THE HOPED FOR MESSAGE.
Each morning when Rilla had finished her task of "swabbing decks," as
Captain Ezra called it, and had put the kitchen and small bedrooms into
shipshape (there were no other rooms in the lean-to adjoining the light),
she would stand in the open door gazing out across the harbor, waiting,
watching for what she barely confessed to herself. But on the third day
her anxiety concerning her new friend's condition overcame her timidity
at broaching the subject and after breakfast she ventured: "Grand-dad,
will yo' be cruisin' to town today?"
The old man shook his head. "No, Rilly gal," he replied, "I wasn't
plannin' to. Yo' don' need 'nother hair ribbon, do yo', or----" He had
been filling a lantern as he spoke, but suddenly he paused and looked up.
"Sho, now, fust mate, are yo' prognosticatin' 'bout that city chap?"
He arose and looked out across the water, shading his eyes with his big
leathery hand.
"I reckon 'tis mos' time for Lem to be lettin' us know how things are
comin'. I sartin do hope the young fellar is navigatin' that frail craft
of his into smoother waters. 'Pears like Doctor Lem ought to----"
He said no more, for the girl had suddenly clutched his arm as she cried
excitedly: "Look yo', Grand-dad! I'm sure sartin there's little Sol
puttin' out from the wharf in that Water Rat boat o' his. Now he's
dippin' along and scuddin' right this way."
"Yo-o! I reckon he has a message for us. More'n like, Uncle Lem is
sendin' him."
The two gazed intently at the small boat, which did indeed seem to be
headed directly for Windy Island. Rilla, her heart tripping,
unconsciously held tighter to the arm of the old man.
"Pore little girl," he thought, "was she that lonesome for young
company?" He sighed and placed a big hand over the slender brown one. He
felt the tenseness of the girl's arm. "Grand-dad," she said tremulously,
"what if the message is that Gene Beavers has died. I reckon 'twould be
all my fault. I'd ought to have brought him right up to the house an'
tol' you straight out just what had happened."
Anxiously they watched the oncoming boat. The wind, which had been fitful
all the morning, dwindled to the softest breeze, then a calm settled over
the harbor and the sail of the Water Rat flapped idly.
"Why don't little Sol row?" Muriel exclaimed impatiently. Then, eagerly,
"Grand-dad, may I go out in the dory an' meet him? May I?"
"No use to, Rilly gal. The wind's veered an' thar goes Sol now on a tack.
Yo' can't be rowin' zigzag all over the harbor." Then, as the boy seemed
to be leisurely sailing away from the island, the old man stooped and
picked up his lantern.
"Sho, fust mate," he said, "I reckon we're 'way off our bearin's. Little
Sol wa'n't headin' this way, 'pears like. Just cruisin' about aimless,
like he often does."
The girl also decided that this was the truth, and so she went indoors to
procure the week's mending. When she returned to the armchair outside the
lighthouse she saw that the Water Rat was scudding over the dancing waves
in quite the opposite direction.
Captain Ezra had climbed the tower. Rilla seated herself and soon her
fingers flew as she sewed a patch upon a blue denim garment, while her
thoughts returned to Gene Beavers. She recalled that he had looked frail,
but she had supposed his paleness was due to the fact that he lived in
the city. Too, she realized that she had been hoping for days that Doctor
Winslow would send a message telling her that Gene Beavers was sitting up
and that she might visit him, for, wonder of wonders, her grand-dad had
said that she might go.
Looking up from the garment a few moments later, her glance again swept
over the gleaming waters of the harbor. The Water Rat was nowhere to be
seen. Alarmed, the girl sprang to her feet and ran to the top of the
steep flight of steps leading down to the shore. Her anxiety was quickly
changed to joy, for clattering up toward her was the freckle-faced boy,
and a grin of delight spread over his homely features when he saw her.
"Rilly, look't that, will yo'?" he sang out as he held up a silver
dollar. "Made it as easy as sailin'. Yo' couldn't guess how, I bet. Could
yo' now?"
The girl shook her head and then listened eagerly, breathlessly, hoping
that in reality she did know. Nor was she wrong.
"Well," the boy confided, "that city guy that's up to Doc Winslow's, he
'twas guv it to me, if I'd fetch a note over to Windy Island and hand it
to Cap'n Ezra and to no one else, says he."
Rilla's eyes shone like stars. Running to the door at the foot of the
spiral stairs that led up to the light, she shouted: "Grand-dad! Yo-o!
Are yo' a-comin' down or shall we come up? Little Sol's here an' he's got
a message for yo'."
"Sho now, is that so? I snum yo' was right, arter all, in yer
calcalations, Rilly gal," the beaming old man said as he descended the
circling flight of stairs. "What's in the message that Lem sent? Is the
city fellar----"
"We dunno," Muriel interrupted. "'Twas Gene Beavers himself as sent the
note and he said as it was to be given to no one but just yo'."
The old sea captain was pleased. The boy was square and aboveboard, that
was evident. "Wall," he said as he reached the ground, "little Sol, hist
up the message."
The small boy thrust his hand in one of his pockets, but drew it empty.
"Jumpin' frogs!" he ejaculated. "If I didn't go an' change my jacket
arter the city guy give me that letter. I reckon as how I'll have to go
back arter it." But suddenly his expression changed and he beamed up at
them. "By time, I rec'lect now! I stowed it in here for safe keepin'." As
he spoke he removed his cap and took the note from the ragged lining. He
handed the envelope to the captain and then started running toward the
steps leading to the beach, but the old man recalled him. "Ho, thar,
little Sol, lay to a spell. I reckon there may be an answer to go ashore
with you."
The boy returned slowly and the girl eagerly watched the captain as he
read the message which the note contained. Muriel knew by the expression
in her grandfather's face that the old-time struggle was going on in his
heart, but it didn't last long.
"Is Gene Beavers a-sittin' up?" the girl asked.
"'Pears like he is," Captain Ezra said as he folded the note and placed
it in his pocket. "Lem's writ for you to cruise over to town with little
Sol and stay a spell."
Muriel's face shone, but, after glancing at the sun, she inquired:
"Wouldn't I better wait till arter mid-day? Who'll be fryin' the fish and
pertaters for yo', Grand-dad?"
The old man's heart rejoiced, for his "gal" was really thinking of him
first, after all, but his hearty laughter pealed out as he replied: "When
yo' was a little un who'd yo' s'pose fried cod for the two of us if
'twa'n't me? I was steward o' the lighthouse craft long afore yo' signed
articles to sail along as fust mate."
Impulsively the girl threw her arms about the neck of the old man and
kissed his leathery cheek. She took this opportunity to whisper into his
ear: "Yo're that good to me, Grand-dad! I'll never be leavin' you, never,
never, never!"
Instinctively the girl knew what was in the thought of the old man.
Little Sol was eager to return to the mainland that he might display to
his mother the first silver dollar that he had ever earned and so the
happy girl climbed to the little room over the kitchen and put on what
her grand-dad called her "Sunday riggin's." She hesitated just a moment
between the red hair ribbon and the green, then choosing the latter, she
peered into the broken bit of mirror to tie it as best she could on her
red-brown hair. Then seizing her flower-wreathed hat by its strings, down
the stairs she skipped. Shags, sensing the holiday spirit that was in the
air, barked joyfully when she appeared and was quite crestfallen when he
was told that he must stay and help grand-dad guard the light.
The old man stood at the top of the steps and swung his cap when Muriel,
sitting in the stern of the Water Rat, turned at the first buoy and waved
to him.
In the heart of Captain Ezra, for the second time in many years, there
was a prayer that the One at the helm might guide his "gal" aright.