THE SHIP O’DREAMS COMES TO HARBOR
One morning, when a windy golden sunrise was billowing over the gulf in
waves of light, a certain weary stork flew over the bar of Four Winds
Harbor on his way from the Land of Evening Stars. Under his wing was
tucked a sleepy, starry-eyed, little creature. The stork was tired,
and he looked wistfully about him. He knew he was somewhere near his
destination, but he could not yet see it. The big, white light-house
on the red sandstone cliff had its good points; but no stork possessed
of any gumption would leave a new, velvet baby there. An old gray
house, surrounded by willows, in a blossomy brook valley, looked more
promising, but did not seem quite the thing either. The staring green
abode further on was manifestly out of the question. Then the stork
brightened up. He had caught sight of the very place--a little white
house nestled against a big, whispering firwood, with a spiral of blue
smoke winding up from its kitchen chimney--a house which just looked as
if it were meant for babies. The stork gave a sigh of satisfaction,
and softly alighted on the ridge-pole.
Half an hour later Gilbert ran down the hall and tapped on the
spare-room door. A drowsy voice answered him and in a moment Marilla’s
pale, scared face peeped out from behind the door.
“Marilla, Anne has sent me to tell you that a certain young gentleman
has arrived here. He hasn’t brought much luggage with him, but he
evidently means to stay.”
“For pity’s sake!” said Marilla blankly. “You don’t mean to tell me,
Gilbert, that it’s all over. Why wasn’t I called?”
“Anne wouldn’t let us disturb you when there was no need. Nobody was
called until about two hours ago. There was no ‘passage perilous’ this
time.”
“And--and--Gilbert--will this baby live?”
“He certainly will. He weighs ten pounds and--why, listen to him.
Nothing wrong with his lungs, is there? The nurse says his hair will
be red. Anne is furious with her, and I’m tickled to death.”
That was a wonderful day in the little house of dreams.
“The best dream of all has come true,” said Anne, pale and rapturous.
“Oh, Marilla, I hardly dare believe it, after that horrible day last
summer. I have had a heartache ever since then--but it is gone now.”
“This baby will take Joy’s place,” said Marilla.
“Oh, no, no, NO, Marilla. He can’t--nothing can ever do that. He has
his own place, my dear, wee man-child. But little Joy has hers, and
always will have it. If she had lived she would have been over a year
old. She would have been toddling around on her tiny feet and lisping
a few words. I can see her so plainly, Marilla. Oh, I know now that
Captain Jim was right when he said God would manage better than that my
baby would seem a stranger to me when I found her Beyond. I’ve learned
THAT this past year. I’ve followed her development day by day and week
by week--I always shall. I shall know just how she grows from year to
year--and when I meet her again I’ll know her--she won’t be a stranger.
Oh, Marilla, LOOK at his dear, darling toes! Isn’t it strange they
should be so perfect?”
“It would be stranger if they weren’t,” said Marilla crisply. Now that
all was safely over, Marilla was herself again.
“Oh, I know--but it seems as if they couldn’t be quite FINISHED, you
know--and they are, even to the tiny nails. And his hands--JUST look
at his hands, Marilla.”
“They appear to be a good deal like hands,” Marilla conceded.
“See how he clings to my finger. I’m sure he knows me already. He
cries when the nurse takes him away. Oh, Marilla, do you think--you
don’t think, do you--that his hair is going to be red?”
“I don’t see much hair of any color,” said Marilla. “I wouldn’t worry
about it, if I were you, until it becomes visible.”
“Marilla, he HAS hair--look at that fine little down all over his head.
Anyway, nurse says his eyes will be hazel and his forehead is exactly
like Gilbert’s.”
“And he has the nicest little ears, Mrs. Doctor, dear,” said Susan.
“The first thing I did was to look at his ears. Hair is deceitful and
noses and eyes change, and you cannot tell what is going to come of
them, but ears is ears from start to finish, and you always know where
you are with them. Just look at their shape--and they are set right
back against his precious head. You will never need to be ashamed of
his ears, Mrs. Doctor, dear.”
Anne’s convalescence was rapid and happy. Folks came and worshipped
the baby, as people have bowed before the kingship of the new-born
since long before the Wise Men of the East knelt in homage to the Royal
Babe of the Bethlehem manger. Leslie, slowly finding herself amid the
new conditions of her life, hovered over it, like a beautiful,
golden-crowned Madonna. Miss Cornelia nursed it as knackily as could
any mother in Israel. Captain Jim held the small creature in his big
brown hands and gazed tenderly at it, with eyes that saw the children
who had never been born to him.
