MR. WADDY MUSES UPON FATE AND UNDERTAKES A COMMISSION
The family were all tenderly kind to Mr. Waddy, but he needed only
repose. It was very sad within the house next day. Mrs. Dempster and
Miranda made one or two attempts to talk with their patient, but his
connection with the wreck was too close and too saddening. He brought
their loss too clearly before them. They took refuge, cheerlessly, in
household duties.
As the day advanced, Mr. Waddy was able to move about, and finally,
dressed in Dan’l’s clothes, to walk slowly with many halts down towards
the rocks. Here he could sit with the breeze fresh upon him and basking
in the bright sun. It was a very different heat to that dull, blasting
one which had for years been trying to bake out all the lively juices
of his system.
Cheroots were Mr. Waddy’s favourite smoking. Of course he had none
at present, after his wreck. Was it for the want of these that, even
through his feebleness of a half-drowned man, his old impatience began
to manifest itself? He had fancied, perhaps, that years of absence
would have changed him from the hot, ardent, passionate, confident, and
confiding youth of three lustra before. Were not fifteen years enough
to stoicise and epicureanise him? Could he not keep cool and take his
luxurious opportunities of a wealthy idler with passive content? Why
must the native air awaken again the old thoughts and the old forgotten
hopes? Forgotten! Ah, Mr. Waddy! hopes touched with disappointment may
blacken into despairs, and pass into the background of shadow, away
from foregrounds of sunshine in the heart, but there they must abide
unfading.
Mr. Waddy, sitting by the seaside on The Island, was not merely
impatient--an invalid may naturally be so when convalescence has made
farther advance with his mind than his body--he was also very sad. He
could not avoid connecting himself with the terrible disaster which had
marked his coming.
“Just my luck!” said he to himself. “Why must I come home without any
object? As soon as I arrive on this wretched continent, my passing at
a hundred yards is enough to knock one boy into the water. Then I get
myself left by the steamer, and to shorten my delay, I take the _Billy
Blue Nose_ and I become its Jonah. My vessel goes to wreck; my men are
drowned: I am put under obligations to some romantic old maid, and then
I have to make a whole family miserable with fatal news. And I am
saved--for some good purpose I am willing to believe. But for what?
Have I any duties besides to be a jolly bachelor and tell a boy or
two, like that young Dunstan and his friend, how to behave? I believe
I have not a relative in the world--save possibly that Mr. Waddie of
New York--descendant, perhaps, of my Tory ancestor--who wrote me from
Paris. It is rather pleasant to think of one relative, and then Dunstan
told me that the old boy had an only child, a lovely daughter. Possibly
she may be a cousin within the kissing removes. Ah, pleasanter still!”
Mr. Waddy was growing steadily more cheerful; then he fell a long time
drowsily silent--dreaming undefined dreams--gazing out across the sea
to the horizon, where wavering warmth of air mingled with quivering
waves. But at last a chill in the air reminded him that he was still an
invalid, and that evening was at hand.
“I must go in,” he said, “and get ready for my start to-morrow. Dan’l
must be persuaded to cede his clothes to me.”
He went slowly back along the bushy path, pausing now and then to pluck
a raspberry, until he came to the kitchen. He hesitated a moment,
then went in. Everything was as before--the old clock ticking hours
of a bitter day just as regularly to their end as it had marked hours
of happy holidays, or of careful common days; the kettle of dried
apples sputtering on the stove; the hot loaf ready for supper; Dan’l
depositing the evening’s milk on the dresser. But by the stove sat old
Dempster, now doubly aged, stooping forward, his face covered with both
his hands. Waddy hesitated about intruding his questions of business
into the old man’s grief. However, he looked up more cheerily than Ira
expected, and giving him a broad gripe of the hand, asked of his health
very cordially.
“I am so well,” said Mr. Waddy, “that I hope to save you the trouble of
keeping me longer than to-night.”
