DADDY LU
True to her word, Gwen did not appear in public that evening. She
was not seen in her usual place on the rocks, nor did she go to the
post-office for the mail, and Cephas Mitchell, passing by Wits' End
at a late hour, failed to perceive her on the porch. Miss Elliott was
there with Miss Maria Skinner. She could not tell where her niece was.
She might have gone to Sheldon woods or perhaps she was with Miss
Fuller.
"She is not with Miss Fuller," Miss Maria gave the information, "for I
saw Miss Fuller go off rowing with the Misses Hardy."
"Then I'll try Sheldon woods," said Mr. Mitchell as he went off. He
pursued his way along shore to Little Harbor, mounting the hill which
must be climbed before the road on the other side could be reached, and
at last he came to Sheldon woods, but though he searched all of Gwen's
favorite haunts she was nowhere to be seen. If, as he stood on the big
bluff above Pirate's Cove, he had looked toward Jacques' Island, he
would have seen there a boat moored, and if he had followed further on
he would have discovered two figures sitting in earnest conversation.
One he would have distinguished as Luther Williams, the other as Gwen.
The girl had left Wits' End immediately after dinner, had taken the
lower way along the rocks to where Luther Williams always came in from
his fish pound. There she had waited for him, going a short distance
through the rose walk that she might be hidden from view by the thick
undergrowth clumped around the great boulders. As Luther approached the
spot where she sat she appeared, and he waved a friendly hand. "I was
watching for you," she said coming forward. "As usual I want you to do
something for me. Shall you be very busy this afternoon?"
"Not more than usual, and never too busy to do what you would like to
have me."
"You are the most satisfactory man," Gwen smiled up at him. "What I
want is this: I want you to take me over to Jacques' Island and set me
down there, then when you have been to your pound I want you to come
for me, will you?"
"Certainly. That is an easy task."
"Can you stay and talk to me a little when you come for me? I have a
problem to solve."
"As long as you like me to stay I can do it."
"You are so nice; you don't ask unnecessary questions. Are we ready to
go?"
"Yes, if Ned has come."
Ned was standing by the dory, and smiled a welcome to the girl. In
a moment they were off, the strong arms of the two men giving long
pulls to the oars which sent the boat swiftly through the water.
The small island was soon reached. It looked a barren spot from off
shore. A single tree, sole survivor of a less hardy company, seemed
of great importance as it reared itself above the undergrowth of bay
and blueberry bushes. There was no building of any kind on the little
island, and as Gwen was set ashore she laughed. "I feel like Robinson
Crusoe, but please, good man Friday, don't forget me and leave me here
to starve."
"No danger," Mr. Williams assured her. "I'll be back before you have
time to do much exploring."
Gwen watched the two men row off, and then set out to see what she
could discover. "Blueberries!" she exclaimed after a little while. "If
I had something to put them in I could pick a lot. Ah, I know, the
hood of my golf-cape. How lucky that I brought it." She unbuttoned the
long pointed hood, pinned it together and hung it on her arm before
she set to work among the blueberry bushes. She was so absorbed in
her occupation that she did not notice the return of the boat, and
was surprised when Mr. Williams hailed her with: "Where are you, Miss
Whitridge? Ahoy there!"
She made her way to him as rapidly as the scrubby growth of low-growing
plants and vines would allow. "See what I've been gathering?" she
cried. "Blueberries, ever so many of them. If we only had some bread
and a lobster we could have supper here, though, oh dear me, you will
need more than that, for you have a hearty meal at five."
"Don't you bother about me," said her companion. "Miss Phosie will save
me a bite, but if you really would like to picnic here, there's no
reason why we shouldn't. I've two or three mackerel saved out for you
in the boat, and it won't take any time for me to row across and go to
the Grange for some bread, I know they will let me have it."
"That would be perfect," declared Gwen, "but Aunt Cam doesn't know
where I am, and I am afraid she will be worried."
"We can get back before your supper hour. It is not before seven, is
it?"
"No, and later than that sometimes."
"Then we'll have two or three hours here. I'll go back for the bread
while you go on picking berries."
