Bess had curled herself up and was falling asleep; and her last sleep it
would have been but for the boom of a small gun and the hail of a
familiar voice. She stood up. Again a hail. And through the curtain of
white it came almost atop of her, the grandest schooner ever was! The
long lines of her seemed familiar. Then a clearer glimpse. Ay, she'd
know her anywhere--by the rust on her jumbo she would--the _Ligonier_.
And then it swept on by--ay, sailing as a wild gull.
Out of sight it went in the snow-squall, but leaving a voice in its
trail.
"Bessie! Bessie!" it called.
And now no schooner at all. Gone it was. And she remembered that that
was the way of it--the beautiful picture afore they went at last. But
soon again the sweep of the great white sails and the black body
beneath. And the beautiful handling of her! "Seamen, them!" said Bess
admiringly, and then alongside it came--beautiful, beautiful.
Then two arms scooped down and swept her over the rail of the lovely big
American schooner. A strong arm and a voice. "Oh, Bessie! Bessie! and
the big, warm, foolish heart of you!" said the voice, and the arms
carried her below and wrapped her in blankets and poured hot coffee,
mugs of it, down her throat, and laid her in a bunk, while he sat on the
locker and looked--just looked at her.
"Ah-h, Sammie!" murmured Bess blissfully. "An' now you'll bring me home,
Sammie?"
"Ay, home, Bess."
"Ah-h! An' my mother'll no ha' to cry for me, arter all. An' father,
too, he'll ha' no cause to--Ah-h, God love you, Sammie."
* * * * *
By the light of the kerosene lamp in John Lowe's kitchen sat John Lowe
reading his favorite volume, harrowing tales of religious persecution
centuries agone. And Mrs. Lowe sat rocking herself by the stove. Every
once in a while she would hide her head in her skirt, and, on
withdrawing it, wipe her eyes.
Now and again she would sigh wearily. "Too harsh, too harsh we were on
the lass. The blood runs warm at her age."
Whereat John Lowe would turn and look fixedly at her, open his lips as
if to say something but, always without speaking, refix his attention on
the fine black print before him.
A knock on the door and a tall man in oilskins and sea-boots entered.
"I've come to say--" he began: but by then John Lowe was on his feet.
"Captain Leary is it?"
"Captain Leary it is."
"Then, I've this to say to you, Captain Leary----"
"Hush, John. Captain"--beside her husband Mrs. Lowe stood
trembling--"Captain Leary, we've a little girl--an' the story's around
the bay----"
Leary raised a hand. "I know, ma'am; I know. Your daughter, Mrs. Lowe,
she's safe. Yes, John Lowe, safe--in every way safe. No thanks to me,
but to herself. And she and me, we're going to be married. Yes, ma'am,
married. Don't look so hard, man. You're thinkin' now, I know--you're
thinkin' it's a poor pilot I'll be for her on life's course?"
"Ay, I'm thinkin' so, captain, and not afeard to say it--I fear no man.
Ay, a poor compass."
"Compass? There--a fine word, compass. But the compass itself that 'most
every one thinks is so true, John Lowe, we have to make allowances for
it, don't we? And after we've made the allowances, it's as though it
never pointed anywhere but true north, isn't it? There's only one circle
on the ocean, John Lowe, where a compass don't veer, but every ship
can't be always on that line. And even when you're sailin' that one
circle, John Lowe, there's sometimes deviations. And me--no doubt I have
my little variations and deviations."
"Ay, no doubt o' that," muttered John Lowe.
"Ay, like everything and everybody else, John Lowe. But at last I've got
to where I think I know what little allowances to make. I think so. And
after we've made our little allowances, and we c'n make 'em in advance
same's if we took it from a chart, why--there's Sammie Leary as true as
the next one."
Mrs. Lowe laid her hand on the American's arm. "And Bess, captain; where
is she?"
"Outside, Mrs. Lowe, with Tim. And she's waiting."
"Waiting for what?"
"To be asked inside. Will I call her?"
"Call her, captain--call her."
"Yes, Mrs. Lowe, but--" Leary faced the man at the table.
"Oh, well"--John Lowe sighed. "No doubt you ha' the right o' it,
captain. You're one who ha' sailed many courses, an' your navigation,
'tis possible, is better than mine. Call her, captain, call her."
Next morning, for all the bay to see, the curtains in John Lowe's house
were raised high.