The cliff on which the light had stood the island girl had thought high, but this was a sheer wall of rock that rose twice as far from the water toward the sky. The little pine had grown very dear to the girl who so loved nature, and often she would sit on the ledge, her cheek pressed against the rough bark, her eyes gazing far up the river, seeing not the boats of all kinds that were plying back and forth, hearing not the discordant sounds of screeching tugs or warning whistles, but picturing in memory the island she so loved and the lighthouse standing as it had for so many, many years, and tears gathered in her eyes as, in a dream, she saw her grandfather again as he had looked on that never-to-be-forgotten day, and then suddenly she would sob and hold her arms out, calling, “Grand-dad! Grand-dad, come and get your Rilly gal!” On one of these occasions she had cried herself weary, and for a moment she had slept on the little overhanging ledge. Her grand-dad seemed to come to her and say so plainly that she heard his voice: “Fust mate, didn’t you’n me agree that we’d trust the Skipper at the helm, knowin’ His guidin’ to be for the best?”
“Yeah, Grand-dad,” she said aloud, sitting up and looking about. Then she rose and drew back, shuddering, for she had been very close to the edge of the overhanging ledge. How easy it would be to fall off and—— The girl turned and ran all the way back to the school. That had been the day before and today she was staying indoors, half afraid to visit the ledge.
She sat up and looked toward the door when she heard a knock. “Come in!” she called, leaping to her feet. Her visitor, she supposed, would be either Miss Gordon or the maid of that corridor.
When Muriel saw a strange girl in the hall she felt rebellious, believing that she had called out of unkind curiosity, but Faith held out her right hand as she said graciously: “Miss Storm, I am Faith Morley, one of your schoolmates. I am sorry that I have not been up to see you sooner. Helen Beavers and Gene are dear friends of mine, as perhaps you do not know, and I am convinced that they would wish me to be your friend, too.” Then, feeling that the sentiment could be put in an even more kindly way, she added impulsively: “Truly, I want to be your friend. May I?”
Tears gathered slowly in the clear hazel eyes and the lips that replied quivered: “Thanks, but I dunno why you’d be carin’ for my frien’ship. If you do, though, I’m glad.”
They sat in chairs near each other, and Faith, looking for the first time with eyes that really saw Muriel, decided that she had a most interesting face. There was far more depth of character expressed in it than in many of the pretty doll faces of the pupils at High Cliffs. For one wild second the visitor groped for a subject of conversation that would interest this island girl. Of course she might have gossiped about the other pupils in the school, but Faith had been taught never to talk of persons, but rather of things and events. She now recalled having heard Helen say that Muriel had never been farther inland than Tunkett, while she, Faith, had circled the globe with her parents two years before. Then her eyes fell upon the copy of “Treasure Island,” Muriel’s gift from Gene.
“Do you enjoy that book?” the visitor asked.
“I can’t read,” Muriel replied simply, “but I love the sea an’ the life on it. Cap’n Barney often told me tales of sea adventure an’ Gene Beavers read to me out of this book.”
Faith’s dark eyes lighted. “Oh, Muriel,” she exclaimed, “my father gave me such an interesting book about the sea for my birthday, and I’m reading it now. I’d just love to read it aloud to you if you would enjoy hearing it. Of course it will come in your reading course, in time. Shall I get the book?”
There was real eagerness in Faith’s voice, and also in her heart, for she yearned to help this girl who as yet hadn’t been given a chance.