For the half hour which followed the captain's utterance of that simple
little word, "Me," exclamation, protestation and argument heated and
unwontedly disturbed the atmosphere of the Minot spare stateroom and
when the discussion adjourned there, of the little back yard. The old
white horse, left to himself and quite forgotten, placidly meandered on
until he reached a point where he could reach the tender foliage of a
young pear tree which leaned over the wall toward him. Then, with a sigh
of content, he proceeded to devour the tree. No one paid the least
attention to him. Captain Kendrick, now seated upon the bench beneath
the locust, was quietly but persistently explaining why he desired to
become a boarder and lodger at Mr. Cahoon's quarters on the after lower
deck of the General Minot house, and Judah was vociferously and
profanely expostulating against such an idea.
"It ain't fittin', I tell you," he declared, over and over again. "It
ain't fittin', it's the craziest notion ever I heard tell of. What'll
folks think if they know you're here--you, Cap'n Sears Kendrick, that
all hands knows is the smartest cap'n that ever sailed out of Boston
harbor? What'll they say if they know you've hove anchor along of me,
stayin' here in the--in the fo'castle of this house; eatin' the grub I
cook--"
"I've eaten your cookin' for a good many months at a stretch, Judah. You
never heard me find any fault with it, did you?"
"Don't make no odds. That's different, Cap'n Sears, and you know 'tis.
It's ridiculous, stark, ravin' ridiculous."
"So you don't care for my company?"
"Don't tuk so! Wouldn't I be proud to have ye? Wouldn't I ruther have
you aboard here than anybody else on earth? Course I would!"
"All right. And you're goin' to have me. So that's all settled."
"Settled! Who said 'twas settled? Course 'tain't settled. You don't
understand, Cap'n Sears. 'Tain't how I feel about it. 'Tain't even maybe
how you feel about it. But how'll your sister feel about it? How'll Joel
feel? How'll the doctor feel? How'll the folks in town feel? How'll--"
"Oh, shh! shh! Avast, Judah! How'll the cat feel? And the pig? What do I
care? How'll your old horse feel if he eats the other half of that pear
tree? That's considerably more important."
Judah turned, saw the combination of ancient equine and youthful tree
and rushed bellowing to the rescue of the latter. When he returned,
empty of profanity and copiously perspiring, his former skipper was
ready for him.
"Listen, Judah," he said. "Listen, and keep your main hatch closed for
five minutes, if you can. I want to come here to board with you for a
while and I've got the best reasons on earth. Keep still and I'll tell
you again what they are."
He proceeded to give those reasons. They were that he had little money
and must therefore live inexpensively. He would not remain at his
sister's because she had more than enough care and work in her own
family. George Kent boarded with her and one boarder was sufficient.
Then--and this was the principal reason for selecting the General Minot
spare stateroom--he wished to live somewhere away from observation,
where he could be alone, or nearly alone, where he would not be plagued
with questions.
"You see, Judah," he said, "I've had a bump in more ways than one. My
pride was knocked flat as well as my pocket book. The doctor says I've
got to stay ashore for a good while. He says it will be months before
I'm ready for sea--if I'm ever ready--"
"Hold on, hold on! Cap'n Sears, you mustn't talk so. Course you'll be
ready."
"All right, we'll hope I will. But while I'm gettin' ready to be ready I
want to lie snug. I don't want to see a whole lot of people and have to
listen to--to sympathy and all that. I've made a fool of myself, and
that kind of a fool doesn't deserve sympathy. And I don't want it,
anyhow. Give me a pair of sound spars and my health once more and you
won't find me beggin' for sympathy--no, nor anything else.... But
there," he added, straightening and throwing back his shoulders in the
way Judah had seen him do so often on shipboard and which his mates had
learned to recognize as a sign that the old man's mind was made up,
"that's enough of that. Let's stick to the course. I like this place of
yours, Judah, and I'm comin' here to live. I'm weak yet and you can
throw me out, of course," he added, "but I tell you plainly you can't
_talk_ me out, so it's no use to try."
Nevertheless, Mr. Cahoon kept on trying and, when he did give in only
gave in halfway. If Captain Sears was bound to do such a fool thing he
didn't know how he was going to stop him, but at least he did insist
that the captain should take a trial cruise before signing on for the
whole voyage.
"I tell you what you do, Cap'n Sears," he said. "You make me a little
visit of--of two, three days, say. Then, if you cal'late you can stand
the grub--and me--and if the way Bayport folks'll be talkin' ain't
enough to send you back to Sary's again, why--why, then I suppose you
can stay right along, if you want to. _'Twould_ be fine to have you
aboard! Whew!"
He grinned from ear to ear. The captain accepted the compromise.
"All right, Judah," he said. "We'll call the first few days a visit and
I'll begin by stayin' to dinner now. How'll that do, eh?"