He was off again directly and was not long in returning with a supply
of biscuits and cake, a little packet of salt, and a bottle of water
from the well. Gwen was watching for him this time, and was ready with
a welcome. "Good man Friday, you are a fine provider. It will be such a
real camping out. Are you very hungry?"
"Are you?"
"No, for I have been eating blueberries. Have some?" She held out the
hood to him.
He took a handful and ate them silently. "What about that problem?" he
said when he had finished. "It's a little early for supper I think."
"That's just what I think. Mr. Williams, do you believe it to be very,
very wrong to marry for money?" She blurted out her question without
preliminary. "I mean," she went on, "if the man has no vices, and
hasn't a disagreeable temper or anything like that. Don't you believe
that in the long run a girl would be just as well content as if she
had married a man without a penny? It would be awfully hard to endure
grinding poverty. I shouldn't mind being moderately poor, and going
without some things, but a hand to mouth existence always--oh dear me,
no."
"That's your problem."
"Yes, that is it. I can't very well talk to Aunt Cam about it, for she
is sure to be sentimental and quote things about the uses of sacrifice
in developing character, and about dinners of herbs and stalled oxen
and things. She couldn't understand how I should loathe to wash my
own dishes three hundred and sixty-five times--no, three times three
hundred and sixty-five times a year, and cook my own meals as often,
besides never having any money for operas and theatres and clothes.
I think it is pitiful to see a girl, who has been bright and pretty,
looking faded and worn in her threadbare wedding finery which she has
turned upside down and wrong side out after she has been married ten
years. Do tell me what you think about it. As an entirely unprejudiced
person, who can look at the matter and get a proper perspective. What
is your honest opinion?"
"I think," said Mr. Williams, after a pause, "you should ask yourself:
How would it be if the man were to lose his money, or were to become a
hopeless invalid."
"Gracious!" exclaimed Gwen. "That never occurred to me. I am afraid
I have been thinking only of making the best of life with the
compensation of having all the pretty things I wanted, and of going
to Europe, and having a good time generally. I could even talk about
steel rails sometimes, under those circumstances. But with no money!
Oh dear." She saw before her a picture of Cephas Mitchell in shabby
clothes, earning perhaps a meagre salary sufficient to keep up only a
small flat in a crowded city. She saw herself struggling to make both
ends meet, turning, contriving, mending while he talked common-places.
Or perhaps she might be tied to a peevish invalid who would exact
attention to his every whim, and to whom she must devote her days till
death did part. She sat for some time, chin in hand, her eyes fixed on
the waves breaking over Charity Ledge. At last she drew a long breath.
"I couldn't, I simply couldn't," she said. "I should be perfectly
miserable. I am pretty sure he is not the man to stay down if he does
get a tumble, still one never knows, and as for health, that is even
more uncertain."
"And it is too serious a matter to take risks in? Yes, I think it is.
I knew a girl once who married a man for his money. He promised to be
a success in the world. She wasn't in love with him, but she knew the
marriage would please her family, so she married him. They were happy
for a year or two." He paused.
"And then?"
"The man lost his money,--every cent."
"Then what happened?"
"She showed plainly that she had never cared for him, and so, you see,
there were two persons made wretched, and the last condition of that
man was worse than the first. He might have recovered from his fancy
if he had not married her. She would have been free to marry the man
she really did love, though her family objected because he was poor.
So it was a pitiful disappointment all around. The circle widened and
eventually included more than the two at first concerned. Don't make
any such experiment, my dear child."
Gwen gave a long sigh. "My first millionaire, and to think I must
deliberately let him go. Lots of girls do marry men they aren't madly
in love with, and they seem to get along perfectly well."
"If there were no one else there would be less risk."
Gwen made no immediate reply. "Of course," she said after a moment, and
lifting her head high. "Why should there be anyone else? There couldn't
possibly be. That would be utterly absurd." She began to prod holes in
the earth with a stick.
"Then why worry over it? Let things take their course."
"Oh, but I have to decide. I promised I would."
"The millionaire?"
"No. A--a girl."
Mr. Williams smiled. It was so very youthful to make such a compact.
"Is it a question then of staying out of the race?"
