Produced by Stephen Hutcheson, Rod Crawford, Dave Morgan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net âClear out! Go away! We donât want any landlubbers here!â (Page 23) RILLA OF THE LIGHTHOUSE By GRACE MAY NORTH THE SAALFIELD PUBLISHING COMPANY Akron, Ohio New York Copyright MCMXXVI _Made in the United States of America_ CONTENTS I. Rilla. 3 II. A Gift From the Sea. 12 III. A First Adventure. 22 IV. A Shipwrecked Mariner. 33 V. A Swim in the Night. 41 VI. A Searching Party. 46 VII. The Heart of Capân Ezra. 53 VIII. A Secret Told. 57 IX. A First Letter. 66 X. The Hoped for Message. 71 XI. A Party for Two. 78 XII. Wee Irishy Cakes. 86 XIII. Neighborliness. 95 XIV. The Storm. 102 XV. Three More Girls. 108 XVI. An Expected Surprise. 113 XVII. The Blue Jewels. 120 XVIII. Memories. 125 XIX. The Owner of the Box. 129 XX. New Yearâs Eve. 139 XXI. Christmas in February. 144 XXII. Facing Realities. 149 XXIII. The Storm. 153 XXIV. High Cliff Seminary. 162 XXV. Muriel Finds a Friend. 174 XXVI. Muriel Receives a Letter. 183 XXVII. Muriel Begins Her Studies. 191 XXVIII. A Lesson in Tennis. 196 XXIX. Joy Kiersey. 204 XXX. Joyâs Secret. 214 XXXI. The Tennis Game. 218 XXXII. Wainwater Castle. 225 XXXIII. The Poetry Contest. 235 XXXIV. Marianne Wins the Prize. 242 XXXV. Muriel Writes a Letter. 253 XXXVI. Muriel Visits Tunkett Again. 262 XXXVII. Muriel Surprised. 269 XXXVIII. Muriel Visits Windy Island. 276 XXXIX. A Letter from Gene. 288 XL. Joy and Faith Visit Tunkett. 292 XLI. Muriel Hears from Her Father. 298 XLII. Muriel Meets Her Father. 304 XLIII. Rilla of the Lighthouse. 308 RILLA OF THE LIGHTHOUSE CHAPTER I. RILLA. âHere yoâ, Shags! What yoâ got thar, olâ dog? Haul it out! Like itâs a treasure from a ship thatâs gone down. Ahoy, thar, Shagsie! Here comes a crashinâ big wave. Whoo! Waânât that-un a tarnal whopper? Anâ yoâ lost yer treasure, sure sartin! Sharp ahead now, olâ dog, dây see it anywhar?â The wind-blown girl and the big shaggy dog stood side by side on the narrow, pebbly strip of beach and gazed intently at the whirling, seething water where a breaker of unusual size had crashed high, sending these two for a moment scrambling up the rocks. Back of them towered an almost perpendicular cliff, on top of which stood the Windy Island Lighthouse, severe in outline, but glaring red and white in color that it might be readily observed in the daytime by pilots who were strangers in those dangerous waters. Many a shoal there was under the tossing, turbulent waves, unsuspected by the unwary mariner, and, in the heavy fogs that often hung like wet, impenetrable blankets over that part of the New England coast, many a vessel would have crashed to its destruction had it not been for the faithful Captain Ezra Bassett, who had been keeper of the light since Rilla was a baby. The dogâs sight must have been keener than that of the girl, for a moment later he dashed away up the narrow strip of beach and began to bark furiously at some object that was tossing on an incoming wave. The girl raced after him, her hazel eyes glowing with excitement, her long brown hair, with a glint of red in it, unfastened, flying back of her. ââTainât the same thing, Shagsie!â she shouted to her companion. ââTainât what yoâ was tryinâ to fetch ashore down below by the rocks. This-un is more like a box or suthin!â The eager expression in the girlâs big, starlike eyes changed to one of concern and anxiety. âShags,â she cried, âtharâs been a wreck, thatâs sure sartin, but âtwaânât hereabouts, âpears like.â She shaded her eyes with one hand, and gazed searchingly out toward the horizon, but in another moment her eager interest returned to the box. âLook, yoâ olâ dog. Itâs ridinâ high. Weâll get it, yoâ see if we donât. Yi-hi! Here she comes. Heave ahead now, Shagsie!â The dog raced around, barking wildly, but the barefooted girl plunged deep into the seething foam, caught a banded box of foreign appearance and held on with all her strength while the undertow tried to drag her treasure away, but the wave receded and the box was left high. âWe got it, olâ Shags. We got it!â she cried triumphantly, tossing back her sun-shimmered hair, for, when she had stooped, it had fallen about her face. This hindered the freedom of her movements, and so, snatching up a wet green ribbon of seaweed, she tied her hair back with it. Another wave was rushing, roaring shoreward. One quick seaward glance told her that it was going to be the biggest one yet. Could she get the box high enough to be out of reach of that next breaker? How she tugged! But her efforts were fruitless, for with a deafening thud the wave crashed over her, lifting the box to which she still clung and hurling them both farther up the beach. The girl was drenched but exultant and miraculously unhurt. âWeâve got it now, sure sartin, Shags, olâ dog.â Flushed and breathless, she sank down on the banded box for a moment to rest, but the dog, sniffing at it, barked his excitement. âYoâd like to know whatâs in it, would yoâ?â queried the laughing girl. âWell, sir, so would I, but like as not weâd better get it into Treasure Cave âfore we open it, like as not weâd better.â As the girl spoke she glanced up at the lighthouse, towering above her. âGrand-dadâs still asleep, I reckon, but âtwaânât be long now afore heâs wakinâ, so weâd better heave to and hist her.â Rilla had found a leather handle on one end of the box, and holding fast to this, slowly and with great effort she began dragging it up the rocks and about half an hour later, as a reward for her perseverence, she disappeared with it into a small opening in the cliff, and not a moment too soon, for a stentorian voice, high above her, called, âRilly gal, where be yoâ? Donâ yoâ know as itâs past time for mess?