"Oh, Joseph," he continued, clasping my hand, "how beautiful it will be, when we get home, now that everything is cleared up! But I haven't quite finished. Sunday, if you remember, Margaret came in late to meeting. While the hymn was being read, she wrote me on a slip of paper that Arthur was gone. I wrote her back, 'Good news.' Afterwards she told me that he came in the night to her bedroom-window to bid her good-bye,—that he had promised her he certainly would do better. Margaret was in better spirits that day than I had seen her for a long while. I thought there had been an explanation between you two. Never fear, Joseph, but that she loves you."
Jamie seemed tired after talking so much, and soon after fell asleep. I crept into the berth underneath him. I felt like creeping somewhere. Sleep was long coming, and no sooner was I unconscious of things about me than I began to dream bad dreams. I thought I was stumbling along in the dark, 'Twas over graves. I fell over a heap of earth, and heard the stones drop down into one newly made. As I was trying to walk away, Margaret came to meet me. "You didn't bid me good-bye," said she, smiling; "but it's not too late now." Then she held out her hand. I took it, but the touch waked me. 'Twas just like a dead hand.
I kept sleeping and waking; and every time I slept, the same dream came to me,—exactly the same. At last I rushed upon deck, sent a man below, and took his place. He was glad to go, and I was glad to be where the wind was blowing and everything in commotion.
The next day I told Jamie my dream. He said it was a lucky one, and he hoped it meant two weddings. So I thought no more of it. I was never superstitious: my mother had taught me better.
We had just started for home, but this gale blew us off our course. Soon after, however, the wind shifted to the eastward, and so kept, for the biggest part of the time, until we sighted Boston Lights. Jamie was nearly well. Still he could not walk much. He was quite lame. The skipper thought some of the small bones of the foot were put out. But Jamie didn't seem to care anything about his feet. He was just as gay as a lark, singing all day.
As soon as we caught sight of The Mountains, we ran up our flag. It was about noon, and the skipper calculated on dropping anchor in the channel by sundown, at the farthest. And so we should, but the wind hauled, and we couldn't lay our course. Tacking is slow work, especially all in sight of home. About ten o'clock in the evening we made Wimple's Creek. Then we had the tide in our favor, and so drifted into the channel. Our bounty wasn't quite out, or we should have gone straight in to the wharf, over everything.
When things were made snug, we pulled ashore in the boat. It being in the night, we went just as we were, in fishermen's rig. 'Twas a wet, drizzly, chilly night, so dark we could hardly make out the landing. We coaxed Jamie to stop under a shed while I went for a horse. I was the only one of the crew who lived beyond the meeting-house. But I had so much to think of, was so happy, thinking I was home again, and that everything would be right, that I never minded being alone. Passing by the graveyard made me remember my dream. "Joseph," said I to myself, "you don't dare walk through there!" 'Twas only a post-and-rail fence, and I sprang over, to show myself I dared do it. I felt noways agitated until I found, that, on account of its being so dark, I was stumbling just as I had dreamed. I kept on, however; for, by going that way, I could reach home by a short cut. When I got behind the meeting-house I nearly fell down over a heap of earth. My fall started a few stones, and I could hear them drop. Then my courage left me. I shook with fear. I hardly had strength to reach the road. That was the first time it occurred to me that I might not find all as I left them.
As I came to dwelling—houses, however, I grew calm again, and even smiled at my foolishness,—or tried to.
Mr. Nathaniel's house came before ours. I saw there was a light in the kitchen, and stepped softly through the back-yard, thinking some one might be sick. The windows were small and high. The curtains were made of house-paper. One of them was not quite let down. I looked in underneath it, and saw two old women sitting by the fire. Something to eat was set out on a table, and the teapot was on the hearth. One stick had broken in two. The smoking brands stood up in the corners. There was just a flicker of flame in the candlestick. It went out while I was looking. I saw that the old women were dozing. I opened the outside-door softly, and stood in the porch. There was a latch-string to the inner one. As soon as I pulled it the door opened. In my agitation I forgot there was a step up, and so stumbled forward into the room. They both started to their feet, holding on by the pommels of the chairs. They were frightened.
"What are you here for?" I gasped out.