RUTH.

The grim look faded from his face and gave place to one of perplexed

astonishment. Scarcely believing he had read the note aright, he

perused it a second time--reading the words out aloud. "If you can

forgive me ... and trust me ... ask me again!" And he stared at the

little pink sheet--now trembling in his hand with the agitation of

conflicting feelings--and murmured, "Ask me again!"

With a joyful cry he jumped to his feet--his dark eyes sparkling with

a gladness which scarcely knew expression--and he stepped under the

sky-light and re-read the letter for the third time. "Whoop-ee!" he

cried in excess of new-found delight. "Will I forgive her? Why, she

never did anything wrong! It must have been a mistake--all a

mistake--for she's the dearest, sweetest, darlingest girl in the

world!"

A tousled, sun-burned face peered down the cabin companionway, and a

hoarse voice enquired, "Did I hear ye sing aout, Skipper?" Donald

wheeled and laughed confusedly. "No, Anson, I didn't sing out, but if

you're all ready to slip, get the stops off the sails and we'll slide

right away for home. Everybody aboard? Cook get his water tanks

filled? Good boy! Then we'll get under way!" And when Anson vanished,

he kissed the little pink note, folded it carefully, and slipped it

into the breast pocket of his shirt. Within thirty minutes the _Amy

Anderson_, with the Canadian ensign flying from the main-gaff, and the

four lowers on her, was slipping out of San Juan harbor to the urge of

the steady north-east trade.

Running out to the nor'ad, the green hills of the Island soon changed

into the blue of distance as they left it astern. McKenzie paced the

weather quarter with his brain in a whirl of exhilaration and the

tinkling bell of the patent log recording the knots sounded gloriously

in his ears as evidence of the ever-shortening distance between him

and the girl he loved. He trod the deck with a strange springiness,

and when he scanned the bubbling broil of the wake astern, he could

not restrain a joyous chuckle and an encouraging word to the man at

the wheel, "Sock it to her, Billy old son! She's travelling home and

the girls have got hold of the tow-rope! Give her a good full and let

'er slide!"

He paced the deck for an hour, then he had to go below and read those

magical words once more to make sure that his eyes were not deceiving

him.

No, by Jupiter! There it was--plain as a hand-spike in her own dear

hand-writing. "Ask me again." Would he ask her again? Why, the _Amy

Anderson_ couldn't travel fast enough to give him the opportunity! In

his excitement, he paced the narrow cabin, staggering and swaying with

the rolling of the vessel, and murmuring to himself, "Ask me again!"

He suddenly remembered Judson's letter and opened it quickly.

Stretching out on the locker, he composed himself to read it. Good old

Juddy! What did he have to say, the old bucko! "Dear Don," it ran.

"Congratulate me! I'm the happiest man in the world, old timer.

Helena has said the word and we're going to sail dory-mates just as

soon as the Devil-dodger makes a long splice of it. I'm waiting for

her to name the day, then, old son, you can polish up your

gaff-topsail hat and overhaul your square-mainsail coat and stand

beside your old skipper and see everything all clear for my getting

under way on a new voyage. If it wasn't for Eben Westhaver's old

packet bumping the ledges, I reckon I'd still be guessing, but I've no

hard feelings against that sorry old coaster now. And, bye the bye,

Don, you pulled out in a hell of a hurry that night. You seemed to

think it was of more importance to get Cal Heneker's old scow to Porto

Reek than it was to see all us shipwrecked folks ashore. However, the

town will have a band playing for you when you get home. The Ladies'

