CHAPTER 39
CAPTAIN JIM CROSSES THE BAR
One day in late September Owen Ford's book came at last. Captain Jimhad gone faithfully to the Glen post office every day for a month,expecting it. This day he had not gone, and Leslie brought his copyhome with hers and Anne's.
"We'll take it down to him this evening," said Anne, excited as aschoolgirl.
The long walk to the Point on that clear, beguiling evening along thered harbor road was very pleasant. Then the sun dropped down behindthe western hills into some valley that must have been full of lostsunsets, and at the same instant the big light flashed out on the whitetower of the point.
"Captain Jim is never late by the fraction of a second," said Leslie.
Neither Anne nor Leslie ever forgot Captain Jim's face when they gavehim the book--HIS book, transfigured and glorified. The cheeks thathad been blanched of late suddenly flamed with the color of boyhood;his eyes glowed with all the fire of youth; but his hands trembled ashe opened it.
It was called simply The Life-Book of Captain Jim, and on the titlepage the names of Owen Ford and James Boyd were printed ascollaborators. The frontispiece was a photograph of Captain Jimhimself, standing at the door of the lighthouse, looking across thegulf. Owen Ford had "snapped" him one day while the book was beingwritten. Captain Jim had known this, but he had not known that thepicture was to be in the book.
"Just think of it," he said, "the old sailor right there in a realprinted book. This is the proudest day of my life. I'm like to bust,girls. There'll be no sleep for me tonight. I'll read my book cleanthrough before sun-up."
"We'll go right away and leave you free to begin it," said Anne.
Captain Jim had been handling the book in a kind of reverent rapture.Now he decidedly closed it and laid it aside.
"No, no, you're not going away before you take a cup of tea with theold man," he protested. "I couldn't hear to that--could you, Matey?The life-book will keep, I reckon. I've waited for it this many ayear. I can wait a little longer while I'm enjoying my friends."
Captain Jim moved about getting his kettle on to boil, and setting outhis bread and butter. Despite his excitement he did not move with hisold briskness. His movements were slow and halting. But the girls didnot offer to help him. They knew it would hurt his feelings.
"You just picked the right evening to visit me," he said, producing acake from his cupboard. "Leetle Joe's mother sent me down a big basketfull of cakes and pies today. A blessing on all good cooks, says I.Look at this purty cake, all frosting and nuts. 'Tain't often I canentertain in such style. Set in, girls, set in! We'll 'tak a cup o'kindness yet for auld lang syne.'"
The girls "set in" right merrily. The tea was up to Captain Jim's bestbrewing. Little Joe's mother's cake was the last word in cakes;Captain Jim was the prince of gracious hosts, never even permitting hiseyes to wander to the corner where the life-book lay, in all itsbravery of green and gold. But when his door finally closed behindAnne and Leslie they knew that he went straight to it, and as theywalked home they pictured the delight of the old man poring over theprinted pages wherein his own life was portrayed with all the charm andcolor of reality itself.
"I wonder how he will like the ending--the ending I suggested," saidLeslie.
She was never to know. Early the next morning Anne awakened to findGilbert bending over her, fully dressed, and with an expression ofanxiety on his face.
"Are you called out?" she asked drowsily.
"No. Anne, I'm afraid there's something wrong at the Point. It's anhour after sunrise now, and the light is still burning. You know ithas always been a matter of pride with Captain Jim to start the lightthe moment the sun sets, and put it out the moment it rises."
Anne sat up in dismay. Through her window she saw the light blinkingpalely against the blue skies of dawn.
"Perhaps he has fallen asleep over his life-book," she said anxiously,"or become so absorbed in it that he has forgotten the light."
Gilbert shook his head.
"That wouldn't be like Captain Jim. Anyway, I'm going down to see."
"Wait a minute and I'll go with you," exclaimed Anne. "Oh, yes, Imust--Little Jem will sleep for an hour yet, and I'll call Susan. Youmay need a woman's help if Captain Jim is ill."
It was an exquisite morning, full of tints and sounds at once ripe anddelicate. The harbor was sparkling and dimpling like a girl; whitegulls were soaring over the dunes; beyond the bar was a shining,wonderful sea. The long fields by the shore were dewy and fresh inthat first fine, purely-tinted light. The wind came dancing andwhistling up the channel to replace the beautiful silence with a musicmore beautiful still. Had it not been for the baleful star on thewhite tower that early walk would have been a delight to Anne andGilbert. But they went softly with fear.
Their knock was not responded to. Gilbert opened the door and theywent in.
The old room was very quiet. On the table were the remnants of thelittle evening feast. The lamp still burned on the corner stand. TheFirst Mate was asleep in a square of sunshine by the sofa.