â âYeah, Grand-dad. We was just a-cominâ,â Which was the truth, for having safely hidden the box in her Treasure Cave, the girl had suddenly thought that she must go at once and prepare her grandfatherâs evening meal. âShagsie,â she confided, âolâ dog, weâll have to wait over till tomorrer to know whatâs in it. Weâll come anâ look as soon as its sun-up. Yo-o! How I hope itâs suthinâ wonderful!â When Muriel Storm entered the kitchen of the small house adjoining the light, her grandfather gazed at her keenly from under his shaggy grey brows. âA severe, unforgiving man,â some folks called him, but he hadnât looked long at the darling of his heart before his expression changed, softened until those grey eyes that had often struck terror to an offending deckhand shone with a light that was infinitely tender. âWell, Rilly gal, fust mate of the Lighthouse Craft, I calâlate yeâve been workinâ purty hard this past hour doinâ nothinâ. âPears like yer purty het up lookinâ.â The girl made no reply, though she laughed over her shoulder at the old man, who, with his cap pushed back, sat by the stove in his wooden armchair, smoking his corncob pipe in solid comfort. This was the hour that he liked best, when his gal was cooking his evening meal and chattering to him of this and thatâinconsequential thingsâtelling him how the lame pelican that had been away for a week had returned, but not alone, for a beautiful pelican that wasnât lame at all had been with him, or, when she wasnât chattering, she was singing meeting-house songs in her sweet untrained voice while she fried the fish and potatoes, but tonight the old captain noted that the girl was unusually silent, that her cheeks were almost feverishly red, and there was a sudden clutching dread in his heart. Just so had the other Rilly, this girlâs mother, looked and acted the day before she ran away and married the young man from the city. The eyes under the shaggy grey brows were hard again, and Rilla, noting in the face of the grand-dad she so loved the expression she dreaded, ran to him, fork in hand and pressing her cheek against his forehead, she cried: âOh, Grand-dad, what set yoâ thinkinâ oâ that? Yoâ know I wouldnât be leavinâ yoâ. I love yoâ, Grand-dad; Iâll allays, allays stay, anâ be yer fust mate.â âClear to the end of the vâyage? Take an oath to it, Rilly?â It might have seemed ludicrous to an onlooker, but there was no one to see as the girl, with an earnest, almost inspired expression on her truly beautiful face, stood up and lifting her hand, seemingly unconscious that it held a fork, said in a voice ringing with sincerity, âI call God to witness that Iâll never go away from yoâ, Grand-dad, without yer permittinâ it.â Then there was one of those sudden changes that made Rilla so irresistable. âGrand-dad,â she cried, teasingly, as she stooped and looked with laughing eyes directly into the grey ones that were softening again, âIâm only sixteen, come next month, and why âtis yoâ worry so âbout my marryinâ, sartin is puzzlinâ. I donât even know a boy âceptinâ Mrs. Sol Dexterâs Buddy, and heâs not as high as one of the barrels in his maâs store.â âYer heavinâ oil on troubled waters, and the seaâs smoothinâ down,â the old captain said as he drew his chair up to the table and took up his knife and fork preparatory to eating the good supper that Rilla had placed before him. But, instead of beginning, he remarked: âI canât figger out why I keep thinkinâ of city fellers this week past. They donât any of âem come to Tunkett at this time oâ the year. That thar summer hotel at the pint is closed as tight as a clam that canât be opened without smashinâ it, anâ so are the cottages, as the rich folks call them gray shanties they loaf around in every summer, so I figger yer olâ grand-dad must be gettinâ hallucinations.â When the supper dishes had been washed and put away, Rilla found her grandfather sitting just outside the door smoking his beloved corncob pipe and watching the sunset. She went out and sat on a wooden stool at his feet. Rilla loved to sit quietly with folded hands while the glow was fading in the west and dream dreams. Just as the last flush was paling the old man rose. âTime to put the light on, Rilly gal,â he said. She heard his heavy steps climbing the spiral stairs. Fainter and fainter they grew, and then, a moment later, just as the first stars glimmered through the dusk, the great light flashed over the sea and began slowly turning, for the lighthouse was on an island one mile from shore, and the waters all about it were illumined. For a moment Rilla saw a fishing boat that was nearly becalmed and would have trouble reaching port that night. âItâs olâ Capân Barney, likeâs not. Heâs allays late gettinâ in.â The girl rose and went indoors. Shags, who had been lying silently at her feet, accompanied her. âGood-night, Grand-dad,â she said, standing on tiptoe to kiss the old man, who stood erect in spite of his many years. Then almost shyly she added: âGrand-dad, when I come sixteen yer goinâ to tell me all about it, like yoâ promised, arenât yoâ, Grand-dad?