THE ARRIVAL
Eliza Brewster reached Portland in time for breakfast; and the hours
she must spend before the one afternoon boat started for the island
were embarrassing ones on account of Pluto. She had a cup of coffee and
an egg in the station, and then lifted her heavy basket on the car and
rode across the city to the wharf.
Setting the cat at liberty she followed him about, and held him on her
lap, alternately, until passengers were allowed to board the steamer.
The captain and purser were new to her. She glanced about the cabin as
she sat, her arms clasped about the basket, out of whose window Pluto's
eyes were again glowering. Eliza dreaded recognizing some one she
knew; but no recognition occurred, and she had ample time in the two
hours' ride to meditate on past and future. Many years had fled since
she last saw Casco Bay. She and Mrs. Ballard had spent a couple of
weeks at Brewster's Island one summer, but it had been their farewell
to outings further from home than Coney Island. She had not enjoyed
the experience because of wrathful resentment at the neglect of Mrs.
Fabian, then a bride; but Mrs. Ballard had revelled in the natural
beauty which feasted her soul. Eliza evoked the memory now and smiled
grimly with satisfaction at the consideration that the precious barrel
was safely starting on its journey after her.
She met her cat's green gaze through his wire window. "If I set more
value on my life than I do, Pluto," she muttered, "I'd risk it on Mrs.
Fabian visitin' a certain stable this mornin'. Then Mr. Philip'll know,
and he'll forgive me."
Her heart warmed as she thought of the jolly kindness of her late host;
of his assiduity and care for her comfort; of the milk he had fed to
Pluto, and the hot beefsteak to herself.
"That supper last night cost him a lot o' money. I know it did!" she
thought remorsefully, "but," with a revulsion of affectionate concern,
"I hope he'll eat good and not slight himself when he's alone. There's
such a lot of him to nourish."
It was the sort of dismal weather which inspired the description, "No
sun, no moon, no stars, November!" and Eliza dreaded the return to
her old changed home. Her heart beat a little faster as the steamer
ploughed along, each minute bringing her nearer to that especial hill
rising from the waters of Casco Bay where she first opened her eyes to
life. Memories of those dead and gone assailed her until her eyes stung.
"I'd like to know," she thought sternly, "if there's as ungrateful a
critter in the universe. S'posin' I was goin' to the island to nobody?
S'posin' I'd been seen off in New York by nobody? That's what I'd
expected to happen two weeks ago."
Eliza gazed rebukingly at the steam radiator in the middle of the cabin
until her tears ceased.
She had not slept much in her unaccustomed bed on the sleeping-car,
impeded by the heavy basket and her own hand-bag, and the fear of how
Pluto might behave at the stops; so the boat ride seemed long, and it
was with relief that she at last heard the summons:--
"Brewster's Island. Land from the lower deck."
"Praise be!" she thought. "I haven't got to lug my things upstairs."
There were but few passengers to get off at this island, and but few
persons standing in the raw air on the wharf.
There was a lump in Eliza's throat as she carried her burdens up
the gangplank, but through the mist in her eyes she saw a face she
recognized. It was lean, and smooth-shaven, and had scarcely grown more
lined in twenty years. The man met her gaze with alert scrutiny and
then looked beyond her for some one. The gangplank was drawn in.
"James," said Eliza, when she had swallowed.
The alert, searching eyes returned to her, and looked, at first,
without recognition.
"Don't tell me you don't know me, James," added the traveller, trying
to laugh.
"Why, Eliza Brewster, I was runnin' over ye," said the captain in hasty
amazement. "You--you've grown some spare, Eliza. Just at first I didn't
see who't wuz." The kindly speaker endeavored to conceal his dismay.
"Amazin' how a little flesh off or on'll change a body," he added.
"Here, let me take your bundles. Carriage right up here waitin' for us.
Mrs. Wright sent me down to meet ye. Kinder homely day, ain't it?"
"That's a cat, James," said Eliza as he seized the basket. "You see,
I'm a real old maid, travellin' with a cat."
"Well, it's all right, I s'pose," returned the captain gallantly, as
they walked up the wharf toward the waiting carry-all; "but 't would
'a' been more to the point if ye'd brought somethin' that was kind of
a rarity on the island. We could 'a' supplied ye with a cat fer every
day in the week, black, white, malty, whatever ye wanted. Well! how ye
been, Eliza?"
