CHAPTER VIII
This was not the last talk that Kenneth and Luther Williams had together, for often the older man would come upon the younger, sitting before his sketching easel or with color-box in hand, climbing the cliffs, or it might be that they would meet upon that solitary and silent spot at the end of the island where it seemed most fitting that serious things should be discussed. In consequence of this outlet to his feelings, Kenneth, after this, displayed himself to Gwen in his most sunny moods, his graver, more morbid ones being reserved for the nights when he and Luther Williams stood side by side, the moaning sea before them.
As time went on many excursions were planned. Mr. Mitchell hired a motor boat which was put into use nearly every day, and was seen skimming the space between Fieldings and Jagged Island, or was started early for a cruise up the bay. Sometimes there would be a shore dinner at the Neck, or a picnic on one of the lovely islands within reach. There were seldom less than half a dozen in the party, and often as many as twenty would start out in a sail-boat for a day's pleasuring. Kenneth's sister, Mrs. Fleming, frequently joined the others, and her two children were seldom left behind. Mrs. Fleming was an unoffensive little person, devoted to her babies, amiable and chatty, though not very intellectual. Her prettiness and sweetness always won her a welcome, and she was pressed into service as chaperon oftener than any one else.
It was for one of these expeditions that Cephas Mitchell started out to look up his party one afternoon. He had already secured an acceptance from Ethel Fuller, had engaged Miss Henrietta Gray as chaperon, and was now in search of Gwen. He did not find her at Wits' End, so he wandered down toward the rocks and at last recognized the blue linen suit and white hat which he knew she wore. She was bending over a small pool in the rocks, the home of various little sea creatures to whom each returning tide brought gifts. Feathery green mosses waved in the clear water, strangely colored star fish languidly made their way through a forest of sea-weed to the shelter of an overhanging ledge, purple or pink crabs scuttled across the rocky floor to sink out of sight in a bed of brown kelp. Far under the jutting shelves of their watery home anemones and sea urchins clung to the shadowy retreats which they recognized as places of safety. The little barnacles were everywhere, finding refreshment at each new influx of the sea.
Although Gwen did not raise her head, she had seen the angular figure of Cephas Mitchell springing down the rocks. She had also seen some one else coming in an opposite direction, and she smiled. She knew each was bent upon some plan for the afternoon's enjoyment. "I'll leave it to fate," she said to herself. "I shall accept the first invitation from whichever it may be." She trailed her fingers through the salty water, and prodded a little star-fish from his hold upon the rocks. There was a hint of excitement in her action, for she was determined not to give herself the opportunity of watching the two men who were trying to find her. "I wonder whose voice I shall hear first," she was saying to herself when she felt the near presence of some one who greeted her with "Good afternoon, Miss Whitridge. Lovely day, isn't it?"
Then from just overhead some one called down to her: "Oh, Miss Whitridge, can you go sailing? Mr. Williams wants to take us out, and your aunt says she will go."
Gwen rose to her feet and looked up to see Kenneth Hilary's eager face bending over the cliff, while at her side stood Cephas Mitchell regarding her ruefully, conscious that the other's lack of ceremony had given him precedence. "You haven't any other engagement, I hope," said Kenneth.
"No," Gwen acknowledged, "and I'll go with pleasure. When do we start?"
"In half an hour. Mr. Williams is bringing the boat around to Capt. Purdy's wharf."
"Dear me," Mr. Mitchell began, "I'm too late. I wish I'd found you five minutes sooner, for I, too, wanted you to go out this afternoon. Cousin Henrietta and Miss Fuller are going and—" He turned to Kenneth with sudden inspiration. "Couldn't we all go together in the motor-boat, and leave your sailing-party for to-morrow?"
"I'm afraid not," returned Kenneth. "You see it isn't my sailing-party, but Mr. Williams'. We go by his invitation, or I would ask you to join us."
Mr. Mitchell, discomfited, turned upon his heel, saying over his shoulder, "The next time, Miss Whitridge, I shall take time by the forelock."
"I hope you'll have a lovely time," said Gwen cheerfully. "Too bad to disappoint you, Mr. Mitchell, but Mr. Hilary spoke first, you see."
"Oh, I did see," returned Mr. Mitchell.
"He's in a regular huff," said Kenneth coming down to where Gwen stood. "Would you rather have gone with the other party? I was so afraid of losing you that perhaps I didn't allow you any choice."
"I'd always rather go with Mr. Williams than anyone," returned Gwen, "and it will do Mr. Mitchell good not to get his own way for once. I fancy he is rather unused to such an experience, being a forceful sort of person in matters of business."
"That's why he succeeds. One must be very direct and prompt of course, in order to get ahead in this world."
Gwen laughed. "Then I am sure you ought to succeed, for anything more direct and prompt than yourself on this occasion it would be hard to find. When I first saw you coming Mr. Mitchell was yards nearer."