Mr. Cahoon affirmed that it would do finely. The only drawback was that
there was nothing in the house for dinner.
"I was cal'latin' to go down to the shore," he said, "and dig a bucket
of clams. Course they'll do well enough for me, but for you--"
"For me they will be just the ticket," declared Kendrick. "Go ahead and
dig 'em, Judah. And on the way stop and tell Sarah I'm goin' to stay
here and help eat 'em. After dinner--well, after dinner I shall have to
go back there again, I suppose, but to-morrow I'm comin' up here to
stay."
So, still under protest, Judah, having unloaded the seaweed, climbed
once more to the high seat of the truck-wagon and the old horse dragged
him out of the yard. After the row of trees bordering the road had
hidden him from sight Kendrick could hear the rattle of the cart and a
fragment of the _Dreadnought_ chantey.
"Now the _Dreadnought's_ becalmed on the banks of Newfoundland,
Where the water's all green and the bottom's all sand.
Says the fish of the ocean that swim to and fro:
'She's the Liverpool packet, good Lord, let her go.'"
Rattle and chantey died away in the distance. Quiet, warm and lazy,
settled down upon the back yard of the General Minot place. A robin
piped occasionally and, from somewhere off to the left, hens clucked,
but these were the only sounds. Kendrick judged that the hens must
belong to neighbors; Judah had expressed detestation of all poultry.
There was not sufficient breeze to stir the branches of the locust or
the leaves of the grapevine. The captain leaned back on the settee and
yawned. He felt a strong desire to go to sleep.
Now sleeping in the daytime had always been a trick which he despised
and against which he had railed all his life. He had declared times
without number that a man who slept in the daytime--unless of course he
had been on watch all night or something like that--was a loafer, a good
for nothing, a lubber too lazy to be allowed on earth. The day was a
period made for decent, respectable people to work in, and for a man who
did not work, and love to work, Captain Sears Kendrick had no use
whatever. Many so-called able seamen, and even first and second mates,
had received painstaking instructions in this section of their skipper's
code.
But now--now it was different. Why shouldn't he sleep in the daytime?
There was nothing else for him to do. He had no business to transact, no
owners to report to, no vessel to load or unload or to fit for sea. He
had heard the doctor's whisper--not meant for his ears--that his legs
might never be right again, and the word "might" had, he believed, been
substituted for one of much less ambiguous meaning. No, all he was fit
for, he reflected bitterly, was to sit in the sun and sleep, like an old
dog with the rheumatism. He sighed, settled himself upon the bench and
closed his eyes.
But he opened them again almost at once. During that very brief interval
of darkness there had flashed before his mind a picture of a small park
in New York as he had once seen it upon a summer Sunday afternoon. The
park walks had been bordered with rows of benches and upon each bench
slumbered at least one human derelict who, apparently, realized his
worthlessness and had given up the fight. Captain Kendrick sat upright
on the settee, beneath the locust tree. Was he, too, giving
up--surrendering to Fate? No, by the Lord, he was not! And he was not
going to drop off to sleep on that settee like one of those tramps on a
park bench.
He rose to his feet, picked up his cane, and started to walk--somewhere.
Direction made little difference, so long as he kept awake and kept
going. There was a path leading off between the raspberry and currant
bushes, and slowly, but stubbornly, he limped along that path. The path
ended at a gate in a white picket fence. The gate was unlatched and
there was an orchard on the other side of it. Captain Sears opened the
gate and limped on under the apple trees. They were old trees and large
and the shade they cast was cool and pleasant. The soft green slope
beneath them tempted him strongly. He was beginning to realize that
those shaky legs of his were tiring in this, the longest walk they had
attempted since the accident. He had a mind to sit down upon the bank
beneath the apple trees and rest. Then he remembered the mental picture
of the tramps on the park benches and stubbornly refused to yield.
Leaning more heavily upon his cane, he limped on.
The path emerged from beneath the apple trees, ascended a little rise
and disappeared around the shoulder of a high thick clump of lilacs.
Kendrick, tiring more and more rapidly, plodded on. His suffering limbs
were, so to speak, shrieking for mercy but he would not give it to them.
He set himself a "stint"; he would see what was beyond the clump of
lilacs, then he would rest, and then he would hobble back to the Minot
yard. Incidentally he realized that he had been a fool ever to leave it.
His teeth grimly set and each step a labor, he plodded up the little
rise and turned the corner of the lilac bushes. There he stopped, not
entirely because his "stint" was done, but because what he saw surprised
him.
Beyond the lilacs was a small garden, or rather a series of small
gardens. The divisions between them appeared to be exactly the same size
and the plots themselves precisely the same size and shape. There
were--although the captain did not learn this until later--seven of
these plots, each exactly six by nine feet. But there resemblance
ceased, for each was planted and arranged with a marked individuality.
