Sisters | Page 4

should rest. With sailor zeal and
promptitude, he got the consent of her father, who was glad to be rid of
her out of the way of a new wife; took the trembling, clinging child to
the nearest parson, and made her a pensioner on his small wages in a
tiny lodging of her own. They honeymooned for a fortnight, off and on,
as his ship could spare him--the happiest pair of mortals in the wide
world--and then parted in tears and anguish unspeakable for the best
part of a twelvemonth.
He came back to find himself a father. Wonderful experience for
twenty-one! Never was such a heavenly mystery of a child! Never such
an angelic young mother!--eighteen, and with the bloom of that most
beautifying convalescence like a halo about her. He was first mate now,
with a master's certificate and a raised salary; it was time to make a
home. So while she nursed the baby in Sandridge--with the aid of a
devoted friend, the landlady's cousin--Guthrie Carey busied himself
across the way at Williamstown, fixing up a modest house. He also had
a devoted friend, in the person of a Customs officer, whose experienced
wife took charge of the operations. Lily was to see nothing until all was
ready for her. It was to be a "pleasant surprise".
The last touches had been given--tea put in the caddy, meat and butter
in the safe, flowers in the vases. Mrs Hardacre, in her best gown, spread
a festive supper-table, and Bill, her spouse, stood by with a
Government launch to take the proud young husband to his wife, and to
bring them back together.
Lily awaited him, trembling, tearful, wild with the joy of going home.
Her step-mother had come to Sandridge to see her off, and had brought

her a present of a macintosh, on the merits of which she dilated with
fervour as she twirled it round and round.
"Buttons right down to the feet," she urged persuasively, "and cape
hanging below the waist"--the second Mrs Harrison was a big woman.
"You might go through a deluge in it. And so stylish, my dear! You can
wear it when you go out in threatening weather of an afternoon, and be
quite smart."
"Well, it's pretty threatening now," said Guthrie uneasily. "I don't know
that it wouldn't be wiser--"
"Oh, no, no!" Lily implored. "No trains tonight! No way but this,
Guthrie. I can't get wet--in this nice waterproof. I don't care how it
blows--the more the better--with you with me."
"But baby?"
"We can keep him safe. He is going to be rolled in your 'possum rug.
We can take him inside if it is cold. Oh, we MUST go by sea, Guthrie!"
"Call this sea?" he mocked.
It was sea to her, who had never been beyond the Heads. She expected
to concentrate in the fifteen-minutes' trip across the bay the interest of
years of travel on land. There was nothing like blue water to this
sailor's wife, whose heart had been upon it for so many anxious months;
the extravagance of her partiality was the joke of husband and friends
against her.
"All right," said Guthrie; "come along, then!"
He was impatient to get her away from these people, and under his own
roof.
The second-hand macintosh was again pressed upon her.
"Oh, thanks--thanks! But I think I won't put it on just yet, as it is not
raining. My dress is warm."

Her dress was the wedding dress--chosen for use as well as beauty--a
delicate pink stuff, with a watered sash to match, in which she looked
like a school-girl on breaking-up day. She had a fancy to go to her
home in state, and also to make an appearance that would do her
husband credit before Mr and Mrs Hardacre.
"Here is your fascinator, my dear," said the motherly landlady, offering
the wisely-selected substitute for Lily's hat. "Let me tie it on for
you--there!"
The fascinator of white wool, made and adjusted properly, accounts for
its name; and Guthrie was sure that he had never seen a lovelier picture
than his darling's face in that soft frame. She was ready now--as ready
as she meant to be until the Customs launch had seen her--and turned to
pick up the large bundle that had the little baby in the middle of it.
"I'll carry him, Lily."
"No, no, Mr Carey, I'm going to carry him," said the landlady's cousin,
a strapping young woman, whose arms were equal to the task--"as far
as the boat, at any rate."
She did so, the elder ladies supporting her on either side. Guthrie and
Lily led the procession, hand in hand.
Ah, how like another world it was, coming out upon that breezy
platform from the gutter-smelling streets! And