MISS COMFORT COMES ABOARD
Behold the _Pequot Queen_ at ten o’clock Saturday morning!
She is freshly painted from end to end on the shoreward side, gleaming
white, with bright yellow trim. The other side is to be done later.
Just now the painter, a sure-enough professional painter from Joyce &
Connell’s, is finishing the upper deck.
The gangway is resplendent, too, for Brose did that himself yesterday,
using plenty of drier. The deck is protected by bits of board to walk
on, although by evening the buff paint will be hard enough. The doors
are to have a second coat later, but as they are they look pretty fine.
Wonderful what paint will do, isn’t it? You’d hardly think this was the
same old _Pequot Queen_.
But there’s the cabin yet. Linoleum shining with new varnish, walls
and ceiling creamy white, blue and white curtains at the windows,
Miss Comfort’s old stove blackened and polished by Kewpie until
you’d never suspect it was not brand-new! And that’s a real sink in
the corner, even though it isn’t working yet. You just can’t hurry a
plumber! There’ll be a pump alongside, of course. Miss Comfort will get
her drinking-water at the Parmenter’s across the road. They’re real
friendly folks. Mr. Parmenter hauled the coal that’s in the bin in the
boiler-room himself. That shelving is all new. Brose and Bob put that
up. The hanging lamp in the center is one Mrs. Deane had. Miss Starling
sent those flowers. Looks pretty nice, doesn’t it? Wouldn’t mind
living here yourself? Well, neither would I! And look at the view from
those windows; sun sparkling on the water, boats passing! Think Miss
Comfort’ll like it?
That was a busy, bustling morning. As early as Ned and Laurie and
Kewpie reached the _Pequot Queen_, Polly and Mae and Brose Wilkins
were before them. Although much had been accomplished yesterday, much
remained to be done. Bob arrived an hour later, bearing a box of
flowers from his aunt. Brose, singing as he worked, dropped his hammer
to touch up a spot with a paint-brush, abandoned paint-brush to seize
again on hammer or screw-driver. Kewpie, eager for employment, got in
every one’s way and accumulated a great deal of fresh white pigment
every time he turned around. The plumber, having set the sink up, went
away, and the awning man arrived to take measurements. The awning was
to cover the rear half of the roof-deck. There had once been an awning
all over the roof, and, although the frame had disappeared, the sockets
into which the uprights had been screwed remained. To put an awning
over the whole roof-deck was beyond their means, but they could well
afford to protect half of it. Brose was going to make two flower-boxes
to fit the benches along the railing and fill them with earth so that,
when summer came, Miss Comfort would have a veritable roof-garden up
there. Brose thought of all sorts of things, practical and otherwise.
One of the practical things was a place to dry clothes on the small
deck forward, where he stretched four lengths of line from a post set
in the flag-pole socket at the extreme bow to four galvanized iron
hooks screwed to the front of the wheel-house.
At eleven Peter Brown arrived with Miss Comfort’s worldly belongings.
Peter was small and very black; Peter’s horse was small and presumably
white; and Peter’s wagon was small and extremely ramshackle. How he
managed to get so much on it was a question! A narrow black walnut
bedstead in several sections, together with its appurtenances;
a drop-leaf mahogany table; a funny old trunk with a rounded top; five
chairs of assorted shapes and sizes; a packing-case of cooking-utensils;
a barrel of china and crockery; a walnut what-not; a wash-boiler filled
with miscellany; a marble clock wrapped in a patchwork quilt; some
books; three pictures in faded gilt frames; a huge bundle of bedding; a
roll of frayed straw matting; some braided rugs; a spotless deal table
and various other smaller sundries.
Peter and Brose unloaded at the end of the gangway, and the boys bore
the things aboard. In the cabin Polly and Mae directed the bestowing of
them, wiping everything clean with a dust-cloth as it was set in place.
The packing-case was left on deck, as was the barrel, but the rest of
the things went inside, and when they were all there there was just
room for the two girls to move cautiously about!
