And so it came to pass that a little blue signal was hoisted at the top of the white tower, and fluttered there bravely in sun and wind. And every time the Huntress went thundering by (which was twice a week at this season instead of every day), Bob Peet looked out anxiously from the wheel-house window, and seeing the little banner, took cheer, and rubbed his hands and said, “Cap'n's all right so far!”
And Captain January, whenever there came the clutch and stab at his heart, and the struggle for breath, which he had felt for the first time that September day (but ah! how many times since, and with what increasing persistence!) would creep to the stairway beside which hung the signal lines, and lay his hand on them, and wait: then, when the spasm passed, would pass his hand across his face and humbly say, “Whenever it seems right, Lord! A step nearer! and Thou havin' the child in mind,” and so go cheerfully about his work again.
There were not many more steps to take. Spring came, and the little meadow was green again. Robins and bluebirds fluttered above the great pine-tree, and swallows built their nests under the eaves of the tower itself. The child Star sang with the birds, and danced with the dancing leaves, all unconscious of what was coming; but the old Captain's steps grew slower and heavier, day by day, and the cheery voice grew feeble, and lost its hearty ring, though never its cheeriness. “I'll set here in the porch, Jewel Bright,” he would say, when the child begged him to come for a scramble on the rocks. “I think I'll jest set here, where I can see ye an' hear to ye. I'm gittin' lazy, Star Light; that's the truth. Yer old Daddy's gittin' lazy, and it's comf'tabler settin' here in the sun, than scramblin' round the rocks.”
And Star would fling herself on his neck, and scold and caress him, and then go off with a half-sense of disappointment to her play. Very, very careful Captain January had to be, lest the child should suspect that which he was determined to keep from her to the last. Sometimes he half thought she must suspect, so tender was she in these days; so thoughtful, so mindful of his lightest wish. But “'tis only the woman growin' up in her,” he decided; and looking back, he remembered that she had not once broken his pipe (as she had been used to do every three or four weeks, in her sudden rages) since last September.
At last there came a day when the Captain did not even go out to the porch. It was a lovely May morning, bright and soft, with wreaths of silvery fog floating up from the blue water, and much sweet sound of singing birds and lapping waves in the air. Making some pretence of work at his carpenter's bench, the old man sent Star out to loose the cow and lead her to the water; and when she was gone, he tottered to his old chair and sat down heavily. There was no pain now, only a strange numbness, a creeping coldness, a ringing in the ears. If it might “seem right” to let him wait till the Huntress came by! “It's nearly time,” he said, half aloud. “Nearly time, and 'twould be easier for the child.”
At this moment, through the open doorway, came the silver sound of Star's voice. “But I don't think there can be any harm in my just telling you a little about it, Imogen. And the floor is the paved work of a sapphire: sapphire is a stone, just like the water over there, in the bluest place, and oh! so clear and bright, Daddy says. He saw one once. And there will be most beautiful music, Imogen. Oh! you can't think what lovely music Daddy Captain will play on a harp. I know he will, 'cause he will be a spirit of just men made perfect: and that will be a great thing, Imogen; for he has never known how to play on anything before: and—” Ah! the sweet, childish prattle! but already it was growing faint upon the old man's ears.
“Star Bright!” he called; and the dancing shape came flying, and stood on tiptoe in the doorway. Steady, now, January! keep your voice steady, if there is any will left in you. Keep your head turned a little away, lest there be any change in your face, yet not turned enough to make her wonder. “Star Bright,” said Captain January, “it's about—time—for the Huntress—to be along, isn't it?”
“Yes, Daddy,” said the child; “she's just in sight now. Shall I go down and wave to Bob as he goes by?”
“Yes, Honeysuckle,” said the old man. “And—and wait to see if he comes ashore. I think—likely—Bob'll come ashore to-day. He was goin' to bring—somethin'—for me. Is there a squall comin' up, Jewel Bright?”
“A squall, Daddy?” said the child, wondering. “Why, there isn't a cloud in the sky.”