The village store, grandiloquently styled by a red sign the Wilton
Emporium, was thronged with the usual noontime crowd.
It was a still, grey day, murky with fog and the odors of wet oilskins,
steaming rubber coats, damp woolens blended with a mixture of tar,
coffee and tobacco smoke, made its interior thick and stuffy. Long ago
the air-tight stove had consumed such remnants of oxygen as the room
contained. The windows reeked with moisture; the floor was gritty with
sand.
These discomforts, however, failed to be of consequence to the knot
of men who, rain or shine, congregated there at mail time. They were
accustomed to them. Indeed, a drizzle, far from keeping the habitués
away, rendered the meeting place unusually popular. Not but that plenty
of work, capable of being performed as well in foul as in fair weather,
could not have been found at home.
Zenas Henry Brewster's back stairs were at the very moment crying out
for paint; the leg was off his hair-cloth sofa; the pantry window stuck;
the bolt dangled from his side door and could have been wrenched off
with a single pull.
Here was an ideal opportunity to make such repairs. Yet, why take today?
Nobody really saw the stairs. If the sofa pitched the brick tucked
underneath, it at least prevented it from lurching dangerously. The
pantry window was as well closed as open, anyway. And as for the side
door--if it was not bolted at all, no great harm would result.
"Nobody's got in yet," Zenas Henry optimistically philosophized as,
despite his wife's protests, he slipped into his sou'wester, "an' I see
no cause to think thieves will pitch on today to come. Fur's that goes,
Wilton ain't never had a burglary in all its history. We could leave all
the bolts off the doors."
To this cheery observation he added over his shoulder a jaunty
"Goodbye!" and, striding out through the shed, was off to join his
cronies.
The argument with Abbie had not only delayed him, but had left him a bit
irritated, and he was more nettled still to find, when he crossed the
threshold of the post-office, that the daily conclave was in full swing.
Nevertheless, the session had not become as interesting as it would
after those who dropped in simply to call for mail or make purchases had
thinned out. He had, to be sure, missed seeing the letters distributed,
but the best yet remained.
Shuffling over to the counter where his friends were huddled, Zenas
Henry unostentatiously joined them.
"Yes-siree, there'll be somethin' doin' in Wilton now," Enoch Morton,
the fish-man, was saying. "That sand bar's goin' to be the centre of
the town, if I don't miss my guess. There'll be more'n Charlie Eldridge
fishin' in the channel."
A laugh greeted the prediction.
"Who's seen her?" Captain Benjamin Todd inquired.
"I have," came the piping voice of Lemuel Gill. "Me and 'Becca rowed
over from Belleport Saturday. We went a-purpose, takin' some jelly
to Marcia as an excuse. The girl's Jason's niece all right, same's
folks say, though she looks no more like him than chalk like cheese. A
prettier little critter 'twould be hard to find. It 'pears that at the
outset Marcia invited her for no more'n a short visit. Inside the week,
though, the two of 'em have got so friendly, Sylvia's sent home for her
trunk, an' is plannin' to stay all summer. She's head over heels in love
with the place. I'm almighty glad she's come, too, for it's goin' to
be grand for Marcia, who must be lonely enough out there with only the
setter for company."
"It's her own fault. She could have other companions was she so minded,"
declared Captain Phineas Taylor, significantly.
"Oh, we all know that, Phineas," agreed the gentle Lemuel Gill. "There's
plenty of folks hankerin' to be comrades to Marcia. The only trouble is
she doesn't want 'em."
"With this girl at her elbow, she'll want 'em even less, I reckon,"
Asaph Holmes interposed.
"Mebbe. Still, I figger that ain't a-goin' to discourage her admirers
none. Why, within the week Sylvia's been here, I happen to know Marcia's
had four buckets of clams, a catch of flounders, an' a couple of cuts of
sword-fish presented to her," Ephraim Wise, the mail carrier announced.
"That stray blue-fish of Charlie Eldridge's must 'a' swelled the
collection some, too," put in Lemuel. "When I asked Charlie what he done
with it, he owned he left it over at the Homestead. He said he never
wanted to see another fish long's he lived."
