 CHAPTER 1 THE WEAVER AND HIS FANCIES Willie Spence was a trial. Not that his personality rasped society at large, on the contrary, his neighbors cherished toward the little old man with his short-sighted blue eyes and his appealing smile, an affection peculiarly tender. And if they sometimes were want to observe that although Willie possessed some common sense he was blessed with uncommon little of it the observation was facetiously uttered and was offered with no malicious intent. In fact, had one scoured Wilton from end to end it would have been difficult to unearth a single individual who bore enmity toward the owner of the silver-gray cottage on the Harbour Road. It was impossible to talk ten seconds with Willie Spence and not be won by his kindness, his optimism, his sympathy, and his honesty. Willie probably could not have dissembled had he tried. And fortunately his life was of so simple and transparent a trend that little lay hidden beneath its crystalline exterior. What he was, he was. When baffled by phenomena he would scratch his thin locks and with a smile of endearing candor frankly admit, I don't know. When on the other hand he knew himself to be master of a debated fact no power under heaven could shake the tenacity with which he clung to his beliefs. There was never any compromise with truth on Willie's part. A thing was so or it was not. This reputation for veracity linked as it was with an ingenuous goodwill toward all mankind had earned for Willie Spence such universal esteem and tenderness that whenever the stooping figure with its ruddy cheeks, soft white hair, and gentle smile made its appearance on the sandy roads of the Hamlet, it was hailed on all sides with the loving and indulgent greetings of the inhabitants of the village. Even Celestina Morton, who kept house for him and who might well have lost patience at his defiance of domestic routine, worshipped the very soil his foot touched. There was, of course, no denying that Willie's disregard for the meal-hour had become what she turned chronicle and severely taxed her forbearance, or that since she was a creature of human limitations she did at times protest when the chowder stood forgotten in the terrine until it was of arctic temperature. Nor had she ever acquired the grace of spirit to amiably view freshly baked popovers shrivel neglected into nothingness. Try as she would to curb her tongue under such circumstances she occasionally would burst out. I do wish, Willie Spence, you'd quit your dream and come to dinner. For answer Willie would rise hastily and stand arrested, a bit of string in one hand and the hammer in the other, and peering reproachfully over the top of his steel-bowed spectacles would reply, La, teeny, you wouldn't begrudge me my dreams, would you? They're about all I've got. If it weren't for the things I dream I wouldn't have nothing. The wistfulness in the sensitive face would instantly transform Celestina's irritation into sympathy and cause her to respond. Nonsense, Willie, what are you talking about? Ain't you got more friends than anybody in this town? Nobody's poor so long as he has good friends. Oh, taint me in poor I mind, laughed Willie, now quite himself again. It's knowing nothing and being nothing that discourages me. If I'd only had the chance to learn something when I was a youngster, I wouldn't have to be going it blind now like I do. There's time, Celestina, added the man solemnly. When I really believe I've got stuff inside me that's worthwhile, if only I knew what to do with it. Sure. Ain't you using what's inside you all the time to help the folks of this town out of their troubles? I'd like to know how they'd get along if it weren't for you. Ain't you doctoring and fixing up things for the whole of Cape Cod from one end to the other, day in and day out? I call that a mountain to something in the world if you don't. Willie paused thoughtfully. I do do quite a batch of tinkering, that's true, admitted he, brightening. And I'm right down glad to do it, too. Don't think I ain't. Still, I can't help knowing there's better ways to go at it than blunderin' along as I have to, and sometimes I can't help wishin' I knew what the right way is. There must be folks that know how to do in half the time what I do by makeshift and fussin'. Sometimes it seems a pity there never was anybody to steer me in to find and out the kind of things I've always wanted to know. Celestina began to rock nervously. Being of New England fibre, and classing as morbid to all forms of introspection, she always so dreaded to have the conversation drift into a reflective channel that whenever she found Willie indulging in reveries she was want to route him out of them, tartly reproaching herself for having even indirectly been the cause of stirring him up. Next time I'll set the chowder back on the stove and say nothing, she would vow inwardly. I'd much better have waited till his dream was over and done with. Suppose I am put out a bit, it won't hurt me. If I don't care enough for Willie to do something for him once in a while, good as he's always been to me, I'd ought to be ashamed of myself. Hence it is easily seen that neither to Wilton in general, nor to Celestina in particular, was Willie Spence a trial. No, it was to himself that Willie was the torment. I plague myself most to death, teeny, he would not infrequently confess when the two sat together at dusk in the little room that looked out in the reach of blue sea. It's getting all these ideas that drives me distracted. Tain't that I go hunting them, they come to me, hitting me broadside like as if they'd been shot out of a gun. There's times, ambled on the quiet voice, when they'd wake me out of a sound sleep and give me no peace till I've got up and tended to them. That notion of hitching a string to the slide in the stove door, so as you could open the draft without stirring out of your chair, that took me in the night. There warn't no wait until mornin', long ago I learned that. Once the idea has a hold of me, there's nothing to do but haul my self out of bed, even if it's midnight and colder in her devil, and try out that notion. The plan was a good one, it saved lots of steps, put in Celestina. "'It had to be done, teeny,' Willie answered simply, "'that's all there was to it. Good or bad, I had to carry it to a finish if I didn't sleep another wink that night.' The assertion was true, Celestina could vouch for that. After ten years of residence in the gray cottage, she had become too completely inured to hearing the muffled sound of saw and hammer during the wee small hours of the night to question the verity of the statement. Therefore she was quite ready to agree that there was no peace for Willie, or herself either, until the particular burst of genius that assailed him had been transformed from a mirage of the imagination to the more tangible form of tacks and strings. For strings played a very vital part in Willie Spence's inspirational world. Indeed, when Celestina had first come to the weathered cottage on the bluff to keep house for the lonely little bachelor, and had discovered that cottage to be one gigantic spider's web, her initial impression was that strings played far too important a part in the household. What a labyrinthine entanglement the dwelling was! Had a mammoth silkworm woven his airy filaments within its interior, the effect could scarcely have been more grotesque. Strings stretched from the back door across the kitchen and through the hallway and disappeared up the stairs into Willie's bedroom, where one pull of a cord lifted the iron latch to admit Oliver Goldsmith, the Maltese cat, whenever he rattled for entrance. There was a string that hoisted and lowered the coal-hod from the cellar through a square hole on the kitchen floor, thereby saving one the fatigue of tugging it up the stairs. A coal-hod is such an infernal toke to toke, Willie would explain to his listeners. Then there was a string which, in like manner, swung the woodbox into place. Other strings opened and closed the kitchen windows, unfastened the front gate, rang a bell in Celestina's room, and whisked Willie's slippers forth from their hiding-place beneath the stairs, not to mention myriad red, blue, green, yellow, and purple strings that had their goals in the ice-chest, the pump, the letter-box, and the storm door, and in connection with which objects they silently performed mystic benefactions. Probably, however, the most significant string of all was that of stout twine that reached from Willie's shop to the home of Genoa Eldridge, two fields beyond, just at the junction of the Bellport and Harbour Roads. This string not only linked the two cottages, but sustained upon its taut line a small wooden box that could be pulled back and forth at will and convey from one abode to the other not only written communications, but also such diminutive articles as pipes, tobacco, spectacles, balls of string, boxes of tax, and even tools of moderate weight. By means of this primitive special delivery service, Jan Eldridge could be summoned post-haste whenever an especially luminous inspiration flashed upon Willie's intellect and could assist in helping to make the dream a reality, for it was always through Willie's plastic imagination that these creative visions flitted. In all his seventy years, Jan had been beset by only one outburst of genius, and that had pertained to whisking an extra blanket over himself when he was cold at night. How much pleasanter to lie placidly between the sheets and have the blanket miraculously appear without the chilling discomfort of a rising to fetch it, he argued. But alas! the magic spell had failed to work. Instead, the strings had wrenched the corners from the age-worn covering, thereby arousing Mrs. Eldridge's ire. Moreover, although Jan had not confessed it at the time, the blanket, while in process of locomotion, had, for some unfathomable reason, dragged in its wake all the other bed-clothes, freeing them from their moorings and submerging his head in a smothering weight of disorganized sheets and counterpains only to leave his poor shivering body a prey to the unfriendly elements. An attack of lumbago that rendered him helpless from January until March followed, and had decided Jan that inventors were born not made. Thereafter he had been content to abandon the realm of research to his comrade and