"But if it happened in the night?"

"We won't go and live on an island," he said with a smile.

It was rougher going back, but not bad enough to cause any alarm. The wind had died down, but the swells were coming in. They stopped at Gloucester and took on some boxes and great planks, and several pieces of furniture.

"There's enough old truck in Salem now," declared Captain Green ungraciously. "'F I had my way I'd turn it out on the Common and put a match to it. Now there's the Hibbins--came over in 1680 and brought their housen goods. There wan't any way of makin' 'em then but just outen rough logs. An' now the old granma'am's died and 'twas her mother's, I b'lieve, and Mis' Hibbins she's just gone crazy over it. And they're buildin' a fine new house. Strange how Salem's buildin' up!

Those East Ingy traders do make lots of money. But before I'd have that old truck in my nice new house!" And the captain gave a snort of disdain.

He did not dream that before another hundred years had pa.s.sed there would be comparative fortunes made in the old truck.

"We'll be a little late gettin' in, but there'll be a moon. Lucky wind ain't dead agin us."

How good the supper tasted, for Cynthia was very hungry. And then they went on and on, hugging the sh.o.r.e, the captain said, until it was a kind of shadowy waving blur, but on the other side most beautiful. It made her think of coming from India, but she was glad to see the vague outline of the sh.o.r.e.

The captain was much surprised that she had been such a traveller. He had been to New York and all around Long Island, and up as far as Nova Scotia. The Bay of Fundy was wonderful, with its strange dangerous tides.

"We will go there another summer," Chilian said, holding her hand, and she returned the soft pressure.

"I was 'most afraid something had happened." Eunice had gone down the street to meet them. "But it's clear as a bell and no wind to speak of, and the captains of the coasting vessels know every inch of the way."

"Only just lovely things happened. It's been splendid. But I'm hungry again. Can't I have a second supper?"

How different she looked from the little girl who had come to him for care and friendship. And he had been rather unwilling to accept her. She was growing tall, and--yes, really pretty.

They had one more excursion to Winter Island. Why, it seemed as if they were building ships enough for the whole world. And there were the fisheries, and the curious musical singing, not really words, but sort of detached sounds that floated off in a weird kind of way.

After that school again. She was glad to see the girls, and Madam Torrey gave her a warm welcome, saying, "Why, Miss Cynthia, how tall you have grown!"

"I'm very glad," she said smilingly. "All the Leveretts are tall, but I don't ever want to be very large."

"And she had really been to Boston! Was it so much handsomer than Salem?

They had a real theatre, and parties, and b.a.l.l.s. Sadie Adams' big sister was going to spend the whole winter there."

Chilian Leverett decided to alter his house a little. The two rooms at the back had always seemed crowded up, though Elizabeth preferred a separate one so long as they connected. But he had the memory of the poor drawn face, as he had seen it the morning of her seizure. Wouldn't Eunice recall it as well?

"I think I will make some alterations," he announced to her. "I'll push that upstairs room out over the summer kitchen and make it a good deal larger. While they are doing it, Eunice, you had better go over the other side and let Mrs. Taft take your room."

She a.s.sented, though she thought the house and the rooms were large enough for the few people in it. Cynthia was interested in her studies, and the girls, and the new books coming in. For now Sir Walter Scott was having a great hearing, and there were some new poets.

It was not expected that people would be at all gay when there had been a death in the family, so Cynthia felt compelled to decline her few invitations. The new room was finished and made much brighter with the two added windows. The walls were painted a soft gray, with a warm tint.

There were yards and yards of new rag carpet up in the garret, sewed in bagging to keep out moths. Of course, it might as well be used. The old bedstead was taken out and though the one subst.i.tuted was quite as old, it was very much prettier, with its carved posts and the tester frame from which depended white curtains. Some of the other furniture was changed and it made a very pretty room, so Eunice came back to it very much pleased, though not quite sure so much comeliness was best for the soul.

At Christmas Chilian took the little girl down to Boston on a special invitation. There were two visitors a little older than herself, one whose father was a representative from the State, the other from New York.