"That ain't all the gifts The Widder's had, neither," volunteered Silas
Nickerson, the postmaster, who now joined the group. "Not by a long
shot. I can see the whole of that spit of sand from my back porch, an'
often after I've had my supper an' set out there smokin' an' sorter--"
"Sorter keepin' a weather eye out," chuckled a voice.
"Smokin' an' takin' the air," repeated Silas, firmly. "I look in that
direction, 'cause it's a pleasant direction to look. That's how I come
to know more'n one lobster's been sneaked to Marcia after dusk."
"I don't so much mind folks makin' Marcia friendly donations," Captain
Jonas Baker declared with guilty haste. "In my opinion, it's right an'
proper they should. But when it comes to Eleazer Crocker, who's head of
the fire department an' undertaker as well, goin' over there for the
entire evenin' with the keys to the engine house in his pocket, I think
the town oughter take some action 'bout it. S'pose there was to be a
fire an' him hemmed in by the tide t'other side the channel? The whole
village might burn to the ground 'fore ever he could be fetched home."
"That certainly ain't right," Zenas Henry agreed. "Eleazer'd either
oughter hang the keys on a bush near the shore or leave 'em with some
responsible person when he goes a-courtin'."
"When you went courtin', would you 'a' wanted the whole town made aware
of it?" queried Enoch Morton.
Chagrined, Zenas Henry colored.
"Well, anyhow, he's got no business goin' off the mainland. Even if
there ain't a fire, somebody might die. He's a mighty important citizen,
an' his place is at home."
"Oh, I wouldn't go that fur," soothed peace-loving Lemuel Gill. "Fires
an' dyin' don't happen every day."
"No. But when they do come, they're liable to come sudden," maintained
Zenas Henry stoutly.
"Not always. Besides, we've got to go a bit easy with Eleazer. Remember
from the first he warn't anxious to be undertaker, anyway. He said so
over an' over again," put in the gruff voice of Benjamin Todd. "He
'xplained he hadn't a mite of talent for the job an' no leanin's toward
it. It was foisted on him 'gainst his will."
"Well, somebody had to be undertaker. I didn't hanker to be town
sheriff, but I got hauled into bein'," rejoined Elisha Winslow. "In a
place small as this honors sometimes go a-beggin' unless folks muster up
their public spirit."
"I don't see, 'Lish, that the duties of sheriff have been so heavy here
in Wilton that they've undermined your health," grinned Captain Phineas
Taylor. "You ain't been what one could call over-worked by crime. Was
you to need a pair of handcuffs in a hurry, it's my belief you wouldn't
be able to find 'em. As for Eleazer--nobody's died for nigh onto a year;
an' the only fire that's took place was a brush one that we put out
'most an hour 'fore the key to the engine-house could be found, the door
unlocked, an' the chemical coaxed into workin'."
"That's true enough," conceded Captain Benjamin. "Still, I'll bet you a
nickel was you to come down hard on Eleazer, an' tell him that in future
he'd have to choose 'twixt undertakin' an' courtin', he'd pick the
courtin'. He's human. You can't press a man too hard. Besides, you've
no right to blame that mix-up 'bout the engine-house key on him, Cap'n
Phineas. Give the devil his due. Eleazer warn't responsible for that.
His sister borrowed the brass polish for her candle-sticks an' afterward
slipped the key into her pocket by mistake. Remember that? At the minute
the fire broke out she was leadin' a women's missionary meetin' at the
church an' was in the act of prayin' for the heathens out in China. It
didn't seem decent to interrupt either her or the Lord. Unluckily the
prayer turned out to be an uncommon long one an' in consequence the
chemical got delayed."
"Well, anyhow, I'm glad this niece of Marcia's come," broke in Lemuel
Gill, shifting the subject. "She's a pleasant little critter an' will
kinder stir things up."
"Oh, there's no danger but she'll do that all right, Lemmy," Zenas Henry
drawled. "You can generally depend on a pretty girl to raise a rumpus.
Give her a month in town an' she'll most likely have all the male
population cuttin' one another's throats."
Fortunately both Marcia and Sylvia were at the moment too far out of
ear-shot for this menacing prediction to reach them. Cut off by curtains
of fog and a tide that foamed through the channel, they were standing in
the homestead kitchen.
