[Illustration: 9027]
EGIE'S accident had happened late in June, and the weeks had worn slowly
away with their dull monotony varied by many a visit from loyal Nan and
Harry. Now, it was the middle of August, and Regie was about again,
only with an addition to the bodyguard in the shape of two sturdy little
crutches. It happened one evening about this time, when Regie had been
stowed away for the night, that Mr. Fairfax was walking up and down in
front of his cottage in a “brown study,” which means, you know, that
he was thinking too hard about something in particular, to pay any
attention to things in general. It seemed a pity he should not discover
in what a glory of gold and crimson the sun was setting, and how
beautiful its reflection over on Pleasure Bay. Then a party of
the neighbours' boys were engaged in some dexterous and pretty
bicycle-riding a little way up the road, and he was missing that also.
Hereward, a greyhound, only he was fawn-coloured instead of gray, and
Ned, a Gordon setter, would now and then come bounding up to their
master, expecting to be petted, and look strangely surprised when he
took no notice of them. They would plant their forefeet in the ground,
with their heads on one side, in a questioning, beseeching manner, and
stand gazing up for a moment into his face, but only for a moment; there
were too many circles to be described, and too many matters to be looked
into, to waste much time upon such an indifferent master. Presently the
click and bang of a swinging screen door roused Mr. Fairfax from his
reverie, and he hurried to join his wife, who had just come out from the
house.
She was a lovely little woman, this Mrs. Fairfax, with a face not unlike
Sister Julia's, and whether joy or pathos found most expression in her
clear gray eyes no one could discover.
She had no sooner stepped on to the piazza, than Hereward and Ned were
fairly leaping upon her. There was a little shawl on her arm, and a lace
scarf on her head, which they well knew meant a walk to the beach, and,
from their point of view, nothing quite compared with that.
“I do not need to ask what you have been thinking about, Curtis,” Mrs.
Fairfax said to her husband, when they had gone but a little way; “you
are wondering and wondering, and so am I, whatever we shall do with
Regie.”
“It has been a puzzling question, Alice,” said Mr. Fairfax; “but I
believe I am prepared to answer it. I think the best thing we can do
will be to leave him here at the beach.”
“Why, Curtis dear, that is simply impossible,” Mrs. Fairfax replied, in
a decided little way of her own; “there will not be a cottage open here
two months from now.”
“I know of one cottage, at any rate,” said her husband, “that is open
all the year round, and where Reginald and Sister Julia would be likely
to have a very happy time of it while we are away.”
“Of course, you mean Captain Murray's.”
“Of course I do. Don't you agree with me about its being a good place,
and had we not better walk right up there now and see if they will
consider it?” They had come to the railroad crossing, and the shrill
whistle of a locomotive brought them to a standstill. Seldom an express
train went spinning through Moorlow that Hereward did not run a race
with it, and the engineers on the road were always on the lookout for
him. Hereward was a very knowing dog; he would lie dozing in the sun,
and let the local trains steam up to the little station and off again,
without so much as cocking up an ear, but would detect the approach of
the “express” way down the track. To-night proved no exception to
the rule. Mr. and Mrs. Fairfax watched him proudly, as in a flash he
gathered himself together and started for the race. For fully a quarter
of a mile he held his own, and, if he had possessed as inexhaustible
a supply of breath as the iron-chested engine, his long limbs might
sometimes have won him the victory.
As for Ned, this sort of thing was not at all to his taste, and he
stood looking stolidly on, as much as to say, “Great waste of time and
energy.”
Between you and me, had his body been as long, and his legs as slender
as Hereward's, he would probably have joined in the wild scamper. There
are people here and there in the world not at all unlike Ned; they sit
and frown upon certain innocent pleasures simply because they are not
fitted by nature to enjoy them.
Breathless and satisfied, Hereward was soon back again, trotting and
sniffing along as though nothing had happened.
“I do not believe we had better go to Captain Murray's tonight,” said
Mrs. Fairfax, taking up the conversation where the train and Hereward's
performances had interrupted it; “I would like time to think it over.”
“Oh, I've thought it over enough for both of us, Alice. Besides, you
see, we must decide upon some plan pretty quickly; it is only ten days
now before we sail.”
[Illustration: 0029]
So Mr. and Mrs. Fairfax kept on down the beach, climbed the short flight
of wooden steps that scaled the bulk-head in front of Captain Murray's
cottage, and knocked at the door. Mrs. Murray opened it.
“Why, how do you do?” she said, with evident surprise and pleasure, as
she ushered them into the sitting-room.