Kenneth smiled. "Did you see? I shouldn't have imagined it. I was conscious that he would reach you first if I came down to a level with you, so the only way to out-general him was to run along the bluff and hail you from above. What were you so absorbed in looking at?"
"One of these delightful little pools that are a perfect joy to me. There are some further out that one can reach only at low tide. Aren't they fascinating? A sort of dream world, a fairy haunt. See those tiny bright points of blue, where the light strikes that bunch of moss. Could anything be more brilliant? There is such a variety of color in these pools. Have you ever studied them closely? You have no idea how much vegetable and animal life one such small spot as this can contain."
"I've observed them less closely than you, I'm afraid, though I have always found them interesting. Are you ready for the sail? Shall you not need a warm wrap? Shall I get it for you?"
"I'd better get it myself, but you may come with me. I am glad Aunt Cam consented to go. She usually has a hundred excuses. I never knew anyone take to housekeeping and home furbishing with such zest. But she has always had absorbing interests of some kind, and cannot do anything by halves. This is one of the blue days, isn't it?"
"You don't mean mentally, I hope."
"Oh, dear, no, I mean—but you can see for yourself—a day when only the sea is bluer than the sky. When everything sparkles and vibrates because the atmosphere is so clear. It will be a fine afternoon for a sail."
"That is what Mr. Williams said. Just enough wind to keep us going, and not enough to be too cold."
"Where are we to go?"
"Somewhere up along Middle Bay. Mr. Williams directed me to say that we were to bring no eatables, for this is his party. That is a remarkable man to find in these parts, Miss Gwen. He seems in a wrong sphere here, yet I think he loves the life and scarcely misses what a larger world can furnish. I often wonder how he came to drift here."
"So do I. When I first knew him I used to try to draw him out to speak of his early life, but later I concluded to respect his secret whatever it may be, and I think he is grateful that I don't show curiosity. He is a remarkable man in many ways, a great reader and an intelligent one. I notice his choice of books shows him to have tastes above what one would expect."
"It isn't only in that way that he shows his clear mind," responded Kenneth, "but on the deeper questions of life he shows himself a thinker. He seems tremendously fond of you, Miss Gwen, and I believe he has taken in me as a friend, too."
"His kindness to us is almost embarrassing sometimes. Aunt Cam and I have discussed it, however, and have come to the conclusion that I must remind him of some one he cared for, a mother, a wife, a sweetheart, so we accept everything now, for the sake of whomever it may be."
"I don't doubt that you are correct in your surmise. He seems like a man who has passed through great sorrow and has come out of it uplifted and purified."
"I am sure it is so, and therefore we must allow him the small comfort of doing for us what he will. I will see if Aunt Cam is ready, Mr. Hilary, and will get my jacket."
It was not long before she returned, with Miss Elliott, prepared for a sail. Gwen had exchanged her blue linen for a dark corduroy skirt and jacket, and had wound a yellow scarf around her neck. Kenneth looked at her admiringly, saying to himself, "She is always picturesque in whatever she wears."
They took their way over the uneven pasture to the road beyond, from which they turned aside to follow a straggling path leading through tall growths of clover, wild roses and big-eyed daisies, to the little landing where the boat lay moored. Luther Williams' illumining smile greeted them as they stepped down the gangway, and in a few minutes they were gliding out of the cove into the bay beyond. Leaving Eagle Island on their left they swung past the long narrow neck of land, which thrust itself out like a curving finger from the mainland, and were soon in the quieter waters of Middle Bay, with Goose and Goslings in sight and the ocean no longer visible. By wooded shores and green-clad islands they sailed till they reached a small point of land around which the vessel was steered to be moored at last in a placid harbor.
"Now we'll have supper," said Luther Williams, who had been talking little, but had given his attention to sails and soundings. He set ashore a large hamper, helped Miss Elliott and Gwen to land, and, leaving the vessel at anchor, they all went a little further inland to find a fairer camping ground than any they had yet discovered. So still it was that the fall of a leaf, the movement of a bird on a twig, the tap of a hammer on some distant building, the lapping of the water on the pebbles were the only sounds they heard.
"What a heavenly spot!" cried Gwen. "When I want to escape the terrible rush of civilization as found on Fielding's Island, I shall come here. How did you discover it, Mr. Williams?"
He smiled. "I found it years ago, and, as you say, when I want to escape from oppressive civilization I come here. There are times," he added, "when in spite of your ironical remark, even Fielding's Island is too much for me. I am treating you as trusty friends, you see, when I discover to you my retreat."
"Then when I can't find you in your usual haunts I shall know where you are," Gwen said, "but I shall not tell. There was a day, not very long ago, when no one knew your whereabouts, not even Miss Phosie; she can generally tell."