The builder of it would have laughed to scorn the present day apology
for an interior so delightful.
Here was a room boasting space enough for an old-fashioned brick oven;
an oil stove; two sand-scrubbed tables, snow white and smooth as satin;
a high-backed rocker cushioned in red calico; braided rugs and shelves
for plants. A regal kitchen truly--one that bespoke both comfort and
hospitality.
The copper tea kettle, singing softly and sending up a genial spiral of
steam, gleamed bright as sunshine; and the two big pantries, through
which one glimpsed rows of shining tins and papered shelves laden with
china, contributed to the general atmosphere of homeliness.
Fog might shroud the outer world in its blanket of unreality, but it was
powerless to banish from Marcia's kitchen the cheer which perpetually
reigned there.
Before the fire, stretched upon his side, lay Prince Hal, his body
relaxed, his eyes drowsy with sleep; while from her vantage-ground on
the rocking-chair above, the tiger kitten, Winkie-Wee, gazed watchfully
down upon his slumbers.
It was Sylvia, however, who, in a smock of flowered chintz, lent the
room its supreme touch of color. She looked as if all the blossoms in
all the world had suddenly burst into bloom and twined themselves about
her slender body.
Out of their midst rose her head, golden with curls and her blue eyes,
large and child-like.
With her coming, a new world had opened to Marcia.
The girl's lightness of touch on life; her irrepressible gaiety; her
sense of humor and unique point of view all bespoke a newer generation
and one far removed from her aunt's environment. Not that she was
without moral standards. She had them, but they were kept far in the
background and were not the strained and anxious creeds which the woman
of New England ancestry had inherited.
To see Sylvia jauntily sweep aside old conventions; to behold the
different emphasis she put upon familiar problems; to witness her
audacious belittling of issues her elders had been wont to grapple with
was an experience that continually shocked, stimulated, challenged and
amused.
Yet, there was something big and wholesome in it withal; something
refreshingly sincere and free from morbidity; a high courage that took
things as they came and never anticipated calamity.
Marcia found herself half reluctantly admiring this splendidly normal
outlook; this mixture of sophistication and naïveté; her niece's novel
and definitely formed opinions.
For, youthful though Sylvia was, she had personality, character,
stratums of wisdom far in advance of her years. A very intriguing
companion, Marcia admitted, one of whose many-sidedness she would not
soon tire.
"Now what shall our menu be, Marcia, dear?" she was asking. "Remember,
according to our compact, it is my turn to get the dinner."
"Anything but fish!" Marcia answered with a groan. "I'm so tired of
salt-water products it seems as if never again could I touch another."
"But my dear, if you will have a stag line of nautical admirers, what
can you expect? You must pay the penalty. Besides, I think you're
ungrateful," Sylvia pouted. "I love clams and other sea foods."
"You've not had so many of them in your lifetime as I have. Besides, I
suspect you are not telling the truth. Come, confess. Aren't you a wee
bit fed up on clams? Clam chowder Monday night, steamed clams Tuesday
noon; clam fritters Tuesday night. And then that blue-fish. Why, it
was big as a shark! I almost lost my courage when the sword-fish and
the flounders came, but fortunately with the aid of Prince Hal and the
kitten, we disposed of them fairly well. The lobsters, alas, yet remain.
I used to think it would be romantic to be a Lorelei and live deep down
beneath the waves; but this avalanche of fish--!" Despairingly she
shrugged her shoulders.
Sylvia laughed.
"I don't feel at all like that. I've had a feast of fish and enjoyed it.
But if I were to express a preference it would be for the hard-shelled
suitors. Do select one of those for a husband, Marcia," begged she,
whimsically. "The others are all very well. Indeed, that blue-fish swain
was magnificent in his way, but me for the crustaceans."
"Sylvia! You absurd child!"
"Just consider the clam character for a moment--so silent, so
close-mouthed; never stirring up trouble or wanting to be out nights. In
my opinion, he would be an ideal helpmate. Not sensitive, either; nor
jealous. Marcia, do marry one of the clams!
