Kate Bonnet Part 29

The wife heaved a sigh. "But poor Lucilla!" she said. "It is dreadful that she should be forced to grow up here."

"Lucilla?" asked d.i.c.kory.

"Yes, sir," she said, "my eldest daughter. But she is not here now."

d.i.c.kory thought that it was somewhat odd that he should be again informed of a fact which he knew very well, but he made no remarks upon the subject.

Still wearing his c.o.c.ked hat--for he had nothing else with which to s.h.i.+eld his head from the sun--and with his uniform coat on, for he had not yet an opportunity of ripping from it the letter he carried, and this he would not part from--d.i.c.kory roamed about the little settlement.

Mander was an industrious and thrifty man. His garden, his buildings, and his surroundings showed that.

Walking past a clump of low bushes, d.i.c.kory was startled by a laugh--a hearty laugh--the laugh of a girl. Looking quickly around, he saw, peering above the tops of the bushes, the face of the girl who had laughed.

"It is too funny!" she said, as his eyes fell upon her. "I never saw anything so funny in all my life. A man in regimentals in this weather and upon a desert island. You look as if you had marched faster than your army, and that you had lost it in the forest."

d.i.c.kory smiled. "You ought not to laugh at me," he said, "for these clothes are really a great misfortune. If I could change them for something cool I should be more than delighted."

"You might take off your heavy coat," said she; "you need not be on parade here. And instead of that awful hat, I can make you one of long gra.s.s. Do you see the one I have on? Isn't that a good hat? I have one nearly finished which I am making for my father; you may have that."

d.i.c.kory would most gladly have taken off his coat if, without observation, he could have transferred his sacred letter to some other part of his clothes, but he must wait for that. He accepted instantly, however, the offer of the hat.

"You seem to know all about me," he said; "did you hear me tell my story?"

"Every word of it," said she, "and it is the queerest story I ever heard. Think of a pirate carrying a man away to marry him to his daughter!"

"But why don't you come from behind that bush and talk to me?"

"I can't do it," said she, "I am dressed funnier than you are. Now I am going to make your hat." And in an instant she had departed.

d.i.c.kory now strolled on, and when he returned he seated himself in the shade near the house. The letter of Captain Vince was taken from his coat-lining and secured in one of his breeches pockets; his heavy coat and waistcoat lay upon the ground beside him, with the c.o.c.ked hat placed upon them. As he leaned back against the tree and inhaled the fragrant breeze which came to him from the forest, d.i.c.kory was a more cheerful young man than he had been for many, many days. He thought of this himself, and wondered how a man, carrying with him his sentence of lifelong misery, could lean against a tree and take pleasure in anything, be it a hospitable welcome, a sense of freedom from danger, a fragrant breeze, or the face of a pretty girl behind a bush. But these things did please him; he could not help it. And when presently came Mrs. Mander, bringing him a light gra.s.s hat fresh from the manufacturer's hands, he took it and put it on with more evident pleasure than the occasion seemed to demand.

"Your daughter is truly an artist," said d.i.c.kory.

"She does many things well," said the mother, "because necessity compels her and all of us to learn to work in various ways."

"Can I not thank her?" said d.i.c.kory.

"No," the mother answered, "she is not here now."

d.i.c.kory had begun to hate that self-evident statement.

"She's looking out for s.h.i.+ps; her pride is a little touched that she missed Blackbeard's vessel yesterday."

"Perhaps," said d.i.c.kory, with a movement as if he would like to make a step in the direction of some tall tree upon a hill.

"No," said Mrs. Mander, "I cannot ask you to join my daughter. I am compelled to state that her dress is not a suitable one in which to appear before a stranger."

"Excuse me," said d.i.c.kory; "and I beg, madam, that you will convey to her my thanks for making me such an excellent hat."

A little later Mander joined d.i.c.kory. "I am sorry, sir," said he, "that I am not able to present you to my daughter Lucilla. It is a great grief to us that her attire compels her to deny herself other company than that of her family. I really believe, sir, that it is Lucilla's deprivations on this island which form at present my princ.i.p.al discontent with my situation. But we all enjoy good health, we have enough to eat, and shelter over us, and should not complain."

As soon as he was at liberty to do so, d.i.c.kory walked by the hedge of low bushes, and there, above it, was the bright face, with the pretty gra.s.s hat.

"I was waiting for you," said she. "I wanted to see how that hat fitted, and I think it does nicely. And I wanted to tell you that I have been looking out for s.h.i.+ps, but have not seen one. I don't mean by that that I want you to go away almost as soon as you have come, but of course, if a merchant s.h.i.+p should anchor here, it would be dreadful for you not to know."

"I am not sure," said d.i.c.kory gallantly, "that I am in a hurry for a s.h.i.+p. It is truly very pleasant here."

"What makes it pleasant?" said the girl.

d.i.c.kory hesitated for a moment. "The breeze from the forest," said he.

She laughed. "It is charming," she said, "but there are so many places where there is just as good a breeze, or perhaps better. How I would like to go to some one of them! To me this island is lonely and doleful.

Every time I look over the sea for a s.h.i.+p I hope that one will come that can carry us away."

"Then," said d.i.c.kory, "I wish a s.h.i.+p would come to-morrow and take us all away together."

She shook her head. "As my father told you," said she, "we have no place to go to."

d.i.c.kory thought a good deal about the sad condition of the family of this worthy marooner. He thought of it even after he had stretched himself for the night upon the bed of palmetto leaves beneath the tree against which he had leaned when he wondered how he could be so cheerful under the shadow of the sad fate which was before him.

CHAPTER XXVIII

LUCILLA'S s.h.i.+P

As soon as d.i.c.kory had left off his c.o.c.ked hat and his gold-embroidered coat, the little girl Lena had ceased to be afraid of him, and the next morning she came to him, seated lonely--for this was a busy household--and asked him if he would like to take a walk. So, hand in hand, they wandered away. Presently they entered a path which led through the woods.

"This is the way my sister goes to her lookout tree," said the little girl. "Would you like to see that tree?"

"Oh, yes!" said d.i.c.kory, and he spoke the truth.

"She goes up to the very top," said Lena, "to look for s.h.i.+ps. I would never do that; I'd rather never see a s.h.i.+p than to climb to the top of such a tree. I'll show it to you in a minute; we're almost there."

At a little distance from the rest of the forest and upon a bluff which overlooked a stretch of lowland, and beyond that the bay, stood a tall tree with spreading branches and heavy foliage.

"Up in the top of that is where she sits," said the child, "and spies out for s.h.i.+ps. That's what she's doing now. Don't you see her up there?"

"Your sister in the tree!" exclaimed d.i.c.kory. And his first impulse was to retire, for it had been made quite plain to him that he was not expected to present himself to the young lady of the house, should she be on the ground or in the air. But he did not retire. A voice came to him from the tree-top, and as he looked upward he saw the same bright face which had greeted him over the top of the bushes. Below it was a great bunch of heavy leaves.

"So you have come to call on me, have you?" said the lady in the tree.

"I am glad to see you, but I'm sorry that I cannot ask you to come upstairs. I am not receiving."

"He could not come up if he wanted to," said Lena; "he couldn't climb a tree like that."

"And he doesn't want to," cried the nymph of the bay-tree. "I have been up here all the morning," said she, "looking for s.h.i.+ps, but not one have I seen."

"Isn't that a tiresome occupation?" asked d.i.c.kory.