â A grunt, which could hardly be interpreted in the affirmative, was the only reply, and yet neither had it been negative. Kissing him again, Rilla went to her snug little room over the kitchen, and Shags followed, for he always slept just outside her closed door. Rilla did not light the kerosene lamp that stood on the small table. The moon was rising and she liked its light best. For a moment she stood at the open window, facing the town, which in the fall and winter was so dark and quiet in the evening, but in summer, when the city people were in their cabins on the point, it was pulsing with life, color and music. Rilla never visited the town in summer. She was then practically a prisoner on the small rocky island. For a long time she stood watching the waves that lifted silvery crests in the moonlight. âI wonder who my dad was,â she thought, as she had many times before. âI wonder why he never came for me, after my girl-mother died.â Forgotten was the box in Treasure Cave. Many had been the moods of Rilla that day, but when she had undressed in the moonlight she knelt, not by the bedside, but facing the window. Looking up toward the peaceful, starry sky, she whispered softly, âGod in Heaven, bless my grand-dad, andâand my fatherâwho never came for me. Amen.â Soon she was asleep, little dreaming that the next day was to bring into her hitherto quiet and uneventful life her first real adventure. CHAPTER II. A GIFT FROM THE SEA. Sunrise and the memory of the treasure box came at the same time. Rilla was dressed in a twinkling. She did not even stop to peer into the bit of broken mirror which Mrs. Sol Dexter had given her, hoping that with it would go the proverbial seven years of bad luck. Mrs. Sol Dexter kept the general store and postoffice in the fishing village of Tunkett. She was absolutely honest, was Mrs. Sol, but not inclined to be generous. If the scales tipped one cranberry too many, out came that cranberry! She had never before been known to give anything away, but something which might bring bad luck she had been willing to part with. It had been a happy day for Rilla, that one, when for the first time she had acquired a real mirror. It was, of course, after the summer season, or she would not have been in town at all. And on that same day her grand-dad had given her a whole quarter to spend just as she wished and she had asked Mrs. Sol Dexter for two hair ribbons, one to match the sunrise and one like the green in the hollow of a wave just before it turns over when the sun is shining on it. âQueerest gal, that!â Mrs. Dexter confided to her husband, Capân Sol, the next time he came in from one of his sea âvâyages.â âShe must get all them sunset notions from her paâs side. I recollect hearinâ he was an artist fellow.â âWall,â the good-natured man had replied, âif that pore gal gets any comfort outân âem, Iâm sure sartin glad. Sheâs little moreân a prisoner most oâ the year over thar on Windy Island. Jest because her ma ran off ânâ married up wiâ that city feller, olâ Ezry Bassett is tarnal sartin the same thingâll happen to Rilly. But I calâlate them thar city fellars, on the whole, ainât hankerinâ to splice up with lighthouse keepersâ gals nor grand-gals, neither.â When Rilla had reached home that never-to-be-forgotten day when she had purchased something all by herself and for the very first time, she had slipped up to her room with the broken mirror and she had tied on both of the new hair ribbons, one red and one green. They werenât the shades that she had really wanted, but they were the prettiest that Mrs. Sol Dexter had in stock. Then she gazed long at her reflection in the mirror. Onceâjust onceâher grand-dad had told her that she was the âsplittinâ imageâ of her mother, who had died when she was only seventeen. âIâve allays wished as I had a photygraf of her,â Rilla had thought. âNow I can be lookinâ in the mirror anâ pretendinâ itâs a picture of my mother, only _sheâd_ be lots sweeter lookinâ. Mrs. Sol Dexter said as how the summer folks called _her_ beautiful.â There was always a wistful, yearning expression in the hazel eyes of the girl when she thought of her mother. But all this had happened the autumn before. Bad luck had _not_ befallen Rillaâshe didnât even know that a broken mirror was supposed to bring bad luckâand that is probably why it had not done so; for we get, in this world, what we expect very often, and this little lass, who lived so close to nature, was always expecting something wonderful to happen and she found real joy in the simplest things. The dog, lying just outside the door, lifted a listening ear the moment his little mistress had stepped out of bed and he was eagerly waiting when she softly opened the door. âSh! Shagsie, olâ dog, donâ be barkinâ,â the girl cautioned. âGrand-dadâs put the light out anâ heâs gone back to his bunk for ânother forty winks. Youân Iâll have time to see whatâs in the box. Sh-h! Soft now!â The dogâs intelligent brown eyes were watching the face of his mistress and he seemed to understand that he must be very quiet. If Muriel tiptoed as she went down the curving flight of steps to the kitchen, so too did Shags. As she passed the door of her grand-dadâs bedroom she could hear his even breathing. It was not unusual for Rilla and Shags to climb to the top of the crags to watch the sunrise, and so, even if her grandfather had awakened, he would have thought nothing of it, but it was not to the highest point of the cliff that the girl went. Instead, she clambered down what appeared to be a perilous descent, but both she and the dog were as sure-footed as mountain goats, and they were soon standing on the out-jutting ledge in front of a small opening which was the entrance to her Treasure Cave. Eager as the girl was to learn the secret that the box contained, she did not go in at once, but paused, turning toward the sea. The waves, lifting snowy crests, caught the dawning glory of the sky. Impulsively she stretched her arms out to the sun. There was something