Aid of the Church and the Young People's Society are both squabbling

among themselves as to how they'll honor you, while Tom Daley, the

Mayor, is prating to the Council about recognizing Eastville's

esteemed citizen, Captain Donald McKenzie, with something worthy of

your plucky work that night. They've petitioned the Royal Humane, the

Government and Lloyd's to honor you, and I tell you, son, they had

scare-heads in the Halifax papers about 'the thrilling rescue.' But

enough of that. You are going to get no more soft-soap from me on that

subject. My sister Ruth was quite sick after the affair, but she's

chased that nut Moodey back to where he belongs. On the steamer that

night she asked him to swim ashore with a line--he's bragged a whale

of a lot about his swimming abilities to her--but he got a sudden

attack of Cape Horn fever and balked at the job. I always said that

joker had a yellow streak in him somewhere, and that was where he

showed it. If he wasn't such an able swimmer and such a mouth about

it, I wouldn't have felt so mad about the blighter. But, believe me,

Don, I gave him an earful when we got ashore that night. It took me a

while to square myself with the girls for the language which they said

I used towards him. Now, _you_ know, Donny-my-lad, that I'd only

express my feelings in good old sailor fashion, but shore-folks don't

understand our particular lingo, though I'll bet Moodey did. Now, old

shippy, I'm going out again in the morning, but I'll look for you in

September, and you can bet my bullies will hump some this time. We'll

spin 'em out when the gulls can't fly to wind'ard, and I plan to wet a

pile of salt and bait small and catch 'em large from now out." When he

finished reading, McKenzie chuckled happily.

On a windy July morning, the _Amy Anderson_ stormed up Halifax harbor

and came to an anchor in the stream. McKenzie went ashore and got

Caleb Heneker on the telephone and was over-joyed when that worthy

told him to deliver his cargo to a certain Agent and pay off. The

schooner would load dry fish in Halifax later in the month and sail

for Demerara, and if he cared to do so, he could take her down when

ready. Next day, late in the afternoon, Donald drove into Eastville,

and slipping along the hill road, he got home before any of the

town's-people were aware of his arrival.

"And Donny, my son," said his mother, after the welcoming and exchange

of news, "they're planning a public reception to you for that rescue.

It was a wonderfully brave thing you did that night, laddie--" And she

chatted joyfully in the same strain, but Donald wasn't listening. He

was thinking of just how soon he could call upon Ruth Nickerson.

"Have I any decent clothes, Mother?" he asked suddenly--interrupting

her in the middle of an announcement of what the Ladies' Aid were

proposing to do.

"Only an old suit, dear," she replied. "Your best suit you left on the

wreck--"

He rose and patted her on the shoulder. "Then, Mother dear, if you

will be sweet enough to give it a bit of a press while I'm cleaning

up, I'll wear it."

After supper, he kissed his mother. "I'm going down the road, Mater

dear--"

Mrs. McKenzie gave a knowing smile. "Oh, yes, laddie, and you might

give my regards to Ruth and tell her I hope she's feeling better."

Donald blushed under his tan. "Who said I was going to see Ruth?" he

asked confusedly. The mother turned him around and gently pushed him

through the door. "Run along, Donny," she said with a laugh. "You

can't hide anything from your mother. Give her my love!"

Ruth was not at home when he called, but Mrs. Nickerson thought she

had taken a walk in the direction of the Cape. For several precious

minutes the old lady detained him to talk about the wreck (Donald was

inwardly damning the wreck) but at last he managed to break away by

saying he would stroll along and meet Ruth and come home with her. As

soon as he was out of sight from the houses, he broke into a run.

He spied her at last, in the half-light of declining day, sitting on

the grass alone and watching the sea. It was in his favorite spot in

the little hollow behind the head-land, and he trotted up behind

her--his foot-falls making no sound on the green sod. A short space

away from where she sat with her face turned away from him, he stopped

and cried softly, "Ruth!"

She was on her feet in an instant and facing him--her cheeks flaming

rose and a wonderful light in her deep blue eyes. "Donald!" Sweet and

low the name sounded from her lips and his heart thrilled. He advanced

towards her and took her hand. "Will we sit down again?"

She nodded shyly and dropped to the grass and he still retained his

clasp of her hand. He scanned her face. How beautiful it seemed in the

rosy glow from the westering sun. "I got your letter," he said simply.

