Part 11 (1/2)
”Nothing easier,” said Gerald, pulling on with long, steady strokes. ”We will just keep on; I ask nothing better. Years pa.s.sed. A form was seen, gray and bent with age, feebly tugging at a pair of oars. Trailing behind the crazy boat, another figure might be distinguished--I forbear further description, Margaret: I may grow old, but not you; please stay as you are always. Anyhow, the people will flock to the sh.o.r.e. Ha! the Muse! the afflatus descends.
”The people thronged the rocky sh.o.r.e, And viewed that graybeard old and h.o.a.r; 'Oh! why thus dodderest at the oar, Unhappy soul?'
The answer came: 'Forever more She wished to troll!'”
”Gerald, I think we'd better go back now.”
”Wait! she hasn't finished. Never interrupt a Muse! it isn't the thing to do.
”And still along that rocky coast, A gibbering yet a gallant ghost, He dodders, dodders at his post, Nor nears the goal; For she, the spook he cares for most, Still loves to troll.”
”Gerald, take me back, please! see, we are ever so far from sh.o.r.e, and it is time for me to go in, I am sure.”
”Just look down, Margaret! see the bottom, all white sand; isn't that pleasant? Hi! there's a bream watching his nest. See him fanning about over it, never leaving the place. He'll keep that up for hours at a time. Domestic party, the bream! this is an excellent opportunity to study the habits of--”
”Gerald, I am cold!”
”We'll be there in two minutes!” said Gerald, settling to his oars.
”Hold tight, now, Margaret! troll as the wolves of Apennine were all upon your track!” and with long, powerful strokes he sent the boat flying through the water, while Margaret fairly shrieked with delight and excitement.
Her face had been turned away from the float; but now she was speeding toward it, and looked eagerly to see what the others of the party were doing. To her great amazement, no one was in sight. The wharf lay wet and glistening in the suns.h.i.+ne, but no blue-clad figures leaped and pranced across it, no merry faces emerged from the blue, sparkling water. All was silent and solitary.
”Why, Gerald,” cried Margaret, ”where are they all? have they gone in?
Surely I heard their voices just a moment ago, and a great splash: where can they be?”
”A stunt!” replied Gerald. ”For our benefit, I presume, but I scorn their levity. I advise you to take no notice of their childish pranks. I myself was young, once upon a time, but what then?”
They were now at the float, and Margaret looked about her, in utter amazement. All was silent; not a voice, not a whisper; no soul was in sight. It was as if she and Gerald were alone in the world. She stepped out on the float: at the instant, up from under her feet rose a sound as if the biggest giant that ever swung a club were sneezing. ”A--_tchoo_!”
Margaret screamed outright. ”Gerald! what is it?”
”Come out from there!” cried Gerald. ”They are under the float, imbeciles that they are. The Pater has gone ash.o.r.e, and the others manifest their nature, that is all. Come out, Apes of the Apennines! or I'll--”
The threat remained unfinished, for the Merryweathers came out. Swarming up from under the float, where they had been treading water at their ease, with plenty of breathing-s.p.a.ce, they flung themselves with one accord upon Gerald's boat, capsized it, and dragged him into the water.
A great splas.h.i.+ng contest ensued, with much shouting and merriment, and they were still hard at it when ”All in!” sounded from the boat-house.
CHAPTER VIII.
THE MAIL
”STILL raining, Phil?” asked Mrs. Merryweather, looking up from her writing.
”Still, honored parent! or rather, to be exact, anything but still. Up on the hill, the wind is fierce. I had to ride round the blast once or twice, instead of going through it. Solid old wind, that!”
He threw off his dripping oilskin jacket, and came in, unslinging the letter-bag from his shoulder as he came.
”Letters! letters!” he cried. ”Who wants letters?”
Every one gathered around him, holding out eager hands.