CHAPTER VI
A hot sun glared upon the long highroad, warmed the rocks along shore and beat upon the pebbly stretch below the bluff. Yet a fresh breeze from the sea cooled the faces of the two who sought the beach, and who found it pleasant enough in the shade of the great boulders.
"It is something of a rough and tumble walk to come this way," said Gwen, "but we can go back by the bluff, though this is shorter. Now, sit down and tell me if you ever saw more beautiful pebbles. You must find one, with a ring around it, for a talisman. While you are doing that I will hunt for a big one to use at the front door; it will blow shut. I want some pretty stones, too, just to look at."
"Just to look at?"
"Don't you like to look at pretty things?"
"Yes, at some kinds, at pretty girls, for instance. I like to look at you, Miss Whitridge."
"What a very subtle compliment to be sure. Let us see which can find the first and best talisman. If you find the best I shall never forgive you."
"Then I'll not look for one."
"You must. That is the game. I won't play if you talk so."
"Very well, I'll look. What did you say they were like?"
"They are stones of one color with a circle of another color around them. That is, you may find a gray stone with a ring of white, or of darker gray, or of black, but the stone must be completely encircled; it isn't any good if it's not."
"And what's the good if it is?"
"It is a talisman."
"What's that?"
"It will bring you luck."
"Now, Miss Whitridge, you are not so superstitious as to believe that."
"Well, no, but it makes a nice little game to make believe you have faith in its charm. I like make believes. I always did as a child."
"I suppose all children do, but they give it up when they are grown."
"I'm not so sure of that. You go that way and I'll go this, and we'll meet at this big rock that looks like a huge rubber bag."
"Why can't we go together?"
"Because we might pounce upon the same stone, and you would be too polite not to let me have it, while I would be too selfish to give it up to you. The first one that finds will call the other."
They walked off in opposite directions, but Gwen, already familiar with the ground, was the first to call out. "I have one, a beauty! Oh, and here's a tiny one, too."
Mr. Mitchell hurried toward her. She held out the wee stone in her palm. "You shall have this," she said, "and I hope it may bring you good luck. The other I shall insist upon keeping."
"I think you are very generous to give me any," said Mr. Mitchell. "I shall have this polished to wear upon my watch chain."
"Lovely!" cried Gwen. "You are improving, sir."
"In what way?"
"In your appreciation of what our island affords. But the game isn't over. You must find a talisman, too."
"May I give it to you, if I do?"
"Certainly, unless you want to take it home to your mother."
"Oh, no, I can assure you she wouldn't value it in the least."
Gwen smiled. "I'll sit here and have a lovely time with the pebbles while you are gone." She established herself on a rock with her back to the high bluff, and bent over the store of pebbles in front of her while Mr. Mitchell went on his quest. Presently she heard a crunching sound behind her. "Already?" she said without looking up.
"Already, what? Do you mean that I have made a record in getting down the bank? I saw you from above, and naturally, you see—"
"Oh, Mr. Hilary, I didn't know it was you."
"I hope you didn't think I was the jar-fly."
Gwen dimpled, then said with quite a dignified air: "You mustn't make fun of my friends."
Kenneth grew immediately grave. "Of course not, if you don't wish me to. I didn't realize that he was such a friend of yours. What have you there?"
Gwen ignored the first part of his speech. "I have a talisman. Mr. Mitchell has gone to find another for me."
"A talisman?" The young man took the stone she held out. "I'd like one."
"You can easily find it. They are quite plentiful."
"Your friend hasn't found one, it seems."
"That's because—I mean there may not be so many at the end where he is."
Kenneth stirred the loose stones with his foot. "Here is one," he said, stooping to pick up a small pebble.
"Good! You didn't have to search long. Now you have your wish. You possess a real talisman."
Kenneth tossed the pebble lightly from one hand to the other, as he looked off to sea. Presently he threw himself down by the girl's side and dropped the pebble into her lap. "Will you have it?" he said.
Gwen did not touch the stone. "But you have none," she answered.
"I shall have if you will give me one."
"I have only this big one, and I want that myself. Maybe I can find a little one for you."
Kenneth did not detain her as she wandered further off, but sat where she left him turning over the pebbles. When she returned he had made a little pile of them. She stood for a moment watching him gather them together and tie them up in his handkerchief.
"So you like them well enough to carry them home?" she said.
"Yes. Don't you?"
"Of course."
He held out his hand. "Did you find the talisman to add to my collection?"
She put her hands behind her. "Which hand will you choose?" she asked laughingly.
"Which hand?" he asked with emphasis. Then seeing an uplifting of the chin he added, "The one with the talisman in it, which will be the right one, of course."
