Marraine,--Polly's Marraine,--Aunt Winnie's old friend,--the lovely,
silver-robed lady of the party who had stood by Dan in his trouble!--it
was she, indeed, all dressed in white, with a pretty little cap on her
soft, wavy hair, and her hands full of flowers. Miss Stella always made a
first appearance at a patient's bedside with flowers. She said they were a
friendly introduction that never failed.
"It's the nurse woman they went for," gasped Captain Jeb, as the new
arrival proceeded to step from boat to wharf with a light grace that
scarcely needed Father Tom's assisting hand. "Well, I'll be tee-totally
jiggered! Who ever saw a nurse woman pretty as that?"
But Dan did not hear. He had dropped nails, hammer, and all present
interest in the recuperation of the "Sary Ann," and was off down the beach
to meet the fair visitor, whose coming he could not understand.
"Danny," she said, holding out her empty hand to him,--"Miss Winnie's
Danny!--I told you I had friends here, Father Rayburn; and this is one
that I expect to find my right-hand man. What a queer, quaint, wonderful
place this Killykinick is! I am so glad you brought me here to help you!"
Help them! Help them! Dan caught the world in breathless amazement. Then
Miss Stella, Polly's Marraine, was the nurse! It seemed altogether
astounding; for sick nurses, in Dan's experience, had always been fat old
ladies who had out-lived all other duties, and appeared only on important
occasions, to gossip in solemn whispers, and to drink unlimited tea. And
now Polly's Marraine was a _nurse_! It was impossible to doubt the fact;
for Father Tom was leading her straight to Mr. Neville's side, Dan
following in dumb bewilderment.
The sick man lay in the old Captain's room, whither, at his own request,
the life-savers had borne him the previous evening. His eyes, deep-sunken
in their sockets, were closed, his features rigid. Poor little Freddy,
tearful and trembling, knelt by Brother Bart, who paused in his murmured
prayers to shake his head hopelessly at the newcomer's approach.
"I'm glad ye're here before he goes entirely, Father. It's time, I think,
for the last blessing. I am afraid he can neither hear nor see."
But Miss Stella had stepped forward, put her soft hand on the patient's
pulse; and then, with a quick whisper to Father Tom, she had dropped her
flowers, opened the little wrist-bag they had concealed, and proceeded to
"do things,"--just what sort of things Dan did not know. He could only see
the soft hands moving swiftly, deftly; baring the patient's arm to the
shoulder and flashing something sharp and shining into the pale flesh;
holding the fluttering pulse until, with a long, deep sigh, the sick man
opened his eyes and stared dully at the white-robed figure bending over
him.
"Who--what are you?" he said faintly.
Miss Stella smiled. It was the question that many a patient, struggling
out of the Dark Valley, had asked before, when his waking eyes had fallen
upon her fair, sweet face, her white-robed form.
"Only your nurse," she answered softly,--"your nurse who has come to help
you, to take care of you. You feel better already?"
"Yes, better, better!" was the faint reply. "My boy,--where is my boy?
Freddy! Freddy!" He stretched out his feeble hand. But it was met by a
firm, gentle grasp that was not Freddy's.
"No boys now," said Miss Stella in the soft, steady voice of one used to
such commands. "There must be no seeing, no talking, even no thinking, my
patient. You must take this powder I am putting to your lips. Close your
eyes again and go to sleep.--Now please everybody go away and leave him to
me," was the whispered ukase, that even Father Tom obeyed without protest;
and Miss Stella began her reign at Killykinick.
It was a triumphant reign from the very first. Old and young fell at once
under her gentle sway, and yielded to her command without dispute. The
cabin of the "Lady Jane" was given to her entirely; even Brother Bart
taking to the upper deck; while a big, disused awning was stretched into a
shelter for the morning and the noontime mess.
And, to say nothing of her patient--who lay, as Brother Bart expressed it,
"like a shorn lamb" under her gentle bidding, gaining health and strength
each day,--every creature in Killykinick was subservient to Miss Stella's
sweet will. Freddy was her devoted slave; lazy Jim, ready to move at her
whisper; even Dud, after learning her father's rank in the army, was ready
to oblige her as a gentleman should. But it was Dan, as she had foreseen
from the first, who was her right-hand man, ready to fetch and carry, to
lift any burden, however heavy, by day and night; Dan who rowed or sailed
or skimmed to any point in the motor boat Father Tom kept waiting at her
demand; Dan who, when the patient grew better, and she had an hour or two
off, was her willing and delighted escort over rocks or sea.
