"How did you know?" cried Anne, too
aghast at this
instance of Miss Cornelia's
uncanny prescience to make
a
polite denial.
"I saw him sitting beside you when I came up the lane,
and I know men's tricks," retorted Miss Cornelia.
"There, I've finished my little dress, dearie, and the
eighth baby can come as soon as it pleases."
CHAPTER 9
AN EVENING AT FOUR WINDS POINT
It was late September when Anne and Gilbert were able
to pay Four Winds light their promised visit. They had
often planned to go, but something always occurred to
prevent them. Captain Jim had "dropped in" several
times at the little house.
"I don't stand on
ceremony, Mistress Blythe," he told
Anne. "It's a real pleasure to me to come here, and
I'm not going to deny myself jest because you haven't
got down to see me. There oughtn't to be no
bargaining like that among the race that knows Joseph.
I'll come when I can, and you come when you can, and so
long's we have our pleasant little chat it don't matter
a mite what roof's over us."
Captain Jim took a great fancy to Gog and Magog, who
were presiding over the destinies of the
hearth in the
little house with as much
dignity and aplomb as they
had done at Patty's Place.
"Aren't they the cutest little cusses?" he would say
delightedly; and he bade them greeting and
farewell as
gravely and
invariably as he did his host and hostess.
Captain Jim was not going to
offend household deities
by any lack of
reverence and
ceremony.
"You've made this little house just about perfect," he
told Anne. "It never was so nice before. Mistress
Selwyn had your taste and she did wonders; but folks in
those days didn't have the pretty little curtains and
pictures and nicknacks you have. As for Elizabeth, she
lived in the past. You've kinder brought the future
into it, so to speak. I'd be real happy even if we
couldn't talk at all, when I come here--jest to sit and
look at you and your pictures and your flowers would be
enough of a treat. It's beautiful--beautiful."
Captain Jim was a
passionate worshipper of beauty.
Every lovely thing heard or seen gave him a deep,
subtle, inner joy that irradiated his life. He was
quite
keenly aware of his own lack of outward
comeliness and lamented it.
"Folks say I'm good," he remarked whimsically upon one
occasion, "but I sometimes wish the Lord had made me
only half as good and put the rest of it into looks.
But there, I
reckon He knew what He was about, as a
good Captain should. Some of us have to be
homely, or
the purty ones--like Mistress Blythe here--wouldn't
show up so well."
One evening Anne and Gilbert finally walked down to the
Four Winds light. The day had begun sombrely in gray
cloud and mist, but it had ended in a pomp of scarlet
and gold. Over the
western hills beyond the harbor
were amber deeps and
crystalline shallows, with the
fire of
sunset below. The north was a mackerel sky of
little, fiery golden clouds. The red light flamed on
the white sails of a
vessel gliding down the
channel,
bound to a southern port in a land of palms. Beyond
her, it smote upon and incarnadined the shining, white,
grassless faces of the sand dunes. To the right, it
fell on the old house among the willows up the brook,
and gave it for a
fleeting space casements more
splendid than those of an old
cathedral. They glowed
out of its quiet and grayness like the throbbing,
blood-red thoughts of a vivid soul imprisoned in a dull
husk of environment.
"That old house up the brook always seems so lonely,"
said Anne. "I never see visitors there. Of course,
its lane opens on the upper road--but I don't think
there's much coming and going. It seems odd we've
never met the Moores yet, when they live within fifteen
minutes' walk of us. I may have seen them in church,
of course, but if so I didn't know them. I'm sorry
they are so unsociable, when they are our only near
neighbors."
"Evidently they don't belong to the race that knows
Joseph," laughed Gilbert. "Have you ever found out
who that girl was whom you thought so beautiful?"
"No. Somehow I have never remembered to ask about her.
But I've never seen her
anywhere, so I suppose she must
have been a stranger. Oh, the sun has just
vanished--and there's the light."
As the dusk deepened, the great
beacon cut swathes of
light through it,
sweeping in a
circle over the fields
and the harbor, the sandbar and the gulf.
"I feel as if it might catch me and whisk me leagues
out to sea," said Anne, as one drenched them with
radiance; and she felt rather relieved when they got so
near the Point that they were inside the range of those
dazzling, recurrent flashes.
As they turned into the little lane that led across the
fields to the Point they met a man coming out of it--a
man of such
extraordinary appearance that for a moment
they both
frankly stared. He was a decidedly
fine-looking person-tall, broad-shouldered, well-
featured, with a Roman nose and frank gray eyes; he was
dressed in a
prosperous farmer's Sunday best; in so far
he might have been any inhabitant of Four Winds or the
Glen. But, flowing over his breast nearly to his
knees, was a river of crinkly brown beard; and adown
his back, beneath his
commonplace felt hat, was a
corresponding
cascade of thick, wavy, brown hair.