"You are entirely too smart, but as you have guessed correctly I shall have to give it to you. I think it's a beauty." She laid a small, perfectly marked and well-shaped little pebble in his hand.
"Is it as nice as the jar-fly's?"
She held up an arresting finger. "If you talk that way I shall take it back."
"You can't." He stowed the pebble safely away in an inside pocket, and Gwen, seeing herself worsted, turned the subject.
"Let me see your collection," she said.
He untied his handkerchief and displayed the carefully selected varieties. "Aren't they fine?" he said.
"They certainly are. I quite envy you the hoard. With the eye of an artist you have made a judicious choice. By the way, why aren't you sketching this afternoon?"
"Because I prefer to gather pebbles."
"It seems to me that you are in rather a—what shall I call it?—rather a difficult mood."
"Am I?"
"Aren't you?"
"Perhaps."
"With this glorious sea and sky, and here where worldly cares cannot touch us, we should never have moods."
"I am pleased that worldly cares cannot touch you. They do me."
"Oh, I am sorry. Would it be inquisitive to ask if anything very wrong has happened?"
He was silent while he let the little hoard of pebbles slowly drop, one by one, through his fingers. "You see," he said, "I happened to have a very disturbing letter this morning. I suppose it isn't philosophical to let such things irritate me, but they always do. The family fortunes depend upon me, I am told."
"I should imagine they ought," returned Gwen a little severely.
He looked at her quickly. "Darn the family fortunes!" he said fiercely.
"Darn them if you will," retorted Gwen calmly, "but mend them in some way, if they need mending."
He laughed, a boyish laugh, then became serious. "But you see," he said, "in my opinion they aren't so much frayed and worn as some persons imagine. They may not be in the very latest cut, but they do pretty well except for such things as court receptions and so on. I have relinquished my share in them, at all events, and am content to be a thing of rags and patches myself for the sake of wielding a free lance. But it seems that is not enough. I must give up all I love best, and follow a career that I detest. The parting of the ways has been reached and I must decide."
"At once?"
"By the end of the summer."
"Then wait till the end of the summer, and meanwhile do your best. Enjoy the hour. Don't spoil it by being gloomy. Then, when the time comes, make your decision. I find that when we face a blank wall, which apparently has no way through it, often when we come up to it, we suddenly see an opening. Leave it for the present. It does not help things to worry over them. You remember the story of the old man about to leave this life, who said to his sons, 'My children, I have had a great many hard times in this world, but most of them never happened.'"
Kenneth stood up and held out his hand. "Thank you," he said. "I believe that is good advice. I'll try to follow it. Will you forgive me for unloading my burdens upon you?"
"Since you agree to follow my advice, of course I forgive you. There is nothing more flattering than to have your advice taken. Are you going?"
"Yes, I see the jar—I see Mr. Mitchell coming. From the increased buoyancy of his step I should say that he has found a talisman for you."
"Please stay and meet him."
"No."
"It would perhaps be good policy to make a friend of him."
"Why?"
"Because—pardon the suggestion—he is wealthy. He likes our island. He might buy some of your pictures."
Kenneth frowned.
"You don't like the idea, but it is practical. Aunt Cam says I have a very practical streak for so romantic a somebody as I sometimes am."
"I acknowledge that your hint is practical, and that you are quite right, but I loathe being politic."
"Of course you do. You wouldn't be a really truly artist if you didn't. But you must probably meet Mr. Mitchell some time, so why not now?"
"True. All right." He stood with such a resigned expression as caused Gwen's face to dimple into smiles, but she made no comment as she went forward a step to meet Cephas Mitchell.
"I found one," he cried exultantly. "It is quite large. I will show it to you. Don't you think it would be pretty decorated? I could get some one to paint a little scene on it, and then it would be quite ornamental."
Gwen heard Kenneth, behind her, give a smothered groan. She turned with mischief in her eyes. "Perhaps Mr. Hilary would do it. He is an artist. Let me present you to my friend Mr. Mitchell, Mr. Hilary."
Mr. Mitchell held out his hand. "This is a fortunate meeting, Mr. Hilary. I wonder if you would care to undertake this little commission for me. A small landscape, a bit of the island maybe, would be appropriate."
"Unfortunately I am not a miniature painter," Kenneth answered with dignity. Then catching Gwen's expression he added with some show of interest, "But I am quite sure I know some one who can do it for you, and if you will entrust the stone to me I will promise that your order shall be filled satisfactorily, at a fair price," he added with a slightly malicious grin.
"UNFORTUNATELY I'M NOT A MINIATURE PAINTER."
