Then the boy confessed. “But Doctor Winslow does not even know that I came. He was to be gone for a few days and so I—I——”
The old sea captain grunted. “He’ll know soon enough. When little Sol comes, give him a message for his ma to wire back to the big city. Tell Doctor Lem that yo’re goin’ to try Rilla’s nursin’ for a while.”
If there was a twinkle in the grey eyes of the old man, there was also a heaviness in his heart.
CHAPTER XVII.
THE BLUE JEWELS.
Gene Beavers received a night-letter from Doctor Winslow on the following day, and it contained its full quota of words. The sentiment of it was:
“You scamp, you ought to be well chastised for running away, but, after all, Nurse Rilla may be able to do more for you than your old Uncle Lem, so stay as long as Ezra Bassett will keep you. Learn to tend the light so that you may be of use if the need arises.”
“May I?” Gene asked, looking up eagerly from the letter into the face of the old man, who sat near the stove, cap pulled well down over his eyes, smoking hard on his corncob pipe.
There was a struggle going on in the heart of Captain Ezra. Here was one of those city chaps who for years he had hated on general principles settling down in his home, it would seem, to be a boarder for an indefinite length of time. Then another thought presented itself as the captain noticed how frail the lad really was, and he questioned his own heart: “What if ’twas yo’re boy needin’ some-un to help him get strong, Ezra Bassett? How would yo’ want him to be treated? Turned out and let to drift on the rocks, maybe? I snum—No!”
The old man rose and vigorously shook the ashes down from the stove before he replied: “Sure, yo’ can be larnin’ all thar is to know about the light, I reckon, if ’twould interest yo’, son, but Lem knows I’m jealous of that big lamp. I won’t even let Rilly gal polish up the lens.”
The girl, her face flushed from the heat of the stove, where she stood frying fish and potatoes in a big black skillet, laughed over her shoulder as she said: “I reckon Grand-dad loves the lamp better’n he does me, I reckon he does!” Then it was that the expression of infinite tenderness which Gene had noticed before appeared in the eyes of the old man as he replied earnestly: “Thar’s nothin’ this world holds that I love better’n you, fust mate”; then he added, in another tone, “An’, you rascal, you know it.”