Read Ebook: The Cruise of the Shining Light by Duncan Norman

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Ebook has 1591 lines and 71384 words, and 32 pages

"T' make believe," cries she, "that I'd not be here! How could you!"

"'Tis not a lie."

"'Tis a white lie, child," she chided. "You've come, Dannie, poor lad! t' be a white liar. 'Tis a woful state--an' a parlous thing. For, child, if you keeps on--"

She had paused. 'Twas a trick to fetch the question. I asked it.

"You'll be a blue one," says she. "An' then--"

"What then?"

"Blue-black, child. An' then--"

I waited.

"Oh, Dannie, lad!" cries she, her little hands clasped, a pitiful quaver in her voice, so that I felt consigned to woe, indeed, for this misdoing, "you'll be a liar as black as--"

There was no more of it.

"You dare not say it!" I taunted.

I did not wish that she should: not I! but still, being a lad, would have her come close enough to sauce the devil. But I would not have her say that word. Indeed, I need not have troubled. 'Twas not in her mind to be so unmaidenly, with a lad at hand to serve her purpose.

"No," says she, "I dare not; but you, Dannie, bein' a lad--"

Her voice trailed off expectantly.

"Black as hell?"

She nodded.

"Come, maid," says I, "you've called me a liar."

"I wasn't wantin' to."

"You is."

"Then, my maid," cries I, in triumph, "you'll be keepin' me company in hell! You've called me a fool. 'An' whoso calleth his brother a fool--'"

"Oh no," says she, quite undisturbed. "'Tis not so."

"Not so?"

"Why, no, child! Didn't you know?"

The particular color of this stupendous prevarication I am still unable to determine....

Now the afternoon was near spent. My hands were idle--my eyes and heart far astray from the labor of the time. It was very still and dreamful in the cabin. The chinks were red with the outer glow, and a stream of mote-laden sunlight, aslant, came in at the companionway.

It fell upon Judith.

"Judy," I whispered, bending close, "I 'low I might as well--might as well have--"

She looked up in affright.

"Oh no!" she gasped.

"Why not? Sure I'm able for it!"

"Why not?"

Her eyes turned round with religious awe. "God," said she, with a solemn wag, "wouldn't like it."

"I'd never stop for that."

"May be," she chided; "but I 'low, lad, we ought t' 'blige Un once in a while. 'Tis no more than kind. An' what's a kiss t' lack? Pooh!"

I was huffed.

"Ah, well, then!" said she, "an your heart's set on it, Dannie, I've no mind t' stop you. But--"

I moved forward, abashed, but determined.

"But," she continued, with an emphasis that brought me to a stop, "I 'low I better ask God, t' make sure."

'Twas the way she had in emergencies.

"Do," said I, dolefully.

The God of the lad that was I--the God of his childish vision, when, in the darkness of night, he lifted his eyes in prayer, seeking the leading of a Shepherd--was a forbidding God: white, gigantic, in the shape of an old, old man, the Ancient of Days, in a flowing robe, seated scowling upon a throne, aloft on a rolling cloud, with an awful mist of darkness all roundabout. But Judith, as I knew, visualized in a more felicitous way. The God to whom she appealed was a rotund, florid old gentleman, with the briefest, most wiry of sandy whiskers upon his chops, a jolly double chin, a sunburned nose, kindly blue eyes forever opened in mild wonder , the fat figure clad in broadly checked tweed knickerbockers and a rakish cap to match, like the mad tourists who sometimes strayed our way. 'Twas this complacent, benevolent Deity that she made haste to interrogate in my behalf, unabashed by the spats and binocular, the corpulent plaid stockings and cigar, which completed his attire. She spread her feet, in the way she had at such times; and she shut her eyes, and she set her teeth, and she clinched her hands, and thus silently began to wrestle for the answer, her face all screwed, as by a taste of lemon.

Presently my patience was worn.

"What news?" I inquired.

"Hist!" she whispered. "He's lookin' at me through His glasses."

I waited an interval.

"What now, Judy?"

"Hist!" says she. "He's wonderful busy makin' up His mind. Leave Un be, Dannie!"

'Twas trying, indeed! I craved the kiss. Nor by watching the child's puckered face could I win a hint to ease the suspense that rode me. Upon the will of Judith's Lord God Almighty in tweed knickerbockers surely depended the disposition of the maid. I wished He would make haste to answer.

"Judy, maid," I implored, "will He never have done?"

"You'll be makin' Un mad, Dannie," she warned.

"I can wait no longer."

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