Sweetapple Cove Part 17

I pulled out my spring scale and hooked up the fish. We all watched eagerly as the pointer went down.

"Twenty-two; no, it's twenty-three and just a little bit over. I know it is the best fish taken from Sweetapple River this year. They haven't been running any larger," I said.

Then we all sat down again and admired the fish. Frenchy and I lighted our pipes, and I took the little Silver Doctor from the leader. It was just the least bit frayed but still very pretty and bright, with its golden floss and silver tinsel, its gold pheasant tips, blue hackles and multicolored wings.

"I will be glad if you will keep this fly," I told Miss Jelliffe. "You must hold it as a souvenir of your first salmon."

"Thank you! I will keep it always," she answered, brightly. "It will be a reminder of much kindness on your part, and of this beautiful day. Just look there, above the pool, where the little spruces and firs are reflected in the water that sings at their feet on its way down. How still it is and peaceful. Oh! It has been a glorious day!"

I must acknowledge that she was very charming in the expression of her enjoyment. There is nothing _blase_ about this handsome young girl. I followed the hand she was pointing. The river above was like some s.h.i.+ning road with edges jewelled in green and silvery gems. High up a great osprey was sailing in the blue, while around us the impudent Canada jays were clamoring. From this spot one could see no houses, owing to a bend in the river, and we were alone in a vastness of wilderness beauty, with none but Frenchy near us, who looked like a benign good soul whose gentle eyes shared in our appreciation.

"I think it is your turn to try the pool," Miss Jelliffe finally said.

"Not this morning," I answered. "You have no idea how the time has gone by, and how much I have enjoyed the sport. We will leave the pool now and go back. You know you were anxious to return in time for your father's lunch. From now henceforth we will know this as the Lady's Pool, and I hope to see you whip it again on many mornings, before you sail away."

"Please don't speak of sailing away just now," she said.

I took up the rod and the gaff, while Frenchy took charge of the salmon and the landing-net, and we walked down stream, past the first little rapids, to the place where we had left the dory.

"Won't Daddy be delighted!" exclaimed Miss Jelliffe.

"He will have good reason," I answered.

By this time we could see the cove and its rocky edges, upon which the rickety fish-houses and flakes were insecurely perched on slender stilts.

A couple of blunt-bowed little schooners were at anchor, and some men in boats were catching squid for bait.

"This is picturesque enough," said Miss Jelliffe, "but I miss the beauty of all that we have just left."

"I'm sure you do," I answered, "yet this view also is worth looking at.

It is not like the peaceful slumbering villages of more prosperous lands.

It represents the struggle and striving for things that will never be attained, the hopes of those yet young and the reminiscences of others becoming too old to keep up the fight. In many ways it is better than a big town, for here the people all know one another, and no one can starve as long as his neighbor has a handful of flour. Sweetapple Cove is a fine place, for sometimes the winds of heaven sweep away its smells of fish and fill deep the chests of st.u.r.dy men who fight the sea and gale instead of fighting one another, as men so often must, in the big cities, to retain their hold upon the loaves and fishes."

"I suppose we all look for things that can never be attained," she repeated after me, with a look of very charming, frank friendliness.

I sometimes wonder whether I wear my heart upon my sleeve for those pleasant daws to peck at. At any rate they do it gently, and both Mrs.

Barnett and this young lady are birds of a very fine feather.

So we entered the boat and were rowed over to the landing-place, but a few hundred yards away, where the Frenchman's little fellow was waiting, patiently, with one arm around a woolly pup with which he seemed to be great friends. As soon as we were ash.o.r.e he left the dog and came up to Miss Jelliffe.

"_Bonjour_," he said. "_Je t'aime bien_."

Yves blushed and smiled, apologetically, at this very sudden declaration of love, but the girl stooped, laughing, and kissed the little chap, pa.s.sing her hand over his yellow locks.

One is ever seeing it, this love of women for the little ones and the weaklings. We men are proud of our strength, but may it not be on account of some weaknesses hidden to ourselves that women so often love fellows who hardly seem to deserve them. It is a thing to wonder at. Dora, I am very sure, knows all the feeble traits I may possess. Will the day ever come when these may prompt her to think it would increase her happiness to take me under her protecting care?

"Won't you come over to the house?" Miss Jelliffe asked me.

"I am afraid that I rather need a wash," I said, "after handling your big salmon. Frenchy will take it over to your house. I must find out whether any one has been looking for me. In Sweetapple Cove there is no such thing as office hours, you know. People come at any time, from ever so many miles away, and sit down patiently to await my return."

"Well, good-by, and thank you again, ever so much. You must certainly come to-morrow and help us dispose of that fish."

She extended her hand, in friendly fas.h.i.+on, and I told her I was glad she had enjoyed herself.

"We are going out fis.h.i.+ng again, are we not?" she asked. "I want more lessons from you, and I should like to watch you at work."

I told her that I would be very happy, and scrambled away up the path to Sammy's house. Then I looked back, before opening the door. I saw her still walking, followed by Frenchy who bore the salmon in triumph. I could see how lithe she was and how the health and strength of out-of-doors showed in her graceful gait.

"It is not good for man to live alone," I told myself, and after Mrs.