She made no reply, but sat nervously plucking at a wild flower, and

her eyes were lowered to the ground.

There came into Donald's soul at this moment the thrill of splendid

hours--vistas of momentous events in his young life; reefing down jobs

on the topsail yards of the _Kelvinhaugh_ in the wild squalls of the

Horn; the storming excitement of "running the easting" in the _Helen

Starbuck_; delirious drives for port on fishermen in pelting winds and

heavy seas, and all the exhilarating sensations which come to sailors

every now and again. He could remember his feelings at those

times--the quickening pulse, the rapid heart-beats, the alertness of

eye, mind and muscle and the expectancy of ultimate conquest. He was

feeling that way now. "And I've come to ask you again," he said at

last and with something of a tremor in his voice. Taking a full

breath, he asked boldly, "Ruth! will you be my wife?"

She looked up slowly--very slowly it seemed--and her eyes looked clear

and glowing into his. Then softly, very softly, she answered, "Yes!"

And Donald's arm was around her and he was pressing her to him and his

kisses were upon her lips.

"And you'll be content to marry me--a fisherman?" enquired he when the

first ecstacy of love had passed. "You know what I am and what I have.

Will you make the sacrifice?"

She smiled happily. "It's no sacrifice, dear," she replied. "I'm proud

and glad to be yours, no matter what you are. It's not the occupation

that counts ... it's the man!"

The rosy glow in the west faded and the azure of the summer night

claimed the sky from nadir to zenith, while the glorious host of

stellar worlds aloft spangled the heavens in myriad twinklings of

diamond lights. The earth exhaled the scent of wild flowers and the

warm wind wafted the odors of spruce and pine to where they sat. A

night bird warbled a happy song to its mate, and its paean of love

found a responsive chord in the hearts of the two who listened.

"Isn't this just lovely, Don?" ventured Ruth. "The night, the stars,

the flowers, the world, everything...!" Donald pressed her to him and

looked into her upturned face, his dark eyes radiant with the joy that

was his. "Not half so lovely as you, dear!"

* * * * *

Donald got to bed very late that night and next morning he confided

his secret to his mother. "And I hope you won't be jealous, Mater

dear," he added, "for you are still my lovely sweet mother, and Ruth

will not usurp any of the love I bear for you. She'll share it with

you, and we should all be very happy."

She flashed him a look of infinite tenderness. It didn't seem so very

long ago when he was a pale, shrinking, sensitive lad whom she

comforted and petted and caressed. Here he was a lithe, strong,

sun-tanned, capable man starting out on the high-road of love's

adventure. "You'll both be my children, laddie. You've brought me

another one, and I'll love her for her own sake as well as yours.

She's a dear lassie, and I'm glad--oh, so glad!" Then a shade of worry

crossed her face and Donald noted it.

"What are you thinking about, Mater?" he asked.

She hesitated before replying, "Are you sure--do you think Ruth will

be content to live here, and--and get along on your earnings? It's

quite a drop from what she's been used to." Anxious concern was

reflected in her eyes.

He squared his shoulders. "Don't you worry about that, Mater dear," he

said confidently. "I'll be skipper of a fishing vessel next Spring and

I'll make enough to keep us comfortable. I know my work. I'm

ambitious. I'll invest in vessels and build up a competence just as

the others around here have done. Ruth knows our circumstances and

position, and she'll tuck in. She's cultured and well-educated, but

she can cook and sew and do housework as well as the best. That's the

sort of a girl I'm taking for a wife--a girl in a thousand!" And he

spoke the last words proudly. The mother watched him swing out into

the garden--strong, optimistic and full of the confidence of youth.

Aye, she mused, he had done well. Master of a vessel at twenty-two and

earning more than many a commander on a liner, and successful in love

and ambitious.... He would be alright ... if the sea and the Almighty

willed it so.

