He shook his head. "Nothing wrong about that. You do it very well."
Then I asked him for the latest news from the seat of war.
"Well," he said, "we are forbidden to tell the news, although there isn't any. But if you were to go to Newport you would see a big British cruiser lying there. And if you had your glass with you you could read her name." He gave her name, but I have forgotten it. "It is supposed to be asecret, and has not been in the papers, but everybody at Newport knows it. They can't help it. The officers go about very swagger and very stiff, carrying little canes. You may see me carrying a little cane one of these days, but I have not yet arrived at that dignity—or folly, whichever you call it."
I smiled. "Did you never carry a little cane in college?"
"Oh, sometimes, for the sake of doing it, because I had a right to. But this is real."
"When you come back from England, or France, or wherever you are going, perhaps you will carry a cane." He seemed startled, but only for a moment.
"What makes you think I am going over?"
"Bobby told us—in confidence. When?"
He seemed relieved. "If Bobby told you that lets me out. I was afraid I might have dropped it somehow. I don't know when, but soon, I think."
"Jack," said Eve suddenly—it was the first time I had heard her call Ogilvie Jack—"Jack, we will have a clambake for a farewell. I hope they will give you some days' notice of your going."
"Thank you," he returned, smiling. "It is more likely to be hours' notice. But I will come to your clambake if I can."
"And can you bring," Eve asked, "your yeogirl? I invite her, and ask you to deliver the invitation."
He laughed suddenly. "My yeogirl—did you hear she was a joke?She is a real girl, but I don't know her, and I couldn't bring her over here,—or anywhere. No, I'm afraid you will have to get somebody else to deliver the invitation. How would Mr. Wales do?—or Bobby?"
"Jimmy has a wife, my cousin."
"Yes, I know. But Bobby—he hasn't any."
"Poor Bobby would be in greater trouble than ever. Besides, he wouldn't do it. Bobby has developed a nasty temper lately. I wanted the yeogirl for you, and if you don't want her—I am sorry Olivia has gone."
"Olivia would never do for me," he said, shaking his head. "I guess I shall have to devote myself to the clams—or to Elizabeth."
"You might do worse, young man," I said severely.
"I might," he assented. "In fact I have done worse."
I did not know whether he referred to the clams or to Elizabeth; but it was true in either case. And he said nothing more, and thereupon a silence fell, which is no misfortune and no embarrassment when the people are suited to it. I had been seeing Pukkie's yacht for some time, and she had just disappeared behind Old Goodwin's pier. And she had three people in her, when I supposed she carried only Elizabeth and Pukkie. I mentioned it to Eve, who was as much surprised as I; and we watched the pier and the shore.
And presently we saw coming along the shore, where the little waves were breaking, three figures. The figures were those of Elizabethand Pukkie—of those two I was certain—and the third looked like Bobby. I had to look several times before I was sure of him. He was walking beside Elizabeth, and his attitude betokened a strange mixture of devotion and distaste. As I looked again I saw that Elizabeth and Pukkie had been recently wet—very wet—and they were not yet dry. Bobby was not wet. The inference was obvious: Elizabeth and Pukkie had been overboard, and Bobby had not. But where had Bobby come from? Eve and I hurried down the steep path, and met them at its foot.
Elizabeth raised her eyes to me, and I saw two deep pools under a summer sun, and all manner of colors played over them, concealing thedepths. Then for an instant the lights were quenched that concealed the depths, and her eyes became as two dark wells with yet a sort of light illumining the darkness, and there I saw content, but not satisfaction—if those two can be reconciled. It was for but an instant, and then the lights came back, and her eyes danced, and she laughed at me.
"Are you wondering," she asked, "what has happened to us, and what Bobby Leverett is doing here?"
"It is easy to guess," I answered, "that you and Pukkie have been overboard, although why you should go in swimming in all your clothes is another matter. But I must confess to some wonder about that matter standing fidgeting there." And I pointed an accusing finger at Bobby.
Bobby was ill at ease, and struggling between the constraint that was upon him and a wish to tell his tale.
"Well, you see, Adam," he began, "I—we were cruising—"
"Who," I asked, interrupting, "is 'we'?"
"Bobby," said Elizabeth quietly, "you'd better let me tell it first. Puk and I," she continued, addressing Eve and me, "were sailing along too calmly, and he wanted to put up the gafftopsail. So he got it out, and ran with it, and he caught his foot in some of the superfluous ropes and blocks, and went overboard—topsail and all. I was afraid he might be tangled in the sail, so I let all the halliards go on the run, and I went after him. I got him, and saved the sail, and there was a boat from theRattlesnake, with Bobby. He helped us on board again, and insisted upon coming with us."
Bobby again opened his mouth to speak.
"One moment, Bobby," I said. "Tell me, Elizabeth, did the Rattlesnake spring so suddenly?"
She smiled and glanced at Bobby. "Oh, we had seen her before. That was why Puk was wanting the topsail. He wanted to see if we could beat her."
"Oh," said I, and I looked at Bobby, who squirmed as a caterpillar on a stick.
"We happened to be near," he said. He spoke calmly enough, but I saw that he was very uncomfortable. "I thought I ought to come, for Pukkie was very wet, and I wanted to besure he was all right. Miss Radnor had rather a nasty time getting him clear of that sail."
"Bobby!" said Elizabeth warningly. And suddenly she smiled as if she was much amused at something, perhaps at Bobby.
"Bobby," said Eve softly, "it was very good of you. Did Elizabeth save Pukkie's life?"
"I'm not sure," Bobby answered slowly, "that Pukkie's life was in danger, but I'm not sure that it was not."
Eve clasped Pukkie to her, wet as he was. I would have done the same.
"Bobby," Eve said again, looking up at him, "was there no one else that was very wet? I'm ashamed of you." She had spoken low.
"Er—you see," Bobby answered wriggling, "I knew very well that Eliz—Miss Radnor would be all right. She is—er—very competent."
And Elizabeth laughed at him and dropped a curtsey. "Thank you," she said.
Bobby was struggling with his desire to smile and with his dignity.
"I've got to get back somehow," he said. "Hello, there's Ogilvie." Ogilvie had been standing in plain sight at the top of the bluff. "He can take me—that is, if you can spare him." He beckoned to him, and Ogilvie came down. "You'll have to take me out, Jack."
