"I left school before they come," said Salem. "I was on my fust voyage with Cap'n time they got there. But I ric'llect old Mis' Hollopeter, and the way she used to ride round in that old carryall of her'n. I can see her now, settin' straight as a broomstick, holdin' up that little mite of a green parasol. Covered carryall, too; I remember I used to wonder what on airth she wanted with that parasol."

"Mebbe 'twas charity for the neighbors," said Seth. "She didn't handsome much, old Mis' Hollopeter didn't. I rec'llect the carryall, too. When the boys got big enough, one of them would drive her, and she'd set there and pour poetry into him like corn into a hopper. Home asked me to go one day, and I was so scairt I like t' ha' died. Not but what the old lady meant well, for she did; but what I mean is, them boys never had no chanst to _be_ boys--not like other boys do. Who's this comin'?"

There was a flutter of pink beside the great mallow-bush at the corner of the house; a slender girl appeared, and paused bashfully, with a doubtful smile.

"'Tis Annie Lizzie!" said Salem Rock. "Nice little gal! Come in, Annie Liz, come in! there's no one here only Seth and me. What can we do for ye? Want me to touch up them cheeks with a mite of this red paint?

'Pears to me they ain't quite so rosy as common."

Both men looked approvingly at the girl as she came slowly toward them across the gra.s.s. Annie Lizzie never seemed in haste; she was in fact rather slow, but it was a soft, graceful slowness, and her motions were so pretty that one could not wish to hurry them. Everything about the girl was soft, gentle, leisurely; she had little to say, but that little was so pleasantly said, and her soft voice lingered so sweetly over the vowels, that one was sorry when she had done speaking.

She smiled very sweetly on the two middle-aged men. "Good mornin', Mr.

Rock," she said. "'Mornin', Mr. Weaver! Ma sent me on an errand to you, Mr. Weaver; I went to the shop fust, and then I thought likely you might be here, so I come along down."

"Yes!" said Seth. "You knew it was about time for all the foolishness there is in Salem Rock to bust out in paint. Look at the figuree he's makin' out of Old Sir there!"

"Yay-us!" said Annie Lizzie, admiringly. "Don't he look nice? I think he's real handsome, Mr. Rock."

Salem Rock nodded, and gave a grunt of satisfaction. "Seth's jealous,"

he said. "Don't you take no notice of him, Annie Lizzie!"

"She'll hev to take notice of me," said Seth, "or she won't get what she come for. What does your Ma want, little gal?"

"She wanted to know if you was comin' to paint the stairs to-morrow.

This festival comin' on and all, she says she's ashamed to have 'em look as they doos."

"The festival ain't goin' up her back stairs, is it?" asked Seth. "I wish it was, and out the back winder and across lots to Tom Fool's Pastur, where it come from."

"Why, Mr. Weaver, how you talk!" said Annie Lizzie, in soft reproach. "I think it'll be elegant. I'm jest as excited about it!"

"Think likely!" grunted Seth. "What kind o' figuree is Pindar goin' to make out of you, young un? Psyche? Wal, it takes all kinds! You tell your Ma them stairs'll have to wait a spell. There's too many folks wantin' the outside o' their cups and platters done up, tell her, for me to 'tend to the insides yet awhile. I'll get round to it b.u.mby, tell her; if ever I get done with this job!" he added, tilting back on his heels, and surveying the white lady. "I s'pose you've got to have three co'ts on her, Sale?"

"That's what!" said Salem. "I'd never skimp Old Marm in her co'ts, not if I had to go in my shirt-sleeves to do it."

"Mr. Rock," said Annie Lizzie, "you promised me you'd tell me some day about those images, and you never. What do they represent, may I ask?

They ain't man and wife, be they?"

"I guess not!" said Seth, with a chuckle. "I never heard 'em jaw each other, many times as I've been over 'em. Tell her about 'em, Sale. Annie Lizzie, you set down, and he'll tell the stories now, or, if he won't, I will."

"Sho!" said Salem Rock. "What's the use of rakin' up old stories? These two figgers have set here so long they don't need no stories; they jest belong here, same as the trees doos."

"But I _love_ stories, Mr. Rock!" said Annie Lizzie, in her soft, pleading voice. "Do tell me, Mr. Rock, now please!"

She sat down on the gra.s.s, and gathered her pink skirts round her: she might have been a great, soft rose dropped on the green.

"Bile in, Salem!" said Seth Weaver. "You ain't forgot, have ye?"

[Ill.u.s.tration: "'BILE IN, SALEM!' SAID SETH WEAVER, 'YOU AIN'T FORGOT, HAVE YE?'"]

CHAPTER XI.

SPINNING YARNS

"No, I ain't forgot," said the older man, slowly; "nor like to forget."

He laid his brush down carefully after a critical glance at "Old Sir's"

b.u.t.tons.

"I guess mebbe I'll let them b.u.t.tons dry a spell before I put on the last co't," he said. "No, I ain't forgot, Seth; but it takes a kind of a h'ist to get back into things that seems so long ago you kinder think they must have happened to somebodys else beside yourself.

"Wal, little gal, these two figgers is figgerheads, you see: kem off two ships I sailed in long before your two bright eyes opened on to this world of sin and--"

"Deestruction!" said Seth Weaver. "Chirk up a mite, Salem! This ain't a funeral, is it?"

"I dono but 'tis, kind of," said Salem Rock, soberly. "It's amazin' how many folks is dead and buried nowadays. Howsoever, them was two good ships, the _Merchant Cap'n_ and the _White Lady_. Old Sir here, he come off the _Cap'n_; they made her over into a barge, and I begged for him, and they let me have him. The builder meant him for a kind of compliment to Cap'n Tree; sing'lar compliment, _I_ used to think. Cap'n Tree was a pictur' of a man, if ever I sot eyes on one, and Old Sir always resembled a wooden image, and no special reason why he shouldn't.

"Wal, I took my fust voyage in the _Merchant Cap'n_; I was cabin-boy, and Mis' Tree was along; it was the last voyage but one they took together, him and her, and I was along on both. Wal, sir, I tell you 'twas a sight to see them two sail a ship together. He'd taught her navigation, and she took to it like them bees to that rocket yonder. She was as good a navigator as ever I see. We was tradin' round Borneo ways, and had laid in a cargo of spices and truck, and started on the homeward voyage. Come up a hurricane, and blowed us clear'n out of our course; went on blowin', and kep' us. .h.i.therin' and thitherin' for three days, till we didn't know where we was, nor hardly whether we was in this world at all, or that part of the next that we wasn't anyways particklar _about_ bein' in. The third night of it was the wust, and, gorry! I tell ye 'twas awful! and then all of a suddin, like takin' off your hat, it fell dead calm. When mornin' broke, 'twas wuss yet, for there was land dead ahead, and the _Merchant Cap'n_ driftin' on to it as fast as tide could take her. Wal, Mis' Tree had jest come up-stairs, and I tumbled up behind her, cur'us as a monkey, same as all boys be. She looks at the land, and then up at Cap'n, that quick way she had, like a bird. 'What is it?' she says; and Cap'n says, 'Solomon Islands!'

"I hadn't no notion what that meant; I thought from the sound it might be some extry fine place, like the Bible, ye know, cedars of Lebanon, and Queens of Sheby, and like that; but Cap'n's voice had a queer sound to it, and I looked at him, and he was the color of her there!" he nodded toward the white image.

"Little Mis' Tree, she never turned a hair, though she knew what I didn't, that them islands was cannibal, the wust sort, and no white man had ever come off 'em inside his own skin. She never turned a hair, only slid her mite of a hand into his, and said, quiet-like: 'We're both here, Ethan!' Cap'n give a kind of groan. 'I'd give my soul, Marshy,' he says, 'if you was safe to home!' She stood up straight--Jerusalem! I can see her now; 'twas like a flame risin', near as I can put it--and looks him in the face. 'I be to home!' she says; that was every word she said.

"Wal, word got round what land it was,--some of the crew had been that way before,--and I tell ye we was a pooty sick-lookin' crew. There warn't a breath o' wind, nor the shadow of a breath; and we kep' on a-driftin', till pooty soon we could see the sh.o.r.e plain, and black savages runnin' up and down, hollerin', and wavin' their arms. They see us, and were all ready for us; and pooty soon we could make out that they was pilin' up logs o' wood, makin' fires--Seth, what in time made you start me in on this yarn? 'Tain't no kind o' thing for this gal to hear."

Annie Lizzie's eyes were like brown stars, her cheeks like Old Sir's carmine stock. "Oh, Mr. Rock!" she cried, "if Mis' Tree could bear it, I guess I can. Please go on! I _have_ to hear the rest. And besides," she added, navely, "of course I know you wasn't all--"

She paused.

"No, we wasn't eat," said Salem Rock; "but I tell ye, little gal, we was as near it as a person is anyways desirous to come. We was that near, we see them critters grinnin' their white teeth at us, and heard their devils' screechin' and chatterin'. When it got to that, Cap'n called the crew aft, and told 'em, quiet and easy, how things was.

"'If the wind comes up within ten minutes,' he says, 'we are safe; if not, then we've had our time in this world,' he says, 'and behoves us be ready for another. I see no reason, and Mis' Tree sees no reason, why we should go in that beastly fashion yonder,' he says, pointin' to the yellin' savages; 'and therefore I have give my orders, and before we touch that sh.o.r.e the doctor will serve an extry grog, that will take you through sleep to the presence of your Maker, and may He have mercy on your souls and mine!'

"'Amen!' says Mis' Tree, clear and crisp; and I see she had a little bottle in her hand, holdin' it tight, and the other hand in Cap'n's.

Jerusalem! she had grit!

"Wal, there was no words said. 'Twas a good crew, 'most all of 'em Quahaug men; your father was one of 'em, Seth."

Seth nodded gravely.

"But we got together forrard, and watched the sh.o.r.e, and Cap'n and Mis'

Tree stood aft and kep' their eye on the wind.

"That sh.o.r.e come nearer; it come nearer than was anyways comfortable. I warn't nothin' but a boy, and I can remember wonderin' whether the folks to home would ever know, and whether Cap'n would write the story and put it in a bottle, same as in books I'd read; and what'd become of the ship, and the little monkey I was tamin' for my sister. And then--then somebody sung out somethin', and I turned round; and there stood Cap'n Tree, with the tears runnin' over his face, and his arm up, p'intin' at the pennon on the masthead.

"'Bout ship!' he says; and that same moment come a puff o' wind from the sh.o.r.e; and then pooty soon another; and then the land-breeze set in good and steady.