WHITE HORSES
The two girls watched the men as they went off, and then established
themselves in porch chairs for a good talk. "It is a nice situation,"
began Ethel, "but one can't live on views. As I said before I can't
imagine what you find to do, except to go to Portland for a day's
shopping."
"It is very gay here if you did but know it," Gwen assured her. "For
instance, we can take a motor-boat or can row or sail over to Jagged
Island, where we can have a clam bake, or merely a picnic luncheon, as
we feel inclined. We can go to the end of the island and be 'sot over'
to the next one, from which we can drive all the way to Brunswick,
coming home by way of the Neck, or going the other way to Bath. We
can even come back on the boat from New Meadows river if we start in
time. Then besides Jagged Island there are dozens of the most beautiful
places to explore, for Casco Bay is full of lovely spots. Nearer
home there are the Sheldon woods which are a never-failing source of
joy. Or, if we feel very lazy, right here in front of our own cottage
we have made a little fireplace on the rocks, so we can have tea al
fresco, without going a dozen yards away. After this there will always
be a dance on Saturday evenings, and between whiles concerts and
musical doings. So, don't dare to say again that Fielding's Island is
dull."
"You certainly do give quite a jolly list of entertainments,"
acknowledged Ethel. "What about dances? Do you really have men?"
"Haven't I just presented two?"
"I imagined them the sole ones, and that you had been lucky enough to
capture both at one fell swoop."
"Oh, dear, no; there are others, and will be more next month when the
height of the season arrives."
"And can you really dress for balls? What do you wear?"
"Don't you dare to call them balls, and if I see you in anything more
elaborate than a white muslin frock I'll cut your acquaintance."
Ethel's face fell. "Oh, but--" she began.
"My dear, if you want merry-go-rounds, board walks and iron piers, go
to Atlantic City. You'll see no décolleté here except on the men. Did
you observe Mr. Mitchell's display of neck?"
"Who is he, anyhow? He dresses like a fisherman."
"Lovely!" cried Gwen. "I must tell him, for it is his dearest desire to
be taken for one, and he thinks he dresses for the part. Of course he
doesn't look the least little bit like those dear graceful creatures
with their unstudied picturesqueness and their free swinging strides,
but he believes in aping customs and looks as absurd in his get-up as
he would in Pekin if he adopted Chinese dress. Can you fancy Cephas in
a kimono, by the way?"
"Is that his name? How funny. What's his business?"
"I didn't intend to tell you before I made up my mind whether I should
take him for my very own, as I know your 'delutherin' ways, but I shall
have to confess that he does with steel, and is said to be worth at
least half a million."
"Gwen Whitridge, I don't believe you. That's only funny business on
your part."
"It is not. I declare it isn't. I have been looking for a millionaire,
lo, these many years, and now I have found one I don't intend to let
the first girl, who comes along, step in and rob me of my legitimate
prey. So 'keep off the grass.'"
"What about the other one?" asked Ethel.
"Only a poor artist, not worthy your powers of fascination," returned
Gwen indifferently.
"He might be good fun for a summer," remarked Ethel reflectively. "It
isn't fair for you to have two when I have none, you know, and the
artist, poor though he may be in pocket is much better off as to looks."
"I shouldn't call him handsome," said Gwen.
"No, not exactly, but nice looking, well set up, carries himself with
an air. If you must have the millionaire, I shall take the artist."
Gwen opened the hand which had been clasping a small pebble banded
about by a dark line. She began tossing the little stone from one hand
to the other. "Take him by all means," she said, though adding to
herself, "if you can. There's Aunt Cam," she said aloud. "She will be
glad to see a neighbor."
Miss Elliott came out upon the porch. "Gwen," she said, "I do wish
you would see what can be done about a washerwoman. Lizzie can't do
the laundry work, you know, and I'd rather not send everything to
Portland. Do you suppose there is such a thing as a washerwoman to be
had?"
"I think it is quite possible," responded Gwen. "Miss Phosie was
telling me of one the other day. She lives at the other end of the
island. Mr. Mitchell and I are going to Water Cove to-morrow, and we
can hunt her up. Here's Ethel Fuller, Aunt Cam. We shall soon have
quite a colony from our city, sha'n't we?"
Miss Elliott came forward. "It is a surprise to see you here, my dear,"
she said holding out her hand. "Is your aunt with you?"
"Yes," Ethel told her. "We are at Mrs. Green's for the season."
"I hope you are comfortable."
