Muriel had taught him that he must be very quiet when she was feeding the birds, but when she tossed the crumpled bag out upon the breeze and stood watching it fall into the sea, Shags seemed to know that he need be still no longer. Leaping to his feet, he joined his mistress and then together they raced along on the top of the cliff to the side of the island nearest the town. Again the girl paused, this time shading her eyes as she gazed out over the dancing blue waters.
“Thar’s a sail comin’, Shagsie, ol’ dog,” she said, “but that’s nothin’ onusual. ’Pears like I’m ’spectin’ somethin’ to happen every day, when it used to be nothin’ ever happened, much, that was different. I cal’late that it’s some fisherman late in startin’ for the Outer Ledge. Sam Peters, like as not. He’s powerful shiftless when it comes to gettin’ started.”
But, nevertheless, as the girl sauntered around the top of the cliff and toward the light, she glanced often at the sailboat which seemed to be bearing directly toward Windy Island.
At last her expression of hopeful eagerness changed to one of radiant certainty. “Shagsie,” she cried exultantly, “it is little Sol’s boat, arter all. I reckon he’s fetchin’ some mail. Come on, ol’ dog. Let’s race to the dock.”
The girl and dog ran joyfully along the top of the cliff, but at the top of the steep flight of stairs that led to the beach Rilla paused and looked intently at the boat, which, ahead of a brisk wind, was scudding into port.
“Thar’s some-un else in it,” she said in a low voice, “and—and, oh-o, Shagsie, it is Gene Beavers. He’s come!”
The passenger in little Sol’s sailboat was indeed the lad whom Rilla had expected. When he landed on the small and mossy dock over which the waves often washed he was met by a girl whose beautiful face reminded him of sunrise, so radiant was the expression shining there, but, after little Sol had been paid and told to return promptly at five, the girl’s joy at the arrival of her friend changed to alarm when she noted how very pale he was.
“Yo’ oughtn’t to’ve made the v’yage yet, I reckon,” she said. “Yo’ look all tuckered out. Why did Uncle Lem let yo’ come so soon? Yo’d ought t’ be in bed still, that’s whar yo’d ought t’ be, Gene Beavers.”
“Storm Maiden, stop scolding me! A fine welcome you’re giving me. I thought—I hoped that you might be pleased to see me, and now I’m almost afraid that you’re going to set your dog on me.” This was said teasingly, but it was answered by a reproachful expression in the clear hazel eyes of the girl.
Then, as Captain Ezra, at that moment, appeared at the top of the steep steps, the lad went up two at a time, perhaps with some idea of showing Muriel how strong he really was, but he had overestimated his strength, for when the top was reached the captain’s strong arms were all that kept him from falling.