Dr. _Johnson to Mrs. Charlotte Johnson_
_Dearest Mother_:
You will rejoice to know that your son is now a happy man. At one time
the wrecking of the old _Chandernagore_ bade fair to make me despair of
ever being able to justify the sacrifices you underwent to help me with
my education. And now things look so bright and splendid that I can
scarcely believe the marvelous luck that has befallen me.
Dr. Grant is strong and well again. He is a fine fellow who has been
doing great work in this place, and I have actually been chosen to
continue it during his absence of a few months. Mr. Jelliffe and he sent
for me, a few days ago, after I returned from a trip to a near outport to
see a sick woman, and asked me if I were willing to undertake it. They
also said that they were about to build a small hospital here, and that
there would doubtless be work enough for two men during most of the year.
They offered me a steady compensation sufficient to mean surcease from
worry and an opportunity to take a little care of you at last. And the
best part of it all lies in the character of the work, which is a fine
one, and in the delightful people I shall be associated with. Mrs.
Barnett is a woman whom you would dearly love, and her husband is of the
pick of men. Dr. Grant will spend the greater part of the year here, and
Sweetapple Cove is bustling with the changes that are taking place. A big
schooner-load of lumber has just arrived, with a few workmen, to begin at
once rearing the new hospital and the house the Grants are to build for
themselves.
I am alone now, for the beautiful _Snowbird_ has gone away, followed by
fervent wishes for her safe journey home.
Very early yesterday little two-masted smacks began to arrive from
neighboring outports, and the tiny harbor was crowded with them. They
fluttered out all their poor little bits of bunting, gaily, and the
visitors wore their best clothes. I doubt if so great a holiday ever took
place before in this part of the island. The _Snowbird_, from bowsprit to
topmasts, and down again to the end of the long main-boom, was bright
with waving signals and pennants.
The people were crowding on the little road, to see the bride come forth
on the arm of her father. Visions had come to me of her all in white, as
all brides were clad whom I have ever seen before. But she appeared in
her garments of every day, as if she needed no finery to make her more
beautiful in the eyes of all. You should have seen her, little mother! A
wonderful woman indeed, straight and fairly tall, with frank, friendly
eyes that always look straight at one. Her voice has also notes that can
be of exquisite tenderness, as I heard them in that poor little hut of
Frenchy's. Her hair is a great, fine, chestnut mass in which are blended
the most perfect hues of auburns and rich browns. And withal she is
exquisitely simple in her manner, utterly unaffected, and her laughter
carries joy with it into the hearts of others. The people here simply
adore her, from the youngest child to the most tottering old dame. And I
am sure they love her not only for herself but also in gratitude for the
happiness she is bestowing upon a man who has long ago made his way into
their hearts.
She had insisted upon being married in this humble village, among the
fishermen who had learnt to cherish her and her husband-to-be, and when
we reached the little church it was already full to overflowing. People
stood on tiptoe at the open windows, and crowded at the door. We all
stood when she arrived with Mr. Jelliffe, and she walked to the little
altar with smiles and friendly nods to all.
And then the service began, and Mr. Barnett was manifestly pale with
emotion. At first his voice was just the least bit husky, but soon it
cleared as the majestic words fell from his lips.
I sat near Mrs. Barnett, who wept a little. I could understand this,
mother, for there was something that moved one's heart in the beholding
of that man and that woman, who had never given others aught but the best
of themselves, preparing to continue hand in hand to make the world more
beautiful for others.
It was over very soon and the two walked down the aisle. Old Sammy rushed
out and waved his arms frantically towards the cove, whereupon the little
brass gun boomed and the flag saluted, as if the _Snowbird_ also thrilled
with the general rejoicing.
Dr. Grant and his wife stepped out into the road, which passes by the
door of the little church. The wedding reception was held there, for the
Cove has no walls capable of holding all their friends. Mrs. Barnett, who
had come out upon my arm, was the first to kiss the bride, but other
women were thus favored, even poor decrepit old things in whose houses
she had carried the sunshine of her presence.
Susie Sweetapple, worthy descendant of the earliest settler, stood
modestly to one side, with a very red nose, for she had been weeping
copiously.
"Are you not going to kiss me also, Susie?" asked her mistress.
The little servant came forth, with shining red eyes showing utmost
delight, and was kissed affectionately. When she retired, to make room
for others, I heard her speaking to her old mother.
"Belike I'll not be washin' me face fer a month now. I'll not be wantin'
ter scrub that kiss away."
Then I noticed that the bride was searching the crowd, and appeared to be
disappointed because some one was missing! Finally she discovered that
Frenchman Yves, who watched so endlessly and devotedly for days and days,
and beckoned to him.
He came forward, timidly, and the glorious young woman stretched out her
hands to him. His own trembled as he took them.
"_La Sainte Vierge vous bénisse_" he said.
She thanked him, sweetly, as she does all things, and lifted his little
boy up in her arms, and kissed him, tenderly.
"_Je vous aime_" declared the little chap.
"What's th' laddie sayin'?" a man asked me.
"He says he loves her," I answered.
"We all does that," he cried. "We all loves every hair o' th' heads o'
they."
Finally the crowd moved down towards the cove. The flakes that had been
deserted, that morning, became tenanted again by an eager crowd, and on
the sharply slanted roofs of the little fish-houses some boys secured
precarious perches.
The yacht had been warped to the little dock, and there was a gangplank
over which our three dear friends went on board. There was a good deal
more of fervent handshaking, and the plank was withdrawn. The siren
shrieked its farewell as the ship began to move, and the little gun
saluted the Cove.
She moved out, slowly increasing her speed, and her great white wings
began to unfold since, once outside, the breeze alone would carry them.
On the rocks at the entrance stood men with heavy sealing guns, whose
crashing detonations thundered a farewell. The bits of bunting ran up
and down the masts of the little schooners at anchor, and everywhere
gaily colored handkerchiefs were fluttering.
And so she headed out into the open sea, growing dimmer in the haze of
the glorious day, until she passed out of our vision, bearing away the
love and blessings of Sweetapple Cove.
THE END