For example, the one nearest the lilac bushes was laid out in a sort of
checkerboard pattern of squares, one square containing a certain sort of
old-fashioned flower and its neighbors other varieties. The plot
adjoining the checkerboard was arranged in diamonds and spirals; the
planting here was floral also, whereas the next was evidently
utilitarian, being given up entirely to corn, potatoes, onions, beets
and other vegetables. And the next seemed to be covered with nothing
except a triumphant growth of weeds.
At the rear of these odd garden plots was a little octagonal building,
evidently a summer-house. Over its door, a door fronting steps leading
down to the gardens, was a sign bearing the name "The Eyrie." And behind
the summer-house was a stretch of rather shabby lawn, a half dozen
trees, and the rear of a large house. Captain Sears recognized the house
as the Seymour residence, now the "Fair Harbor." He had strayed off the
course and was trespassing upon his neighbors' premises. This fact was
immediately brought to his attention. From somewhere at the rear of the
gardens a shrill feminine voice exclaimed:
"Mercy on us! Who's that?"
And another feminine voice chimed in:
"Eh! I declare it's a man, ain't it?"
And the first voice observed sharply:
"Of course it is. You didn't think I thought it was a cow, did you?"
"But what's he doin' here? Is he a tramp?
"I don't know, but I'm going to find out. Hi! Here! You--man--where are
you going?"
Captain Sears had, by this time, located the voices as coming from the
"Eyrie," the summer-house with the poetical name. He had so far,
however, been able to see nothing of the speakers. But now the tangle of
woodbine and morning-glory which draped the front of the summer-house
was drawn aside and revealed a rustic window--or unglazed window
opening--with two heads framed in it like a double portrait. Both of
these heads were feminine, but one was thin-faced and sharp-featured,
and gray-haired, while the other was like a full moon--a full moon with
several chins--and its hair was a startlingly vivid black parted in the
middle and with a series of very regular ripples on each side.
It was the thin face which was hailing him. The other was merely
staring, open-eyed and open-mouthed.
"Here, you--man!" repeated the shrill voice--belonging to the thin face.
"Where are you going?"
The captain smiled. "Why, nowhere in particular, ma'am," he replied. "I
was just figurin' that I'd gone about as far as I could this voyage."
His smile became a chuckle, but there were no symptoms of amusement
visible upon the faces framed in the window of the Eyrie. The thin lips
merely pressed tighter and the plump ones opened wider, that was all.
"Why don't you answer my question?" demanded the thin woman. "What are
you doing on these premises?"
"Why, nothin' in particular, ma'am. I was just tryin' to take a little
walk and not makin' a very good job at it."
There was an interruption here. The full moon broke in to ask a question
of its own.
"Who is he? What's he talkin' about?" it demanded.
"I don't know who he is--yet."
"Well, what's he talkin' about? Make him speak louder."
"I will, if you give me a chance. He says he is taking a walk. What are
you taking a walk in here for? Don't you know it isn't allowed?"
"Why, no, ma'am, I didn't. In fact I didn't realize I was in here until
I--well--until I got here."
"What is he sayin'?" demanded the moon-face again, and somewhat testily.
"I can't hear a word."
Now the captain's tone had been at least ordinarily loud, so it was
evident that the plump woman's hearing was defective. Her curiosity,
however, was not in the least impaired.
"What's that man talkin' about now?" she persisted. Her companion became
impatient.
"Oh, I don't know," she snapped. "Do give me a chance, won't you? I
think he's been drinking. He says he doesn't know where he is or how he
got here."
Kendrick thought it high time to protest. Also to raise his voice when
doing so.
"That wasn't exactly it," he shouted. "I was takin' a little walk,
that's all. I have to navigate pretty slow for my legs aren't just
right."
"What did he say wa'n't right?" demanded the plump female.
"His legs."
"Eh! Legs! What's he talkin' about his legs for?"
"Oh, I don't know! Do be still a minute. It's his head that isn't right,
I guess he means.... Don't you know you're trespassing? What do you
mean by coming in here?"
"Well, ma'am, I didn't mean anything in particular. I just happened in
by accident. I'm sorry."
"Humph! You didn't come in here to run off with anything that didn't
belong to you, I hope."
The captain looked at her for a moment. Then his lip twitched.
"No, ma'am," he said, solemnly, "I didn't come with that idea--but--"
"But? What do you mean by 'but'?"
"But I didn't realize what there was in here to run off with. If I
had.... There, I guess I'd better go. Good day, ladies. Sorry I troubled
you."
He lifted his cap, turned, and limped out of sight around the clump of
lilacs. From behind him came a series of indignant gasps and
exclamations.
"Why--why--Well, I never in all my born days! The saucy, impudent--"
And the voice of the moon-faced one raised in bewildered entreaty:
"What was it? What did he say? Elviry Snowden, why don't you tell me
what 'twas he _said_?"
