Sweetapple Cove

by George Van Schaick

  CHAPTER VIII

  _From Miss Helen Jelliffe to Miss Jane Van Zandt_

  _Dear Aunt Jennie_:

  Harry Lawrence was telling me one day that the proper study of man isgirl, and vice versa. It is his modification of the ancient and mossysaw.

  Daddy is doing very well, and now that he is asleep through the hypnoticvirtues of a best seller which I have read to him in large doses, Iresume my correspondence with you, and, incidentally, my study of man. Heis really very interesting, Aunt Jennie, with the tiniest bit ofsecretiveness as to his own purposes in life which, of course, makes onemore curious about him. In a frock coat, with gardenia in his buttonhole, he would make an ideal usher at a fashionable wedding. A few daysago, when we took that trip to Will's Island, I observed that he hascapable limbs, properly clean-cut features and a general appearance ofenergetic efficiency. There are scores just like him, that we meet ongolf links and tennis courts, and, in spite of his rough garb, he reallyis a most presentable young man.

  I received your letter yesterday, and of course my own Auntie Jenniecould not have foreborne to say that there is no island so deserted thatI would not find a nice young man in it. I consider this statement asmerely displaying the most ordinary and even superficial acquaintancewith the laws of gravitation.

  By this time I am naturally entirely at home in the social circles ofSweetapple Cove. The ancient dames grin at me, most toothlessly andpleasantly, and since I recklessly distributed all my stock of Maillard'samong the urchins I have a large following among the juvenile population.To guard against the impending famine I have obtained from St. John'ssome most substantial and highly colored candies at very little a poundwhich are just now quite as popular to an undiscriminating taste. I wishI had not been so prodigal with the other ones.

  I have foregathered with Mrs. Barnett a great deal and have simplyfallen in love with her. Aunt Jennie, dear, she is a lady to her poorneedle-pricked fingers' ends. She is one of the numerous offspring of anEnglish parson who was the seventh or eighth son of an inpecuniousbaronet, I believe. Her husband starved as a curate in the most genteelfashion, for some years, and suddenly announced that he was coming here.We don't know whether Ruth was quite so subservient after the wedding wasover, for I understand that some brides change to some extent aftermarriage. Mrs. Barnett was a Ruth before and remained one ever since.

  She quietly packed up her trunks and her infants and doubtless bought thetickets, as Mr. Barnett was probably writing a sermon or visiting oldladies up to the last moment. Then she found herself here and immediatelymade the best of it, and that best is a thing to marvel at. She is abeautiful, tired-looking thing in dreadful clothes who wears an aureolaof hair that is a perfect wonder. Her back is beautifully straight andshe is capable of a smile I wish I could imitate.

  She has the softest, cultured, sweet, English accent, which came with alittle quiver of her voice when she told of a little one who died here,before there was any doctor. The three that are left are to her asCornelia's jewels.

  I would just give anything to bring her to New York, give her the run ofthe best _couturieres_ and show her to some of our diamonds-at-breakfastdowagers. As Harry would say, she would make them look like thirty cents.They would perish with jealousy. She holds the savor and fragrance ofcenturies of refinement.

  Yesterday I went to their little church. It was built by Mr. Barnett andthe inhabitants, who cheerfully gave their labor. Every board of itrepresents untold begging and saving. It was a nice, simple, littleservice, in which the people were much interested and sang hymns withfervor and plenty of false notes. My voice is hardly worth the money thathas been squandered upon it, but such as it is I began to sing also. Tomy intense dismay I was soon singing alone, for the rest of thecongregation respectfully stopped. Mr. Barnett looked at me mostbenevolently over his spectacles, but this was hardly enough to subdue mysudden stage fright.

  On the day before the nice little man called on us, soon after dinner,which here is a midday function. Before this particular feast I hadapologized to Daddy for leaving him alone and going sailing for a fewhours.