"UNFORTUNATELY I'M NOT A MINIATURE PAINTER."
"UNFORTUNATELY I'M NOT A MINIATURE PAINTER."
"Thanks awfully," returned Mr. Mitchell. "I don't know much about such things myself, but I thought it might make a sort of paper weight, or something useful like that." He looked at Gwen for appreciation.
She thanked him so profusely that Kenneth moved to further malice remarked to her. "I saw a lovely warming-pan painted with a wreath of roses, in Miss Zerviah Hackett's parlor the other day, and she has a sweet milking-stool tied with blue ribbons and painted with a wreath of daisies, so suggestive, don't you think? I asked her if it was her work, and she said no, it was done by a niece of hers from Lewiston who had taken lessons off of a Miss Somebody-or-other at school."
Gwen bit her lip. "I have seen them," she said. "Shall we walk on, or haven't you had enough of Pebbly Beach, Mr. Mitchell?"
"Oh, I have had enough if you have," he made reply.
"There are lovely sea-weeds here," said Gwen. "I must come gather some to use on menu cards. One can really arrange them beautifully with a little care.
"I hope, Mr. Hilary," she turned to Kenneth, "that you don't disapprove of that kind of art."
"I? Oh no. I quite agree with you that the sea-weeds are very decorative, and the delicate forms, preserved in some such way as you propose, are really worth looking at."
"Some of this stuff is good to eat, isn't it?" said Mr. Mitchell.
"Not just by itself. This kind," Gwen picked up a bit of the moss, "when thoroughly washed and dried, can be used for what Miss Zerviah calls 'blue monge.' Have you chanced to meet Miss Zerviah, Mr. Mitchell? She is quite a character."
"I don't think I have even heard of her," was the reply.
"Then you still have something to live for. You may not have heard of Miss Zerviah, but you may rest assured that she knows all about you from the size of your collar to the number of your shoe."
"Dear me!" Mr. Mitchell looked uncomfortable.
"Let us hope it isn't quite as bad as that," said Kenneth. "She is not a bad sort at all, Mr. Mitchell, a very kindly soul. If you fall ill she will be the first to send you a dish of 'blue monge.' She has helped my sister out of no end of difficulties. She was telling us rather a good story yesterday. Have you happened to hear about Ora Tibbett's young man, Miss Whitridge? The one who came over from the Neck to see her last Sunday?"
"No, I haven't heard. I thought Manny Green was her young man."
"He has a rival it seems, some one whom Ora met at a dance, I believe. He rowed over last Sunday and invited Ora for a walk. The family were so pleased that Ora should countenance anyone beside Manny that they invited the young man to supper. The boys of the island, however, were not so willing that an outsider should infringe upon what they considered their rights, and they took up the cudgels in Manny's behalf. After supper there was another walk, we were told, so that it was pretty late when the visitor went forth to get his boat, but the boat wasn't there. He hunted high and low. He knew just where he had tied it up, but not a sign of it was to be seen. He appealed to everyone to help look for it, but it was not to be found."
"They had cut it adrift, of course," put in Mr. Mitchell.
Kenneth laughed. "Not a bit of it. They did better than that. They kept the fellow searching about all night, and toward morning, just as it was beginning to get light, he discovered it hanging up high between two of the tall poplars in front of Cap'n Dave Purdy's house. They had lashed ropes around it and hauled it up there, where it stayed till he could get it down. 'I guess he won't come back,' Miss Zerviah said."
"That's pretty good," Mr. Mitchell remarked. "It's a very curious place, isn't it?"
"It is tremendously interesting," returned Gwen. "Last night we were nearly scared to death by some one's tapping on the window pane. Aunt Cam went to the door, and out of the darkness came a sepulchral voice saying 'Do you want any lobsters?' We discovered it to be a man who had 'shorts' to sell, and though we longed for them, as they are so much sweeter and tenderer than the large ones, we refrained from encouraging a violator of the laws, and didn't take any. I don't know that we would have been so virtuous, if we had not been sure of all we could use from another source."
"It is quite right, you know, to have such strict laws," said Mr. Mitchell, "for if every one used shorts in a little while lobsters would become very scarce, and in time there would be none at all."
"Of course it is right," agreed Gwen, "though it is funny to hear how the lobstermen evade the vigilance of the officers. They are rarely caught, for some one is always on the outlook to warn the men who have any undersized lobsters on hand. But here we are on the highroad. I suppose the mail must be in."
"I heard the boat whistle an hour ago," Kenneth told her.
"Then we'll go to the post-office. Shall we?"
