  Doctor Winslow accompanied Miss Gordon and Muriel to the little coast village of Tunkett. It was twilight when the leisurely train at last stopped at the station and Jabez appeared through the flurry of snow driving the doctor’s old horse and two-seated buggy. The side curtains were up and on the back seat the woman and the girl were soon made comfortable. How Miss Gordon was enjoying every moment of the quaint experience of being suddenly transported from the atmosphere of a fashionable girls’ school and from the most modern city in the world to this old-fashioned hamlet which had changed but little in one hundred years. The wagon jolted along, for the road was full of frozen ruts, and Muriel laughed gleefully as she was thrown against the older woman. She knew that she was laughing to keep from crying, but, oh, how hard it was, how much harder even than she had supposed that it would be, this coming back to Tunkett and no grand-dad there to meet her. But she would lock her grief in her heart, she bravely resolved, and devote the next two weeks to bringing rest and recreation to the dear friend who had devoted so much of her free time during the past months to teaching and helping her. As they turned into the road, the booming of the breakers could plainly be heard and the penetrating cold, salty wind from the sea reached even the sheltered back seat; but, before Miss Gordon or Muriel could be chilled, they were turning into a driveway, and, with unexpected suddenness, Methuselah stopped at a stepping block near the side veranda. “Don’t have to say whoa to this ol’ horse,” Jabez boasted. “Allays knows when he’s put into the home port and just whar he’s to dock without tellin’.” Doctor Winslow laughed as he sprang out and unfastened the side curtains preparatory to assisting Miss Gordon to alight. “Jabez,” he exclaimed, “you and Methuselah belong to a mutual admiration society, don’t you?” “We’re fust rate friends, if that’s what yer meanin’,” the old man declared with a chuckle, “but horses are much the same as humans, I take it; if you like them, why turn about they like you.” Then, as the suitcase had been removed, he picked up the reins. “Heave ahead, Methuselah, we’ll cruise down to your anchorage.” Miss Gordon laughed. “Does the old horse understand what he means?” “Indeed, he does,” the physician assured her; then, as the side door opened letting out into the snowy dusk a welcome flood of light, he called to the thin, neatly dressed woman who appeared there: “Here we are, Brazilla, bag and baggage! Miss Gordon, this is the sister of Jabez Mullet and the maker of the most famous chowder on the coast.” The housekeeper accepted Miss Gordon’s hand, but turned at once to the tall, slender girl who stood in the background smiling at her just a bit wistfully. “Rilla, Rilla Storm, ’tain’t you! It can’t be! They’ve gone and made you over into a young lady such as comes here summers to the point.” The housekeeper actually was wiping tears from her eyes with one corner of her immaculate apron. In a moment the girl’s arms were about her. “’Tis me, Brazilla. Maybe my clothes are different, but my heart’s the same. I couldn’t ever change inside.” Doctor Winslow had led Miss Gordon into the warm, cheerful living room, and so, for a moment, the two old friends were alone in the entry. “I dunno what made me cry,” Miss Mullet was saying. “You can’t guess what it means to me havin’ you come for Christmas, Rilla. I sorter wish Gene Beavers was comin’, too. It’d be kind of a family gatherin’. But thar, I’m forgettin’ the biscuits that’s in the oven and me wantin’ ’em to be just the crispy brown the way Doctor Lem likes ’em.” For a moment Muriel stood alone in the entrance hall, thinking of all that had happened since she stood there before. Then she heard a sweet voice calling to her. “Yes, Miss Gordon, I’m coming,” she replied. Half an hour later all were seated about a festive board and Miss Gordon declared that of such delicious homey cooking she had not partaken since she was a girl. A kerosene lamp, with a rose-colored shade, hung above the middle of the table and on the snowy cloth were the old-fashioned white dishes with gold borders that had belonged, in the long ago, to the mother of Doctor Lem. The physician glanced over a flowering rose geranium which adorned the center of the table and smiled at Miss Gordon, who sat opposite, as he exclaimed with sincere appreciation: “You are right, Helen; I have traveled the world over, but nowhere have I found anyone who can cook to please me as can Brazilla Mullet.” That was what Doctor Lem said, but in the silent moment that followed his thoughts added that it was indeed pleasant to see the sweet face of Miss Gordon smiling at him from the other end of the table. The old house had not really been a home to him since his sister and mother had died but a few months apart. The color in Miss Gordon’s checks deepened as she met his gaze, or, perhaps, it was but the reflection from the rose-colored lampshade. “Brazilla, do tell me the news,” Muriel was saying. “I’m just sure that something interesting must have happened. Have you seen Shags, and poor little crippled Zoeth lately, and how are Mrs. Sol and little Sol and——” “One question at a time if you want them answered, Rilla,” Doctor Lem smiled at the girl, who was seated at his right. “I see little Zoey every day, and Shags, too,” Miss Brazilla replied, “and as for news, I should say there was some. Hasn’t Doctor Lem told you—oh, I guess he wants to surprise you with it,” she concluded as she caught a glance from the physician’s smiling grey eyes which she rightly interpreted. “You’ll be surprised, all right,” Jabez remarked, “an’ glad, too, like the rest of us was.” “Oh, Uncle Lem, when am I to know?” The girl turned eager, glowing eyes toward the physician and searched his face, but his expression was inscrutable. “What has happened? I do believe that it is something about the Wixons.” Brazilla rose just then to replenish the biscuits, and when she returned she exclaimed beamingly: “Jabe and I have another surprise for you, Rilla, and this one even Doctor Lem don’ know. He’ll be jest as s’prised an’ pleased as you’ll be.” “Oh, goodie!” ejaculated Muriel in little girl fashion. “Then there are two surprises awaiting me. When am I to find them out?” “Tomorrow, if the weather’s fine, or even if ’tisn’t. I don’t suppose that foul weather could keep you anchored in port when ye’ve friends expectin’ you over on the sand dunes.” This from Jabez. “I should say not,” the girl retorted. “The wildest tempest that ever raged over this coast couldn’t keep me from going to see Zoey and Shags the first thing tomorrow morning. There’s one thing, though, I’m sort of dreading, and that’s seeing dear old Uncle Barney’s cabin boarded up and looking so lonesome.” Then, turning to Captain Mullet, she continued: “Jabez, some day soon will you sail Miss Gordon and me over to Windy Island? I want to find my lame pelican if he is there and feed the gulls.” “Yeah, Rilla, I’ll cruise ye over thar mos’ any time the wind’s right.” “Don’t take any chances,” Doctor Winslow warned. He suddenly realized that the two who would be passengers were very precious to him and he did not want to lose them. Then he rebuked himself. It was presumptuous for a man nearing sixty to think that as wonderful a woman as Miss Gordon could care for him. He would put the thought from him and think of her only as a dear friend. Doctor Lem returned to the city that night, but promised to run down again in a few days and if possible remain over Christmas. Miss Gordon and Muriel retired early to the big upper chamber, where a glowing bed of embers on the hearth was sending forth its warmth, but it was long before either of them slept, for each was dreaming dreams as they listened to the intermittent wail of the foghorn, to the distant boom of the surf on the rocks, and to the rush and swish of the snow beating against the windows. |
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