A Singer from the Sea

by Amelia E. Barr

“To be sure. And I do wish he would hurry all and show himself. New boats be building, but the best may get sold––a day might make a difference.”

“And now, mother, you must try and lift the care from father’s heart. Let him know, some way, that money troubles are over and that he may carry his head up. You can do it––a little word––a little look from you––he will understand.”

“Aw, then, Denas, a smile is enough. I can lift my eyelids, and he’ll see the light under them and 310 catch it in his heart. John isn’t a woman. Thank God, he can be happy and ask no questions––trusting all. Your father be a good man to trust and hope.”

Then the day, that had seemed to stretch itself out so long and wearily, was all too short for Joan and Denas. They talked about the money freely and happily, and Denas could now tell her mother all the circumstances of her visit to Elizabeth. They were full of interest to the simple woman. She enjoyed hearing about the dress Elizabeth wore; about her house, her anger, her disappointment, and hard reluctance to pay money for the treasures she had begun to regard as her own.

So the morning passed quickly away, and in the afternoon Denas went into the village to look after her school-room. It was such a lovely spring day. The sky was so blue, the sea was so blue, the earth was so green and sweet, and the air so fresh and clear that Denas could not but be glad that she was alive to be cheered by them. Not for a very long time had she felt so calmly happy, so hopeful of the future, so resigned to the past.

After her business in the village was over she walked toward the cliff. She had some idea that it would be pleasant to go up to the church town, but just where the trees and underwood came near to the shingle a little bird singing on a May-thorn beguiled her to listen. Then the songster went on and on, as if it called her, and Denas followed its music; until, by and by, she came to where the shingle was but a narrow strip, and the verdure retreated, 311 and the rocks grew larger and higher; and, anon, she was at the promontory between St. Penfer and St. Clair.

It would now be impossible to go up the cliff and back again before tea-time, and she sat down to rest a little before returning home. She sat longer than she intended, for the dreamy, monotonous murmur of the waves and the stillness and solitude predisposed her to that kind of drifting thought which keeps assuring time: “I am going directly.”

She was effectually roused at last by the sound of a clear, strong voice whistling a charming melody. She sat quite still. A conviction that it was Tris Penrose came into her heart. She wondered if he would notice––know––speak to her. Tris saw her figure as quickly as it came within his vision, and as quickly as he saw it he knew who was present. He ceased whistling and cried out cheerily:

“Denas? What, Denas?”

She stood up then and held out her hands to him. And she was startled beyond measure by the Tris that met her gaze. Naturally a very handsome man, his beauty was made most attractive by a sailor suit of blue broadcloth. His throat was open to the sea breeze, a blue kerchief tied around it in a sailor’s knot. And then her eyes wandered to his sun-browned face, close-curling black hair, and the little blue, gold-trimmed cap set upon the curls. The whole filled her with a pleasant wonder. She made a little time over his splendour, and asked if he was going to the pilchard fishing in such finery. And he took all her hurried, laughing, fluttering remarks 312 with the greatest good-humour. He said, indeed, that he had been told she was home again, and that he wore the dress because he was coming to see her.