"Fairly so, though we thought our rooms simply impossible when we first
came. Now that we have a rug or two, some comfortable chairs from
Portland, and a curtain to hang over our gowns, we shall do. My mirror
makes me look very long and Aunt Harriet's makes her look very wide. We
shall never know our proper proportions while we are here."
"It might be well for you to exchange once in a while," suggested Gwen.
"Where have you been Aunt Cam? I saw you coming along the shore path,
not long ago."
"I have been out making calls, and I have brought home our supper in
the shape of half a dozen very large puff-ball mushrooms," she added
with a laugh.
"What amuses you?"
"I had such a funny time. First I went to the Grays to call on Mrs.
Mitchell, and, as there were other callers, Miss Celia and I had a
confidential chat upon the subject of supplies. She confided to me that
she was afraid to eat mushrooms, that some one had brought her half a
dozen big puff-balls this afternoon, and as she knew the Colbys were
fond of them she had sent them over there. I stopped at the Colbys
on my way to Miss Asquith's and there I learned that the puff-balls
had been regarded with suspicion and had been tendered to Miss Maria
Skinner. I happened to meet Miss Maria on the road. She had just come
from Miss Asquith's. 'Don't mention it,' she said. 'I have been taking
over some large mushrooms that Mrs. Colby sent me. I was really a
trifle afraid of them, so knowing Miss Asquith was very fond of them,
I took them to her. The little meadow, button mushrooms I am quite
willing to eat, but these monstrosities I really don't feel equal to.'
But they are very good, I assured her. I shouldn't be afraid to eat
them. 'Really?' said Miss Maria, 'then I am sorry I didn't meet you
first.'
"We parted and I pursued my way to Miss Asquith's. I found her
examining the gift which Miss Maria had just left. 'See these curious
things,' she said. 'Of course I am not in the least afraid of
mushrooms, particularly when I know these are fresh, but we happen to
have something else for supper, and they should not be kept over. My
dear Miss Elliott, won't you have them?' 'I'll take them gladly,' I
said. 'You won't mention to Miss Maria that I didn't use them,' said
Miss Asquith, and I promised. So here they are and they go no further.
They stop in this house, for you and I, Gwen, are not afraid of them."
The girls laughed. "That is a story worth telling," said Gwen. "What
funny things do happen up here. Do tell us something else, Aunt Cam. I
know Miss Maria must have had some good tale. She has such a keen sense
of humor."
"Miss Maria is inimitable," responded Miss Elliott. "She was funny when
she was telling me her tribulations over getting certain things done.
I wish you could have heard her on the subject of her lattice. 'Behold
it,' she said, 'a brilliant green, caterpillar's blood I call it. My
dear, it was intended to match the house. I saw it in my mind's eye a
neutral gray with white trimmings. When I came down this morning, my
maid told me the painter was at work. I was rejoiced, for I had been
waiting weeks for him. I rushed out on the porch, and then I screamed,
I actually screamed. "Abiel Toothacre," I said, "what do you mean
by painting my lattice green? It was to have been gray to match the
house." Abiel rose to his feet, scratched his head and looked at me
in a dazed way. "I believe, Miss Maria," he drawled, "that Thad Eaton
did say something about its being a sorter drab, but I went to Stork's
and he was out of white paint altogether, and hadn't but a little wee
mite of black. We looked over his stawk and there seemed to be more of
this here green than anything else, so, as I heard you was in a hurry,
I fetched it along. Nice lively green, Miss Maria. Looks real fresh
and nice." In a hurry!' she gasped, 'and I had been waiting six weeks!
Isn't it tragic? However I was so thankful it wasn't a magenta pink or
a cerulean blue, that I didn't say a word.'"
Miss Elliott was not a bad imitator herself, and the girls saw the
scene vividly. "I must stop and condole with her the next time I go
that way," said Gwen. "We have troubles of our own, Ethel. Yesterday we
had planned for lamb chops with potatoes and peas; our dinner turned
out to be veal cutlets, lettuce and rice. There is really a charm in
the uncertainty. It is absolutely exciting to surmise, and we both rush
to the kitchen when the man brings the order, for it is so liable to
be different from that we expected. Sometimes we don't get anything,
and then we have to fall back on the box of supplies we had sent from
Shaw's when we first came. Any more news, Aunt Cam?"
"No, I believe not. I saw Mr. Williams as I came by Cap'n Ben's. He
reminds me of some one I have seen, and I cannot think who it is."
"Dear Mr. Williams," said Gwen enthusiastically. "He is my love, Ethel.
The very dearest man on the island."
"Millionaires excepted."
"No one excepted. I don't know what we should do without him. Did you
see Miss Phosie, Aunt Cam?"
