"Yes."
"What ship?"
"The _Sally Sims_--whaler...."
"The _Sally_! I know the _Sally_," the man cried. "Is Noll Wing still
captain?..."
"Of course."
His eyes were thoughtful. "I'm in luck, woman," he said. "Listen. Will
you do a thing for me?"
"What do you want me to do?"
"I've a sort of a home, up on the hill above us here.... Observatory....
I've been waiting four months for a ship to come along, keeping a
lookout from the top there.... Missed the _Sally_, somehow.... Must have
come up after I came down...."
"We made the island a little before noon," she said.
He chuckled. "Ah, I was in my boudoir then.... I want to ship on the
_Sally_. Does she need men?"
Her eyes clouded thoughtfully. "I--think so," she said. "They lost two,
three days ago."
"What was it?" he asked quickly. "Fighting whale...."
She shook, her head. "Boat got lost ... and they were short of water.
The jug wasn't fresh filled."
The man whistled softly. "That doesn't sound like one of Noll Wing's
boats," he said. "Noll is a stickler on those things...."
Faith bowed her head, tracing a pattern in the sand with her forefinger.
She said nothing. The man asked: "How long before they sail?"
"They're going to wait for me," she said.
His eyes lighted, and he chuckled. "Good. Now, listen.... If you'll be
so kind as to turn your back.... You see, I've been running wild here
for the past few months, and my clothes are all up at my place. I'll
trot up there and get them and come back here.... Get a few things that
I don't want to leave.... Will you turn your back?..." She had done so,
and she heard the water stir as he raced for the shore and landed. "I'm
going, now," he called.
"How long will you be?" she asked.
"Not over an hour," he told her. "About an hour."
"I'm afraid some one may come along this path.... Will they?... Should I
hide from them?..."
He laughed. "Bless you, this is my private path; it's officially taboo
to the natives, by special arrangement with the old witch doctor effect
that runs their affairs. There won't be a soul along.... I'll be back in
an hour...."
"I'll wait," she agreed softly. There was a light of mischief in her
eyes. Still standing with her face down stream, she heard his bare feet
pad the earth of the path for a moment before the sound was lost in the
laughing of the waterfall.... A moment later, his shout: "I'm gone."
She sat down quickly on the sand, smiling to herself, sure of what she
wished to do. She slipped off her shoes and her stockings with quick
fingers; and she gathered her skirts high about her thighs and stepped
with one foot and then another into the pleasant waters of the pool.
They rippled around her ankles; she went deeper.... The waters played
above her knees, while she balanced precariously in the swirling current
and gathered her skirts high....
The water was soothing as Heaven itself, after the salt.... But she was
not satisfied.... Merely wading.... She stood for a little, listening,
gathering courage, striving to pierce the shadows of the bush about her
with her eyes.... These first months of her marriage had driven a
measure of her youth out of Faith; they had been sober days, and days
more sober still were yet to come. But for this hour, a gay
irresponsibility flooded her; she waded ashore, singing under her
breath.... She began swiftly to loosen her skirt at the waist....
* * * * *
When the man came trotting down the trail at last, shouting ahead to her
as he came, Faith was sitting demurely upon the sand, clothed and in her
right mind.... She was trying to appear unconscious of the fact that
around the back of her neck, and her pink little ears, wet tendrils of
hair were curling.... When he came in sight, she rose gravely to meet
him; and he looked at her with quick, keen eyes, and laughed.... She
turned red as a flame....
"I don't blame you," he said. "It's a beautiful pool...."
She wanted to be angry with him; but she could not.... His laughter was
infectious; she smiled at him. "I--couldn't resist it," she said....
She was studying the man. He wore, now, the accustomed garments of a
seaman, the clothes which the men aboard the _Sally_ wore. Harsh and
awkward garments; yet they could not hide the graceful strength of the
man. He was not so big as Noll, she thought; not quite as big as even
Dan'l Tobey.... Yet there was such symmetry in his limbs and the breadth
of his shoulders that he seemed a well-bulked man. His cheeks were lean
and brown, and his lips met with a pleasant firmness.... A man
naturally gay, she thought; yet with strength in him....
They started down the path toward the sea together. He carried a
cloth-wrapped bundle, swinging in his hand. She looked at him sidewise;
asked: "Who are you? How do you come to be here?"
"My name's Brander," he said. "I was third mate on the _Thomas Morgan_."
She tried to remember a whaler by that name. "New Bedford?" she asked.
"No.... Nantucketer."