Captain Kendrick hobbled back to the Minot yard. He hobbled through the
orchard gate, leaving it ajar, and reaching the bench beneath the locust
tree, collapsed upon it. For some time he was conscious of very little
except the ache in his legs and the fact that breathing was a difficult
and jerky operation. Then, as the fatigue and pain ceased to be as
insistent, the memory of his interview with the pair in the Eyrie
returned to him and he began to chuckle. After a time he fancied that he
heard a sympathetic chuckle behind him. It seemed to come from the
vegetable garden, Judah's garden, which, so Mr. Cahoon told his former
skipper, he had set out himself and was "sproutin' and comin' up
better'n ary other garden in the town of Bayport, if I do say it as
shouldn't."
Kendrick could not imagine who could be chuckling in that garden. Also
he could not imagine where the chuckler could be hiding, unless it was
behind the rows of raspberry and currant bushes. Slowly and painfully he
rose to his feet and peered over the bushes. Then the mystery was
explained. The "chuckles" were clucks. A flock of at least a dozen
healthy and energetic hens were enthusiastically busy in the Cahoon
beds. Their feet were moving like miniature steam shovels and showers of
earth and infant vegetables were moving likewise. Judah had boasted that
the fruits of his planting were "comin' up." If he had seen them at that
moment he would have realized how fast they were coming up.
The sight aroused Captain Kendrick's ire. He was, in a way of speaking,
guardian of that vegetable patch. Judah had not formally appointed him
to that position, but he had gone away and, by the fact of so doing, had
left it in his charge. He felt responsible for its safety.
"Shoo!" shouted the captain and, leaning upon his cane, limped toward
the garden.
"Shoo!" he roared again. The hens paid about as much attention to the
roar as a gang of ditch diggers might pay to the buzz of a mosquito.
Obviously something more drastic than shooing was necessary. The captain
stooped and picked up a stone. He threw the stone and hit a hen. She
rose in the air with a frightened squawk, ran around in a circle, and
then, coming to anchor in a patch of tiny beets, resumed excavating
operations.
Kendrick picked up another stone, a bigger one, and threw that. He
missed the mark this time, but the shot was not entirely without
results; it hit one of Mr. Cahoon's cucumber frames and smashed a pane
to atoms. The crash of glass had the effect of causing some of the fowl
to stop digging and appear nervous. But these were in the minority.
The captain was, by this time, annoyed. He was on the verge of losing
his temper. Beyond the little garden and between the raspberry and
currant bushes he caught a glimpse of the path and the gate through
which he had just come on his way back from the grounds of the Fair
Harbor. That gate he saw, with a twinge of conscience, was wide open.
Obviously he must have neglected to latch it on passing through, it had
swung open, and the hens had taken advantage of the sally port to make
their foray upon Judah's pet vegetables. They were Fair Harbor hens.
Somehow this fact did not tend to deepen Sears Kendrick's affection for
them.
"Shoo! Clear out, you pesky nuisances!" he shouted, and waving his cane,
charged laboriously down upon the fowl. They retreated before him, but
their retreat was strategic. They moved from beets to cabbages, from
cabbages to young corn, from corn to onions. And they scratched and
pecked as they withdrew. Nevertheless, they were withdrawing and in the
direction of the open gate; in the midst of his panting and pain the
captain found a slight comfort in the fact that he was driving the
creatures toward the gate.
At last they were almost there--that is, the main body. Kendrick noted,
with sudden uneasiness, that there were stragglers. A gaily decorated
old rooster, a fowl with a dissipated and immoral swagger and a knowing,
devil-may-care tilt of the head, was sidling off to the left. Two or
three young pullets were following the lead of this ancient pirate,
evidently fascinated by his recklessness. The captain turned to head off
the wanderers. They squawked and ran hither and thither. He succeeded in
turning them back, but, at the moment of his success, heard triumphant
cluckings at his rear. The rest of the flock had, while his attention
was diverted by the rooster and his followers, galloped joyfully back to
the garden again. Now, as Captain Sears gazed, the rooster and his
satellites flew to join them. All hands--or, more literally, all
feet--resumed excavating with the abandon of conscientious workers
striving to make up lost time.
And now Sears Kendrick did lose his temper. Probably at another time he
might have laughed, but now he was tired, in pain, and in no mood to see
the humorous side of the situation. He expressed his opinion of the hens
and the rooster, using quarter deck idioms and withholding little. If
the objects of his wrath were disturbed they did not show it. If they
were shocked they hid their confusion in the newly turned earth of Judah
Cahoon's squash bed.
