"She thinks a great deal of you," replied his companion, "and often
talks about you. She thinks you are very clever and very brave, but I
don't think she likes your profession. You see, Ruth is a girl who has
always had everything she wanted. Her parents and her brothers have
spoiled her. I think she is afraid you'd never earn enough to give her
what she has been used to, and she detests the idea of marrying a
seafaring man. She has often remarked that she would never be a
sailor's wife."
McKenzie smiled rather bitterly. "You know, Helena, I'm very much
struck with Ruth. It's awfully foolish of me to be talking like this
to you, I know, but ... I want to get my bearings. If Moodey is the
favored man ... why, I'll withdraw. But, you know, Helena, I'm Scotch,
and I wouldn't withdraw unless I had absolutely no chance with her.
You say she thinks something of me? If she does, I'll stick around and
give Moodey a run for it, even though I am but a fisherman. Within a
few years I hope to be the best fisherman out of Nova Scotia. I have
no money, but money isn't everything."
Helena slipped her hand into his and gave it a warm squeeze. "That's
the way I like to hear you talk," she said encouragingly. "You just
stick to it. You and Ruth are very young yet--I'm taking advantage of
my two or three years' seniority to speak thus--and I think you have
plenty of time ahead of you. Ruth is a very dear sweet girl and I
really think she is too good for Walter Moodey--not that he isn't a
nice sort of boy, but I think he's too conceited. You must work hard
to get ahead in your vocation, and keep paying attentions to Ruth,
even though Walter is around."
"You'll keep this all a secret?" asked Donald shyly. "It's awfully
silly of me to talk to you like this." Helena laughed. How seriously
this eighteen-year-old boy talked! She admired his unsophisticated
charm, and wondered how this young fellow who had travelled and seen
so much could be so serious in his love and withal so boyish in his
confidences and child-like in his fears. Eighteen is early to talk of
love, yet at seventeen and eighteen love is blossoming into flower and
the newly-opened buds are often more beautiful than the mature bloom.
Besides, this lad had outgrown youth. He was a man. When most lads of
his age were still callow youths, with youthful thoughts and actions,
he was doing a man's work, living with men and thinking with men and
earning a man's pay. His life for the past two years had been fraught
with experiences which men of maturer years in shore occupations would
consider as adventures sufficiently notable to be classed as
outstanding events in a lifetime. The sea may keep the heart young,
but it ages mind and body, and the sailor of eighteen is the equal in
confidence, initiative and ability of land-living males twice older in
years. The midshipman of sixteen is often in command of men in
hazardous expeditions, and many a sailor youth in his teens has sailed
and navigated ships to all parts of the globe. Thus Helena reasoned,
and she regarded Donald's confidences as being the heart secrets of a
clear-minded, upright man, and not as the love-sick fears and fancies
of a susceptible boy.
When mother and son left the Stuart home for the Eastville packet
steamer, Helena whispered to Don in parting, "We are charmed with your
mother. She is a most delightful lady and you must take good care of
her, and ... keep up your attentions to our mutual friend. 'Faint
heart' ... you know. Au revoir!"
Eastville greeted the McKenzies next morning in most auspicious
weather, with a blue sky, smooth sea, and clear autumn sunshine, and
as they passed inside the Capes, Donald pointed out the various
landmarks. "And there's the spot, Mater, where we'll build our house
later on ... in that hollow among the spruce trees just back of the
head-land. You get a magnificent view of the sea and harbor from
there, and the hollow faces the south and is sheltered from the cold
winds. The sun shines there all day long ... it's a lovely spot." And
he rambled on, until at last they were on the wharf and shaking hands
with Judson Nickerson.
"Come along up to the house, Mrs. McKenzie," he said cordially. "We'll
have breakfast there. Your trunks will be sent up to your own
place--don't worry about them. I'm glad to see you both safely landed
here." And he chattered away in an effort to make both feel that they
were at home and among friends.
