CHAPTER XIII.AFTER THE GALE.

It was perhaps half an hour after Lisa had carried Ruth to her room and the storm had spent its fury that a new excitement was furnished by the appearance of a flickering light near the bay shore, directly in front of the house. It was Porter who discovered it and announced the fact in tragic tones.

“A ship in distress! Mr. Dan, let’s go to the rescue.”

Mr. Danforth went to the window, and agreed that there did appear to be something wrong with a small craft which they saw dimly outlined before them. “You’re right, boy,” he exclaimed; “we’ll have to see what’s the matter. Come, Basil.” And the three took their way to the shore.

The sky was full of scudding clouds; through the rifts a star peeped once in a while, but it was evident that, although the tempest was over, the occupants of the little yacht before them were unable to land.

A survey of the scene showed that the small rowboats usually lying in the little cove had been brokenfrom their moorings and were tossing about, drifting farther and farther away.

“I’ll have to swim for it,” declared Mr. Danforth. “Boys, you stay here, and I will swim out and capture one of those boats. Have you the boat-house key, Basil? No? Then, Porter, run to the house and get it and a lantern. Hurry back. And you two get the oars while I go for the boat.”

“Oh, let me go too, Mr. Dan!” besought Porter. But this Mr. Danforth forbade, and he was soon plunging through the surf toward the nearest boat, which he presently reached and pulled ashore, finding there the two boys ready to join him in rowing out to the larger vessel.

“Ship, ahoy!” shouted Porter, delighted to be able to hail the yacht in true sailor fashion.

“Hallo!” came the answer borne toward them.

The trip was longer than at first predicted, but they finally reached the little yacht and were able to lie alongside. “What’s wrong?” inquired Mr. Danforth of the first one who appeared.

“Oh, we’re all broken up by the gale. We started for a place called Bellingly, but we weren’t sure of our bearings, and put for this cove when we saw the storm brewing; but we’re terribly battered to pieces and have lost our mast, so we are, strictly speaking, all at sea. Hallo! I’m blest if it isn’t Baz Phillips, by all that’s lucky!” as a flash of the lantern disclosed the faces of the boys.

“Why, hallo, Walter! It’s my cousin, Walter Dixon, Mr. Dan. Who’s with you, Walt?”

“Ned Carew and our skipper.”

“Well, I’ll come aboard and see what can be done,” said Mr. Danforth. “Two of you pile in here, and the boys can take you up to the house.” The boys, however, protested at being left out of such an experience as boarding a possible derelict, and Walter insisted on remaining with the others.

“We’re about as wet as we can be,” the latter said. “Everything is drenched, and we are hungry as hunters. We counted on getting ashore in time for supper.”

“What are you doing down this way, anyhow?” inquired Basil.

“Why, we were coming to see you.”

Basil laughed. “Well, that’s a joke, my storm-tossed mariner! However, you’re all right now.” And not long after the visitors were taken in under Mrs. Chamberlaine’s hospitable roof, their clothing dried, and a hot supper provided for them.

“I’ll tell you it was a shaky business,” remarked Ned Carew, “when we were being battered around by the wind, not knowing what minute we might be dashed into another vessel or be sent out into the open bay. The anchor didn’t seem of any use at all, although I suppose it was.”

“I can imagine you were pretty much used up, Ned,” answered Basil. “Not quite so safe as leading a german, was it?”

Edwin flushed up. “I’m not such a molly-coddle as to be scared,” he returned.

“I brought Ned down to make love to the mermaids,”put in Walter, teasingly. “I knew he wouldn’t feel quite comfortable unless there were some siren to listen to his pretty speeches; but I’m blest if he made any. The only thing I heard him say was,—what was it, Ned? Oh, yes,—‘I think this is real horrid!’” And Walter spoke mincingly, with a little dab of his hand at Basil.

“Oh, come off; I didn’t,” replied Edwin, gruffly, all his effeminacy gone in the face of his late experience.

“Yes, you did, Miss Nancy,” teased Walter. “I’ll bet a dollar you don’t go back with me.”