"I suppose so."
"I don't see why one of you hasn't as good right as the other, and,
after all, it will be the man who decides."
"Certainly. I said that. But you don't know the girl. She can always
manage to make a man fall in love with her if she chooses. She is made
that way and I am not. I don't mean that men never do like me, but all
men like her, and if they don't in the beginning she makes them. She'll
make this one, although she is sufficiently loyal to me not to really
try to attract him, if I say I am deeply interested in him."
"I think," said Mr. Williams, "if you really want my honest opinion,
that it would be much the best to go on as you have been doing, and let
the future decide. There must be exceptions to all rules, and all men
do not fall in love with Miss Fuller."
"Oh, how did you know?"
"I have eyes, little girl. Moreover, I know as a fact that one man has
not fallen in love with your friend."
"You say that because you like me and want to increase my self-esteem.
Who is the man? Ned Symington?"
"No." Mr. Williams looked grave. "Ned is a nice lad, but he is not
thinking of falling in love with a--Highlander."
"Oh dear! I am sorry. I oughtn't to have said that. I never think of
you as one of these dear fisher folk, and I forget to be sufficiently
considerate sometimes. I wonder who has been making a confidant of you.
I suppose you will not tell."
"No."
"Then I must simply take your word for it, and believe that some one
worships from afar. It is rather a flattering and agreeable thought."
"There doesn't seem much hope for him," Luther Williams went on, "so
long as you disclaim there being anyone else."
"I said it would be utterly absurd. Dear Mr. Williams, if you will keep
my secret as if it were your own, I'll tell you that if it were not so
ridiculously absurd to give the thing a second thought, there might be
some one else."
"Why absurd?"
"He hasn't two pennies to rub together, and, oh dear, the dish washing
ten hundred and ninety-five times a year. It is almost as bad to
contemplate as the sitting opposite onion eyes and long necks an equal
number of times."
"But if there were pennies, a moderate number, but still enough to pay
for the dish-washing, what then?"
"That would be an entirely different thing." Gwen spoke with
satisfaction. "I shouldn't mind getting a new winter suit only once in
two years, and I shouldn't mind a little apartment, one of those nice
studio flats--" She broke off suddenly and the tears sprang to her
eyes. "Oh!" she exclaimed. "Oh! Please, please, Mr. Williams--oh, what
have I said? You'll know!"
He patted her hand gently. "There, there, little girl," he said,
"never mind. It doesn't matter about my knowing. Do you suppose I'd
ever betray you? But since I am now convinced of something I have only
suspected, I'll be more urgent in begging you not to think for one
moment of marrying a man you do not love. Don't do it, Miss Whitridge."
"Then I'll not marry at all," said Gwen, caressing the man's rough
sleeve. "Aunt Cam and I can go on as we have been doing. We are very
comfortable in our little suite of rooms. But, please, Mr. Williams,
don't call me Miss Whitridge. Call me by my first name as you do the
girls on the island. Call me Gwen."
"And what will you call me?"
"Everyone calls you Mr. Williams."
"But you are not everyone."
"No, I like to be a special kind of friend. I would call you Uncle
Luther, but I don't like that, for once there was an old colored man
who used to work for us and I called him that. I know,--if you don't
mind it, I'll call you Daddy Lu."
[Illustration: "IF YOU DON'T MIND IT, I'LL CALL YOU DADDY LU."]
The smile which irradiated the man's face was brighter than anyone on
Fielding's Island had ever seen. "Will you call me that?" he exclaimed.
"Will you?"
"Yes, if you don't think it sounds disrespectful. I won't do it when
anyone is by, only when we are having nice cosy talks like this. I
can't tell you how much good you have done me. It seems much clearer to
me now. I'll tell Ethel, and if she bears off the golden prize, well
and good, though in the meantime I shall take the gifts the gods send,
and have as good a time as I can. Now let's have supper, and will you
cook the fish? You can do it so much better than I can, Daddy Lu."
For answer he went to the boat and brought back two small mackerel,
well cleaned, then he made a fire, fastened the fish to a board and set
them up to cook.