Breakfast at the Nickerson home that morning was an event, and Janet
McKenzie was most cordially received. The old ship-builder's voice
boomed in welcome, and his keen eyes beamed hospitably through his
steel-rimmed glasses, and Mrs. Nickerson and Ruth charmed the mother
with their courtesy and kindness. They had been up to the cottage the
day before and had fixed it all ready for occupancy, and Jud had piled
the wood-shed with kindling and stove-wood. And the breakfast itself
was a thing to be remembered. Corn meal porridge and hot corn cake,
fried fresh mackerel and bacon strips and hash brown potatoes,
new-baked biscuits, honey, stewed blueberries and delicious coffee--a
typical Down-east matutinal meal! Mrs. McKenzie was delighted with
everything, and with a heart aglow with happiness, confided to her
son, "I'm sure I'll love this place. Your friends are so kind. What
lovely people they are. I'm very, very happy, Donald-laddie, now that
I have a home and you!"
And when he took his mother up to the cottage on the hill--Shelter
Harbor--that was a joyous occasion. "This is our little place, Mater,"
he said proudly as they walked, arm in arm, up the front path. "It's
small, but it's cosy." He opened the door and ushered her in, and when
she surveyed the clean and homey interior, he waited, almost
breathlessly for her comments. From room to room they went, and when
every part of the place had been examined, Mrs. McKenzie sat down in a
chair and with eyes glowing, said with excess of happiness in her
voice, "My! ... it's just lovely, Donny-dear! Just perfect!" And
Donald felt, with her pronouncement, that life was indeed sweet and
everything was worth while. "Of course, Mater, it isn't anything like
our old villa in Glasgow, but it's not too bad," he went on. "Here's
the stove for heating the place--you'll have to get used to these
Canadian heaters--and the pump is just at the kitchen door. It'll be a
little hard for you here while I'm at sea, as you'll have to get your
wood out of the shed and your water from the pump--"
The mother laughed. "And you think that is a hardship? Why, my dear
child, I was brought up on a farm and I had to do a great deal harder
work than that. I cleaned stables, planted and pulled potatoes in the
fields, milked cows, and gathered hay and oats and stacked them. I was
born a poor country girl and know what work is. Don't you worry about
me in this cosy little place. It's paradise compared with what I've
had to do." By these admissions, Janet McKenzie showed that she had
profited by misfortune and the old arrogance and "high-falutin'" ideas
of palmier days had passed away. She, too, had gone through the mill
and come out ground!
The Nickersons had invited them to stay with them for a day or two,
but Janet courteously declined. She was eager to get into her own
home, and within a half-hour of her entry, she had the kitchen stove
alight, the kettle on, and a dinner under way, and Donald busied
himself stacking up fire-wood in the wood-box behind the stove. "We
must have some chickens," observed the mother as she peeled potatoes,
"and next spring I'll plant a vegetable garden so that we can have our
own potatoes, onions, cabbages and such. Maybe, later on, we can buy a
cow, and I'll make butter and I'll be able to give you real cream, and
butter made with my own hands."
Donald made a negative gesture. "That's very nice, Mater, but a cow
means hard work for you. I don't want you to slave--"
His mother gave a sniff of pretended indignation. "What have I got to
do in this little place when you are away? Do you think I can't do the
work. I'm not going to act the lady and sit with my hands in my lap
all the time, Donny-dear! We'll get the chickens, the garden and the
cow, and I'll show you I know all about milking and butter-making. I
used to be a dairy-maid, and a good dairy-maid, too. My butter won a
prize at a fair one year." And she smiled happily, when Donald said,
"Alright, Mater, you'll have your chickens, your garden and your cow,
and I'll be able to judge if your butter is all that you say it'll
be."
Judson came up in the afternoon. He was in working clothes and sat
down in the kitchen. "I don't want to rush you, Don, but I guess you
want to git to work and earn some money. I'm going skipper of that
little brig down to the wharf there loading dried fish and lumber for
Havana, and I want to git her sails bent and her gear overhauled. I'm
holding the second mate's berth open for you. D'ye s'pose you can
start right in naow and bear a hand? You might as well be doing
something and earn a dollar. What d'ye say?"
"I'll be with you in ten minutes, Skipper," answered Don eagerly. "I'm
anxious to get to work. A brig you say? I'll have to remember my
square-rig sailorizing for her. Bye-the-bye, did you know the
_Kelvinhaugh_ is gone? Here's the newspaper report."
