Lord sakes! I've toted more women in my time than you can shake a stick at.There's more da--that is, there's more summer folks try to land on this island at low tide than there is moskeeters and there's more of them than there's fiddles in-- Hi! come on, you, Mr.What's-your-name! Straight as you go."I came on wading through eelgrass and water until I reached a sandy beach.A moment later we stood before a white door in a very white little house.Mr.Atwood opened the door, revealing a cosy little sitting room and a gray-haired, plump, pleasant-faced woman sitting in a rocking chair beside a table with a lamp upon it.
"Hello, Betsy!" bellowed our rescuer, stamping his wet rubber boots on the braided mat."Got company come to supper--or breakfast, or whatever you want to call it.This is Mr.Paine from Denboro.
This is his wife, Mrs.Paine.They've been cruisin' all the way from Cape Cod to Kamchatky in a motor boat with no power to it.
Don't that beat the Old Scratch, hey?"
The plump woman rose, without a trace of surprise, as if having company drop in at three o'clock in the morning was nothing out of the ordinary, and came over to us, beaming with smiles.
"I'm real glad to see you, Mrs.Paine," she exclaimed."And your husband, too.You must be froze to death! Set right down while Ifix up a room for you and hunt up some dry things for you to put on.I won't be but a minute."Before I could offer explanations, or do more than stammer thanks, and rather incoherent ones at that, she had bustled out of the room.I caught one glimpse of Mabel Colton's face; it was crimson from neck to brow."Mrs.Paine!" "Your husband!" I was grateful to the doughty Mr.Atwood, but just then I should have enjoyed choking him.
The light keeper, quite unaware that his unfortunate misapprehension of the relationship between his guests might be embarrassing, was doing his best to make us feel at home.
"Take off your boots, Mr.Paine," he urged."The old lady'll fetch you a pair of my slippers and some socks in a minute.She'll make your wife comf'table, too.She's a great hand at makin' folks comf'table.I tell her she'd make a cake of ice feel to home on a hot stove.She beats--"The "old lady" herself interrupted him, entering with a bottle in one hand and a lamp in the other.
"Joshua!" she said, warningly.
"Well, what is it, Betsy?"
"Be careful how you talk."
"Talk!" with a wink at me."I wan't goin' to say nothin'.""Yes, you was.Mrs.Paine, you mustn't mind him.He used to go mate on a fishin' schooner and, from all I can learn, they use pretty strong language aboard these boats.""Pick it up same as a poll parrot," cut in her husband."Comes natural when you're handlin' wet trawl line in February.Can't seem to get no comfort out of anything milder.""He's a real good-hearted man, Joshua is, and a profession' church member, but he does swear more'n he ought to.But, as I tell the minister, he don't mean nothin' by it.""Not a damn thing!" said Mr.Atwood, reassuringly.The bottle, it appeared, contained Jamaica ginger, a liberal dose of which Mrs.
Atwood insisted upon our taking as a precaution against catching cold.
"There's nothin' better," she said.
"You bet there ain't!" this from the lightkeeper."A body can't get within forty fathoms of a cold with a swallow of that amidships.
It's hotter than--"
"Joshua!"
"The Fourth of July," concluded her husband, triumphantly.
"And now, Mrs.Paine," went on the lady of the house, "your room's all ready.I've laid out some dry things for you on the bed and some of Joshua's, too.You and your husband--"I thought it high time to explain.
"The lady is not my wife," I said, quickly.
"She ain't! Why, I thought Joshua said--""He--er--made a mistake.She is Miss Colton, a summer resident and neighbor of mine in Denboro.""Sho! you don't say! That's just like you, Joshua!""Just like me! Well, how'd I know? I beg your pardon, Miss, I'm sure.Shan't beg your hus--I mean Mr.Paine's pardon; he ought to thank me for the compliment.Haw! haw!"Miss Colton herself made the next remark.
"If my room is ready, Mrs.Atwood," she said,, without even a glance in my direction, "I think I will go to it.I AM rather wet.""Wet! Land sakes, yes! I guess you be! Come right in, Joshua, take them clothes of yours into our room and let Mr.Paine put 'em on."Her husband obeyed orders.After I was alone in the room to which he conducted me and enjoying the luxury of dry socks, I heard him justifying his mistake in stentorian tones.
"I couldn't help it, Betsy," I heard him say."I took it for granted they was married.When I hove alongside that motor boat they was a-settin' close up together in the stern sheets and so, of course, I thought--""You hadn't any business to.You made that poor young lady blush somethin' dreadful.Most likely they're just keepin' company--or engaged, or somethin'.You ought to be more careful."I wondered if the young lady herself heard all this.I didn't see how she could help it.
Kinder-hearted people than these two never lived, I do believe.It was after three in the morning, both had been up all night, we were absolute strangers to them, and yet, without a word of complaint, they gave the remainder of the hours before daylight to making us comfortable.When I dressed as much of myself as a suit of Mr.
Atwood's--his Sunday best, I presume--would cover, and, with a pair of carpet slippers about the size and shape of toy ferry boats on my feet, emerged from the bedroom, I found the table set in the kitchen, the teapot steaming and Mrs.Atwood cooking "spider bread"on the stove.When Miss Colton, looking surprisingly presentable--considering that she, too, was wearing borrowed apparel four sizes too large for her--made her appearance, we sat down to a simple meal which, I think, was the most appetizing I ever tasted.
The Atwoods were bursting with curiosity concerning our getting adrift in the motor boat.I described the adventure briefly.When I told of Lute's forgetfulness in the matter of gasolene the lightkeeper thumped the table.