Captain Jim lay on the sofa, with his hands clasped over the life-book,open at the last page, lying on his breast. His eyes were closed andon his face was a look of the most perfect peace and happiness--thelook of one who has long sought and found at last.
"He is asleep?" whispered Anne tremulously.
Gilbert went to the sofa and bent over him for a few moments. Then hestraightened up.
"Yes, he sleeps--well," he added quietly. "Anne, Captain Jim hascrossed the bar."
They could not know precisely at what hour he had died, but Anne alwaysbelieved that he had had his wish, and went out when the morning cameacross the gulf. Out on that shining tide his spirit drifted, over thesunrise sea of pearl and silver, to the haven where lost Margaretwaited, beyond the storms and calms.
CHAPTER 40
FAREWELL TO THE HOUSE OF DREAMS
Captain Jim was buried in the little over-harbor graveyard, very nearto the spot where the wee white lady slept. His relatives put up avery expensive, very ugly "monument"--a monument at which he would havepoked sly fun had he seen it in life. But his real monument was in thehearts of those who knew him, and in the book that was to live forgenerations.
Leslie mourned that Captain Jim had not lived to see the amazingsuccess of it.
"How he would have delighted in the reviews--they are almost all sokindly. And to have seen his life-book heading the lists of the bestsellers--oh, if he could just have lived to see it, Anne!"
But Anne, despite her grief, was wiser.
"It was the book itself he cared for, Leslie--not what might be said ofit--and he had it. He had read it all through. That last night musthave been one of the greatest happiness for him--with the quick,painless ending he had hoped for in the morning. I am glad for Owen'ssake and yours that the book is such a success--but Captain Jim wassatisfied--I KNOW."
The lighthouse star still kept a nightly vigil; a substitute keeper hadbeen sent to the Point, until such time as an all-wise government coulddecide which of many applicants was best fitted for the place--or hadthe strongest pull. The First Mate was at home in the little house,beloved by Anne and Gilbert and Leslie, and tolerated by a Susan whohad small liking for cats.
"I can put up with him for the sake of Captain Jim, Mrs. Doctor, dear,for I liked the old man. And I will see that he gets bite and sup, andevery mouse the traps account for. But do not ask me to do more thanthat, Mrs. Doctor, dear. Cats is cats, and take my word for it, theywill never be anything else. And at least, Mrs. Doctor, dear, do keephim away from the blessed wee man. Picture to yourself how awful itwould be if he was to suck the darling's breath."
"That might be fitly called a CAT-astrophe," said Gilbert.
"Oh, you may laugh, doctor, dear, but it would be no laughing matter."
"Cats never suck babies' breaths," said Gilbert. "That is only an oldsuperstition, Susan."
; "Oh, well, it may be a superstition or it may not, doctor, dear. Allthat I know is, it has happened. My sister's husband's nephew's wife'scat sucked their baby's breath, and the poor innocent was all but gonewhen they found it. And superstition or not, if I find that yellowbeast lurking near our baby I will whack him with the poker, Mrs.Doctor, dear."
Mr. and Mrs. Marshall Elliott were living comfortably and harmoniouslyin the green house. Leslie was busy with sewing, for she and Owen wereto be married at Christmas. Anne wondered what she would do whenLeslie was gone.
"Changes come all the time. Just as soon as things get really nicethey change," she said with a sigh.
"The old Morgan place up at the Glen is for sale," said Gilbert,apropos of nothing in especial.
"Is it?" asked Anne indifferently.
"Yes. Now that Mr. Morgan has gone, Mrs. Morgan wants to go to livewith her children in Vancouver. She will sell cheaply, for a big placelike that in a small village like the Glen will not be very easy todispose of."
"Well, it's certainly a beautiful place, so it is likely she will finda purchaser," said Anne, absently, wondering whether she shouldhemstitch or feather-stitch little Jem's "short" dresses. He was to beshortened the next week, and Anne felt ready to cry at the thought ofit.
"Suppose we buy it, Anne?" remarked Gilbert quietly.
Anne dropped her sewing and stared at him.
"You're not in earnest, Gilbert?"
"Indeed I am, dear."
"And leave this darling spot--our house of dreams?" said Anneincredulously. "Oh, Gilbert, it's--it's unthinkable!"
"Listen patiently to me, dear. I know just how you feel about it. Ifeel the same. But we've always known we would have to move some day."
"Oh, but not so soon, Gilbert--not just yet."
"We may never get such a chance again. If we don't buy the Morganplace someone else will--and there is no other house in the Glen wewould care to have, and no other really good site on which to build.This little house is--well, it is and has been what no other house canever be to us, I admit, but you know it is out-of-the-way down here fora doctor. We have felt the inconvenience, though we've made the bestof it. And it's a tight fit for us now. Perhaps, in a few years, whenJem wants a room of his own, it will be entirely too small."