Judson read it and there was no surprise on his face. "I knew it," he
said. "She was too heavily sparred and unwieldy for such a small crew,
and I cal'late she got caught in a squall with her kites up and rolled
over. I guess old Muirhead was full, too.... Oh, well, I'm not sorry I
skipped aout of her. She was a barge if there ever was one, and I'm
sorry for the poor devils that shipped in her." And with that, he
dismissed the matter.
The brig was a Nova Scotia product of about three hundred and fifty
tons, and called the _Queen's County_. She was a smart little craft
and by the lines of her, promised to be a fast sailer. Her hull was
painted white, also the houses and the insides of the bulwarks. The
trunk cabin aft contained comfortable rooms for three officers and a
cook-steward, and for'ard, a house was built partly into a short
topgallant forecastle, and this contained accommodations for eight
hands. The second mate was supposed to act as boatswain also, and this
was to be Donald's job.
She had two masts, both square-rigged, and carried double-topsail
yards, single topgallants and royals. The masts and yards were of wood
and scraped and greased. The blocks, mast-heads, yard-arms and trucks
were painted white, and her cleanliness, bright wood, and white paint
proclaimed her a typical "Bluenose" packet--a lazy sailor's nightmare.
"I see where there's a lot of sand-and-canvas work aboard this little
craft," remarked Donald. "I hope we get a crew worth while."
"Oh, they'll all be home fellers," said the skipper. "You and I and
the mate and McGlashan will live aft, but the grub'll be the same for
all hands. There'll be ten of us to handle her, and that's a good
crowd for this hooker in any weather."
The _Queen's County_ was partly owned by an old Eastville captain who
only went to sea in the summer, and she plied almost exclusively in
the West Indian trade between Eastville and the Island ports. Dried
fish and lumber out, and molasses to Halifax, home, constituted her
cargoes. It was an ideal trade for winter, and Donald looked forward
to voyaging in the little brig with a great deal of pleasure.
While he was aloft on the main-royal yard tieing the rovings which
lash the head of the sail to the jack-stay, he saw Ruth and Walter
Moodey on the wharf below talking to the skipper. His heart gave a
queer little jump at the sight, and something of a depressed feeling
seized him when he saw Moodey helping her up the gang-plank, but he
went on with his work. He was on wages and had no right to knock-off
for social receptions unless his commander gave him permission. From
his perch, a hundred and forty feet aloft, he saw Judson pilot the two
about the brig's decks, and from the corner of his eye he could see
Ruth looking up at him, but he made no sign that he had seen her.
Finally, they went into the cabin.
From bending the sail, he commenced to overhaul the furling gear and
was reeving the bunt-lines through the leads when Judson's voice came
rolling up from below, "R'yal yard there! Lay down from aloft!" He was
standing on the poop with his sister and Moodey, and they were
chatting and joking. McKenzie took the short cut to the deck by
sliding down the royal backstay and when he stepped on the poop, he
whipped off his cap and bowed to Ruth and extended a tarry hand to
Walter with a "Hullo, Moodey, how are you?"
The other shook hands cordially and there was no resentment in his
expression at the dropping of the "Mister." If it had been anybody
else whose station in life was similar to McKenzie's, Moodey would
have had something to say on the omission. Ruth took Donald by the arm
and walked him over to the rail. "You wouldn't look at me when I came
down," she pouted prettily. "I've been getting a crick in my neck
looking up at you and trying to catch your eye, but you went on
playing with your strings and cords and refused to look at me."
Donald laughed. "Well, you know, Ruth, I'm on the ship's books now and
I can't do as I like. I thought you might not care to have a
dirty-looking sailor hailing you from the mast. I humbly apologize for
my neglect."
"My friends are all gentlemen no matter what their garb or their
work," answered the girl, "and you are a friend of mine." Mentally,
the youth wished he could be more than a friend, and with that wish in
his heart he could not frame a suitable answer. Instead he asked,
"What do you think of our little ship?"
They chatted for a while until Moodey, who was talking with the
skipper, cried out, "Will we go along now, Ruth?" There was a
proprietory tone in his voice which Donald was quick to note, and it
pleased him when Miss Nickerson replied, "I'll be with you in a
minute!" And to McKenzie she said, "Will you come over to-night? Bring
your mother with you. You know, I'm going to Halifax on Monday to
study music and painting, and I'll be staying with the Stuarts until
the spring. You'll come--won't you?"
