Happiness Hill

by Grace Livingston Hill

  So they started on their way again and were soon arriving at a tiny hamlet by the sea, a dozen cottages it proved to be, with a miniature wooden church and a bunch of fishing boats tied up in the lagoon behind the hamlet.

  “This is really an island, you know,” explained Tom as they crossed a kind of a corduroy road built out on stilts across from the mainland. Then the air from the sea suddenly rushed out so boisterously to welcome them that Mother had to pull up her coat around her, and Betty Lou had to hold her curls from blowing in her eyes and hiding the view.

  “You don’t mean to tell me that this coolness was here all the time, and we sweltering in that little parlor back on Flora Street!” exclaimed Mother.

  “Oh, this is great!” said Father as Mother turned around and waved her satisfaction to him.

  Sherwood suddenly thrilled to the tips of his fingers over the joy of this dear family in coming to the sea.

  “Now, the next thing is to find which of these dumps is our mansion,” said Tom, stopping the car in front of a little wooden building labeled POST OFFICE. It turned out to be a general store, though it was not much bigger than a good-sized pocket, Mother said. Tom came out with a few rolls of Life Savers he had purchased just to show he could.

  “That looks like our house over there,” pointed out Betty Lou. “There was a little bit of a tree like that just by the end of the porch in the picture, and those are the same rocking chairs.”

  “Right you are, Betchen,” declared Tom. “I’ve got the key in my pocket, and we’re going right there now and move in. The man says he left all the windows open, so it’s aired, and he says there are two old tarps hanging on the line next door we can throw over the cars to keep the dampness off them. I guess he doesn’t know how tough our old bus is, but we might as well have style when we get it free.”

  They drew up at the side of the cottage, a little whitewashed wooden affair on stilts, with the sea air blowing under its floor, the great blue sky glowing down upon its weather-beaten roof, and an unrailed porch across its front, with three rickety steps up at one end. Not very prepossessing outside, but there was the sea stretched wide before them, sea and sky and little white sails of the fishing smacks dotted out in front, hard at work in the toil of the week. After one brief glance at the so-called cottage, they sat in the cars and gazed at that wide stretch of sea, drinking in the salt air and breathing deeply of its life-giving power.

  “Well, if it were for this alone, I’m glad I came, even if I had to turn right around and go back tonight,” said Mother, gazing far and wistfully as if she almost glimpsed another world beyond that horizon line. “What a wonderful day we’ve had already!”

  Suddenly into Jane’s heart there came the thought, Oh, I am glad I came home from the mountains! I’m glad, glad, glad!

  They came to their senses at last, climbed stiffly out of the cars, and went into the cottage.

  The little house wasn’t so bad inside. It was just four rooms and an annexed kitchen behind with steps down at the back onto a stretch of sand dunes. The partitions went up only about seven feet, and then the rest was open all the way up to the roof, giving plenty of ventilation everywhere from the two open peaks in the roof that were shut in from the world by a thin veil of mosquito netting.

  The walls were whitewashed also, and the furniture was plain. A crude wooden window seat built into the corner of the living room and two cots folded against one wall showed possibilities of accommodation beyond the limits of the two bedrooms, which proved to be furnished with generous beds, a bureau and a chair each, and a crooked mirror.

  The dining room had a leaved table, five chairs, and some thick white dishes in a row on a shelf. There was a small old-fashioned woodstove in the kitchen, a few dejected-looking pots and pans and a broom and tub. That was all.

  But the tourists looked around in shining delight and exclaimed in joy over their great good luck. Sherwood stood in the middle of the crude little cheery place and marveled again.

  “Now,” said Jane, coming swiftly back to the living room from her survey of the place, “we’ve got to get Father and Mother to bed! Right away! Tom, can you find out if the trunks have come? We must make up these beds.”

  “The trunks are over on the mainland. The man at the post office said his son’s boat would be in by five o’clock and would bring them. We can’t get them here any sooner.”

  “Not if you drive back and get them, Tom?”

