The Complete Works of L M Montgomery

by L. M. Montgomery

“It isn’t because he hasn’t worked hard enough, then,” said Nan. “He has just slaved on that place ever since he grew up.”

  “Well, yes, he has worked hard in a way. But he’s kind of shiftless, for all that — no manager, as you might say. Some folks would have been clear by now, but Osborne is one of those men that are bound to get behind. He hasn’t got any business faculty.”

  “He isn’t shiftless,” said Nan quickly, “and it isn’t his fault if he has got behind. It’s all because of his care for his aunt. He has had to spend more on her doctor’s bills than would have raised the mortgage. And now that she is dead and he might have a chance to pull up, you go and foreclose.”

  “A man must look out for Number One,” said Bryan easily, admiring Nan’s downcast eyes and rosy cheeks. “I haven’t any spite against Osborne, but business is business, you know.”

  Nan opened her lips to say something but, remembering Osborne’s parting injunction, she shut them again. She shot a scornful glance at Lee as he stood with his arms folded on the sill beside her.

  Bryan lingered, talking small talk, until Nan announced that she must see about getting tea.

  “And you won’t tell me who is going to take you to the picnic?” he coaxed.

  “Oh, it’s Ned Bennett,” said Nan indifferently.

  Bryan felt relieved. He unpinned the huge cluster of violets on his coat and laid them down on the sill beside her before he went. Nan flicked them off with her fingers as she watched him cross the lawn, his own self-satisfied smile upon his face.

  A week later the Osborne homestead had passed into Bryan Lee’s hands and John Osborne was staying with his cousin at Thornhope, pending his departure for the west. He had never been to see Nan since that last afternoon, but Bryan Lee haunted the Stewart place. One day he suddenly stopped coming and, although Nan was discreetly silent, in due time it came to old Abe’s ears by various driblets of gossip that Nan had refused him.

  Old Abe marched straightway home to Nan in a fury and demanded if this were true. Nan curtly admitted that it was. Old Abe was so much taken aback by her coolness that he asked almost meekly what was her reason for doing such a fool trick.

  “Because he turned John Osborne out of house and home,” returned Nan composedly. “If he hadn’t done that there is no telling what might have happened. I might even have married him, because I liked him very well and it would have pleased you. At any rate, I wouldn’t have married John when you were against him. Now I mean to.”

  Old Abe stormed furiously at this, but Nan kept so provokingly cool that he was conscious of wasting breath. He went off in a rage, but Nan did not feel particularly anxious now that the announcement was over. He would cool down, she knew. John Osborne worried her more. She didn’t see clearly how she was to marry him unless he asked her, and he had studiously avoided her since the foreclosure.

  But Nan did not mean to be baffled or to let her lover slip through her fingers for want of a little courage. She was not old Abe Stewart’s daughter for nothing.

  One day Ned Bennett dropped in and said that John Osborne would start for the west in three days. That evening Nan went up to her room and dressed herself in the prettiest dress she owned, combed her hair around her sparkling face in bewitching curls, pinned a cluster of apple blossoms at her belt, and, thus equipped, marched down in the golden sunset light to the Mill Creek Bridge. John Osborne, on his return from Thornhope half an hour later, found her there, leaning over the rail among the willows.

  Nan started in well-assumed surprise and then asked him why he had not been to see her. John blushed — stammered — didn’t know — had been busy. Nan cut short his halting excuses by demanding to know if he were really going away, and what he intended to do.

  “I’ll go out on the prairies and take up a claim,” said Osborne sturdily. “Begin life over again free of debt. It’ll be hard work, but I’m not afraid of that. I will succeed if it takes me years.”

  They walked on in silence. Nan came to the conclusion that Osborne meant to hold his peace.

  “John,” she said tremulously, “won’t — won’t you find it very lonely out there?”

  “Of course — I expect that. I shall have to get used to it.”

  Nan grew nervous. Proposing to a man was really very dreadful.

  “Wouldn’t it be — nicer for you” — she faltered—”that is — it wouldn’t be so lonely for you — would it — if — if you had me out there with you?”

  John Osborne stopped squarely in the dusty road and looked at her. “Nan!” he exclaimed.

