I was thinking of how the time had flown and of the many things that had happened since first I set foot in Golden Crescent, not so much as a short year ago.
Already a month had slipped by since I had wished good-bye to little Rita,—happy, merry, little, laughing Rita,—and her great, handsome giant of a husband, Joe; holding the end of the rope ladder for them, from my rowing boat, as they clambered aboard the Siwash, at the start of their six months' honeymoon trip of pleasure and sight-seeing.
What an itinerary that big, boyish fellow had arranged for the sweet, little woman he had won!—Vancouver, Victoria, Seattle, San Francisco, Los Angeles, all the big cities in the States right through to New York, then back again over the Great Lakes, across the Western Prairies, up over the Rockies and home:—home to the pretty bungalow that was already well on the way toward completion, out there on the promontory just below their grand-dad's place.
A warning toot from the Cloochman awoke me from my reveries. I ran to my small boat and pulled out as she came speeding into the Bay.
There was little cargo, and less mail—one single letter. But what a wonder of wonders that letter was! It was for me, and, oh! how my heart beat! It was in the handwriting I had seen only a few months before but had learned to know so well.
I tore the envelope into pieces in my haste to be at the contents.
Dear George, it ran,
Reta and Joe (Mr. & Mrs. Clark) called to see me. If you only could see the happiness of them, how you would rejoice! knowing that you had brought it all about.
Every day from now, look for me at the little cottage across the rustic bridge; for, some day, I shall be there. Golden Crescent is ever in my thoughts.
Good-bye for the present, my brave and very gallant gentleman.