"Anne," murmured Gilbert, when they were out of
earshot, "you didn't put what Uncle Dave calls `a
little of the Scott Act' in that
lemonade you gave me
just before we left home, did you?"
"No, I didn't," said Anne, stifling her
laughter, lest
the retreating enigma should hear here. "Who in the
world can he be?"
"I don't know; but if Captain Jim keeps apparitions
like that down at this Point I'm going to carry cold
iron in my pocket when I come here. He wasn't a
sailor, or one might
pardon his eccentricity of
appearance; he must belong to the over-harbor clans.
Uncle Dave says they have several freaks over there."
"Uncle Dave is a little prejudiced, I think. You know
all the over-harbor people who come to the Glen Church
seem very nice. Oh, Gilbert, isn't this beautiful?"
The Four Winds light was built on a spur of red
sand-stone cliff jutting out into the gulf. On one
side, across the
channel, stretched the
silvery sand
shore of the bar; on the other,
extended a long,
curving beach of red cliffs, rising steeply from the
pebbled coves. It was a shore that knew the magic and
mystery of storm and star. There is a great solitude
about such a shore. The woods are never solitary--
they are full of whispering, beckoning, friendly life.
But the sea is a
mighty soul, forever moaning of some
great, unshareable sorrow, which shuts it up into
itself for all
eternity. We can never
pierce its
infinite mystery--we may only
wander, awed and
spellbound, on the outer
fringe of it. The woods call
to us with a hundred voices, but the sea has one
only--a
mighty voice that drowns our souls in its
majestic music. The woods are human, but the sea is of
the company of the archangels.
Anne and Gilbert found Uncle Jim sitting on a bench
outside the
lighthouse, putting the finishing touches
to a wonderful, full-rigged, toy
schooner. He rose and
welcomed them to his abode with the gentle,
unconscious
courtesy that became him so well.
"This has been a purty nice day all through, Mistress
Blythe, and now, right at the last, it's brought its
best. Would you like to sit down here outside a bit,
while the light lasts? I've just finished this bit of
a
plaything for my little grand
nephew, Joe, up at the
Glen. After I promised to make it for him I was kinder
sorry, for his mother was vexed. She's afraid he'll be
wanting to go to sea later on and she doesn't want the
notion encouraged in him. But what could I do,
Mistress Blythe? I'd PROMISED him, and I think it's
sorter real dastardly to break a promise you make to a
child. Come, sit down. It won't take long to stay an
hour."
The wind was off shore, and only broke the sea's
surface into long,
silvery ripples, and sent sheeny
shadows flying out across it, from every point and
headland, like
transparent wings. The dusk was
hanging a curtain of
violet gloom over the sand dunes
and the headlands where gulls were huddling. The sky
was
faintly filmed over with scarfs of
silken vapor.
Cloud fleets rode at
anchor along the horizons. An
evening star was watching over the bar.
"Isn't that a view worth looking at?" said Captain
Jim, with a
loving, proprietary pride. "Nice and far
from the market-place, ain't it? No buying and selling
and getting gain. You don't have to pay anything--all
that sea and sky free--`without money and without
price.' There's going to be a moonrise purty soon,
too--I'm never tired of
finding out what a moonrise can
be over them rocks and sea and harbor. There's a
surprise in it every time."
They had their moonrise, and watched its
marvel and
magic in a silence that asked nothing of the world or
each other. Then they went up into the tower, and
Captain Jim showed and explained the
mechanism of the
great light. Finally they found themselves in the
dining room, where a fire of driftwood was weaving
flames of wavering, elusive, sea-born hues in the open
fireplace.
"I put this
fireplace in myself," remarked Captain
Jim. "The Government don't give
lighthouse keepers
such luxuries. Look at the colors that wood makes. If
you'd like some driftwood for your fire, Mistress
Blythe, I'll bring you up a load some day. Sit down.
I'm going to make you a cup of tea."
Captain Jim placed a chair for Anne, having first
removed therefrom a huge, orange-colored cat and a
newspaper.
"Get down, Matey. The sofa is your place. I must put
this paper away safe till I can find time to finish the
story in it. It's called A Mad Love. 'Tisn't my
favorite brand of
fiction, but I'm
reading it jest to
see how long she can spin it out. It's at the
sixty-second chapter now, and the
wedding ain't any
nearer than when it begun, far's I can see. When
little Joe comes I have to read him
pirate yarns.