Ogilvie grinned and saluted, and they started off together. But they had gone only a few steps when Bobby turned.
"I almost forgot to say good-bye."
He smiled unhappily, and was turning back, but Elizabeth ran to him and held out her hand.
"You can be on your dignity if you like, Bobby," she whispered, not so low but that I heard it, "but I'm not going to be. Good-bye, and thank you."
And Bobby had taken the hand that she held out. He held it for a long time, but said nothing that I could hear, but only looked. And he relinquished her hand—actually flung it from him—and strode away after Ogilvie. And Elizabeth came back to us quietly, but her eyes shone and she was smiling.
"Now," she said, "Puk and I will get on some dry clothes. You may as well rub him, Eve."
It must have been a narrower escape than Elizabeth would admit. As we ascended the steep path, I thought upon the manner of journey that would have been if there had been no escape at all. Pukkie, my dearly beloved son! And I reached forward and hugged him, and for the rest of the way my arm lay along his shoulders.
That night we heard firing from the fort, perhaps a dozen shots. We hear that firing every few nights. Eve and I looked out—we were just going to bed—and saw the flashes against the sky above the trees, and heard the sound as if cannon balls were being dropped on the floor over our heads. Eve wondered what it was, and I told her it was probably some tug trying to go in or out of theharbor to the east of us at a forbidden time.
"Oh," she said, relieved, "I thought that it might be submarines—or fireworks."
It was on a Saturday morning about the middle of July, and it had been foggy; and I had watched the fog retreating stealthily, withdrawing one long vaporous arm and then another, slinking back like a wraith before the sun, as if trying to get away unperceived. There was no writhing and twisting in the anguish of defeat and dissolution, no jets and shreds vanishing into the hot air above. But the ways of the fog over the sea are a mystery, and I am not yet at the end of them.
I had gone over to Old Goodwin's to take my daughter, and I had left her with one of the army of starched and stiff imitations of men inbuttons who haunt the house. They guard every door, so that a man cannot so much as turn a handle for himself; and one is to be found in each passage, and at every turn. They might be wooden images from a Noah's Ark, endowed with movement, but not with life. There are not so many of them as there were some years ago. They are none of Old Goodwin's doing, and Mrs. Goodwin has somewhat lost her fancy for them; and some of them, Old Goodwin told me, have enlisted. Fancy! Those men in buff uniform and many buttons enlisting! But they will be well used to wearing a uniform, and they will be well used to doing without question what they are told to do, and to keeping their faces like masks. They will make good soldiersI have no doubt, and they may be in France at this moment.
The buttons who admitted us was not so very starched and stiff, and he seemed to have been endowed with life as well as movement, and to have become actually a human being. For he smiled when he saw my daughter, and spoke pleasantly to her, so that I was persuaded that he was even glad to see her. And she, having thrown him some pleasantry, and a smile with it, dashed past him through the great hall and vanished. And he, still smiling, closed the door upon me, and I went in search of Old Goodwin, who deals not in uniforms and buttons.
I found him on that part of his piazza where stands the great telescope on its massive tripod. Beforehim there lay his ocean steamer at anchor, and he gazed at her steadily—but not through the telescope.
He turned his head as I came, and gave me his quiet smile of peace.
"Good-morning, Adam," he said. "I was just wishing that you would come."
Old Goodwin with his quiet smile—even in his clammer's clothes and his old stained rubber boots—is yet Goodwin the Rich. It is a marvel.
"Good-morning," I said. "And here I am to do with what you will—for the space of some hours."
"It may take some hours," he returned, "and it may be done in less."
I did not in the least know what he was talking about, but I was to find out. He was silent for some while.
"Any news lately?" he asked then.
"War news, I suppose you mean," I said, "and submarines. Nothing that you have not seen; a submarine in Hampton Roads about a week ago. But that report was in all the papers. No doubt Jimmy has given you later news."
"I believe that all boats were sent out from Newport in a hurry last Sunday. I have heard nothing since. I wonder," he continued, smiling, "if whales have not something to do with these reports—or sharks. I hear that there has been a great slaughter of whales in the North Sea in the last three years."
"Whales have no periscopes."
"They may yet develop them in self-defence if this keeps on long enough. But I would not cast doubt.You see my boat out there. What do you think of the color?"
She was all gray, and has been so for some time.
"Why, it is a good color if you like it. She looks like a lump of lead. I cannot see why the navy does not paint its ships some lighter shade, with streaks of greens and blues and purples and some white here and there. Those are the colors that the water shows, although the water is of a different color in every different light. But I would be willing to guarantee that I could do better than that—much better."
He looked at me thoughtfully. "That is worth thinking of, Adam. I am sure you could do better. You couldn't do much worse if the idea is concealment." He chuckled. "Youknow the water and its colors. How would you like to do it?"
"Why, I don't know," I said slowly. "I have never thought of it. The fact is," I blurted out, and choked upon my words. Why should I confess to Old Goodwin what I had been unwilling to confess to myself? But the impulse was too strong. "The fact is," I began again more quietly, "I am not satisfied. I cannot be content to till the ground—which any Western Islander could do as well or better—and to moon upon my bluff when every one I know is doing more. Could you?"
He smiled and shook his head. "I could not in your place. But come out to my boat with me. I want to show you the changes I have made."
So we went in his tender which was lying at his landing with her men in her, that had been waiting for us. And on the way out he asked me casually and seemingly without interest, how I liked steamers; and he had his gaze fixed upon his great vessel as though he had an affection for her.
"They are good for getting somewhere quickly," I answered him, "if you mean such as yours. For the rest, one might as well be in some great modern hotel on an island in the midst of the sea. There is no more pleasure in them. Now tell me, is there?"
He laughed a hearty laugh. "I can well imagine, Adam, the pleasure you would have in being in a great hotel, whether it was in the midst of the sea or in the midst of the city,but I have had some pleasure in that boat. I have some regard for her."
