The aged Indian had risen and was wrapping his blanket about him.
“Noah,” said Hallibut, “the Bushwhackers haven’t any particular use for me, I understand. It’s pretty near war between us. But I’m going to send my vessel up that creek just the same. I’m willing to promise you that I won’t do the Bushwhackers any harm until they try to do me harm. They threaten to burn my schooner, and maybe they will—we’ll see. I’ll tell you what I am going to do. I’m going to send that schooner around the Point and into the bay soon. I want you to meet her at the narrows and act as watchman aboard her. If you don’t want the Bushwhackers to come to any harm, you must see that my vessel is not burned. I believe you are honest, and I will pay you well. What do you say, Noah?”
Noah pointed once more to the portrait.
“You do much for her?” he asked simply.
The big man started. Then he smiled and said gently:
“Old man, God only knows how much I would do—if I could.”
“Noah will meet big man’ vessel,” said the Indian, holding out his hand.
After the strange messenger had eaten and gone, Hallibut paced to and fro across the wide room, pondering deeply upon what he had learned. He stopped at last before the portrait on the wall.
“I wonder why the poor old chap should think he knows you, Phoebe?” he said, addressing the girl in the frame.
It was a custom of his to speak all his inner thoughts to the picture. One may lose summer forever; but he can treasure a dead flower, because its perfume clings to it and never quite dies.