Washington was not much thought of in those days. Other cities had yielded their claims unwillingly, and there had been much talk of its being set in a mora.s.s. Mrs. President Adams had described her infelicities very graphically. The rooms were not finished, and she took one of the parlors for an adjunct to the laundry to dry the wash in. New York considered itself the great head for fashion and gayety, Boston for education and refinement, and she too, had quite an extensive port trade.

But Giles Leverett thought the little girl from Salem was quite as pretty and well bred as Boston girls, and really she never seemed at loss now, and was seldom overtaken with a fit of shyness. They had a gay, happy time, with a regular dancing party, which filled Cynthia with the utmost delight.

And though the winter seemed cold and bleak spring came again, as it always does. Mrs. Taft had gone away to another bad case. Eunice and Miss Winn kept the house. There had been quite an entertaining episode with Miss Winn. A very prosperous man, who lived up on the North side, and had a fine house and five children, asked her to be his wife, thinking she would make such an excellent mother for girls. It was supposed at that time that no woman could refuse a good offer of marriage.

"Consider it well," said Mr. Leverett. "I don't know how we could give you up, and, of course, you could not take Cynthia. Her father made a generous provision for you, and I think he chose wisely for his child.

But----"

"I don't know that I want to begin over again," and she gave a peculiar smile. "Five seems quite an undertaking when you have had only one. And you have taken so much the charge of her."

"But you see, now she will need a woman's guidance more than ever. She has outgrown childhood. I see the change in her every day. Eunice could not supervise her clothes and her pleasures, times have changed so much.

I want her to be very happy and have a life like other girls----"

She thought she could give up the prospect good as it was, won by that persuasive voice. And she had come to really love Miss Eunice, who was blossoming in a new phase now that there was nothing to restrain her natural sweetness.

"I promised her father to do the best I could for her. I love her very much. I enjoy the home here. I do not think I could be any happier. And I am so used to owning myself that I do not feel disposed to give up my liberty. If I had no prospect, I might consider it. And Cynthia will need some one as she grows older to see that she makes the right sort of acquaintances and guide her a little."

"Then since all is agreeable we can count on your staying. You cannot imagine my own thankfulness;" and he pressed her hand cordially.

"Isn't it funny!" cried Cynthia. "Why, Margaret Plummer goes to Madam Torrey's, but she is very--well, I don't know just how to describe it, only she said once that they would all make the house too hot to hold a step-mother. And, oh, dear Rachel, I couldn't bear to have anybody ugly to you. And then you know we couldn't give you up. Cousin Chilian said so, and Miss Eunice cried."

Miss Winn winked some tears out of her eyes, though she tried to smile.

It was very comforting to a woman without kith or kin to feel so welcome in a household.

Cynthia was sitting on the step of the porch one May night when the moon was making shifting shadows through the trees and silvering the paths.

Chilian was studying the face, and wondering a little what was flitting through the brain that now and then gave it such intentness.

"What are you thinking about?" he asked.

"Oh, Cousin Chilian!" She flushed a lovely, rosy glow. "Building an air castle."

"Is it very airy? So far that it would be a journey for another person to reach it?"

"Oh, part of it is near by. The other is what could be, maybe;"

wistfully.

"Can't I hear about it?"

"Cousin Chilian, why are the parlors always shut up, and why don't you have people coming and going, and saying bright things, and talking about the improvements and--and Napoleon and the wars in Europe, and the new streets and houses, and, oh, ever so many things?"

He looked at the tightly closed shutters. In his father's time there were visitors, discussions, playing at whist and loo, and little suppers. She wouldn't care for that, of course. Yet he remembered that she had been interested in the talks at Boston.

"Why, yes; the rooms could be opened. Only we have grown so at home in the sitting-room, and you and I in the study."

"At the Dearborns' they keep the house all open and lighted up, as they do in Boston. And they ask in young people and have plays, and charades, and funny conundrums----"

Oh, she was young and should have this kind of life. How should he set about it? He must ask Miss Winn. But he ventured rather timidly, for a man.

"Would you like--well, some girls in to tea? They ask you so often. And there is no reason why we should all be hermits."

She sprang up and clasped her arms about his neck.

"Oh, I just should. At first when Cousin Elizabeth went away, and the lessons were difficult, and it was winter, but now everything seems so joyous----"