But half an hour later there was another tale to tell. The
cooking-utensils were hung on nails, the dishes were on the shelves,
the bed was set up and dressed, the trunk was under the deal table, the
rugs were on the floor, the pictures were hung, the drop-leaf table
stood under the hanging lamp, and order had emerged from chaos. Of
course, as Polly acknowledged, the place did look a trifle crowded, but
she guessed Miss Comfort wouldn’t mind. Two articles alone defeated
their efforts, the what-not and the marble clock. The what-not, built
to fit in a corner, looked sadly out of place at the foot of the bed,
and the marble clock simply cried aloud for a mantel to rest on. But
the corners were all occupied, and there was no mantel; and so the
what-not remained where they had put it, and the clock for the time
being reposed on a window-sill.
Brose hustled the empty case and barrel to the boiler-room, which
compartment held also a supply of kindling-wood and a quarter of a ton
of coal and so didn’t look one bit like a hen-house! Miss Comfort
was to have an early lunch at Mrs. Deane’s, and she and the Widow
were to arrive at the boat about half-past twelve. At exactly twelve
Polly flipped her dust-cloth for the last time, the painter stowed his
belongings in the wheel-house and called it a day, Brose relinquished
his hammer, and seven satisfied and hungry workers gave their attention
to the luncheon that the girls had prepared. To have dined at school
would have prevented the twins and Kewpie from being on hand at Miss
Comfort’s arrival, and they didn’t want to miss that!
There was plenty to eat, and full justice was done to the viands. It
was a jolly, happy meal, too, for the _Pequot Queen_ looked as none of
them had ever hoped to see it look, and, as Brose remarked, it would
look a sight better before they got through with it. “When the awning’s
up and there’s flowers along the rail there―― What color’s the awning,
Laurie?”
“Red and white.”
“Great! And then there’ll be little window-boxes under the two windows
on this side. I’m going to paint ’em white with green crisscrosses
on ’em; sort of lattice-effect, you know. And then I was thinking
this morning that it wouldn’t be hard to make a little flower-bed on
each side of the bridge there later. I could plant morning-glories or
something so’s they’d climb along on the hand-rail. And some bright
things, too, like geraniums or zinnias.”
“Brose,” exclaimed Laurie, “you’re a wonder!” He held aloft a paper cup
filled with hot chocolate. “Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Mr. Brose
Wilkins, without whose assistance――no, directorship this undertaking
would have been a――but a partial success. To his untiring zeal
and――er――”
“There they come!” cried Kewpie excitedly.
And there they did come, Miss Comfort in her best black dress――and
probably her only black dress――and Mrs. Deane, Miss Comfort at least
a yard in advance, Mrs. Deane trying hard to recover the distance.
Polly jumped to the rail and “yoo-hooed” and waved. Miss Comfort heard
and, it seemed, saw the _Pequot Queen_ for the first time. She stopped
short and stared from a half-block away. Mrs. Deane regained her lost
ground and stared, too. For a long moment the two stood motionless
there. Then Miss Comfort started on again, this time at a funny little
half-trot. Once more Mrs. Deane was outdistanced!
Polly and Ned and Bob ran across the gangway to meet them. The others
remained on deck, Kewpie grinning broadly, Laurie only half smiling,
Mae emitting little whispered ejaculations, and Brose, his comforting
hammer once more in hand, humming a funny sort of tune under his
breath. Miss Comfort’s face was a study as she paused at the end of the
gangway and swept the scene with rapt gaze. Then, still silent, she
declined Ned’s offered assistance and walked firmly and proudly across
the gangway and stepped down upon her own deck!
It was not until she stood at the cabin door and looked inside that the
little lady became articulate. Then she drew a deep breath and said,
“_Well, I never!_” in a voice that was scarcely more than a whisper.
Then she was inside, with the others clustering about her and every
one talking at once, Polly apologizing for the clock, Mae explaining
about the what-not, Laurie promising water for the sink not later than
Tuesday, Mrs. Deane exclaiming repeatedly to no one in particular:
“Why, I had no idea! I simply had no idea!”
After a moment or two Miss Comfort seated herself in the walnut
rocker with the gray horsehair upholstering and sighed again. “It’s
too beautiful for words,” she said. She reached out for Polly’s hand
and drew it to her, patting it with little quick gestures. “I never
thought it would be like this, my dear, never, never! I just can’t find
any words to thank you all; not now; perhaps some day――” She searched
for and found her tiny black-bordered handkerchief. Kewpie frowned
and turned toward a window. Gee, she was getting leaky again! But, as
before, Laurie provided a diversion.
