"Ye can't knock a woman down. Ain't there some one else that I kin begin on?"
"Well, it's kind o' common talk. Floatin' round like eelgrass up the creek. I s'pose it's sunk int' some kind of bottom of fact, as t' who started the rumor, but it's jest slippin' around now, on top."
"'T is, hey? Well, 't ain't the fust time I've clutched eelgrass an' tore it from its muddy bottom. That gal," Davy pointed a trembling finger dune-ward, where the Comrade was bobbing over the roughening water,—"that gal ain't goin' t' be soiled by any slime if I know it. She b'longs t' Billy an' me, an' by thunder! we can sail her bark fur her when her little hand grows tired on the tiller!"
Mark was wiping his eyes. Davy had made him feel himself a blackguard, but he could not see just where he had erred. Davy, however, took small heed of Mark.
"I'm goin' down t' get dinner!" he said suddenly, "an' I ain't goin' t' foller, 'cause she's goin' t' Billy an' there ain't no call I should inflict myself on 'em. But I'm goin' visitin' in the village this afternoon,"—he nodded ominously,—"I'm goin' t' pay up some o' my funeral calls. I hope I ain't goin' t' cause any more funerals, but it all depends on how bad the disease is!"
Mark's inclination was to hold Davy back from his march of devastation, but he felt his impotence.
"Onct you put Davy on the scent," he whimpered, as he listened to the keeper's departing footsteps, "you might as well give up. Davy's a turrible one fur runnin' down the game. Nation! I hope he won't fall foul o' Maud Grace an' fling her at her mother!" The cold perspiration rose to Mark's forehead. "Nation! I wish I hadn't mentioned Mrs. Jo G. I wish t' gracious I'd laid the hull blamed business t' Pa, fur Pa kin stand it bein' so soft-like."
Janet reached the dunes in good time, but the distance had never seemed so long before. The throbbing, hurt heart outstripped the faithful little Comrade doing its best before the favoring wind. Every tack seemed a mile, and a fever rose in the blood of the silent girl at the tiller.
She had time to think. She had time to grow old during that passage. One figure stood out alone from the confused tangle—her mother! Around that form much centred! She must know all—all, about her mother.
She must not break upon Billy with her startling news. Billy was so easily driven into an impenetrable silence! She must draw him out by old familiar methods and not frighten him into caution. By the time the Comrade was fastened to the Station wharf, the girl had got herself well in hand. The men of the crew who were not sleeping were engaged indoors, a lonely stillness brooded over all. Janet went up to the government house and looked in at the open door facing the ocean.