CHAPTER XXII
Dr. Johnson to Mrs. Charlotte Johnson
Dearest Mother:
You will rejoice to know that your son is now a happy man. At one time the wrecking of the old Chandernagore bade fair to make me despair of ever being able to justify the sacrifices you underwent to help me with my education. And now things look so bright and splendid that I can scarcely believe the marvelous luck that has befallen me.
Dr. Grant is strong and well again. He is a fine fellow who has been doing great work in this place, and I have actually been chosen to continue it during his absence of a few months. Mr. Jelliffe and he sent for me, a few days ago, after I returned from a trip to a near outport to see a sick woman, and asked me if I were willing to undertake it. They also said that they were about to build a small hospital here, and that there would doubtless be work enough for two men during most of the year. They offered me a steady compensation sufficient to mean surcease from worry and an opportunity to take a little care of you at last. And the best part of it all lies in the character of the work, which is a fine one, and in the delightful people I shall be associated with. Mrs. Barnett is a woman whom you would dearly love, and her husband is of the pick of men. Dr. Grant will spend the greater part of the year here, and Sweetapple Cove is bustling with the changes that are taking place. A big schooner-load of lumber has just arrived, with a few workmen, to begin at once rearing the new hospital and the house the Grants are to build for themselves.
I am alone now, for the beautiful Snowbird has gone away, followed by fervent wishes for her safe journey home.
Very early yesterday little two-masted smacks began to arrive from neighboring outports, and the tiny harbor was crowded with them. They fluttered out all their poor little bits of bunting, gaily, and the visitors wore their best clothes. I doubt if so great a holiday ever took place before in this part of the island. The Snowbird, from bowsprit to topmasts, and down again to the end of the long main-boom, was bright with waving signals and pennants.
The people were crowding on the little road, to see the bride come forth on the arm of her father. Visions had come to me of her all in white, as all brides were clad whom I have ever seen before. But she appeared in her garments of every day, as if she needed no finery to make her more beautiful in the eyes of all. You should have seen her, little mother! A wonderful woman indeed, straight and fairly tall, with frank, friendly eyes that always look straight at one. Her voice has also notes that can be of exquisite tenderness, as I heard them in that poor little hut of Frenchy's. Her hair is a great, fine, chestnut mass in which are blended the most perfect hues of auburns and rich browns. And withal she is exquisitely simple in her manner, utterly unaffected, and her laughter carries joy with it into the hearts of others. The people here simply adore her, from the youngest child to the most tottering old dame. And I am sure they love her not only for herself but also in gratitude for the happiness she is bestowing upon a man who has long ago made his way into their hearts.
She had insisted upon being married in this humble village, among the fishermen who had learnt to cherish her and her husband-to-be, and when we reached the little church it was already full to overflowing. People stood on tiptoe at the open windows, and crowded at the door. We all stood when she arrived with Mr. Jelliffe, and she walked to the little altar with smiles and friendly nods to all.
And then the service began, and Mr. Barnett was manifestly pale with emotion. At first his voice was just the least bit husky, but soon it cleared as the majestic words fell from his lips.