Sammy had informed me that there were no pressing demands for my services I had lunch, after which I went to my room to write to Dora. I am doing the best I can not to bother the little girl, yet I'm afraid I always turn out something like a begging letter. But she always answers in a way that is ever so friendly and nice. In her last letter she dragged in again the fact that we were both still young, with the quite inaccurate corollary that we didn't know our own minds yet. I told her my mind was made up more inexorably than the laws of the Medes and the Persians, that it was not going to change, and that if her own mind was as yet so immature and youthful that it was not fully grown, she ought to give me a better chance to help in its development. I suppose that in her answer she will ignore this and speak of something else. That is what always makes me so mad at Dora, bless her little heart!

CHAPTER XI

_From Miss Helen Jelliffe to Miss Jane Van Zandt_

_Dearest Aunt Jennie_:

I was looking at the calendar, this morning, and thought that some one had made an extraordinary mistake, but I am now convinced that it will be four weeks to-morrow since we first arrived in Sweetapple Cove. Your accounts of delightful doings in Newport are most interesting, yet I am sure that with you the time cannot possibly fly as it does here.

At present dear old Daddy is reclining in a steamer chair on the porch of our little house, and his crutches are resting against the wall. They are wonderful things manufactured by Frenchy, whom Dr. Grant considers as an universal genius. When they were first brought to us I was inclined to whimper a little, for I had a dreadful vision of them as a permanent thing. It was a regular attack of what Daddy, in his sarcastic moments, calls silly, female fears.

"Don't tell me he is always going to need them!" I cried to the doctor.

This man has a way of setting all doubts at rest. Just one look of his frank clear eyes does it. I really am not surprised that these people all just grovel before him.

"Not a bit," he answered decisively. "He doesn't really need them now, but it will be a little safer to use them for the present. In a week or so we will make a bonfire of them."

Daddy has been sitting as judge and jury over his poor leg. Such measurings with steel tape and squintings along the edge of his s.h.i.+n-bone, and such chapters of queries and answers! But now he is perfectly satisfied that it is what he calls an A 1 job, and looks at his limb with the prideful interest of a man who has acquired a rare and precious work of art.

How can you possibly say that I must be yawning myself half to death and longing for the fleshpots of Morristown? If I could have my own way I would build an unpretentious cottage here, but of course I would insist on a real bath tub. And I would come and spend the most pleasant months, and cultivate my dear friends the populace, and those delightful Barnetts and Frenchy's kidlet, who is a darling and my first real conquest.

The doctor and I have caught more salmon, and some sea-trout, and I have taken lessons in knitting from some ancient dames whose fingers trembled either from old age or the excitement of the distinction conferred upon them. They don't despise my ignorance but are certainly surprised at it.

I am not certain that I have not prompted the arising of certain jealousies, though I do my best to distribute myself fairly. I cannot as yet turn a heel but I have hopes. Some day I will make Daddy wear the things, when he puts on enormous boots and goes quail shooting, after we go South again. I shall select some day when he has been real mean to me, and be the blisters on his own heels!

The _s...o...b..rd_ is now riding in the cove, having been manicured and primped up in the dry-dock at St. John's. Daddy says that it was an economy, for the dock laborer of that fortunate city does not yet regard himself as an independent magnate. Our schooner and its auxiliary engine are, of course, objects of admiration to the natives. They know a boat when they see one. Stefansson would have a fit if he saw a rope end that wasn't crown-spliced, or a flemish coil that was not reminiscent of the works of old masters. The way he keeps his poor crew polis.h.i.+ng the bra.s.ses must make life dreary for them, yet they seem to scrub away without repining. I have told you that Jim Brown, our second, is a native of these parts and responsible for our coming. Now he lords it in the village dwellings, where he is considered as a far-traveled man who can relate marvelous tales of great adventures to breathless audiences.

Daddy, of course, directed that every one should be made welcome on board. You should have seen these big fishermen coyly removing their heavy boots before treading our decks--I believe that "snowy deck" is the proper term--lest they should mar the holystoned smoothness. They have entered with bated breath the dining and sitting room, explored the mysteries of the galley and peeped into the staterooms.

"Jim he've written once ter the sister o' he," Captain Sammy told me one day. "He were tellin' how them yachts wuz all fixed up an' we wuz thinkin' as how in travelin' he'd got ter be considerable of a liar, savin' yer presence, ma'am. But now I mistrust he didn't hardly know enough ter tell the whole truth."

A few bystanders nodded in approval. I need hardly tell you that our invasion is still a subject of interest in the place. From my bedroom window, where I was trying to knit one afternoon, I heard some men who were conversing, standing peacefully in the middle of the little road, in spite of a pouring rain, which they mind about as much as so many ducks.

The only fat man in Sweetapple Cove was speaking.

"Over to England they is them Lards an' Jukes, what ain't allowed in them States, but I mistrusts them Jelliffes is what takes the place o' they in Ameriky."

"I dunno," doubted another, "th' gentleman he be kinder civerlized fer a juke. Them goes about wid little crowns on the head o' they, I seen a pictur of one, onst. But Lards is all right. Pete McPhay he saw one, deer huntin', two years ago, an' said he'd talk pleasant to anybody, like Mr.