"Then I ask your pardon," I said, "for the answer that I gave. I should have said other. But what I meant was clear enough. A sailing vessel is a living thing, and each has ways of her own. You feel her response to each movement of the wheel or each change of sail or trim of sheet, and that response is sometimes willing and sometimes unwilling. She is like a woman, responding instantly and gladly to a man who persuades her with sympathy and understanding, and doing her best; while to a man without true understanding of her she is reluctant and contrary and stubborn. I have no experience in vessels of size, but you can ask Captain Fergus."
He laughed again. "Fergus is of the same opinion," he said. "But what I meant to ask was whether you have experience of steamers."
I shook my head.
"Too bad," he said, and sighed. "A steamer is a living thing too, I think, but less like a woman; going straight where she is going like a man; more straightforward. I like a steamer well enough. But Fergus agrees with you. And Fergus has to go in a steamer, and it almost breaks his heart. He is to command her." And he waved at the huge hull towering above us, for we were at the gangway.
I was following after him up the steps.
"And is Captain Fergus in the navy?" I asked.
"In the Reserve. He has been since the beginning. They were only waiting for a ship."
"And the Arcadia?"
He turned and smiled. "She is enrolled too, but it is a secret. I don't know why a secret."
So that explained her activities. There might be other secrets; and I thought of Elizabeth and Bobby. Elizabeth could be trusted to keep a secret well, and Bobby knew it. And Elizabeth had been away much of the time for two weeks or more, always going in the Arcadia wherever she went, but usually home for the night. By "home" I mean our house. I thought she was but a guest of Mrs. Fergus, but there might be some other explanation. It did not matter. Elizabeth was Elizabeth, andEve rejoiced to see her face with its crown of beaver-colored hair, and her calm and smiling eyes. I have not yet decided what is the color of her eyes, but they suit Eve.
And I looked up, and I saw the Arcadia just stretching her sails as a man will stretch his arms and legs in preparation for the using of them. She had been there all night. And I saw that noble yacht of Pukkie's casting off from the stage in the little harbor of Old Goodwin's, and Pukkie and Elizabeth in her. And Pukkie saw me—he had been waiting to catch my eye—and they both waved to me as the boat caught the wind and stood out of the harbor. She was tiny, that yacht of Pukkie's, but she was complete; as complete as the Arcadia. Indeed, she was not unlikeher, save that one was a schooner and the other a sloop. To see that boat of Pukkie's out upon the water with no other near enough to compare them, you might think she was of any size, even a big boat—until you saw the two huddled in the cockpit or one of them stretched upon the deck, almost covering it.
"See," I said to Old Goodwin, "there goes Pukkie."
He stood at the head of the gangway, and he smiled a happy smile.
"I see. He will go near all the lobster buoys, and the fish traps, and the rocks uncovered by the tide, and pretend that they are submarines. He has told me. And he pretends that the Yankee is a vessel that has been sunk by a submarine. What it is to be a boy!"
"And what are we but boys?" I said. "We pretend that there are submarines in all the waters from Montauk to Chatham, and we go about looking for them. It is much more satisfactory to have something that you can see, as Pukkie has,—and just as useful, so long as we must pretend. Submarines! They well-nigh turn me sick."
He laughed. "They turn many sick."
"Sick at heart," I said, "looking for what is not. We might request—through the proper diplomatic channels—that Germany send some over, one for each district."
He laughed again. "It would relieve the monotony, and put spirit into our men. Imagine Fergus if there were any. He is a war-horse."
And he led the way, waving some officer aside, and took me through the boat and showed me everything. He had made changes. I should not have known it for the same boat. The staterooms, that had been palatial, had been divided, but were large in their new state; and new quarters had been provided for the crew, who would be twice as many men as he had ever carried; and she had been strengthened for the mountings of the guns. Many other changes had been made, but it was these that he lingered over. They had been some months in making the changes, and he had carried a small army of mechanics about with him.
He had been showing me the officers' quarters for the third time, and at last he turned away.
"I am given to understand," he observed, "that any recommendations I may make will receive due consideration. Fergus is made a commander, but there are vacancies."
He meant me, of course. The finger of destiny always points at me. It was as much as an offer, but I should have been ashamed to accept it. A man should enroll, and then let the navy do what they will with him. Of course he should; but that is ascribing all wisdom to the men who have all power. They are but men, and have not all wisdom; they are but men as we are, and some of them a little less.
I smiled. "I am sorry," I said, "that I know nothing of steamers and the running of them, or I should be tempted to try for one of thevacancies. I do not suppose I could qualify for anything; a coal-passer, or even a third-class quartermaster perhaps, no better. And I should not like to have fingers of scorn pointed at me as being the admiral's pet or something of the kind. It would smack of politics and influence."
Old Goodwin laughed. "It is not an improper use of influence to point out a man's virtues," he answered, "but quite proper. The authorities do not know you, but I do, and I consider you well qualified. The knowledge of your duties you could pick up soon enough. You could pass the examination for a lieutenant's commission in two weeks. I would not be afraid to promise it. You can navigate, Adam."
I nodded. "I wish it could be done.But you forget that I am forty-three. They don't want men of forty-three."
"It might be done," he said. "Fergus is forty-four, but many years a master. It might be done, but if you don't want—"
I interrupted him. "You forget Eve. She is a pacifist—as bad as Cecily."
He smiled. "Eve is not so much a pacifist—nor Cecily. I would not worry about Eve."
That was news to me—if he was right. And I did want to do something, if only to restore my self-respect, that was well-nigh gone from me. It was but to find that something that I could do better than another, if such there was.
"I will think about it," I said.
"Do," he returned, "and so will I.It may be that this vessel is not the place for you. I should like it better if there was something that would keep you here or hereabouts—and so would Eve. It should be something that no one else can do."
I laughed and said nothing. What was there for me to say? But my laugh had no merriment in it. It was simple: I had but to find that which I could do and no one else; but stay—it must be useful in the present case. And I laughed again savagely, and I looked up, and there was the Rattlesnake anchored beside the Arcadia.
"They are well in time for the clambake," I remarked, "although they have digged no clams."
For this was the day of Ogilvie's farewell. He had written Eve, and she had got the note the day before;and all the afternoon I had been busy with getting my supplies, and in the early morning of this day we had digged the clams. It was but a remnant of my company that gathered there, only Old Goodwin and Eve and Elizabeth and Cecily and me—and Captain Fergus. I almost forgot Captain Fergus, but he dug few clams. The burden of the day fell upon Old Goodwin and me. Jimmy and Bobby and Ogilvie and Tom and Mrs. Fergus and Olivia were absent. And now there was naught to do but to start the bake. Old Goodwin and I went in silence to the tender, and ashore.
