Georgina, gazing fixedly ahead of her at nothing in particular, pondered seriously for a long, silent moment.
“If you did that,” she said finally, “cried the good news through the town till everybody knew--then when people found out that it was Emmett Potter who was the thief and that he was too much of a coward to own up and take the blame--would they let the monument go on standing there, that they’d put up to show he was brave? It would serve him right if they took it down, wouldn’t it!” she exclaimed with a savage little scowl drawing her brows together.
“No, no, child!” he said gently. “Give the lad his due. He _was_ brave that one time. He saved all those lives as it is chiseled on his headstone. It is better he should be remembered for the best act in his life than for the worst one. A man’s measure should be taken when he’s stretched up to his full height, just as far as he can lift up his head; not when he’s stooped to the lowest. It’s only fair to judge either the living or the dead that way.”
For some time after that nothing more was said. The harbor was full of boats this morning. It was a sight worth watching. One naturally drifted into day-dreams, following the sweep of the sails moving silently toward the far horizon. Georgina was busy picturing a home-coming scene that made the prodigal son’s welcome seem mild in comparison, when Uncle Darcy startled her by exclaiming:
“Oh, it _pays_ to bear up and steer right onward! S’pose I hadn’t done that. S’pose I _hadn’t_ kept Hope at the prow. I believe I’d have been in my grave by this time with all the grief and worry. But now----”
He stopped and shook his head, unable to find words to express the emotion which was making his voice tremble and his face glow with that wonderful inner shining. Georgina finished the sentence for him, looking out on the sail-filled harbor and thinking of the day he had taken her out in his boat to tell her of his son.
“But now you’ll be all ready and waiting when your ship comes home from sea with its precious cargo.” They were his own words she was repeating.
“Danny’ll weather the storms at last and come into port with all flags flying.”
The picture her words suggested was too much for the old father. He put his hat up in front of his face, and his shoulders shook with silent sobs. Georgina laid a sympathetic little hand on the rough sleeve next her. Suddenly the sails in the harbor seemed to run together all blurry and queer. She drew her hand across her eyes and looked again at the heaving shoulders. A happiness so deep that it found its expression that way, filled her with awe. It must be the kind of happiness that people felt when they reached “the shining shore, the other side, of Jordan,” and their loved ones came down to welcome them “into their desired haven.”
That last phrase came to her lips like a bit of remembered music and unconsciously she repeated it aloud. Uncle Darcy heard it, and looked up. His cheeks were wet when he put down his hat, but it was the happiest face she had ever seen, and there was no shake in his voice now when he said solemnly: