_From Miss Helen Jelliffe to Miss Jane Van Zandt_
_Dearest Auntie_:
Would you believe that the time here flies at least as fast as in New
York during Horse-Show week, although one gets to bed earlier. I am
beginning actually to enjoy this place, strange as it may seem. Had it
not been for poor Daddy's accident I should have been the most contented
thing you ever saw. He sends his love and says I've just got to learn
stenography and type-writing so that when he breaks more legs he can
write to you daily. I believe he's forgotten the use of a pen except to
sign checks with. His patience is wonderful, but he calls it being a good
sportsman. I believe there is a great deal in that word.
It is queer that one can make oneself at home in such a little hole, and
find people that are quite absorbing; I mean the natives, as well as the
others. The whole place is asleep by eight or nine, unless there has been
a good catch of fish, when the little houses on the edge of the cove are
full of weary men still ripping away at the cod, that are brought in huge
piles dwindling very fast after they are spread out to dry. Daddy gets
batches of newspapers, by the uncertain mail, but finishes by nine and
requests to be permitted to snore in peace. I write hurriedly for an hour
or two, and finally succumb to the drowsiness you may find reflected in
these pages.
On returning from my visit to Dick Will, Daddy looked at me enquiringly,
as I am his chief source of local news and the dear old man is becoming
nearly as absorbed in Sweetapple Cove as in Wall Street.
"The parson has gone to pay other visits," I told him, "but I couldn't
leave you any longer. He is such a nice little man. He asked if he could
read a chapter from the Bible, and Dick said he would be very glad. When
it was finished the man looked as if he were thinking very hard, and Mr.
Barnett asked if anything were puzzling him. Then Dick asked about the
ice in the Sea of Galilee, because big floes were often ankle-deep and he
had often seen men who looked as if they were walking on the water. Mr.
Barnett explained that there was no ice in that country."
"And what did Dick say?" asked Daddy.
"'Then how does they do for swiles?'" was what he asked, and when he was
informed that there were no seals in Galilee Dick expressed commiseration
for the poor people.
"They are a pretty ignorant lot," commented Dad, laughing heartily.
"Few of them have the slightest chance of obtaining any education," I
replied. "And Mr. Barnett was so nice to him, explaining things. Then he
said nothing at all about the chastening effect of suffering. That seems
to be something these people know about. The parson just said that we
were all so glad to see him getting well again. You know, Daddy, the
admonitions of some dominies sound rather like hitting a fellow when he's
down. Mr. Barnett isn't that kind."
"I expect that he belongs to a first-rate kind, my dear," said Daddy.
"There are all kinds of religions, but the only one I respect is that of
the simple, trusting soul."
"I met Mrs. Barnett and asked her to come in to supper," I informed Dad.
"We have plenty of canned chicken left and Susie's brother brought in a
lot of beautiful trout. The man thought that fifteen cents a dozen would
be about the right price, but he left it to me, and I couldn't beat him
down. When he brought them Susie disdainfully informed him that fish was
grub for poor people, and that we had lots of lovely things in cans. I
insisted on taking the trout."
"If you continue to squander money in that way I'll have to cut down your
allowance," threatened Daddy, whereupon I reminded him that he had never
made me one and that I had always sent the bills to him.
He was laughing. I think it's the nicest thing in the world for a girl to
be such pals with her father. I wouldn't give one of the nice grey hairs
on his temples for all the nobility and gentry of Europe and the
millionaires of America. Then I went to get the chess-board and the dear
man gave me all the pawns I wanted and proceeded to wipe the floor with
me, as Harry says. We played on till it began to get dark and Susie came
in with the lamp which she placed in the bracket fastened to the wall.
"Like as not it'll be rainin' soon," she announced. "The swallers is
flyin' low and the wind he've turned to sou-east, so belike it'll be
pourin' in a while. How's yer leg feelin' the night, Mister, an' is there
anythin' else I might be doin' fer yer?"
"No thank you, Susie," he replied.
"So long as parson's comin' I better make hot biscuits too. He's after
likin' them, an' I kin open one o' they little white crocks o' jam. He
holds more'n what ye'd think a wee bit man the likes o' he would manage
to, though he don't never fat up, an' it goes ter show as grub makes
brains with some folks, an' blubber in others."
I could make no answer to such highly scientific statements, and in a few
moments a knock was heard at the door, upon which our handmaiden
precipitated herself.
"Come right in," she said. "Don't take notice if yer boots is muddy fer
I'll be scrubbin' th' floor ter-morrer. Yer must have been ter the Widdy
Walters, for they is a big puddle afore her door, even this dry weather
we've had couple o' days. Come right in an' welcome fer everybody's glad
ter see yer."
Having thus amply done the honors Susie backed away and our two guests
came in. The parson actually had a dress-suit which smelt most powerfully
of camphor balls and Mrs. Barnett wore something that must have been a
dear little dress some years ago, in which she looked as sweet as sweet
can be. They were both smiling ever so brightly, and the little lump that
was rising in my throat at the sight of these pathetic clothes went back
to wherever is its proper place.
"Good evening, Mr. Jelliffe," said the parson, and repeated his greeting
to me. "It feels a little like rain. I see that you have been playing
chess. Dear me, it is such a long time since I have had a game."
I told him that this was a very imprudent remark, for which my father
would make him pay dearly. I am afraid his sense of humor is drawn down
rather fine, or lying fallow, or something. I had to explain that he
would be captured and made to play whether he wanted to or not, whereat
he beamed.
Susie came in again to get our little table ready, and brought up the
barrel-top which is her latest improvisation of a tray for Daddy's use. I
rose to assist in the preparatives but Susie scorned my aid.
"Ye jist set down an' enj'y yerself," she commanded me. "'T ain't every
day one has th' parson to talk ter. I kin shift ter do it all an' it's no
use havin' a dog an' doin' yer own barkin', like the sayin' is. Th'
biscuits is done brown an' th' kittle's on the bile."
She ran out again for our dishes, and Daddy turned to our two friends.
"You are looking at an abject slave and a young lady who is getting
fairly tamed, though at times she still rebels. Both of these young women
exercise authority over me all day long until the ownership of my own
soul has become a moot question. When my leg is properly spliced again I
shall take that freak Susie to New York and exhibit her as the greatest
natural curiosity I have been able to find on the island."
Mrs. Barnett laughed, ever so pleasantly, and declared that Susie was a
good girl whose intentions were of the best.
Then Daddy went on to explain to Mrs. Barnett the mystery of our presence
here. He told how our second mate had boasted of the salmon that swarmed
in Sweetapple Cove, and how in a moment of folly he had decided to
forsake the Tobique for that year and explore new ground. I was the one
who had suggested camping out, practically, if we could find a little
house, while we sent back the yacht for repairs, at St. John's. We were
expecting it soon. The accident, of course, had to be thoroughly
described.
"It was a beautiful fish, madam, a perfect beauty," he went on. "A clean
run salmon of twenty pounds, if he was an ounce, and as strong as a
horse. I had to follow him down stream and, first thing you know, I
toppled over those confounded rocks and my leg was broken. The fish went
away, towing my best rod and reel towards the Cove."
The parson said grace and we sat down. I am happy to say that they
enjoyed Susie's culinary efforts, and we had the nicest chatty time. Just
as we finished we all stopped conversing and listened. The rain was
pelting down upon our little window panes and the wind came in heavy
gusts, while, far away, the thunder was rolling. Then, after a time, we
heard steps upon the little porch and I rose to open the door. It was Dr.
Grant, engaged in the very necessary formality of removing his dripping
oilskins.
"May I come in?" he asked.
"Please do so," I answered. "We didn't expect you back until to-morrow.
My father will be delighted to see you, as will your other friends."
He came in and sat down after he had greeted everybody. The poor man
looked quite worn and harassed. It was a distinct effort that he made to
speak in his usual pleasant way, and I could see that something troubled
him.
"I think I will leave you now," he said, after a few moments. "I just
wanted to find out how Mr. Jelliffe was getting on. They are expecting me
at Sammy's,"
"Oh! Do rest for a moment," I told him. "You look very tired."
He sat down again, looking at his feet.
"The wind died down and the tide was bearing us away," he explained. "We
had to take to the oars. Pulled a good fifteen miles. We were rather
hurried, for we could see this storm coming up. I'm glad we made the Cove
just in time."
We could all hear the rain spattering down violently. Flashes of
lightning were nearly continuous and the thunder claps increased in
intensity while the wind shook our little house.
"It is all white water outside now," he said, listening. "Well, I'll be
off now."
"Yer ain't a goin' ter do nothin' o' the kind," interrupted Susie, who
had just entered with another plate. "There's plenty tea left an' if
there ain't I kin make more. Ye jist bide there till I brings yer some
grub. Ye're dead weary an' needs it bad."
"Do stay," I sought to persuade him.
"Thank you, you are very kind," he said.
One could see that for the moment he didn't care whether he had anything
to eat or not, yet he managed to do fair justice to Susie's cooking.
"I am feeling a great deal better now," he soon announced. "I think I was
rather fagged out. We came back so early because I found I was no longer
needed. I am ever so much obliged to you. I'm afraid I am not very good
company to-night and I will be back early in the morning. That plaster
cast is getting a little loose. We will split it down to-morrow and have
a good look at things."
Mrs. Barnett had risen also and was looking at him. In her eyes I
detected something that was a very sweet, motherly sympathy. Her quick
intuition had shown her that something had gone entirely wrong. Her smile
was so kind and friendly that it seemed to dissolve away something hard
that had come over the surface of the man.
"Isn't there anything that we can do for you?" she asked.
"Nothing!" he exclaimed. "What can any one expect to do? What is the use
of keeping on trying when one has to be forever bucking against ignorance
and stupidity? There is nothing the matter with me. Just a dead woman and
baby, that is all. Just a poor, hard-working creature that has scarcely
known a moment of real happiness in this world. She had five little ones
already, clinging to her skirts, and a lot of stupid neighbors. I know
the kind of advice she got from those silly old women. 'No use callin' in
th' doctor. Them things comes on all right if yer has patience. They
doctors does dreadful things. I's had seven an' here I be, an' no doctor
ever nigh me.' Oh! I can hear the poor fools speaking, and naturally she
took their advice. Then, of course, when she was gasping for breath and
beginning to grow cold they sent for me, thirty miles away, and when I
landed they told me it was all over, and I found them moaning, with a
wild-eyed man huddled up in a corner hardly able to understand, and a lot
of little ones crying for food."
He stopped and wiped his brow with his handkerchief, and looked around
him, without appearing to see any of us. It was like a pent-up stream
that had burst from its dam, and the flood was not yet exhausted.
"I felt like cursing the lot of them," he continued, "and giving them the
tongue-lashing of their lives. But much good it would have done, and I
managed to hold myself back! I couldn't help telling them that they
should have sent for me three days ago, when things began to go wrong.
They know well enough how to weep over their misery, but no one can make
them use their silly heads. They keep on coming with infected gurry sores
as if arms could be saved after they've nearly rotted away, and send for
me to see the dying, as if I could raise them from their beds."
He had stopped suddenly, and looked embarrassed.
"I beg your pardon," he said. "I should not have spoken of these things.
They are all a part of the game. I daresay I ought to have gone up on the
hill, back of the cliffs, and had a good bout of bad language all to
myself, where none could hear me."
Neither the parson nor his wife appeared to be the least bit shocked at
this. They knew from long experience the things that try men's souls.
"I'm glad you've spoken," I told him. "It has relieved you, I'm sure, and
we all sympathize with you."
Long ago, Aunt Jennie, you told me that a man is nothing but a grown-up
boy. This one looked around the room. Daddy was smiling at him in his
dear friendly fashion, and the other two were kindliness itself.
"A fellow doesn't always take his medicine like a little man," he said,
apologetically, "and you're all ever so good."
Then he left, still looking just a little bit ashamed of himself, as I've
seen fellows do in a defeated crew when they have sunk down for a moment
on their sliding seats.
"I think the boy feels alone, sometimes," said Mrs. Barnett. "He has
really a great deal to contend with. But he is a splendid fellow, and I'm
sorry for him. Every one loves him in Sweetapple Cove, you know."
Presently the two left us, after I had promised to go to the little
church on the next day. Susie had come in with a lighted lantern, clad to
her feet in an ancient oilskin coat, and insisted on seeing them home.
They thanked us very charmingly and I watched their departure, the
reflections of the light playing over the deep puddles on the road.
Then I sat down by Daddy's bed, pondering.
"A penny for your thoughts, daughter," he said.
"I was thinking that men are very interesting," I told him. "Dr. Grant
always looks like such a strong man."
"And now you think you have discovered the feet of clay?"
"Well, it seemed quite strange, Daddy."
"I'll tell you one thing, girly," he said. "Never make the fatal error of
thinking any one is perfect. It is a mistake that young people are rather
apt to indulge in. There are little weak points, and sometimes big ones,
in all of us."
"I suppose so," I assented, "but these were such dreadful things he told
us about. It seems so terrible that they should happen at all. It has
made me feel unhappy. I thought that doctors got used to such things."
"There are a lot of things a fellow never gets used to, my dear,"
answered Daddy. "This one is young yet, but he will probably never get
over the sense of rebellion which comes over a man, a real man, who finds
himself butting his head against stupidity and ignorance. Don't you make
any mistake about that fellow Grant! The poorest kind of chap is the one
who is always letting things slide. This is a tough, square-jawed,
earnest chap, of the sort who put their hearts and souls into things,
right or wrong. The man who has never felt or shown weakness is a
contemptible egotist. The cocksure fools always have perfect faith in
themselves. Those two men, the big and the little one, are both pretty
fine specimens, and in their own ways they are equally strong. They're
made of the right stuff."
I don't exactly know why, but I felt greatly pleased. Daddy is a mighty
keen man of the world, and his judgment of others has been one of his
great assets.
"I wish we could help too, Daddy," I told him.
"We may, if we find a way," he answered. "I'm going to investigate the
matter."
When Daddy says he is to investigate, something is going to drop, with a
dull thud. At least that's the way Harry Lawrence puts it. By the way,
Aunt Jennie, what has become of him, and why hasn't he written to me?
Your loving
HELEN.