“I don’t intend to while there is room for me and better company,” retorted Edwin, with spirit.

“You’ll have to bunk in with us, then,” said Basil. “How are you going to manage to stow us away, Mrs. Chamberlaine?” to that lady, who entered the dining-room with a view to seeing if the appetites of the guests were satisfied.

“I’m afraid I shall have to ask Mr. Danforth to take in one of the gentlemen,” said Mrs. Chamberlaine, in reply, “and I can put up a cot, in your room, Mr. Phillips, for the other one. There is quite a comfortable little room over the wash-house for the man, Mr. Dixon.”

“That is a perfectly satisfactory arrangement so far as I am concerned,” declared Mr. Danforth. “My room is a spacious apartment, Ned, and the bed is as big as an ark. You can take your cousin in with you, Basil, and we shall all be as snug as possible.”

All this time Lisa was quite unconscious of whatwas going on below-stairs. She was comforting Ruth for the loss of Patience, telling her that she was not dead, only very much hurt, and that she thought it would be well to send her to a hospital, and when she returned she would be lovelier than ever, determining that a new head should be procured for Patience if such a thing were possible.

Persis had come up as soon as Mr. Danforth had related how he had found Lisa and Ruth in the damaged attic, and a consultation with grandma and Mrs. Chamberlaine resulted in the consent of the former to sharing her bed with Persis that night in order that Lisa might keep Ruth with her.

“You see,” Lisa whispered to Mrs. Chamberlaine, “Ruth is so distressed about Patience, and thinks that Callie is gone too, so I am going to persuade her that Callie is in my bed.”

Mrs. Chamberlaine shook her head. “You should not encourage that fancy, Miss Holmes.”

“Oh, I don’t think it will do her any harm,” Lisa contended. “She will outgrow it when she is older and has school friends. Indeed, Mrs. Chamberlaine, I am sure she will not be the worse for her little imaginary friend.”

Therefore the make-believe Callie was supposed to be comfortably settled on one side of the bed, Ruth in the middle, and Patience tenderly established upon two chairs, covered with a fleecy shawl of Lisa’s, while Persis hunted up Amber, and he lay purring contentedly at Ruth’s feet. The little girl was therefore entirely at her ease concerning her companions,and went to sleep with Lisa’s assurance that she would not leave her.

Persis went down to report upon the proceedings and to say that Lisa would not be down again that evening. “She hasn’t the least idea that you all are here,” she said, turning to the new arrivals. “Won’t she be amazed to see you in the morning?—What will she think,” she said to herself, “to see the ‘off ass.’ I wonder if she really likes him. There were certainly tears in her eyes that time.” And Persis determined to keep a watch upon her sister.

“I am glad you are here, grandma,” she said, irrelevantly, as she snuggled up to her grandmother that night after they had gone to bed.

“I never supposed for a moment there was a doubt of it,” returned Mrs. Estabrook, giving her a hug. “Why do you think it necessary to assure me?”

“Oh, because you are soperspicuitous!”

“Is that in the dictionary?”

“I don’t know; but it ought to be, anyhow. You know what it means.”

“And in what direction do you think my perspicuity is needed?”

“In Lisa’s and the off——I mean Ned Carew’s. You’ll see how he will bob around her. Didn’t he look funny in Mr. Danforth’s clothes?”

“He did seem lost in them; yet Mr. Danforth is not much taller than he.”

“No; but he’s bigger every way, physically and intellectually. What is it you say, grandma,—you can’t expect any one built upon pint-cup proportions to filla quart measure? I think Ned measures just about a gill.”

“I’m afraid you don’t admire the young man.”

“He is such a popinjay,” returned Persis. “He is not a bit ‘wicious,’ but he’s—oh, I don’t know—just a sort of a tailor’s dummy. I believe if an idea should suddenly strike him it would knock him flat.”

“We’ll try to find that out. Are you going to talk about this young man all night? For if so, I’ll ask Mrs. Chamberlaine to let me share her room.”

