Georgina's Service Stars

  CHAPTER XXI

  "PIRATE GOLD"

  IF this were a novel instead of my memoirs, I'd skip now to Richard'spart of it, and tell his thoughts and feelings as he lay awake forhours, trying to adjust himself to his new outlook on the future. But Ididn't know about that till afterward. It only came out bits at a timein the few hours we had together before he went away. We had so littletime by ourselves.

  The thing that worried him was the discovery that he no longer wanted tohurry off to the front. He was still as eager as ever to do his part. Itwasn't that. It was _me_. He told me down at Uncle Darcy's next morning.I was staying there until time for the funeral, doing the little thingsthat Barby would have done had she been here. Belle had gone home, wornout, and Tippy was over there with her, getting dinner for some of theout-of-town relatives who were expected on the noon train. It seemed asif everybody on the Cape must have sent flowers. The little houseoverflowed with them. Richard helped me find places for them and carryout the empty boxes.

  Uncle Darcy was so wonderful. He went about just as usual, talking incautious half-whispers as he always did when Aunt Elspeth was asleep,tiptoeing into the darkened room now and then, to lean over and look ather. Sometimes he touched her hair caressingly, and sometimes smootheddown the long, soft folds of her white robe. Once when I took in a greatbasket full of ferns and roses to put on the table beside her he lookedup with a smile.

  "That's right," he said. "Fix it all nice and pretty for her, Georgina.Mother likes to have things pretty."

  He was so calm, and seemingly so oblivious to the fact that she was nolonger conscious of his presence, that we were awed by his wonderfulcomposure. So when we were out by the pump, giving some of the floraldesigns a fresh sprinkling, it did not seem out of place for Richard toask me if I had told Uncle Darcy--about us. It might have seemed strangeat any other house of mourning for us to put our own affairs in theforeground, but not here.

  I said no, I couldn't tell anybody until Barby knew. She must be thevery first. He said all right, if I felt that way, but we'd have to senda telegram, because he couldn't go away till he'd claimed me before thefootlights as well as behind the scenes. I didn't see how we could putsuch a thing in a telegram, but he was so determined that finally Iconsented to try. Together we composed one that we thought wouldenlighten Barby, and at the same time mystify the telegraph operator,who happened to be one of the old High School boys.

  When the noon whistle blew Uncle Darcy's composure suddenly left him. Helooked around, startled by the familiar sound as if its shrill summonspierced him with a realization of the truth. It was the signal for himto wheel Aunt Elspeth to the table; to uncover the tray Belle alwayssent in, to urge her appetite with the same old joke that never lost itsflavor to her. It seemed to come over him in a terrifying wave ofrealization that all that was ended. He could never do it again, couldnever do anything for her. He looked at the clock and then turnedstricken eyes on me, asking when they would take her away. When I toldhim his distress was pitiful. It is awful to hear an old man sob.

  It sent me hurrying from the room, fumbling for my handkerchief. Richardfollowed me and put his arms about me. The cheek pressed against minewas wet too.

  "Dearest," he whispered, "that's the way I care for _you_. That's what Iwant to do--stay with you to the end--be to you all he's been to her. I_can't_ go and leave you with so many chances of never getting back toyou. I'm clinging to the few hours still left to us as desperately as heis."

  At the funeral that afternoon, as we stood together on the oldburying-ground on the hill, listening to the brief service at the grave,such a comforting thought came to me. It was about the mantle of Elijahfalling on Elisha as the chariot of fire bore him heavenward. He droppedit in token that a double portion of his spirit should rest on theyounger prophet. I felt that Richard and I, in keeping vigil as the soulof Aunt Elspeth took its flight, had witnessed the earthly ending of themost beautiful devotion we had ever known. And its mantle had fallen onus. We would go down to old age as they had done. And we surely needed adouble portion of their spirit, for we faced a long, uncertainseparation, beset by danger and death. _They_ had gone all the way handin hand.

  After it was all over and the crowd straggled away we stayed behind withUncle Darcy for a while, telling Dan and Belle we would take him home inthe machine when he was ready to go. We left him sitting beside theflower-covered mound under a scraggly old pine, and strolled off to thetop of the hill. Richard asked me if I remembered that the very firstday we ever saw each other he brought me out to this old burying-ground.He dared me to slip in through the picket fence and touch ten tombstonesto test my courage. And after I'd touched them I went tearing down thehill with eyes as big as saucers, to tell him there was a whole row ofpirates' graves up there, with a skull and cross bones on eachheadstone, and how disappointed we were when we found out that they wereonly early settlers.

  And I asked him if he remembered that the first compliment he ever paidme was that same day on our way home. I was so stuck up over it I neverforgot it. It was, "You're a partner worth having. You've got a _head_."

