Dawn was reddening the leaves of the oak outside the window when
Fessenden awoke. From the great bay below the house came the ruffle of
water--the wind was freshening. But it was not the mutter along the
shore, nor the tang of the salt air, that had aroused him.
What could that idiot, Cleborne, have been driving at in his talk of
Betty? No, Cleborne had declared he had never heard of her. Then whom
could his dark hints be about? Was the Virginian a subtle joker, acting
at the instigation of Polly or Mrs. Dick? It was not unlikely. And did
Madge Yarnell's peculiar conduct have any connection with the matter?
While he was still puzzling over Cleborne's words, he fell asleep, and
when he awoke again, at a more reasonable hour, his mind instantly
became too full of plans for the day's excursion with Betty to hold any
conflicting thoughts.
At eight o'clock he ate his eggs, toast, and coffee, solving the problem
of presenting a sufficient excuse for his proposed day's absence by the
simple process of not attempting it.
At the last moment, the freshening wind suggested the probable need of
ample protection from the weather. Accordingly, he carried a double
armful of steamer-rugs and rain-coats from the house to the _Wisp_.
In five minutes he was standing for Piney Cove. It took him half an hour
or more to reach it, for the wind, blowing steadily from the northwest,
held him back. He was rewarded by finding Betty and Aunty Landis
awaiting him on the beach.
"Good-morning, Mrs. Landis. Hail, Dryad of the Pines!"
"Hail, Old Man of the Sea!"
Her eyes were as clear as twin pools; her lips were smiling, ready as
always to laugh with him or at him, as opportunity might offer. She held
her head with that defiant tilt of the chin that was to him one of her
always-remembered characteristics. The sunlight flashed from the bay to
the shining braid of her hair.
Her white sailor suit was set off by two daring bands of color--a
scarlet handkerchief at her throat, and a scarlet sash about her waist.
That most effective head-dress, a man-o'-war's-man's white hat, crowned
her head. Fessenden's eyes dwelt upon her with such frank delight that
she blushed a little as Mrs. Landis followed her on board the _Wisp_.
The course was set southeast for Rincoteague Island. After a dubious
phrase or two about the weather, Aunty Landis ensconced herself just
within the opened doors of the little cabin. Here she produced an
infinite number of gigantic stockings (male) from a work-bag, and
proceeded to darn them.
"I hope both you and your aunt are good sailors," said Fessenden. "It
promises to be a bit rough before we get back."
"Oh, yes. I hope it does blow. To be wet and cold, and to see the water
boiling up ready to drown us--that would be living!"
"You strange child! You have a philosophy all your own. Did you know
that?"
She nodded sagely. "Of course. I hate people who haven't. That's one
reason I like you."
"Thank you. I'm glad to hear you confess that there's more reasons than
one. I like _you_ because--because you seem to me to be all golden.
Perhaps the sun dazzles me."
"Perhaps," she smiled.
"You and the day are golden, but remember the song in Cymbeline:
"Golden lads and girls all must
As chimney sweepers come to dust."
"Golden lads and girls," she repeated softly. "Oh, they can never come
to dust while there are days like this to sail and sail!"
Her arms, extended yearningly, as if she would have plucked the secret
of youth from the tossing bay, fell to her side. "I wish we could sail
forever--never to go back to the sad land."