“Oh, no, grandma; that’s mean! I am not going to open my mouth again, not even to snore.”

When Lisa saw Mr. Danforth the following morning at breakfast there was something very like admiration in the first look he gave her; for when Annis said, “Oh, Lisa, you were so brave! How could you go up there in the dark when you didn’t know but what any moment something would come crashing in on you? I couldn’t have done it. I should have been scared to death,” Lisa only answered, simply, “I didn’t think of anything but Ruth.” And then she felt her face flushing at the look she saw in Mr. Danforth’s eyes.

However, she gave the young man food for further thought that same evening. Naturally the appearance of two more guests at the breakfast-table was a great surprise to Lisa, and she quite exulted at the thought that here was at least one devoted cavalier who would dance attendance upon her and thereby add to her pleasure. But, although Ned Carew was acceptable enough as a companion at a dance or a theatre-party, awhole morning passed in his society in the country proved to be something very different. The rest of the masculine element spent the day in getting the little yacht in better condition, and Lisa herself could but feel a small scorn for the only one of the party who declined to help.

She was sitting in a high-backed chair, with Ned in an attitude of devotion at her feet, when the workers returned for their mid-day meal. Lisa fancied there was a look of contempt in Maurice Danforth’s eyes as he passed them on the porch, and she flushed angrily. “He shall know what I think of him,” she said to herself. “The supercillious, didactic pedagogue! He is not the only one who has an ideal.”

“Oh, Lisa, you look like a floating cloud in that pink gown!” exclaimed Persis, in heartfelt admiration, as she noticed that Lisa had dressed with unusual care that evening. “How lovely you look!”

“Don’t!” cried out Lisa, sharply.

Persis looked surprised. Why wasn’t Lisa pleased? She always liked to be told that she looked lovely. And Persis followed her sister down the stairs with a puzzled look on her face.

It was after an early tea that Lisa found an opportunity to “pay back the pedagogue,” as she expressed it to herself. Most of the party had gone to see the damage done by an enormous oak-tree which had fallen some distance away, bringing down in its fall sundry other trees. Mr. Danforth came out from the house and leaned against one of the pillars of the porch, while he looked out upon the water, nowblue and serene, showing no sign of yesterday’s storm.

Lisa, with her satellite, Ned Carew, placed herself within hearing distance, and skilfully brought the conversation around to the subject she wished to discuss.

“You want to know what kind of a man I admire?” she said, in her soft, clear tones. “Well, I can tell you the kind of a man I despise, and then you can judge. There is nothing more insufferable to me than a conceited man,—one who pretends to a mock humility, and yet sets himself up as a mentor; who imagines there is nothing good save as he approves of it; whose consummate egotism makes him lose sight of his own faults; who looks upon all women as frivolous butterflies or insipid nonentities.”

Poor Ned was looking at her in astonishment at this tirade. What had he done to provoke it? “Now, Miss Lisa,” he protested, “you know we’re not all that way. Now, I think a girl is a—a—perfect goddess. I just worship—a—the right kind of a girl.”

“Oh, you!” And in the scorn of her accent Lisa hoped the subject of her remarks might recognize that Ned was not the target.

“No,” she continued, “I wasn’t thinking of you just then. I was simply telling you the kind of man I despise, you know. The man who thinks he is walking on a mountain-top when he is really on a very small hummock, and the mountains are hid by the clouds of his self-esteem.”

Ned thought Lisa was on a mountain-top herself at that moment, for she was talking over his head and hewas looking at her with a dazed expression upon his rather stupid face. The sight of it so roused Lisa’s sense of humor that she began to laugh, and Ned smiled fatuously. The figure leaning against the pillar did not move until the reconnoitring party returned, and then, in the midst of the slight confusion their coming caused, he approached Lisa and said, “Will you take a little walk with me?”

The color rose to the girl’s face as, with an assenting motion, she made ready to go with him.

There was scarcely a word said until they reached the fallen tree; then Lisa, taking a seat upon one of the leafy boughs, said, lightly, “As this seems to be a silent session, I shall sit here until the spirit moves me.”