[Illustration: 9030]
Hereward and Ned poked their noses in at the door, and acted as though
they intended to crowd their bodies in too. One look from Mr. Fairfax
seemed to change their minds, and with grave faces and limp tails they
lay down on the porch instead.
“Here, Harry, bring a chair for Mrs. Fairfax,” said Mrs. Murray, “and
Nan, darling, go call your father.”
This little sitting-room was the very cosiest, perhaps, that one would
find from end to end of the whole Jersey shore. Cheery and cool-looking
in this summer weather, with the linen floor covering and the vines at
the windows, and so warm and cheery in the fall and winter, with pine
logs blazing on the old brass and irons.
“Father's coming,” announced Nan, returning to the room. “And how's
Regie?” asked both the children in one breath.
“Oh, he's getting along finely,” answered Mr. Fairfax.
“I'm _right glad_ to hear _that_,” said Mrs. Murray, who always
conversed with strong accents on certain words. “And it's a good piece
of news to carry to bed and dream over,” she added, turning to
the children, and looking toward the energetic little clock on the
mantel-shelf. “Come, it's high time; a good-night to Mr. and Mrs.
Fairfax, and a kiss for your mother.” The children mechanically obeyed,
and with reluctant, backward glances trudged up the winding stairway
leading directly from the sitting-room.
“Well, well,” exclaimed Captain Murray, a wiry, weatherbeaten man, as he
entered the room, “a call from the Fairfaxes; what's up, I wonder?”
“Seems to me, you're pretty free, father,” said Mrs. Murray, half
apologetically.
“Well, something is up,” replied Mr. Fairfax, “one may as well be
honest. We have a proposition to make, and we are very much afraid you
won't accept it, and then we shall be all at sea again.”
“Oh, I see,” laughed Captain Murray, “you want an old sailor to bring
you into port, or something like that, eh? Well, if there's anything we
can do for you----”
“There is something,” said Mr. Fairfax, eagerly, “and a pretty big
something too. We want to know if you will take Reginald and Sister
Julia into your own snug little harbour for three or four months. You
know, when we adopted Regie, Mrs. Fairfax promised that he should never
stand between us----”
“He means,” interrupted Mrs. Fairfax, thinking she could better explain
matters, “that if ever the question came up of remaining with Curtis or
Reginald, the decision should always be in favour of my husband.”
“That is the way of it,” said Mr. Fairfax, “and at last the question has
come up. I am obliged to go to Europe for three or four months, and I
have no notion of putting that great ocean yonder between my wife and
me. Of course, Reginald is not in a condition to travel, and we have
been greatly at a loss to know what to do with him. This would be such a
fine place for him, if you only would be good enough to let us board him
with you.”
“I don't know much, after all, about the domestic harbour,” said Captain
Murray, with elevated eyebrows. “You must ask the first-mate. What do
you say, Mollie Murray?”
“Do you think we could really make him comfortable, father?” asked Mrs.
Murray, smoothing out her white apron; “we live very plain, and the boy
has been accustomed to----”
“Comfortable! Oh, Mrs. Murray,” interrupted Mrs. Fairfax, “why this
seems to me altogether the most _comfortable_ little home that I know
of, and Reginald will be so happy here with the children. As for Sister
Julia, I am sure she will be a help rather than a trouble, and you will
fairly love her before she has been in the house twenty-four hours.”
After this the conversation fell into a quiet chat between the
“women-folk,” and a more business-like one between Mr. Fairfax and
Captain Murray, and when, in its thumping, ringing way, the little
clock struck nine, everything had been arranged to the satisfaction of
everybody.
“I cannot tell you what a load is off my mind,” said Mrs. Fairfax,
pressing Mrs. Murray's hand in both of hers, as she stood ready to go.
“I only hope it has not rolled off on to yours.”
“Never you fear, dearie,” Mrs. Murray answered, in her cheerful,
whole-souled way.
“How about Hereward and Ned?” exclaimed Mr. Fairfax, almost stumbling
across both as they lay on the porch. “And how about Reginald's pony?
Can you care for them too, Captain Murray?”
“Yes, yes, send 'em along. We'll do our best by all hands.”
“Oh, Mrs. Murray,” said Mrs. Fairfax, turning back for a moment, “please
don't tell the children about the plan. Regie would so much enjoy
telling them himself.”
“Oh, to be sure,” she answered; “I'll not say a word. Happy secrets are
hard things for me to keep; but I'll keep this, I promise you.”
The two dogs who had come over in such rollicking fashion, trotted back
again quietly enough, but Mr. and Mrs. Fairfax felt half inclined to
dance all the way home, so delighted were they over the success of this
splendid plan for Regie.
[Illustration: 0033]
[Illustration: 0034]