"Think hard," said Old Goodwin as I was leaving him. "There must be something."
"If only we can find it," I returned. "I have little hope."
He smiled his old smile of peace. "I have much," he said. "I can take you over to Newport on any day you wish. I will be over to help you with the bake."
Our clambake was a good clambake, and the clams were good, being fresh-digged and well baked, and the lobsters tender, being small—indeed, I was glad that no inspectors from the police boat were there to measure them. I did not measure them, being well enough content to take the word of the fishermen. And the chickens were good and all things else; but there was something lacking, something wrong, and that something was in the spirits of the guests. Old Goodwin was cheerful, and Elizabeth seemed cheerful enough, and Jimmy; but upon the spirits of the rest ofus there sat an incubus. Ogilvie said but little, and Bobby was restless and discontented. He had hard work to sit still long enough to eat; and thereafter he wandered to and fro like a lost soul, standing at the edge of the bluff and looking out moodily, then wandering over to my garden and regarding it critically, then back to the pine, taking his knife from out his pocket and tapping it upon the table, then wandering aimlessly to the clump of trees, then to the bluff again.
My garden is not on exhibition. It is not weedless, as Judson's used to be, but is for use; and it is not to be regarded critically. And the tapping of knives on the smooth pine planks of the table is not to be commended. I came very near speaking to him about it, and then I saw Evewatching Bobby with an anxious look, and I caught for an instant a glimpse of Elizabeth's eyes. They hurt me. It was but for an instant, then she veiled them, and the lights played upon them. She was watching Bobby too.
So we got through an uncomfortable afternoon, and it came time for them to go. Eve had Jack Ogilvie by himself at the edge of the bluff, and they talked earnestly, and he took her hand and smiled his pleasant smile, and they came back to us. Bobby was tapping his knife upon the smooth pine boards.
"I envy you, Jack," he said, heaving a tremendous sigh. "I'll be there too, if there is any way." He turned suddenly to Old Goodwin. "Can't you say a word for me? What is the use of influential relatives, anyway?"
And Old Goodwin laughed. "They are of little use, Bobby. And I am surprised that you are willing to use influence in such a matter."
And he looked at me and winked.
"Use influence!" Bobby cried under his breath. "I'd use anything—a crowbar, if that would get me there."
Then they said their farewells, and Bobby shook hands with Eve and me, but not with Elizabeth. She stood there, her hands hanging at her sides, and a smile upon her lips,—not in her eyes,—while Bobby turned away.
But he turned back again as if it were against his will and some great force turned him.
"Good-bye, Elizabeth," he said low, and he half held out his hand.
She went forward quickly. "Good-bye, Bobby," she said.
And Bobby gripped her hand so that it must have hurt, and held it long and hard. Then he flung it from him as I had seen him do once before, and strode away abruptly, and ran down the steep path after the others. Elizabeth came back to us smiling—with her lips and eyes and heart; and Eve kissed her suddenly, and she laughed and cast down her eyes, and they went in together.
I stood upon the edge of my bluff when the sun was low in the west, and I watched the colors that the Great Painter spread upon the still waters. And I saw again that little strip of marsh below me, each grass stem standing straight and motionless and dark in the still water, but each stem was edged with greenish gold. Little waves rippled in—from some boatout in the harbor—and the grass stems rippled gently with it, and the bars of gold upon the waves and the waving lines of gold upon the grass stems advanced with it until the wave broke upon the store. I looked out to see what boat it was, and it was Ogilvie's, and he stood and gazed and waved to me, and I waved back, and then I bethought me of my signalling. So I waved my arms like a semaphore gone mad, and I sent him a message in farewell; and he understood, and thanked me and sent a farewell to Eve. Then he was gone out into the pearl-gray of the coming twilight, and his gray boat was lost in the gray of sky and sea.
I looked down at the little marsh. The grass was still again, and two blackbirds flew across it. I saw thered shoulders of one as he guided his waving flight, and the grass stems standing up darkly above the bright water, as if they were set in glass. It seemed infinitely beautiful and sweet, and infinitely sad.
I was wakened in the night by a noise outside our window; a little noise, as if somebody were trying not to make it. A greater noise, one made as if by right, would not have awakened me. And I took a stick that I have—a straight hickory handle for a sledge fits the hand well, and makes an admirable weapon—and I went out, thinking of German spies. There was no moon, but I saw him. My spy was doing nothing but gazing up at the window, and I came upon him from behind and caught him by the collar. That collar was stiff with braid.
He turned quickly and wrenched himself free.
"What do you mean, Adam," he asked, "by your murderous assault upon a peaceful relative?"
It was Bobby. "You're no relative of mine," I said. "What are you doing, anyway? Don't you know that the window you are gazing at is mine—Eve's and mine?"
"All the windows in the house are yours, aren't they?" he growled. "And I'm not looking at any window. But why can't I if I want to? Answer me that."
There was no answer to that. "It is lucky," I observed, "that I keep no dog—a dog like Burdon's. I think of getting one."
Bobby laughed at that. Burdon had a great dog, a vicious beast,which amused himself one day by chasing Burdon into the hencoop, growling and snarling savagely. He kept him there for hours until there came along a boy who had owned the dog until his father decided that the dog was too vicious and gave him to Burdon. The boy seized the dog by the collar, and dragged him away and chained him, and told Burdon that he could come out.
"Don't you do it, Adam," Bobby said. "Think how you would feel if you came out and found only my mangled remains. And I am doing no harm—only wandering about."
So he was but wandering about. He should have been in bed. And we stood there and talked for a few minutes, and Bobby wandered off to my steep path and down to the shore,and I heard the sound of great pebbles rolling, and I heard him whistling softly some mournful air. I went in and to bed. Elizabeth sleeps in the room down the hall, and her windows are around the corner. I heard a little noise from her room as I turned into mine.