  "That's the worst of you women-folk," he rebuffed me. "Just because afellow happens to be fond of you, you must pretend that you are entirelyindispensable. I got on very nicely, thank you, and your absence had nodeleterious influence upon my leg. There is some slight pain in it,whether you are here or not."

  "I know that the charm of my conversation makes you forget it at times,"I told him.

  "I don't deny the charm," said Daddy, who is the most scrupulously politeman, as you know, "but just now the delight of something to eat is whatI'm hankering for."

  "You are going to have Newfoundland turkey," I told him.

  Daddy looked at me incredulously, and then his countenance fell.

  "Don't tell me you are referring to codfish," he said.

  "That is the sad news," I told him. "It is going to be perfectlydelicious, and you will have to wait a moment."

  So I turned up my sleeves and armoured myself in a blue gingham apronbefore invading the realm of Susie Sweetapple, who only knows how to boilthings, including the tea. Like a true artist I engaged in animprovisation. The only really bad thing about codfish, Aunt Jennie, isits intrusive quality when it is prepared by the hundreds and thousandsof quintals. Otherwise, like eggs and potatoes, it is capable of amultiplicity of avatars. We brought the dish back in triumph.

  "Here, at last, is some return for the money squandered upon myeducation," I announced. "Aren't you glad I took a course in cookery?"

  But Daddy refused to commit himself until after he had thoroughly sampledmy effort.

  "It is first rate," he said, "and you can take another course if youlike."

  "You know I brought the cookery book with me," I informed him, "but I'vestopped using it. It tells one to take pinches of this, and pints ofthat, and cupfuls of other things that have never been heard of inSweetapple Cove. It is dreadfully discouraging. I suggested roast beef toSusie, for to-night, and she stared at me and I laughed at my own folly.There is just one recently imported cow in the place, and a small calf,and they're alive, as are the goats. I can't reconcile my mind to theidea of a live cow being beef, and the calf is a personal friend ofmine."

  "I have hitherto considered you as being somewhat ornamental," saidDaddy. "Now that you are also proving useful I am deeming you aprofitable investment."

  So we had lunch together, for I can't get used to the custom of callingit dinner.

  "That was a splendid sail we had," I said. "The sea was perfectlydelightful. And that poor man was so glad to be brought here. Dr. Grantis doing wonderful things."

  "A smart chap," commented Daddy. "If he has to do this for a living I'msorry for him, and if he isn't compelled to he's probably some sort ofuseful crank."

  "At any rate Sweetapple Cove appreciates him," I said.

  "I have no doubt he's an angel with pin-feathers sprouting all over him,"retorted Dad. "But it isn't business, which I take the liberty ofdefining as the way of making the best of one's opportunities instead offrittering them away. He has unquestionably done a few dozens of poordevils a lot of good, including myself. But he could find many morecripples in any big city, and a few of them might have bank accounts."

  Just then we heard some one whistling. I was interested to note that thetune was from a fairly recent comic opera that can hardly have reachedthe general population of Sweetapple Cove.

  "There is your crank," I said, rather viciously.

  He knocked at the door and came in, breezily, as he generally does.

  "I've got to be off," he announced. "I shall probably not return tillto-morrow night, or perhaps the morning after. You are getting along verywell, Mr. Jelliffe. Just let me have another look before I go away."

  The inspection seemed to be entirely satisfactory.

  "Well, I'll run now," said Dr. Grant. "I'll come and see you the moment Iget back."

  He hurried out again, and I saw him join Sammy and the Fre
nchman. I wavedmy hand at him as the boat was leaving the cove, but I suppose that hewasn't looking for he made no answer, though Yves wigwagged with aflaming bandanna.

  "Now wouldn't that jar you?" said Daddy. "Wouldn't it inculcate into youa chastened spirit? Doesn't he consider me as an important patient? Justcomes in and grins and runs away again, for a couple of days, as if Iwere not likely to need him at any moment. He's the limit!"

  "I don't really think he is going away just for the fun of it," Iobjected.