Whether they were shocked or not Sears did not stop to consider. He
intended to shock them to the fullest extent of the word's meaning. At
his feet was a stick, almost a log, part of the limb of a pear tree. He
picked up this missile and hurled it at the marauders. It missed them
but it struck in the squash bed and tore at least six of the delicate
young squashlings from their moorings. Kendrick plunged after it--the
hens separating as he advanced and rejoining at his rear--picked up the
log and, turning, again hurled it.
"There!" roared the captain, "take that, damn you!"
One of the hens did "take it." So did some one else. The missile struck
just beneath the fowl as she fled, lifted her and a peck or two of soil
as well, and hurled the whole mass almost into the face of a person who,
unseen until then, had advanced along the path from the gate and had
arrived at that spot at that psychological instant. This person uttered
a little scream, the hen fled with insane yells, the log and its
accompanying shower fell back to earth, and Sears Kendrick and the young
woman--for the newcomer was a young woman--stood and looked at each
other.
She was bareheaded and her hair was dark and abundant, and she was
wearing a gingham dress and a white apron. So much he noticed at this,
their first meeting. Afterward he became aware that she was slender and
that her age might perhaps be twenty-four or twenty-five. At that
moment, of course, he did not notice anything except that her apron and
dress--yes, even her hair and face--were plentifully besprinkled with
earth and that she was holding a hand to her eyes as if they, too, might
have received a share of the results of the terrestrial disturbance.
"Oh!" he stammered. "I'm awfully sorry! I--I hope I didn't hurt you."
If she heard him she did not answer, but, removing her hand, opened and
shut her eyes rapidly. The captain's alarm grew as he watched this
proceeding.
"I--I _do_ hope I didn't hurt you," he repeated. "It--it didn't put your
eyes out, did it?"
She smiled, although rather uncertainly. "No," she said.
"You're sure?"
"Yes." The smile became broader. "It's not quite as bad as that, I
guess. I seem to be able to see all right."
He drew a relieved breath. "Well, I'm thankful for so much, then," he
announced. "But it's all over your dress--and--and in your hair--and....
Oh, I _am_ sorry!"
She laughed at this outburst. "It is all right," she declared. "Of
course it was an accident, and I'm not hurt a bit, really."
"I'm glad of that. Yes, it was an accident--your part of it, I mean. I
didn't see you at all. I meant the part the hen got, though."
Her laugh was over, but there was still a twinkle in her eye. Kendrick
was, by this time, aware that her eyes were brown.
"Yes," she observed, demurely, "I--gathered that you did."
"Yes, I--" It suddenly occurred to him that his language had been as
emphatic as his actions. "Good lord!" he exclaimed. "I forgot. I beg
your pardon for that, too. When I lose my temper I am liable to--to make
salt water remarks, I'm afraid. And those hens.... Eh? There they are
again, hard at it! Will you excuse me while I kill three or four of 'em?
You see, I'm in charge of that garden and.... _Get out!_"
This last was, of course, another roar at the fowl, who, under the
leadership of the rake-helly rooster, were scratching harder than ever
in the beds. The captain reached for another missile, but his visitor
stepped forward.
"Please don't," she begged. "Please don't kill them."
"Eh? Why not? They ought to be killed."
"I know it, but I don't want them killed--yet, at any rate. You see,
they are my hens."
"Yours?" The captain straightened up and looked at her. "You don't mean
it?" he exclaimed.
"Yes, I do. They are mine, or my mother's, which is the same thing. I am
dreadfully sorry they got in here. I'll have them out in just a minute.
Oh, yes, I will, really."
Kendrick regarded her doubtfully.
"Well," he said, slowly, "I know it isn't polite to contradict a lady
but if you'll tell me _how_ you are goin' to get 'em out without killin'
'em, I'll be ever so much obliged. You can't drive 'em, I know that."
"I shan't try. Just wait, I'll be right back."
She hurried away, down the path and through the open gate. Captain Sears
Kendrick looked after her. Behind and about him the Fair Harbor hens
clucked and scratched blissfully.
In very little more than the promised minute the young woman returned.
She carried a round wooden receptacle--what Cape Codders used to call a
"two quart measure"--and, as she approached, she shook it. Something
within rattled. The hens, some of them, heard the rattle and ceased
their digging.
"Come, chick, chick! Come, biddy, biddy, biddy!" called the young woman,
rattling the measure. More of the fowl gave up their labors, and looked
and listened. Some even began to follow her. She dipped a hand into the
measure, withdrew it filled with corn, and scattered a few grains in the
path.
"Come, biddy, biddy, biddy!" she said again.
And the biddies came. Forgetting the possibilities of Judah Cahoon's
garden, they rushed headlong upon the golden certainties of those yellow
kernels. The young woman retreated along the path, scattering corn as
she went, and after her scrambled and pecked and squawked the fowl. Even
the sophisticated rooster yielded to temptation and was among the
leaders in the rush. The corn bearer and the flock passed through the
open gate, along the path beneath the Fair Harbor apple trees, out of
sight around the bend. Sears Kendrick was left alone upon the battle
ground, amid the dead and wounded young vegetables.