“What are you going to call him?” asked Miss Cornelia.
“Anne has settled his name,” answered Gilbert.
“James Matthew--after the two finest gentlemen I’ve ever known--not
even saving your presence,” said Anne with a saucy glance at Gilbert.
Gilbert smiled.
“I never knew Matthew very well; he was so shy we boys couldn’t get
acquainted with him--but I quite agree with you that Captain Jim is one
of the rarest and finest souls God ever clothed in clay. He is so
delighted over the fact that we have given his name to our small lad.
It seems he has no other namesake.”
“Well, James Matthew is a name that will wear well and not fade in the
washing,” said Miss Cornelia. “I’m glad you didn’t load him down with
some highfalutin, romantic name that he’d be ashamed of when he gets to
be a grandfather. Mrs. William Drew at the Glen has called her baby
Bertie Shakespeare. Quite a combination, isn’t it? And I’m glad you
haven’t had much trouble picking on a name. Some folks have an awful
time. When the Stanley Flaggs’ first boy was born there was so much
rivalry as to who the child should be named for that the poor little
soul had to go for two years without a name. Then a brother came along
and there it was--‘Big Baby’ and ‘Little Baby.’ Finally they called Big
Baby Peter and Little Baby Isaac, after the two grandfathers, and had
them both christened together. And each tried to see if it couldn’t
howl the other down. You know that Highland Scotch family of MacNabs
back of the Glen? They’ve got twelve boys and the oldest and the
youngest are both called Neil--Big Neil and Little Neil in the same
family. Well, I s’pose they ran out of names.”
“I have read somewhere,” laughed Anne, “that the first child is a poem
but the tenth is very prosy prose. Perhaps Mrs. MacNab thought that
the twelfth was merely an old tale re-told.”
“Well, there’s something to be said for large families,” said Miss
Cornelia, with a sigh. “I was an only child for eight years and I did
long for a brother and sister. Mother told me to pray for one--and
pray I did, believe ME. Well, one day Aunt Nellie came to me and said,
‘Cornelia, there is a little brother for you upstairs in your ma’s
room. You can go up and see him.’ I was so excited and delighted I
just flew upstairs. And old Mrs. Flagg lifted up the baby for me to
see. Lord, Anne, dearie, I never was so disappointed in my life. You
see, I’d been praying for A BROTHER TWO YEARS OLDER THAN MYSELF.”
“How long did it take you to get over your disappointment?” asked Anne,
amid her laughter.
“Well, I had a spite at Providence for a good spell, and for weeks I
wouldn’t even look at the baby. Nobody knew why, for I never told.
Then he began to get real cute, and held out his wee hands to me and I
began to get fond of him. But I didn’t get really reconciled to him
until one day a school chum came to see him and said she thought he was
awful small for his age. I just got boiling mad, and I sailed right
into her, and told her she didn’t know a nice baby when she saw one,
and ours was the nicest baby in the world. And after that I just
worshipped him. Mother died before he was three years old and I was
sister and mother to him both. Poor little lad, he was never strong,
and he died when he wasn’t much over twenty. Seems to me I’d have
given anything on earth, Anne, dearie, if he’d only lived.”
Miss Cornelia sighed. Gilbert had gone down and Leslie, who had been
crooning over the small James Matthew in the dormer window, laid him
asleep in his basket and went her way. As soon as she was safely out
of earshot, Miss Cornelia bent forward and said in a conspirator’s
whisper:
“Anne, dearie, I’d a letter from Owen Ford yesterday. He’s in
Vancouver just now, but he wants to know if I can board him for a month
later on. YOU know what that means. Well, I hope we’re doing right.”
“We’ve nothing to do with it--we couldn’t prevent him from coming to
Four Winds if he wanted to,” said Anne quickly. She did not like the
feeling of match-making Miss Cornelia’s whispers gave her; and then she
weakly succumbed herself.
“Don’t let Leslie know he is coming until he is here,” she said. “If
she found out I feel sure she would go away at once. She intends to go
in the fall anyhow--she told me so the other day. She is going to
Montreal to take up nursing and make what she can of her life.”
“Oh, well, Anne, dearie,” said Miss Cornelia, nodding sagely “that is
all as it may be. You and I have done our part and we must leave the
rest to Higher Hands.”