  March came and April followed. Muriel thought that never before had there been so lovely a spring. The returning birds surely sang more wonderful songs than in the springs that were past. The melting snow on the cliffs trickled down, forming sparkling miniature waterfalls. Then, after a warm spell, out of every crevice in the rocks wild flowers blossomed. The girl, running to the highest peak one glorious morning, flung her arms out toward the sky, letting the wind blow her red-brown hair as it would, and if Gene had seen his Storm Maiden at that moment he would have had a third picture of her that he would never wish to forget. “Oh, it’s glad I am to be livin’,” she said aloud. “The world is so wonderful and friends are so kind. I’m that happy, so happy.” The birds, her birds, were soon circling about her, for, although there was plenty for them to eat, Muriel fed them just for the joy of it. “I love every one of yo’,” she told them. “An’ yo’, too, poor ol’ lame pelican,” she called to a larger bird that descended when the flock of white gulls had swooped down to the sea, one of them having sighted a luckless fish that was glinting too near the surface of the water. Then, scrambling down to her Treasure Cave, the girl brought from its hiding place in a crevice the well-worn Second Reader. Going out on the sun-flooded ledge, she sat for a moment just gazing at the sparkling surf that was crashing far beneath her. Thrusting her hand into her pocket, she drew forth a letter bearing the New York postmark. It was the last that she had received from Gene, having been left at the lighthouse by little Sol. Muriel had been in the middle of breadmaking then, but all the hour she had been filled with eager anticipation, for in his last letter Gene had told her that in the spring he was to have a vacation (he had been at college since the beginning of the midwinter term), and that even if he could only spare a day for it, he was going to visit Windy Island. Muriel, while finishing the baking, had been happily wondering how her comrade would look after his month’s confinement at his studies. Perhaps the bronze from the wind and the sun would be worn away and again he would be pale as he was when she had first known him. How she hoped not! She wanted him to keep every bit of the strength he had gained during his month’s visit on Windy Island. Muriel removed the letter, her heart beating rapidly. She was sure that in it he would tell the day of his coming. Soon, very soon, she hoped, as she wished him to see how lovely her rock-ribbed island home was when the wild flowers blossomed. During the past months Muriel had become familiar with many of the simple words that Gene used in writing to her and she had to refer less frequently to the well-worn Second Reader. With comparative ease she read the few lines:
The sun was still shining and the waves sparkling, the birds still singing and the flowers blooming when Muriel had deciphered the message in that letter, but the glory of the day was gone for her and there was no echo of song in her heart. She arose, saddened, and after replacing the Second Reader in its niche, climbed the steep trail up the cliff and returned to the light. |
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