allow Willie to furnish the inspiration for further creative ventures. Nevertheless his retirement from the spheres of discovery did not prevent him from zealously assisting in the mechanical details that rendered Willie's schemes material. Jan not only possessed a far more practical type of mind than did his friend, but he was also a more skillful workman, and therefore in the carrying out of any plan his aid was indispensable. He was more over-content to be the lesser power, looking up to Willie's ability with admiration, and asserting with unfeint sensory to every one he met that Willie Spence had not only been born with the engine, but he had the newity to go with it. Why, Jan would often declare with spirit, in my opinion Willie has every wit as much call to write X, Y, Z, and all their mother-letters after his name as any of those fellows that graduate from colleges. He's a wonder, Willie Spence is, a walk in wonder. Someday he's going to make his mark, too, and cause the folks in this town to set up and take notice. See if he don't. Willie's neighbors had long since tired of waiting for the glorious moment of his fame to arrive, and although they had too genuine a regard for the little old inventor to state publicly what they really thought of the strings, the nails, the spools, the wires, and the pulleys, in private they did not hesitate to denounce derisively the scientist's contrivances and assert that some fine day the house on the bluff would come to dire disaster. Somebody's going to get hung or strangled on one of them contraptions Willie's rigged up. Captain Phineas Taylor prophesied impressively to Xenus Henry as the two men sat smoking in the lee of the wood pile. You watch out and see if they don't. Indeed there was no denying that Celestina was continually catching hairpins, hooks, and buttons in the strings, or that some such dilemma as had been predicted had actually occurred, for one day, while alone in the house, a pin fastening the back of her print gown had become inextricably entangled in the maze amid which she moved, and fearing Willie's wrath, if she should sunder her fetters, she had been forced to stand captive and helplessly witness a newly made sponge cake burned to a crisp in the oven. She had hoped the ignominious episode would not reach the outside world, but as Wilton was possessed of a miraculous power for finding out things, the story filtered through the community, affording the village a laugh, and the opportunity to affirm with ominous shakings of the head that it was only because the Lord looked out for fools and little children that a worse evil had not long ago befallen the spent's household. Willie accepted the banter in good part. Born with a forgiving, non-combat of disposition, he seldom took offence, and although Genoa Eldridge, who knew him better perhaps than anyone else on earth did, acclaimed that this tranquil exterior concealed, as did Tim Lincolnwater's, unsuspected depths of ferocity, Wilton had yet to encounter its lion-like fury. Instead the mild little inventor, with his spools and his pulleys, his bits of wire, and his measureless reaches of string, pursued his peaceful, though torturous way, and if his abode became transformed into a magnified cobweb, only himself and Celestina were inconvenienced thereby. To Celestina inconvenience was second nature, since from the moment of her birth it had been her lot in life. Arriving in the world prematurely she had found nothing prepared for her coming, and had been forced to put up with such makeshifts for comfort as could be hurriedly scrambled to gather. From that day until the present instant the same fate had shadowed her path. Perhaps it was in her stars. Her parents had been of dilatory habits, and by the time a crib with the necessary pillows and bedding had been secured, and she had drawn a few peaceful breaths therein, a new baby had arrived, and she had been ousted from her resting place, and compelled to surrender to it the more recent comer. Ever since she had been shunted from pillar to post, sleeping on cots, on couches, in folding beds and in hammocks, and keeping her meager possessions in paste-board boxes tucked away beneath tables and bureaus. Poised on the ragged edge of domesticity she continued throughout her girlhood to look forward with hope to an eventual state of permanence. When she was eighteen, however, her mother died, and in the task of bringing up six brothers and sisters younger than herself, all considerations for her personal ease were forgotten. Ten years passed and her father was no more. Then gradually, one after another, the family she had so patiently reared took wing, leaving Celestina a lonely Spencer of fifty, homeless and practically penniless. This cruel lack of responsibility on the part of her relatives resulted less from a want of affection than from a supreme misunderstanding of their older sister. So completely had Celestina learned to efface her personality and her inclinations that they reasoned she was utterly without preferences, that she lacked the homing instinct, and was quite as happy in one place as in another. Having thus washed their hands of her, they proceeded to sell the Morton Homestead, and each one pocket his share of the proceeds. Very scanty this inheritance was, so scanty that it compelled Celestina to begin a rotation around the village where, in return for shelter, she filled in domestic gaps of various kinds. She helped here, she helped there, she took care of babies, nursed the sick, comforted the aged. On she moved, from house to house, no enduring foundation ever remaining beneath her feet. No sooner would she strike her roots down into a congenial soil than she would be forced to pluck them up again, and find new earth to which to cling. She might have married a dozen times during her youth, had not her conscience deterred her from deserting her father and the children left to her care. In fact, one persistent swain who refused to take no for an answer, had begged Celestina to wait and pray over the matter. I never trouble the Lord with things I can settle myself," replied she, firmly. I can't go Marion, and that's all there is to it. Other offers had been declined with the same characteristic firmness, until now the golden season of mating time was passed. And although she was still a pretty little woman, the stamp of Spenster Hood was unalterably fixed upon her. Wilton, in the meantime, had long ago lost sight of the uncomplaining self- sacrifice it had previously lauded, and explained Celestina Morton's unwetted state by declaring that she was too easy going to make anybody a good wife. This criticism came, perhaps more loudly from the female faction of the town than from the male. However that may be, the stigma, merited or unmerited, had become so firmly branded upon Celestina that it could not be effaced. She may to some extent have brought it upon herself. For certain it was that she never kicked against the pricks or tried to shape her circumstance as more in accordance with her liking. Undoubtedly, had she accepted her lot less meekly, she might have commanded a greater measure of attention and sympathy. Still, if she had not been of a more or less plastic nature and surrendered herself patiently to her destiny, it is a question whether she would have survived it all. It was this mutability, this power to detach herself from her environment and view it with a stoical indifference of a spectator that caused Wilton, with its harsh New England standards, to characterize Celestina as easy going. In fact, this popularly termed flaw in her makeup was what had acted as an open sesame to every door at which she knocked and had kept a roof above her head. She had been just sixty years of age when Willie Spence's sister had died and left him alone in the wee cottage on the Harbour Road. And all Wilton had begun to speculate as to what was to become of him. Willie was as dependent as an infant. The village gossips who knew everything knew that. From childhood he had been looked after, first by his mother, then by his aunt, and lastly by his sister. And when death had removed in succession all three of these props, leaving the little old man at last face to face with life, his startled blue eyes had grown large with terror. What was to become of him now? Not only did Willie himself helplessly raise the interrogation, but so did all Wilton. Of course he could go on board with the Eldritches, but that would mean renting or selling the silver-grey cottage where he had dwelt since birth and would be a tragic severing of all ties with the past. Moreover, and a fact more potent than all the rest, it would mean dismantling the house of the web that for years he had spun, the symbols of dreams that had been his chief delight. Should he go to the Eldritches there could be no more inventing, for Jan's wife was a hard practical woman who had scant sympathy with Willie's ideas. Nevertheless one redeeming consideration must not be lost sight of. She was a famous cook, a very famous cook, and poor Willie, although he cared little what he ate, was incapable of concocting any food at all. But the strings, the strings! No, to go to live with Jan and Mrs. Eldritch was not to be thought of. It was just at this psychological juncture when Willie was choosing twixt flesh and spirit that he saw Celestina Morton standing like a vision in the sunshine that spangled his doorway. She said she knew how lonely he must be, and therefore she had come to make a friendly call and tidy up the house, or mend for him anything that needed mending. With this simple introduction she had taken off her hat and coat, donned an ample blue and white pinafore, and set to work. Fascinated Willie watched her deft movements. Now and then she smiled at him, but she did not speak, and neither did he. Nor, he noticed, did she disturb his strings or comment on their inconvenience. When twilight came and the hour for her departure drew near, Willie stationed himself before the peg from which dangled her shabby wraps, and stubbornly refused to have her hat and cloak removed from the nail. There, figuratively speaking, they had hung ever since, the inventor reasoning that life without this paragon of capability was a wretched and profitless adventure. In justifying his sudden decision to Genoa Eldritch, Willie had merely explained that he had hired Celestina because she was so comfortable to have a round, a recommendation at which Wilton would have jeered, but which, perhaps, in the eyes of the Lord, was quite as praiseworthy as that which her more hidebound but less accommodating sisters could have boasted. For disorder and confusion never kept Celestina awake night, or prevented her from partaking of three hearty meals a day, as it would have Abbey Brewster or Deborah Howland. So long as things were clean, there being an inch or two, or even a foot out of plum, did not worry the new inmate of the Grey House and Iota. And when Willie was balked in an idea that had catched him, and left half a dozen strings and wires swinging in mid-air for weeks together, Celestina would patiently duck her head as she passed beneath them, and offer no protest more emphatic than to remark, them strings hanging down over the sink snare me every time I wash a dish. Ain't you calculating ever to take them down, Willie? The reply vouchsafed would be as mild as the suggestion. I reckon they ain't there for eternity, teeny, the inventor would respond. Like is not, both you and me will live to see him out of the way. That was all the satisfaction Celestina would get from her feeble complaints. It was all she ever got. Yet in spite of the exasperating response, she adored Willie, who had been to her the soul of kindness and courtesy ever since she had come to the bluff to live. He might forget to come to his meals, forget, in fact, whether he had eaten them or not. He might venture forth into the village with one gray sock and one blue one, or, when partway to the post-office, become lost in reverie and return home again without ever reaching his destination. Such incidents had happened and were likely to happen again. Nevertheless, notwithstanding his absent-mindedness, he was never too much absorbed to maintain toward Celestina an old-fashioned deference very appealing to one accustomed to being ignored and slighted. The impulse, it was quite obvious, was prompted less by conventionality than by a nightliness of heart, and Celestina, who had never before been the recipient of such courtesies, found herself inexpressibly touched by the trifling attentions. When she speculated as to whether this mental attitude toward all womanhood was one Willie himself had evolved, or whether it was the result of standards instilled into his sensitive consciousness by the women who had been his companions through life, his mother, his aunt, his sister. Whichever the case there was no question that the old man's bearing toward her placed her on a pinnacle where gossip was silenced, and transformed her humble ministrations from those of a hireling into acts of graciousness and beauty. Moreover to live in the same house with such an optimist was no ordinary experience. Well Celestina remembered the day when at dinner the little old man had choked violently, turning purple in the face in his fight for breath. She had rushed to his side, terror-stricken, but between his spasms of coughing the inventor had gasped out, Why make so much fuss over what's going down the wrong way, teeny? Think of the things I've swallowed all these years that have gone down right. The observation was characteristic of Willie's creed of life. He never emphasized the exceptions, but always the big, fine, elemental good in everything. Even the name by which he went had been bestowed on him by the community as a term of endearment. There were, to be sure, other men in the Hamlet whose names had passed into diminutives. There was, for example, Seth Crocker, whose wife explained that she called him Sethie for short. But Sethie's name was never pronounced with the same affection and drawl that Willie's was. Though Willie had his peculiar niche in Wilton and a very sacred niche it was, what marvel, therefore, that Celestina reverenced the very earth which he trod, and cheerfully put up with the strings, the wires, the spools, the tacks, and the pulleys, that she shifted the meals about to suit his convenience, and that when she was awakened at midnight by a rhythmic hammering which portended that the inventor had once again got kitched with a new idea, she smiled indulgently in the darkness, and instead of cursing the echoes that disturbed her slumber, whispered to herself Jan Eldridge's oft-repeated prediction that the day would come when Willie Spence would astonish the scoffers of Wilton and would make his mark. CHAPTER II Willie has an idea. On a day in June so clear that a seagull loomed mammoth against the sky, a day when a sail against the horizon was visible for miles, a day when the whole world seemed swept and garnished as for a festival, Zemus Henry Brewster drew rain before the Spence cottage, hitched the admiral to the picket fence that boarded the highway, and ascending the bank which sloped abruptly to the road, presented himself at the kitchen door from which issued the aroma of baking bread. Mornin', teeny! called the visitor, poking his head across the threshold. Willie, anywhere's about? Celestina, who was washing the breakfast dishes, glanced up at the lank figure with a start. La, Zemus Henry, what a turn you gave me, she exclaimed. I never heard a footfall. Yes, Willie's outside somewheres. He and Jan Eldridge have been tinkering with the pumps since early morning. They've had it apart a hundred times, I guess, and like as not, they're round there now pulling it to pieces for the hundred and oneth. Zemus Henry grinned. That's a queer to do, he remarked. What's got all the pumps? Bewitched, I reckon. Ours ain't workin' for a cent either, and I drove around, thinkin' I'd fetch Willie home with me to have a look at it. He's got a knack with such things, and I calculate he'd know what's the matter with it. Darned if I do! The man began to move away across the grass. Celestina, however, who was in the mood for gossip, had no mind to let him escape so easily. How's your folks? questioned she, dropping her dishcloth into the pan and following him to the door. Oh, we're all right! returned Zemus Henry with a backward glance. Captain Benjamin Shoulder pesters him some about layin', but I tell him he can't expect rain and fog not to bring rheumatism. That's so, agreed Celestina. What a spell of weather we've had. Guess it's about over now, though. I'm sorry, Benjamin Shoulder should hector him so. We're gettin' old, Zemus Henry. That's the plain truth of it, and must cheerfully take our share of aches and pains, I suppose. Are Captain Phineas and Captain Jonas well? Oh, they're nimble as crabs. And Abby? Fine as a clipper in a breeze, responded the man with enthusiasm. Best wife that ever was. The sun rises and sets in that woman, Celestina. What she can't do ain't worth doin'. Turns off work like as if it was no account, and grows better lookin' every day a doin' it. Celestina laughed. I reckon you didn't make no mistake gettin' married, Zemus Henry, mused she. Mistake! repeated Zemus Henry. And no mistake takin' in the child, either, went on Celestina, and heeding the interruption. She saw his face soften, and a glow of tenderness overspread it. "'Delight was sent us out of heaven,' he declared with solemnity. "'Twas as much intended that ship should come ashore here, and the three captains and myself bring that little girl to land, as that the sun should rise in the mornin'. The child was meant for us, for us and for nobody else on earth. As she our own daughter we couldn't be fonder of her than we are. It's ten years now since the wreck of the Michelin. Think of it, how time flies. Ten years, and the girl's most twenty. I can't realize it. Why, it seems only yesterday she was clinging to my neck and I was bringin' her home. "'She's grown to be a regular beauty,' Celestina observed. "'I suppose she has. Folks seem to think so,' replied Xenus Henry. "'But it wouldn't make an ounce of difference to me how she looked. I'd love her just the same. I reckon she'll never seem to me anyhow like she does to other people. Still, I ain't so blind that I don't know she's pretty. Her hair is wonderful, and she's got them big brown eyes and pink cheeks. I'm proud as top of it of her. If it weren't for Abby I figured the three captains and I would have the child clean spoiled. But Abby's always kept a firm hand on us and prevented us from puttin' nonsensical notions into Delight's head. Much of the way she's turned out is due to Abby's common sense. "'Well, the girl's a mighty nice one,' concluded Xenus Henry. "'There's none to match her.'" "'You're right there,' Celestina assented cordially. "'She's one in a hundred, in a thousand. She has the sweetest way in the world with her, too. A body couldn't see her and not love her. I guess there's many a young fella along the cape thinks so, too, or a much mistaken,' added she, slyly. "'She must have a score of bows.'" "'Bows!' snapped Xenus Henry, wheeling abruptly about. "'Indeed she hasn't. Why, she's nothing but a child yet.' "'She's most twenty. You said so yourself just now.'" "'Poo! Twenty! What's twenty?' Xenus Henry cried derisively. "'Why, I'm three times that already, and more, too, and I ain't old. So are you, teeny. Twenty. Nonsense.'" "'But delight is twenty,' Xenus Henry, persisted Celestina. "'What of it?' "'Well, you mustn't forget it. That's all,' continued the woman softly. "'Many a girl her age is married and—' "'Married!' burst out the man with indignation. "'What under heaven are you talking about, Celestina?' "'Delight? Mary? Not she. She's too young. Besides, she's well enough content with Abbey and the three captains and me. Mary? Delight? Mary? Ridiculous!' "'But you don't mean to say you expect a creature as pretty as she is, not to marry,' said Celestina, aghast?' "'Oh, why, yes,' ruminated Xenus Henry. "'Of course she's going to get married some time, by and by. Maybe in ten years or so, but not now.' "'Ten years or so? My goodness! Why, she'll be thirty or thirty-five and an old maid by that time?' "'No, she won't. I was forty-five before I married, and it didn't do me no hurt or spoil my chances. You might have been living with Abbey all them years, though.' "'I know it,' he paused thoughtfully. "'Yes,' he reflected aloud. "'I've often thought what a pity it was, Abbey and I didn't have our first youth together. It took me half a lifetime to find out how much I needed her.' "'You wouldn't want Delight should do