Mr. Williams made no answer, but began unpacking the basket, bringing to view several boiled lobsters, roast chicken, biscuits and butter, cakes, fruit, and, last of all, a can of coffee, a bottle of cream and a box of candies. "He never got all those things this side of Portland," whispered Miss Elliott. "I know those biscuits are not island-made, neither are the fruit and cake native productions. What are you doing now, Mr. Williams?" she called out, as she saw him piling up some stones.
"Building a fireplace," he said. "We must make our coffee, you know."
She watched him deftly build his fire, using some dry driftwood of which he had a store, then he set the water to boil in an old kettle he produced from a hiding place in the rocks. As he bent over the primitive fireplace, the smoke enveloping him in a blue atmosphere, she suddenly leaned forward and made a slight exclamation.
"What's the matter, Aunt Cam?" asked Gwen anxiously. "Do you feel ill? You looked so startled—or sort of queer."
"No, no," was the reply, "I thought—I saw—"
"Not a snake?" Gwen drew her feet up under her.
"Dear me, no—I hope he'll not upset the coffee now that it is nearly ready."
"Is that all?" laughed Gwen. "You looked so serious I thought something tragic was about to happen. I am glad it was only anxiety about the coffee, though I admit it would be a tragedy to lose it now that we are yearning for it. Does anything give you such an appetite as a good sail? I shall expire with hunger, Mr. Williams, if I don't have a lobster claw pretty soon."
He broke off one, cracked it with a stone, and offered it to her. "There is a whole one waiting for you," he said.
"But I could never manage a whole one. I shouldn't dare attempt to dissect it. I should be sure to get some of those queer gray, whiskery things in my mouth."
"Then I'll do the dissecting," he promised. "As you may imagine, I am an old hand at the business."
"Twenty years it has been since you came to the island, hasn't it?" spoke up Miss Elliott.
"Very near," was the quiet reply.
"You must have been an enthusiastic fisherman in the first place," remarked Miss Elliott.
"I used to enjoy it when I was a boy off on holidays in summer," returned Luther Williams, breaking off the shell from the lobster he held.
"But you must have preferred it to any other occupation in life, to have given up everything to come here, a man of your intelligence, Mr. Williams."
Gwen looked with surprise at her aunt. What did she mean by pressing home a subject upon which they had agreed to be silent?
"Did you never hear of a man's letting himself drift, Miss Elliott?" said Mr. Williams calmly. "Sometimes it is a relief to go with the tide. If you had been battling with a single oar against wind and waves, for days, and at last had stepped into a quiet harbor, you might be satisfied to stay there and—just fish."
"Good!" said Gwen to herself. "I'm glad he made that answer. What is the matter with Aunt Cam that she is suddenly so inquisitive? It isn't like her. Coffee, please," she said to change the subject. "It must be ready by this time. Four cups? What a fine picnic this is! Aunt Cam and I only take one and drink out of it by turns. This is certainly a very high-toned feast." She rattled on, casting furtive glances once in a while at her aunt and Luther Williams. The former sat, with lips compressed, stirring her coffee; the latter's face wore its most serious look. "Haven't you all had enough?" suddenly exclaimed the girl. "I want Mr. Williams to take me to the top of this hill to see what's on the other side. Mr. Hilary, you can entertain Aunt Cam. She doesn't look as if she were thoroughly enjoying herself. I have devoured all of these good things that I can, but I shall want some candies when we come back, so please don't eat them all. Come, Mr. Williams." She bore him forcibly away, hanging on his arm, and making nonsensical speeches till she had brought back the smile to his face.
At the top of the hill they emerged from the grove of slim birches to come out upon an open field. The sky overhead was dappled with pink, while gold, purple and crimson colored the west. The sunset flecked the waters of the bay with wonderful tints, and, where the tide had receded leaving the flats shining wet, the colors were reflected in burnished streaks. The further islands were misty green, the nearer ones radiant in the glory of the departing light. "How beautiful!" cried Gwen. "I have always thought nothing could exceed the effect of certain sunsets over the cove, but this is beyond words. I don't know," she added after a moment, "but that I give the palm to our island as a steady thing, though I do hope I can come here often."
"This is a rare effect," Mr. Williams told her. "You see we can't always have such a sunset, and it isn't always low tide at just this hour. The combination is for your express benefit. I'll show you something else if you will come here." He took her by the arm and led her a little away to where, through the trees, the glory of a rising moon met their sight sending long silver beams across the water beyond.
"That too!" exclaimed Gwen. "It's almost too much, isn't it?"
"Nature never gives too much," returned her companion. "She is very chary at times, and again, as this evening, she overpowers us with her generosity, but it is only on occasions that she is so lavish. She knows how to withhold as well as how to be prodigal."
Gwen turned with shining eyes. "If I had a father, Mr. Williams," she said, "I'd like him to be just like you."
A spasm of pain passed over the fisherman's face. He took her hand in his and looked down at it where it lay, slender and fine in his big, strong knotty fingers. "If I could choose a daughter," he said slowly, "she would be just like you."
"Thank you," returned Gwen. And they went down the hill together.