How does a young girl feel on the eve of her first pleasure journey, when she has pretty new clothing to wear, and money enough to spend, and is going in the care of an indulgent father to have fresh and unknown entertainments, with a lover who adores her, and whom she admires and truly loves? Is she not happy and joyous, and full of eager anticipation? And it was the last day of waiting. The valise which held her new dress and her father’s best suit, 223 was packed, Faith had readily taken hold of the house duties, and Margot had been, and was, unusually well and active. Ruleson had gone fishing “to pass the time,” he said, and all was ready for the early start they proposed to make in the morning.
Ruleson generally came home in time for his six o’clock meal, but Christine, standing at the open door about four o’clock, saw him making for the harbor. “Father’s just like a bairn,” she thought. “I’m gey uplifted mysel’, but I’m plum steady, to what he is.” Then Margot joined her. “Is that your feyther coming, Christine?”
“Ay, it’s feyther, sure enou’!”
“What for is he coming at this time o’ day?”
“He’s just in a wave o’ excitement, he isna heeding what the clock says.”
“What time is it?”
“Not quite four.”
“Weel, you hed better put on the kettle; he’s used to eating as soon as he comes hame, and if his head is wrang anent the time, his stomach is doubtless wrang anent its eating.”
So the women went inside, and Christine put on the kettle, and Margot began to lay the cloth, and set the china on the table. It took Ruleson about half an hour to walk between his boat and his house, but suddenly Margot noticed that he was overdue, and yet not in sight. She called Christine, and they stood together at the land side door, and watched 224 for him. A sudden silence fell between them, they stopped wondering about his delay, and kept their eyes on the road. The time seemed to stand still. Margot went into the house and sat down. Christine’s life seemed to be in her eyes. Every minute was like an hour. “Feyther, Feyther!” she said in an anxious whisper. “Whatna for are you delaying? What at all is keeping you? Come, Feyther!” And to this strong cry of the Inner Woman, he turned a corner, and was in full view.
Christine saw in a moment that something was wrong. “He isna walking like himsel’! He must hae got hurt some way or ither!” and she ran like a deer to meet him.