CHAPTER IX. A FIRST LETTER.
Muriel had almost forgotten the banded box of foreign appearance whichshe had in her Treasure Cave. So many things of unusual interest hadoccurred of late that even so wonderful a box had taken a secondary placein her thoughts.
That afternoon Captain Ezra devoted to polishing the lamp, a task hewould not permit Rilla to share, saying that peeling potatoes and thelike was her part of the drudgery, and, as he never helped her with that,neither should she help with the lamp.
Muriel did not insist, for she believed that her grand-dad took a greatdeal of pride in tending to the big light all by himself. "I reckon he'dthink he was gettin' old if he had to be helped," the girl soliloquizedas she walked along the top of the bluff, the dog at her side.
They descended the trail toward that part of the beach where she hadfirst seen the lad. For a time she stood silently gazing down at the spotwhere he had been on that never to be forgotten day. Suddenly she laughedaloud. Stooping, she patted the head of her long-haired companion.
"Shagsie, ol' dog," she chuckled gleefully, "yo' wouldn't be eatin' GeneBeavers up even when I tol' yo' to, would yo' now?" Then merrily sheadded: "I'll tell yo' a secret, ol' dog, if yo' won't be tellin' it."Then she whispered into the long shaggy ear: "I reckon I'm _glad_ nowthat yo' wouldn't." Then, springing up, she scrambled down the rocks andran along the narrow pebbly beach, the dog racing and barking at herheels. When they were just below the lighthouse Rilla paused and lookedup at the small entrance to her cave.
"Shags," she suggested, "let's take another look at the treasure."Together they slowly ascended the perilously steep cliff where one unusedto climbing could barely have found a foothold.
When the cave was reached Rilla uttered a little cry of eagerness, forunder one of the straps on the box was a folded bit of paper.
Opening it, she looked at it, her cheeks flushed, her eyes glowing.
Doctor Winslow had tried to teach the girl to read, but, since he was theresident physician in a New York hospital most of the year, he had beenable to make but little headway. Each autumn he took from one to twomonths' vacation, returning to the home of his boyhood for what he calledan absolute rest, but the fisherfolk, who loved him, flocked to him foradvice and help, and the kind, elderly man welcomed them gladly. Too, hegave to every one who came a bit of optomistic philosophy which did muchtoward keeping them well and happy during the months of his absence.
Muriel had seated herself upon the closed box and studied the note.Luckily the words were simple and plainly printed. She picked out onehere and there that she knew, then suddenly rising she went to a crevicein the rocks and brought forth a Second Reader which the doctor had givenher. She knew every word in it, but she could not always recognize thesame words if they were out of the book. After an hour's diligent search,comparing the printed words with those in the note, she looked up, herexpression joyous, exultant.
"Shagsie, ol' dog, I can read it! I can read every word. It's the fustletter as I ever had, an' Gene Beavers, 'twas, as left it for me." Then,as the faithful dog seemed to be interested, the girl slowly read aloud:
"Dear Storm Maiden:--I am going to try to reach town tonight. I hope to see you again, but if I do not I want you to know how much I like you. I wish girls were all as brave and kind as you are. Thank you and goodbye.
"Your friend, "Gene Beavers."
When the reading was finished the girl sat for a long time looking out ofthe small opening at the gleaming blue waters beyond the cliff and herexpression grew wistful and almost pensive. For the first time in herfifteen years she was wishing she had "learnin'." Suddenly she sprang up,her face brightening. "Shags," she said, "many's the time Uncle Lem hassaid 'regrettin' doesn't get you anywhere. It's what you're doin' _now_that counts.' We'll learn to read, Shags, ol' dog! I dunno how, but we'regoin' to!"
That evening as Rilla sat close to her grand-dad she wanted to ask him ifshe might attend the Tunkett school, but he seemed hardly to know thatshe was there so occupied was he with his own thoughts, and so shedecided to await a more opportune time.
The truth was that Captain Ezra could not forget the accusing expressionin the Irish blue eyes of his old mate, nor the question, "D'y reckonyo're actin' honest, Ez? Hasn't it been the same as stealin' his littlegal?"
That night, long after Muriel was asleep in her loft room, Captain Ezrasat at the kitchen table trying to compose a letter to the father ofRilla, but each attempt was torn to shreds and many times the old manstealthily crossed the kitchen floor and placed the bits in the stove.
At last he thought, "I reckon Barney's right, but thar's no tarnationhurry. I've signed articles to tend to this light till I'm a long waysolder'n I am tonight."
So thinking, he went to his bed, meaning soon to send the letter toMuriel's father, but one thing and another occupied his time and theletter remained unwritten.