this tea party he found himself more interested than he had been in a long time.
Gene had several moments alone in which to meditate, for Rilla, having glanced at the sun, had suddenly scrambled up the rocks, and, shading her eyes, had looked long toward the town. Being satisfied that her grand-dad had not left Tunkett, she returned and lighted the dry wood, which soon snapped and crackled. Then, rising, she put her hands on her hips and unsmilingly gazed at the boy with dark, expressive eyes. After a moment’s solemn scrutiny she inquired: “How come yo’ to be cruisin’ ’round in that ol’ leaky hulk? Even a water rat’d had better sense.”
There seemed to the lad to be a note of scorn in the girl’s voice, and yet she had brought him tea.
Gene lowered the cup and smiled at her. Usually his smile was contagious, it was so genuinely good natured. “I don’t blame you in the least for calling me names,” he told her. “I just landed in Tunkett yesterday, and not knowing how to pass the time away, I went down to the wharf and asked a small freckle-faced boy if I could hire a boat. He said I could have my pick for a dollar an hour. He was going with me to where his boats were tied, I suppose, but just then some woman in the store called and away he ran. So I took the first boat I came to. I didn’t notice that it leaked until I was rounding the island.”
“That was little Sol – Mis’ Dexter’s boy – he rents boats to summer folks. He asks a tarnal whoppin’ price for ’em, ’pears like.”
“Well, his sail will cost me more than one dollar,” the lad told her, his eyes twinkling, “for I’ll have to pay for the wreck, I suppose.” Then he added: “Miss Storm Maiden, why don’t you smile? I’ve been here an hour, I do believe, and although you have looked at me angrily and scornfully and solemnly, you have not as yet smiled at me.
“I can’t be smilin’ when I know I’m doin’ what’s agin my grand-dad’s orders, but I tried to mind him. I tried to ship yo’ off’n Windy Island. I sure did.” The lad was puzzled. “I’ll testify that you tried hard enough, but why did you, Storm Maiden? Surely you weren’t afraid of me. I don’t understand.”
Then, in a few words, the girl told of her grand-dad’s dislike for “city folks,” though she did not tell him what caused that dislike.
“Am I the very first boy you have ever talked with?” the lad asked in amazement.
Rilla, still solemn, nodded. “Ye-ah,” she said, “an’ I’m tarnal sartin I don’ know what to do with yo’, bein’ as yer boat’s wrecked. Grand-dad’ll be back by noon and it’s most that now.” A swift glance at the sun had told Rilla the time. “Yo’ll have to hide in Treasure Cave, that’s what! I can’t come to see yo’ thar; ’twouldn’t be honest to Grand-dad; but I’ll let down a basket of grub on a rope. Then, when Cap’n Barney comes in from the fishin’ shoals where he goes every day I’ll hail him an’ tell him to take yo’ to town. He don’ mind city folks the way Grand-dad does.”
As she talked, Rilla led the way along the shore and paused at the foot of the perilous cliff above which towered the lighthouse.
“Thar’s a sail cloth in the cave as yo’ can wrap up in and keep warm,” she said. Then she pointed out the steep trail.
The lad looked at it and secretly wondered if he could make it. Then, turning, he held out his right hand, his cap in the other, as he said earnestly: “Miss Muriel Storm, I thank you for everything.” Then he started to climb. The girl watched him anxiously. “Steady there!” she cautioned. “Keep an even keel.”
The lad reached the ledge in safety and turned to wave his cap; then, stooping, he entered the cave, and none too soon, for, right at that very moment, a stentorian voice from the top of the cliff called, “Rilly gal, where be ye?”
“Comin’, Grand-dad!” the girl replied. Then she raced along the strip of pebbly beach, the dog at her heels.
Rilla’s heart was pounding with tumultuous excitement. How she wished that she could go to her grandfather and tell him the whole truth, but she did not dare.
CHAPTER IV.
A SHIPWRECKED MARINER
Cap’n Ezra Bassett was removing his rubber boots when Rilla entered the room. The tea kettle was singing cheerily on the stove. She had refilled it when she had made tea for Gene.
Again the old man noticed the flushed, excited appearance of the girl. “Rilla gal,” he said as he tugged at one boot, “what in tarnation have you got stowed away in that cave o’ yourn that you’re so plumb interested in? I swan I can’t figger it out. Maybe I’d better take a cruise down that way and be inspectin’ below decks.”
Luckily Rilla’s back was turned as she hurriedly pared potatoes for the frying. If her grand-dad had seen her face at that moment his suspicions would indeed have been aroused. When she did turn with the black iron spider to put upon the stove, she was greatly relieved to see that the old captain was removing his second boot and that he did not mean to carry out his threat to visit the cave.
“Grand-dad,” she began, hoping to lead his thoughts into other channels, “was thar anythin’ new as yo’ heard of in town?”
One might have supposed by his sudden explosive ejaculation that the new channel into which his thoughts had turned was not a pleasant one.
“Ye-ah, by thunder!” he said. “One of those good-for-nothin’ city fellars landed in Tunkett last night, so Mis’ Sol was sayin’, though what he’s doin’ ’round here at this time o’ the year nobody knows. I sure sartin was plaguey glad yo’d stayed anchored here on Windy Island. I don’t want yo’ to run afoul of any city folks – gals neither – with hifalutin’ notions; they’re all a parcel o’ – ” The old man’s speech was interrupted by a crash. Rilla had dropped a dish, an unheard-of proceeding, for she was as sure-fingered as she was sure-footed usually. Luckily the china was thick and apparently unbreakable.
“The grub’s ready, Grand-dad,” she said, as she poured into his cup the strong, steaming tea. The old man was pleased to note how little interest his “gal” took in the despised city folks, and he beamed across the table at her as he continued: “Sho now, Rilly, here’s some news on a dif’rent tack. Cap’n Barney’s laid up in drydock with rheumatics. Like’s not he won’t be able to navigate that craft o’ his for a week or two.”
The girl’s face paled. “Oh, Grand-dad, I’m that sorry,” she said, but her thought was inquired: “How can that city chap get to the mainland if Cap’n Barney don’ take him?”
Rilla had no other intimate friends among the fishermen who would be passing that evening on their homeward way from the Outer Ledge where they went at dawn each day after cod.
Captain Barney she loved next to her grand-dad, for had he not helped bring her up? One of her earliest recollections was of that kindly Irishman holding her on his knee and telling her wonderful tales of fairy folk who lived on that far away and dearly loved Emerald Isle where his boyhood had been spent. Never had the girl wearied of listening to tales of the mermaids who dwelt in caves under the cliffs and of the “Little Folk” who went about among the peat cabins helping the peasants.
“But thar’s nothin’ the loike of thim over here,” old Cap’n Barney would end, with a sigh, “lest be it’s you, Rilly lass.”
When the noon meal was over, Captain Ezra pushed back his chair. “Wall, fust mate, I reckon I’ll cruise down to the shanty for a spell an’ overhaul the kit. Holler
