Part 8 (2/2)
”Why must some one always be hurt?”
”We go to school, but the schools can't teach us anything, Vesty.
”'Oh, sail away to Galilee, Sail away to Galilee!'”
he hummed airily, gayly. ”What was it you 'told them' back there, Vesty?”
Where now was Vesty's Sunday face? You would look far to find it.
”I told them you were a dude,” said she.
”Did you, indeed! Girls who lead the singing in Sunday-school are not telling many very particular fibs this morning, are they? But you shall own up before night.”
O Vesty!--the call of the ”whistlers” down in the meadow by the sea-wall--”love! love! love!” No other note; it is that, too, breathing in the swift Bails and bounding the sea!
”You sail your boat as well as ever, Captain Notely.”
”And why not--wife?”
These were the appellations of the old days, taken from their elders--”cap'n” and ”wife.”
Vesty did not think he would have dared _that_. Her dark eye chastised him. But he was not looking impudent; he was resolute and pale.
Vesty s.h.i.+vered. With all her earnest, sad experience of life, with her true love for Notely, she was yet in no haste to be bound. Wild, too, at heart; or else somehow the sea wind and the swift sails had freed her.
”Don't say that again. Come, catch the fish for our dinner, Note.”
”I'm only a humble Basin, Miss Kirtland. I didn't think to fetch no bait.”
Vesty took a parcel of six small herrings from her pocket, laughing.
”Yes, our women are smart,” sighed Notely.
”Shall you catch, or will I?”
”You,” said Notely, tossing out the anchor.
He watched her, strong and beautiful, her lips pursed with the feline pursuit of prey, as she baited her hook and threw out the line, quite oblivious now, apparently, of him.
He saw her thrill with excitement as the line stiffened and she began to haul in, hand over hand; it was a big cod too. Vesty always had the luck. There was glory in her cheeks when she brought the struggling, flopping fish over into the boat.
”Vesty,” said Note mischievously, drawing near, ”how would _you_ feel to be caught like that on the end of somebody's line--struggling, flopping?”
His sentimental tone gave way in spite of himself. She turned and gave him a smart box on the ear.
”Very well, Miss Vesty Kirtland, very well. But there 's a marriage ceremony and a binding to 'love, honor and obey,' after which young women don't box their husbands' ears--aha!--at least, mine won't.”
”Notely Garrison,” said Vesty, with Basinly and womanly indignation, ”I never fished for you in all my life--never!”
”Instinctive, darling; not your fault. Unconscious cerebration; do you understand?”
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