Chapter XI
The Old Rifle Gives Up Its Secret
Out of that game with forbidden playmates, grew events which changed the lives of several people. It began by Richard’s deciding that a real gun was necessary for his equipment if he was to play the part of Leather-Stocking properly. Also, he argued, it would be a valuable addition to their stock of fire-arms. The broken old horse-pistols were good enough to play at pirating with, but something which would really shoot was needed when they started out in earnest on a sure-enough adventure.
Georgina suggested that he go to Fishburn Court and borrow a rifle that she had seen up in Uncle Darcy’s attic. She would go with him and do the asking, she added, but Belle had promised to take her with her the next time she went to see the net-mender, and the next time would be the following afternoon, if Tippy was well enough to be up and around. Georgina couldn’t miss the chance to see inside the cottage that had been the home of a hero and Belle’s drowned lover. She wanted to see the newspaper which Mr. Potter showed everybody who went to the house. It had an account of the wreck and the rescue in it, with Emmett’s picture on the front page, and black headlines under it that said, “Died like a hero.”
Tippy was well enough to be up next day, so Richard went alone to Fishburn Court, and Georgina trudged along the sandy road with Belle to the weather-beaten cottage on the edge of the cranberry bog. Belle told her more about the old man as they walked along.
“Seems as if he just lives on that memory. He can’t get out in the boats any more, being so crippled up, and he can’t see to read much, so there’s lots of time for him to sit and think on the past. If it wasn’t for the nets he’d about lose his mind. I wouldn’t say it out, and you needn’t repeat it, but sometimes I think it’s already touched a mite. You see the two of them lived there together so long alone, that Emmett was all in all to his father. I suppose that’s why Emmett is all he can talk about now.”
When they reached the cottage Mr. Potter was sitting out in front as usual, busy with his work. Georgina was glad that he did not offer to shake hands. His were so dirty and black with tar she felt she could not bear to touch them. He was a swarthy old man with skin like wrinkled leather, and a bushy, grizzled beard which grew up nearly to his eyes. Again Georgina wondered, looking at Belle in her crisp, white dress and white shoes. How could she care for this unkempt old creature enough to call him Father?
As she followed Belle around inside the dreary three-room cottage she wanted to ask if this would have been her home if Emmett had not been drowned, but she felt a delicacy about asking such a question. She couldn’t imagine Belle in such a setting, but after she had followed her around a while longer she realized that the house wouldn’t stay dreary with such a mistress. In almost no time the place was put to rights, and there was a pan of cookies ready to slip into the oven.
When the smell of their browning stole out to the front door the old man left his bench and came in to get a handful of the hot cakes. Then, just as Belle said he would, he told Georgina all that had happened the night of the wreck.
“That’s the very chair he was sittin’ in, when Luke Jones come in with the word that men were needed. He started right off with Luke soon as he could get into his oil-skins, for ‘twas stormin’ to beat the band. But he didn’t go fur. Almost no time it seemed like, he was comin’ into the house agin, and he went into that bedroom there, and shet the door behind him. That of itself ought to ’uv made me know something out of the usual was beginnin’ to happen, for he never done such a thing before. A few minutes later he came out with an old rifle that him and Dan Darcy used to carry around in the dunes for target shootin’ and he set it right down in that corner by the chimney jamb.