But he was not left alone long. A few minutes later his visitor
returned. She had evidently hurried, for there was a red spot on each of
her cheeks and she was breathing quickly. She passed through the gate
into the grounds of the General Minot place and closed that gate behind
her.
"There!" she said. "Now they are locked up in the hen yard. How in the
world they ever got out of there I don't see. I suppose some one left
the gate open. I--What were you going to say?"
The captain had been about to confess that it was he who left the gate
open, but he changed his mind. Apparently she had been on the point of
saying something more. The confession could wait.
"What was it?" asked the young woman.
"Oh, nothin', nothin'."
"Well, I suppose it doesn't matter much how they got out, as long as
they did. But I am _very_ sorry they got into Mr. Cahoon's garden. I
hope they haven't completely ruined it."
They both turned to survey the battlefield. It was--like all
battlefields after the strife is ended--a sad spectacle.
"Oh, dear!" exclaimed the visitor. "I am afraid they have. What _will_
Mr. Cahoon say?"
The captain smiled slightly.
"I hope you don't expect me to answer that," he observed.
"Why?... Oh, I see! Well, I don't know that I should blame him much.
Have--have they left anything?"
"Oh, yes! Yes, indeed. There are a good many--er--sprouts left. And they
dug up a lot of weeds besides. Judah ought to be thankful for the weeds,
anyhow."
"I am afraid he won't be, under the circumstances."
"Maybe not, but there is one thing that, under the same circumstances,
he _ought_ to be thankful for. That is, that you came when you did. You
may not know it, but I had been tryin' to get those hens out of that
garden for--for a year, I guess. It seems longer, but I presume likely
it wasn't more than a year."
She laughed again. "No," she said, "I guess it wasn't more than that."
"Probably not. If it had been any longer, judgin' by the way they worked,
they'd have dug out the underpinnin' and had the house down by this time.
How did you happen to come? Did you hear the--er--broadsides?"
"Why, no, I--But that reminds me. Have you seen a tramp around here?"
"A tramp? What sort of a tramp?"
"I don't know. Elvira--I mean Miss Snowden--said he was a tall, dark man
and Aurora thought he was rather thick-set and sandy. But they both
agree that he was a dreadful, rough-looking creature who carried a big
club and had a queer slouchy walk. And he came in this direction, so
they thought."
"He did, eh? Humph! Odd I didn't see him. I've been here all the time.
Where was he when they saw him first?"
"Over on our property. In the Fair Harbor grounds, I mean. He came out
of the bushes, so Elvira and Aurora say, and spoke to them. Insulted
them, Elvira says."
"Sho! Well, well! I wonder where he went."
"I can't think. I supposed of course you must have seen him. It was only
a little while ago, not more than an hour. Have you been here all that
time?"
"Yes, I've been here for the last two hours. What part of your grounds
was it? Would you like to have me go over there and look around?"
"No, thank you. You are very kind, but I am sure it won't be necessary.
He has gone by now, of course."
"I should be glad to try." Then, noticing her glance at his limp, he
added: "Oh, I can navigate after a fashion, well enough for a short
cruise like that. But it is funny that, if there was a tramp there such
a little while ago, I didn't run afoul of him. Why, I was over there
myself."
"You were?"
"Yes, you see, I----"
He stopped short. He had been about to tell of his short walk and how he
had inadvertently trespassed within the Fair Harbor boundaries. But
before he could speak the words a sudden and amazing thought flashed
upon him.
"Eh?" he cried. "Why--why, I wonder----"
His visitor was leaning forward. Judging by her expression, she, too,
was experiencing a similar sensation of startled surmise.
"Why----" repeated the captain.
"Oh!" exclaimed the young woman.
"You don't suppose----"
"It couldn't possibly be that----"
"Wait a minute, please. Just a minute." Sears held up his hand. "Where
did those folks of yours see this tramp? Were they in a--in a kind of
roundhouse--summer-house, you might call it?"
"Why, yes. They were in the Eyrie."
"That's it, the Eyrie. And is one of the--er--ladies rather tall and
narrow in the beam, gray-haired, and speaks quick and--school-marmy?"
"Yes. That is Miss Elvira Snowden."
"Of course--Elvira. That's what the other one called her. And she--the
other one--is short and broad and--and hard of hearin'?"
"Yes. Her name is Aurora Chase. Is it possible that you----"
"Just a second more. Has this short one got a--a queer sort of hair rig?
Black as tar and with kind of--of wrinkles in it?"
She smiled at this description. "Yes," she said. "Do you mean that _you_
are----"
"The tramp? I guess likely I am. I was over on your premises just a
little while ago and met those two ladies."