One morning—it was the first of August, the middle of that hot week—I was sitting on the seat under my great pine, and Eve sat beside me. I was waiting for Elizabeth, for the time had come again for the Arcadia to be about her mysterious business on the sea, and this time I was to go. It was what Elizabeth called "transferring" something or somebody. What it was and where it was I was to find out. I wished that Eve was going—and Pukkie. I said as much.
"Elizabeth has not asked us," she replied. "I could not go if I were asked, for I promised to go to mother's. She has one of her bad turns. But Pukkie would love it."
I murmured my regret at Mrs. Goodwin's illness. Her illnesses are not serious and do not last long, and the cause of them is not far to seek. She eats most heartily and takes no exercise, and that practice ever bred illness. I would have her mowing for remedy.
Eve slipped her hand within my arm and clasped the other over it.
"Adam," she said, giving my arm a gentle squeeze, "what is it that is troubling you? Something does. It has for a long time."
Now that was what I did not expect, that Eve should think me troubled, for I thought that I had been most careful. But I should have known better. Eve always knows. And the thing that had been troubling me more than any other wasthat I had not thought of that no one else could do but I.
I looked down into her eyes, and I saw there many things; but love and longing most of all, the longing to comfort me if she could but lay her finger on the hurt.
I smiled. "It is not so bad as that," I said.
"Well, kiss me, Adam," she said, "and tell me."
I obeyed orders—or part of them.
"On the day of the draft," I said, "I was in the village, and I saw all the inhabitants assembled, and they scanned each batch of numbers as the news came, but not a third of them knew what their own numbers were. Some did, and I saw two that were drafted. One of the two went out from that assembly with eyes thatsaw nothing, looking as if he went to his execution. The other laughed, and said that that settled it, and he was glad. And tell me if you can the answer to my riddle—which has nothing to do with the assembly in the village—and say what there is that I can do, but no one else."
She laughed. "Is that the matter? And must the thing be useful? I know several things that no one else can do, but they are not useful. If it must be useful,—well,—I cannot think of it at this moment, but I have no doubt I shall." She leaned forward, and tried to look into my eyes; and failing that, she shook me. "What is the nature of this thing that you must do? Look at me, and tell me."
I was afraid to look at her lest sheguess, and I was not ready to tell her. I might never be ready.
"It is nothing, Eve," I said: "nothing of importance. It is not worth a minute's worry." And that was true too.
"Foist it upon somebody else then," she answered quickly. "There are persons to decide those things."
I looked at her then. "I cannot believe that I get your meaning. You could not know. Truly there are persons to decide those things, but Heaven knows whether they are competent to decide anything. No doubt they would cheerfully and light-heartedly consign me to—what I should not do."
I stopped abruptly. I had almost told her that which I had determined not to tell her—yet. I looked intoher eyes, and there I saw laughter and joy and hope and great love; and I saw the same tender wistfulness that I had seen so many times in the past weeks. But joy and laughter conquered.
"I hear Elizabeth coming," she said, "and I hope you may read your riddle. Now we must be most proper. Are you proper, Adam?"
And Elizabeth came while I was yet straightening my hair, and getting it into a comfortable condition. It feels most uncomfortable when it is rumpled and each separate hair taking a different direction, like the brush that is used to black the stove. It feels as that brush looks.
Elizabeth laughed at me unfeelingly. And she turned to Eve. But people always turn to Eve. "I'm goingto take Pukkie, Eve, if you don't mind. Captain Fergus did not ask him, but I'm going to take him anyway. I've told him."
And Eve smiled and said nothing, and we started, and Pukkie came running, his face expressing his delight. And when we were in the launch and starting from the landing, Eve wished me once more the proper reading of my riddle, and she threw a kiss to us, and stood there until we were aboard the Arcadia; then we saw her wending up the slope toward the great house.
The sails were already hoisted and the anchor hove short. Elizabeth and Captain Fergus and Pukkie and I were settled in chairs along the rail, and the crew went about their business so quickly and so quietly thatthe first I knew of our being under way was the gentle canting of the deck beneath my feet. We had slipped out.
The wind was very light, but it was making rapidly, and there was a long, heaving swell from the Atlantic—perhaps two hundred feet from crest to crest—which made the big Arcadia pitch gently and bury her bow to the eyes. At last one of these seas, higher than most of those which made up the great procession, crept up higher yet and slopped over upon the deck. And her bows rose, and there was a rush of water along the deck, and there came the noise of falling water from hawse pipes and scuppers.
Pukkie laughed with delight, and Captain Fergus looked up.
"Crack on," he said; and they set more sail.
Presently there came another of those mighty rollers. She took it over her bows, a flood of green water, and it came roaring aft. Again there was the sound of many waters, more mighty yet, as hawse pipes and scuppers spouted forth their loads.
Captain Fergus looked up at the masts. "Crack on," he said again. And he got up and wandered to and fro across the deck, gazing up at the masts and at the men setting the light sails.
"She'd do better," he said, stopping for an instant by my chair, "if I hadn't had to put that confounded engine in her. You wouldn't believe what a drag a screw is, even when it is feathering."
She was doing well enough. All her light sails were set, and she was furnished forth with all her frills and furbelows, so that there was no place where she could carry another stitch. She bent to her business and sailed. And Captain Fergus smiled a smile of satisfaction—in spite of that dragging screw.
Pukkie had left his comfortable chair, and was leaning against my knee, saying nothing, but looking back at me now and then, his face a study. It was a pleasure just to watch him. Captain Fergus seemed to find it so, and Elizabeth had been watching him for some time.
"Come, young man," Captain Fergus said suddenly. "Don't you want to walk a while with me—to pace the deck with measured tread, whilewhat-you-may-call-it on the dead? Eh?"
And Pukkie smiled more than ever—if that were possible—and jumped and joined him; and they walked—paced the deck with measured tread for some time in solemn silence. Captain Fergus would glance aloft, and Pukkie would glance aloft; and at last I smiled and Elizabeth laughed.
"Don't you feel like pacing the deck with measured tread?" I asked.
And she got up as if she had been sitting on a spring, and we paced the deck in solemn silence behind those other two.
Captain Fergus turned suddenly. "This young man ought to have a uniform," he said. "I've got one that he could wear. Steward!"
And the steward, having comeinstantly and received his instructions, vanished below, and immediately reappeared, bearing an ensign's coat and cap. These were fitted upon my son. They were too large, but he could wear them.
