"Ye can't knock a woman down. Ain't there some one else that I kin begin on?"

"Well, it's kind o' common talk. Floatin' round like eelgra.s.s up the creek. I s'pose it's sunk int' some kind of bottom of fact, as t' who started the rumor, but it's jest slippin' around now, on top."

"'T is, hey? Well, 't ain't the fust time I've clutched eelgra.s.s an'

tore it from its muddy bottom. That gal," Davy pointed a trembling finger dune-ward, where the _Comrade_ was bobbing over the roughening water,--"that gal ain't goin' t' be soiled by any slime if I know it.

She b'longs t' Billy an' me, an' by thunder! we can sail her bark fur her when her little hand grows tired on the tiller!"

Mark was wiping his eyes. Davy had made him feel himself a blackguard, but he could not see just where he had erred. Davy, however, took small heed of Mark.

"I'm goin' down t' get dinner!" he said suddenly, "an' I ain't goin' t'

foller, 'cause she's goin' t' Billy an' there ain't no call I should inflict myself on 'em. But I'm goin' visitin' in the village this afternoon,"--he nodded ominously,--"I'm goin' t' pay up some o' my funeral calls. I hope I ain't goin' t' cause any more funerals, but it all depends on how bad the disease is!"

Mark's inclination was to hold Davy back from his march of devastation, but he felt his impotence.

"Onct you put Davy on the scent," he whimpered, as he listened to the keeper's departing footsteps, "you might as well give up. Davy's a turrible one fur runnin' down the game. Nation! I hope he won't fall foul o' Maud Grace an' fling her at her mother!" The cold perspiration rose to Mark's forehead. "Nation! I wish I hadn't mentioned Mrs. Jo G. I wish t' gracious I'd laid the hull blamed business t' Pa, fur Pa kin stand it bein' so soft-like."

Janet reached the dunes in good time, but the distance had never seemed so long before. The throbbing, hurt heart outstripped the faithful little _Comrade_ doing its best before the favoring wind. Every tack seemed a mile, and a fever rose in the blood of the silent girl at the tiller.

She had time to think. She had time to grow old during that pa.s.sage. One figure stood out alone from the confused tangle--her mother! Around that form much centred! She must know all--all, about her mother.

She must not break upon Billy with her startling news. Billy was so easily driven into an impenetrable silence! She must draw him out by old familiar methods and not frighten him into caution. By the time the _Comrade_ was fastened to the Station wharf, the girl had got herself well in hand. The men of the crew who were not sleeping were engaged indoors, a lonely stillness brooded over all. Janet went up to the government house and looked in at the open door facing the ocean.

"Where's Cap'n Billy?" she asked. The two men, preparing food at the table, raised their eyes with no surprise, and Captain Jared Brown replied:

"Isterin'." Then with a huge clasp knife he opened a can of tomatoes, raised it to his lips and drained the contents. Tomatoes were Jared's only dissipation.

"Has he been gone all day?" Janet waited until the empty can was set down.

"The better part of it." The man wiped his lips with the back of his hand.

"Does he have a patrol to-night?"

"No! no!" Jared began to show an interest.

"I'm going to surprise him. Don't let on, Jared, if you see him. Who is in the lookout?"

"John Thomas."

Janet went to the stairway.

"John Thomas!" she called up, "don't let on to Cap'n Billy that I'm here."

"I don't report no derelicts!" shouted John from aloft. John Thomas was an unsmiling humorist and the idol of the undemonstrative crew. He had seen the girl's approach and was ready with his answer.

Then Janet went across the sand hill to Billy's little house. Inside all was as neat and trim as a ship's cabin. Billy ate with the men at the Station, but the tiny kitchen was ready for Janet whenever she came as, also, was the orderly bedchamber beyond the living room. Billy kept to his lean-to, when away from the government house. The rooms were too stifling for the girl. She could not bear the loneliness that only empty houses have; she went out and sat upon the sand dune on the ocean side. It was never lonely in the big open world! Presently small things caught and held her excited mind. Far out a sail was pa.s.sing beyond the bar, and away--where? Then a gull swooped low in wide free circles, and pa.s.sed--whither? Closer at hand, the stiff gra.s.s, stirred by the wind, made perfect circles upon the white sand. Deeper and deeper the gra.s.s cut until there were little ditches, and then the sand fell in, and the patient gra.s.s, guided by the unseen power, began again. Janet's unrest found peace in these small happenings. This was home. Safety and Billy would soon come and gather her into the strong stillness of love!

"I told him I was afraid of the city folks; and he laughed!" she whispered, "but they've caught, or they have nearly caught, Billy's poor fish!" She flung her head up with an air of defiance. Whatever came, she must meet it as Billy had taught her to meet the storms of childish pa.s.sion.

Suddenly she became aware of a sound behind her. She turned, and there was Billy! The surpriser was taken by surprise.

"My Cap'n!" Janet rushed to him and flung her arms about him.