sacred to this untaught girl about the rebirth of each day, and the glory of the sky and sea was reflected in her radiant upturned face. Only for a brief while did the pageantry last, and the worldâRillaâs world, all that she knewâwas again attired in its everyday garb, sky-blue, sea-green, rock-grey, while over all was the shining sun-gold. Stooping, for the cave door was too small to be entered by so tall a girl were she standing erect, Rilla disappeared from the ledge and Shags followed her. The cave within was larger than one might suppose, and was lighted by wide crevices here and there in its wall of rocks through which rays of sunlight slanted. The continuous roar of the surf, crashing on the rocks below, was somewhat dulled. Rilla leaped forward with a little cry of joy. âShags,â she called gleefully, âitâs still here! âTwaânât a dream-box arter all. I sort oâ got to thinkinâ in the night it might be.â She clapped her hands, for there were moments when Rilla was a very little girl at heart, much younger than her years, and yet at other times, when she was comforting her old grand-dad and soothing away his imaginary fears, she was far older than fifteen. Shags was now permitted to bark his excitement, which he did, capering in puppy fashion about the banded box of foreign appearance. The girl looked at it with her head on one side. âHow in time are we to get into it, olâ dog?â she inquired as she stooped to examine the box. ââPears like weâll have to smash it. Here yoâ, Shags, whatâs that tag-end yer tugginâ on? Yo-o! Itâs the answer to the riddle, likeâs not! That strapâs got a buckle on it, anâ itâs mateâs the same. Heave ho! Open she comes. Easy as sailinâ down stream.â As the girl spoke she lifted the cover of the box and uttered a cry of mingled joy and amazement. âThunder sakes! Tarnell!â she ejaculated, unconsciously using both of her grandfatherâs favorite exclamations at once. âShagsie, olâ dog, will you be lookinâ! Thereâs a mirror inside the cover as hasnât a crack in it. Yo-o! It comes out. There now, stood up itâs as tall as I am.â As the girl talked to her interested companion she lifted the mirror-lined cover and placed it against the wall of the cave. Meanwhile the curious dog was dragging something from the box. Rilla leaped forward to rescue whatever it might be. âLie down, sir, and mind orders,â she commanded. âIâm skipper oâ this craft.â After rescuing the mysterious something which the dog had evidently considered his rightful share of the booty, the girl knelt and examined the contents of the box. She then turned glowing eyes toward her comrade, who had minded her and was watching her intently, his head low on his outstretched paws. âLand a Goshen!â she ejaculated. âShagsie, olâ dog, whatâd yoâ think? This here box is full oâ rigginâs for a fine lady such as comes from the city for the summer, âpears like, though Iâve never seen âem close to.â Awed, and hardly able to believe her eyes, Rilla lifted a truly wonderful garment from the trunkâit was silkâand green, sea-green like the heart of a wave just before its foamy crest curls over in the sun. It was trimmed with silvery, spangly lace. âItâs a dress to wear, âpears like, though tharâs not much to it as yoâ could call sleeves, anâ, yo-o! Shagsie, will yoâ look? Hereâs slipper things! Soft as the moss on the norâeast side oâ a rock anâ green, wiâ silver buckles.â Then the girlâs excited, merry laughter rang out as she drew forth another treasure. âDonâ tell me yoâ donâ know what this here is, Shagsie,â she chuckled. âMaybe yoâ think itâs a green spider-web, but âtisnât; no, sir, itâs got a heel and a toe to it! Thatâs a stockinâ, olâ dog. Now, whoâdâââ She paused and listened intently. Ringing clear above the booming crash of the surf she heard her grand-dad calling. Quickly she ran to the opening. âRilly gal, tarnation sakes, whar be you? Never seem to be around mess time lately. The kettleâs singinâ like a tipsy sailor and âbout to dance its cap off.â âCominâ, Grand-dad,â the girl thrust her head out to reply, in a quieter moment, when a wave was receding; then hastily, but with infinite care, she knelt and smoothed the silken folds of the shimmering green gown, replaced the mirror-lined top, strapped it down and then covered the whole with an old sail cloth which had been one of Rillaâs former stowed-away treasures. If the girl had been excited the night before, she was much more so this early morning. However, her grand-dad was preoccupied and did not notice the flushed cheeks and eager, glowing eyes of his âfust mate.â Silently he ate his quarter of apple pie, gulped down a huge cup of steaming coffee. It was plain to the girl who watched him that he was thinking of something intently. Rilla was counting the minutes that would have to elapse before she revisited the cave, when her grand-dad pushed his armchair back from the table and arose. âRilly gal,â he peered over his spectacles at the girl, âIâve got to navigate to town this morninâ. Oil and supplies are gettinâ tarnicky low, âpears like. Equinoxial storms are due in port mosâ any day now, so weâll not put the vâyage off any longer. Fust mate, be gettinâ into yer sea-goinâ togs.â Murielâs heart sank. âOh, Grand-daddy, do I _have_ to go?â The piercing grey eyes under shaggy brows turned toward the girl questioningly. Had he heard aright? Could it be _his_ âgalâ begging _not_ to be taken to town, when usually it was right the other way. Then he laughed. âWhat a suspicious olâ sea-dog I am,â he ruminated. âMabbe the galâs rigged up some new fancy notion down in that cave oâ herân.