“Yo’ recollect that Mr. Wixon stayed, and, what’s more, Mis’ Wixon, she changed, too. She stopped peckin’ about suthin’ all the time an’ tried to figure out what she could do to make her home happy, an’ she did it, Grand-dad. I reckon that little ol’ shack o’ the Wixons is the happiest home on the dunes.” Then, taking up her knife and fork, she added: “I cal’late that’s what the Good Book means, just trustin’ an’ bein’ happy-hearted like a child.”
An hour later Captain Ezra stood at the top of the steep steps leading down the cliff and watched while his “gal” rowed the dory over toward the mainland.
The girl looked up at the first buoy and waved to the one she loved most in all the world.
Little Sol was down on the wharf, and with him were several small boys and girls, rather unkempt, rough mannered little creatures, for the wives of the fishermen hadn’t much money to spend and the children were permitted to grow up as untutored as water rats. When Rilla landed they ran to her with arms outstretched. “Rilly, Rilly,” they clamored, “be tellin’ us a story ’bout the mermaid that lived in a cave an——”
“An’ how the tail on her changed to two legs an’ she was married to a prince,” the oldest among them concluded. Many a time Muriel had told them this story.
“I reckon I haven’t time today,” Rilla said with a quick glance at the sun. Then suddenly she thought of something. In her basket there were two packages. In the larger one there were cakes for Uncle Barney. That could not be touched. But in the smaller one there were cakes which she had planned leaving at the Mullet cottage for Gene. After all, it was hardly fair when he had all the goodies he wished and these raggedy children almost never had anything but fish and potatoes. “I cal’late I have time to be givin’ yo’ each a little cake,” Muriel announced.
Placing her basket on a roll of tarred rope, she opened the smaller package and passed around the crispy little cakes and when she saw the glow in the eyes that looked up at her she was glad of her decision. “Now we’ll be learnin’ the manners,” she laughingly told the children, who gazed at her with wide-eyed wonder. “Each of yo’ be makin’ a bow and say, ‘Thank you, Rilly.’”
A fine lady had come to Windy Island the summer before to visit the light and with her had been a fairy-like girl of seven. Muriel had been baking cakes that day and had given her one. To her surprise, the child had made the prettiest curtsy and had said, “Thank you, Miss Muriel.”
Whatever strange thing Rilla might ask the children to do they would at least attempt it, and so, holding fast with grimy fingers to the precious cakes, they watched the older girl as she showed them how to curtsy. Then they tried to do likewise, the while they piped out, “Thank yo’, Rilly!”
“Now, dearies, allays do that arter yo’ve been given anythin’ nice,” she bade them. “Ye-ah, Rilly, we-uns will,” was the reply that followed her. But it was rather muffled, for the cakes were being hungrily devoured.