Part 42 (1/2)

”Set down,” ordered her husband sharply. ”You set down and keep down.”

She stared, gasped, and resumed her seat. Seth gazed straight ahead into the blackness. He swallowed once or twice, and his hands tightened on the spokes of the wheel.

”That--that feller there,” nodding grimly toward the groaning figure at the pumps, ”told me himself that him and you had agreed to get a divorce from me--to get it right off. He give me to understand that you expected him, 'twas all settled and that was why he'd come to Eastboro. That's what he told me this afternoon on the depot platform.”

Mrs. Bascom again sprang up.

”Set down!” commanded Seth.

”I won't.”

”Yes, you will. Set down.” And she did.

”Seth,” she cried, ”did he--did Bennie tell you that? Did he? Why, I never heard such a--I never! Seth, it ain't true, not a word of it. Did you think I'd get a divorce? Me? A self-respectin' woman? And from you?”

”You turned me adrift.”

”I didn't. You turned yourself adrift. I was in trouble, bound by a promise I give my dyin' husband, to give his brother a home while I had one. I didn't want to do it; I didn't want him with us--there, where we'd been so happy. But I couldn't say anything. I couldn't turn him out. And you wouldn't, you--”

She was interrupted. From beneath the Daisy M.'s keel came a long, sc.r.a.ping noise. The little schooner shook, and then lay still. The waves, no longer large, slapped her sides.

Mrs. Bascom, startled, uttered a little scream. Bennie D., knocked to his knees, roared in fright. Seth alone was calm. Nothing, at that moment, could alarm or even surprise him.

”Humph!” he observed, ”we're aground somewheres. And in the Harbor.

We're safe and sound now, I cal'late. Emeline, go below where it's dry and stay there. Don't talk--go. As for you,” leaving the wheel and striding toward the weary inventor, ”you can stop pumpin'--unless,” with a grim smile, ”you like it too well to quit--and set down right where you be. Right where you be, I said! Don't you move till I say the word.

WHEN I say it, jump!”

He went forward, lowered the jib, and coiled the halliards. Then, lantern in hand, he seated himself in the bows. After a time he filled his pipe, lit it by the aid of the lantern, and smoked. There was silence aboard the Daisy M.

The wind died away altogether. The fog gradually disappeared. From somewhere not far away a church clock struck the hour. Seth heard it and smiled. Turning his head he saw in the distance the Twin-Lights burning steadily. He smiled again.

Gradually, slowly, the morning came. The last remnant of low-hanging mist drifted away. Before the bows of the stranded schooner appeared a flat sh.o.r.e with a road, still partially covered by the receding tide, along its border. Fish houses and anch.o.r.ed dories became visible. Behind them were hills, and over them roofs and trees and steeples.

A step sounded behind the watcher in the bows. Mrs. Bascom was at his elbow.

”Why, Seth!” she cried, ”why, Seth! it's Eastboro, ain't it? We're close to Eastboro.”

Seth nodded. ”It's Eastboro,” he said. ”I cal'lated we must be there or thereabouts. With that no'theast breeze to help us we couldn't do much else but fetch up at the inner end of the Back Harbor.”

She laid her hand timidly on his arm.

”Seth,” she whispered, ”what should we have done without you? You saved our lives.”

He swung about and faced her. ”Emeline,” he said, ”we've both been awful fools. I've been the biggest one, I guess. But I've learned my lesson--I've swore off--I told you I'd prove I was a man. Do you think I've been one tonight?”

”Seth!”

”Well, do you? Or,” with a gesture toward the ”genius” who was beginning to take an interest in his surroundings, ”do you like that kind better?”