"I guess you can see," returned Eliza laconically.
"Well, well," said Cap'n James. He helped her into the carriage and
followed. "Git ap, Tom. Mrs. Wright'll fat ye up in no time. She says
you're goin' to stay with her."
"Yes, for a while I am." Eliza's eyes were travelling over the familiar
rolling landscape. "How does she make out here?"
"Don't seem to complain none. Mr. Wright has settled down like a round
peg in a round hole. Brewster's Island's good enough for him."
"My, my! How it's changed!" murmured Eliza as one unexpected roof after
another rose into view.
"I s'pose that's so," agreed Captain James. "You can't stay away even
from one o' these islands a dozen years or so without seein' the foot
o' man encroachin'. It's good fer trade, Eliza, good fer trade. Lots
o' the roofs ye see cover empty cottages now, but come summer time the
place swarms all right. The Fabians got enough room to swing a cat in.
Nobody can come very near them; but the rest o' the island's pretty
well dotted here and there."
"It don't look like the place I was brought up," said Eliza.
They had reached the height of the road now, and her wistful eyes fell
on a cove which pierced the island's side. Its softly rising banks were
studded with evergreen trees, standing black above the black water. A
threatening sky hung sullenly over all.
"'Tain't the place you was brought up," returned Captain James
cheerfully. "It's a darned sight more prosperous place. While the
summer folks are restin' up, we're makin' hay and cuttin' ice, as ye
might say; and come fall we get shet of 'em and go back to a quiet
life. No one can't say this ain't a quiet life, can they, Eliza?"
Captain James reined in the horse before taking the Foster Hill, and
compassion showed in his kindly eyes as he turned and watched the grey
face of his passenger.
"Eliza Brewster used to be a pretty girl," was his pitiful thought.
She kept silence, her pale eyes resting on the dark waters of the cove,
austerely quiet in the windless twilight.
"Feels like snow," said Captain James. "S'pose you could snowball now,
Eliza? I know when we were youngsters you could hold yer own with any
boy on the island."
"That's my one talent, James," responded Eliza drily. "I can hold my
own yet."
The captain smiled with relief at this sign that some of the old spirit
lingered behind that haggard face.
"By cracky," he said, "I'll bring up a bob-sled after the first snow,
and we'll toboggan downhill again, Eliza. Never say die. Git ap, Tom."
The carriage started up toward a long low white house on the summit of
the ridge. Four bare Balm of Gilead trees stood sentinel before it in a
waste of withered grass. Beyond rose the gnarled boughs of a struggling
apple orchard, beside which a tiny house with blank uncurtained windows
stood beneath the forlorn guard of two more gaunt bare trees standing
ready for the conflict with winter winds, and bearing the scars of
many a battle past. Back of the little building was a shallow field
inclining downward to the open ocean which held the island now in its
black, mighty embrace, creeping with a subdued roar upon the cold rocky
sands.
"Say, Eliza," said Captain James, as the tiny deserted cottage came
into view, "was we afraid o' Granny Foster, was we? Say!"
The speaker turned and interrogated his passenger with a twinkle.
A wan smile rewarded him.
"Afterward Jenny used it for chickens, Mrs. Wright says," she returned.
"Yes; but there never was an old hen there that come up to Granny
Foster, you bet."
"How long ago does that seem to you, James?" asked Eliza, after a pause.
"As if 'twas yesterday," he responded valiantly.
His memory was picturing the little girl in plaid gingham and sunbonnet
who could outrun any boy on the island. That sunbonnet was never in
place, but always hung down Eliza's back, the strings tied at her
throat. Captain James remembered to have thought there was something
very pleasing about that throat.
"It seems a hundred years ago to me," said Eliza quietly.
"Whew! You must 'a' lived fast in New York," returned Captain James.
"That's an awful record."
"Do you suppose I'll ever get used to the stillness again, James? I
believe if a pin was to drop in this grass you could hear it."
"Guess Nature'll make rumpus enough for ye before long," returned the
captain. "You've never tried it up on this hill, Eliza. I guess when
the pebbles and rocks begin draggin' around below there at high tide,
you won't miss the elevated trains none."
The horse was climbing slowly and patiently as they talked, and a woman
within the old farmhouse was watching the ascent from a window. Now the
watcher disappeared, and presently the house door opened and a figure
came out on the stone step.
"There's Mrs. Wright now. Git ap, Tom."