that,' ventured Celestina. "'Delight? We ain't discussing Delight,' retorted Xenus Henry, promptly on the defensive. "'Delight's another matter altogether. She's nothing but a baby. There is no talk of her marrying for a long spell yet.' Peavishly he kicked the turf with the toe of his boot. Although he said no more, it was quite evident that he was much irritated. "'Well,' he presently observed in a calmer tone, "'I reckon I'll go round and waylay Willy.' Celestina, leaning against the door frame, watched the gaunt, loose-jointed figure stride out into the sunshine and disappear behind the corner of the house. What a day it was! From beneath the lattice that arched the entrance to the cottage and supported a rambler rose bursting into bloom, she could see the bay, blue as a sapphire, and scintillating with ripples of gold. A weather-stained scow was making its way out of the channel, and above it circled a screaming cloud of turn that had been routed from their nesting-place on the margin of white sand that boarded the path to the open sea. Mingling with their cries and the rhythmic pulsing of the surf, the clear voices of the men aboard the tug reached her ear. It was flood-tide, and the water that surged over the bar stained its reach of pearl to jade-green and feathered its edges with snowy foam. It was no weather to be cooped up indoors doing housework. Idly Celestine had loitered, drinking in the beauty of the scene. The langer of summer breathed in the gentle, pine-scented air and rose from the warm earth of the garden. Voluptuously she stretched her arms and yawned, then straightening to her customary erectness she went into the house, being probably the only woman in Wilton who that morning had abandoned her domestic duties long enough to take into her soul the benediction of the world about her. It was such detours from the path of duty that it helped to win for Celestine her pseudonym of easy-going. Perhaps this very vagrant quality in her nature was what had aided her in so thoroughly sympathizing with Willie in his sporadic outbursts of industry. For Willie was not a methodical worker any more than was Celestina. There were intervals, it is true, when he toiled steadily, feverishly, all day long and far into the night, forgetting either to eat or sleep, then would follow days together when he simply potted about, or did even worse and remained idle in the sunny shelter of the grape-arbor. Here on a rude bench constructed from a discarded fore-poster he would often sit for hours, smoking his corn-cob pipe and softly humming to himself. But when genius went awry and his courage was at a low ebb, strings, wires, and pulleys having failed to work, he would neither smoke nor sing, but with eyes on the distance would sit immovable as if carved from stone. Today, however, was not one of his seton days. He had been up since dawn, had eaten no breakfast, and had even been too deeply preoccupied to fill and light the blackened pipe that dangled limply from his lips. Yet, despite all his coxings and cajolings, the iron-pump opposite the shed-door still refused to do anything but emit from its throat a few dry, profitless gurgles that seemed forced upward from the very caverns of the earth. Both Willie and Jan Eldridge looked tired and disheartened, and when Xenus Henry approached, stood at bay, surrounded by a litter of wrenches, hammers, and scattered fragments of metal. What's the matter with your pomp? called Xenus Henry as he strolled toward them. Willie turned on the intruder, a smile half humorous, half contemptuous, flitting across his face. If I could answer that question, Xenus Henry, I wouldn't be standing here gaping at the darn thing, was his laconic response. It's just took a spell. That's all there is to it. It was right enough last night. There's no accountant for machinery, Xenus Henry remarked. The observation struck a note of pessimism that rasped Willie's patience. There's got to be some accountant for this clap-traption, retorted he, a suggestion of Christmas in his tone. I shan't stir foot from this spot till I find out what's said it to act in up this way. Xenus Henry laughed at the declaration of war echoing in the words. I have given up flying all the flinders over everything that gets out of gear, he drawled. If I was to be going up higher in a kite every time, for instance, that the seaweed catches round the propeller of my motorboat, I'd be in mid-air most of the time. Willie raised his head with the alertness of a hunter on the scent. Seaweed, he repeated vaguely, Xenus Henry nodded. Ain't there no scheme for doing away with the nuisance like that? I ain't discovered any, came dryly from Xenus Henry. We've all had a whack at the thing. Captain Jonas, Captain Phineas, Captain Benjamin, and me, and we're back where we were at the beginning. Nothing we've tried has worked. Ruminated Willie, stroking his chin. I've about come to the conclusion we ain't much good as mechanics anyhow, went on Xenus Henry with a short laugh. In fact, abbeys of the mind that we get things out of order faster than we put him in. Genoa Eldridge rubbed his grimy hands and chuckled, but Willie dained no reply. This propeller now, he presently began, as if there had been no digression from the topic. I suppose the kelp gets tangled round the blades. That's it, assented Xenus Henry. And that holds up your engine? Uh-huh, Xenus Henry agreed with the same bored inflection. And that leaves you rocking like a baby in a cradle till you can get the wheel free. Uh-huh. There was a moment of silence. It can't be much of a stunt tossing round in a choppy sea like as if you was a chip on the waves, commented Gen Eldridge with a commiserating grin. Taint. What do you do when you find yourself in a fix like that? He inquired with interest. Do, reiterated Xenus Henry, what a question. What would any fool do? There ain't no choice left you but to hang head downwards over the stern of the boat and claw the eelgrass off the wheel with a gaff. Genoa burst into a derisive shout. Oh, my eye, he exclaimed. So that's the way you do it, eh? Don't talk to me of motorboats. A good old fashioned skiff with a leg of mutton sail in her is good enough for me. How about you, Willie? No reply was forthcoming. I say, Willie, repeated Jan in a louder tone, that these newfangled motorboats with their noise and their smell ain't no match for a good clean dory. Willie came out of his trance just in time to catch the final clause of the sentence. Who ever saw a clean dory in Wilton? Jan faltered, abashed. Well, anyhow, he persisted. In my opinion, clean or not, a straight, wholesome smell of cod ain't to be mentioned in the same breath with a mix up of stale fish and gasoline. Zenus Henry bridled. You don't buy a motorboat to smell of, he said tartly. You seem to forget it's to sail in. But if the eelgrass holds you hard and fast in one spot most of the time, I don't seize you do much sailing, taunted Jan. Piers, to me, you're just adrift and going nowhere is a good part of the time. No, I ain't, snapped Zenus Henry with rising ire. It's only sometimes the thing gets splinny. Most always. Then it weren't you I saw pitching in the channel for a couple of hours yesterday afternoon? commented the tormentor. No, that is, let me think a minute, meditated Zenus Henry. Yes, I guess it was me after all, he admitted with reluctant honesty. The tide brought in quite a batch of weeds, and they washed up around the boat before I could get out of their way. Quicker in a wink we were neatly snarled up in them. Captain Jonas and Captain Phineas tried to get clear, but somehow they ain't got much knack for freeing the wheel. So we did linger in the channel a spell. Linger, put in Willie. I shouldn't call Bob an up and down in one spot for two mortal hours lingerin, I'd call it nearer being hypnotized. Zenus Henry was now plainly out of temper. He was well aware that Wilton had scant sympathy with his motorboat, the first innovation of the sort that had been perpetrated in the town. Hadn't you better turn your attention from motorboats to pumps? he asked, testily. I reckon I had, Zenus Henry, Willie answered, unruffled by the thrust. As you say, if you chose to wind yourself up in the eel-grass, it's not a my affair. Turning his back on his visitor, he bent once more over the pump and adjusted a leather washer between its rusty joints. Now let's give her a try, Jan, he said as he tightened the screws. If that don't fetch her, I'm beat. By this time, Jan's faith had lessened, and although he obediently raised the iron handle and began to ply it up and down, it was obvious that he did not anticipate success. But contrary to his expectations, there was a sudden subterranean groan, followed by a rumble of gradually rising pitch, then from out the stubbed green spout, a stream of water gushed forth and trickled into the tub beneath. Hooray! shouted Jan. There she blows, Willie! Ain't you the dabster, though? The inventor did not immediately acknowledge the plaudits heaped upon him, but it was evident that he was gratified by his success, for, as he wiped the beads of perspiration from his forehead, he sighed deeply. If I hadn't been such a blame fool, I'd have known what the matter was in the first place, he remarked. Well, if we knew as much when we're born as we do when we get ready to die, what would be the use of living seventy odd years? In spite of his irritation, Xenus Henry smiled. I don't suppose you're feeling like tackling another pump today, he ventured with hesitation. Ours up at the White Cottage has gone on a strike, too. Instantly, Willie was interested. What's got yours? he asked. Blessed if I know, we've took it all to pieces and ain't found nothing out with it, and now to save our souls we can't put it together again, Xenus Henry explained. I drove round, thinking that maybe you'd go back with me and have a look at it. Of course I will, Xenus Henry, Willie said, without hesitation. I'd admire to. A pump that won't work is like a fish-line without a hook. Good for nothing. Have you got room in your team for Jan, too? Sure. Then let's start along, said the inventor, stooping to gather up his tools. But he had reckoned without his host, for as he swept them into a jagged piece of sailcloth and prepared to tie up the bundle, Celestina called to him from the window. Where are you going, Willie? she demanded. Up to