  At this moment Susie Sweetapple burst into the room like a Black Handbomb. It is one of her little ways.

  "Parson's coming," she declared, breathlessly, and nodded her headviolently to emphasize the importance of her statement.

  "I suppose it is Mr. Barnett," I said. "They expected him back to-day. Hehas been away to a place they call Edward's Bay."

  "I presume it is," assented Daddy. "His arrival appears to cause the samesort of excitement on this population as the fire-engines produce amongthe juveniles of New York, judging from Susie's display."

  The girl had run to the door and opened it widely. Then she backed awaybefore a little man who removed a clerical hat that was desperately greenfrom exposure to the elements, and which revealed a shock of hair of adull flaxen hue doubtless washed free of any pigment by salt spray andrain. His garments were also of distinctive cut, though they franklyexposed well-meant though unvailing efforts at matching buttons andrepairing small rents. He bowed to me, his thin face expanding into amost gentle and somewhat professional smile, and he expressedcommiseration at the sight of Daddy in his bed.

  "I hope I don't intrude upon your privacy," he said, with an intonationjust as refined as that of his wife, though scarcely as sweet. "I tookthe liberty of calling, having been informed of your very distressingaccident. I fear you have not finished your repast, and perhaps I hadbetter..."

  "Do come in and take a seat," I told him. "It is ever so kind of you tocall."

  "I am very glad to see you, sir," said Daddy, very cordially. "We havenot had many opportunities to welcome visitors here, and even our doctoris too busy a man to pay long calls."

  "Yes, quite so. Indeed he is at times exceedingly busy. We think him anextremely nice young man; quite delightful, I assure you, and he does agreat deal of good."

  The man was rubbing his thin little hands together, with his head cockedto one side, looking like an intellectual and benevolent sparrow.

  I must say that I was impressed by him. From conversations with thefishermen I had gathered the impression that Mr. Barnett was a perfectlyfearless man on land and water, and I had imagined an individual cast ina rather heroic mold.

  It hardly seemed possible that this little parson was the subject of thetales I had heard, for he bore a tiny look of timidity and, I was sorryto see, of overwork and underfeeding. But the latter may have beendyspepsia.

  "This is rather a large field to which we have been called," hecontinued. "It gives one very fine opportunities as well as somedifficulties to contend with. But of course we keep on striving. It isnot missionary work, you understand, for the people are all very firmbelievers. It is merely a question of lending a helping hand, to the bestof one's ability."

  "It must be dreadfully hard at times," I put in. "You had quite a longsail to get here, didn't you? And isn't it perfectly awful in winter?"

  "I have been carried out to sea, and things have looked rather badlysometimes," he said, deprecatingly. "But one must expect a little troublenow and then, you know."

  Daddy began to ask him questions. You know how he prides himself on hisability to turn people inside out, as he expresses it. The poor littleman answered, slowly, smiling blandly all the time and looking quiteunfit, physically, to face the perils of such a hard life. I becamepersuaded that under that frail exterior there must be a heart full ofstrength to endure, of determination to carry out that which he considersto be his duty.

  "You know I really am afraid I'm a dreadful coward," he suddenlyconfessed. "I have been rather badly frightened some times."

  "My father was the bravest man I ever knew," said Daddy, "and heacknowledged that he was scared half to death whenever he went intobattle, during the war. Yet he was several times promoted for gallantryin the field. I feel quite sure that you must have deserved similaradvancement, more than once."

  Mr. Barnett looked at him, doubtfully, and with a funny little frightenedair.

  "I am afraid you must be chaffing me," he said, with a tentative smile.

  "No, sir, I am not," clamored Daddy. "Bravery lies in facing the odds,when you have to, and putting things through regardless of one's fears.The chap who never gets scared hasn't enough brains to know danger."

  The uneasy look of the parson's face gave way to a pleased expression.

