Uncle William: The Man Who Was Shif'less Part 23

XIX

The boat eased away from the wharf. The invalid on deck gazed back at the city. A little spot of red lay in the hollow of either cheek. Uncle William hovered about, adjusting pillows and rugs. Now and then his eye dropped to the wharf and picked out, casually, a figure that moved in the crowd. "There--that's a leetle mite easier, ain't it?"

The young man nodded almost fretfully. "I'm all right, Uncle William.

Don't you fuss any more." He leaned forward, looking toward the wharf.

"Who is that?"

Uncle William pushed up his spectacles and peered. "I don't seem to see anybody," he said truthfully. He was gazing with some painstaking in the opposite direction.

"Not there. Look!--She's gone!" He sank back with a sigh.

"Somebody you knew, like enough?" The question was indifferent.

"I thought it was--her."

"She, now! She wouldn't be likely to be down here this time o' day."

"No, I suppose not. It was just a fancy."

"That's all. You comf'tabul?"

"Yes--" a little impatiently.

"That's good. Now we're off." Uncle William beamed on the water that billowed before and behind. He went off to find the captain.

When he came back, the young man had ceased to look toward the sh.o.r.e. "I made a mistake," he said regretfully.

"That's nateral," said Uncle William. "I s'pose you've been thinkin'

of her, off and on, and you jest thought you saw her. I wouldn't think any--"

"It wasn't that," the young man broke in. "I _did_ see her. I know now.

I saw her face for a minute as plain as I see yours. She was looking straight at me and I saw all of a sudden what a fool I was."

"You're getting better," said Uncle William.

"Do you think so? I was afraid--" he hesitated.

"You thought mebbe you was a-goin' to die?"

"Well--I have heard that people see clearly--It came over me in a flash so--"

"Lord, no!" Uncle William chuckled. "You're jest gettin' your wits back, that's all. I shouldn't wonder if you'd be real pert by the time we get there. I cal'ate you'll be considabul help to me--dish-was.h.i.+n' an' so on."

The towers and chimneys behind them dwindled. The smoke of the city faded to a blur and grew to clear azure. The wind blew against their faces. After a little the young man got to his feet. "I'm going to walk awhile." He spoke defiantly.

"Walk right along," said Uncle William, cheerfully.

He tottered a few steps, and held out his hand.

Uncle William chuckled. "I reckoned you'd want a lift." He placed a strong hand under the young man's arm. They paced back and forth the length of the deck. "Feel good?" asked Uncle William.

The young man nodded. "I shall go alone to-morrow."

"Yes, I reckon you will," soothingly. "And the further north we get, the better you'll feel. It's cur'us about the North. The' 's suthin' up there keeps drawin' you like a needle. I've known a man to be cured jut by turnin' and sailin' that way when he was sick. Seem 's if he stopped pullin' against things and just let go. You look to me a little mite tired. I'd go below for a spell if I was you."

The young man went below and slept. When he woke he felt better, as Uncle William had predicted. At Halifax he insisted on sending a telegram to Sergia. After that he watched the water with gleaming face, and when they boarded the _John L. Cann_ and the sh.o.r.es of Arichat shaped themselves out of s.p.a.ce, he was like a boy.

Uncle William leaned forward, scanning the wharf. "There's Andy!" he exclaimed.

"Where?"

"Right there. Don't you see him--dangling his legs over the edge?"

"Hallo, Andy!" The young man's voice had a joyous note.

Andy grunted.

When they landed, he held out a limp hand. "Got any duds?" he asked indifferently.

"There's my box and hisn and some traps down below. He's gone down to look after 'em," said Uncle William. "Juno come back?"

"Nope."

The young man appeared on deck with his hand-bag. "How are you, Andy?"

Andy nodded.

"He says she ain't come back," said Uncle William.

"Who?"

"Juno. She must 'a' been gone as much as a week, ain't she, Andy?"

"Two weeks last night," said Andy.

"Tuh-tuh!" Uncle William's tongue expressed concern. "We'll hev to go look for her. You goin' to row us up?"

"Guess so," said Andy.

"I thought ye'd want to. Set right there, Mr. Woodworth. Don't you mind bein' in the way. Andy's used to it."

They rowed up through the clear light. The harbor stretched away, gleaming, to darkness. The cliffs rose on the right, somber and waiting.

Uncle William lifted his face. The little house on the cliff caught a gleam and twinkled. The boat grated on the beach. There was a stiff climb up the path, with long pauses for breath. Uncle William opened the door. He moved back swiftly. A gray avalanche had descended upon him.

She clawed at his shoulder and perched there, looking down at him.