Two or three days later, and while Donald was chopping wood at the

back of the house, he heard a familiar voice in the kitchen talking to

his mother. It had a strong Scotch burr there was no mistaking, and

Don hove down the axe and strode hastily into the house to find Joak

McGlashan seated in the parlor. There was a stranger with him--a

dapper looking gentleman, middle-aged, clean-shaven, and wearing good

clothes of an unmistakable English cut. When McKenzie walked in, Joak

sprung to his feet, his face beaming. "Hulloh, there, Donal'!" he

shouted. "My! but I'm gled tae see ye! Ye got ma cable, eh?"

The important happenings of recent days had driven all thought of the

cable out of Donald's mind, and he stammered a wondering affirmative.

He had regarded the matter as being of no particular importance. Joak

wanted to secure a berth as cook with him, possibly, and he would

certainly get it if McKenzie had the ordaining of it. The other turned

and indicated the stranger who was standing gravely waiting. "This is

Mistur Montgomery o' Glesca'," he observed, "and he come oot here tae

Novy Scotia tae see you and yer mither here aboot verra important

business." And having made the introduction, Joak sat down and

nervously lit a clay pipe.

Mr. Montgomery extended a hand to mother and son, and he lifted a

despatch case on to the table and opened it. "I'm a solicitor," he

said briefly. And while the two McKenzies stared at him wonderingly,

he pulled a sheaf of documents out on the table and adjusted a pair of

_pince nez_ on his nose. Clearing his throat, he began, "Er--I have a

disagreeable task to perform, Captain"--he addressed Donald--"in

telling you that your respected uncle has passed away. Died very

suddenly--very tragic affair!" He looked over his glasses at mother

and son, and sighed. Mrs. McKenzie clasped and unclasped her fingers

nervously and her eyebrows went up in consternation at the

announcement, but Donald's tanned face was unmoved. "Too bad," he

remarked calmly. He took a packet of cigarettes from his pocket and

lit one.

The legal gentleman nodded. "Yes ... too bad." Then he enquired with a

corrugation of his forehead and in a mildly suggestive tone,

"You--er--haven't kept in touch with your relatives in Scotland, have

you?"

"No, sir," answered Donald coolly, and he blew a smoke ring, "nor they

with us."

The other gave a respectful cough and drew his chair closer to the

table. "Possibly, I'd better go into the matter and explain the object

of my visit to British North America." McKenzie smiled at the

appellation. With the tips of his fingers together, Mr. Montgomery

leaned with his elbows on the table and said, "Your husband, Mrs.

McKenzie, was a nephew of the late Sir Alastair McKenzie, Baronet, of

Dunsany Castle, Scotland. You, of course, were aware of that." Janet

nodded. "Now," he continued, "Sir Alastair had but one son--his wife

died many years ago--and when Sir Alastair passed away, the title and

estate naturally went to the son Roderick. This young man, I regret to

say, was in very poor health--in fact, he was a consumptive--and he

never married. He knew, that having no direct issue, the title and

estate would have to pass to another branch of the family; namely, his

father's nephew or his issue--"

"That would be David McKenzie," interrupted Janet interestedly.

The lawyer shook his head. "No, Madam! It would be your late

husband--Alexander McKenzie!"

A blank look came over the mother's face and for a moment she couldn't

speak. At last she stuttered, "How--how could--could--that be, sir?

David was the elder!"

"No, Madam! On the contrary, Alexander was the elder by an extremely

narrow margin. You knew, of course, that David and Alexander were

twins?"

Mrs. McKenzie gasped. "No, I didn't! This is the first time I ever

knew of it! Poor Alec never once told me that he and David were twin

brothers, and I always thought David was years older than my

husband--"

The other shook his head. "No, that is not so. David may have _looked_

older. Possibly his sedentary and rigorous manner of living made him

appear that way, but your husband was older than David by a few

minutes, and the birth, date and time is thus recorded in the

Edinburgh Registrar's records." And while Donald and his mother were

puzzling over what they had heard and wondering what was coming, Mr.

Montgomery continued.

