“Sho now, is that so? I snum yo’ was right, arter all, in yer calcalations, Rilly gal,” the beaming old man said as he descended the circling flight of stairs. “What’s in the message that Lem sent? Is the city fellar——”
“We dunno,” Muriel interrupted. “’Twas Gene Beavers himself as sent the note and he said as it was to be given to no one but just yo’.”
The old sea captain was pleased. The boy was square and aboveboard, that was evident. “Wall,” he said as he reached the ground, “little Sol, hist up the message.”
The small boy thrust his hand in one of his pockets, but drew it empty. “Jumpin’ frogs!” he ejaculated. “If I didn’t go an’ change my jacket arter the city guy give me that letter. I reckon as how I’ll have to go back arter it.” But suddenly his expression changed and he beamed up at them. “By time, I rec’lect now! I stowed it in here for safe keepin’.” As he spoke he removed his cap and took the note from the ragged lining. He handed the envelope to the captain and then started running toward the steps leading to the beach, but the old man recalled him. “Ho, thar, little Sol, lay to a spell. I reckon there may be an answer to go ashore with you.”
The boy returned slowly and the girl eagerly watched the captain as he read the message which the note contained. Muriel knew by the expression in her grandfather’s face that the old-time struggle was going on in his heart, but it didn’t last long.
“Is Gene Beavers a-sittin’ up?” the girl asked.
“’Pears like he is,” Captain Ezra said as he folded the note and placed it in his pocket. “Lem’s writ for you to cruise over to town with little Sol and stay a spell.”
Muriel’s face shone, but, after glancing at the sun, she inquired: “Wouldn’t I better wait till arter mid-day? Who’ll be fryin’ the fish and pertaters for yo’, Grand-dad?”
The old man’s heart rejoiced, for his “gal” was really thinking of him first, after all, but his hearty laughter pealed out as he replied: “When yo’ was a little un who’d yo’ s’pose fried cod for the two of us if ’twa’n’t me? I was steward o’ the lighthouse craft long afore yo’ signed articles to sail along as fust mate.”
Impulsively the girl threw her arms about the neck of the old man and kissed his leathery cheek. She took this opportunity to whisper into his ear: “Yo’re that good to me, Grand-dad! I’ll never be leavin’ you, never, never, never!”