"Oh, I know--I know," said Anne, tears filling her eyes. "I know allthat can be said against it, but I love it so--and it's so beautifulhere."
"You would find it very lonely here after Leslie goes--and Captain Jimhas gone too. The Morgan place is beautiful, and in time we would loveit. You know you have always admired it, Anne."
"Oh, yes, but--but--this has all seemed to come up so suddenly,Gilbert. I'm dizzy. Ten minutes ago I had no thought of leaving thisdear spot. I was planning what I meant to do for it in thespring--what I meant to do in the garden. And if we leave this placewho will get it? It IS out-of-the-way, so it's likely some poor,shiftless, wandering family will rent it--and over-run it--and oh, thatwould be desecration. It would hurt me horribly."
"I know. But we cannot sacrifice our own interests to suchconsiderations, Anne-girl. The Morgan place will suit us in everyessential particular--we really can't afford to miss such a chance.Think of that big lawn with those magnificent old trees; and of thatsplendid hardwood grove behind it--twelve acres of it. What a playplace for our children! There's a fine orchard, too, and you've alwaysadmired that high brick wall around the garden with the door init--you've thought it was so like a story-book garden. And there isalmost as fine a view of the harbor and the dunes from the Morgan placeas from here."
"You can't see the lighthouse star from it."
"Yes, You can see it from the attic window. THERE'S another advantage,Anne-girl--you love big garrets."
"There's no brook in the garden."
"Well, no, but there is one running through the maple grove into theGlen pond. And the pond itself isn't far away. You'll be able tofancy you have your own Lake of Shining Waters again."
"Well, don't say anything more about it just now, Gilbert. Give metime to think--to get used to the idea."
"All right. There is no great hurry, of course. Only--if we decide tobuy, it would be well to be moved in and settled before winter."
Gilbert went out, and Anne put away Little Jem's short dresses withtrembling hands. She could not sew any more that day. With tear-weteyes she wandered over the little domain where she had reigned so happya queen. The Morgan place was all that Gilbert claimed. The groundswere beautiful, the house old enough to have dignity and repose andtraditions, and new enough to be comfortable and up-to-date. Anne hadalways admired it; but admiring is not loving; and she loved this houseof dreams so much. She loved EVERYTHING about it--the garden she hadtended, and which so many women had tended before her--the gleam andsparkle of the little brook that crept so roguishly across thecorner--the gate between the creaking fir trees--the old red sandstonestep--the stately Lombardies--the two tiny quaint glass cupboards overthe chimney-piece in the living-room--the crooked pantry door in thekitchen--the two funny dormer windows upstairs--the little jog in thestaircase--why, these things were a part of her! How could she leavethem?
And how this little house, consecrated aforetime by love and joy, hadbeen re-consecrated for her by her happiness and sorrow! Here she hadspent her bridal moon; here wee Joyce had lived her one brief day; herethe sweetness of motherhood had come again with Little Jem; here shehad heard the exquisite music of her baby's cooing laughter; herebeloved friends had sat by her fireside. Joy and grief, birth anddeath, had made sacred forever this little house of dreams.
And now she must leave it. She knew that, even while she had contendedagainst the idea to Gilbert. The little house was outgrown. Gilbert'sinterests made the change necessary; his work, successful though it hadbeen, was hampered by his location. Anne realised that the end oftheir life in this dear place drew nigh, and that she must face thefact bravely. But how her heart ached!
"It will be just like tearing something out of my life," she sobbed."And oh, if I could hope that some nice folk would come here in ourplace--or even that it would be left vacant. That itself would bebetter than having it overrun with some horde who know nothing of thegeography of dreamland, and nothing of the history that has given thishouse its soul and its identity. And if such a tribe come here theplace will go to rack and ruin in no time--an old place goes down soquickly if it is not carefully attended to. They'll tear up mygarden--and let the Lombardies get ragged--and the paling will come tolook like a mouth with half the teeth missing--and the roof willleak--and the plaster fall--and they'll stuff pillows and rags inbroken window panes--and everything will be out-at-elbows."
Anne's imagination pictured forth so vividly the coming degeneration ofher dear little house that it hurt her as severely as if it had alreadybeen an accomplished fact. She sat down on the stairs and had a long,bitter cry. Susan found her there and enquired with much concern whatthe trouble was.
"You have not quarrelled with the doctor, have you now, Mrs. Doctor,dear? But if you have, do not worry. It is a thing quite likely tohappen to married couples, I am told, although I have had no experiencethat way myself. He will be sorry, and you can soon make it up."
