Janet of the Dunes Part 2

"Am--am I like her?"

"Like as not, if ye was whiter an' spindlin'er, there'd be a likeness."

An uneasiness struggled in Billy's inner consciousness as he viewed the girl. "Ye're more wild-like," he added.

"I wish I had asked a lot about her," Janet whispered, and there was a mist in her eyes; "I have been careless just because I've been happy. It seems as if we had sort of pushed her away, and kept her still."

"Well, it's her turn t' speak now, girl, an' that's what I've been steerin' round t'. Ye're hers an'--"

"And yours, Cap'n Billy, even if you have taught me to say Captain, instead of Father."

"It was her word for me, child, an' ye added Daddy of yer own will. 'My Cap'n,' she use t' say. It sounded awful soothin'; an' her so grateful 'bout nothin'! Sho! An' she wanted ye to be a help long o' me. Them was her words. An' Lordy! child, I'm willin' t' work an' share with ye--but savin' is pretty hard when there ain't nothin' much t' save from, an' if this summer-boardin' business is goin' t' open up a chance fur ye, it ain't cause I want help, but she'd like ye t' have more things. Don't ye see? An' I jest know ye'll get yer innin's on the mainland."

"I have been a selfish girl!" Janet murmured, holding the photograph closer, "a human crab; just clinging and gripping you. Then running wild and fighting against you when you wanted me to learn to be useful!

I think, Cap'n Billy, if you had shown me--my mother, and talked more of her--maybe it would have been different. Maybe not,"--with a soft sigh,--"I reckon every one has to be ready for seeing. I don't just know _how_ to--how to get my share from those--those boarders. But I'll find a way! I mean to be helpful, Cap'n. I can't bring myself to wait on them. Mrs. Jo G. doesn't seem to mind that, but I do. And I hate to see them eat--in crowds. But I'll find something to do. Put the clothes in the carpet-bag, Cap'n Billy Daddy; I may not wear them over there, but I'd like to have them. May I take the picture?"

"Yes, only be powerful careful o' it. An' don't show it round. Somehow she seems to belong to n.o.body but jest us two."

CHAPTER II

Captain David began to climb the long flight of iron stairs. It was his custom to start early, in order that he might stop upon each landing and take a view of the land and water on his way up. As David got higher and higher, his spirits rose in proportion. Below were duty and care; aloft was the Light, that was his pride and glory, and the freedom of solitude and silence!

When David began his climb--because it was the manner of the man to face life with a song upon his lips--he hummed softly:

"I would not live alway, No, welcome the tomb."

He paused on the first landing and took in the satisfying prospect of his garden, edged around by summer flowers and showing a thrifty collection of needful vegetables.

"_And only man is vile!_" panted David, starting upward, and changing his song. By the time the third landing was reached care and anxiety were about forgotten and the outlook upon the rippling bay was inspiring.

"_And we put three shots in the lobster pots, Three cheers for the witches three_"

Davy remembered only s.n.a.t.c.hes of this song, but its hilarious tunefulness appealed to his state of feeling on the third landing. David chuckled, gurgled, and puffingly mounted higher.

"Looks like it might be a good crab season," he muttered, "an' I hope t'

gum! the city folks won't trifle with the isters out o' season.

'Brightly gleams our Father's mercy, From His lighthouse evermore; But to us--'"

puff, pant, groan!

"_'He gives the keepin' of the lights alon' the sh.o.r.e!_'" David had reached the Light! He always timed himself to the moment. When the sun dropped behind the Hills, David's Light took possession of the coming night!

He stepped inside the huge lamp, rubbed an imaginary spot off the glistening gla.s.s, turned up the wick and touched it with the ready match. Then he came forth and eyed the westering sun. That monarch, riding through the longest day of the year, was reluctant to give up his power; but David was patient. With hand upon the cloth covering he bided his time. It was a splendid sunset. Beyond the Hills the clouds were orange-red and seemed to part in order that the round sun should have a wide course for his royal exit. The shadows were coming up out of the sea. David felt, rather than saw, the purpling light stealing behind him, but he had, for the present, to do _only_ with the day.

"_There was glory over all the land_," quoted the man, "_a flood of glory._" Then the sun was gone! On the instant the covering was s.n.a.t.c.hed away, and David's Light shone cheerily in the glory that at first obscured it.

"Your turn will come!" comforted the keeper as if to a friend, "they'll bless ye, come darkness!"

With that he stepped out upon the narrow balcony surrounding the tower, to "freshen up."

From that point the dunes, dividing the ocean and the bay, seemed but weak barriers. The sea rolled nearer and nearer.

"Thus far and no farther," whispered David reverently; "the Lord don't need anythin' bigger than that strip o' sand to make His waters obey His will. No mountains could be safer than them dunes when once the Lord has set the limit. That looks like the _Comrade_ off beyond the P'int!"

he went on; "I'll take my beef without cabbage, if that ain't Janet a-makin' for the Light, an' as late as this, too! Billy's told her 'bout the change, an' she wouldn't wait, once she was convinced. She might have stayed with Billy till mornin', the impatient little cuss."

The sailboat was scudding before the ocean breeze. Its white wing was the only one upon the bay, and David watched it with a new interest.

"Comin' over t' make her fortune," he muttered, "comin' over t' help fleece the boarders! By gum! I wonder, knowin' what Billy knows, an'

havin' the handlin' of a craft like Janet, he didn't hold the sheet rope pretty snug as he headed her int' this harbor."

The boat made the landing without a jar. The girl sprang out, secured the _Comrade_, then shouldered a carpet-bag, boy-fas.h.i.+on, and came up the winding path toward the lighthouse. David watched her, bending over the railing, until she pa.s.sed within; then he straightened himself and waited.

The purple gloaming came; the Light took on courage and dignity; the stars shone timidly as if apologizing for appearing where really their little glow was not needed. Then softly:

"Cap'n David, are you on the balcony?"

"Who be ye comin' on the government property without permission?"

growled David. Janet came out of the narrow doorway and flung her arms around the keeper's neck.

"Cap'n Davy, I've come off to be adopted! I had to stop downstairs to make my room ready and pay Susan Jane two weeks in advance, but I've got business with you now. Bring out a couple of chairs, Cap'n, this is going to be a long watch."

David paused as he went upon the errand.

"The money is what sticks, Janet. Money atween me an' Billy is a ticklish matter. Don't lay it up agin Susan Jane, girl, the conniverin'

in money ways an' the Holy Book is all that Susan Jane has, since she was struck."

"It's all right, Cap'n David, if it were only _my_ money! And it soon will be, Davy; it soon will be. I've just waked up to the fact that I ought to be helping along, instead of hanging on Cap'n Billy. Seventeen, and only just waking up! I've come over to the gold mine, Davy, and I'm going to do some digging for myself."

David sighed and laughed together; it was a rare combination, and one for which he was noted. Presently he came out with the chairs. The two put their backs to the Light. David took out his pipe, and Janet, bracing her feet against the railing and clasping her hands behind her head, looked up at the stars. Next to Captain Billy, this man beside her was her truest friend.

"Goin' t' help wait at some table?" asked David between long, heartsome puffs.

"Nope."

"Maybe, was.h.i.+n'?"

"Nope."

"Anythin' in mind, special?"

"Yep."

"What?"

"I'm going up to the Hills and learn to paint pictures!"