â Aloud he said heartily. âAll right, fust mate, stay anchored if ye want to. Iâm thinkinâ tharâs nothinâ on Windy Island to molest ye. Tharâs the gun in the corner if yer needinâ it, but Shags, here, will protect ye, wonât ye, olâ skipper?â The dog leaped alongside as the old man went down the steep, wet stairs that led to the wharf, near which a dory was floating. The girl stood in the open door, and with shaded eyes watched the scudding sailboat until, as was his custom, her grand-dad turned to wave to her as he passed the first buoy. There were many buoys, painted in varying bright colors, that the skipper of each incoming fishing smack might have no trouble in locating his own particular mooring place. On a moonlighted night, when the sailing boats were all in, it was indeed a pretty sight to see the flotilla, some newly painted and others weather-stained, bobbing on the choppy waters of the bay. Windy Island, though only a quarter of a mile wide, was nearly a mile long, and protected one of the snuggest little harbors to be found along that wild, rugged coast. As soon as the kitchen was shipshape, Muriel raced toward the outer edge of the cliff, calling âYo-o, come on, Shagsie, olâ dog. Weâll cruise back to the cave.â But Rilla did not enter her Treasure Cave again that day, for in another moment, and quite unexpectedly, she was launched upon her very first real adventure. CHAPTER III. A FIRST ADVENTURE. Muriel did not have to call a second time to her shaggy friend, for up the steep, wet steps from the wharf the dog leaped and lifted intelligent, inquiring eyes. âDonâ letâs go to the cave fust off, Shagsie.â The girl always talked to her four-footed companion as though she were sure that he could understand. âLetâs go to that pebbly beach war yoâ found suthinâ yesterday anâ lost it. Mabbe it got washed up shore agin, whatever âtwas. Mabbe now! What say, olâ Shags?â Knowing that a reply was expected when his mistress stooped and stroked his head, the dog yapped eagerly, then raced alongside of the barefooted girl, who followed an infrequently used trail which ambled along toward the north end of the island, where the beach was wildest. The shore, however, could not be seen until one was nearly upon it. When it came within the vision of the girl she stood still so suddenly that Shags, having kept on, was several lengths ahead before he was conscious that he was alone. He turned back inquiringly. âSh! Keep still!â the girl whispered, her hazel eyes growing darker and wider as she gazed, almost as though she were frightened at something just below on the rocky beach. What she saw was not really fear-inspiring. A youth, dressed in white flannels, who appeared to be but little older than Rilla, was standing with his hands in his pockets gazing at a flat-bottomed, weather-stained sailboat, in which he had evidently just landed and which he had drawn as high as he could up on the shore. He turned with a start when an angry voice called, âClear out! Go away! We donâ want any landlubbers here!â The lad, however, did not seem to be in the least intimidated by this outburst from the rocks above him. Looking up, he actually smiled. A barefooted girl with red-brown hair blowing in the wind and with a shaggy yellow and white dog at her side was, to his thought, a picture more to be admired than feared. And, for that matter, Eugene Beavers, himself, was not fear-inspiring. He had clear grey eyes, a keen, thin face, and a firmly rounded chin. Indeed, Gene, as his best friends called him, was not only a good looking lad but one whom young and old trusted unquestioningly. But with Rilla one thought was uppermost. One of those terrible creatures so dreaded by her grand-dad had dared to land on her very own island. There could be no mistake that he was âcity folks,â for no boy living on the coast would have such a pale face nor would he be dressed in white flannels. âIf yoâ donâ board yer boat anâ ship off instanter Iâll send Shags at yoâ, I will!â Rilla was wrathful because her first command had not been obeyed. At this the lad laughed, not rudely, but with merry good nature. It seemed to him truly humorous that this barefooted, wind-blown girl should be ordering him out to sea. Rilla, however, believed that he was laughing at her. Stamping her foot and pointing at the boy, her eyes flashing, she cried, âShags, at him, olâ dog.â The faithful creature plunged down the rocky trail, growling as fiercely as he could, but as he approached the youth toward whom his mistress was pointing he paused uncertainly. The smiling lad, unafraid, was holding out a welcoming hand. âCome here, good dog,â he said coaxingly. Shags, being friendly by nature, and not in the least understanding the present need for ferocity, actually wagged his tail and permitted the strange boy to stroke his head. This was too much for Rilla. Her grand-dad had said that the dog would protect her, but he hadnât done it. With an angry half sob, she turned and scrambled up the rocks. A second later, when the boy looked up, the girl was not to be seen. Shrugging his shoulders, he turned back to converse with his newly acquired companion. Gene dearly loved dogs and Shags had instinctively recognized in him a friend, but not so Rilla. She was convinced that all boys from the city were enemies, for had not her grand-dad said so time and again? Running to the lighthouse, the girl seized the gun that stood in the corner and raced back again. The next time that Gene Beavers looked up, there she stood with a gun pointed directly at him. âNowâll yoâ take orders?â her voice rang out angrily, her eyes dark with excitement. âNowâll yoâ put out to sea?