Donald promised readily and when she went off with her escort he
watched her slim figure walking gracefully up the wharf with a feeling
of mixed admiration and regret in his breast. Moodey's presence
disturbed him and the thought of her being in Halifax all
winter--which meant being in the too-near proximity of Walter--did not
make him feel happy. It was very easy for a girl to forget the absent
one. He turned to make his way aloft again, when the skipper remarked,
"Y'know, Don, I can't cotton to that blighter somehow. He's
chock-full of bazoo about himself, and he's forever hitching at his
tie or scrapin' his nails or patting his hair. He's got a notion that
he's hell'n-all 'raound here and that he's patronizing us Nickersons
by paying attentions to my sister. I said so to her last night, but
she gave me an earfull and told me to mind my own business so I have
to be nice, for Ruth's sake, to that pink-faced, powdered, manicured,
scented pup!"
"You're too hard on him," grinned McKenzie. "That's only his manner.
I'll bet he's alright at heart, or Ruth wouldn't tolerate him. I was a
bit of a namby-pamby kid myself one time, until I went to sea and got
it all knocked out of me--and you did some of the knocking out
yourself, Judson."
The other growled, "Oh, shucks, Don, you were different. I hustled you
araound to make a sailor out of you, but you had the stuff in you even
though you were a mammy's boy. But that feller? I'll bet he's got a
yeller streak in him a yard wide. I can tell! I'm a judge of men, and
some day you'll see.... Naow, Don, we'll go through the bos'n's locker
and see what we need for the voyage."
For the next two days, Donald saw Ruth each evening. Of course Moodey
was there, but it seemed as if the girl favored McKenzie more than the
Halifax youth. Dressed in clothes which enabled him to feel at home in
her company, the young fisherman felt that only Moodey's presence
prevented him from cultivating the intimacy he yearned for. The Monday
morning came all too quick for Donald, though Moodey felt no regret.
McKenzie was bound "to the south'ard" and would not see her again for
possibly two or three months. Moodey, in Halifax, could visit her
whenever she permitted. McKenzie squirmed when he thought about it,
and pictured his rival wooing Ruth with a free rein and no opposition.
He would have to do something to keep his memory green, mused Donald,
and when she was about to drive away in the team to catch the Halifax
train at the station ten miles away, he managed to secure a few
minutes' talk with her _à la solitaire_ and screwed his courage up to
ask if he might write to her in Halifax.
With a sweet smile, she said, "Most certainly, Don. I shall be
delighted if you will. Write and let me know all about Havana and the
places you visit. We're pals, aren't we? Write me a nice chummy
letter, and if you come to Halifax during the winter telephone me
first thing, so's we can have an evening together." And with her merry
blue eyes and pretty face photographed on his mind and her farewell
greetings ringing in his ears, he turned from thoughts of love and
wooing to more mundane and sterner things.
On a cold November morning, the _Queen's County_, with a hold packed
with drums and casks of dried cod-fish and a deck-load of spruce
lumber filling the space between fo'c'sle head and poop-break, towed
out of Eastville Harbor and to sea. A couple of miles offshore, the
tug cast them off and the brig swung south for warmer climes, with her
crew crowding the canvas on her. It was a very happy Donald that paced
her weather alley that night, smoking and musing. As _Mister_
McKenzie, second mate of a beautiful little clipper brig, he was
standing his watch in charge of the ship, and he kept an eye on the
weather-leach of the straining t'gallan's'ls, and thought of his
mother, his home on the hill, and Ruth.
"Eighteen years of age and keeping a home of my own, and with the dear
old Mater comfortably settled in it, and me, second mate of this fine
little packet! Donald Percival McKenzie--you're a very lucky boy! And,
maybe, if you watch yourself, and play your cards right, you'll win
the dearest and loveliest.... Um-um!" He smiled happily to himself and
sensing a flap aloft of the t'gallan's'l leach, he turned to shout to
the wheelsman, "No higher, Jack! You're shaking her!"