“Whatever happens, they must be paid,” Jimmy declared.
“Yes,” agreed Moran, who seldom expressed his opinion except on nautical matters; “that’s a sure thing!”
“How would it do to ask them to a picnic on one of the islands?” Bethune suggested. “It would be an afternoon’s outing, and it’s generally smooth water here. I shouldn’t imagine Mrs. Jaques gets many holidays.”
The others thought it a good idea; and when the sloop was refitted and ready for sea, Bethune put his suggestion into practice. His guests were pleased to come, and with a moderate breeze rippling the blue water, they ran up the straits in brilliant sunshine. Jimmy laid a cushion for Mrs. Jaques near the wheel, and her rather pale face lighted up when he asked if she would steer. He saw that she knew how by the way she held the spokes.
“This is delightful!” she exclaimed, as they sped on swiftly. “I used to go sailing now and then at Toronto, but all the time we have lived here I’ve never been on the water.”
She glanced in a half-wistful manner at the sparkling sea. A gentle surf made a snowy fringe along the shingle beach, and beyond that dark pinewoods rolled back among the rocks toward blue, distant peaks. Overhead, the tall, white topsail swayed with a measured swing across the cloudless sky. Silky threads of ripples streamed back from the bows, and along the Cetacea’s side there was a drowsy gurgle and lapping of water.
“You’re to be envied when you sail away,” Mrs. Jaques said, with something that was almost a sigh. “Still, it isn’t all sunshine and smooth water in the North.”
“By no means,” Jimmy assured her. “I can think of a number of occasions when I’d gladly have exchanged the sloop for your back room, or, for that matter, for a yard or two of dry ground.”
“One can imagine it,” she laughed. “Well, you have to face the gale and fog, while we try not to be beaten by Jefferson and to meet our bills. I don’t know which is the harder.”
Jimmy felt compassionate. She was young, but she had a careworn look, and he surmised that she found life difficult in the primitive wooden town. It seemed to be all work and anxious planning with her; there was something pathetic in the keen pleasure she took in her rare holiday.