"Yes, and I asked her about the milk. We can have more next week. What
do you suppose Mrs. Baldwin said when I told her the milk was sour this
morning?"
"Can't imagine. I hope she said that, of course, you couldn't be
expected to pay for milk you couldn't use."
"Not a bit of it. She said 'What can you expect when the milk's two
hours coming from Portland, and then sets out in the sun for an hour
before it's delivered?'"
"Aunt Cam! Did you ever?" Gwen exclaimed. "What did you say?"
"My dear, I was so taken aback I said nothing. Our points of view were
so different that an argument would have been useless. It is quite on
a par with the chicken experience. Last Sunday, Ethel, we had such a
tough fowl that no amount of boiling, baking or stewing could make it
fit to eat. We'd had a very nice one the week before. But what do you
think Dan Stork said when we complained? With the most innocent of
smiles he answered, 'That so, Miss Elliott? Well, such is life; tender
chicken last week, tough one, this.'"
"I am getting quite an insight into matters and things," said Ethel
after the laugh had subsided. "I believe, after all, one needn't be
bored here."
"Come with us to Water Cove to-morrow," said Gwen. "I will share Cephas
with you for one afternoon, and I can show you some interesting types.
Have you seen Miss Zerviah Hackett? And what do you think of Mrs.
Green?"
"She is kindness itself, although I think our demands for clean towels
and a few other things rather appal her. She gives us excellent and
abundant food, even though it may not be served in exactly such a way
as we are accustomed. Now that I have discovered you all, I shall be
much better contented. I'd like to go with you to-morrow, Gwen, if you
really want me."
"Can you doubt it when I needed no hint to make the proposition? We'll
stop for you about four. You won't stay to sample the mushrooms? We'll
guarantee that they will not poison you."
"No, I must go. Auntie will think I am lost."
Gwen watched her mount the path which led to the road. "She isn't
quite so frivolous as she would have us believe," she said, turning to
where her aunt had stood. But Miss Elliott had disappeared and Gwen
settled herself in the hammock where she lay looking off at sea. The
tide was coming in and was almost at its height. The water was rougher
than it had been in the morning, and every now and then tossed up a
shower of spray against the rocks. On the opposite point the towering
evergreens were outlined sharply against the sky. In a few minutes a
bright light flashed out from beyond the curving line of mainland to
the left. "Good evening, Seguin," Gwen nodded, and then turned her eyes
again toward the incoming waves. "Beautiful white horses, wild white
horses!" she murmured as she swung slowly in her hammock. Presently she
raised herself and sat up. An erect figure upon the rocks stood out
distinctly. "What's he doing down there?" said Gwen in a low voice.
"Why doesn't he keep his own side the fence?" The man, watching the
water, turned and looked toward the porch. Gwen dropped back again and
continued her swinging, though she was conscious that the figure was
approaching nearer. She did not speak till it paused in front of the
porch. "Well, Mr. Hilary," she said, "what are you doing over here?
It's too dark to paint, isn't it?"
"Quite too dark, but I have been studying the effect of evening light
upon the water, and the forms, whorls and arabesques down there where
the waves come in. I shall paint it to-morrow. At least I shall try a
sketch from memory and finish it the next time we have a like evening."
"So you like it from our rocks better than from any other point."
"This special motif? Yes. Good-night."
He was moving on when Gwen again raised herself. She had not meant to
detain him, but why should he want to hurry? "Did you get your pebbles
home safely?" she asked, feeling it was rather an inane question, for
why should anything interfere with their safe conduct since they could
neither melt nor deteriorate in any other way, through transportation?
He halted and rested one foot on the low step. "Quite safely," he
answered in a polite tone. "The children were delighted to have them to
play with."
"It was for the children you gathered them?"
"Yes, didn't you know?"
"I hadn't thought. I wondered a little at the time. I was foolish
enough, perhaps, to think they might be for your own pleasure."
"They were for my pleasure, too."
"Aren't the waves fine to-night? They will be even more mysterious in
the moonlight. Do you know Kipling's 'White Horses'? It begins, 'Where
run your colts to pasture?'"
"I know it and love it." He leaned toward the hammock and gently swung
it as Gwen sat there with dangling feet. "I specially like that line,
'But most the deep sea-meadows, all purple to the stars.'"
"I like it all. 'By lightless reef and channel, and crafty coastwise
bars.' Isn't that perfect? It pleases me as a whole, more than any
other of Kipling's, and up here I am continually repeating parts of it
to myself. That is my summons to supper. Won't you join us, Mr. Hilary?
