Luckily Rilla’s back was turned as she hurriedly pared potatoes for the frying. If her grand-dad had seen her face at that moment his suspicions would indeed have been aroused. When she did turn with the black iron spider to put upon the stove, she was greatly relieved to see that the old captain was removing his second boot and that he did not mean to carry out his threat to visit the cave.
“Grand-dad,” she began, hoping to lead his thoughts into other channels, “was thar anythin’ new as yo’ heard of in town?”
One might have supposed by his sudden explosive ejaculation that the new channel into which his thoughts had turned was not a pleasant one.
“Ye-ah, by thunder!” he said. “One of those good-for-nothin’ city fellars landed in Tunkett last night, so Mis’ Sol was sayin’, though what he’s doin’ ’round here at this time o’ the year nobody knows. I sure sartin was plaguey glad yo’d stayed anchored here on Windy Island. I don’t want yo’ to run afoul of any city folks—gals neither—with hifalutin’ notions; they’re all a parcel o’——” The old man’s speech was interrupted by a crash. Rilla had dropped a dish, an unheard-of proceeding, for she was as sure-fingered as she was sure-footed usually. Luckily the china was thick and apparently unbreakable.
“The grub’s ready, Grand-dad,” she said, as she poured into his cup the strong, steaming tea. The old man was pleased to note how little interest his “gal” took in the despised city folks, and he beamed across the table at her as he continued: “Sho now, Rilly, here’s some news on a dif’rent tack. Cap’n Barney’s laid up in drydock with rheumatics. Like’s not he won’t be able to navigate that craft o’ his for a week or two.”
The girl’s face paled. “Oh, Grand-dad, I’m that sorry,” she said, but her thought was inquired: “How can that city chap get to the mainland if Cap’n Barney don’ take him?”
Rilla had no other intimate friends among the fishermen who would be passing that evening on their homeward way from the Outer Ledge where they went at dawn each day after cod.
Captain Barney she loved next to her grand-dad, for had he not helped bring her up? One of her earliest recollections was of that kindly Irishman holding her on his knee and telling her wonderful tales of fairy folk who lived on that far away and dearly loved Emerald Isle where his boyhood had been spent. Never had the girl wearied of listening to tales of the mermaids who dwelt in caves under the cliffs and of the “Little Folk” who went about among the peat cabins helping the peasants.
“But thar’s nothin’ the loike of thim over here,” old Cap’n Barney would end, with a sigh, “lest be it’s you, Rilly lass.”
When the noon meal was over, Captain Ezra pushed back his chair. “Wall, fust mate, I reckon I’ll cruise down to the shanty for a spell an’ overhaul the kit. Holler if ye need me.” Rilla, with rapidly beating heart, stood in the open door and watched her grand-dad as he slowly descended the steep stairs leading to the little wharf near which bobbed the anchored dory. About twenty feet up the beach was the shanty in which Cap’n Ezra kept his fishing tackle and the supplies for the lighthouse.