A gleam came into Eliza's pale eyes. It was an attractive figure that
stood there in dark blue gown and white apron. The silver aureole of
hair framed a smiling face. Eliza grasped the handles of Pluto's basket.
"To think that after all the years I should have a homecoming on this
island!" was her grateful thought.
"Here we are," called Captain James cheerfully as they approached;
"little box, big box, bandbox, and bundle, and the cat."
Mrs. Wright approached as the carry-all stopped.
"Did you really bring a cat, Eliza?" she asked, laughing.
"Why,--why," stammered Eliza, "it never once came to me till this
minute that perhaps you don't like cats!"
"I like everything alive," was the response; and the speaker looked it,
as she received the cat-basket, and Eliza stepped out on the grass.
"But does Mr. Wright?" inquired Eliza in perturbation. Was it Pluto's
destiny to become a wild-cat after travelling by land and sea!
That gentleman now appeared, stout and with tousled hair, which
suggested that he had just risen from slumber.
"This is Eliza Brewster, Morris, and she has brought us a pet," said
Mrs. Wright pleasantly.
The host shook hands with the newcomer with sufficient grace and eyed
the basket curiously. Captain James looked benignly on the group.
"Eliza and me have been lookin' backward as we came along," he said.
"We used to race and tear around this hill--she says 'twas a hundred
years ago, but don't you believe it. I'm goin' to bring a bob-sled,
first snow, and sail her down the hill and make her think 'twa'n't
more'n yesterday that we did it last."
The smile on Eliza's haggard face but made her fatigue more evident.
"Where's the trunk, Cap'n James?" asked Mrs. Wright.
"I'm goin' to fetch it right up. Git ap, Tom."
"Hurry in, Mrs. Wright," said Eliza, her care-taking instinct asserting
itself. "You'll take cold."
"Not a bit of it," was the reply as the hostess led the way in; "I
never take anything that doesn't belong to me."
There was a cheerful fire blazing in the living-room and Eliza was
at once seated before it and made to feel for a second time like an
honored guest.
"I'll let Pluto out, first thing, if you don't mind," she said, and
unfastened the basket.
Mr. Wright, his eyes indolently curious under the rumpled grey hair,
watched the proceeding.
"A Manx cat," he remarked as the prisoner leaped out. Pluto's green
eyes blazed in the moment that he stood and looked about him.
"Here, poor thing," said Eliza, "your troubles are over. There's a fire
such as you've never seen in all your days."
But the outraged cat scorned the fire, scorned even Eliza's caressing
hand. Leaping from her touch he descried the lounge; and thanking the
gods of his Egyptian ancestors that at last he had reached a place
where furniture accorded hiding-places, he dashed into the darkest
corner its valance concealed.
"He's kind o' put out by all he's been through," said Eliza
apologetically.
Mr. Wright went to the couch and stooping lifted the valance.
"Shall I get him for you?" he asked.
Two green eyes blazed at him from the darkness and a vigorous spitting
warned him away.
"Please just let him sulk a little while," said Eliza hastily.
Supposing Pluto should inaugurate their visit by scratching the host!
Awful thought! "He's a real good cat in his way," she added.
"Well, I'm certainly not invited under the lounge," said Mr. Wright,
straightening up.
"I didn't know anybody to give him to," went on Eliza, still
apologetic. "Mr. Sidney said he would have taken him if he'd known."
"Mr. Sidney. That's Mrs. Ballard's young artist, isn't it?" asked Mrs.
Wright, who was boiling a kettle over an alcohol lamp at a tea-table in
the corner of the room.
"Yes--we spent our last day with him in his stable."
"His what, Eliza?"
"His stable. He's found one for a studio in a real stylish place up in
Gramercy Park where the folks have gone to Europe. He's as tickled as
if he owned the whole big house."
"I'm glad he's found a place to suit him. You like him very much, don't
you, Eliza?"
"He couldn't be any better," said Eliza simply. "We'd 'a' had a real
nice visit only the Fabian children came in, Edgar and Kathleen."
"Oh, how are they?" asked Mrs. Wright with interest.
"They seemed to be all right. I hadn't seen 'em for years."
Mrs. Wright remembered Eliza's criticism of Mrs. Fabian on the occasion
of the call she made upon her in New York.
"Just turn your head," she said, "and you can see right from where you
are sitting the fine cottage Mr. Fabian built here five years ago in
place of the old one his wife owned."