"But, Captain Fergus," said Elizabeth, laughing, "the regulations!"
"Jigger the regulations!" remarked Captain Fergus, smiling. "I pay mighty little attention to regulations when I'm on my own vessel. Pukkie's my first officer."
My little son beamed at this, and turned to show me his uniform.
"When you command that yacht of Mr. Goodwin's," said Elizabeth, "you'll have to pay some attention to the regulations."
"Have to sleep in my uniform, like as not," Captain Fergus growled."According to the order we are not to unbutton a button of the coat on any occasion. If that doesn't mean sleep in your uniform, what does it mean?"
"You can't have Pukkie for your first officer then," Elizabeth pursued. "Can you?"
"I suppose not. Probably some yachting chaps who have been prominent socially and got their pictures in the papers. I hope not, though. There are some good men in the Reserve. I only hope they may give me men who have had experience in steamers. I don't want any of these pets who have commissions merely because they had influence, or because they were rich enough to give a boat."
I said nothing. I had the light thatI was looking for, although it did not illumine my problem, but was what I had supposed it would be. After all, if a man do but use the sense that God gave him and stand by his judgments, he will do well enough. I would have none of Old Goodwin's steamer. What was I, to be officer on a great steamer? I might command a rowboat, or a yacht like Pukkie's if need were.
"You do not have a very high opinion," I said, "of the navy?"
"What?" he said. "High opinion? Oh, yes, I have. Good men and fine vessels, many of them. It's a sailor's right to growl at the service he's in. You mustn't take what he says too seriously."
"Would you advise a man to enroll in the navy?"
"Depends on the man. If he has a taste for the sea, he'd be more contented in the navy than in the army, but many men have a strong distaste for it. I'd advise your man to get the best rank he can, and to have no modesty about it. If he doesn't get it some other fellow will who is not troubled by modesty."
And Captain Fergus took up his pacing the deck again, and Pukkie walked beside him, taking as long a stride as he could. Elizabeth watched them, a smile of affection in her eyes.
"Isn't he fine in his uniform?" she whispered. "But he would be happier if he could wear his old blue coat and his old blue cap."
He was fine, and he looked the sailor and the fighter. But I knew that old blue coat and that old bluecap, hanging in his cabin. The sun had shone caressingly upon them many times, and seemed to like them almost as well as he liked them; and they had changed their colors, as everything does under the caresses of the sun, until they were blue no longer, but of a purplish cast, shot with red.
The wind grew, as winds will, until two or three in the afternoon, and the sea grew with it, but always there were those great rollers coming in from the Atlantic. And the Arcadia was doing her twelve knots, bowing majestically and buffeting the great seas, tearing the tops from them and sending sheets of spray, which rattled upon her deck or upon the surface of the water like hail; and the water hissed past the rail, and there was thegentle cluck of blocks, deep in their throats, with the heave of the sea, and there was the sound of wind in the rigging and of ropes beating on taut sails. Altogether it made glad my heart; and Elizabeth seemed to like it, and Pukkie's heart was swollen almost to bursting. And the captain paced to and fro, saying nothing, or he stood by the rail looking out over the waters, his cap pulled down low, an unquenchable light in his deep blue eyes and a happy smile on his lips.
We had passed the colored cliffs of Gay Head shining in the sun, and we were passing Nomansland, and the great rollers were greater yet. There was fog out beyond, lying in wait. Captain Fergus nodded to Elizabeth.
"Better see if we can pick them up," he said.
She turned to go below, and stopped at the companionway.
"Look," she said.
We looked where she pointed. There, on the surface of the sea, about two miles away, was some great thing glistening in the sun, the water washing over it. A thick haze, or the advance guard of the fog, made it hard to see anything clearly except the glisten of the sun.
"Oh," cried Pukkie, "I see it. Is it a submarine?" And he looked up at the captain.
"More likely a whale," the captain answered, smiling; "but we will see."
And the course of the Arcadia was changed a little so that she was heading straight for it. She kept on for it,and now and then the sunlight caught it and made it to shine like the windows of a house at sunset, and again it was a dark body with the water washing over it, and we could scarcely make it out, lying there in the sea. As we approached my breath came quicker and my eyes glistened, and I smiled. I know it, for Elizabeth glanced at me and laughed. It was a mysterious thing, lying there in that thick haze. It seemed as if it might be a submarine, although reason told me it was not.
"What do you mean to do?" I asked.
"Ram him," answered the captain promptly, "if it is a submarine and we can get there in time. A fast sailing vessel is better, for he could hear our screw. But it is no submarine.It looks more like a vessel's bilge. There! Ha!"
The glistening body moved, and great flukes suddenly reared on high, and the body disappeared.
"A sleeping whale," Captain Fergus observed. "Another submarine report gone wrong."
"Are there any over here?"
"Not now, I am reasonably sure. Don't believe there will be, although I may be mistaken. They can use them to better advantage on the other side. But there may be, in time, unless Germany blows up first. We don't know what is happening in Germany. They may blow up at any minute, and they may not. Shouldn't be surprised—and I shouldn't be surprised if they kept going for a year or two longer. Look at theRussian army, just got well going and they have mutiny and lose it all. Too bad! I'd like to see any crew of mine try it!"
Elizabeth laughed and went below, and Captain Fergus began again his walking to and fro. Presently Elizabeth came up and spoke to him, and the course was changed, and in an hour we had sighted a steamer making for us.
It was the Rattlesnake; and the two vessels lay quiet on that rolling sea while our tender went over with a package of papers, and came back with Bobby. And the Rattlesnake turned about and we soon lost her in the haze, and we turned about and headed for home.
Bobby was not talkative on the way back. Indeed, Bobby has notbeen himself for some weeks; not the Bobby that I knew of old. I cannot fix the date at which the change occurred, but it was some date that had to do with Elizabeth. Every date has to do with Elizabeth, so far as he is concerned. And though he spoke to her when he came over the side—spoke gravely, I suppose he thought—it seemed more like petulance to me—he said no word more to her, but sat in his chair and gazed moodily out over the water. And Elizabeth sat in her chair, and she gazed at Bobby under lowered lids, and she smiled her smile of suppressed amusement. And presently, her thoughts being unguarded, she raised her lids a little, so that I saw all the lights of the sea playing in her eyes, that were yet regarding Bobby, and therecame into them a tender light that was more than all the light on sea and sky. And she glanced at me, and she saw that I had seen, and she flushed slowly, and got up and went below.