Xenus Henry's to mend the pump. But you can't go now, objected she. It's ten o'clock, and you ain't had a mouthful of breakfast this morning. The little man regarded her blankly. Ain't I at nothing? he inquired with surprise. No. Don't you remember you got up early to go fishing, and then you found the pump wasn't working, and you've been wrestling with it ever since? So I have. A sunny smile of recollection overspread the old man's face. Ain't you hungry? I don't know. Considered he, without interest? Maybe I am. Yes, now you speak of it. I will own to feeling a might holler. Can't you hand me a snack to eat as I go along? You'd much better come in and have your breakfast properly. Oh, I don't want nothing much, the altruist protested. Just fetch me out a slice of bread or a donut. We've got to get at that pump of Xenus Henry's. I'm itching to know what's the matter with it. Celestina looked disappointed. I've been saving your coffee for you since seven o'clock, murmured she reproachfully. That was very kind of you, teeny, Willy responded with an ingratiating glance into her eyes. You just keep it hot a spell longer, and I'll be back. Likely I won't be long. You've been working five hours on your own pump. Five hours? Sure, you don't say so, mused the tranquil voice. Think of that. And it didn't seem no time. Well, it's a pumpin' now, Celestina. The mild face beamed with satisfaction, and Celestina had not the heart to cloud its brightness by annoying him further. That's capital, she declared. Here's your bread and butter, Willy, and here's some apple turnovers for you and Jan and Xenus Henry. They'll be nice for you goin' along in the wagon. Then, turning to see Jan, she whispered in a pleading undertone. Do watch, Jan, that Willy don't lay that bread down somewheres and forget it. Maybe if he sees the rest of you eatin' he'll remember to eat himself. If he don't, though, remind him, for he's just as liable to bring it back home again in his hand. Keep your eye on him. Jan nodded, understandingly, and, climbing into the dusty wagon, the three men rattled off over the sandy road. Willy dropped his tools into the bottom of the carriage, but the slice of bread remained untouched in his fingers. Now that Triumph had brought a respite in his labors, he seemed silent and thoughtful. It was not until the Admiral had turned in at the Brewster Gate that he roused himself sufficiently to observe with irrelevance. Speaking about that propeller a year, Xenus Henry, it must be no end of a temper-rasper. Xenus Henry slapped the reins over the horse's flank and waited breathlessly, hoping some further comment would come from the little inventor. But as Willy remained silent, he at length could restrain his impatience no longer and ventured with diffidence. Suppose you ain't got any notion what we could do about it, have you, Willy? The old man shrugged his shoulders. No, not the ghost, was his terse reply. That night, however, Celestina was awakened from her dreams by the ring of a hammer. She rose and lighted her candle tiptoed into the hall. It was one o'clock, and she could see that Willy's bedroom door was ajar and the bed untouched. With a little sigh she blew out the flame in her hand and crept back beneath the shelter of her calico comforter. She knew the symptoms only too well. Willy was once again kitsched by an idea. End of Chapter 2 Recording by Roger Maline Chapter 3 of Flood Tide Chapter 3 A New Arrival The new idea, whatever it was, was evidently not one to be hastily perfected. For the next morning when Celestina went downstairs, she found the jaded inventor seated moodily in a rocking chair before the kitchen stove, his head in his hands. La, Willy, are you up already? She asked, as if unconscious of his nocturnal activities. The reply was a wan smile. And you've got the fire-belt too, went on Celestina cheerily. How nice! Hey, repeated he, giving her a vague stare. The fire? Yes, I was saying how good it was of you to start it up. The man gazed at her, blankly. I ain't touched the fire, he answered. I might have, though, as well as not, teeny, if I thought of it. That's all right, Celestina declared, making haste to repair her blunder. I have plenty of time to lay it myself. It was only that when I saw you setting up before it I thought maybe it built it, because you were cold. I was cold, acquiesced Willy, his eyes misty with thought. But I warn't noticing there was no heat in the stove when I drew up here. Celestina bit her lip. How characteristic the confession was! Well, there'll be a fire now, very soon, said she, bustling out and returning with paper and kindlings. The kitchen will be warm as toast in no time, and I'll make you some hot coffee straight away. That'll heat you up. This northerly wind blows the cobwebs out of the sky, but it does make it chilly. Although Willy's eyes automatically followed her brisk motions and watched while she deftly started the blaze, it was easy to see that he was too deep in his own meditations to sense what she was doing. Perhaps had his mood not been such an abstract one, he would have realized that he was directly in the main thoroughfare and obstructing the path between the pantry and the oven. As it was he failed to grasp the circumstance, and not wishing to disturb him, Celestina patiently circled before Willy. Behind and around him in her successive pilgrimages to the stove. Such situations were exigencies to which she was quite accustomed, her easy going disposition quickly adapting itself to emergencies of the sort. So skillful was she in effacing her presence that Willy had no knowledge he was an obstacle, until suddenly the iron door swung back of its own volition and in passing brushed his knuckles with its hot metal edge. Ouch! cried he, starting up from his chair. What's the matter, called Celestina from the pantry? Nothing, the oven door sprung open, that's all. It didn't burn you. No, but it made me jump, laughed Willy. Why didn't you tell me, Teeny, that I was in your way? You aren't in my way. But I must have been, the man persisted. You should have shoved me aside in the beginning. Stretching his arms upward with a comfortable yawn, he rose and sauntered toward the door. Now you're not to pull out of here, Willy Spence, Celestina objected in a preemptory tone, until you've had your breakfast. You had none yesterday, remember, thanks to that pump, and you had no dinner either, thanks to Zenas Henry's pump. You're going to start this day right. You're to have three square meals if I have to tag you all over Wilton with them. I don't know what it is you've got in your mind this time, but the world's worried along without it up to now, and I guess it can manage a little longer. Willy regarded his mentor, good-humoredly. I figure it can, Celestina, he returned. In fact, I reckon it'll have to content itself for quite a spell without the notion I've run afoul of now. Celestina offered no interrogation. Instead, she said, Well, don't let it harry you up. That's all I ask. If it's going to be a long, drawn-out piece of tinkering, why there's all the more reason you should eat your three good meals like other Christians. Next you know you'll be getting run down, and I'll be having to brew some dandelion bitters for you. She came to an abrupt stop, halfway between the oven and the kitchen table, a bowl and spoon poised in her hand. I ain't sure, but it's time to brew you something anyway, she announced. You ain't had a tonic for quite a spell, and maybe to do you good. A helpless protest trembled on Willy's lips. I don't need any bitters, Celestina, he at last observed mildly. You don't know whether you do or not, Celestina replied, with as near an approach to sharpness as she was capable of. However, there's no call to discuss that now. The chief thing this minute is for you to sit up to the table and eat your vitals. Dossily the man obeyed. He was hungry, it proved, very hungry indeed. With satisfaction Celestina watched every spoonful of food he put to his lips, inwardly gloating as one muffin after another disappeared. And when at last he could eat no more and took his blackened cob pipe from his pocket, she drew a sigh of satisfaction. There now, if you want to go back to your inventing, you can, she remarked, as she began to clear away the dishes. You've took aboard enough rations to do you quite a while. Notwithstanding the permission, Willy did not immediately avail himself of it, but instead lingered uneasily as if something troubled his conscience. Say, teeny, he blurted out at length. If you happen around by the front door and miss the screen, don't be scared and think it's stole. I had to use it for something last night. The screen door, gasped Celestina. Yes. But, but Willy, the door was new this spring. There wasn't a brack in it. I know it was the calm answer. That's why I took it. But you could have gotten netting over at the store today. I couldn't wait. Celestina did not reply at once, but when she did, she had herself well in hand, and every trace of irritation had vanished from her tone. Well, we don't often open that door anyway, she reflected aloud. So, I guess no harm's done. It's a full year since anybody's come to the front door, and, like is not, will be another before a jangling sound cut short the sentence. What's that? exclaimed she, aghast. It's a bell. I never heard a bell like that in this house. It's a bell I rigged up one day when you were gone to the junction, exclaimed Willy hurriedly. I thought I told you about it. You didn't. Well, no matter now, he went on soothingly. I meant to. Where is it? demanded Celestina. It's in the hall. It's a new front door bell. That's what it is, proclaimed the inventor. His voice lost in a second deafening peel. My soul! It's enough to wake the dead! gasped Celestina with hands on her ears. I should think it could be heard from here to Nantucket. What set you getting a bell that size, Willy? To scare any caller who dared to come this way out of a year's growth. I'll have to go and see who's there, if he ain't been struck dumb in the door sill. Whoever can it be coming to the front door? With perturbed expectancy she hurried through the passageway, Willy tagging at her heels. The infrequently patronized portal of the Spence mansion, it proved, was so securely barred and bolted that to unfasten it necessitated no little time and patience. Even after