For such is man, and so do the rose petals of love first unclose.
Mona.
CHAPTER X
MONA HUTTON
Mona Hutton was, as Winn instinctively felt that Sunday when he first glanced into her well-like eyes, a girl but little akin to her surroundings—a child of the island, full of strange moods and fancies, sombre as the thickets of spruce that grew dense and dark between the ledges of granite, and solemn as the unceasing boom of ocean billows below its cliffs. Even as a barefoot schoolgirl she had found the sea an enticing playmate, and to watch its white-crested waves lifting the rockweed and brown kelpie, as they swept over the rocks and into the gorges and fissures, was of more interest than her schoolmates. She would hide between the ledges and watch the sea-gulls sailing over them for hours, build playhouses in out-of-the-way spots with lone contentment, filling them with shells, starfish, and crabs, dig wells in the sandy margin of the harbor, and catch minnows to put in them. She loved to watch the fishing boats sailing away, the coasters pass the island, the current sweeping in and out beneath the old tide mill, and as she grew up and gained in courage roamed over the entire island at will. The Devil's Oven, out of sight and sound of everybody, became a charming spot for her; and here she would sit for hours watching the waves leap into the gorge and wondering why they never sounded twice alike. And so on, as she developed, she absorbed the mood of the ocean, its grandeur shaped her thoughts, its mystery tinged her emotion, and its solemnity, like the voice of eternity, gave expression to her eyes.
Companions of her own age she had none, leaving them to play as they chose while she sought solitude, and found contentment on the lonely shores. Uncle Jess only was akin to her, and if she could lead him away as playmate, then was she happy.