  “Absolutely not,” said Tom. “I asked the man and he said they were all on board now, and we couldn’t get our car down near his boat. He says he always runs up for freight and then ties up at another landing to fish awhile before he comes back, and waits for the afternoon train so he can bring the mail over. He says he’ll run back pretty soon now for the mail and then come right on all in one trip and get here quicker than the car could if we tried to meet him.”

  “Well, then Father and Mother must lie down at once,” ordered Jane. “We’re not going to have them sick down here. Tom, bring the coats and blanket from the cars, and the pillows. We can make them comfortable.”

  “I’m not tired,” said Mother.

  “Neither am I,” said Father. “I’d like to go down on the beach.”

  “Some pep!” said Tom. “Good old sports!”

  Tom and Sherwood busied themselves for a few minutes bringing in the things from the cars, while Jane and Betty Lou tucked their parents happily into the wide old bed in the front bedroom, side by side, and piled pillows and shawls around them.

  “You simply mustn’t get cold, you know, and you must go to sleep,” said Jane anxiously. Then she kissed them both and went out and closed the door.

  “John and I can sleep in the living room. There are two cots and a lot of army blankets,” said Tom with satisfaction.

  “Oh, but I couldn’t think of imposing myself on you like that,” said Sherwood wistfully. “I will wait till your trunks come and help you unpack, and then I must be meandering back to town.”

  “Say, I like that! So you’re going to desert us, are you? I thought you came along to have a picnic.”

  “Well, so I did. Haven’t I had it all day?” asked Sherwood gleefully. “Best picnic lunch I ever ate, and good company all day long. I couldn’t ask anything better.”

  Tom stood baffled and dismayed. “Is there any reason why you have to go back to town tonight?” he asked.

  “Why no, not especially,” said Sherwood. “But I really couldn’t think of crowding in on you here. If there were a place where I could get a room near here”—he hesitated—“I might go out and look around.”

  “Say! Gee, old man! Isn’t it good enough for ya here?” de- manded Tom.

  “Good enough, Tom! Why, it’s a palace. I’d be perfectly satisfied to roll up in one of those army blankets and go out there and sleep on that porch if I wouldn’t be in the way, but can’t you understand that a family doesn’t want all creation camping in on them?”

  “Say, gee! Jinny!” He whirled around toward his sister as she came out of her parents’ room and shut the door carefully. “Say, tell this old man if he’ll be in the way, won’tcha?”

  “In the way?” said Jane, perplexed, and then her face lit up. “Oh, would you stay? Why, that would be wonderful! Do you think you could be comfortable on one of those skinny little army cots with lots of blankets? We have plenty along. Oh, I’m so glad!” she added as she saw the genuine pleasure in Sherwood’s eyes. “That will make it just perfect. I understood you had to get back tonight or I would have suggested your staying before. Father seemed so troubled when I told him just now that you had to get back. He said he hadn’t half-thanked you.”

  “But say,” said Sherwood earnestly, “if I stay there isn’t to be any question of thanking me for anything. I’m the one to thank you. I’m here to have a grand time with you all, as one of you, if you’ll be good enough to let me, and might glad to get the chance. You’re doing me a favor, don’t you see? I’m the lonesomest
fellow you know this side of New England.”

  “Well, now that that is settled,” said Jane with a sparkle in her eyes, “why don’t we all go down and take a dip in that ocean? I brought the bathing suits in the car thinking likely those trunks wouldn’t get here, and not to risk losing any chances before dark. I think I brought Father’s, too, so I guess you can both be fitted out.”

  “Oh, I tucked mine in the pocket of the car the last thing, just hoping I’d get a chance for a swim before I had to leave,” confessed Sherwood.

  “There’s a bathhouse at the back,” said Tom. “I just discovered it. Guess we’ll use that to change, John. The girls won’t need it; they’ve got a whole bedroom to themselves.”

  They all vanished in different directions and soon assembled again on the beach, Betty Lou looking like a sprite in her new red- and-white bathing suit and little red cap crowning her golden curls.

  For a beautiful hour they played in the water like young fishes, feeling that there never had been a day so bright and beautiful nor a beach so altogether lovely as Lynn Haven. And then suddenly Jane began to remember that night was coming on and there was much to be done before anybody could eat or sleep.

