Laughing Last by Jane Abbott (fun to read .TXT) 📖

“Oh—h, take me back to the cabin!” moaned Pola.

“I guess we might as well,” muttered Mart. Their matches had been long since exhausted; they had been of little avail for the one ship’s light on the boat was without oil.

One on each side of her, Mart and Sidney helped Pola down into the cabin. The boat was rolling heavily now in the rough sea, each lift and drop sending terror to the three young hearts. In the blackness of the night the waves looked mountain high. Even Mart was glad to shut them from view.

“If—if we’re going to drown I’d rather drown in—a—room,” gasped Pola, clinging to Sidney and burying her face in Sidney’s shoulder.

It seemed to the girls as though months had passed since Lav had plunged to what they felt certain was his death. The Arabella had tossed about on the roughening water like some wild thing, her old timbers creaking and groaning under their new living. Just at first Sidney and Mart had been too concerned in quieting the panic-stricken Pola to face their danger; not until Pola had exhausted herself did they think of their possible fate.

Unless Lav succeeded in reaching the beach and giving an alarm, they might toss about for days or be dashed to pieces on some reef. Or, worse fate, Jed Starrow and his gang might find the boat and—

“Wh-at are you thinking about, Mart?” whispered Sidney after a long time of silence, broken only by the howling of the wind and the pounding of the water. “Let’s talk—and then we can’t hear—”

“Don’t be afraid, Sidney,” Mart spoke calmly. “You sort o’ belong to the Cape and we Cape folks don’t think anything of drowning. We sort of expect to, sometime—” But here her voice broke with a tremble. “I—I was thinking of gran’ma. I wish I’d been better to her. I talk back to her lots of times when I shouldn’t.”

“But you are good to her, Mart. And—I was thinking of Aunt Achsa. I shouldn’t have deceived her—about coming out here. I fooled myself into thinking that even a lie didn’t matter considering what we were trying to do. But the honor of Cape Cod isn’t worth anything happening to Lav. And if anything does happen there won’t be anyone to tell about Jed Starrow, anyway! Oh, Mart, I can’t bear to think about Lav. Why did we let him do it? Dear old Lav. I’ve been mean to him, too. He adores poetry and I—I never even told him that my father was a poet and that I know lots and lots of poems and—and—that I’ve written most a book myself.”

“Honest, Sid, was your father a poet? And you can write it yourself? Gee,” softly. “I wish I could do something like that. I’d rather be like that than anything else. I just pretend that I hate school and books and such things—it’s because I had to stop going to school to stay with gran’ma that I’ve put on that I didn’t have any use for it. Even when I was sort of laughing at you, Sid, down in my heart I was feeling aw’fly proud that you’d want to fool ’round with anyone like me—I’ll always be proud.”

“Oh, Mart—” Sidney faltered. “I wish I could put into words what Mr. Dugald taught me when I first came here. That it’s the big inside things that really count. He told me so’s I’d see Aunt Achsa and Lav as they really are. And, Mart, your giving up school to take care of your grandmother is a big thing, a real thing! You don’t want to forget it.”

“Oh, I’m—I’m—sick!” broke in Pola.

“Sit up straight and talk and you won’t think about it,” commanded Mart, so sternly that Pola straightened, her white face wan in the darkness.

“I don’t see how you can talk when you’re—may be—going—to die!”

“Well, talking helps you more than crying.”

“But I—I don’t want to—die.”

“Who does?” retorted Mart roughly. Nevertheless, touched by Pola’s helplessness, she found Pola’s hand and held it close in hers. “But let’s face whatever happens with our heads up!”

“To the wind,” breathed Sidney, shivering.

“I—I just can’t be brave like you two. I—I’m an awful coward. I can’t help it. I’ve always been afraid to even try to swim. I’m afraid of lots of things. Oh, I’m afraid to—to—”

Sidney caught Pola’s other hand.

“Don’t say it, Pola. Maybe someone will find us. And probably you can’t help feeling afraid.”

Mart suddenly remembered the cookies she had brought. She found them where she had hidden them at the back of one of the bunks.

“Here, eat a cookie and you’ll forget things. I’m hungry, aren’t you, too?”

Pola ate with nervous greed. Sidney bit off a piece but found it dry in her mouth. She was thinking of her sisters and the safety of the dear old house; as vividly as though it hung in a picture before her eyes she saw the little circle around the dining room table, the embroidered square of Indian cloth, the green shaded lamp, Issy’s books and Trude’s sewing, Vick’s sketching things, the girls at their beloved tasks—and her chair empty! Oh, what if she never sat again in that dear circle? Her heart broke in an agony of longing for Trude.

A sudden thought roused Pola to a feeble show of spirit.

“If I had known how to swim we’d all be ashore now! And you two stayed with me! I—I don’t believe I’m worth that, girls.” She spoke with gloomy conviction.

But Mart answered with a promptness that settled that question forever. “Forget it. Why, you don’t think we could a’ done anything else, do you? And now I’m going up on deck and get some air. We must be most to Halifax by this time.”

“Halifax!” But this time Pola did not scream.

Lavender, after his first plunge, had struck out toward the lighthouse. His Mr. Dugald had taught him the science of swimming and because it was the one thing he could do easily and well, in spite of his misshaped body, Lavender had taken pride in perfecting the practice. His assurance helped him now; he had no fear, he knew how to save his strength; he swam first with one stroke, then with another, always keeping in sight the beacon of light.

But after a