GREAT EXPECTATIONS

Of course, Mrs. Cameron had written all the particulars of the fire at the hotel to her husband, and how Carolyn May and Prince had alarmed the household and perhaps saved her mamma's life.

Mrs. Cameron did not believe it was wise to praise the little girl too much for her part in the affair, or to allow others to do so. Besides, Carolyn did not understand what she had done, or the full degree of peril they had all escaped.

The hotel fire had been different from that forest fire at the Corners, of which Carolyn so often spoke. The little girl had seen the ravening flames then lick up the vegetation of the woods and sweep devouringly over the acres and acres of ground. The flames of the hotel fire had been scarcely visible.

Papa Cameron, learning of his family's change of lodging, had to come back to the island the very next Saturday to make sure that Snuggy and mamma, herself, were safe. Barzilla chanced to have the time, and he drove Beppo over to the landing to meet the Shinnecock and bring Mr. Cameron to the little house on the bluff.

They picked up Joe Bassett at the Old Harbour where Barzilla bought provisions, and the three men rode back to the West Side together.

"This fire at the Truefelt House makes it bad for you, Bassett," Carolyn's father said sympathetically.

"Didn't I say I was Jonahed?" returned the young man, and there was a note of bitterness in his voice that the newspaper editor had not heard before. "We have another week's work at the hotel, clearing up. Ben Truefelt is very decent about it. But after next Saturday——"

"Nothing doing, eh?"

"And so far as I can see, nothing doing on the whole island for me," Bassett said. "All the hotels have their clerks for the season, of course. I declare! I envy Barzilla, here."

The fisherman laughed. "Maybe you wouldn't envy me if you had my job."

"I'm not so sure of that," Bassett returned. "At least, you're sure of your bite and sup. You've salted your fish for next season. Your crops are growing. You are making a tidy little bale of wool. You'll have a sheep to salt down if you want it. You've turkeys to sell—and turkeys are rare birds nowadays. I tell you, Mr. Cameron, I've been thinking that these Block Islanders are well off."

"Perhaps we don't all know it," said Barzilla, dryly.

"All they lack on this island is ambition," Mr. Cameron said, looking rather doubtfully at Joe Bassett. "I am afraid we city folks would easily fall into the dolce far niente life if we settled here. The islanders work; we would look on."

"You don't haf to look on," put in Barzilla. "A smart man like Mr. Bassett—with a little money—could get into something here that would pay him well."

"That 'with' is in the way, Barzilla," Bassett said wearily.

"What is the scheme?" asked Mr. Cameron with curiosity.

"Oh," said Bassett more cheerfully, "Barzilla's got a good idea, no doubt. Let him explain it to you sometime, Mr. Cameron. But as I tell him, it's nothing to interest me," and his tone dropped again. "I'll have to write to Inness and take up his offer."

"Ah!" ejaculated the editor. "Have you already heard from your friend?"

"From Inness? Yes. I wrote him. He tells me that there is a mining company in Arizona with the directors of which he has some influence. There is a clerkship open there. It will give us a livelihood; and I suppose the climate would be all right for my wife."

"There ain't no finer climate in the world than this we got right here—summer an' winter," Mr. Ball declared with vehemence. "Why! you can see your baby grow."

"It is true," said Joe Bassett with gravity. "I can see life coming back to the baby, Mr. Cameron. I wish his mother showed equal improvement."

"It's a far way to Arizona," observed the editor. "Do you think that climate would do more for your wife, Bassett?"

"I do not know."

"It will cost a lot to get there."

"That—that is another thing," observed young Bassett hesitatingly. "Inness offers to pay our fares."

"Yes? Is there any reason why he should want to get you out of the way—out of New York?" asked Mr. Cameron curiously.

"Well, not exactly. But it may be that somebody whose mouthpiece he is, prefers to have me at a distance," replied Bassett, and then fell silent.

