Janet of the Dunes | Page 4

proposition. Why, he could
hardly have told. During Janet's babyhood and early childhood he had
assumed all household duties himself. Later he and Janet had shared
them together over tub and table, but that Janet should wash for the
boarders was harrowing!
"You think she's too good, Cap'n," sneered Mrs. Jo G., "but she ain't.
She's wild, an' she ought t' get her bearin's. She ain't any different from
my girls nor the others, though you act as if you thought so. You ain't
as strong as you once was, Cap'n, an' come the time when you pass in
your last check, who's goin' t' do for Janet? An' how's she goin' t' know

how t' do fur herself? You ain't actin' fair by the girl. It's clear
Providence, the way the city folks has fallen, as you might say, right in
our open mouths. There'll be plenty of chances on the mainland fur
Janet t' turn a penny, an' get an idea of self-support. But she ought t' be
there, and not stuck here!"
Mrs. Jo G. had hardly turned the Point, after this epoch-making speech,
before Billy was starting for the Light and the one friend of his heart.
"David," he explained, viewing his friend through a fog of thick, blue
smoke, "I want that ye should take my girl! Once Janet is here, she'll be
mighty spry 'bout gettin' in t' somethin'. I don't want her t' take t'
washin' or servin' strangers, 'less she wants t', but when 'sperience an'
money is floatin' loose, my girl ought t' be out with her net."
"Course!" nodded David; "an' Janet's a rare fisher fur these new
waters."
"Ye'll keep yer eye on her, David--knowin' all ye do?"
The furrows deepened on Billy's brow. David took his pipe from his
mouth.
"God's my witness! I will that!" he said.
Thus things stood while Janet, coiled in the meshes, lay laughing up at
Billy.
"What do you think of your haul, Cap'n Billy Daddy?" The man sighed.
"You wouldn't let those dreadful old sharks--they are sharks,
Cap'n--you wouldn't let them hurt your poor little fish, now would
you?" The rippling, girlish laugh jarred Billy's nerves. He must take a
new tack.
"See here, Janet, do ye mind this? Ye ain't jes' my child--Lord knows ye
ain't--yer hers!"
"Hers?"

"Yes."
"Ah! you mean my mother." The net lay quite still. Having no memory
of the mother, Janet was not deeply impressed. "I know, Cap'n; when
you are in a difficulty you always bring--'her'--in,--what she would like,
and what she wouldn't. It's my belief, Cap'n, she'd have done and
thought exactly as we told her to."
"'T ain't so, nuther! She had heaps of common sense, an' as she got near
port, she saw turrible clear, an' she talked considerable 'bout larnin', an'
how it could steer yer craft better than anythin' else; an' she 'lowed if ye
was gal or lad, after ye got larnin', she wanted ye should go out int' the
world an' test it. She wasn't over sot 'bout the Station. She'd visited
other places."
Janet sat up, and idly draped the net about her.
"I suppose if my mother had lived," she said, "I would have listened to
her--some. But, Cap'n Daddy, I reckon she would have gone off with
me. Like as not we would have taken boarders, but, don't you see,
Cap'n, I would have had her?"
"True; an' it's that what's held my hand many's the time. Yer not havin'
her has crippled us both. But a summer on the mainland ain't a-goin' t'
swamp us, Janet. With the Comrade tied to David's wharf, an' me here,
what's goin' t' happen to a--a girl like you?"
Janet looked across the summer sea.
"What? Sure enough, Cap'n Daddy, just what? And I ought to be
earning my keep."
"I'm goin' t' set ye up with some gal fixin's what I've saved fur ye. Yer
mother's things! Ye ain't never seen them. S'pose we take a look now.
A summer, with runnin's over t' the Station, will be real interestin',
Janet. An' ye must tell me everythin'. There ain't no reason why ye
shouldn't sail over every little while, but I do hope ye'll make yerself
useful somehow. It will help bime by. An' I'm gettin' stiff." He arose

awkwardly and strode toward the tiny house. Janet followed, trailing
her fish net robe and humming lightly.
The house was composed of three small rooms with a lean-to, where of
late years Billy had slept. From the middle room, which was the living
room, a ladder, set against the wall, led to the loft overhead. The man
slowly climbed upward, and Janet went after.
The space above was hardly high enough for an upright position, so
man and girl sat