locks and fastenings had been withdrawn, and the door was at liberty to move, not knowing what to do with its unaccustomed freedom, it refused to stir, stubbornly resisting every attempt to wrench its hinges asunder. It was not until the man and woman inside had combined their efforts, and struggled with it for quite an interval, that it contrived to creak apart far enough to reveal through a four-inch crack the figure of a young man who was standing patiently outside. One could not have asked for a franker, merrier face than that which peered at Celestina through the narrow chink of sunshine. To judge at random the visitor had come into his manhood recently, for the brown eyes were a light with youthful humor and the shoulders unbowed by the burdens of the world. He had a mass of wavy, dark hair, a thoughtful brow, ruddy color, a pleasant mouth and fine teeth, and a tall, erect figure which he bore with easy grace. "'Is Miss Morton at home?' he asked, smiling at Celestina through the shaft of golden light. Celestina hesitated. So seldom was she addressed by this formal pseudonym that for the instant she was compelled to stop and consider whether the individual designated was on the premises or not. "'Yes,' she at last admitted feebly. "'I wonder if I might speak with her?' the stranger asked. "'Why don't you tell him you're Miss Morton?' coached Willie and a loud whisper. But the man on the steps had heard. "'You're not Miss Morton, are you?' he essayed. "'Miss Celestina Morton?' "'I expect I am,' owned Celestina nervously. "'I'm your brother, L. Nathan's boy, Bob!' Celestina crumpled weakly against the door frame. "'Neat boy!' she repeated. "'Bless my soul! Bless my soul and body!' The man outside laughed a delighted laugh so infectious that before Celestina or Willie were conscious of it they had joined in its mellow ripple. After that everything was easy. "'We can't open the door to let you in,' explained Willie, peering out through the rift. "'Cause this blasted door ain't moved for so long that its hinges have grown together. But if you'll come round to the back of the house you'll find a warmer welcome.' The guest nodded and disappeared. "'Land alive, Willie?' ejaculated Celestina while they struggled to replace the dislocated bars and bolts. "'To think of Nate's boy appearing here. I can't get over it. Nate's boy. Nate was my favorite brother, you know. The littlest one that I brought up from babyhood. This lad is so completely the living image of him that when I clapped eyes on him it took the gimp clear out of me. It was like having Nate himself come back again.' With fluttering eagerness she sped through the hall. Robert Morton was standing in the kitchen when she arrived, his head towering into the tangle of strings that crossed and recrossed the small interior. Whatever his impression of the extraordinary spectacle he events no curiosity, but remained as imperturbable amid the network that ensnared him as if such astounding phenomena were everyday happenings. Nevertheless a close observer might have detected in his hazel eyes a dancing gleam that defied control. Apparently it did not occur either to Willie or to Celestina to explain the mystery which had long since become to them so familiar a sight. Therefore amid the barrage of red, green, purple, pink, yellow, and white strings they greeted their guest, throwing into their welcome all the homely cordiality they could command. From the first moment of their meeting it was noticeable that Willie was strongly attracted by Robert Morton's sensitive and intelligent face, and had he not been, for Celestina's sake, he would have made an effort to light the newcomer. Fortunately, however, effort was unnecessary, for Bob won his way quite as uncontestedly with the little inventor as with Celestina. There was no question that his aunt was delighted with him. One could read it in her affectionate touch on his arm, in her soft, nervous laughter, in the tremulous inflection of her many questions. Your father couldn't have done a kinder thing than to have sent you to Wilton, Robert, she declared at last when quite out of breath with her rejoicings. My, if you're not the mortal image of him as he used to be at your age, I can scarcely believe it isn't Nate. His forehead was high, like yours, and the hair waved back from it the same way. He had your eyes, too, full of fun and yet earnest and thoughtful. I ain't sure, but you're a mite taller than he was, though. I, top dad, by six inches, Aunt Tini, smiled the young man. I guessed likely you did, murmured Celestina, with her eyes still on his face. Now you must sit right down and tell me all about yourself and your folks. I want to know everything, where you come from, when you got here, how long you can stay and all. The last question is the only really important one, interrupted Willie, approaching the guest and laying a friendly hand on his shoulder. The dunes of your family will keep, and where you come from ain't no great matter neither. What counts is how long you can spare to visit in Wilton and your aunt. We ain't much on talk here on the cape, but I just want you to know that there's an empty room upstairs with a good bed in it, that's yours, long as you can make out to use it. Your aunt is a prime cook, too, and though there's no danger of your mixing up this place with Broadway or Palm Beach, I believe you might manage to keep contented here. I'm sure I could, Bob Morton answered. And you're certainly kind to give me such a cordial invitation. I wasn't expecting to remain for any length of time, however. I came down from Boston, where I happened to be staying yesterday afternoon, and had planned to go back to-night. I've been doing some postgraduate work in naval engineering at Tech, and have just finished my course there. So, you see, I'm really on my way home to Indiana. But Dad wrote that, before I returned, he wanted me to take a run down here and see Aunt Tini and the old town where he was born, so here I am. Willie scanned the stranger's face meditatively. Then you're clear of work and starting off on your summer vacation. That's about it, confessed Bob. Anything to take you west right away? No, nothing, except that the family have not seen me for some time. I've accepted a business position with a New York firm, but I don't start in there until October. You're your own master for four months, huh? Yes, sir. Well, I ain't going to urge you to put in your time here, but I will say again, in case you've forgotten it, that so long as you're content to remain with us, we'd admire to have you. To give your aunt no end of pleasure I'll be bound, and I'd enjoy it as well as she would. You're certainly not considering going back to Boston today, chimed in Celestina. I was, laughed Bob. You may as well put that notion right out of your head, said Willie, for we shan't let you carry out no such crazy scheme. But to come launching down on you this way, began the younger man. You ain't come launching down, objected his aunt with spirit. We ain't got nothing to do but inventin', and I reckon that can wait. Glancing playfully at Willie, she saw a sudden light of eagerness flash into his countenance, but Bob, not understanding the illusion, looked from one of them to the other in puzzled silence. All right, Aunt Teeny, he at last announced. If you and Mr. Spence really want me to, I should be delighted to stay with you a few days. The fact is, he added with boyish frankness, my suitcase is down behind the rose bushes this minute. Having sent most of my luggage home, and not knowing what I should do, I brought it along with me. You go straight out, young man, and fetch it in, commanded Willie, giving him a jacos slap in the back. Nevertheless, in spite of the mandate, Robert Morton lingered. Do you know, Aunt Teeny, I'm almost ashamed to accept your hospitality, he observed with winning sincerity. We've all been so rotten to you, never coming to see you or anything. Dad's terribly cut up that he hasn't made a single trip east since leaving Wilton. The honest confession instantly quenched the last smoldering embers of Celestina's resentment toward her kin. Don't think no more of it, she returned hurriedly. Your father's been busy, likely, and so have you, and anyhow, men ain't much on following up their relations or writing to them. So don't say another word about it. I'm sure I've hardly given it a thought. That the final assertion was false, Robert Morton read in the woman's brave attempt to control the pitiful little quiver of her lips. Nevertheless, he blessed her for her deception. You're a dear, Aunt Teeny, he exclaimed heartily, stooping to kiss her cheek. Had I dreamed half how nice you were, wild horses couldn't have kept me away from Wilton. Celestina blushed with pleasure. Very pretty she looked standing there in the window, her shoulders encircled by the arm of the big fellow, who, towering above her, looked down into her eyes so affectionately. Willie couldn't but think, as he saw her, what a mother she would have made for some boy. Possibly something of the same regret crossed Celestina's own mind, for a shadow momentarily clouded her brow, and to banish it, she repeated with resolute gaiety, do go straight out and bring in that suitcase, Bob, or some straggler may steal it, and put out of your mind any notion of going to Boston for the present. I'll show you which room you're to have so as to you can unpack your things, and while you're washing up I'll get you some breakfast. You ain't had none, have you? No, but really, Aunt Teenie, I'm not—yes you are. Don't think it's any trouble, for it ain't, not a mite. Willie beamed with good will. You've landed just in time to sit down with us, he remarked. We ain't had our breakfast either. Celestina wheeled about with astonishment. Willie's hospitality must have burst all bounds if it had lured him, who never deviated from the truth, into uttering a falsehood monstrous as this. One glance, however, at his placid face, his unflinching eye, convinced her that swept away by the interest of the moment, the little old man had lost all memory of whether he had breakfasted or not. She did not enlighten him. Maybe it ain't honest to let him go on thinking he's had nothing to eat, she whispered to herself. But if all them muffins and oatmeal and coffee don't do nothing toward reminding him he's at once, I ain't going to