"I don't report no derelicts!" shouted John from aloft. John Thomas was an unsmiling humorist and the idol of the undemonstrative crew. He had seen the girl's approach and was ready with his answer.
Then Janet went across the sand hill to Billy's little house. Inside all was as neat and trim as a ship's cabin. Billy ate with the men at the Station, but the tiny kitchen was ready for Janet whenever she came as, also, was the orderly bedchamber beyond the living room. Billy kept to his lean-to, when away from the government house. The rooms were too stifling for the girl. She could not bear the loneliness that only empty houses have; she went out and sat upon the sand dune on the ocean side. It was never lonely in the big open world! Presently small things caught and held her excited mind. Far out a sail was passing beyond the bar, and away—where? Then a gull swooped low in wide free circles, and passed—whither? Closer at hand, the stiff grass, stirred by the wind, made perfect circles upon the white sand. Deeper and deeper the grass cut until there were little ditches, and then the sand fell in, and the patient grass, guided by the unseen power, began again. Janet's unrest found peace in these small happenings. This was home. Safety and Billy would soon come and gather her into the strong stillness of love!
"I told him I was afraid of the city folks; and he laughed!" she whispered, "but they've caught, or they have nearly caught, Billy's poor fish!" She flung her head up with an air of defiance. Whatever came, she must meet it as Billy had taught her to meet the storms of childish passion.
Suddenly she became aware of a sound behind her. She turned, and there was Billy! The surpriser was taken by surprise.
"My Cap'n!" Janet rushed to him and flung her arms about him.
"Hold there!" he cried, "I'm all over isters, Janet; isters an' eelgrass an' water!"
"Never mind, Cap'n Daddy, you are you! I am never going to leave you. I've come home!" In her raptures she had shaken Billy's hat off, and now stooped to pick it up. "I'm going to be an oysterer myself, or some other man-thing that will help. But, Cap'n Daddy, I'm going to tie up close to you!"
Billy was in nowise deceived by this loving outburst. He had kept guiltily away from the girl with the knowledge he knew he must impart to her some day. Mark Tapkins had informed him of the artist's departure; and that, together with Susan Jane's death and funeral, had given Billy, never before cowardly, a time of grace. But he knew that his girl had come to him in some trouble. Every expression of the dear face was known to him, and he was ready to throw out the line of help as soon as the signal was sure.
"Janet," he said, "I'll fetch a mess of somethin' from the Station an' we'll take it together. You lay out the table same as ye use t'. Ye might happen t' like t' fry up some isters. I've had oncommon luck; an' ye allus sot considerable store by the first isters."
"The very thought of them makes me hungry! Hurry, Cap'n Daddy; I want you right close!"