"Bobby," I said, "are you not ashamed of yourself?"
He started. "Ashamed of myself?" he answered, looking at the companionway down which Elizabeth had disappeared. "No doubt I should be. I do things enough to be ashamed of. But why?"
"You have not seemed to notice the honor that has befallen my family. My son is made ensign or lieutenant commander or something, and you have not remarked the event. I am afraid that you have hurt his feelings."
Bobby laughed as though he was relieved.
"So he is—ensign or something, as you say. And I did not observe it. I ask his pardon, Adam, and yours." And he called to Pukkie, who was following Captain Fergus about like a pet dog; and Pukkie came, and Bobby felicitated him upon his promotion. And Pukkie smiled until I feared lest his face crack.
"It is a trifle large," Bobby remarked, referring to the uniform, "but he will grow to it."
"It is not so much too large as it was," I said. "You should have seen him swell—like a toad-grunter."
"Daddy," protested the aggrieved Pukkie, "I'm not like a toad-grunter."
The toad-grunter is a much despised fish.
"No, Puk," said Bobby, "you're not. I think your father should apologize."
"I apologize, Pukkie," I said hastily, for I would not wound my son. "You are not. And, Bobby, can't you find any? Is that why you are out of sorts?"
"Find any what?" asked Bobby, puzzled. "Any toad-grunters? I hope not. Who wants to find 'em? You speak in riddles, Adam."
"It was submarines I meant."
Bobby smiled seraphically. "Your traps, Adam, are no good. But I'm going to find some submarines pretty soon. Pret—ty soon, you mark my words."
"Words marked. But what do you mean?"
"What I say. Now, Puk, what doyou say to a walk about the deck? Or would you rather follow your captain?"
And Bobby strolled off with Pukkie. They went up forward, where the Arcadia was shouldering aside the great seas. We had the wind on the quarter, and there was no longer the sound of spray like rolling musketry. And presently Elizabeth looked out of the companionway, and seeing me alone, she came and sat in the chair next to mine, and she put out her hand.
"Adam," she said with a pretty flush.
"Elizabeth," I answered, with no flush, but I watched hers flaming.
"Adam, don't you tell," she said, looking shyly at me. Elizabeth is not given to shy looks, but to honest ones,eye to eye. "Promise me that you will never tell. Give me your hand on it."
I took her hand. It was a pretty hand and soft enough, with tapering fingers, but it was not such a pretty hand as Eve's.
"Elizabeth," I said to her, "I do not know anything to tell—anything that would be of interest. But—but you do not mind if I tell Eve, do you? And," I finished lamely enough, "I hope it—it will."
She laughed and sighed, and gave my hand a squeeze.
"Thank you," she said. "But Eve knows, I think."
Captain Fergus was standing by the rail, sniffing the wind and gazing out at the waters, and at the little swirls of foam that raced by, and atthe bank of fog that chased us in. He was happy. I almost envied him. He had done his part, and he was doing it.
"Will you walk?" I asked Elizabeth. And we got up and walked, saying nothing.
The afternoon passed, and the wind died. As we drew near to the lighthouse that stands like a sentinel on its rock just within the entrance to the bay, the sun was far down in the west, the breeze was but the gentlest breath, and the surface of the water moved in slow, oily undulations. I stood with Elizabeth close beside the rail, and we gazed at the water that was red and gold.
The shadow of the tall lighthouse was thrown high on the sails, and passed slowly aft. The red sun wassitting on a distant hill bearded with cedars. The little oily waves were splotched with vermilion and blue and purple and gold, and the gold dazzled our eyes.
Not a ripple marked our passage. I gazed at the red sun, and he gazed back at me; and his red disc was half down behind the hill, and I could see it sink. And the sun sank behind the hill and had winked his last, and a broad smooch of red lay upon the western horizon. We watched the red fade to orange, then to saffron and to green, while two little saffron clouds with edges of flame floated high above, and the fog crept in stealthily below. And I heard Elizabeth sigh, and I looked down and she looked up.
"If you find this sad," I said, "andas if it were the end of all things, turn about. The sight will fill your soul with peace."
So we turned about. And the sky toward the east was of a lovely soft, warm pearl-gray, and the water the same pearl-gray with tints of rose and of a light blue here and there. The distance was veiled in an impalpable haze, and water and sky merged into a soft grayish blur toward the horizon, as if smeared with a dry brush. The water, gray with its rose tints and its blue, seemed to dimple softly, like a baby smiling as it sank to sleep. It soothed my soul; it was the very breath of peace.
I heard another sigh beside me, and I turned, and there was Bobby.
"Submarines in that!" he said, and smiled.
We began to turn slowly, and were come to our anchorage, and there was Old Goodwin's great steamer not far away, and Old Goodwin himself, with Eve, on his landing, waiting for us.
As we were about to go ashore, Captain Fergus spoke to me.
"About that man of yours," he said. "Tell him to go to Newport, and to put himself in their hands over there. It is the best thing he can do."
And I thanked him, and said I would tell my man. And we were walking from the landing, Old Goodwin and I and Eve—Bobby had to walk with Elizabeth, with Pukkie between them, for there was none other thing that he could do, but they said nothing that I could hear.
"I am going to take Cecily over to Newport to-morrow," Old Goodwin observed. "She has not seen Tom for five days. Don't you want to come along, Adam?"
There must have been a conspiracy against my happiness—or for it, perhaps; but Eve seemed only mildly interested. So I made some excuse to her—I do not like to make excuses to Eve—and I went to Newport with Old Goodwin and Cecily. Eve could not go. She did not say why.
Cecily kept us late in Newport, trying to get a glimpse of Tom. We had got a glimpse of him, dressed in a sailor suit and driving some admiral or other in a big gray car, but he would not look at us, and that did not satisfy Cecily. But she was not discouraged, and we left her to the pursuit of her quarry, and we wentabout our business, that took some time. Then, after a long search, we found Cecily talking to Tom beside his car. That admiral of his did not appear for hours, and Cecily would not leave until he did, so we left them alone together on the curbstone, and we waited around the next corner. We did not get home until nearly eight, and Old Goodwin took us to his house for dinner, and there were Eve and Elizabeth and Bobby.