do it. This second meal will make up for the breakfast he missed yesterday. I ain't deceiving him. I'm simply squaring things up. End of Chapter 3 Recording by Roger Maline Chapter 4 of Flood Tide This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Roger Maline Flood Tide by Sarah Ware Bassett Chapter 4 The Green-Eyed Monster Enters Before the morning had passed, Bob Morton was as much at home in the little cottage that faced the sea as if he had lived there all his days. His property was spread out in the old mahogany bureau upstairs. His hat dangled from a peg in the hall, and he had exchanged his city clothes for the less conventional outing shirt and suit of blue surge, both of which transformed him into a figure amazingly slender and boyish. For two hours he and Celestina had rehearsed the family history from beginning to end, and now he had left her to get dinner, and he and Willie had be taken themselves to the workshop, where they were deep in confidential conversation. You see, the inventor was explaining to his guest, it's like this, it ain't so much that I want to bother with these notions as that I have to. They get me by the throat, and there's no shaking them off. Only yesterday, for example, I got kitsched with an idea about a boat, he broke off regarding his listener with sudden suspicion. Bob waited. Evidently Willie's scrutiny of the Frank Countenance opposite satisfied him, for dropping his voice he continued in an impressive whisper, about a motorboat this idea was. Glancing around, as if to assure himself that no one was within hearing, he hitched the barrel on which he was seated nearer his visitor. There's a sight of plague with motorboats among these shoals, he went on eagerly. What with the eel-grass that grows along the inlets and the kelp that's washed in by the tide after a storm, the propeller of a motorboat is snarled up a good bit of the time. Now my scheme, he announced, his last trace of reserve vanishing, is to box that propeller somehow, if so be as it can be done, and the voice trailed off into meditation. Robert Morton, too, was silent. You would have to see that the wheel was kept free, he mused aloud after an interval. I know it. And not check the speed of the boat. Right you are, mate, exclaimed Willie with delight, and not hamper the swing of the rudder. You have it, you have it, Willie shouted, rubbing his hands together and smiling broadly. It's all them things I'm up against. I believe the trick might be turned, though, replied young Morton, rising from the nail-keg in which he was sitting and striding about the narrow room. It's a pretty problem, and one would be rather good fun to work out. I'd need to rig up a model to experiment with, I suppose, reflected Willie. Oh, we could fix that easily enough, Bob cried with rising enthusiasm. We? Sure, I'll help you. The announcement did not altogether reassure the inventor, and Bob laughed at the dubious expression of his face. Of course, I'm only a dryland sailor, he went on to explain good-humoredly, and I do not begin to have had the experience with boats that you have. I did, however, study about them some at Tech, and perhaps, study about them, repeated Willie, unable wholly to conceal his skepticism and scorn. Again the younger man laughed. I realized that is not like getting knowledge first-hand. He continued, with modesty. But it seemed the best I could do. As to this plan of yours, two heads are sometimes better than one, and between us I believe we can evolve an answer to the puzzle. That'll be prime, Willie ejaculated, now quite comfortable in his mind. And when we get the answer to the riddle, Jan Eldridge will help us. You ain't met Jan yet. He's the salt of the earth, Genoa Eldridge is. Him and me are the greatest chums you ever saw. He may be his peculiarities like the rest of us, who ain't. You'll likely find him kinder, sharp-tongued at first, but he don't mean nothing by it, and he's quick, too, goes up like a rocket at a minute's notice. Folks down in town insist on the answer to the question of folks down in town insist, in addition, that he's jealous as a girl, but I've yet to see signs of it. For all his little crochets you'll like, Jan Eldridge. You can't help it. We're none of us angels when it comes to that. Hush, broke off Willie warningly. I believe that's him now. Didn't you see a head go past the window? I thought I did. Then that's Jan. Nobody else would be coming across the dingle. Now, not a word of this motorboat business to him, cautioned Willie, dropping his voice. I never tell Jan about my ideas till I get him well worked out, for he's no great shakes at inventing. There was an instant of guilty silence, and then the two conspirators beheld a freckled face, crowned by a massive rampant sandy hair protrude itself through the doorway. Hey, Willie, called the newcomer unmindful of the presence of a stranger. Well, how do you find yourself today? Ready to tackle another pump? With simulated indignation Willie bristled. Pump, he repeated. Don't you dare so much as to mention pumps in my hearing for six months, Genoa Eldridge. I've had my fill of pumps for one spell. The freckled face in the door expanded its smile into a grin that displayed the few scattered teeth adorning its owner's jaws. No, went on the inventor. I ain't attacking no pumps today. I'm sort of taking a vacation. You see, we've got company. Teenies nephew Bob Morton from Indiana has come to stay with us. This is him on the nail keg. Shuffling further into the room, Jan peered inquisitively at the guest. So your Teenies nephew, eh? he commented, examining the visitor's countenance with curiosity. Well, well, to think of some of Teenies' relations, turn it up at last. Not that it ain't high time, I'll say that. Now, which of the Mortons do you belong to, young man? El Nathan. I might have known first glance, for you'll like him as his tin type. Bob laughed. Aunt Teenie thinks I am too. She ought to know, was the dry comment. She had the plague of bringing him up from the time he could toddle. I'm glad some of you have finally got round to come and to see her. You've been long enough doing it. I ain't so sure, though, but if I was in her place, I'd— There, there, Jan, interrupted Willie nervously. Why go digging up the past? The lad is here now, and— But they have been the devil of a while taken notice of Teenie, Genoa persisted, not to be coaxed away from his subject. Why, twas only the other day when we was working out here that you yourself said the way her folks had neglected her was outrageous. And it was too, Mr. Eldridge, confessed Bob, flushing. Our whole family have treated Aunt Teenie shamefully. There is no excuse for it. Before the honest admission of blame, Jan's mounting wrath grudgingly calmed itself. Well, he grumbled in a more conciliatory tone, as Willie says, maybe it's just as well not to go bring into life what's buried already. Like as not, there may have been some good reason for your folks never coming back to Wilton after once they'd left the place. Indiana's the devil of a distance away, almost at the other end of the world, ain't it? You might as well live in China as Indiana. I never could see anyway what took people out of Wilton. There ain't a better spot on earth to live than right here. Yet, for all that, every one of the Mortons, Septini, who showed her good sense in my opinion, went flocking out of this town quick as they was groaned, like as if they was a lot of swarming bees. I'd doubt myself, too, if there a wit better off for it. Your father now, what does he make out to do in Indiana? Father is in the grain business, replied Bob with a smile. The grain business, is he? And likely he sets in an office all day long, in out of the fresh air, continued Jan with contempt. Plum foolish, I call it, when he could be living in Wilton and fishing and clamming and enjoying himself. That's the way with so many folks. They go kiting off to the city to make money enough to buy one of them automobiles. You won't catch me with an automobile. No, nor a motorboat, neither. Nor any other of them darn things that's going to set me living, like as if I was shot out of the cannon's mouth. What's the good of being whizzed through life as if old Nick himself was at your heels, working faster, eating faster, dying faster? I see nothing to it, nothing at all. At the risk of rousing the philosopher's resentment, Bob burst into a peel of laughter. But ain't it so now, I ask you? Ain't it just as I say? insisted Genoa Eldridge. Argue as you will. What's the gain in it? To the speaker's apparent disappointment, the citizen from Indiana did not accept the challenge for argument. But instead, observed pleasantly, I'll wager you will outlive all us city-people, Mr. Eldridge. Course I will, was the old man's confident retort. I'll be a sailin' in my dory when the whole lot of you motorboat folks are under the sod. You see if I ain't. And speaking of motorboats, Willie, I suppose you ain't done nothing towards tackling Zenas Henry's tribulations with that propeller, have you? The question was unexpected and Willie colored uncomfortably. He was not good at dissembling. To demean quite a bit of thinking to get Zenas Henry out of his troubles, returned he evasively. Ain't so simple as it looks. Moving abruptly to the workbench, he began to overturn at random the tools lying upon it. Something in this unusual proceeding arrested Jan's attention, causing him to glance with suspicion from Robert Morton to the inventor, and from the inventor back to Robert Morton again. The elder man was whistling, tinting to-night, an air that had never been a favorite of his, and the younger, with self-conscious zeal, was shredding into bits a long curl of shavings. Jan eyed both of them with distrust. I figure we're going to have a spell of fine weather now, remarked Willie with jaunty artificiality. The offhand assertion was too casual to be real. Cloud and fog were not dealt with in this cursory fashion in Wilton. It clinched Jan's doubts into certainty. Something was being kept from him, something of which this stranger, who had only been in the town a few hours, was cognizant. For the first time in fifty years another had usurped his place as Willie's confidant. It was monstrous. A tremor of jealous rage thrilled through his frame, and he stiffened visibly. I reckon I'll be jogging along home, said