Eliza turned and looked out the window. Far across the field and an
intervening wall she could see a house built of boulders, low and
broad, and obtained glimpses of its wide verandas.
"It's a charming place," went on Mrs. Wright, "and they have a
delightful small yacht. We became acquainted with them during the last
fortnight of Violet's stay in the summer and she had a few fine sails
with them."
Here the hostess rose and brought Eliza a cup of fragrant tea.
The guest started. "The idea of your waitin' on me, Mrs. Wright," she
said humbly.
"Oh, making tea is fun, Eliza; and I want you to drink that before I
take you to your room. This isn't any steam-heated apartment, as you
remember."
As she spoke, Mrs. Wright took a cup of tea to her husband, who was
sitting on the couch, occasionally lifting the valance and peering
beneath, apparently vastly entertained by the feline explosions with
which Pluto, his sharp teeth bared, spat at the intrusion.
"You won't put your hand under, will you, Mr. Wright?" asked Eliza
anxiously. "Pluto's so quick you'd think 'twas lightnin' struck you.
I'm ashamed of him with this good fire; but he had an awful time with
boys once and that's where his tail went, and I don't feel to blame him
so much as if he hadn't ever suffered any. He's scarcely seen any men
except Mr. Sidney. He was clever to him always, but I don't know as
Pluto'll forgive him now for shuttin' him up in the basket. Oh!" Eliza
heaved a sigh of relief, "I'm so glad we've got here."
"I've put an oil-stove in your room, Eliza," said Mrs. Wright, as all
three sat sipping their tea.
"That's real nice," returned Eliza. "Mr. Sidney's got an oil-stove. I
do hope he won't smoke up everything. I tried to scare him,--told him
he'd ruin his pictures."
"We shall watch to see him make the success Mrs. Ballard expected,"
said Mrs. Wright kindly, seeing that Eliza's heart was much with her
dear one's heir.
"He couldn't make anything but a success," responded Eliza.
Presently her trunk arrived and was carried into the bedroom which
Mrs. Wright had arranged for her. It was on the ground floor. All the
second story of the house was to be left unused in the cold weather.
In the evening Captain James came back a third time to play checkers
with Mr. Wright. It seemed to be a daily custom; but soon after the
supper dishes were washed, Mrs. Wright insisted on her tired guest
getting into bed for a long night's rest.
Pluto had leaped to the shed and thence out into the black darkness of
the cloud-laden night.
Eliza went to the door to call him, but her most ingratiating
invitations were ignored.
"Oh, go to bed, Eliza," said Captain James, who had just opened the
checker-board. "What ye 'fraid of? 'Fraid he'll jump off the bank? He
ain't fond enough o' the water, I'll bet. Go to bed and don't worry.
Haven't ye ever heard the song, 'The cat came back, he couldn't stay
away'?"
"You know, James," said Eliza, ashamed of her anxiety, but nevertheless
too much affected by it to seek her pillow while her pet was homeless,
"you know it's places, not people, with a cat, selfish critters."
"Well," responded the captain, "he can't get back to New York 'cause
the walkin' 's so poor." As he spoke, a dark shadow passed into the
light that streamed from the window.
With the quickest movement of her life, Eliza jumped off the doorstep
and pounced upon it. It was Pluto, and she held him under her arm with
a vice-like grip as she reëntered the house.
"Good-night, all," she said, rather shamefaced.
"Good-night, Eliza," said Mrs. Wright, who had taken up a book. "Your
lamp is lighted."
When Eliza had reached her room, she closed the door and dropped the
cat, who leaped toward it, and finding exit hopeless, looked up at her,
night-fires gleaming in his eyes.
"See here, Pluto," said Eliza severely, "will you stop actin' so crazy?
I tell you we're home; _home_. If ever two folks ought to be filled to
the brim with gratitude it's you and me. I'll give you a chance to look
around here in daylight and get your bearin's, and then, if you don't
behave as if you had some sense, I'll put you in the chicken-house and
you shall live there. Do you hear that?"
She stooped to smooth the jetty fur to offset in a measure her
severity; but Pluto glided from beneath her hand and took refuge
beneath the bed.
"Well, of all the fools!" she soliloquized. Nevertheless she knew what
the temperature of the room would be by the small hours, and, taking an
old knitted grey shawl from her trunk, she threw it under the bed.