Uncle William, outside the door, looked at the sky and the harbor, with the mackerel fleet sailing on it—and at the Jennie rocking below. Then his eye traveled, half guiltily, over the moor toward Benjy’s, and back.... “Best kind o’ weather,” he murmured. “No kind o’ day to—” He took a step toward Benjy’s house—another, and another, and moved briskly off up the road. Suddenly he turned, as if a hand had been laid on his shoulder, and strode toward the rocky path that led to the beach. A big smile held his face. “—No kind o’ day to paint,” he said softly as he dragged the dory to the water’s edge and shoved off. Five minutes later the Jennie had hoisted anchor and was off to the fleet. Benjy, painting with Gunnion up in the new house, looked out now and then from the window as if hoping to see a big figure rolling toward him along the white road.
Celia, in the little house on the cliff, brought a roll of cloth from the shelf over the sink and undid it slowly. Inside was a large pair of scissors. She smiled a little as she took them up and spread out the cloth. It was a great garment, the size and shape of Uncle William. Sitting by the window, where the breeze blew in from the water, her thimble flew in the light. Now and then she glanced far out where the boats sailed. Then her eyes returned to her needle and she sewed with swift stitches... a little smile came and went on her face as the breeze came and went on the water outside.
XXII
IN the clear morning light the mackerel fleet stood out against the horizon. Only one boat had not gone out—a dark one, green with crimson lines and gold along her prow. The girl on the beach looked at it curiously as she selected her fish from the dory, transferring them to the pan held high in the hollow of her arm. The silver scales gleamed in the sun—lavender, green and blue, and violet-black, as she lifted them, in running lines of light. The salt tang in the air and the little wind that rippled the water touched her face. She lifted it with a quick breath and looked out to the mackerel fleet upon the sea.... Uncle William had promised to take her—some day. She returned again to her fish, selecting them with quick, scrutinizing glance.... A shadow fell across the pan and she looked up. The young man had paused by the dory—and was regarding her with sombre eyes.
The little curls shook themselves and she stood up. “Aren’t you going out?”
The sombre eyes transferred themselves to the sky. “By and by—maybe—no hurry.” He smiled down at her, and the blood in her cheeks quickened.
“Everybody else has gone—” She waved an impatient hand at the distant fleet that sailed the horizon.
“I haven’t gone,” he said. He continued to study the sky with serene gaze.