"But you can't be. They said he--the tramp--was a dreadful, rough man,
with a club and--and----"
"Here's the club." Captain Kendrick exhibited his cane. "And these lame
legs of mine would account for that slouchy walk they told you about. I
guess there isn't much doubt that I am the tramp. But I'm sorry if they
thought I insulted 'em. I surely didn't mean to."
He described the meeting by the Eyrie and repeated the dialogue as he
remembered it.
"So you see," he said, in conclusion, "that's all there is to it. I
suppose that hint of mine about bein' tempted to run off with one of 'em
is the nearest to an insult of any of it. Perhaps I shouldn't have said
it, but--but it popped into my head and I couldn't hold it back. I
didn't really mean it," he added solemnly. "I wouldn't have run off with
one of 'em for the world."
This, and the accompanying look, was too much. His visitor had been
listening and trying to appear grave, although her eyes were twinkling.
But now she burst out laughing.
"Honest I wouldn't," reiterated Captain Sears. "And I'm sorry for that
insult."
"Absurd! You needn't be. If there was any insult it was the other way
about. The idea of Elvira's suggesting that you came over there to
steal. Well, we've settled the tramp, at any rate, and I apologize for
the way you were treated, Mr.----"
"Kendrick. My name is Kendrick."
"Yes, Mr. Kendrick. And I am very sorry about the garden, too. Please
tell Mr. Cahoon so, and tell him I think I can promise that the gate
won't be left open again."
"I'll tell him when he comes back. He'll be here pretty soon, I guess.
He and I are old shipmates. He shipped cook aboard of me for a good many
voyages."
She was moving toward the path and the gate, but now she paused and
turned to look at him. There was a new expression on her face, an
expression of marked interest.
"Oh!" she exclaimed. "Are you--are you Cap'n Sears Kendrick? The one who
was--hurt?"
"Wrecked in the train smash up? Yes, I'm the one. Look like a total
wreck, don't I?"
He laughed as he said it, but there was a taint of bitterness in the
laugh. She did not laugh. Instead she took a step toward him and
involuntarily put out her hand.
"Oh, I'm _so_ sorry!" she said.
"Eh? Oh, you needn't be. I'm gettin' along tip-top. Able to walk and
ride and--er--chase hens. That's doin' pretty well for one day."
"I know. But they were my--our--hens and they must have tired you so.
Please forgive us. I won't," with a smile, "ask you to forgive them."
"Oh, that's all right, that's all right, Miss--er----"
"Berry. I am Elizabeth Berry. My mother is in charge here at the
Harbor."
"Harbor? Oh, yes, over yonder. Berry? Berry? The only Berry I remember
around here was Cap'n Isaac Berry. Cap'n Ike, we young fellows used to
call him. I went to sea with him once, my first voyage second mate."
"Did you? He was my father. But there, I _must_ go. Good-by, Cap'n
Kendrick. I hope you will get well very fast now."
"Thanks. Good-bye. Oh, by the way, Miss Berry, what made you think I
might be Sears Kendrick? There are half a dozen Kendricks around
Bayport."
"Yes, but--excuse me--there is only one Cap'n Sears Kendrick. You are
one of Bayport's celebrities, Cap'n."
"Humph! Notorieties, you mean. So all hands have been talkin' about me,
eh? Humph! Well, I guessed as much."
"Why, of course. You are one of our shining lights--sea lights, I mean.
You must expect to be talked about."
"I do--in Bayport, and I'll be talked about more in a day or two, I
guess."
"Why?"
"Eh? Oh, nothin', nothin'. I was thinkin' out loud, didn't realize I
spoke. Good-by."
"Good-by."
The gate closed behind her. Kendrick sat down once more upon the bench
beneath the locust tree.
When Judah returned with the bucket of clams he found his guest and
prospective boarder just where he had left him.
"Well, by Henry, Cap'n Sears!" he exclaimed. "Still at the same old
moorin's, eh? Been anchored right there ever since I sot sail?"
"Not exactly, Judah. Pretty nearly, though."
"Sho! Kind of dull music for you, I'm afraid. Whoa, you lop-sided
hay-barge! Stand still till I give you orders to move, will ye! That's
what I warned you, Cap'n Sears; not much goin' on around here. You'll be
pretty lonesome, I guess likely."
"Oh, I guess I can stand it, Judah. I haven't been lonesome so far."
"Ain't, eh? That's good. Well, I got my clams; now I'll steer this horse
into port and come back and get to work on that chowder. Oh, say, Cap'n
Sears; I see Sary and told her you was cal'latin' to stay here for
dinner."
"Did you? Much obliged. What did she say?"
"Say? She said a whole lot. Wanted to know how in time you got up here.