“Here’s the fellow that did more than the rest of us put together,” he
said. Miss Comfort looked, and――
“Why, Brose Wilkins!” she cried. “You, too! Why, I didn’t see you!”
Brose shook hands, his broad smile again threatening his ears.
“Yes, Miss Pansy, it’s me,” he said. “But you don’t want to believe
what Laurie tells you. I ain’t done much but swing a hammer. Now, how
you feeling, ma’am?”
“Very happy, Brose,” replied Miss Comfort softly. “Happier than a
person has any right to be at my time of life, I guess. Isn’t it
wonderful?” Her gaze swept over the little white room with its blue
and white curtains aflutter in the sunlit breeze and all her friendly
belongings about. “Doesn’t the picture of grandfather’s ship look
beautifully there, Brose?”
Brose agreed that it did. Every one else agreed that it did. Secretly,
however, Bob, who had hung the article, told himself that that
representation of a barkantine with all sails set plowing through a
muddy-green sea had probably been done by the village sign-painter!
After that Miss Comfort arose and minutely inspected every inch of
her domain, listening to Laurie’s somewhat involved explanation of
the water system not yet installed, to Ned’s story of the roof-garden
above, to Polly’s reason for placing the wash-boiler here and the
knife-board there, and to Mae’s confidences regarding the whereabouts
of the linen. Then she was taken off along the deck to see where the
coal and wood were kept. At intervals Laurie took a slip of paper
from a pocket and surreptitiously wrote on it. When they reached the
boiler-room he added the mysterious word “coal scuttle” to several
other words already on the paper.
In due course they all returned to the cabin and sat or stood around
and did a good deal of talking and exclaiming and laughing until,
at last, Mrs. Deane jumped up suddenly and announced in a shocked
voice that she must get right back and that she didn’t know what Miss
Billings would be thinking of her! That began a general exodus. Polly
said that she and Mae would be down after supper to see if everything
was all right. She had already offered to remain during the afternoon,
but Miss Comfort had almost pathetically declined the offer. Miss
Comfort, as was evident to all, wanted to be left quite alone for a
while.
“You’re sure you won’t be nervous at night,” asked Mrs. Deane anxiously,
“all alone here like this.”
“Nervous?” repeated Miss Comfort placidly. “Not a bit. No more than
I was in that empty house up there. I never was one of the scary
kind, and down here, with the friendly water around me, I’ll never be
lonesome again.”
“I’ll be looking in now and then,” said Brose. “I’m liable to be
passing most any time, Miss Pansy, and, whenever you want anything just
let me know.”
“And to-morrow,” said Mae, “we’re all coming down to call on you in
your new home, Miss Comfort.”
“Do, my dear, do! Come to-morrow afternoon, and I’ll make some tea for
you. In the morning, of course, I’ll be at church.”
“Church?” said Mrs. Deane. “I wouldn’t try it unless I felt real well,
my dear. It’s a long walk and a real steep one.”
“All the better,” replied Miss Comfort. “All my life I’ve lived so
close to the church that it wasn’t any effort at all. Sometimes I think
that if religion wasn’t made so easy for us we’d think more of it.
’Twon’t do me a mite of harm to have to walk a little on a Sunday in
order to worship the Lord. And I guess maybe He will approve of it.”
Going back, Laurie, walking beside Polly, said with a relieved sigh:
“Gee, I was glad to get away without having her ask questions, Polly! I
thought every minute she’d want to know where everything came from and
how we had paid for it!”
“I know,” said Polly thoughtfully. “It’s sort of queer she didn’t, too.
Because she must know that white-enameled sinks and pumps and awnings
and such things don’t just _happen_.”
“Well, I suppose she just doesn’t stop to think,” mused Laurie. “And I
hope she won’t. It would be fierce if she got insulted and went to the
poor-farm after all!”
“Oh, she wouldn’t do that!” declared Polly in horror. After a moment
she added: “I’ll just bet you anything, Laurie, that she did notice and
that she means to ask! She’s just waiting until she can speak to you
alone, I believe.”
Laurie groaned. “Then she’s never going to get the chance,” he muttered.
Polly looked doubtful.