AMONG THE HOME FOLKS
The village of Freekirk Head was a changed place.
No longer of early mornings did the resounding _pop! pop!_ of
motor-dories ring back from the rocks and headland as the trawlers and
hand-liners put to sea. No longer did the groups of weary fishermen
gather on the store steps for an evening pipe and chat or the young
bloods chuck horseshoes at the foot of the chapel hill.
It was a village of women. True, Squire Hardy, being too old to fish,
had remained at home, and Bill Boughton, who was completing details
for the immediate and profitable sale of the season's catch, was
behind the counter of his general store.
He dealt out supplies to the women and children, and wrote down
against their fathers' shares the amount of credit extended. But
others, day after day, found nothing set against them, and this was
due to the promise of help that Elsa Mallaby kept.
"It's useless to charge supplies to those who have nothing now with
the idea of getting it back from their fishing profits," she said.
"What they earn will just about pay for it, and then there they are
back where they started--with nothing. Better let me pay for
everything until the men get back. Then they will have something
definite ahead to go on."
No one but Adelbert Bysshe, the rector, Bill Boughton, and Elsa
Mallaby herself knew exactly how much she paid out weekly toward the
maintenance of the village. But all knew it to be an enormous sum (as
reckoned on the island), and daily the worship of Hard Luck Jim's
widow grew, until she occupied a place in Freekirk Head parallel to a
patron saint of the Middle Ages.
But Elsa Mallaby was intensely human, and no one knew it better than
herself, as, one late afternoon, she sat at her mahogany table,
looking absently over the stubs in her check-book. She saw that she
had disbursed a great deal of money--more, perhaps, than she would
have under any other circumstances--but she frankly acknowledged that
she did not mind that, if only she achieved the end toward which she
was working.
For Elsa, more than any one on Grande Mignon, was a person of ways and
means.
She was one of those women who seem to find nothing in self-communion.
Hers was a nature destined for light and gaiety and happiness. To sit
in a splendid palace and mope over what had happened was among the
last things she cared to contemplate.
Being of the pure Grande Mignon stock, she looked no farther for a
husband than among the men of Freekirk Head, good, honest, able men,
all of them. And her eye fell with favor upon Captain Code Schofield
of the schooner _Charming Lass_, old schoolfellow, playmate, and
lifelong friend.
The money she had mailed to him had only been an excuse to write a
letter; the favors to Ma Schofield were, in great part, to help
further her plan; the whole business of helping support Freekirk Head
was a flash of dramatic display, calculated to bring her ineradicably
before Code's eyes--and every one else's.
As she sat near the window and saw the sunset glow die over the
mountain ridge she asked herself what she had achieved. Apparently
very little. She felt the futility of human endeavor and desire. To
her knowledge Code was in love with nobody, although rumor had for
years linked his name with Nellie Tanner's. That was exploded now, for
Nellie was engaged to Nat Burns.
_Why_ did he not respond?
Slowly her smile returned. He would respond when he had heard certain
other things. Then he would forget any one else but her--if there was
any one else. Her heart leaped at the thought.
As it became dark she rang the bell.
"Light the candles in the drawing-room," she said to the servant who
entered. "You remember that Mrs. Tanner is coming for dinner?"
"Yes, madam."
"Very well. That is all." The servant withdrew.
There was nothing unusual in the fact of Mrs. Tanner coming for dinner
in the evening to the big house. Elsa simply could not eat all her
meals alone, and her old friends at the village were constantly
receiving invitations.
Mrs. Tanner arrived at half-past six. It was her first visit since the
departure of the fleet several weeks before, and there was plenty to
talk about. But Ma Tanner wisely reserved her conversation until after
the meal, for the "vittles" of Mallaby House were famous the whole
length of the New Brunswick coast.
Afterward when they had retired to Elsa's pink and gray boudoir, the
eternal envy of Grande Mignon womanhood, the talk flowed freely.
"It's this way, Elsa," declared ma confidentially. "I think Nellie is
pretty well took care of. Now young Nat Burns, as you know, is pretty
well off, as the sayin' goes on the island. He really wouldn't have to
fish if he didn't want to. His father didn't neglect _him_ when his
time come."