Mr. Danforth stood looking down at the graceful figure in the cloudy pink drapery framed by the green of the tree. “Miss Lisa,” he said, “somehow I have offended you.”

“Oh, no,” she replied, indifferently. “I don’t see why you should say that. We are simply casual acquaintances.”

“Then,” he said, with the shadow of a smile, “we will say that I do not impress you favorably. That is no fault of yours; but I think it would be more pleasant for us all if we could be more harmonious.”

Lisa was silent. She leaned over and pulled a little switch from the tree and began to tap the toe of her slipper with it.

“I have a confession to make to you,” Mr. Danforth went on. “I will tell you that I thought you avain, frivolous girl, with little love for anything but excitement and admiration, until yesterday.” Lisa raised her eyes for a second, then began to pull the pointed leaves from the switch she held. “And then I saw that in my ignorance, in my warped, one-sided views of womankind, I had misjudged you, for I saw a girl whose tenderness for a little child made manifest her capacity for self-forgetfulness, and so I want to ask your pardon for my first opinion of you.”

“It was my fault,” responded Lisa, now completely disarmed. “I gave you reason to think as you did. I never knew a man before who—who cared—who didn’t care for pretty girls and preferred ugly ones.”

A glimmer of amusement came into Mr. Danforth’s eyes. “I do admire pretty girls,” he said; “but you know there are different opinions as to that, too. We don’t all admire the same type, and perhaps what Ned Carew considers beautiful I might not.”

Lisa bit her lip. She wasn’t going to forgive him, she told herself. “You are very rude,” she said, petulantly, tearing the leaves to bits.

“And you will not forgive me because I will not say I prefer your looks to your soul.”

“I can’t have you say such things,” cried Lisa, passionately, rising and letting a shower of green fall from her lap. “What right have you to talk so? No one ever did so but my mother.”

A gentle look came into the young man’s eyes. “Perhaps,” he said, “I do it for the same reason: there is no friend like a mother.”

Lisa felt a strange sense of mingled fear and pleasure.Then she turned and held out her hand. “I forgive you,” she acknowledged. “Will you say the same?”

“There is no need,” replied Mr. Danforth; “you have done me a service, for you have shown me a fault.”

Such magnanimity! Lisa felt ashamed at being outdone by this—this pedagogue.

“Now,” continued Mr. Danforth, “let us talk of something else. I heard you say that little Ruth was mourning the disaster which happened to her doll, and you were wondering where you could find an old-fashioned head to supply the place of the one which was smashed. I think maybe I can help you out.”

“You?” And Lisa looked up. Was this man never to be done with his surprises?

“Yes. My mother, I remember, had just such a doll when she was a little girl, and, if I am not mistaken, she still has it.”

“But I would not rob her of it.”

“She would give it willingly if I were to state the case. You or I would do it.”

Lisa inwardly thanked him for the implied suggestion of her generosity. “And you can be very certain,” Mr. Danforth continued, “that my mother will give me the doll to do with as I wish, since it would afford me a very great pleasure.”

“You are very good,” returned Lisa. “We shall only need the head, you know.”

“Yes; and when I go home next week I will send it to you.”

“Are you going next week?” asked Lisa, suddenlytaken off her guard and displaying more interest than she intended.

“Yes. I must be with my mother a little while. I have promised Walter to go back with him, for Ned declines to return in anything less than a steamboat. Basil will not require further coaching, and he has promised to help Miss Persis with her Latin, so I can easily be spared.”

“Grandma will miss you,” said Lisa. But that night when the house was silent she lay awake a long time. Life looked more serious to her than ever before. Perhaps she would best go to college. No; she would think of something else to do to rouse her best self. What did he—Mr. Danforth—mean by saying that—that strange thing? Perhaps he talked so to her for the same reason her mother did. “A mother is the best friend one can have.” He said that too. Did he mean, then, it was for friendship’s sake, or—or——? And Lisa buried her face in her pillow.

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