We are having mushrooms to-night."
"I have had my supper, thank you. We take it early on account of the
children. Don't let me keep you from yours, Miss Whitridge." He raised
his cap and went on. Gwen drew a short, sharp sigh as she turned toward
the door. "Why must millionaires be built upon such unfortunate lines?"
she said to herself. "Imagine discussing 'White Horses' with Cephas. Oh
dear, what should we find to talk about when the dark November evenings
come? Probably his mind has its point of contact if one could discover
it. I shall see to-morrow maybe." And she went in.
Meanwhile Kenneth Hilary walked slowly over the grassy hillocks, passed
through a stile, and skirted the little beach which was nearly covered
by the flood tide. Further along he took a winding path over the hill,
but instead of turning down the cove road, he sauntered along that
leading to the extreme end of the island. The stars were coming out,
the birds had hushed their evening song. Only the rush of waves sounded
in his ears. From the cottages along shore twinkling lights gleamed
out. The young man took a pipe from his pocket, filled and lighted it,
and then continued his walk till he reached the point where nothing but
the sea lay beyond him. And just here he became aware that some one
else was walking that way, some one who joined him as he stood looking
off at Halfway Light, flashing red, then white, a sailor's beacon. A
bell-buoy out beyond the reefs sounded a melancholy note now and then
as the incoming tide swung the clapper from side to side. To the left a
faint illumination in the sky prophesied the appearance of the rising
moon.
"Fine evening, Mr. Hilary," said Luther Williams, after a moment's
silence. "You don't get at it quite the same way in the city, do you?"
"It doesn't get at us in quite the same way either," returned Kenneth.
"I tell you, Mr. Williams, a man has to have a pretty clean record when
he faces himself in a place like this, and on a night like this. He
can't stand himself if he doesn't have rather a fair page."
Luther Williams did not answer for a moment, then he said, "It isn't
altogether the record, not altogether what a man has done, but what he
knows he will do, that counts. What's done is done. It can't be helped.
We can't always prevent a thing from happening once, but we can help it
from happening a second time, if we are careful. If we make a misstep
and discover that we're off the road, we must look sharp so as not to
do it again. We must go around somehow, take another road, get away
from the mud and the uncertain places, get our feet where there's no
danger of slipping."
"Suppose we don't know the right road. Suppose the thing which offers
the most honesty for ourselves is all wrong for some one else. What's
to be done?"
"Sacrifice yourself," came Luther's quick response.
Kenneth was silent for awhile as he puffed away at his pipe. Then he
said, "How far ought one to carry sacrifice? To the extinction of one's
best self? To the suppression of all that makes life worth living?"
"Generally speaking, yes, I say. Life is worth living when you can
feel the joy of having made a great sacrifice because it was the best
thing for everybody. Though it depends, of course. If, unless you threw
yourself into the breach, it meant disgrace to some one else. Yes."
"But if it meant simply the indulgence of a whim, the increase of
another's luxuries, the catering to another's foolish pride and vanity,
what then?"
"That might put another face on the matter. I'd probably say no to
that. No one has a right to spoil his own life merely to indulge
another in selfishness. It's a nice question, Mr. Hilary, and each must
answer it according to his own conscience. I know my conscience, you
know yours."
"And they rise up and confront us in the sternest manner in just such
silent places."
"Sometimes it is the heart more than the conscience," said Mr.
Williams, after a pause. "The heart's a pretty difficult thing to
reason with. You think you have it completely under control, when first
thing you know it's galloping off in a direction you never dreamed of."
Kenneth took his pipe from his mouth, knocked out the ashes, and
slipped the pipe into his pocket. "One can't afford to have a heart
unless he's a millionaire," he said, "not in these days."
"Oh, yes, he can," the other assured him. "He can have the heart
all right, but he mustn't insist upon writing 'for value received'
upon every transaction. He must make up his mind to do without exact
appreciation, just for the satisfaction he gets in letting his heart go
at its own pace."
"That's pretty poor comfort, isn't it?"
"It's much better than none. You can find solid satisfaction in it
after a while. At any rate it's much better than the feeling of having
a frozen heart in your bosom."
"Are you walking back my way, Mr. Williams?" asked Kenneth, turning
from the sea.
"I'm going on a little further."
"You've given me a lot to think about. I'm glad we met. I hope we can
have some more talks." And Kenneth held out his hand, before he slowly
retraced his steps. "What a remarkable sort of man to find here," he
said to himself as he went along the now moonlit road. "I haven't a
doubt but he has an interesting history."