  “It’s time to go in!” she called to the boys. “You’ll have to help me start a fire in that funny, wicked-looking stove! We’ve got to get to housekeeping before night, you know.”

  Tom protested that there was plenty of time, but Jane prevailed and they all scurried in to get dressed, the girls walking softly not to waken the invalids who seemed to be having a blessed sleep. Out in the kitchen a few minutes later, they conversed in whispers.

  “Betty Lou, you can unpack the food and fix a place for them on those shelves? There seems to be an icebox, but I wonder where one would get ice?”

  “Oh,” said Tom, appearing in the doorway with a comb in his hand with which he was manipulating his wet locks, “the man at the post office said he would bring a piece of ice if we wanted it. He said something about milk, too. I told him to bring on all that he had that was usually used in this outfit, so he said he would. He ought to be here pretty soon.”

  The man appeared while they were talking, with ice and milk and various other suggestions, curious to see the new people and offer advice. He proved to be a wizard with the old stove, which he said had a tricky pipe and needed coaxing. There was presently a roaring fire and a good pile of driftwood in the wood box beside it. Betty Lou filled a dishpan with hot water, and she and Jane washed all the dishes, although the man assured them that his wife had washed up everything that morning and cleaned the house thoroughly.

  “One more wash won’t hurt them,” said Betty Lou. “I found a dead fly in one of the vegetable dishes.”

  So, presently the cold roast chicken, a glass jar of applesauce, little molds of tomato jelly, a nice pot of stew for supper that night, and a pound of butter they had brought with them were all resting together in the clean icebox on a great cake of ice, beside the can of milk the man had brought. There was bread and cake in the bread box, and Jane was smoothing out the tablecloth she had tucked into the lunch basket lest the other things wouldn’t have come yet. Betty Lou put the plates around and got out the roll of knives and forks and spoons from the lunch basket.

  “It’s nice Mr. Sherwood is going to stay,” said Betty Lou with shining eyes. “I think he’s awfully nice, don’t you? And Father likes him, doesn’t he? I guess he likes Tom, too. Tom says he is a crackerjack, and you know what that means for Tom to say that!”

  “Yes,” said Jane. “He’s nice. He fits right in like one of us. Just as if he was another boy.”

  “Boy?” said Betty Lou wonderingly, and then went out to gather some small pink pea blossoms she saw growing wild in the sand for the middle of the table.

  It’s going to be nice! declared Jane to herself as she wiped the dishpan and hung it on a nail. “My! How glad I am I came home! It’s going to be wonderful to have Father and Mother here for a while. If only Father won’t make a fuss about his job!”

  Betty Lou put her flowers in a pressed glass saucer in the middle of the table and then stepped back for the effect. “Now, Jinny, isn’t that nice?” she said.

  “Lovely!” said Jane, stooping to kiss her softly. “Now, Bettykins, I’ve put the stew on the back of the stove to heat, and everything’s ready when Dad and Mother wake up. Let’s go out and look at the ocean again.”

  So they held hands and ran across the sand, like two little children in their delight, and Sherwood watched them as he was coming back from a walk of inspection down the beach toward an old hulk of a wreck sticking halfway out of the sand.

  “Say young man,” he said, turning earnestly toward Tom, “you’re rich, do you know it? All this nice family! You ought to be shouting for joy. Look at me. I’ve only an uncle and cousin off in Boston, and she’s going to be married pretty soon so I won’t see much of her. But look at you!” He waved his hand toward the girls running along together down the beach.

  “Oh, they’re all right,” said Tom indifferently, “but don’t tell ’em I said so or they’ll get too bossy to live with!”

  Betty Lou, picking up delicate shells and many colored pebbles, suddenly looked up to Jane.

  “Isn’t it wonderful, Sister? Isn’t God good to let us come here when it was so hot?”

  “He is!” said Jane fervently, feeling another twinge of conscience to think of the money she had spent on herself that might have given respite so much sooner to her loved ones.

