"Like as not, but when that time comes, Janet'll take the tiller without any fuss. That's the way she's built."
"Like as not."
Over on the mainland, James B. was comfortably happy. With the closing of Bluff Head, his unmistakable duty ended. He could take no other job while waiting for Billy's delayed surrender, and he could loaf at the village store or sleep behind his own kitchen stove in virtuous comfort. He was at peace with the world and had no desire to see Billy resign from the crew in his favor.
Social functions grew apace as winter clutched the coast in real earnest. The donation party was a brilliant success—from the congregation's point of view. They had a good time and made deep inroads into the provisions they had brought, leaving the cleaning up for the minister's wife. Christmas festivities lightened the time, too, and for a space made the hard-working men and women as gay as little children. Several travelling entertainments later had shown a fraternal spirit and "stopped over" at Quinton. They were always generously patronized and left a ripple of excitement behind them. One inspired some of the young people of the place to start a dramatic society. It began with an energy that threatened to swamp all other social and religious functions. After many rehearsals a play was announced, and the entire population turned out in force. The play was given in Deacon Thomas's parlor, because that had a rear room opening into it that could be used as a stage, but one scenic touch in the stage property doomed the aspiring artists to defeat and the society to annihilation.
A donkey was required in the play. No one had genius nor ambition enough to create an entire one, but a very realistic head was constructed, and this, fastened to a broomstick and thrust forward at the psychological moment, produced a startling and thrilling effect. The audience was stirred to its depth. Most of the young people were either on the stage or behind the curtain; but the few who were in the audience broke into cheers, which were quickly quelled by Deacon Thomas, whose son John had led the applause. He bent forward and gripped Deacon Farley by the shoulder.
"Silas!" he said, "I don't see anythin' sinful in the speakin' part, but that animal is too much like a theayter!"
That was the battle cry of defeat. The "theayter," to Quinton, was as pernicious as a bullfight would have been to a Puritan.
Janet, who was accountable for the donkey head, felt a real disappointment in the downfall of the dramatic society. It had appealed to her artistic, imaginative nature. In it she saw a glimmer of enjoyment which all the other village pastimes lacked. She loved dancing, but, without knowing why, she disliked to dance with the young men of the place. With the yearning of youth for popularity and companionship she felt the growing conviction that she was outside the inner circle. Davy had closed the lips of idle gossipers, but even he was unable to open the hearts of suspicious neighbors. The girl longed to draw to herself human love and loyalty, but her every attempt failed.
"Davy," she said with a deep sigh, "I reckon I'm just a bungler. Everything I do seems wrong. I'm afraid,"—and here she grew dreamy,—"I'm afraid I'm like the poor poplars. I see over the dunes. I see too much, and I frighten others."
"'T ain't overwise, Janet," mused Davy through the tobacco smoke, "to get t' thinkin' what ye are an' what ye ain't. Let other folks do that. Jest be somethin'."