“There had been some frightful storms and afterwards they heard of many wrecks. This figurehead was so long they had to cut it in two to get it into the hold of the vessel. They brought it home and set it up there over the front door, and they call it the Lady of Mystery, because they said ’from whence that ship came, what was its fate and what was its destination will always be shrouded in mystery.’ And Mrs. Tupman said that a famous artist looked at it once and said it was probably the work of a Spanish artist, and that from the pose of its head and the wreath in its hands he was sure it was intended to represent Hope. Was _that_ what you were going to tell me?”
The old man had rested on his oars while she hurried through this tale, with a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, as if she thought she was forestalling him. Now he picked them up again and began rowing out into the harbor.
“That was a part of it,” he admitted, “but that’s only the part that the whole town knows. That old figurehead has a meaning for me that nobody else that’s living knows about. That’s what I want to pass on to you.”
He rowed several minutes more before he said slowly, with a wistful tenderness coming into his dim old eyes as he looked at her:
“Georgina, I don’t suppose anybody’s ever told you about the troubles I’ve had. They wouldn’t talk about such things to a child like you. Maybe I shouldn’t, now; but when I saw how disappointed you were this morning, I said to myself, ’If she’s old enough to feel trouble that way, she’s old enough to understand and to be helped by hearing about mine.’”
It seemed hard for him to go on, for again he paused, looking off toward the lighthouse in the distance. Then he said slowly, in a voice that shook at times:
“Once--I had a boy--that I set all my hopes on--just as a man puts all his cargo into one vessel; and nobody was ever prouder than I was, when that little craft went sailing along with the best of them. I used to look at him and think, _’Danny’ll_ weather the seas no matter how rough they are, and he’ll bring up in the harbor I’m hoping he’ll reach, with all flags flying.’ And then--something went wrong--”
The tremulous voice broke. “My little ship went down--all my precious cargo lost--”
Another and a longer pause. In it Georgina seemed to hear Cousin Mehitable’s husky voice, half whispering:
_"And the lamp threw a shadow on the yellow blind, plain as a photograph. The shadow of an old man sitting with his arms flung out across the table and his head bowed on-them. And he was groaning, ’Oh, my Danny! My Danny! If you could only have gone that way.’"_