he, moving with dignity toward the door. But you've only just come, Jan, protested Willie. I didn't come for nothing but to leave this hammer, Jan answered, placing the implement on the long bench before which his friend was standing. Maybe there was something you wanted to see Mr. Spence about, ventured Bob. If there was, I will— No, there weren't, snapped Genoa. Mr. Spence ain't got nothing confidential to say to me, whatever he may have to say to other folks. And with this parting thrust he shot out of the door. Bob gave a low whistle. What's the matter with the man, he asked in amazement. Willie flushed apologetically. Nothing, nothing in the world, he answered. Jan gets like that sometimes. Don't you remember I told you he was kind of quick. It's just possible it may have bothered him to see me talking to you. Don't mind him. Do you think he suspected anything? Mercy, no, not he, responded Willie comfortably. He's liable to fly off the handle like that a score of times a day. Don't you worry about him. He'll be back before the morning's over. Nevertheless, sanguine as this prediction was, the hours wore on and Genoa Eldred failed to make his appearance. In the meantime Bob and Willie became so deeply engrossed in their new undertaking that they were oblivious to his absence. They worked feverishly until noon, devoured a hurried meal, and returned to the shop again, there to resume their labours. By supper time they had made quite an encouraging start on the model they required, their combined efforts having accomplished in a single day what it would have taken Willie many an hour to perfect. The inventor was jubilant. Little I dreamed when you came to the front door, Bob, what I was netting, he exclaimed, clapping his hand vigorously on the young man's shoulder. You're a regular boat-builder, you are. The moon might have pojied and perigied before I'd have got as fur along as we have today. How you've learned all you have about boats without ever going near the water beats me. Now, you ain't going to think of quitting Wilton and leaving me high and dry with this propeller idea, are you? It would be a downright shabby trick. Bob smiled into the old man's anxious face. I can't promise to see you to the finish, for I must be back home before many days, or I'll have my whole family down on me. Besides, I have some business in New York to attend to, he said kindly. But I will arrange to stick around until the job is so well underway that you won't need me. I am quite as interested in making the scheme of success as you are. All is, you mustn't let me wear out my welcome and be a burden to Aunt Tini. La, Tini'll admire to have you stay long as you can, if only because you'd drag me into the house at mealtime, chuckled Willie. At least I can do that, Bob returned. You can do that in a darn sight more, youngster, the inventor declared with earnestness. I ain't had the pleasure I've had today and all my life put together. To work with somebody as has learned the right way to go ahead, it's wonderful. When me and Jan tackle a job, we generally begin at the wrong end of it and blunder along, waste in time and string without limit. If we hit it right, it's more luck than anything else. Robert Morton, watching the mobile face, saw a pitiful sadness steal into the blue eyes. A sudden shame surged over him. I ought to be able to do far more with my training than I have done, he answered humbly. Dad has given me every chance. Think of it, murmured Willie, scrutinizing him with hungering gaze. Think of having every chance to learn. For an interval he smoked in silence. Well, he asserted at length, you've sure proved today that brains with training are better in brains without. Now, if Jan and me, he broke off abruptly. There, I wonder what in tongue it's become of Jan, he speculated. We've been so busy that he went clean out of my mind. It's queer he didn't show up again. He ain't stayed away for a whole day and all his history. Maybe he's took sick. I believe I'll trudge over there and find out what's got him. I mustn't go to neglecting Jan, inventing or no inventing. He rose from his chair, wearily. I reckon a note would do as well, though, as going over, he presently remarked, as an afterthought. I could send one in the box and ask him to drop round and set a spell before bedtime. He caught up a piece of brown paper from the workbench, tore a ragged corner from it, and hastily scrawled a message. Bob watched the process with amusement. There, announced the scribe when the epistle was finished, I reckon that'll fetch him. We'll put it in the box and shoot it across to him. Notwithstanding the dash implied in the term, it took no small length of time for the diminutive receptacle to hitch its way through the fields, the two men watched it jiggle along above the bushes of wild roses through verdant clumps of fragrant bayberry and disappear into the woods. Then they sat down to await Jan's appearance. The twilight was rarely beautiful. In a sky of palest turquoise, a crescent moon hung low, its arc of silver poised above the tips of the stunted pines, whose feathery outlines loomed black in the dusk. From out of the dimness the note of a vesper sparrow sounded, and mingled its sweetness with the faintly breathing ocean. The men in the doorstep smoked silently, each absorbed in his own reveries. How peaceful it was there in the stillness, with the hush of evening descending like a benediction on the darkening earth. Bob sighed with contentment. His year of hard study was over, and now that his well-earned rest had come, he was surprised to discover how tired he was. Already the peace of Wilton was stealing over him, its dreamy atmosphere almost too beautiful to be real. From where he sat he could see the trembling lights of the village, jeweling the rim of the bay like a circlet of stars. A man might do worse, he reflected, than remain a few days in this sleepy little town. He liked Willie and Celestina too. Indeed, he would have been without a heart not to have appreciated their simple kindness. Why should he hurry home? Would not his father rejoice should he be content to stay and make his aunt a short visit? There was no need to bind himself for any definite length of time. He would merely drift, and when he found himself becoming bored, flee. To be sure about the last thing he had intended when setting forth to the cape was to linger there. He had come hither with unwilling feet solely to please his parents, and having paid his respects to his unknown relative, he meant to depart west as speedily as decency would permit, reasoning that it would be a mutual relief when the visit was over. But a single day in the cozy little house at the water's edge had served to convince him how erroneous had been his premises. Instead of being tiresome, his aunt Celestina was proving a delightful acquisition, toward whom he already found himself cherishing a warm regard. And what a cook she was! After months of city food, her bread, pies, and cookies were ambrosial. As for Willie, Bob had never before beheld so gentle, ingenuous, and lovable a personality. Undoubtedly, the little inventor had genius. What a pity he had been cheated of the opportunity for cultivating it. There was something pathetic in the way he reached out for the knowledge life had denied him. It reminded one of a patient child who asks for water to slake his thirst. If, for some inscrutable reason, he had granted him, Robert Morton, the chance denied this grouping soul, was it not almost an obligation that, in so far as he was able, he should place at the other's disposal the fruits of the education that had been his? Presumably this motorboat idea would not amount to much, for if such an invention were plausible and of value, doubtless a score of nautical authorities would have seized upon it long before now. But to work at the plan would give the gentle dreamer in the silver-gray cottage happiness. And after all, happiness was not to be despised. If together he and Willie could make tangible the notion that existed in the latter's brain, the deed was certainly worth the doing. Moreover, the process would be an entertaining one, and after its completion he might go away with a sense of having brightened at least one horizon by his coming. Thus reasoned Robert Morton, as in the peace of that June evening, he casually shuffled the cards of fate, little suspecting that already a factor in his destiny, stronger than any of his arguments, was soon to make its influence felt, and transform Wilton into a magnet so powerful that against its spell he would be helpless as a child. He was aroused from his meditations by the voice of Willie. "'Didn't you hear a little bell?' demanded the inventor. "'A sort of tinkling noise?' "'I thought I did.' "'It's the box coming from Jans.' "'It's the box coming from Jans.' "'It's the box coming from Jans.' "'It's the box coming from Jans.' "'It's the box coming from Jans.' "'It's the box coming from Jans.' explained he. "'Can you catch a sight of it?' "'I see it now.' Rising the old man tugged at the string, urging the reluctant messenger through the tangle of roses. "'By his right in a note, my figure he ain't coming over,' he remarked, as the object drew nearer. "'I wonder what's stuck in his crop. "'Maybe Ms. Eldridge won't let him out. "'She's something of a tarter, Arabella is. Jan has to walk the plank, I can tell you.' By this time the cigar-box swaying in the taut twine was within easy reach. Willie raised its cover and took from its interior a crumpled fragment of paper. "'Muff, he's mighty savin,' he commented as he turned the missive over. "'He's writ on the other side of my letter. "'Let's see what he has to say.' "'Can't come. Bizzy.' "'Well, did you ever,' gasped he, blankly. "'Bizzy! Good Lord! Jan's never been known to be busy in all his life. He don't even know the feeling. "'If Jenoa Eldridge is busy, all I've got to say is, the world's going to be swallowed up by another deluge.' "'Maybe, as you suggested, Mrs. Eldridge.' "'Oh, if it had been Ms. Eldridge, he wouldn't have took the trouble to send no such message as that,' broke in Willie. "'He'd simply a writ, Arabella. It wouldn't have been a need for more.' "'No, sir. Something stepped on Jan's shatter, and to-morrow I'll have to go straight over there and find out what it is.' End of Chapter 4. Recording by Roger Maline