"I'm not so sure," went on the girl reflectively, "whether he would be
affectionate. He seems somewhat undemonstrative. Still, contrast him
with the lobster. Oh, I realize the lobster has more style, originality,
and is more pretentious in every way. However, say what you will, he is
grasping by nature and has a much less gentle disposition. Besides, he
is restless and always eager to be on the move.
"Yes, all things taken together, I lean strongly toward a nice,
peaceable clam husband for you, Marcia. He'd be twice as domestic in his
tastes. I acknowledge the blue-fish has more back-bone, but you do not
need that. You have plenty yourself. Most women, I suppose, would be
carried away by his dash, his daring, his persistence. He has a certain
sporty quality that appeals; but he is so outrageously stubborn! He
never gives in until he has to. He'd be dreadful to live with."
"Sylvia, you are ridiculous!" Marcia protested. "You forget I am your
aunt."
"My mistake. I did forget it, I'll confess; and what's more I probably
always shall. To me you are just a girl I'd be head-over-heels in
love with if I were a man. I don't blame all the clams, lobsters, and
flounders for flocking over here to make love to you."
"Stop talking nonsense."
"But it isn't nonsense. It's the truth. Isn't that precisely what
they're doing? You certainly are not deluding yourself into thinking
these men come gallivanting out here over the flats with the mere
philanthropic purpose of seeing you don't starve to death, do you?"
Sylvia demanded.
"Perhaps they come to see you," hedged Marcia feebly.
"Me! Now Marcia, pray do not resort to deceit and attempt to poke
this legion of mermen off on me. As a relative, I insist on having a
truthful, respectable aunt. Consider my youth. Isn't it your Christian
duty to set me a good example? Whether you wed any of these nautical
worshippers or not is your own affair. But at least honesty compels you
to acknowledge they're your property."
A shadow, fleet as the rift in a summer cloud, passed over Marcia's
face, but transient as it was Sylvia, sensitively attuned and alert to
changes of mood in others, noticed it.
"What a little beast I am, Marcia," she cried, throwing her arm
impulsively about the other woman. "Forgive my thoughtlessness. I
wouldn't have hurt you for the world. You know I never saw Uncle Jason.
He left home when I was a child and is no reality to me. Even mother
remembered him only as he was when a boy. She kept a little picture of
him on her bureau, and on his birthdays always placed flowers beside
it. She was fond of him, because he was only six when Grandmother died.
After that, Mother took care of him and brought him up. She worried
a good deal about him, I'm afraid, for it was a great responsibility
and she herself was nothing but a girl. However, she did the best she
could."
Sylvia stole a look at Marcia who had stiffened and now stood with eyes
fixed on the misty world outside.
"Mother felt sorry, hurt, that Uncle Jason should have left home as he
did, and never came back to see her. He was an impulsive, hot-headed boy
and she said he resented her watchfulness and authority. But even though
he ran away in a moment of anger, one would think years of absence would
have smoothed away his resentment.
"For a little while he wrote to her; then gradually even his letters
stopped. She never knew what sort of a man he became. Once she told me
she supposed there must be lots of mothers in the world who merely sowed
and never reaped--never saw the results of their care and sacrifice."
"Jason--Jason loved your mother," Marcia murmured in a voice scarcely
audible. "I am sure of that."
"But if he loved her, why didn't he come to see her? I know it was a
long journey, but if he could only have come once--just once. It would
have meant so much!"
"Men are selfish--unfeeling. They forget," replied Marcia, bitterly.
"You give your life to them and they toss aside your love and devotion
as if it were so much rubbish."
The outburst, sharp with pain, burst from her involuntarily, awing
Sylvia into silence.
What did she know of Jason, that dim heritage of her childhood? Of
Marcia? Of their life together, she suddenly asked herself.
Dismayed, she stole a glance at her companion.
It was as if idly treading a flower-strewn path she had without warning
come upon the unplumbed depths of a volcano's crater.
To cover the awkwardness of the moment, she bent to caress Prince Hal
who had risen and stood, alert and listening beside her.
Only an instant passed before Marcia spoke again--this time with
visible effort to recapture her customary manner.
"Suppose we have lobster Newburg this noon," suggested she. "I'll get
the chafing-dish. What's the matter, Hal, old man? You look worried.
Don't tell me you hear more fish swimming our way?"