"No, no, Susan, we haven't quarrelled. It's only--Gilbert is going tobuy the Morgan place, and we'll have to go and live at the Glen. Andit will break my heart."
Susan did not enter into Anne's feelings at all. She was, indeed,quite rejoiced over the prospect of living at the Glen. Her onegrievance against her place in the little house was its lonesomelocation.
"Why, Mrs. Doctor, dear, it will be splendid. The Morgan house is sucha fine, big one."
"I hate big houses," sobbed Anne.
"Oh, well, you will not hate them by the time you have half a dozenchildren," remarked Susan calmly. "And this house is too small alreadyfor us. We have no spare room, since Mrs. Moore is here, and thatpantry is the most aggravating place I ever tried to work
in. There isa corner every way you turn. Besides, it is out-of-the-world downhere. There is really nothing at all but scenery."
"Out of your world perhaps, Susan--but not out of mine," said Anne witha faint smile.
"I do not quite understand you, Mrs. Doctor, dear, but of course I amnot well educated. But if Dr. Blythe buys the Morgan place he willmake no mistake, and that you may tie to. They have water in it, andthe pantries and closets are beautiful, and there is not another suchcellar in P. E. Island, so I have been told. Why, the cellar here,Mrs. Doctor, dear, has been a heart-break to me, as well you know."
"Oh, go away, Susan, go away," said Anne forlornly. "Cellars andpantries and closets don't make a HOME. Why don't you weep with thosewho weep?"
"Well, I never was much hand for weeping, Mrs. Doctor, dear. I wouldrather fall to and cheer people up than weep with them. Now, do notyou cry and spoil your pretty eyes. This house is very well and hasserved your turn, but it is high time you had a better."
Susan's point of view seemed to be that of most people. Leslie was theonly one who sympathised understandingly with Anne. She had a goodcry, too, when she heard the news. Then they both dried their tearsand went to work at the preparations for moving.
"Since we must go let us go as soon as we can and have it over," saidpoor Anne with bitter resignation.
"You know you will like that lovely old place at the Glen after youhave lived in it long enough to have dear memories woven about it,"said Leslie. "Friends will come there, as they have comehere--happiness will glorify it for you. Now, it's just a house toyou--but the years will make it a home."
Anne and Leslie had another cry the next week when they shortenedLittle Jem. Anne felt the tragedy of it until evening when in his longnightie she found her own dear baby again.
"But it will be rompers next--and then trousers--and in no time he willbe grown-up," she sighed.
"Well, you would not want him to stay a baby always, Mrs. Doctor, dear,would you?" said Susan. "Bless his innocent heart, he looks too sweetfor anything in his little short dresses, with his dear feet stickingout. And think of the save in the ironing, Mrs. Doctor, dear."
"Anne, I have just had a letter from Owen," said Leslie, entering witha bright face. "And, oh! I have such good news. He writes me that heis going to buy this place from the church trustees and keep it tospend our summer vacations in. Anne, are you not glad?"
"Oh, Leslie, 'glad' isn't the word for it! It seems almost too good tobe true. I sha'n't feel half so badly now that I know this dear spotwill never be desecrated by a vandal tribe, or left to tumble down indecay. Why, it's lovely! It's lovely!"
One October morning Anne wakened to the realisation that she had sleptfor the last time under the roof of her little house. The day was toobusy to indulge regret and when evening came the house was stripped andbare. Anne and Gilbert were alone in it to say farewell. Leslie andSusan and Little Jem had gone to the Glen with the last load offurniture. The sunset light streamed in through the curtainlesswindows.
"It has all such a heart-broken, reproachful look, hasn't it?" saidAnne. "Oh, I shall be so homesick at the Glen tonight!"
"We have been very happy here, haven't we, Anne-girl?" said Gilbert,his voice full of feeling.
Anne choked, unable to answer. Gilbert waited for her at the fir-treegate, while she went over the house and said farewell to every room.She was going away; but the old house would still be there, lookingseaward through its quaint windows. The autumn winds would blow aroundit mournfully, and the gray rain would beat upon it and the white mistswould come in from the sea to enfold it; and the moonlight would fallover it and light up the old paths where the schoolmaster and his bridehad walked. There on that old harbor shore the charm of story wouldlinger; the wind would still whistle alluringly over the silversand-dunes; the waves would still call from the red rock-coves.
"But we will be gone," said Anne through her tears.
She went out, closing and locking the door behind her. Gilbert waswaiting for her with a smile. The lighthouse star was gleamingnorthward. The little garden, where only marigolds still bloomed, wasalready hooding itself in shadows.
Anne knelt down and kissed the worn old step which she had crossed as abride.
"Good-bye, dear little house of dreams," she said.
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