"Your unfortunate husband having been drowned at sea, the heir to the

baronetcy was, of course, your son the Captain there. Under Sir

Roderick's instructions, an investigation was made for the next of kin

some years ago, and we found that your son Donald had gone to sea in a

Glasgow sailing ship and was supposed to have been drowned in

Vancouver. That being the case, David McKenzie would succeed on Sir

Roderick's demise, and then would come David's son Alastair the

second," Donald was blowing smoke-rings and smiling strangely. It was

as if he had guessed something.

"Now we come to the particularly tragic aspect of this affair." The

legal gentleman paused for a fresh start. "Some ten weeks ago, Mrs.

David McKenzie, the boy Alastair, Sir Roderick and a chauffeur were

motoring down from Dunsany to Glasgow when the steering apparatus of

the motor car broke or jammed and it plunged over the high bank into

Loch Velaig. I regret to say that both Mrs. McKenzie and the boy were

drowned. Sir Roderick was saved by the chauffeur, but died within a

few days from the exposure in the chilly water. The chauffeur went

direct to Glasgow to Mr. David's office and told him the sad news. The

shock was too much for him, evidently, for he was found dead in his

chair a half an hour afterwards."

Mrs. McKenzie was listening with horror-struck features and Donald was

visibly affected at the recital of the ghastly retribution which had

come to his uncle. Retribution it was ... and Donald shuddered at the

horror of it. Mr. Montgomery continued with legal deliberation and

calmness. "We could find no heirs, of course, and the matter was

advertised in the papers. The whole story was given, and it stated

that you, Captain, had been drowned in Vancouver harbor. A few days

after publication in the Glasgow press, Mr. McGlashan comes to us

stating that Donald McKenzie was alive and in Canada, and he told us

of your running away from the ship and making believe you were

drowned. He produced evidence so convincing that we got in touch with

two men who had been shipmates with you, Thompson and Jenkins, and, as

a result, I am here in the colonies to settle this business." The

quizzical expression came on Donald's face again and he calmly lit

another cigarette.

Turning to Mrs. McKenzie, the solicitor enquired, "You have your

marriage certificate and your son's birth certificate, I presume? Yes?

Very good!" The mother produced them and when Mr. Montgomery had

finished examining them, he rose to his feet and walked towards

Donald. "There are, of course, some legal details to be gone into, but

the case is pretty clear." He held out his hand and in his most

cordial professional manner exclaimed, "Allow me to congratulate you,

_Sir Donald_!"

The mother gasped audibly, but her son was calmer and in control of

his feelings. With a queer smile on his face, he asked: "The Dunsany

estate? It is mortgaged, is it not?"

"To the hilt, sir," answered the other. "There is no revenue from

it--"

Blowing a series of smoke rings, McKenzie laughed a little and said

very calmly, "I'm very much obliged to you, Mr. Montgomery. But I

don't know as I can thank you for coming out to Canada and handing me

a title. As a sailor, I don't know what to do with it. The estate, I

understand, brings no income. What's the use of a title to me? I'm a

skipper of a fishing vessel and I'm certainly not going to accept a

title and have my crew calling me 'Sir' or have people observing that

'Sir Donald struck a big jag of hake on Western this time,' or have my

gang joking about being skippered by a baronet. It would be the

biggest joke on the Banks. All the trawlers would be swinging off to

have a look at me to see if I wore a coronet!" He became serious

again. "No, sir, I think I'll let it drop. Pass it on to someone with

the money to keep up the style which should go with the thing. At the

present time, to me, it would be as useful as the Dutchman's anchor--"

He stopped at his mother's reproachful "Oh, Donald!" Poor woman! Her

pride was being sorely tried by her son's perversity. "Sir Donald!" It

had a rare impressive sound and she was just beginning to feel that

life was sweet, joyous and tremendously portentous. Her son a

baronet! And so he should be.

