When the quartette toiled up the steep beach-gravel path to the steps of the house, Captain Nickerson jumped lightly on to the verandah and clasped his mother in his strong arms. She was a silver-haired, rosy cheeked little woman of about the same age as her husband, but she showed none of his phlegmatic greeting when she hugged and kissed her roving, sea-bronzed son. While the mother claimed his arm and cheek on one side, Ruth, a dark-haired, pretty girl of sixteen or seventeen, hung around his neck on the other and Judson was literally “boarded” with welcoming salutations “port and starboard.” “Oh, Juddy, my boy, I’m glad you’re home,” cried the mother with joy in her eyes. “How fine and well you look——”
“And I’m glad too, Juddy!” exclaimed Ruth retaining her clasp around her brother’s neck and punctuating her welcome with kisses. “I’ve been up since four this morning getting your room in order and fixing up your clothes, and I’ve made you a big plate-full of fudge, Juddy—”
Donald stood at a respectful distance watching the reunion with odd thoughts. Judson seemed to show up in still another light. The hard-fisted, swaggering and domineering mate of the Kelvinhaugh ... hugged and kissed by a dear little mother and a sweet little sister and caressing them affectionately in return! One would have thought that a man like Nickerson would scorn these things. And Ruth Nickerson! Donald was much interested in her. He was going to be made acquainted with her. He had not spoken to a girl for almost a year, and he had not fraternized with the sex since disaster overtook the McKenzie family and his social circle was swept away with it. He had yearned, many times, to have a girl to whom he could write and tell of the things he was seeing and experiencing. He hungered for a girl’s company. He idealized them in a clean, manly way, and the rough immoral talk of his shipmates on the subject of girls always jarred on his sensitive nature. Before he even met her, Donald was hoping that Ruth Nickerson would prove “chummy.” Her face, figure and manner had already charmed him wherein he showed himself a genuine sailor by falling half in love with the first girl he met.
“Come up, boys. I want you to meet my mother and sister.” Captain Nickerson swung around with an arm encircling his mother’s and sister’s waists. “Mother—this is Donald McKenzie and John McGlashan.” Donald clasped her hand and bowed; Joak made a respectful salute by touching his forelock. “And this is my sister Ruth—John McGlashan and Donald McKenzie!” In this case, Joak shook the girl’s hand murmuring, “Pleased tae meet, ye, Miss!” while McKenzie, overcome by shyness and almost reverential awe, bowed and stammered an acknowledgement of the introduction. Ruth gave both lads a casual glance from her sparkling blue eyes and led her prodigal brother into the house. “Nice wee lassie——” whispered Joak, but Donald scowled. He wished he had some respectable clothes and a collar on.
“Step right in, my sons,” boomed old Mr. Nickerson. “Make yerselves to home an’ don’t stand on ceremony—” And his wife looked back and chimed in. “That’s right, Enos. Show the boys their room. We’ll have breakfast right away.”
Up in the large airy bed-room with its huge wooden bed and old fashioned furniture and numerous picked-rag carpets, Donald washed and surveyed his rough clothing. “I wish the Skipper had given me a chance to get some new gear,” he remarked regretfully. “I feel like a tramp in these rags.”
Joak laughed and gave his friend a malicious glance. “Och, I wadna worry aboot yer claes. Miss Nickerson’ll fa’ in love wi’ ye withoot yer bein’ a dude. That’s what’s makin’ ye sae parteecular ... th’ wee lassie!” Noting the scowl on his chum’s face, he changed the subject. “It’s a bonny place this, an’ this hoose wad cost a big rent in Glesca. Wha’ wad have thought Cap’en Nickerson had a hame like this? I thought he was gaun tae take up tae yin o’ them fishermen’s shacks in the woods yonder!” And he stared around the spacious bed-chamber with appreciative eyes.
They went down to the dining-room—a lofty apartment and furnished with heavy walnut and maple furniture of antique make. The woodwork and doors were painted a dull white, and Donald’s artistic eye was entranced with the simple Colonial design of architraves and panelling of doors and china cabinets. A large square table was already laid with the breakfast, and Donald found himself seated opposite Ruth Nickerson and with the old shipbuilder and his wife at the ends of the board.
It was a merry feasting—a meal which McKenzie enjoyed silently in being once more in the environment of a home with white linen, silver and china and womenfolks. It was like picking up the thread of a life one has missed for many months. Nickerson must be feeling that way also, thought Donald, for in his Skipper he now saw a man he had never known before. The saturnine Judson; he of the Olympian air, scathing vocabulary and truculent disposition of Kelvinhaugh days had vanished, and there now appeared a laughing, teasing, joking young sailor with nice table manners and language, which, while idiomatic, was faultlessly correct. The stern lines had completely disappeared from his bronzed face, and he looked as young as his age.