â The lad looked puzzled and then troubled. For the first time he was conscious that this stormy girl really feared him, and yet he could not get near enough to explain to her why he had landed on Windy Island. What should he do? What could he do? Rilla said no more, but, while he was hesitating, there was a sudden report and a bullet whizzed over his head. It was evidently merely a choice between which kind of an end to his life he preferred. Pushing the boat into the water in a quiet, rock-sheltered spot, he leaped in and shoved off. However, he had not gone two lengths from shore when he heard the girl shouting lustily: âCome back here, yoâ landlubber! Donâ yoâ know yer boatâs sinkinâ? Tarnation sakes, what kind oâ an old hulk yoâ got thar?â The gun had been thrown down and the girl scrambled down to the edge of the beach. The boat, having left the shelter of the rocks, was caught in the surf. Seizing the oars, Gene let the sail flap as he tried to regain the land. The leak which had driven him to shore in the beginning was causing the boat to rapidly fill with water. Then, to complete his feeling of helplessness, an unusually large breaker was thundering toward him. âJump the gunnel, quick, or yoâll flounder!â the girl commanded. The lad obeyed. Leaping into the swirling water, which was nearly chin deep, he swam toward the shore, and not a moment too soon, for the breaker lifted the boat high and crashed it to splinters on the rocky point. The boy and the girl stood near each other watching the annihilation of the craft and the angry after-swirl of dark green waters. Then, turning to his companion, he smiled. âWell, little Miss Storm Maiden,â he said, âyou have saved my life, I guess, by your quick command, although you really wanted to shoot me, since your dog wouldnât eat me up.â âHowâd yoâ know my name was Storm?â the truly amazed girl inquired. âI hadnât tolâ yoâ nothinâ.â âI didnât know it. Is that your name?â The girl nodded. âYe-ah! Muriel Storm, though Grand-dad calls me Rilly.â âMy name,â the boy told her, âis Eugene Beavers, and my friends call me Gene. My home is in New York, but I am visiting your Doctor Winslow in Tunkett. He and my dad are old friends. Iâve been sick and had to leave college right at the beginning of the term, so dad shipped me off down here toâââ Before he could finish his sentence, Muriel, who had been looking at him steadily, exclaimed: âYer shiverinâ wiâ the cold. The surfâs like ice. Yoâ be gathering driftwood for a fire; make a tarnal whopper, while I get some matches.â Again the girl scrambled up the trail among the rocks and the dog went with her. For a moment the lad stood gazing out at sea, as he ruminated, an amused twinkle in his eyes: âAnd here I thought that Tunkett at this time of the year would be stupid, the summer colony being closed, but I never had an adventure more interesting than this one.â Gene had a goodly pile of driftwood collected when Rilla reappeared on the rocky cliff. Instead of the gun, she was carrying a covered bucket and a thick china cup. Although her manner of approaching him could not really be called friendly, yet it was not as hostile as her former attitude had been. She held up the cup toward him and filled it with steaming hot tea. âDrink that!â she commanded; then added, âThough likely âtwill mosâ scald yoâ.â How the lad wanted to laugh. Just before he had left the city his sister Helen had dragged him to an afternoon tea (or was it a bazaar?) and there some prettily dressed girls had surrounded him, offering him dainty porcelain cups half filled with fragrant orange pekoe. He was expected to purchase one of them for the sake of the cause. Not wishing to offend any of the fair friends of Helen Beavers, he had purchased them all, and then, when unobserved, he had slipped away to freedom. Again a maidenâa storm maiden, at thatâwas offering him tea. The cup wasnât porcelain and the girl was not effusively gracious to him as those others, who all greatly admired him, had been. This wild island girl was merely trying to warm him up that he need not freeze from his unexpected plunge into the icy surf. There was another point of difference between the two tea parties, Gene thought as he drank the hot, and almost bitter, beverage. His one desire at the other had been to escape, but at this tea party he found himself more interested than he had been in a long time. Gene had several moments alone in which to meditate, for Rilla, having glanced at the sun, had suddenly scrambled up the rocks, and, shading her eyes, had looked long toward the town. Being satisfied that her grand-dad had not left Tunkett, she returned and lighted the dry wood, which soon snapped and crackled. Then, rising, she put her hands on her hips and unsmilingly gazed at the boy with dark, expressive eyes. After a momentâs solemn scrutiny she inquired: âHow come yoâ to be cruisinâ âround in that olâ leaky hulk? Even a water ratâd had better sense.â There seemed to the lad to be a note of scorn in the girlâs voice, and yet she had brought him tea. Gene lowered the cup and smiled at her. Usually his smile was contagious, it was so genuinely good natured. âI donât blame you in the least for calling me names,â he told her. âI just landed in Tunkett yesterday, and not knowing how to pass the time away, I went down to the wharf and asked a small freckle-faced boy if I could hire a boat. He said I could have my pick for a dollar an hour. He was going with me to where his boats were tied, I suppose, but just then some woman in the store called and away he ran. So I took the first boat I came to. I didnât notice that it leaked until I was rounding the island.â âThat was little SolâMisâ Dexterâs boyâhe rents boats to summer folks. He asks a tarnal whoppinâ price for âem, âpears like.â âWell, his sail will cost me more than one dollar,â the lad told her, his eyes twinkling, âfor Iâll have to pay for the wreck, I suppose.â Then he added: âMiss Storm Maiden, why donât you smile? Iâve been here an hour, I do believe, and although you have looked at me angrily and scornfully and solemnly, you have not as yet smiled at me. âI canât be smilinâ when I know Iâm doinâ whatâs agin my grand-dadâs orders, but I _tried_ to mind him. I tried to ship yoâ offân Windy Island. I sure did.â The lad was puzzled. âIâll testify that you tried hard enough, but _why_ did you, Storm Maiden? Surely you werenât afraid of me. I donât understand.â Then, in a few words, the girl told of her grand-dadâs dislike for âcity folks,â though she did not tell him what caused that dislike. âAm I the very first boy you have ever talked with?â the lad asked in amazement. Rilla, still solemn, nodded. âYe-ah,â she said, âanâ Iâm tarnal sartin I donâ know what to do with yoâ, beinâ as yer boatâs wrecked. Grand-dadâll be back by noon and itâs most that now.â A swift glance at the sun had told Rilla the time. âYoâll have to hide in Treasure Cave, thatâs what! I canât come to see yoâ thar; âtwouldnât be honest to Grand-dad; but Iâll let down a basket of grub on a rope. Then, when Capân Barney comes in from the fishinâ shoals where he goes every day Iâll hail him anâ tell him to take yoâ to town. He donâ mind city folks the way Grand-dad does.â As she talked, Rilla led the way along the shore and paused at the foot of the perilous cliff above which towered the lighthouse. âTharâs a sail cloth in the cave as yoâ can wrap up in and keep warm,â she said. Then she pointed out the steep trail. The lad looked at it and secretly wondered if he could make it. Then, turning, he held out his right hand, his cap in the other, as he said earnestly: âMiss Muriel Storm, I thank you for everything.â Then he started to climb. The girl watched him anxiously. âSteady there!â she cautioned. âKeep an even keel.â The lad reached the ledge in safety and turned to wave his cap; then, stooping, he entered the cave, and none too soon, for, right at that very moment, a stentorian voice from the top of the cliff called, âRilly gal, where be ye?â âCominâ, Grand-dad!â the girl replied. Then she raced along the strip of pebbly beach, the dog at her heels. Rillaâs heart was pounding with tumultuous excitement. How she wished that she could go to her grandfather and tell him the whole truth, but she did not dare. CHAPTER IV. A SHIPWRECKED MARINER. Capân Ezra Bassett was removing his rubber boots when Rilla entered the room. The tea kettle was singing cheerily on the stove. She had refilled it when she had made tea for Gene. Again the old man noticed the flushed, excited appearance of the girl. âRilla gal,â he said as he tugged at one boot, âwhat in tarnation have you got stowed away in that cave oâ yourn that youâre so plumb interested in? I swan I canât figger it out. Maybe Iâd better take a cruise down that way and be inspectinâ below decks.â Luckily Rillaâs back was turned as she hurriedly pared potatoes for the frying. If her grand-dad had seen her face at that moment his suspicions would indeed have been aroused. When she did turn with the black iron spider to put upon the stove, she was greatly relieved to see that the old captain was removing his second boot and that he did not mean to carry out his threat to visit the cave. âGrand-dad,â she began, hoping to lead his thoughts into other channels, âwas thar anythinâ new as yoâ heard of in town?â One might have supposed by his sudden explosive ejaculation that the new channel into which his thoughts had turned was not a pleasant one. âYe-ah, by thunder!â he said. âOne of those good-for-nothinâ city fellars landed in Tunkett last night, so Misâ Sol was sayinâ, though what heâs doinâ âround here at this time oâ the year nobody knows. I sure sartin was plaguey glad yoâd stayed anchored here on Windy Island. I donât want yoâ to run afoul of any city folksâgals neitherâwith hifalutinâ notions; theyâre all a parcel oââââ The old manâs speech was interrupted by a crash. Rilla had dropped a dish, an unheard-of proceeding, for she was as sure-fingered as she was sure-footed usually. Luckily the china was thick and apparently unbreakable. âThe grubâs ready, Grand-dad,â she said, as she poured into his cup the strong, steaming tea. The old man was pleased to note how little interest his âgalâ took in the despised city folks, and he beamed across the table at her as he continued: âSho now, Rilly, hereâs some news on a difârent tack. Capân Barneyâs laid up in drydock with rheumatics. Likeâs not he wonât be able to navigate that craft oâ his for a week or two.â The girlâs face paled. âOh, Grand-dad, Iâm that sorry,â she said, but her thought was inquired: âHow can that city chap get to the mainland if Capân Barney donâ take him?â Rilla had no other intimate friends among the fishermen who would be passing that evening on their homeward way from the Outer Ledge where they went at dawn each day after cod. Captain Barney she loved next to her grand-dad, for had he not helped bring her up? One of her earliest recollections was of that kindly Irishman holding her on his knee and telling her wonderful tales of fairy folk who lived on that far away and dearly loved Emerald Isle where his boyhood had been spent. Never had the girl wearied of listening to tales of the mermaids who dwelt in caves under the cliffs and of the âLittle Folkâ who went about among the peat cabins helping the peasants. âBut tharâs nothinâ the loike of thim over here,â old Capân Barney would end, with a sigh, âlest be itâs you, Rilly lass.