  He said yes our partnership dated from that very first day. It certainlywas a deep-rooted affair. Then I told him the lovely thought that hadcome to me about the mantle of those two old lovers falling on ourshoulders, and he reached out and took my hand in the gentlest way, andsaid that all that they had been to one another _we'd_ be to each other,and more. And then we sat there on the hillside talking in low tones andwatching the wind from the harbor blowing through the long sedge grass,till it was time to take Uncle Darcy home.

  He was ready to go when we went down to him. On the way home he talkedabout Aunt Elspeth in the most wonderful way, as if he'd been up in somehigh place where he could look down on life as God does and see howshort the earth part of it is. He said "'Twould be a sin to fret forher." That she was safe in port now and he'd soon follow. He was so gladthat she wasn't the one to be left behind. She'd have been so helplesswithout him.

  On the way home to supper we noticed an unusual number of boats puttinginto the harbor. The sky was overcast and the wind was rising. It was adisappointment because we'd planned for a moonlight row. We could see ata glance there wasn't going to be any moonlight. When we reached thehouse we found that Miss Susan Triplett was there. She had come back totown for the funeral and was going to stay all night with us.

  My heart sank when I thought of one of our last precious evenings beinginterrupted by her. She always takes the centre of the stage wherevershe is. But to my unbounded surprise Tippy took Miss Susan upstairs withher after supper, to help her spread the batting in a quilt that shewas getting ready to put in the quilting frames. It took them tillbedtime.

  Richard vowed Tippy took her off purposely, out of pure goodness ofheart, knowing that we wanted to be alone. I was positive that if shehad thought that, or even suspected it, she wouldn't have budged aninch. She wouldn't approve of my being engaged. But Richard insistedthat she was chuck full of sentiment herself, in spite of her apparentscorn of it, and that she not only suspected which way the wind wasblowing, but knew it positively.

  We didn't have any difference of opinion about what Barby would say,however. So I did not feel that I had to wait for an answer to ourtelegram before I let him slip the ring on my finger which he broughtfor me. It's a beautiful solitaire in a quaint Florentine setting.

  "It's the one Dad gave mother," he said, "but if you'd rather have it ina modern setting----"

  I love the tone of his voice when he says "Dad" that way, and I wouldn'thave the setting changed if it had been as ugly as sin, instead of whatit is, the most artistic one I ever saw.

  It was blowing hard when he left the house. The waves were lashingangrily against the breakwater. We knew the fishermen must be expectinga storm. The night was so black we couldn't see the fleets they hadbrought in, but the harbor was full of lights, hundreds of them gleamingfrom the close-reefed boats lying at anchor.

  It was not until
late in the night that the storm struck. Then aterrific wind swept the Cape. Shutters banged and windows rattled. Thehouse itself shook at times, and now and then sand struck the windowpanes even of the second story, as if thrown against them in gianthandfuls. Once there was a crash, and a big limb of the old willow wentdown. It has been years since we have had such a storm. Part of thewillow went down that time.

  Lying there unable to sleep I recalled that other storm. I couldremember distinctly old Jeremy's coming in next morning to report thedamage, and saying it was so wild it was a wonder the dunes hadn't allblown into the sea. Some of them had. Captain Ames' cranberry bog wasburied so deep in sand you couldn't see a leaf of it, and there was sanddrifted over everything, as if a cyclone had swirled through the dunes,lifting them bodily and scattering them over the face of the earth.

  I had cause to remember that storm. It buried still deeper the littlepouch of "pirate gold" which Richard and I had buried temporarily, andwe had never been able to find it since. For days we dug with a hoe andthe brass-handled fire shovel, trying to unearth it, but even themarkers we had set above it never came to light.

  Lying there in the dark I could remember exactly how Richard lookedthen, in his little grass-stained white suit with a hole in the knee ofhis stocking. What a dear little dare-devil he was in those days, alwayscoming to grief with his clothes, because of his thirst for adventure.All through the storm I lay thinking about him. I am so glad that I havethose memories of him as a boy to add to my knowledge of him as a man.If I knew him only as I have known him since his return, a handsomeyoung officer in his immaculate uniform and with his fascinating ways,I'd be afraid I was being attracted by his outward charm, and might bedisillusioned some day as I was about Esther.

  But in all the years we've been growing up together I've had time tolearn every one of his faults and short-comings. Though I've franklytold him of them in times past for his own good, I realize now that henever had as many as most boys, and he has outgrown the few he did have.I wouldn't have him changed now in any way whatever.

