The Secret of the Reef. Harold Bindloss

rippling the blue water, they ran up the straits in brilliant sunshine. Jimmy laid a cushion for Mrs. Jaques near the wheel, and her rather pale face lighted up when he asked if she would steer. He saw that she knew how by the way she held the spokes.

      “This is delightful!” she exclaimed, as they sped on swiftly. “I used to go sailing now and then at Toronto, but all the time we have lived here I’ve never been on the water.”

      She glanced in a half-wistful manner at the sparkling sea. A gentle surf made a snowy fringe along the shingle beach, and beyond that dark pinewoods rolled back among the rocks toward blue, distant peaks. Overhead, the tall, white topsail swayed with a measured swing across the cloudless sky. Silky threads of ripples streamed back from the bows, and along the Cetacea’s side there was a drowsy gurgle and lapping of water.

      “You’re to be envied when you sail away,” Mrs. Jaques said, with something that was almost a sigh. “Still, it isn’t all sunshine and smooth water in the North.”

      “By no means,” Jimmy assured her. “I can think of a number of occasions when I’d gladly have exchanged the sloop for your back room, or, for that matter, for a yard or two of dry ground.”

      “One can imagine it,” she laughed. “Well, you have to face the gale and fog, while we try not to be beaten by Jefferson and to meet our bills. I don’t know which is the harder.”

      Jimmy felt compassionate. She was young, but she had a careworn look, and he surmised that she found life difficult in the primitive wooden town. It seemed to be all work and anxious planning with her; there was something pathetic in the keen pleasure she took in her rare holiday.

      Late in the afternoon they dropped anchor in a rock-walled cove with a beach of white shingle on which sparkling wavelets broke. Dark firs climbed the rugged heights above, and their scent drifted off across the clear, green water. Bethune, who had been busy cooking, brought up an unusually elaborate meal and laid it out on the cabin top with the best glass and crockery he had been able to borrow. His expression, however, was anxious as he served the first course to his guests.

      “I’ve done my best. I used to think I wasn’t a bad cook; but after the supper Mrs. Jaques gave us, I’m much less confident,” he said. “It’s easier to get proud of yourself when you have nothing to compare your work with, and your critics are indulgent. Jimmy’s been very forbearing; and it’s my opinion that Moran would eat anything that’s fit for human food.”

      “I’ve had to,” Moran retorted. “Anyway, I’ve seen you set up worse hash than this.”

      There were no complaints, and the appetite every one showed was flattering. They jested and talked with great good humor; until at last Moran indicated the lengthening shadow of the mast which had moved across the deck.

      “It’s mighty curious, but we’ve been an hour over supper, and there’s something left. Guess I never spent more’n about ten minutes at my grub before.”

      Bethune took a bottle from a pail of ice in a locker and filled the borrowed glasses.

      “To our happy next meeting!” he proposed. “Our guests, who have made the trip possible, will not be forgotten while we are away.”

      The glasses were drained and filled again, and Mrs. Jaques turned to her hosts with a cordial smile.

      “May you win the success you deserve!” she responded; and a few minutes afterward Bethune, beckoning Moran, went forward to raise the anchor.

      The light was fading when they hove the Cetacea to near the wharf and a boat came off. With many good wishes Jaques and his wife went ashore, and the sloop stood away for the lonely North.