APPLEDORE.
It was a very bright, warm August day when Mrs. Wishart and her young
companion steamed over from Portsmouth to the Isles of Shoals. It was
Lois's first sight of the sea, for the journey from New York had been
made by land; and the ocean, however still, was nothing but a most
wonderful novelty to her. She wanted nothing, she could well-nigh
attend to nothing, but the movements and developments of this vast and
mysterious Presence of nature. Mrs. Wishart was amused and yet half
provoked. There was no talk in Lois; nothing to be got out of her;
hardly any attention to be had from her. She sat by the vessel's side
and gazed, with a brow of grave awe and eyes of submissive admiration;
rapt, absorbed, silent, and evidently glad. Mrs. Wishart was provoked
at her, and envied her.
"What _do_ you find in the water, Lois?"
"O, the wonder of it!" said the girl, with a breath of rapture.
"Wonder! what wonder? I suppose everything is wonderful, if you look at
it. What do you see there that seems so very wonderful?"
"I don't know, Mrs. Wishart. It is so great! and it is so beautiful!
and it is so awful!"
"Beautiful?" said Mrs. Wishart. "I confess I do not see it. I suppose
it is your gain, Lois. Yes, it is awful enough in a storm, but not
to-day. The sea is quiet."
Quiet! with those low-rolling, majestic soft billows. The quiet of a
lion asleep with his head upon his paws. Lois did not say what she
thought.
"And you have never seen the sea-shore yet," Mrs. Wishart went on.
"Well, you will have enough of the sea at the Isles. And those are
they, I fancy, yonder. Are those the Isles of Shoals?" she asked a
passing man of the crew; and was answered with a rough voiced, "Yaw,
mum; they be th' oisles."
Lois gazed now at those distant brown spots, as the vessel drew nearer
and nearer. Brown spots they remained, and, to her surprise, _small_
brown spots. Nearer and nearer views only forced the conviction deeper.
The Isles seemed to be merely some rough rocky projections from old
Ocean's bed, too small to have beauty, too rough to have value. Were
those the desired Isles of Shoals? Lois felt deep disappointment.
Little bits of bare rock in the midst of the sea; nothing more. No
trees, she was sure; as the light fell she could even see no green. Why
would they not be better relegated to Ocean's domain, from which they
were only saved by a few feet of upheaval? why should anybody live
there? and still more, why should anybody make a pleasure visit there?
"I suppose the people are all fishermen?" she said to Mrs. Wishart.
"I suppose so. O, there is a house of entertainment--a sort of hotel."
"How many people live there?"
"My dear, I don't know. A handful, I should think, by the look of the
place. What tempts _them_, I don't see."
Nor did Lois. She was greatly disappointed. All her fairy visions were
fled. No meadows, no shady banks, no soft green dales; nothing she had
ever imagined in connection with country loveliness. Her expectations
sank down, collapsed, and vanished for ever.
She showed nothing of all this. She helped Mrs. Wishart gather her
small baggage together, and followed her on shore, with her usual quiet
thoughtfulness; saw her established in the hotel, and assisted her to
get things a little in order. But then, when the elder lady lay down to
"catch a nap," as she said, before tea, Lois seized her flat hat and
fled out of the house.
There was grass around it, and sheep and cows to be seen. Alas, no
trees. But there were bushes certainly growing here and there, and Lois
had not gone far before she found a flower. With that in her hand she
sped on, out of the little grassy vale, upon the rocks that surrounded
it, and over them, till she caught sight of the sea. Then she made her
way, as she could, over the roughnesses and hindrances of the rocks,
till she got near the edge of the island at that place; and sat down a
little above where the billows of the Atlantic were rolling in. The
wide sea line was before her, with its mysterious and infinite depth of
colour; at her feet the waves were coming in and breaking, slow and
gently to-day, yet every one seeming to make an invasion of the little
rocky domain which defied it, and to retire unwillingly, foiled,
beaten, and broken, to gather new forces and come on again for a new
attack. Lois watched them, fascinated by their persistence, their
sluggish power, and yet their ever-recurring discomfiture; admired the
changing colours and hues of the water, endlessly varying, cool and
lovely and delicate, contrasting with the wet washed rocks and the dark
line of sea-weed lying where high tide had cast it up. The breeze blew
in her face gently, but filled with freshness, life, and pungency of
the salt air; sea-birds flew past hither and thither, sometimes
uttering a cry; there was no sound in earth or heaven but that of the
water and the wild birds. And by and by the silence, and the broad
freedom of nature, and the sweet freshness of the life-giving breeze,
began to take effect upon the watcher. She drank in the air in deep
breaths; she watched with growing enjoyment the play of light and
colour which offered such an endless variety; she let slip, softly and
insensibly, every thought and consideration which had any sort of care
attached to it; her heart grew light, as her lungs took in the salt
breath, which had upon her somewhat the effect of champagne. Lois was
at no time a very heavy-hearted person; and I lack a similitude which
should fitly image the elastic bound her spirits made now. She never
stirred from her seat, till it suddenly came into her head to remember
that there might be dinner or supper in prospect somewhere. She rose
then and made her way back to the hotel, where she found Mrs. Wishart
just arousing from her sleep.
