  Gene Beavers received a night-letter from Doctor Winslow on the following day, and it contained its full quota of words. The sentiment of it was:
“May I?” Gene asked, looking up eagerly from the letter into the face of the old man, who sat near the stove, cap pulled well down over his eyes, smoking hard on his corncob pipe. There was a struggle going on in the heart of Captain Ezra. Here was one of those city chaps who for years he had hated on general principles settling down in his home, it would seem, to be a boarder for an indefinite length of time. Then another thought presented itself as the captain noticed how frail the lad really was, and he questioned his own heart: “What if ’twas yo’re boy needin’ some-un to help him get strong, Ezra Bassett? How would yo’ want him to be treated? Turned out and let to drift on the rocks, maybe? I snum—No!” The old man rose and vigorously shook the ashes down from the stove before he replied: “Sure, yo’ can be larnin’ all thar is to know about the light, I reckon, if ’twould interest yo’, son, but Lem knows I’m jealous of that big lamp. I won’t even let Rilly gal polish up the lens.” The girl, her face flushed from the heat of the stove, where she stood frying fish and potatoes in a big black skillet, laughed over her shoulder as she said: “I reckon Grand-dad loves the lamp better’n he does me, I reckon he does!” Then it was that the expression of infinite tenderness which Gene had noticed before appeared in the eyes of the old man as he replied earnestly: “Thar’s nothin’ this world holds that I love better’n you, fust mate”; then he added, in another tone, “An’, you rascal, you know it.” Gene slept on a cot in the kitchen, and as the days passed his strength rapidly returned. The weather continued sunny and bracing and although it was nearing the holiday season the midwinter blizzards had not arrived. Muriel had told the lad all about the treasure box in her cave. A week after the arrival of the boy on Windy Island they were climbing about on the cliffs when they found themselves near the small opening to the cave. “Come on in. I’ll show yo’ the box,” Rilla said. Gene, really curious concerning the treasure that had been given up by the sea, went in and watched with interest as the girl lifted the mirror-lined cover of what he recognized to be a water-tight steamer trunk of foreign make. The sea-green dress, he agreed, was wonderful. “I judge that it is Parisian,” he said. Then, as he saw the question in her hazel eyes, he told about the City of Paris, where he had been the summer before. He described the beautiful shops, the lights, the damsels, and the rare and exquisite fabrics from which their gowns were fashioned. “I reckon this box belongs to one of those beautiful ladies,” Muriel said at last. Gene nodded. “I haven’t a doubt about it,” he agreed. “Have you looked through it thoroughly to see if you could find the name of the owner?” The girl shook her red-brown head. “I cal’lated thar’d been a wreck, for ’twas a high storm as sent this box in. ’Twa’n’t hereabouts, but I reckon it was far out at sea.” “Undoubtedly you are right, Muriel, but let’s look for some possible clue as to the former owner’s identity.” The lad and the girl, as eager as two children, were on their knees in the soft sand of the cave. The dress had been carefully laid to one side. A small box of exquisite workmanship was found and when the cover was lifted the girl uttered an exclamation of joy, and in the dim light Gene thought her eyes like stars. No wonder that Muriel was elated, for in that box there was a set of jewels of the most entrancing blue. Never had she seen anything just like it in the sea or in the sky. It seemed to be alive, that color! There was a necklace of them and two lantern-like earrings, a brooch and a ring. Muriel gazed at them awed by their loveliness, her hands tight clasped. As Gene watched her, he wished that all girls might be as utterly unconscious of self as she was. Not a move did she ever make to attract him. She was as natural in all that she did as were the seagulls that circled over the cliff. His thoughts were interrupted by Muriel, who looked up with a troubled expression in her eyes. “Gene,” she said, “’tisn’t right for me to keep ’em. They aren’t mine, and I cal’late they’re wurth a power o’ money. Aren’t they?” The boy nodded. “A fortune, I judge.” “I’d like to give ’em back to the gal as lost ’em, if I knew who ’twas.” Gene had idly lifted from the jewel case a locket and had opened it. On one side was the portrait of a proud, beautiful girl, and on the other was a picture of himself. He snapped it shut and, replacing it in the box, he rose rather abruptly, saying: “Muriel, let’s finish our search for the owner’s name at some future time. Shall we? You know we started out to dig clams.” Muriel was rather surprised, but as her patient did seem weary, she replaced the green dress and went with him to the beach below. Gene wanted time to think. |
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