  “Oh, if you can’t take a hint!” said Nan in despair.

  It was all of an hour later that a man drove past them as they loitered up the hill road in the twilight. It was Bryan Lee; he had taken from Osborne his house and land, but he had not been able to take Nan Stewart, after all.

  Natty of Blue Point

  Natty Miller strolled down to the wharf where Bliss Ford was tying up the Cockawee. Bliss was scowling darkly at the boat, a trim new one, painted white, whose furled sails seemed unaccountably wet and whose glistening interior likewise dripped with moisture. A group of fishermen on the wharf were shaking their heads sagely as Natty drew near.

  “Might as well split her up for kindlings, Bliss,” said Jake McLaren. “You’ll never get men to sail in her. It passed the first time, seeing as only young Johnson was skipper, but when a boat turns turtle with Captain Frank in command, there’s something serious wrong with her.”

  “What’s up?” asked Natty.

  “The Cockawee upset out in the bay again this morning,” answered Will Scott. “That’s the second time. The Grey Gull picked up the men and towed her in. It’s no use trying to sail her. Lobstermen ain’t going to risk their lives in a boat like that. How’s things over at Blue Point, Natty?”

  “Pretty well,” responded Natty laconically. Natty never wasted words. He had not talked a great deal in his fourteen years of life, but he was much given to thinking. He was rather undersized and insignificant looking, but there were a few boys of his own age on the mainland who knew that Natty had muscles.

  “Has Everett heard anything from Ottawa about the lighthouse business yet?” asked Will.

  Natty shook his head.

  “Think he’s any chance of getting the app’intment?” queried Adam Lewis.

  “Not the ghost of a chance,” said Cooper Creasy decidedly. “He’s on the wrong side of politics, that’s what. Er rather his father was. A Tory’s son ain’t going to get an app’intment from a Lib’ral government, that’s what.”

  “Mr. Barr says that Everett is too young to be trusted in such a responsible position,” quoted Natty gravely.

  Cooper shrugged his shoulders.

  “Mebbe — mebbe. Eighteen is kind of green, but everybody knows that Ev’s been the real lighthouse keeper for two years, since your father took sick. Irving Elliott wants that light — has wanted it for years — and he’s a pretty strong pull at headquarters, that’s what. Barr owes him something for years of hard work at elections. I ain’t saying anything against Elliott, either. He’s a good man, but your father’s son ought to have that light as sure as he won’t get it, that’s what.”

  “Any of you going to take in the sports tomorrow down at Summerside?” asked Will Scott, in order to switch Cooper away from politics, which were apt to excite him.

  “I’m going, for one,” said Adam. “There’s to be a yacht race atween the Summerside and Charlottetown boat clubs. Yes, I am going. Give you a chance down to the station, Natty, if you want one.”

  Natty shook his head.

  “Not going,” he said briefly.

  “You should celebrate Victoria Day,” said Adam, patriotically. “‘Twenty-fourth o’ May’s the Queen’s birthday, Ef we don’t get a holiday we’ll all run away,’ as we used to say at school. The good old Queen is dead, but the day’s been app’inted a national holiday in honour of her memory and you should celebrate it becoming, Natty-boy.” />
  “Ev and I can’t both go, and he’s going,” explained Natty. “Prue and I’ll stay home to light up. Must be getting back now. Looks squally.”

  “I misdoubt if we’ll have Queen’s weather tomorrow,” said Cooper, squinting critically at the sky. “Looks like a northeast blow, that’s what. There goes Bliss, striding off and looking pretty mad. The Cockawee’s a dead loss to him, that’s what. Nat’s off — he knows how to handle a boat middling well, too. Pity he’s such a puny youngster. Not much to him, I reckon.”

  Natty had cast loose in his boat, the Merry Maid, and hoisted his sail. In a few minutes he was skimming gaily down the bay. The wind was fair and piping and the Merry Maid went like a bird. Natty, at the rudder, steered for Blue Point Island, a reflective frown on his face. He was feeling in no mood for Victoria Day sports. In a very short time he and Ev and Prue must leave Blue Point lighthouse, where they had lived all their lives. To Natty it seemed as if the end of all things would come then. Where would life be worth living away from lonely, windy Blue Point Island?