"Well, Lois" said the lady, with the sleep still in her voice, "where
have you been? and what have you got? and what sort of a place have we
come to?"
"Look at that, Mrs. Wishart!"
"What's that? A white violet! Violets here, on these rocks?"
"Did you ever see _such_ a white violet? Look at the size of it, and
the colour of it. And here's pimpernel. And O, Mrs. Wishart, I am so
glad we came here, that I don't know what to do! It is just delightful.
The air is the best air I ever saw."
"Can you _see_ it, my dear? Well, I am glad you are pleased. What's
that bell for, dinner or supper? I suppose all the meals here are
alike. Let us go down and see."
Lois had an excellent appetite.
"This fish is very good, Mrs. Wishart."
"O my dear, it is just fish! You are in a mood to glorify everything. I
am envious of you, Lois."
"But it is really capital; it is so fresh. I don't believe you can get
such blue fish in New York."
"My dear, it is your good appetite. I wish I was as hungry, for
anything, as you are."
"Is it Mrs. Wishart?" asked a lady who sat opposite them at the table.
She spoke politely, with an accent of hope and expectation. Mrs.
Wishart acknowledged the identity.
"I am very happy to meet you. I was afraid I might find absolutely no
one here that I knew. I was saying only the other day--three days ago;
this is Friday, isn't it? yes; it was last Tuesday. I was saying to my
sister after our early dinner--we always have early dinner at home, and
it comes quite natural here--we were sitting together after dinner, and
talking about my coming. I have been meaning to come ever since three
years ago; wanting to make this trip, and never could get away, until
this summer things opened out to let me. I was saying to Lottie I was
afraid I should find nobody here that I could speak to; and when I saw
you, I said to myself, Can that be Mrs. Wishart?--I am so very glad.
You have just come?"
"To-day,"--Mrs. Wishart assented.
"Came by water?"
"From Portsmouth."
"Yes--ha, ha!" said the affable lady. "Of course. You could not well
help it. But from New York?"
"By railway. I had occasion to come by land."
"I prefer it always. In a steamer you never know what will happen to
you. If it's good weather, you may have a pleasant time; but you never
can tell. I took the steamer once to go to Boston--I mean to
Stonington, you know; and the boat was so loaded with freight of some
sort or other that she was as low down in the water as she could be and
be safe; and I didn't think she was safe. And we went so slowly! and
then we had a storm, a regular thunderstorm and squall, and the rain
poured in torrents, and the Sound was rough, and people were sick, and
I was very glad and thankful when we got to Stonington. I thought it
would never be for pleasure that I would take a boat again."
"The Fall River boats are the best."
"I daresay they are, but I hope to be allowed to keep clear of them
all. You had a pleasant morning for the trip over from Portsmouth."
"Very pleasant."
"It is such a gain to have the sea quiet! It roars and beats here
enough in the best of times. I am sure I hope there will not a storm
come while we are here; for I should think it must be dreadfully
dreary. It's all sea here, you know."
"I should like to see what a storm here is like," Lois remarked.
"O, don't wish that!" cried the lady, "or your wish may bring it. Don't
think me a heathen," she added, laughing; "but I have known such queer
things. I must tell you--"
"You never knew a wish bring fair weather?" said Lois, smiling, as the
lady stopped for a mouthful of omelet.
"O no, not fair weather; I am sure, if it did, we should have fair
weather a great deal more than we do. But I was speaking of a storm,
and I must tell you what I have seen.--These fish are very deliciously
cooked!"
"They understand fish, I suppose, here," said Lois.