  The sun was getting very low now, and as they turned to walk back toward the cottage, they saw across the water back of their island that the sun was making gorgeous pictures there, ripples of violet and rose and gold, with an answering sky above, and the sun itself like a great fire opal, sinking, sinking, lower and lower to the breast of the water itself. They watched till the rim of the sun dipped the water, and then they discerned, picked out against the crimson, a little black thing like an insect, growing large and coming slowly toward them, putt, putt, putt.

  “That must be the boat with the trunks! Come, let’s go back. Look, there’s a man at our cottage! I wonder what he wants?”

  They hurried back and there was the man from the store again with a big tin can of kerosene.

  “I reckon you might need some more oil afore Monday,” he said. “Store ain’t open down here a’ Sunday. Know how to fill oil lamps? Well, my old wummun ull show ye if ye get stuck. All fixed fer Sunday? Got plenty a’ bread? All righty. I’ll bring milk in the morning, and if ye want any clams fer Sunday night supper, I’ll leave some o’ them, too, fer ye. Think ye’ll be comfortable? Wal, good night!”

  The girls went into the house and struggled with the mysteries of filling their first oil lamp. After, they washed their hands, turned up their noses at the way they still smelled, and washed them again. They looked out to find the ocean turned to gold, and Sherwood and Tom racing each other down the beach, like kids, Jane thought to herself, and she was glad again that the young man from the office had stayed with them.

  They could hear the little motor boat putt-putting at the landing now, and they shouted to the boys to hurry back. Jane put the stew on the front of the stove and lit the lamps, going through several thrills before she got the wicks turned to just the right place where they wouldn’t smoke. Then the men came in with the trunks, demanding to know where she wanted them placed.

  Father and Mother woke up while they were noisily unpacking and came out like naughty children who were disobeying orders. Suddenly the stew began to send forth a savory odor, and everybody realized that it was a long time since lunch.

  Seated around the table a few minutes later, Sherwood sensed a sudden unexpected silence fall upon the group, and glancing up saw that every head but his own was bowed. Quickly he bowed his own, a sense of awe falling upon him, and the father with his voice quavering just a little from his weakness, spoke, “Our Father, make us conscious of Thy presence in this room. We thank Thee for thus boun
tifully providing for our needs in giving us this roof and Thy great out of doors for a little resting time. May we be kept in Thy will fully. We ask it in the name of the Lord Jesus.”

  Then after an instant came the soft movement of lifted heads, and the quiet hush was broken by cheerful voices. The stranger lifted his eyes and searched their faces furtively. There was no sign that this was an innovation in the family, no embarrassment about the intimate prayer that had just been put up by the head of the family. It was all in the everyday scheme of things. And yet so sincere had been the voice that uttered that prayer that Sherwood actually found himself glancing furtively around the room to make sure there was no supernatural presence visible, so real had been that sense that the elder Arleth had been talking to One his eyes could see and his heart realize. Sherwood knew that there were people who still maintained the ceremony of grace before eating, but he had seldom witnessed it. His experience had not led him much among those who recognized a God who was the Giver of all good gifts. The brief sacrament had seemed to make the cheap little room a sanctuary.

  They all helped with the clearing away, Sherwood entering into the work as if it were a game. Then Sherwood sat on the porch a few minutes, with the elder Arleths who were wrapped to the chin in heavy coats and blankets to protect them from wind, and watched the dying colors on the sea and the miracle of the moon rising out of the water, and enjoyed the half hour immensely.

  Meanwhile Tom was unpacking the trunks, and Jane and Betty Lou were swiftly preparing beds for the night. When it was all comfortable, Jane came out and sent her parents off to bed summarily. Presently the four young people sauntered out in the silvery light to walk the beach and enjoy the night.

  It was late when they all finally tiptoed in and went to bed without waking the heads of the house. It had been glorious out there on the silver sand, and Sherwood could not go to sleep for remembering how Jane had looked with the moonlight on her upturned face. How light and little-girlish she had seemed running along on the sand, hand in hand with her little sister. And what a lad Tom was, bright and genuine and altogether loveable! He was going to enjoy this friendship with him. Then his mind turned to the father and mother with wistfulness. What would it not have been to have been brought up in a home like this! Trials and poverty! What were they, with a love between them all like this, and a wholesome belief in another world?