well hooked."
"But my arms are getting paralyzed," she complained, with a little tense laugh. "They are beginning to feel as if they would never move again."
"I should be glad to take the rod," I said, "but afterwards you would never forgive me. I know that you want to land that fish yourself."
Her little look of determination increased. She was flushed now. Under the slightly increased effort she made the salmon began to yield, taking short darts from side to side, which began to grow shorter.
"Walk down a little with him, to bring him into shallower water," I advised, and took the gaff from Yves. Then I waded in until I was knee deep and kept very still, but the fish took another run.
"Never mind," I cried, "keep on fighting even if your arms are ready to drop. A steady pull on him. That's fine! Bring him again a little nearer. That's the way! He is mighty tired now; just a bit nearer. Good enough!"
The iron of the gaff disappeared under water. Miss Jelliffe was giving him the butt, and her lips quivered. Then I made a quick move and a splashing mass of silver rose out of the stream with mighty struggling. I hurried ashore with it and held it up.
The great contest was over. Miss Jelliffe put down the rod and her arms sank down to her side, wearily, yet in another moment she knelt down upon the mossy grass beside the beautiful salmon.
"Oh! Isn't it a beauty!" she cried. "Thank you ever so much! Wasn't it a wonderful fight he made! I could never have managed it without your help. You're a very good teacher, you know, and I can understand now why you men just get crazy over salmon fishing. I'll be just as crazy as any one from now on. How much does he weigh?"
I pulled out my spring scale and hooked up the fish. We all watched eagerly as the pointer went down.
"Twenty-two; no, it's twenty-three and just a little bit over. I know it is the best fish taken from Sweetapple River this year. They haven't been running any larger," I said.
Then we all sat down again and admired the fish. Frenchy and I lighted our pipes, and I took the little Silver Doctor from the leader. It was just the least bit frayed but still very pretty and bright, with its golden floss and silver tinsel, its gold pheasant tips, blue hackles and multicolored wings.
"I will be glad if you will keep this fly," I told Miss Jelliffe. "You must hold it as a souvenir of your first salmon."
"Thank you! I will keep it always," she answered, brightly. "It will be a reminder of much kindness on your part, and of this beautiful day. Just look there, above the pool, where the little spruces and firs are reflected in the water that sings at their feet on its way down. How still it is and peaceful. Oh! It has been a glorious day!"
I must acknowledge that she was very charming in the expression of her enjoyment. There is nothingblaséabout this handsome young girl. I followed the hand she was pointing. The river above was like some shining road with edges jewelled in green and silvery gems. High up a great osprey was sailing in the blue, while around us the impudent Canada jays were clamoring. From this spot one could see no houses, owing to a bend in the river, and we were alone in a vastness of wilderness beauty, with none but Frenchy near us, who looked like a benign good soul whose gentle eyes shared in our appreciation.
"I think it is your turn to try the pool," Miss Jelliffe finally said.
"Not this morning," I answered. "You have no idea how the time has gone by, and how much I have enjoyed the sport. We will leave the pool now and go back. You know you were anxious to return in time for your father's lunch. From now henceforth we will know this as the Lady's Pool, and I hope to see you whip it again on many mornings, before you sail away."
"Please don't speak of sailing away just now," she said.
I took up the rod and the gaff, while Frenchy took charge of the salmon and the landing-net, and we walked down stream, past the first little rapids, to the place where we had left the dory.
"Won't Daddy be delighted!" exclaimed Miss Jelliffe.
"He will have good reason," I answered.
By this time we could see the cove and its rocky edges, upon which the rickety fish-houses and flakes were insecurely perched on slender stilts. A couple of blunt-bowed little schooners were at anchor, and some men in boats were catching squid for bait.
"This is picturesque enough," said Miss Jelliffe, "but I miss the beauty of all that we have just left."
"I'm sure you do," I answered, "yet this view also is worth looking at. It is not like the peaceful slumbering villages of more prosperous lands. It represents the struggle and striving for things that will never be attained, the hopes of those yet young and the reminiscences of others becoming too old to keep up the fight. In many ways it is better than a big town, for here the people all know one another, and no one can starve as long as his neighbor has a handful of flour. Sweetapple Cove is a fine place, for sometimes the winds of heaven sweep away its smells of fish and fill deep the chests of sturdy men who fight the sea and gale instead of fighting one another, as men so often must, in the big cities, to retain their hold upon the loaves and fishes."
"I suppose we all look for things that can never be attained," she repeated after me, with a look of very charming, frank friendliness.
I sometimes wonder whether I wear my heart upon my sleeve for those pleasant daws to peck at. At any rate they do it gently, and both Mrs. Barnett and this young lady are birds of a very fine feather.
So we entered the boat and were rowed over to the landing-place, but a few hundred yards away, where the Frenchman's little fellow was waiting, patiently, with one arm around a woolly pup with which he seemed to be great friends. As soon as we were ashore he left the dog and came up to Miss Jelliffe.
"Bonjour," he said. "Je t'aime bien."
Yves blushed and smiled, apologetically, at this very sudden declaration of love, but the girl stooped, laughing, and kissed the little chap, passing her hand over his yellow locks.
One is ever seeing it, this love of women for the little ones and the weaklings. We men are proud of our strength, but may it not be on account of some weaknesses hidden to ourselves that women so often love fellows who hardly seem to deserve them. It is a thing to wonder at. Dora, I am very sure, knows all the feeble traits I may possess. Will the day ever come when these may prompt her to think it would increase her happiness to take me under her protecting care?
"Won't you come over to the house?" Miss Jelliffe asked me.
"I am afraid that I rather need a wash," I said, "after handling your big salmon. Frenchy will take it over to your house. I must find out whether any one has been looking for me. In Sweetapple Cove there is no such thing as office hours, you know. People come at any time, from ever so many miles away, and sit down patiently to await my return."
"Well, good-by, and thank you again, ever so much. You must certainly come to-morrow and help us dispose of that fish."
She extended her hand, in friendly fashion, and I told her I was glad she had enjoyed herself.
"We are going out fishing again, are we not?" she asked. "I want more lessons from you, and I should like to watch you at work."
I told her that I would be very happy, and scrambled away up the path to Sammy's house. Then I looked back, before opening the door. I saw her still walking, followed by Frenchy who bore the salmon in triumph. I could see how lithe she was and how the health and strength of out-of-doors showed in her graceful gait.
"It is not good for man to live alone," I told myself, and after Mrs. Sammy had informed me that there were no pressing demands for my services I had lunch, after which I went to my room to write to Dora. I am doing the best I can not to bother the little girl, yet I'm afraid I always turn out something like a begging letter. But she always answers in a way that is ever so friendly and nice. In her last letter she dragged in again the fact that we were both still young, with the quite inaccurate corollary that we didn't know our own minds yet. I told her my mind was made up more inexorably than the laws of the Medes and the Persians, that it was not going to change, and that if her own mind was as yet so immature and youthful that it was not fully grown, she ought to give me a better chance to help in its development. I suppose that in her answer she will ignore this and speak of something else. That is what always makes me so mad at Dora, bless her little heart!