  It was interesting to watch Daddy getting at all the facts, as he callsit, and I suppose that it is a precious talent. In the shortest possibletime he knew the birth rate, the chief family histories, the rates forthe transportation of codfish to the remotest parts of the world, and howmany barrels of flour it took to keep a large family alive for one year,besides a few hundred other things.

  During a lull I asked Mr. Barnett whether he would have some tea. Yourcultivated taste is the one I have followed as regards this beverage, andI have an ample provision. Before the full-flavored North China infusion,which I kept out of Susie's devastating hands, and the little biscuitscoming from the most British-looking tin box, I saw the Reverend BasilBarnett, late of Magdalen, gradually becoming permeated by a sense ofsomething that had long been missing from his life. When he first caughtthe aroma he looked incredulous, then his features relaxed in the smileof the expert utterly satisfied.

  "Mrs. Barnett and I are exceedingly fond of tea," he said, after I hadcompelled him to let me fill his cup for the third time.

  To-morrow I shall discover some manner of making the dear woman accept apound or two of it. The appreciation of her spouse made me think of somelion-hearted, little, strenuous lady with an inveterate tea-habit. Canyou understand such a confused statement? I realize that it is badlyjumbled. At any rate he held his cup daintily, with three fingers,and looked at it as Daddy looks at a glass of his very specialChateau-Larose.

  "I shall have to go now," he announced, perhaps a little regretfully. "Ihear, Miss Jelliffe, that you have helped minister to the needs of thatpoor Dick Will. I am going to see him now. By the way, I trust I may havethe pleasure of seeing you to-morrow at our little church, if you canleave your dear patient long enough."

  "Of course I'll come," I promised, "and I would be glad to go with younow and see Dick. I know Daddy won't mind, and I should like to seewhether I can do anything to make the man more comfortable."

  "Run along, my dear," said Daddy.

  Mr. Barnett expressed thanks, and we walked away together. I actually hadto shorten my steps a little to accommodate myself to his quick,shuffling gait. It is queer, Aunt Jennie, but before this tiny,unpretentious parson I feel a sense of deference and high regard. Tothink he is able to overcome his fears, that his gracile body has beencalled upon to withstand the bufferings of storms, and that his notion ofduty should appear to raise him, physically, to the level of these roughvikings among whom he labors, is quite bewildering. And the best of it isthat when he talks he is entirely free from that didactic authority sooften assumed by men of his cloth. He just admits you into hisconfidence, that is all.

  "Mrs. Barnett has told me of your kindness to her and the little chaps,"he said. "I am so pleased that you have become acquainted. The thing awoman misses most, in places like this, is her circle of friends. But sheis the bravest soul in the world, and although she worries a good dealwhen I am away in bad weather she always looks cheerful when I return. Ihave been blessed beyond my deserts, Miss Jelliffe."

  The little man looked up at me, and I could see that his face was brightwith happiness, so that I had to smile in sympathy. I don't know that Ihave ever realized before what a huge thing love and affection
mean inthe lives of some people, how they can cast a glamour over sordidsurroundings and reward one for all the hardships.

  "I am glad that you are happy," I told him. "I think that you have becomevery fond of the place and of these people."

  "I shall miss them if ever I am called away," he acknowledged, looking atthe poor, unpainted houses and the rickety flakes.

  Dear Auntie Jennie, it looks to me as if these were people to be envied.To the parson life is the prosecution of a work he deems all-important,and which he carries on with the knowledge that there is always a helpinghand lovingly to uphold his own. And yet I admire his wife still moredeeply, for she looks like a queen who loves her exile, because the kingis with her.

  We went into the house in which Dick found shelter. The men were awayfishing, of course, but two women were there, with their fair share ofthe children who swarm in the Cove. At once aprons were produced for thepolishing of the two rough chairs of the establishment.

  "We has some merlasses now," one of the women told me, proudly. "Th'little bye he be allers a puttin' some on bread an' leavin' it on th'cheers."

  Daddy is calling me, so good by for the present. I am so glad the peopleof Sweetapple Cove interest you.

  Lovingly,HELEN.