Rilla of the Lighthouse

“Pore little girl,” he thought, “was she that lonesome for young company?” He sighed and placed a big hand over the slender brown one. He felt the tenseness of the girl’s arm. “Grand-dad,” she said tremulously, “what if the message is that Gene Beavers has died. I reckon ’twould be all my fault. I’d ought to have brought him right up to the house an’ tol’ you straight out just what had happened.”

Anxiously they watched the oncoming boat. The wind, which had been fitful all the morning, dwindled to the softest breeze, then a calm settled over the harbor and the sail of the Water Rat flapped idly.

“Why don’t little Sol row?” Muriel exclaimed impatiently. Then, eagerly, “Grand-dad, may I go out in the dory an’ meet him? May I?”

“No use to, Rilly gal. The wind’s veered an’ thar goes Sol now on a tack. Yo’ can’t be rowin’ zigzag all over the harbor.” Then, as the boy seemed to be leisurely sailing away from the island, the old man stooped and picked up his lantern.

“Sho, fust mate,” he said, “I reckon we’re ’way off our bearin’s. Little Sol wa’n’t headin’ this way, ’pears like. Just cruisin’ about aimless, like he often does.”

The girl also decided that this was the truth, and so she went indoors to procure the week’s mending. When she returned to the armchair outside the lighthouse she saw that the Water Rat was scudding over the dancing waves in quite the opposite direction.

Captain Ezra had climbed the tower. Rilla seated herself and soon her fingers flew as she sewed a patch upon a blue denim garment, while her thoughts returned to Gene Beavers. She recalled that he had looked frail, but she had supposed his paleness was due to the fact that he lived in the city. Too, she realized that she had been hoping for days that Doctor Winslow would send a message telling her that Gene Beavers was sitting up and that she might visit him, for, wonder of wonders, her grand-dad had said that she might go.

Looking up from the garment a few moments later, her glance again swept over the gleaming waters of the harbor. The Water Rat was nowhere to be seen. Alarmed, the girl sprang to her feet and ran to the top of the steep flight of steps leading down to the shore. Her anxiety was quickly changed to joy, for clattering up toward her was the freckle-faced boy, and a grin of delight spread over his homely features when he saw her.

“Rilly, look’t that, will yo’?” he sang out as he held up a silver dollar. “Made it as easy as sailin’. Yo’ couldn’t guess how, I bet. Could yo’ now?”

The girl shook her head and then listened eagerly, breathlessly, hoping that in reality she did know. Nor was she wrong.

“Well,” the boy confided, “that city guy that’s up to Doc Winslow’s, he ’twas guv it to me, if I’d fetch a note over to Windy Island and hand it to Cap’n Ezra and to no one else, says he.”

Rilla’s eyes shone like stars. Running to the door at the foot of the spiral stairs that led up to the light, she shouted: “Grand-dad! Yo-o! Are yo’ a-comin’ down or shall we come up? Little Sol’s here an’ he’s got a message for yo’.”

“Sho now, is that so? I snum yo’ was right, arter all, in yer calcalations, Rilly gal,” the beaming old man said as he descended the circling flight of stairs. “What’s in the message that Lem sent? Is the city fellar – ”

“We dunno,” Muriel interrupted. “’Twas Gene Beavers himself as sent the note and he said as it was to be given to no one but just yo’.”

The old sea captain was pleased. The boy was square and aboveboard, that was evident. “Wall,” he said as he reached the ground, “little Sol, hist up the message.”

The small boy thrust his hand in one of his pockets, but drew it empty. “Jumpin’ frogs!” he ejaculated. “If I didn’t go an’ change my jacket arter the city guy give me that letter. I reckon as how I’ll have to go back arter it.” But suddenly his expression changed and he beamed up at them. “By time, I rec’lect now! I stowed it in here for safe keepin’.” As he spoke he removed his cap and took the note from the ragged lining. He handed the envelope to the captain and then started running toward the steps leading to the beach, but the old man recalled him. “Ho, thar, little Sol, lay to a spell. I reckon there may be an answer to go ashore with you.”

The boy returned slowly and the girl eagerly watched the captain as he read the message which the note contained. Muriel knew by the expression in her grandfather’s face that the old-time struggle was going on in his heart, but it didn’t last long.

“Is Gene Beavers a-sittin’ up?” the girl asked.

“’Pears like he is,” Captain Ezra said as he folded the note and placed it in his pocket. “Lem’s writ for you to cruise over to town with little Sol and stay a spell.”