Janet of the Dunes | Page 8

was struggling with an inclination to cry,
"why didn't he?" David, fearing he had ventured upon dangerous
ground, muttered:

"He said he couldn't! Them was his own words. Billy was always queer.
Just then Mrs. Jo G. came int' the living room. She had you--we didn't
know it then, fur ye was just a round bundle--in her arms. Mrs. Jo G.
always speaks to the p'int when she does speak," Davy continued, "an'
all she said was, 'This is all that's left, Cap'n Billy--the mother's gone!'"
"Oh! my Cap'n!" murmured Janet; "and only to-night I have heard
this!"
"Now don't take on, Janet!" David clumsily stroked the pretty head that
had found a resting place upon the iron railing. "It was because Billy
hated any takin' on that he kept mum. Him an' me an' Mrs. Jo G. we
have always acted as if nothin' unusual had happened. Ye had a stormy
voyage, child, an' Billy wanted that ye should have calm, while he was
in control."
"Oh! Cap'n Billy, my poor old Daddy! And I've been a wild, uncaring
girl, David. Never taking hold like the others! Just following Daddy
about, and being a burden! And to think it was--it was boarders that
aroused me! Oh! Davy, it makes me sick."
"Now see here, Janet!" David got up and walked twice around the little
gallery. "I ain't a-sayin' but what ye ought t' be helpin' yerself an' takin'
anxiety off o' Billy: but I do say that it ain't goin' t' ease Billy any, if ye
go gallivantin' off to the Hills with any fool notion that good looks is
goin' t' help ye."
"They always help, Cap'n David, always!" Janet's assertion came
through a muffled sob. "You mustn't think I care for my looks myself.
I'd just as soon be as peaked and blue-white as Mrs. Jo G.'s Maud, but I
know pretty looks are just so much to the good--"
"Or bad!" broke in David.
"Well, have it that way. But it is according to how you use them. I'm
going to use my good looks wisely!"
"By gum!" muttered David. This was his escape valve. When other

words failed, "by gum" eased the tension. "Ye ain't much on looks,
Janet, when ye come to that," he said presently. "Ye ain't tidy, nor tasty;
ye ain't a likely promise fur what a handy woman ought t' be. Yer
powerful breezy an' uncertain, an' yer unlike what folks is use t'."
"Davy!" Janet came in front of him and the light fell full upon her.
"Davy, you just listen and see how wise I am! Do you know why the
city folks have come to Quinton? We never, at least not many of us,
saw anything very splendid about the Hills, the dunes and the bay, now
did we?"
"The fact is, we didn't!"
"Well, these people are wild about them because they are unlike the
common things they are used to. I am like Quinton, Davy; I know it
way down in my heart. You won't catch me fixing up like city folks and
looking queer enough to turn you dizzy. Quinton and I are going to be
true to ourselves, Davy, and you'll soon see if my looks do not help!"
"By gum!" sighed David; and remembering his vow to Billy to watch
over this girl, he sighed again and ordered her below in no very gentle
voice.
CHAPTER III
Janet was aroused the next morning by hearing Captain David creaking
across the floor of the living room with his daily burden in his arms.
The girl was neither deep asleep nor wide awake. She was never
uncertain of her whereabouts or identity, once she had crossed the
border land.
The early sun was creeping into the east window of her tiny room on
one side of the living room of the lighthouse; on the opposite side was
Captain David's sleeping apartment, into which he carried his helpless
wife every evening before he had to go up aloft, and out of which he
bore her to the chintz covered rocker, every morning after he had come
below.

For ten long years David had known this sorrow; and he knew that it
was to be his until Death spake the final word.
"It seems to me, David," the querulous voice was saying, "that the sun,
up your way, rose mighty late to-day."
"There, there, Susan Jane, 't is the same old sun as rises an' sets fur all.
Had a bad night, Susan Jane?"
"Bad night! that shows what sympathy you have for me, David. All my
nights are bad. Bad as bad can be, unless they be worse!"
"Well, Susan Jane, let's hope that a bad night argers a good day. There!
are ye fixed, reasonably comfortable? P'r'aps the