“Now,” said Captain Saulsby as they reached the strawberry patch at the foot of the garden, “eat as many as you can and fill the boxes as full as you can carry them away. That is what berries are made for, so go to it.”
This invitation was no difficult one to accept. The berries were big and ripe and sweet, and warm with the warmth of the pleasant June day. It was still and hot there in the sun, with no sound except the booming of the surf along the shore, and the shrill call of a katydid in the hedge at Billy’s elbow.
The glittering sea stretched out on each side of them, for Captain Saulsby’s garden lay along the point that formed the northernmost end of Appledore Island. A coasting schooner, her decks piled high with new, yellow lumber, came beating into the wind on one side of the rocky headland, finally doubled it and, spreading her sails wing-and-wing, went skimming away before the breeze. Billy, whose whole knowledge of boats included only canoes and square, splashing Mississippi River steamers, sat back on his heels watching, open-mouthed, as the graceful craft sped off as easily as a big bird.
“Say, young fellow, your aunt will be waiting a long time for those berries,” was Captain Saulsby’s drawling reminder that brought him back to his senses. He blushed, recollected quickly that he was the boy who hated the Island of Appledore and everything belonging to it, and fell to picking strawberries again with his back to the schooner. The little katydid began to sing again.
“That’s a queer fellow, that Johann Happs,” the old sailor remarked reflectively as he sat watching Billy’s vigorous industry. “He is a German; at least his father was, although Johann was born in this country and is as American as any one of us. He is as honest and straightforward a boy as I have ever known and has been a friend of mine as long as I have lived here. But there is something wrong with him lately that he is keeping from me. I wish I could manage to guess what it is.”
“Did you say he mends clocks for a living?” Billy asked. He decided that he would not betray Johann’s secret, little as he knew of it, and much as he desired to learn more.
“No, clock-mending is his recreation, not his business. He is a mechanic, and a good faithful worker, but when he wants to be really happy he just gets hold of a bunch of old rusty wheels and weights, that hasn’t run for twenty years, and works at them by the hour. To see him tinkering would show you where his real genius is. He gave me a clock that belonged to his father, a queer old thing with gold roses on the face and with wooden wheels, but it runs like a millionaire’s watch. He comes around once in so often to see if it is doing its duty, and has six fits if it has lost a second in a couple of weeks. He’s a queer fellow.”
“Then he isn’t a fisherman,” commented Billy. “I thought that every one who lived on the Island was that.”
“Almost every one is, except that boy and me,” answered the Captain. “No, Johann isn’t a fisherman, but you never saw any one in your life who can sail a boat the way he can. That’s his little craft anchored off the point there; she’s the very apple of his eye. Just see how he keeps her; I do believe he would give her a new coat of paint every week if he could afford it. He’s surely proud of her! He was so happy with her a little while back that I can’t understand what has come over him now.”
He sat staring at the little boat, until Billy finally had filled his boxes and had risen to his feet.