CHAPTER XX
IN ANOTHER YEAR
It was mid June, and the dwellers on Fielding's Island were making ready for "the season." The sharp winds, which even in May, sometimes nipped the buds on Cap'n Ben's apple-trees, had given place to gentle breezes. Violets and strawberry blossoms sprinkled the pasture, daisies were beginning to open, tufts of green were springing up in the crevices of the lichen-covered rocks, the song-sparrows had arrived, and the barn-swallows were wheeling in joyous flights morning and evening.
Cap'n Ben, in his second-best suit, was standing in the kitchen, adjusting his necktie before the old mahogany-framed mirror. "There's plenty of time, father," said Miss Phosie; "she hasn't blowed at the Neck yet."
"Maybe she has and maybe she hain't," returned Cap'n Ben. "Folks don't always hear her. At any rate I'm going down. Everything's all right at the cawtage: well's full, hogshead's full, house clean as a new pin. His room's all ready, ain't it, Phosie? Got a good meal for him?"
"Everything's ready," Miss Phosie told him, "but I guess maybe he'll want to eat with them."
"No, he won't. They'll have women's vittles the first day; always do. Peck around like hens. What he'll want will be something good and substantial."
"Well, he shall have it," returned Miss Phosie. She sighed as she saw her father start off eagerly for the boat-landing. How soon time covers up the footsteps of those who once travelled our road, and suddenly passed out of it. Cap'n Ben, good and kindly-souled as he was, had nothing of the sentimentalist about him, and though he had honestly sorrowed for the housemate of so many years, had easily adjusted himself to the loss, and enjoyed the present as heartily as ever. As for Miss Phosie, she lived in the past. Not a day went by that she did not go reverently into Luther Williams' vacant room to read a little from the Bible which still kept its old place on the high bureau. Not a week passed, except when snow covered every hillock, but she went to the graveyard, and lately had set out there geraniums and roses, started from slips the autumn before and tenderly nurtured all winter. To-day would bring Miss Elliott, Gwen and Kenneth. Their coming made more vivid the events of the summer before, and so she sighed.
Her memories were interrupted by Miss Zerviah's entrance. She was sure to be on hand at such a time as this. "Well, of all close-mouthed people!" she exclaimed, as she came in. "Why didn't you tell me there was to be a wedding on the island?"
"We hadn't been asked to tell," responded Miss Phosie.