  An attachment like ours that blossoms out of such a long and intimateacquaintance must have deeper roots than one like Babe's and Watson's.Theirs hasn't any background, any past tense. Babe married him withouthaving seen a single member of his family nearer than cousins, which isan awful risk, I think. Suppose one of his next of kin were a miser or afanatic, and the same traits would crop out in him later in life.Knowing Richard's father as I did makes me feel that I know Richard inthe future tense. They are so much alike. He'll always keep that senseof humor which was one of Mr. Moreland's charms, and the same feelingfor things with old happy associations, like my ring.

  When I thought of that adorable ring I just couldn't wait till morningto see it again. Reaching for the little pocket flashlight which I keepon the stand beside my bed, I sat up and flashed it on the stone,turning it in every possible direction to see it sparkle. It was muchmore dazzling under the electric light than it had been under the lamp.I wondered if it made Richard's mother as happy when she wore it as itmakes me. I wondered if she ever sat up in the dark to admire it as Iwas doing, and what she would think if she could see me press it to mylips in the consciousness that it is the precious link which binds me toRichard. I don't believe she would think it silly. She would be gladthat I care so much--so very much.

  Next morning Richard was over early to take me out with him to see howmuch damage the storm had done. The beach was strewn with wreckage,trees were uprooted on every street, and roofs and chimneys had sufferedall over town. But the strangest thing was that we found our littlepouch of pirate gold. It was like the sea giving up its dead for thedunes to give up the treasure we'd buried in it so long ago. We hadn'tthe faintest expectation of such a thing when we started out; merelythought we'd go over for a look at the place where it was buried.

  When we ploughed through the sand to the fringe of bayberry bushes andwild beach plums that was our landmark, we found that the last storm hadundone the work of that first one. It had scooped out the sand and lefta hollow as it used to be years ago. Even then we hadn't any thought ofreally finding the money, but Captain Kidd was along, and just to givehim some excitement Richard called "Rats!"

  That started him to digging frantically, and the first thing that flewout from under his paws was one of the pieces of broken crock which wehad used as a marker. Then we tried him in other places, poking aroundourselves with sticks, and presently he gave a short bark and stoppeddigging, to nose something else he had unearthed. It actually was theold baking-powder can. It was almost eaten up with rust, and the namesand date we had scratched on it were almost illegible. But everythinginside was intact.

  I watched Richard's face as he unrolled layer after layer of tin foilthat was wrapped around the pouch, and thought again how nice it wasthat I shared his memories. I could understand the smile that curved hislips, for I knew the scenes that tin foil brought back to him. He hadbeen weeks saving it.

  "Off Dad's tobacco," was all he said. But more than once I had climbedthe Green Stairs up the cliff to the bungalow in time to see thelaughing scuffle which invariably took place before it was handed overto him. They had been rare play-fellows, he and his father.

  In the pouch was the letter, the black rubber ring, the handful ofchange. "We'll pass all that over to Dan," I said, "but the gold we'lldivide and gloat over."

  But Richard insisted that it shouldn't be divided. He wanted to take itdown to the Arts and Crafts shop and have it made into a ring for me.Just a little circle, that I could wear as a guard for the other one. Iwanted half of it made into some token for him "to have and to hold" butwe couldn't think of anything suitable. He wouldn't wear a ringhimself, and there wasn't time to make a locket. There's so little thata soldier going abroad can carry with him.

  It was the artist who does the lovely jewel work at the Shop who settledthe question. We had to take her partly into our confidence in order toshow her how necessary it was to have the keepsake done before Richard'sdeparture. She was dear about it, and so thrilled with the romance ofthe affair that she said she'd sit up all night if necessary to finishit. Yes, she understood perfectly, she said. She would melt the two goldpieces together, and out of part would fashion the ring, just a littletwist of a lover's knot, and out of the rest--well, why not anidentification tag? The gentleman would have to wear one anyhow, and,being an officer could have it of gold if he wished.

  Richard liked the idea immensely, but it gave me a gruesome feeling atfirst. There would be no need of identification tags, were it not thatpossible death and wounds and capture face every man who wears one.Besides it seemed such a cold-blooded sort of token to give to one'sbest beloved, just starting off to the Field of Honor. About as romanticas a trunk check.

  But suddenly I thought of something which made me agree instantly. Therewas a name which I could have engraved upon the reverse side, whichwould make the little tag seem almost like a decoration, incommemoration of a noble deed. I managed to write it down and slip it tothe artist without Richard's seeing it.

  Now whenever he looks at it he will remember it is the name I call himin my heart of hearts. He will know that I think of him as my trueknight, as worthy of a royal accolade as any of those who fared forth inArthur's time to redress the wrongs of the world. He is my "_SirGareth_."