On a windy July morning, the Amy Anderson stormed up Halifax harbor and came to an anchor in the stream. McKenzie went ashore and got Caleb Heneker on the telephone and was over-joyed when that worthy told him to deliver his cargo to a certain Agent and pay off. The schooner would load dry fish in Halifax later in the month and sail for Demerara, and if he cared to do so, he could take her down when ready. Next day, late in the afternoon, Donald drove into Eastville, and slipping along the hill road, he got home before any of the town’s-people were aware of his arrival.
“And Donny, my son,” said his mother, after the welcoming and exchange of news, “they’re planning a public reception to you for that rescue. It was a wonderfully brave thing you did that night, laddie—” And she chatted joyfully in the same strain, but Donald wasn’t listening. He was thinking of just how soon he could call upon Ruth Nickerson.
“Have I any decent clothes, Mother?” he asked suddenly—interrupting her in the middle of an announcement of what the Ladies’ Aid were proposing to do.
“Only an old suit, dear,” she replied. “Your best suit you left on the wreck—”
He rose and patted her on the shoulder. “Then, Mother dear, if you will be sweet enough to give it a bit of a press while I’m cleaning up, I’ll wear it.”
After supper, he kissed his mother. “I’m going down the road, Mater dear—”
Mrs. McKenzie gave a knowing smile. “Oh, yes, laddie, and you might give my regards to Ruth and tell her I hope she’s feeling better.” Donald blushed under his tan. “Who said I was going to see Ruth?” he asked confusedly. The mother turned him around and gently pushed him through the door. “Run along, Donny,” she said with a laugh. “You can’t hide anything from your mother. Give her my love!”
Ruth was not at home when he called, but Mrs. Nickerson thought she had taken a walk in the direction of the Cape. For several precious minutes the old lady detained him to talk about the wreck (Donald was inwardly damning the wreck) but at last he managed to break away by saying he would stroll along and meet Ruth and come home with her. As soon as he was out of sight from the houses, he broke into a run.
He spied her at last, in the half-light of declining day, sitting on the grass alone and watching the sea. It was in his favorite spot in the little hollow behind the head-land, and he trotted up behind her—his foot-falls making no sound on the green sod. A short space away from where she sat with her face turned away from him, he stopped and cried softly, “Ruth!”
She was on her feet in an instant and facing him—her cheeks flaming rose and a wonderful light in her deep blue eyes. “Donald!” Sweet and low the name sounded from her lips and his heart thrilled. He advanced towards her and took her hand. “Will we sit down again?”