'You didn't let him _walk_ all that great long ways, Judah Cahoon?' she
says. 'I ain't altogether a fool, be I?' says I."
Mr. Cahoon paused to search his pockets for a match.
"What answer did she make to that?" asked the captain. Judah grinned.
"Wa--ll," he drawled, "she said, 'Perhaps not--altogether.' 'Twan't
much, but it was enough of the kind, as the feller said about the
tobacco in the coffee pot. Oh, say, that reminds me, Cap'n Sears; there
was somebody else talkin' about you. I--whoa, you camel, you! Creepin',
crawlin', jumpin'---- Well, go ahead, then! I'll tell you the rest in
half a shake, Cap'n. Git dap!"
Horse, cart and driver jogged and jolted into the barn. After a brief
interval Mr. Cahoon reappeared, carrying the clam bucket. They entered
the kitchen together. Then the captain said:
"Judah, you said some one beside Sarah was talkin' about me. Who was
it?"
"Hey? Oh, 'twas Emeline Tidditt, her that's keepin' house for Judge
Knowles. She says the old judge is gettin' pretty feeble. Don't cal'late
he'll last out much longer, Emeline don't. Says it's nothin' but just
grit and hang-on that keeps him alive. He's a spunky old critter, Judge
Knowles is, 'cordin' to folks's tell. Course I don't know him same as
some, but I cal'late he's a good deal on the general build and lines of
a man name of George Dingo that I run afoul of one time to a place
called Semurny--over acrost. You know Semurny, don't ye, Cap'n? One of
them Med'terranean port 'tis."
"Smyrna, do you mean?"
"Um-hm. That's it, Semurny. I was there aboard the _William Holcomb_,
out of Philadelphy. We was loadin' with figs and truck like that. You
remember the old _Holcomb_, don't you, Cap'n Sears? Sartin sure you do.
Horncastle and Grant of Philadelphy they owned her. Old Horncastle was a
queer man as ever I see. Had a cork leg. Got the real one shot off in
the Mexican war or run over by a horse car, some said one and some said
t'other. Anyhow he had a cork one spliced on in place of it, and--ho,
ho! 'twas as funny a sight as ever I see--one time he fell off the wharf
there in Philadelphy. Yes, sir, fell right into the dock, he did. And
when they scrabbled down the ladder to haul him in there wasn't nothin'
in sight but that cork leg, stickin' up out of water. The rest of him
had gone under, but that cork leg hadn't--no, sire-ee! Haw, haw!
Well ... er ... er.... What did I start to talk about, Cap'n Sears?"
"I don't know, Judah. It was a good while ago. You began by sayin' that
you met Judge Knowles's housekeeper."
"Hey? Why, sure and sartin!" Mr. Cahoon slapped his leg. "Sartin sure,
Cap'n Sears, that was it. And I said she and me got to talkin' about
you. Well, well, well! I started right there and I fetched up way over
in Semurny, along of George Dingo. Well, by Henry! Ain't that queer,
now?"
He rubbed his legs and shook his head, apparently overcome by the
queerness of it. Kendrick, judging that another Mediterranean cruise was
imminent, made a remark calculated to keep him at home.
"What did this--what's-her-name--this Tidditt woman say about me?" he
asked.
"Hey? Oh, she said that Judge Knowles wanted to see you. Said that he
asked about you 'most every day, wanted to know how you was gittin'
along, because just as soon as you was well enough to cruise on your own
hook he wanted you to come in and see him."
"Judge Knowles wanted me to come in and see him? Why, that's funny! I
don't know the judge well. Haven't seen him for years, and then only two
or three times. What on earth can Judge Knowles have to say to me?....
Humph! I can't think."
He tried to think, nevertheless. Judah busied himself with the sloppy
process of clam opening. A little later he observed:
"So you wan't lonesome all alone here by yourself while I was gone,
Cap'n? That's good. Glad to hear it."
"Thanks, Judah. I wasn't alone, though."
"You wan't? Sho! Do tell! Have company, did ye? Somebody run in?"
"Yes. And they wouldn't run out again, not for a good while. They came
on business."
"Business? What kind of business?"
"Well, I suppose you might call it gardening. They were interested in
raisin' vegetables, I know that."
Judah laid down the clam knife and regarded his former skipper. "Raisin'
vegetables?" he repeated slowly. "What--? Look here Cap'n Sears, who was
they? Where'd they come from?"
"I believe they came from next door?"
"Next door? From the Harbor?" He rose to his feet, suspicion dawning
upon his face above the whiskers.
"Yes, Judah."
"Cap'n Sears, answer me right straight out. Have those dummed
everlastin' Fair Harbor hens been in my garden again?"
"Yes, Judah."
"Have they--have they?----" Words failed him. He strode up the path to
the garden. Then, after a moment's comprehensive gaze upon the scene of
ruin, the words returned.