“Make yourself to home,” said Dempster. “You’re welcome to stay as long
as you like. ’Tain’t in one day a man gits over bein’ wrecked. Besides,
I kind er like to have someone ’round; it keeps the women folks from
thinkin’ of their troubles. But if you’d oughter go, Jake ’ll drive you
over to-morrow, over to Loggerly.”
“Yes,” said Ira, “I think I must go. Is there anything I can do for you
in Portland or Boston?”
“Wal, I guess I’ll ask one thing; ’tain’t much, an’ you said my boy
looked arter you a little, ’fore the schooner struck. There’s a spot
down on the sheltered side of Black Rock Head, jest to the end o’ my
meader, where I allers calkerlated to be buried, some day or other,
along with the old woman. I can’t find my boy to bury him there,” he
added simply, “but I’d like to put up somethin’ of a moniment t’ make
us think of him. These gravestone pedlars don’t come very often to
The Island; they tried it fer several years, but folks seemed t’ give
up dyin’ and they didn’t git no orders. Wal, I wish when you git to
Boston, you’d look ’round an’ buy me a handsome pair o’ stones, a big
one with a round top fer the head, an’ a small one fer the feet, an’
have Willum’s name an’ age put on--I’ll write it down an’ Mirandy ’ll
look up a text. Have ’em leave room enough below Willum’s for another
name. When dyin’ once gits into a family, there’s no knowing where it
’ll stop. I feel as if there’d be some more on us goin’ afore long.
They kin ship the stones in some of these coasters an’ I’ll pay fer ’em
down to the custom house. ’Tain’t askin’ too much, I hope, mister?”
“Certainly not,” said Ira, much affected and resolving that there
should be no bill at the custom house. “I’ll see that it is done just
as you wish.”
“Thanky kindly,” said the old man. “When the stones come along, I’ll
set ’em under the cedars. It’ll do mother an’ me a sight o’ good to see
’em an’ kind er make our boy seem near.”
“There’s one thing I wish to speak to you about,” said Mr. Waddy, after
a considerable silence. “This Miss Sullivan--I have money enough and to
spare. Do you know of anything I could do for her?”
The question was put rather awkwardly; Mr. Waddy knew as well as
anyone that money is not the current coin to repay an act of devotion.
“Wal,” said Dempster, seeing the good feeling that suggested and
checked the inquiry, “I don’t believe she wants fer money. She offered
me a thousand dollars fer our P’int. I told her perhaps I’d sell out
the whole farm for two thousand. I’ve been talkin’ some, along back,
with Willum, of goin’ out west an’ settlin’ by some o’ them big lakes.
When folks has been used to water, they don’t like to live away from
it. Willum’s gone, but Dan’l’s a handy boy, an’ Mirandy’s as good as
a whole drawin’ of some men. I guess we’ll go. It don’t look quite so
bright ’round here as it did,” and he passed his hand across his eyes.
“If Miss Sullivan doesn’t buy it, I will,” said Ira quickly. “Can you
tell me where she is to be found, so that I can have inquiry made what
her decision is? This is just the spot I should like to buy--it is a
good lonely place, where I can escape from my friends,--if I ever make
any,” he added, in a half-voice and rather bitterly.
“She came with a grist o’ folks from York,” said Dempster; “pretty good
folks, but different kind to her. Mirandy had their names on a paper,
but it got lost. But she said she’d write about the farm an’ I kin let
you know. Wal, if you want to go in the mornin’ I must go over an’ tell
Jake. I’ll be gone to the other field when you start; so good-bye.”
He gave Waddy a crushing grasp of the hand and looked at him wistfully,
as if he were recalling his son through this one who had seen him last.
Then, feeling that tears--tears of that better manhood which men call
unmanly--were falling over his brown cheeks, now hollow with fatigue
and sleepless grief, he unclosed his hand with grave gentleness and
walked slowly away.
Looking after him, something brought back to Waddy’s mind that sentence
the old man had uttered a little while before:
“When dying once gets into a family, there’s no knowing where it will
stop.”
He felt dimly that he had listened to a prophecy.