Montgomery smiled and raised his hand. "You should permit me to

finish," he said. "Your uncle, David McKenzie, has no heirs, and you

are the next of kin. He was a wealthy man--one of Glasgow's merchant

princes--and the value of his estate, including cash, bonds, stocks

and shares, his ships, and so on, which will come to you, is in the

neighborhood, I should judge, of eight hundred thousand pounds!"

Joak's clay pipe broke between his teeth, and as it clattered to the

floor, he ejaculated, "Ma guid gracious! Eight hunner thoosan'

pounds!" Mrs. McKenzie looked dazed, and Donald sat quietly plucking

at the fringes of the tablecloth.

* * * * *

The solicitor departed for the hotel after examining certain papers

which Mrs. McKenzie produced for his inspection, and before he left he

said, "It will be necessary for you both to come to Scotland in order

that we might settle up the estate. I will leave you a draft to cover

the necessary expenses, and it would be well for you to leave as soon

as possible." He bowed gravely, "I am at your service, Sir Donald, and

I trust we may have the pleasure of handling your business in future.

I bid you a very good evening!" And he and McGlashan went out

together, but not before Donald had warned Joak. "See here, you old

Turk, not a word to anyone about this affair ... yet. And furthermore,

I don't want any of that damned _sir-ing_ from you. Cut it out in

future!" And he gave his old chum a slap on the back and had him

chuckling in unfeigned delight.

For an hour, mother and son discussed the matter--Janet excited and

exuberant; Donald, calm and thoughtful. "You know, Mater," he said at

last, "I've been putting two and two together and I've figured out

Uncle Davey's little plans. He knew that Roderick McKenzie was a

lunger and not likely to live long, and he knew that I stood in the

way of his succession to the Dunsany baronetcy. Knowing those things,

he worked those schemes to get rid of me aboard the _Kelvinhaugh_. The

idea just struck him when we went to his office that time. And, do you

know, I don't believe he was thinking of himself. It was all for his

son and his family pride that he toiled and scrimped and did shady

tricks so that when the time came he could restore the family fortunes

and uphold the dignity of the house. But, you see, after all, he lost

out in the end. Aye, the mills of the gods grind slowly, but they

grind exceedingly small!" He sighed and rose to his feet. "Mater dear,

if you'll rustle the grub on the table the baronet and his mamma will

have supper. I want to go over and see Ruth. I have a very interesting

evening ahead of me."

He dressed himself with particular care that night--particular in the

_selection_ of his clothes. With a blue flannel shirt, a cheap tie,

faded coat and pants, and a pair of heavy boots on his feet, he

surveyed himself in the glass and chuckled boisterously, "Now, Sir

Donald," he said to himself, "you look the part as right as rain. A

poor trawl-hauler dolled up to see his girl. If Ruth'll love me in

this rig, she'll love me in anything. I'll test her affections

to-night for sure!"

A few minutes later, he clumped upon the veranda of the Nickerson

home. Old Mr. Nickerson was reading a paper and looked up over his

glasses. "Waal, young feller," he boomed cordially, "an' haow does it

feel to be a hero? The old taown certainly gave ye a good reception

t'other night, eh? And I cal'late that young girl of aours is as proud

as a dog with two tails to hev a man all Eastville is makin' a fuss

of. Cal Heneker tells me he's agoin' to give ye his best vessel to

take afishin' next Spring.... Aye! aye! ye're a lucky young feller all

'raound. Ruth? She's inside washin' up the supper things." And he

resumed his reading again--thinking for a moment of the days when he,

too, was young.

McKenzie led Ruth off to his favorite spot behind the headland, and

they sat down on the grass. "Whatever's on your mind, Donald?" asked

the girl. "You've been looking so mysterious and acting as though you

were suppressing something that I'm sure you've got a surprise hidden.

Be kind, now, and let your poor curious little Ruthie in on the

secret."

He looked smiling into her eyes. "Yes, Ruthie, dear, I have

something--something to ask you. Will you marry me right away?"