â When the noon meal was over, Captain Ezra pushed back his chair. âWall, fust mate, I reckon Iâll cruise down to the shanty for a spell anâ overhaul the kit. Holler if ye need me.â Rilla, with rapidly beating heart, stood in the open door and watched her grand-dad as he slowly descended the steep stairs leading to the little wharf near which bobbed the anchored dory. About twenty feet up the beach was the shanty in which Capân Ezra kept his fishing tackle and the supplies for the lighthouse. It was hard indeed for the girl, who was as honest as old Capân Ezra himself, to be doing something of which her grand-dad would disapprove, and yet she couldnât let a boy starve even if he had come from the city. Quickly she filled a basket with food and tied it firmly to one end of a long rope. Going to the edge of the cliff, back of the lighthouse, she called âYo-o!â The boy appeared and stood on the ledge looking up. He waved his cap in greeting and then, catching the swinging basket, he untied it. Rilla drew up the rope and let down a pail of tea; then she knelt and leaning over as far as she could with safety she called: âLikeâs not youâll have to bunk thar all night. Capân Barney didnât go fishinâ today.â Then, before Gene could question her concerning some other manner of reaching the mainland, the girl disappeared. The boy laughed as he re-entered the cave. âRobinson Crusoeâs island was not half as interesting as this one,â he thought as he ate with a relish the homely fare which the basket contained. He had not realized that he was ravenously hungry. When the feast was over, the lad rose and looked long out at sea, trying to discover the approach of a boat that might be signaled. He knew that if he did not soon return to Tunkett his host, Doctor Winslow, would become alarmed. Too, he was constantly on the alert for the possible approach of Rillaâs grandfather. âWhat an old ogre he must be,â the lad thought, âif his grand-daughter is afraid to tell him of the near presence of a shipwrecked mariner.â As the hours slipped by and no boat came within signaling distance, Gene was tempted to walk boldly out from his hiding place and tell the keeper of the light that he wished to be taken to town, but the âstorm maidenâ had seemed so truly distressed at the mere thought that her grandfather might learn of the presence of a âcity boyâ on Windy Island that, out of chivalry, he decided to heed her wishes. Muriel had just replaced the rope in the toolhouse when she heard her grandfatherâs voice booming from the foot of the steep stairway. âYe-ah, Grand-dad, Iâm cominâ,â the girl replied, wondering what was wanted of her. Could he have seen her taking the basket of food to the cave, she questioned. But, since he was still on the lower shore farthest from the cliff, this was not possible. She found the old man busily mending a net which was stretched out on the sand in front of the shanty. âRilly gal,â he said, smiling up at her, âtharâs a tarnation lot oâ tears in this olâ net. Have you time, fust mate, to be helpinâ with the mendinâ of it?â âIndeed I have, Grand-dad. All the time there is till sundown,â Muriel replied, almost eagerly. The girlâs conscience had been making her very unhappy. It was the first time in the fifteen years they had spent together that Muriel had kept anything from her grandfather. Every little, unimportant thing which had occurred during the almost uneventful days had been talked over with him and the old man would not have believed it possible for his âgalâ to have been secretive, and yet, during the three hours that followed while these two sat on low stools mending the many tears in the net, Capân Ezra glanced often across at the girl, who, with bent head and flushed cheeks, was working industriously. Never before had he known his âgalâ to be so silent. Usually her happy chatter was constant when they were working together. The shaggy grey brows were almost unconsciously contracted and the heart of the old man was troubled. At last, rising, he went around and stood beside his grand-daughter. Placing a hand upon her bent head, he asked kindly, âFust mate, tell me all about it. Tell your olâ grand-dad whatâs troublinâ yoâ. Have yoâ run afoul, Rilly gal, of anything thatâs hurt yoâ?â The hazel eyes that were lifted were clear in their gaze. âNo, Grand-dad, not that,â she replied. Then, as she said no more, but bent again over her task, the old man, with folded arms, stood, gazing long across the shimmering waters and toward the town. When he spoke there was almost a wistful note in his voice. âBarneyâs been tellinâ me that Iâm not doinâ right by yoâ, Rilly gal,â the old man began. âHe was sayinâ that I should be sendinâ yoâ away to school to educate yoâ, like other gals. Is that whatâs a-troublinâ yoâ, fust mate? Are yoâ hankerinâ to leave yer olâ grand-dad andâââ He could say no more, for the girl, having leaped to her feet, clasped her hands over his mouth. âGrand-dad,â she lovingly rebuked him, âhow can yoâ be askinâ that? Didnât I promise Iâd never be leavinâ yoâ? I donât want to go. Iâd be skeered, likeâs not, all alone in the big world. I want to allays stay anchored here in the safe harbor of yer love, Grand-dad.â The girl had slipped around and nestled in the arms
{'title': 'Rilla of the Lighthouse by Grace May North', 'source': 'Project Gutenberg', 'lang': 'en'}