  David Miller had died the preceding winter after a long illness. He had been lighthouse keeper at Blue Point for thirty years. His three children had been born and brought up there, and there, four years ago, the mother had died. But womanly little Prue had taken her place well, and the boys were devoted to their sister. When their father died, Everett had applied for the position of lighthouse keeper. The matter was not yet publicly decided, but old Cooper Creasy had sized the situation up accurately. The Millers had no real hope that Everett would be appointed.

  Victoria Day, while not absolutely stormy, proved to be rather unpleasant. A choppy northeast wind blew up the bay, and the water was rough enough. The sky was overcast with clouds, and the May air was raw and chilly. At Blue Point the Millers were early astir, for if Everett wanted to sail over to the mainland in time to catch the excursion train, no morning naps were permissible. He was going alone. Since only one of the boys could go, Natty had insisted that it should be Everett, and Prue had elected to stay home with Natty. Prue had small heart for Victoria Day that year. She did not feel even a thrill of enthusiasm when Natty hoisted a flag and wreathed the Queen’s picture with creeping spruce. Prue felt as badly about leaving Blue Point Island as the boys did.

  The day passed slowly. In the afternoon the wind fell away to a dead calm, but there was still a heavy swell on, and shortly before sunset a fog came creeping up from the east and spread over the bay and islands, so thick and white that Prue and Natty could not even see Little Bear Island on the right.

  “I’m glad Everett isn’t coming back tonight,” said Prue. “He could never find his way cross the harbour in that fog.”

  “Isn’t it thick, though,” said Natty. “The light won’t show far tonight.”

  At sunset they lighted the great lamps and then settled down to an evening of reading. But it was not long before Natty looked up from his book to say, “Hello, Prue, what was that? Thought I heard a noise.”

  “So did I,” said Prue. “I sounded like someone calling.”

  They hurried to the door, which looked out on the harbour. The night, owing to the fog, was dark with a darkness that seemed almost tangible. From somewhere out of that darkness came a muffled shouting, like that of a person in distress.

  “Prue, there’s somebody in trouble out there!” exclaimed Natty.

  “Oh, it’s surely never Ev!” cried Prue.

  Natty shook his head.

  “Don’t think so. Ev had no intention of coming back tonight. Get that lantern, Prue. I must go and see what and who it is.”

  “Oh, Natty, you mustn’t,” cried Prue in distress. “There’s a heavy swell on yet — and the fog — oh, if you get lost—”

  “I’ll not get lost, and I must go, Prue. Maybe somebody is drowning out there. It’s not Ev, of course, but suppose it were! That’s a good girl.”

  Prue, with set face, had brought the lantern, resolutely choking back the words of fear and protest that rushed to her lips. They hurried down to the shore and Natty sprang into the little skiff he used for rowing. He hastily lashed the lantern in the stern, cast loose the painter, and lifted the oars.

  “I’ll be back as soon as possible,” he called to Prue. “Wait here for me.”

  In a minute the shore was out of sight, and Natty found himself alone in the black fog, with no guide but the cries for help, which already were becoming fainter. They seemed to come from the direction of Little Bear, and thither Natty rowed. It was a tough pull, and the water was rough enough for the little dory. But Natty had been at home with the oars from babyhood, and his long training and tough sinews stood him in good stead now. Steadily and intrepidly he rowed along. The water grew rougher as he passed out from the shelter of Blue Point into the channel between the latter and Little Bear. The cries were becoming very faint. What if he should be too late? He bent to the oars with all his energy. Presently, by the smoother water, he knew he must be in the lea of Little Bear. The cries sounded nearer. He must already have rowed nearly a mile. The next minute he shot around a small headland and right before him, dimly visible in the faint light cast by the lantern through the fog, was an upturned boat with two men clinging to it, one on each side, evidently almost exhausted. Natty rowed cautiously up to the one nearest him, knowing that he must be wary lest the grip of the drowning man overturn his own light skiff.

  “Let go when I say,” he shouted, “and don’t — grab — anything, do you hear? Don’t — grab. Now, let go.”

  The next minute the man lay in the dory, dragged over the stern by Netty’s grip on his collar.

