Rilla of the Lighthouse

  CHAPTER XVIII. MEMORIES.

  The next morning Captain Ezra asked Gene if he would like to go to theOuter Ledge and spend the day fishing, as the supply in the barrel wasgetting low. The lad was glad to go, and, as Muriel had baking to do, shewas equally pleased to be alone.

  Long, silent hours these were for Gene as he sat with the captain waitingfor the coming of the fish that seemed reluctant to be caught in theearly morning. Long, thoughtful hours. Now and then the lad even forgotwhere he was until a wave, larger than the others, rocked the boat andrecalled to him his whereabouts. He was living over again a chapter inhis past.

  It had happened the summer before. His dear mother, who was perfect inevery other way, had one obsession (many mothers seemed to have it, heconcluded), and that was that she wanted the idol of her heart, her onlyson, to make a fashionable marriage.

  During their last vacation, with his sister Helen, he had joined hisparents in Paris, where Mr. Beavers was employed as residentrepresentative of large American interests, he himself having acontrolling share.

  Mrs. Beavers had suggested a jaunt about the continent and had joined asmall exclusive party, one of the younger members of it being just thesort of a girl she desired as a comrade for her son.

  Marianne Carnot, the descendant of a long line of illustrious Frenchfolk, had been educated in London and although she was a dark, sparklingbeauty of the French type, she spoke excellent English with a delightfulaccent which but added to her charm.

  Gene's mother, in her eagerness to interest her son in this girl (forMonsieur Carnot was a diplomat of fabulous wealth), had been trulydiscouraged, for they had neither of them cared greatly (or so it wouldseem) to be in each other's company. When the pleasant journey throughItaly, Switzerland and France was ended, Mrs. Beavers could not see thatthe two most frequently in her thoughts had been greatly impressed witheach other.

  They had come to the parting of their ways and Gene had never again seenMarianne nor had they corresponded. But the locket! How had Marianneprocured the snapshot of him? Then he recalled one day in Rome when shehad told him to stand by a famous statue and look his prettiest. He hadsupposed that a photograph of the statue was what she had really wishedto procure, but he had been mistaken, evidently. Could it have been thatMarianne had liked him especially? He was sure that this was not true. Healso recalled that his mother had assured Mademoiselle Carnot that sheought to spend at least one year in an American boarding school.Evidently the French girl had been voyaging across the great Atlanticwhen her small steamer trunk had been lost.

  Did that mean that Marianne had also met with disaster?

  He decided that he would write his sister at once and inquire if she knewaught of her friend of the summer before.

  When Gene reached Windy Island that night, upon one thing he had decided.He would tell Muriel the entire story. The next morning an opportunitypresented itself. The girl was darning in the sunny kitchen when Genecame in from the shed on the shore where he and Captain Ezra had beencleaning fish and packing it away in the barrel which was kept very coldin a wet hole in the sand.

  Muriel looked up with a welcoming smile. Just such a smile was everawaiting the coming of her grand-dad.

  Gene sat upon the broad arm of a chair nearby and twirled his cap."Muriel, good friend," he said, "I know to whom your box belongs."

  The girl looked up amazed, not understanding.

  "Gene, how could yo'? We didn't find a name or nothin'."

  "Yes, we found something. That is, I did."

  Those hazel eyes were again looking into the very soul of the boy, but hedid not flinch. He had done nothing of which he was ashamed.

  He slid down into the chair, and leaning forward, looked directly back ather. "I didn't tell you at once, because I wanted to think it all over. Iwas so surprised I couldn't quite understand myself what it could mean,but I do now, in part at least. May I tell you the story?"

  The girl nodded and her hands lay idly in her lap, though still holdingthe sock she had been darning.

  Gene told her all from the beginning. He wondered what her first remarkwould be when he paused. It was: "I reckon yo're mother wouldn't wish yo'to be friends with me, Gene Beavers. I cal'late yo'd better go back tothe city soon, to the kind of folks she'd want yo' to be associatin'with."

  "Nonsense, Muriel!" The lad had risen, and thrusting his hands deep inhis pockets, he stood looking out of the window for a long time, silent,thoughtful.