"Come, now," says he. "There is a boy. You are so very pretty, you
know. You are so very, very pretty. There must be a boy--a sweetheart.
Surely there is at least one lad of taste at Twist Tickle. There is a
sweetheart; there must be a sweetheart. I spell it with a D!" cries
he, triumphantly, detecting the horrified glance that passed between
Judy and me. And he clapped me on the back, and stroked Judith's tawny
hair, his hand bold, winning; and he laughed most heartily. "His
name," says he, "is Daniel!"
"Yes, sir," said Judith, quite frankly.
My tutor laughed again; and I was glad that he did--in that kind way.
I was glad--'twas a flush of warm feeling--that my tutor and Judith
were at once upon terms of understanding. I was glad that Judith
smiled, glad that she looked again, with favor, in interested
speculation, into the dark eyes which smiled back at her again. I
would have them friends--'twas according to my plan....
* * * * *
At mid-day the wrath of the sea began to fail. The racing lop, the
eager, fuming crests--a black-and-white confusion beneath the quiet,
gray fog--subsided into reasonableness. 'Twas wild enough, wind and
sea, beyond the tickle rocks; but still 'twas fishing weather and
water for the courageous.
The fool of Twist Tickle came to our gate. "Mother always 'lowed,"
says he, "that when a man _could_ he _ought_ t'; an' mother knowed."
"You're never bound out, Moses!"
"Well," he drawled, "mother always 'lowed that when a man _could_ pick
up a scattered fish an' _wouldn't_, he were a mean sort o' coward."
"An' you'll be takin' _me_?"
"I was 'lowin'," he answered, "that us _might_ get out an' back an us
tried."
'Twas a brave prospect. Beyond the tickle in a gale o wind! 'Twas
irresistible--to be accomplished with the fool of Twist Tickle and his
clever punt. I left the pottering Cather to put ship-shape his cabin
(as he now called it) for himself--a rainy-day occupation for aliens.
In high delight I put out with Moses Shoos to the Off-and-On grounds.
Man's work, this! 'Twas hard sailing for a hook-and-line punt--the
reel and rush and splash of it--but an employment the most engaging.
'Twas worse fishing in the toss and smother of the grounds; but 'twas
a thrilling reward when the catch came flopping overside--the spoil of
a doughty foray. We fished a clean half-quintal; then, late in the
day, a rising wind caught us napping in Hell Alley. It came on to blow
from the east with fury. There was no beating up to the tickle in the
teeth of it; 'twas a task beyond the little punt, drive her to it as
we would. When dusk came--dusk fast turning the fog black--the fool
turned tail and wisely ran for Whisper Cove. 'Twas dark when we moored
the punt to the stage-head: a black night come again, blowing wildly
with rain--great gusts of wind threshing the trees above, screaming
from cliff to cliff. There were lights at Judith's: 'twas straightway
in our minds to ask a cup of tea in her kitchen; but when we came
near the door 'twas to the discovery of company moving in and out.
There were women in the kitchen.
"'Tis Judith's mother, Dannie," Aunt Esther All whispered. "'Tis on'y
she. 'Tis on'y Elizabeth."
We had found her on the hills that morning.
"She've come t' die all of a suddent. 'Tis another of her spells. Oh,
Lord! she've come t' die."
There was no solemnity in this outer room.
"She've woful need o' salvation," Aunt Esther pattered. "She's doomed,
lad, an she doesn't repent. Parson Stump ought t' be fetched t' work
on she."
There was grief--somewhere there was grief. I heard a sob; it came
from a child's breast. And there followed, then, some strange,
rambling words of comfort in Elizabeth's voice--a plea, it was, to
never mind. Again a sob--Judith's grief.
"'Tis Judith," Aunt Esther sighed. "She've gone an' give way."
The child's heart would break!
"Mother always 'lowed, Dannie," Moses whispered, "that they ought t'
be a parson handy--when It come."
'Twas beyond the power of the fool to manage: who was now a fool,
indeed--white and shivering in this Presence. I would fetch the
parson, said I--and moved right willingly and in haste upon the
errand. Aunt Esther followed me beyond the threshold. She caught my
arm with such a grasp that I was brought up in surprise. We stood in
the wind and rain. The light from the kitchen fell through the doorway
into the black night. Aunt Esther's lean, brown face, as the lamp
betrayed, was working with eager and shameless curiosity. They had
wondered, these women of Whisper Cove, overlong and without patience,
to know what they wished to know but could not discover. "She've been
wantin' Skipper Nicholas," says she. "She've been callin' for Skipper
Nicholas. She've been singin' out, Dannie, like a wretch in tarture.
Tell un t' come. She've been wantin' un sore. She've a thing on her
mind. Tell un not t' fail. 'Tis something she've t' tell un. 'I wants
Skipper Nicholas!' says she. 'Fetch Nicholas! I wants a word with he
afore I die.' Hist!" Aunt Esther added, as though imparting some
delight, "I 'low 'tis the secret."