"We were going down the bay to escort some friends who were going to
Europe. There was my cousin Llewellyn and his wife, and her sister, and
one or two others in the party; and Lottie and I went to see them off.
I always think it's rather a foolish thing to do, for why shouldn't one
say good-bye at the water's edge, when they go on board, instead of
making a journey of miles out to sea to say it there?--but this time
Lottie wanted to go. She had never seen the ocean, except from the
land; and you know that is very different; so we went. Lottie always
likes to see all she can, and is never satisfied till she has got to
the bottom of everything--"
"She would be satisfied with something less than that in this case?"
said Lois.
"Hey? She was satisfied," said the lady, not apparently catching Lois's
meaning; "she was more delighted with the sea than I was; for though it
was quiet, they said, there was unquietness enough to make a good deal
of motion; the vessel went sailing up and down a succession of small
rolling hills, and I began to think there was nothing steady inside of
me, any more than _out_side. I never can bear to be rocked, in any
shape or form."
"You must have been a troublesome baby," said Lois.
"I don't know how that was; naturally I have forgotten; but since I
have been old enough to think for myself, I never could bear
rocking-chairs. I like an easy-chair--as easy as you please--but I want
it to stand firm upon its four legs. So I did not enjoy the water quite
as well as my sister did. But she grew enthusiastic; she wished she was
going all the way over, and I told her she would have to drop _me_ at
some wayside station--"
"Where?" said Lois, as the lady stopped to carry her coffee cup to her
lips. The question seemed not to have been heard.
"Lottie wished she could see the ocean in a mood not quite so quiet;
she wished for a storm; she said she wished a little storm would get up
before we got home, that she might see how the waves looked. I begged
and prayed her not to say so, for our wishes often fulfil themselves.
Isn't it extraordinary how they do? Haven't you often observed it, Mrs.
Wishart?"
"In cases where wishes could take effect," returned that lady. "In the
case of the elements, I do not see how they could do that."
"But I don't know how it is," said the other; "I have observed it so
often."
"You call me by name," Mrs. Wishart went on rather hastily; "and I have
been trying in vain to recall yours. If I had met you anywhere else, of
course I should be at no loss; but at the Isles of Shoals one expects
to see nobody, and one is surprised out of one's memory."
"I am never surprised out of my memory," said the other, chuckling. "I
am poor enough in all other ways, I am sure, but my memory is good. I
can tell you where I first saw you. You were at the Catskill House,
with a large party; my brother-in-law Dr. Salisbury was there, and he
had the pleasure of knowing you. It was two years ago."
"I recollect being at the Catskill House very well," said Mrs. Wishart,
"and of course it was there I became acquain'ted with you; but you must
excuse me, at the Isles of Shoals, for forgetting all my connections
with the rest of the world."
"O, I am sure you are very excusable," said Dr. Salisbury's
sister-in-law. "I am delighted to meet you again. I think one is
particularly glad of a friend's face where one had not expected to see
it; and I really expected nothing at the Isles of Shoals--but sea air."
"You came for sea air?"
"Yes, to get it pure. To be sure, Coney Island beach is not far
off--for we live in Brooklyn; but I wanted the sea air wholly sea
air--quite unmixed; and at Coney Island, somehow New York is so near, I
couldn't fancy it would be the same thing. I don't want to smell the
smoke of it. And I was curious about this place too; and I have so
little opportunity for travelling, I thought it was a pity now when I
_had_ the opportunity, not to take the utmost advantage of it. They
laughed at me at home, but I said no, I was going to the Isles of
Shoals or nowhere. And now I am very glad I came."--
"Lois," Mrs. Wishart said when they went back to their own room, "I
don't know that woman from Adam. I have not the least recollection of
ever seeing her. I know Dr. Salisbury--and he might be anybody's
brother-in-law. I wonder if she will keep that seat opposite us?
Because she is worse than a smoky chimney!"
"O no, not that," said Lois. "She amuses me."
"Everything amuses you, you happy creature! You look as if the fairies
that wait upon young girls had made you their special care. Did you
ever read the 'Rape of the Lock'?"
"I have never read anything," Lois answered, a little soberly.
"Never mind; you have so much the more pleasure before you. But the
'Rape of the Lock'--in that story there is a young lady, a famous
beauty, whose dressing-table is attended by sprites or fairies. One of
them colours her lips; another hides in the folds of her gown; another
tucks himself away in a curl of her hair.--You make me think of that
young lady."