Ma Tanner did not see the change in Elsa's expression. The pupils of
her magnificent black eyes expanded and the delicate brows drew
together over the bridge of her nose. The close mouth, with its ugly
set, would not have been recognized by any but lifelong friends.
"And Nat's about's good as any boy," went on ma. "Boys is turr'ble
hard to fetch up so they don't disgrace ye and send ye to the grave
with gray head bowed in sorter, as the poet says. Nat ain't bad. He
speaks sharp to his mother once in a while, but la--what boy don't? I
think he'll treat Nellie right and be a good man to her."
"Ma," said Elsa, and her voice was quiet and intense as though she
were keeping herself well in hand, "that's what _every one_ thinks
about Nat Burns."
"Wal," asked the elder woman, slightly resentful, "don't you think
so?"
"What I think has nothing whatever to do with the question. But what I
_know_ might have. I don't want Nellie's life ruined, that's all."
"Look here, Elsa, what're you drivin' at?" Ma Turner was becoming
wrought up. She knew there must be something behind these hints or
Elsa would never venture on such thin ice with her.
"Ye be'n't by any means jealous o' Nellie, be ye?" she asked, peering
through her spectacles.
"Heavens, no!" cried Elsa so convincingly that Mrs. Tanner was
satisfied once and for all.
"Wal, what's all the fuss, then?"
"Any girl would ruin her life that threw herself away on Nat Burns.
He's got a fine solid-gold case, but his works are very poor indeed,
Ma Tanner."
"Don't go talkin' educated or I can't follow ye. D'ye mean he's all
show an' nothin' in his mind or heart of Christian goodness?"
"Yes, I mean that, and I mean more besides. He doesn't stop by being
merely 'not good.' He is actively and busily downright bad."
"They's several kinds of 'bad,' Elsa Mallaby."
"Well, I mean the kind that makes a girl break her engagement and keep
it broken, and that drives a man out of a decent village."
There was a long and pregnant pause while Ma Tanner got everything
straight in her mind.
"You don't mean that he has--" she inquired, her little mouth a thin,
hard line.
"Yes, I do. Exactly that. I knew the case myself in this very village
before Jim died. There are some men who instinctively take the correct
course in a matter of that kind; others who don't care two pins as
long as they get out of it with a whole skin. Nat Burns was that
kind."
"Then you mean he ought already to be married?"
"Yes, or in jail."
"Why isn't he?"
"It was entirely up to the girl and she refused to act."
"Gawd! My poor Nellie!"
The servant knocked, and, upon receiving permission to enter, handed
Elsa a telegram, evidently just delivered from the village telegraph
office. Unconsciously the girl reached into a glass-covered bookcase
and drew forth a paper volume. Then she tore open the message and
commenced to read it with the aid of the book.
Mrs. Tanner did not notice her. She sat staring into the future with a
leaden heart. Such a thing as Elsa hinted at was unheard of in
Freekirk Head, and she was overwhelmed. Suddenly she asked:
"Why do you hate Nat Burns so? You couldn't have told me that if you
hadn't hated him."
Elsa looked up from her book impatiently, quite oblivious to the wound
she had caused.
"Because I was very fond of that girl!" she said, and went back to the
translation of the message. Suddenly she sprang to her feet with a
little cry of dismay and rang the bell.
"Annette!" she cried. "Annette!" The maid rushed in, frightened, from
the adjoining room.
"Tell Charles I am going to St. John's to-morrow, and to have the
carriage at the door at half-past six. Pack my steamer trunk
immediately. Great guns! Why isn't there a night boat?"
The maid flew out of the room, and Elsa, still doubtful, retranslated
the message. Mrs. Tanner, taken aback by these sudden activities, rose
hurriedly to go. This sudden flurry was inexplicable to her. Since the
departure of the fleet Elsa had not as much as hinted leaving Freekirk
Head. Now, in a moment, she was beside herself to go.
"I hope it isn't bad news, Elsa," she faltered.
"Well, it is, ma, it is, b-but only in a business way. A little
trip will straighten it up, I think." And she was courteous but
indefatigable in hastening the departure of her guest.