It was a good dinner, as was fitting for Old Goodwin's house, and when it was over we all wandered out upon the piazza where stands the telescope, and from which we could see out upon the bay. This part of the piazza is like another room, with many rugs upon the floor, and tables and comfortable chairs; and it is lighted atnight—dimly, to be sure, and but so much as lets one see easily where he is going, if he is going, and descry the faces of the others sitting there. But that is for those who are gone blind in the dark. I am not blind in the dark, but I can see well enough if I am but out of doors, where there is always light enough to see where one is going. It is only lights that blind me. I do not like lights out of doors. Besides, on this night there was a reddish moon hanging rather low in the southeast, with wisps of fog driving under it. I have forgotten my astronomy,—thank heaven!—which would tell me why the moon sometimes pursues her course high overhead and sometimes low toward the horizon. The moon is no friend of mine anyway, and Icare not at all where she goes, or whether her course is from west to east or north to south, or whether she shine at all. But on this night she shone bravely for the time, and there would have been light enough with no other.
So we sat there for some time in silence, feeling pleasant and satisfied because we had just dined well, and Old Goodwin smoked his cigar, and Bobby and I smoked our pipes. And I was becoming less and less pleasant and satisfied with those lights above me, and Bobby was getting restless, being seized with curious alternations of restless nervousness and pleasant satisfaction. Eve seemed to be satisfied enough, and Elizabeth sat motionless, her hands in her lap, and a half-smile on her lips. I could not see hereyes, but she seemed to be watching.
There had been some desultory talk, and the lights had become too much for me, and I had wandered out with Eve into a sort of balcony that had no lights. And we sat—closer together than we could have sat if the balcony had been lighted—and Eve's hand came searching for mine that was already searching for hers, and we clasped our fingers close, and we looked out at the waters of the bay that sparkled dimly, and at the tapering band of moonlight that widened to a broad circle under the moon, and at the riding lights of the Arcadia and of Old Goodwin's great steamer,—a great dark shape. Fog hung about. It would be in presently.
"Tell me, Adam," said Eve softly. "What did you see at Newport?"
"Tom," I answered. "He's a sight in his sailor suit."
She laughed. "Of course; but nothing to what you would be. We're very fond of Tom, aren't we, and of Cecily? What else?"
"The beach and the town and the cliffs and the training station and the new barracks and many vessels at anchor."
"Exasperating!" And she shook me. "Didn't you go into the War College?"
"We did. Your father seems to know many there."
"Adam," said Eve, "aren't you going to tell me?"
She bent forward and looked up into my eyes, and I looked down into hers. I kissed her.
"I will tell you, Eve. Never fear.When you look at me like that, I would tell anything. I tell you everything sooner or later."
"I like it sooner."
"I have some fear that you will not like it."
"If you have done it, Adam, I shall like it. If I do not like it, you will never know it. Tell me. You did not go to view the country. I know that well enough."
"Well," I began, and stopped, somewhat troubled. Scraps of talk had drifted out to us, now and then, from that room we had left, and by turning we could get a glimpse of one or another, sitting in the dim yellow light.
Bobby had just said something, and then there fell a sudden silence—absolute silence. It was the silencethat stopped me, and I cast back over my unconscious recollection to see if I knew what he had said. And the things that had happened in there in the last minute took gradual shape in my mind, as things sometimes do that are heard with the ear but not consciously noted. Old Goodwin had asked Bobby some question, I know not what, and Bobby had answered him in a dull, dead sort of voice. I recalled the voice because it was strange for Bobby to use it; but he had done many strange things. What had he said in that dull, indifferent voice that sounded as if all that he cared for were destroyed utterly? I had it, and so did Eve. It had not taken a half a minute. He had announced that he was to go to England and join a destroyer.
No one had spoken in that half-minute, and I peeked through at Elizabeth. She was sitting as she had been for some time, the same half-smile upon her lips, her hands in her lap; but I saw that her hands were clasped together and every muscle tense.
"Rather sudden news, Bobby," said Cecily at last. "You don't seem as glad as I should have supposed you would be."
"Oh, yes," Bobby answered, "I'm glad enough. I've had enough of chasing phantoms. There are no submarines over here. I have some reason to believe that it is different over there. There is nothing, I think," he added rather bitterly, "to keep me over here—no reason why I should not be glad to go."
Again that silence fell. I saw Elizabeth's hands twisting slightly, clasped in her lap.
"What vessel do you join?" Cecily asked. "And when do you go?"
"I don't know the vessel," he said, "and I'm sorry that I am not permitted to tell you when I go. But it will be soon. There are troops going to France. I suppose I should not tell that, but I trust there are no spies here." And he laughed shortly.
Elizabeth had said nothing, nor made any movement, but she had sat as motionless as a statue—if one had not observed her hands. Now she rose slowly, as if weary with sitting still, and she wandered slowly from one thing to another, and seemed not to find comfort in any; and she was come near the door, and passed out,and we heard her light step going slowly along the piazza behind us and down some steps in the distance. Then I turned back, and I looked out at the moonlight on the quiet water, and at the great dark shape with its anchor light and a light or two more shining through some portholes, and her decks white under the moon.
I turned to Eve, for I would have spoken; but she laid her finger on my lips, and she pressed my arm, and would not let me lean forward. And I heard a faint rustling, but very faint, and I saw the tops of a great clump of bushes move in order, as if some creature—some person—moved along behind them; and there was not wind enough to stir them. Those bushes were very near to us, almost in front of us. And themovement of the bushes stopped, and everything was still, and the veiled moon shone down, making gray and ghostly everything that its half-light shone upon, and casting black shadows.
Bobby had become uneasy, and he had risen and was wandering slowly about, as Elizabeth had done; and at last he was come to the door, and he bolted through it, and we heard his light footsteps running along the piazza behind us. Bobby was a runner when he was in college, and he ran with no noise. And he took the steps at a leap, and I heard a faint chuckle from Old Goodwin.