They crossed over to the long flight of steps leading to the cove, meeting on the way various persons coming from the post-office. One of them exclaimed at sight of Gwen, "Why, Gwendolin Whitridge, what are you doing here?"
"What are you doing here, Ethel Fuller?"
"That is just what I'd like to know myself," came the reply. "It is the stupidest place I ever saw. Nothing to do all day but sit and look at that monotonous old ocean. No board walk, no chance to wear your good clothes, no band. I don't see what Aunt Harriet was thinking of to choose such a spot, and we've taken our rooms for the season. I shall try to persuade Aunt Harriet to leave early."
"Where are you staying?" asked Gwen.
"At a Mrs. Green's. Perfectly horrid, my dear."
Gwen smiled, but made no comment, then she presented her two escorts and proposed that they all walk home together. "I'll show you where we live," she said to Miss Fuller. "We think it is an ideal spot."
"But what do you find to do?"
"A thousand things. The days are all too short for all we want to do."
"Oh, I forgot that you are the romantic kind who likes scenery and poetry and such things." She turned to Mr. Mitchell. "She takes things too seriously. Now I am a regular butterfly."
"Really?" Mr. Mitchell wasn't sure that he approved entirely of butterflies. "But you know," he went on, "we don't find Miss Whitridge so very serious."
"Oh, don't you? Well, I don't mean that she never laughs. She is really very full of fun sometimes, but she isn't the frivolous creature I am."
Kenneth Hilary, who had gone on to get the mail, now returned with his hands full of letters. "Two for you, Miss Whitridge," he said, "one for your aunt, and some papers. Mr. Mitchell, these are yours, I believe. The rest go our way."
Gwen tucked her letters into her blouse, and the four walked on, Kenneth falling behind with Gwen. "There is to be a dance Saturday night," he said, "the first of the season. Shall you go?"
"Of course. Do you think I would miss it?"
"And how many dances will you give me?"
"All that no one else asks for," returned Gwen saucily.
"The first, at least. No one has asked for that, because there hasn't been a chance. I deserve another for telling you that the dance is to be, and a third is due me on the ground of my being your escort, for I shall come for you with our brand new lantern. I shall be satisfied with those to start with."
"Modest creature. How do you know I will go with you?"
"You wouldn't be so snubby as not to, when you have not made the engagement with anyone else. I am the bringer of the news, and of course no one could get ahead of me. Besides, after the inquisitorial rack you put me on awhile ago, I deserve to have my wounds healed."
"You behaved so beautifully that I confess you do deserve some compensation, so I'll promise to walk in the light of the lantern you've been bragging about. As to the dances, we will see, though of course you must have the first."
"I have heard several other frivolities discussed, so perhaps your friend will find that there are attractions here, after all."
"She is a handsome girl, don't you think so?"
"Yes, rather, but not a bit paintable. She is not an artistic type."
"She is very popular," said Gwen. "The men all like her. Mrs. Dow, her aunt, is a very proper sort of person, very conventional, very churchy. She is extremely particular about her brand of religion. She uses very little of it, and that generally on Sundays, but she likes to have it of good quality."
"How exactly you get at the heart of things," returned Kenneth, laughing. "The world is full of just that kind of people. You like Miss—Fuller is her name?"
"I like her, yes. She isn't at all a bad sort. I've known her since we were little tots who went to the same school. I've not a thing against her except that lately she has acquired the broad a, and uses it too lavishly, scarce an a escapes her. She says awnd and hawnd as cheerfully as she does calm and alms. I believe the whole family have adopted the pronunciation within the past year, and they display it conspicuously, not as an inherent part of their speech, but as a desirable adjunct."
"Broad a's are like genius," returned Kenneth, "they must be born in one. They can't be very well acquired, I notice."
"Oh, some persons are quite successful in conquering them, but Mrs. Dow's family pin them on. It is entirely too obvious that they were not there in the first place. But, oh dear me, what am I doing, slandering my neighbors? I must stop at once."
"You can scarcely call it slander. We might say it is only a species of analysis. One has a right to analyze."
"Not too much. It gets one into a habit of being over critical, and that deteriorates into fault-finding."
"So we must stop on the safe side. Very well. I shall begin at once to praise your friend to the jar-fly—I beg your pardon—to Mr. Mitchell."
They followed on through the stile, and up the road skirting the pasture, to the point beyond. And here the men left the two girls. At parting Kenneth furtively opened his hand and displayed the little talisman for a second.
"You won't forget to see about the landscape Mr. Mitchell wants painted on my talisman," said Gwen, ignoring the pebble Kenneth held.
He shut his fingers tightly. "I'll not forget," he said, and walked abruptly away.