"It is a real Robinson Crusoe feast," declared Gwen, "for we have
neither forks nor spoons. I shouldn't care to be so primitive in
everyone's company, but I don't mind a bit with you. How good that
fish looks. Is it ready? That's fine. We might make chop sticks out
of twigs; Aunt Cam showed me how to use them, but I reckon fingers
were made even before chop sticks." She was very gay and bright as she
laughed and talked over the meal. Somehow she felt as if a great weight
of responsibility had been lifted from her.
"No dishes to wash this time," said Mr. Williams as the last morsel
disappeared.
"Not one; that is a great consideration. Perhaps, after all, one might
get along in some such way as this. I'll tell you what I shall do:
when I get utterly tired out from kindergartnering, I'll come up here
and stay the year 'round, then we can go off and have feasts like this
very, very often."
"That is quite a pleasant prospect. I quite approve of it, though it
ought to be a long way off, for you must not waste your youth by giving
up the things that only the outside world can furnish."
"The outside world doesn't furnish me with such a vast amount. Oh, I
am not unhappy nor discontented, I am really a very fortunate girl,
only there are times when a long vista of kindergarten teaching becomes
rather oppressive, and if Aunt Cam should take it into her head to go
back to China, I'd have to go with her or be left high and dry here
unless--I did marry. I wonder if I ought to have more faith, Daddy Lu."
"In persons or things?"
"In a person. Ought I to think that genius will burn fiercely enough to
keep up a furnace as well as a kitchen fire? You know the old nursery
rhyme that says:
"'Will the love that you're so rich in,
Build a fire in the kitchen,
And the little god of Love turn the spit, spit, spit?'"
"I suppose there should be a fire for the pot-boilers as well as for
the dishes."
"Oh dear, I suppose so."
"I think, Miss Whitridge--"
"Gwen, you mean."
"I think, Gwen, that you are quite young enough to wait and see."
"Twenty-one seems awfully old."
"When you are my age it will seem remarkably young."
"Perhaps. However, there doesn't seem to be anything else to do but
wait. We'd better go back now, don't you think? It has been the
loveliest afternoon, and I thank you so much for all you have said and
done for a girl who has absolutely no claim on you."
"No claim? Hasn't friendship a claim?"
"To be sure, and you are the best friend I have on this island, and in
the world, except Aunt Cam. I am beginning to count the days now, for
the summer is going so fast, only there is always next year to look
forward to."
They rowed around the outer side of the island, past Thunder Hole and
Simms' Point. As they entered Sea Cove, Gwen caught sight of her aunt
on the porch of Wits' End and waved to her. "So that's where the child
has been," said Miss Elliott. "Well, she's perfectly safe with Luther
Williams."
Gwen parted from her friend at the point where she was set ashore. She
carried her hoodful of blueberries and a couple of mackerel as she came
up to her aunt. "Spoils," she cried, "spoils!"
"I never knew you to go anywhere with Luther Williams that you didn't
bring home spoils," said Miss Elliott. "Where were you this time?"
"Over to Jacques' Island. We had a picnic supper there, and it was fine
for it was quite impromptu. He is just the dearest man that ever lived,
Aunt Cam. I wish we could take him back to town with us where we could
see him often. We made a new compact to-day. He is to call me Gwen, and
I call him Daddy Lu."
"Daddy Lu! Daddy Lu!" Miss Elliott gave the girl a startled look. "How
strange! Do you remember that is what you used to call your father?"
"I never saw my father."
"No, but there was a photograph of him which your grandmother had.
I remember that you used to call it 'Daddy,' and one day when your
grandmother was showing it to me she said, 'That is the best picture
we have of poor Lewis,' and ever after that you spoke of the picture as
Daddy Lew. You were about three years old then."
"I had forgotten," replied Gwen, "though perhaps that is the reason the
name came to me so readily. It was my subconsciousness that suggested
it."
"Very likely."
"At all events he seemed pleased and was so dear. We had such a nice
talk, Aunt Cam. I had the blues frightfully, and now I feel as if a
fresh west wind had blown away all the fog."
"There are fog banks along the horizon now," returned Miss Elliott. "I
think we shall soon see it coming in."