And as they sailed or rowed or loitered by beach and shore, Miss Stella
drew from Aunt Winnie's boy the hopes and fears he could not altogether
hide. She learned how Aunt Winnie was "pining" for her home and her boy;
she read the letters, with their untold love and longing; she saw the look
on the boyish face when Dan, too mindful of his promise to Father Mack to
speak plainly, said he 'reckoned she wouldn't be here long if he didn't
get her somehow _home_.' She learned, too, all Dan could tell about poor
old Nutty's medal.
"Get it for me the next time you go to town, Danny," she said to him. And
Danny drew it from old Jonah's junk shop and put it in Miss Stella's
hand.
And then, when at last her patient was able to sit up in Great-uncle Joe's
big chair in the cabin doorway and look out at the sea, Miss Stella wrote
to dad and Polly to come and take her home.
"Lord, but we'll all miss her!" Captain Jeb voiced the general sentiment
of Killykinick when this decision was made public. "I ain't much sot on
women folks when you're in deep water, but this one suttenly shone out
like a star in the dark."
"And kept a-shining," added Neb,--"a-shining and a-smiling straight
through."
"She's a good girl," said Brother Bart. "And I'm thinking--well, it
doesn't matter what I'm thinking. But it's a lonely time laddie's poor
father will be having, after all his wild wanderings; and it will be hard
for him to keep house and home. But the Lord is good. Maybe it was His
hand that led Miss Stella here."
"Oh, what will we do when she is gone, daddy?" mourned Freddy. "Of course
you are getting well now, and Dan and I can wait on you and get you broth
and jelly; but it won't be like having dear Miss Stella. Oh, I just love
her! Don't you, daddy? She is almost as good as a real mother."
And daddy's pale cheek had flushed as he answered:
"Almost, little Boy Blue!"
"Well, we're all going home in a week," said Dan, as he stood out under
the stars that night. "But I'll miss you sure, Miss Stella; for you don't
mind being friends with a rough sort of a boy like me, and you know Aunt
Winnie; and if I give up and--and go down you'll--you'll understand."
"Give up and go down!" repeated Miss Stella. "You give up and go down,
Danny? Never,--never! You're the sort of boy to climb, however steep and
rough and sharp the way,--to climb to the stars."
"That's what Aunt Winnie dreams," was the answer. "That's what I dream,
too, sometimes. Miss Stella. But it isn't for me to dream: I have to wake
up and hustle. I can't stay dreaming and let Aunt Winnie die. So if I have
to give up and go down, Miss Stella, you'll--you'll understand."
And Miss Stella steadied her voice to answer:
"Yes, Danny, I'll understand."
But, in spite of this, Miss Stella's parting from Killykinick was not
altogether a sad one; for "The Polly" came down next morning, with flying
colors, to bear her away. Dad was aboard; also Polly, jubilant at
recovering her dear Marraine after three weeks of desertion; and Captain
Carleton, and Miss Stella's girl friends who had been picked up from the
camp at Shelter Cove. It was such a picnic party altogether that sighs and
tears seemed quite out of place; for, after all, things had turned out
most cheerfully, as everybody agreed.
So, with "The Polly" glittering in new paint and gilding necessitated by
the storm, with all her pennants flying in the wind, with the victrola
singing its merriest boat song, and snowy handkerchiefs fluttering gay
farewells, Miss Stella was borne triumphantly away. It was to be an
all-day cruise. Great hampers, packed with everything good to eat and
drink, were stored below; and "The Polly" spread her wings and took a wide
flight to sea, turning back only when the shadows began to deepen over the
water, and the stars to peep from the violet sky. The young people were a
trifle tired; Polly had fallen asleep on a pile of cushions, while the
girls from Shelter Cove sang college songs.
In the stern, Captain Carleton had found his way to Miss Stella's side.
She was leaning on the taffrail, listening to the singing, her white
fleecy wrap falling around her like a cloud.