  “Lie still,” ordered Natty, clutching the oars. To row around the overturned boat, amid the swirl of water about her, was a task that taxed Netty’s skill and strength to the utmost. The other man was dragged in over the bow, and with a gasp of relief Natty pulled away from the sinking boat. Once clear of her he could not row for a few minutes; he was shaking from head to foot with the reaction from tremendous effort and strain.

  “This’ll never do,” he muttered. “I’m not going to be a baby now. But will I ever be able to row back?”

  Presently, however, he was able to grip his oars again and pull for the lighthouse, whose beacon loomed dimly through the fog like a great blur of whiter mist. The men, obedient to his orders, lay quietly where he had placed them, and before long Natty was back again at the lighthouse landing, where Prue was waiting, wild with anxiety. The men were helped out and assisted up to the lighthouse, where Natty went to hunt up dry clothes for them, and Prue flew about to prepare hot drinks.

  “To think that that child saved us!” exclaimed one of the men. “Why, I didn’t think a grown man had the strength to do what he did. He is your brother, I suppose, Miss Miller. You have another brother, I think?”

  “Oh, yes — Everett — but he is away,” explained Prue. “We heard your shouts and Natty insisted on going at once to your rescue.”

  “Well, he came just in time. I couldn’t have held on another minute — was so done up I couldn’t have moved or spoken all the way here even if he hadn’t commanded me to keep perfectly still.”

  Natty returned at this moment and exclaimed, “Why, it is Mr. Barr. I didn’t recognize you before.”

  “Barr it is, young man. This gentleman is my friend, Mr. Blackmore. We have been celebrating Victoria Day by a shooting tramp over Little Bear. We hired a boat from Ford at the Harbour Head this morning — the Cockawee, he called her — and sailed over. I don’t know much about running a boat, but Blackmore here thinks he does. We were at the other side of the island when the fog came up. We hurried across it, but it was almost dark when we reached our boat. We sailed around the point and then the boat just simply upset — don’t know why—”

  “But I know why,” interrupted Natty indignantly. “That Cockawee does nothing but upset. She has turned turtle twice out in the harbour in fine weather. Ford was a rascal to let her to you. He might have known what would h
appen. Why — why — it was almost murder to let you go!”

  “I thought there must be something queer about her,” declared Mr. Blackmore. “I do know how to handle a boat despite my friend’s gibe, and there was no reason why she should have upset like that. That Ford ought to be horsewhipped.”

  Thanks to Prue’s stinging hot decoctions of black currant drink, the two gentlemen were no worse for their drenching and exposure, and the next morning Natty took them to the mainland in the Merry Maid. When he parted with them, Mr. Barr shook his hand heartily and said: “Thank you, my boy. You’re a plucky youngster and a skilful one, too. Tell your brother that if I can get the Blue Point lighthouse berth for him I will, and as for yourself, you will always find a friend in me, and if I can ever do anything for you I will.”

  Two weeks later Everett received an official document formally appointing him keeper of Blue Point Island light. Natty carried the news to the mainland, where it was joyfully received among the fishermen.

  “Only right and fair,” said Cooper Creasy. “Blue Point without a Miller to light up wouldn’t seem the thing at all, that’s what. And it’s nothing but Ev’s doo.”

  “Guess Natty had more to do with it than Ev,” said Adam, perpetrating a very poor pun and being immensely applauded therefor. It keyed Will Scott up to rival Adam.

  “You said that Irving had a pull and the Millers hadn’t,” he said jocularly. “But it looks as if ’twas Natty’s pull did the business after all — his pull over to Bear Island and back.”

  “It was about a miracle that a boy could do what he did on such a night,” said Charles Macey.

  “Where’s Ford?” asked Natty uncomfortably. He hated to have his exploit talked about.

  “Ford has cleared out,” said Cooper, “gone down to Summerside to go into Tobe Meekins’s factory there. Best thing he could do, that’s what. Folks here hadn’t no use for him after letting that death trap to them two men — even if they was Lib’rals. The Cockawee druv ashore on Little Bear, and there she’s going to remain, I guess. D’ye want a berth in my mackerel boat this summer, Natty?”