“NO ONE,” snapped Keturah Smiley, “can play Providence to a married couple.”

“Some women can play Lucifer,” retorted her brother. His hoarse but not unmusical voice shook with anger.

“I had nothing to do with your wife’s running away,” Keturah Smiley answered. “What is this child you have adopted?”

“I have adopted no child,” said Cap’n John Smiley with coldness. “A child was saved from the wreck of the Mermaid and the men at the station have adopted her. The fancy struck them and—I certainly had no objection. It’s—she’s—a girl, a little girl of about six. We don’t know her name. The men are calling her Mermaid after the ship.”

Keturah Smiley sniffed. She wrapped the man’s coat she wore more closely about her, and made as if to return to her gardening.

Her brother eyed her with a wrathful blue eye. He[4] never saw her that they did not quarrel. He was aware that, deep down, she loved him; he was aware that it was this jealous love of Keturah’s which had caused her to nag the young girl he had married some seven years earlier. Mary Rogers, in Keturah’s eyes, was a silly, thoughtless, flighty person quite unfitted to fill the r?le of John Smiley’s wife and the mother of John Smiley’s children. She must be made to feel this; Keturah had done her best to make her feel it. And there could be no question that the young wife had felt it. So much so that, joined to John Smiley’s long absences on duty at the Coast Guard station on the beach, joined to her loneliness, joined to who knows what secret doubts and anguish, she had disappeared one day some months after their child was born, taking the baby girl with her and leaving no word, no note, no token. And she had never come back. She had never been traced. She might be dead; the child might be dead; no one knew.

Of course this was the crowning evidence of the unfitness Keturah Smiley had found in her; but somehow Keturah Smiley did not make that triumphant point before her brother. It is possible that Keturah Smiley who wore a man’s old coat, who drove hard bargains at better than six per cent., whose tongue made the Long Islanders of Blue Port shrink as under a cutting lash—it is possible that Keturah Smiley was just the least bit afraid of her brother.

[5]If so she could hardly be said to show it. There was no trace of the stricken conscience in the air with which she always faced him. There was none now.

“Well, John,” she said, almost pleasantly, as she hoed her onion bed. “You’re blowing from the southeast pretty strong to-day and you appear to be bringing trouble. I’ll just take three reefs in my temper and listen to what further you have to say.”

John Smiley was not heeding her. He had found that there are times in life when it is necessary not to listen if you would keep sane and kind. He was reflecting on the difficulty of his errand.

“Keturah,” he asked, off-handedly, “this little girl has got to have some clothes. Do you suppose——”

“Perhaps you would like me to adopt her,” his sister interrupted. “No, I thank you, John. As for clothes, I daresay that if you and your men are going to bring up a six-year-old girl the lot of you can get clothes from somewhere.”

Do we always torture the things we love? Love and jealousy, jealousy and torture. Cap’n Smiley saw red for a moment; then he turned on his heel and strode down the path and out the gate.

He walked up the long main street until he came to the handful of stores at the crossroads. Entering one of the largest he went to the counter where a pleasant-faced woman confronted him.

[6]“Oh, Cap’n Smiley!” exclaimed the shopwoman. “Are you all right? Are all the men all right? What a terrible time you have been a-having! That ship—she’s pounded all to pieces they say.”

The Coast Guard keeper nodded. He began his errand:

“I’ve got to get some clothes for a little girl that was saved—only one we got ashore alive except one of the hands. I guess I need a complete outfit for a six-year-old,” he explained.

The shopwoman, with various exclamations, bustled about. She spread out on the counter a variety of garments. The keeper eyed them with some confusion. It appeared he had to make a selection; impossible task! “What would you think was best?” he inquired, anxiously. The shopwoman came to his aid and a bundle was made up. Two little gingham dresses, a warm coat; and did he want a nice dress? A dress-up dress? The keeper had given no thought to the matter. A pity the little girl wasn’t along! It was hard to tell what would become her. She had blue eyes and reddish hair? Something dark and plain, but not too dark. A plaid; yes, a warm plaid would be best. Here was a nice pattern.

“I s’pose you’ll be bringing her over here,” ventured the shopkeeper. “Does any one know who she is?... What a pity! Mermaid! After the ship! I declare. I don’t know’s I ever heard that for a girl’s[7] name, though it’s suitable, to be sure. I s’pose you’ll look after her.”

“The—the men have sort of adopted her,” Cap’n Smiley said, hastily. “We thought we could look after her and it would be rather nice having a youngster around. Of course, it’s unusual,” he went on in answer to the shopwoman’s expression of amazement. He thanked her, and taking his bundles, fared forth.

The woman in the shop sent after him a curious and softened look. She had a habit of saying aloud the things that struck her most forcibly. She remarked now to the empty store:

“Adopt her! Well, there’s those will say a crew of Coast Guardsmen are no fit lot to bring up a six-year-old girl. But any child will be safe with John Smiley to look after her.” A new and important thought struck her.

“Goodness!” she ejaculated. “This will be something for Keturah to exercise her brain about!”