"You look your name to-night," said the Captain: "Stella,--a star. By
George, you were a star to me when the sky looked pretty black! I was
thinking of that yesterday when some Eastern chap came along with a lot of
diamonds for sale. I don't know much about such folderols, but there was
one piece--a star--that I'd like to give you, if you would take it and
wear it in remembrance of a rough old fellow who can't speak all he
feels."
"Ah, Captain Carleton,--Captain Carleton!" laughed the lady softly. "Take
care! That Eastern chap was fooling you, I'm sure."
"Not at all,--not at all!" was the quick reply. "I got an expert's
opinion. The star is worth the thousand dollars he asked."
"A thousand dollars,--a thousand dollars!" repeated Miss Stella, in
dismay. "And you would give me a thousand dollar star? Why, you must have
money to burn, indeed!"
"Well, I suppose I have," was the answer,--"much more than a lonely old
fellow of sixty odd, without chick or child will ever need. Will you take
the star, dear lady nurse?"
"No," said Miss Stella, gently; "though I thank you for your generous
thought of me, my good friend. But I have a better and a wiser investment
for you. Have you forgotten this?" She took Dan's medal from the bag on
her wrist.
"By George, I _did_ forget it!" said the old man. "Somehow, it slipped my
memory completely in our pleasant hurry. Poor Jack Farley's medal! You've
found the chap that owns it, you say?"
"Yes," was the answer--"a brave, sturdy, honest little chap, who stood by
your poor old friend in his last lonely days, and helped him in his last
lonely cruise, and took the medal from his dying hands as the last and
only legacy he had to give. Would you consider him Jack Farley's heir,
Captain Carleton?"
"Most certainly I would," was the rejoinder.
"Then make him his heir," she said softly.
"Eh!--what? I don't understand," muttered the old gentleman.
Then Miss Stella explained. It was such an explanation as only gentle
speakers like Miss Stella can make. She told about bright, brave, plucky
Dan and Aunt Winnie, of the scholarship at St. Andrew's and of the Little
Sisters of the Poor. She told of the attic home over the Mulligans' for
which Aunt Winnie was "pining," and of the dreams that Dan dreamed.
"It would seem a pity," Miss Stella said, "for him to give up and go
down."
"By George, he must not,--he shall not!" said the old sailor. "You want me
to do something for him? Out with it, my lady!"
"Yes. I want you to invest, not in diamond stars, Captain, but in Jack
Farley's medal. I was to negotiate the sale, you know."
"Yes, yes! And you warned me you were going to fleece me; so go on,--go
on! What is the boy's--what is your price?" asked the Captain.
"A pension," said Miss Stella, softly, "the pension you would give Jack
Farley--if he were here to claim it,--just the little pension an old
sailor would ask for his last watch below. It will hold the little nest
under the eaves that Danny calls home for the old aunt that he loves; it
will steady the young wings for their flight to the stars; it will keep
the young heart brave and pure and warm as only love and home can."
"You're right,--you're right,--you're always right, dear lady! If old Jack
were here, I'd pension him, as you say, and fling in a little extra for
his grog and his pipe. Old Jack could have counted on me for four or five
hundred a year. But a sturdy, strapping young chap like yours is worth a
dozen groggy old salts. So name your figure, my lady. I have money to
burn, as you say. Name your figure, dear lady, and I'll invest in your
boy."
"Old Jack's pension, then, Captain Carleton,--old Jack's pension for Aunt
Winnie and Dan,--old Jack's pension, and nothing more."
"It's theirs," was the hearty answer,--"or, rather, it's yours, my dear
lady!"
"Oh, no, no, no!" she disclaimed. "The generous gift is all your own, dear
friend,--all your own. And it will be repaid. Dan and his good old aunt
may have no words to thank you, to bless you; but some day" (and the glad
voice grew softer, sweeter),--"some day when life's long voyage is over
for you, Captain, and the log-book is open to the Master's gaze--"
"It will be a tough showing," interrupted the old man, gruffly,--"a tough
showing through and through."
"Oh, no, no, no!" she said gently. "One entry, I am sure, will clear many
a page, dear friend. One entry will give you safe anchorage--harbor
rights; for has not the Master Himself said, 'As long as you did it to one
of these My least brethren, you did it to Me'?"