Part 7 (1/2)
”When your mother died, just this side o' Sweet.w.a.ter, Rosey,” said Mr.
Nott, with beaming unconsciousness, ”she hadn't any trunks. I reckon she hadn't even an extra gown hanging up in the wagin, 'cept the petticoat ez she had wrapped around yer. It was about ez much ez we could do to skirmish round with Injins, alkali, and cold, and we sorter forgot to dress for dinner. She never thought, Rosey, that you and me would live to be inhabitin' a paliss of a real s.h.i.+p. Ef she had she would have died a proud woman.”
He turned his small, loving, boar-like eyes upon her as a preternaturally innocent and trusting companion of Ulysses might have regarded the transforming Circe. Rosey turned away with the faintest sigh. The habitual look of abstraction returned to her eyes as if she had once more taken refuge in her own ideal world. Unfortunately the change did not escape either the sensitive observation or the fatuous misconception of the sagacious parent. ”Ye'll be mountin' a few furbelows and fixins, Rosey, I reckon, ez only natural. Mabbee ye'll have to prink up a little now that we've got a gentleman contractor in the s.h.i.+p. I'll see what I kin pick up in Montgomery Street.” And indeed he succeeded a few hours later in accomplis.h.i.+ng with equal infelicity his generous design. When she returned from her household tasks she found on her berth a purple velvet bonnet of extraordinary make, and a pair of white satin slippers. ”They'll do for a start off, Rosey,” he explained, ”and I got 'em at my figgers.”
”But I go out so seldom, father, and a bonnet--”
”That's so,” interrupted Mr. Nott, complacently, ”it might be jest ez well for a young gal like yer to appear ez if she DID go out, or would go out if she wanted to. So you kin be wearin' that ar headstall kinder like this evening when the contractor's here, ez if you'd jest come in from a pasear.”
Miss Rosey did not however immediately avail herself of her father's purchase, but contented herself with the usual scarlet ribbon that like a snood confined her brown hair, when she returned to her tasks. The s.p.a.ce between the galley and the bulwarks had been her favorite resort in summer when not actually engaged in household work. It was now lightly roofed over with boards and tarpaulin against the winter rain, but still afforded her a veranda-like s.p.a.ce before the gallery door, where she could read or sew, looking over the bow of the Pontiac to the tossing bay or the further range of the Contra Costa hills.
Hither Miss Rosey brought the purple prodigy, partly to please her father, partly with a view of subjecting it to violent radical changes.
But after trying it on before the tiny mirror in the galley once or twice, her thoughts wandered away, and she fell into one of her habitual reveries seated on a little stool before the galley door.
She was roused from it by the slight shaking and rattling of the doors of a small hatch on the deck, not a dozen yards from where she sat. It had been evidently fastened from below during the wet weather, but as she gazed, the fastenings were removed, the doors were suddenly lifted, and the head and shoulders of a young man emerged from the deck.
Partly from her father's description, and partly from the impossibility of its being anybody else, she at once conceived it to be the new lodger. She had time to note that he was young and good-looking, graver perhaps than became his sudden pantomimic appearance, but before she could observe him closely, he had turned, closed the hatch with a certain familiar dexterity, and walked slowly towards the bows. Even in her slight bewilderment, she observed that his step upon the deck seemed different to her father's or the photographer's, and that he laid his hand on various objects with a half-caressing ease and habit.
Presently he paused and turned back, and glancing at the galley door for the first time encountered her wondering eyes.
It seemed so evident that she had been a curious spectator of his abrupt entrance on deck that he was at first disconcerted and confused.
But after a second glance at her he appeared to resume his composure, and advanced a little defiantly towards the galley.
”I suppose I frightened you, popping up the fore hatch just now?”
”The what?” asked Rosey.
”The fore hatch,” he repeated impatiently, indicating it with a gesture.
”And that's the fore hatch?” she said abstractedly. ”You seem to know s.h.i.+ps.”
”Yes--a little,” he said quietly. ”I was below, and unfastened the hatch to come up the quickest way and take a look round. I've just hired a room here,” he added explanatorily.
”I thought so,” said Rosey simply; ”you're the contractor?”
”The contractor!--oh, yes! You seem to know it all.”
”Father's told me.”
”Oh, he's your father--Nott? Certainly. I see now,” he continued, looking at her with a half repressed smile. ”Certainly, Miss Nott, good morning,” he half added and walked towards the companion way.
Something in the direction of his eyes as he turned away made Rosey lift her hands to her head. She had forgotten to remove her father's baleful gift.
She s.n.a.t.c.hed it off and ran quickly to the companion way.
”Sir!” she called.
The young man turned half way down the steps and looked up. There was a faint color in her cheeks, and her pretty brown hair was slightly disheveled from the hasty removal of the bonnet.
”Father's very particular about strangers being on this deck,” she said a little sharply.
”Oh--ah--I'm sorry I intruded.”