"Hold there!" he cried, "I'm all over isters, Janet; isters an' eelgra.s.s an' water!"

"Never mind, Cap'n Daddy, you are you! I am never going to leave you.

I've come home!" In her raptures she had shaken Billy's hat off, and now stooped to pick it up. "I'm going to be an oysterer myself, or some other man-thing that will help. But, Cap'n Daddy, I'm going to tie up close to you!"

Billy was in nowise deceived by this loving outburst. He had kept guiltily away from the girl with the knowledge he knew he must impart to her some day. Mark Tapkins had informed him of the artist's departure; and that, together with Susan Jane's death and funeral, had given Billy, never before cowardly, a time of grace. But he knew that his girl had come to him in some trouble. Every expression of the dear face was known to him, and he was ready to throw out the line of help as soon as the signal was sure.

"Janet," he said, "I'll fetch a mess of somethin' from the Station an'

we'll take it together. You lay out the table same as ye use t'. Ye might happen t' like t' fry up some isters. I've had oncommon luck; an'

ye allus sot considerable store by the first isters."

"The very thought of them makes me hungry! Hurry, Cap'n Daddy; I want you right close!"

Billy was not gone long, and when he returned the two made ready the evening meal. They tried to be gay, but between the attempts at merriment each was watching the other.

The sun went down behind the Hills and Davy's Light sprang to its duty on the Point. Billy got up stiffly, lighted the little gla.s.s lamp and set it upon the table amid the dishes of food from which neither he nor Janet had ravenously eaten.

"We must rid up," said Billy, eyeing the disorder; "once yer done with food, 'tain't a pleasant sight hangin' around." When this was finished Janet drew her chair close.

"Cap'n Daddy!" No longer could the girl hold herself in check. "Cap'n Daddy, I've got something to tell you!"

Billy's heart smote him as he looked at the pretty head, bowed now upon the folded arms. He put out his rough hand and smoothed the ruddy hair.

"Steady," he murmured, "'tain't no use t' lose heart, Janet. I done wrong not t' give ye a clearer chart t' sail by, but ye'll get int'

smooth waters agin, please G.o.d!" How little he realized her true trouble!

Janet tried to still her sobs, but they eased the strain and she sobbed on, while Billy made the most of the time to take up his neglected task.

"It was just the kind of shoal yer little bark was like t' steer fur,"

he went on, never raising his hand from her dear head, "an' I oughter have told ye. I allus have thought that most of us would keep off rocks an' shoals if we knowed they was there. Janet, I've got t' tell ye somethin' 'bout yer mother! It oughter come to ye from a woman, G.o.d knows, but there ain't no likely woman t' hand, an' I must do my best.

She, yer mother, was powerful 'fraid ye might wreck yerself on the same kind o' reef what she struck. She wanted ye should be a boy 'long o'

that fear, but she 'lowed if ye were a girl, I was t' tell ye in time if I saw danger, an', Janet, I ain't done my duty!" Billy's voice was hoa.r.s.e from intense feeling.

"Cap'n Daddy!" Janet's voice shook with sobs. "Don't you blame yourself.

You're the one perfect thing I have in my life. I know it now; I always knew it, and I never wanted to leave you."

"Shuttin' yer eyes from danger ain't strength-givin', Janet; keep a watch out, an' be ready. That's what life means." His voice drew the girl from the shelter of her arms, she looked steadily at him through wet lashes. "Janet, yer mother sunk 'long o' lovin' a man--a man--well, like him--on the Hills!"

"What!" The girl bent forward and the fire of her pa.s.sion dried the tears from the troubled eyes. She would hold her news back. Billy had the right of way.

"Yes, yes." Billy let go his grip of the present. He forgot the girl opposite, and her personal claim upon him. He was back in his own youth, and in arms to defend the one woman of his love, while of necessity he must use her against herself.

"'T ain't no harm in lovin', if love on both sides means right.

Mary--that was her name--Mary was cursed, yes, cursed, with a handsome face an' a lovin' little heart what she didn't know how t' steer true.

That's what she always stuck t' later, that eddication would have teached her t' know better. She was the heartsomest gal that ever was raised in these parts. Her an' Susan Jane was 'bout as friendly as any, an' I will say fur Susan Jane, that with all her cantankerousness, she stood by Mary. David an' me never sot our fancy on any one but Susan Jane an' Mary; an' Davy an' me warn't doomed t' happiness! Least, not in our own way, though 't was give t' us both t' help when everythin' else failed. Mary, she went t' the city an' took a place in a store. She had ambitions t' soar an' be somethin' different. Once or twice she came home all dressed up t' kill, an' lookin' like jest nothin' but a picter.

An' once I went t' the city jest t' see her. I took special care o' my get-up, knowing how much Mary sot by such things. I thought I was all right till I reached the town; then it broke on me like a clap o'

thunder that I was about as out o' place there as a whale in a fresh-water lake. Mary was real upset 'bout my comin' onexpected an'