Carolyn's father thought he understood that. He said to his wife that evening after Carolyn was in bed and asleep:

"I am not sure that my interview that time with the Griffin did any real good; but it is bearing fruit, I believe. Through this man Inness—and he did not impress me as being a very pleasant person—Bassett is trying to send the young fellow somewhere, well out of the way, where he and his little family will have a chance for their lives at least."

"I am sorry they are not to remain here," Mrs. Cameron remarked. "The girl is a lovely creature, and, despite her bringing up, her character seems unspoiled."

"That does not gibe with what the Griffin stated as his opinion. He said her extravagance was the cause of Joe's downfall—that she was a perfectly useless creature."

"I am convinced he knows very little about her," declared Hannah Cameron with vigour. "She's nothing like that. For a girl brought up as she was, she is doing wonderfully well. And she has a heart of gold. I believe he maligns her."

"Well, it's too bad. But what can we do? There's no chance for Joe Bassett on this island."

"Nor am I sure that is so," rejoined his wife slowly. "He and Mr. Ball have become great friends. Molly says she never saw her brother take to anybody as he has to Mr. Bassett."

"Humph! I don't suppose Bassett can do Barzilla any harm."

"Oh, Lewis!"

"There's no use talking," her husband said emphatically. "I cannot so easily forget what the Griffin said. He was talking about his own son. Ten thousand dollars was stolen and wasted in the bucket shops along the fringe of the financial district. I believe it is the truth, for I have talked with some of the boys who cover the district and they declare Joe Bassett was hanging about certain brokers' offices down there for some weeks after his father turned him out."

"I hate to believe it," murmured Mrs. Cameron.

"The young fellow is all wrong. He's such an attractive chap that I don't wonder Barzilla Ball is interested in him. Perhaps I should put a flea in his ear."

"Don't do that, Lewis!" cried his wife. "I admit that, in this case, you are not your brother's keeper; neither is it your duty to tell tales out of school that may injure the poor fellow. Now, promise me!"

"I am sure," said Mr. Cameron, "that I do not wish to say anything to hurt Joe Bassett. Let others find out about him, as we did."

"And did we find out the truth, I wonder?" Carolyn's mother thought. But she did not utter this aloud.

When Mr. Cameron came to the island the next time, he brought with him Edna Price to stay a week with Carolyn. There had been great preparations made for the visit of Carolyn May's "partic'lar friend," and great expectations in the little girl's mind regarding that visit.

By this time Carolyn was quite used to the little oddities of speech, characteristic of the native Block Islander. She knew that they looked upon people from off the island, too, as being quite as foreign as though they came from Europe!

Being born and bred upon a bit of land quite disconnected from the mainland, breeds an oddly independent and aloof people—a people who are prone to have their own peculiar outlook upon life and to hold almost a code of morals of their own.

Carolyn was widening her acquaintance every day with the neighbours. There was a cross-country path over stiles and through stone fences, winding through the various farms from Dorris Cove to the Free Baptist Church, and everybody who passed the house took toll of Carolyn May's friendliness. On Sunday, before and after service, that path was dotted with members of the congregation who almost all lingered at the Ball place for a neighbourly chat.

Week days there were occasional passersby who followed the footpath along the edge of the bluff, beaten originally by the feet of the coast patrol. Had it not been the season when the life saving service men, with the exception of the captain of the crew who lived at the station all the year round, were relieved from duty, Carolyn would have already added the surfmen to her growing list of acquaintances.

As it was, she considered that some of the neighbours she knew very well. There was Aunt Ardelia Dodge and her husband, Uncle Smith Dodge, an elderly couple whose place adjoined the Balls' on the north. The Dodges owned an old carryall, and when it was known that Edna was coming, Mrs. Cameron borrowed this vehicle to bring her husband and the little visitor from the landing, Barzilla's buckboard having but a single seat.

As the ancient vehicle had not been in use for some time, it must first be backed down into the "tughole" behind the Dodge barn for the wheels to soak a couple of days, or the spokes might have rattled out of the rims and hubs.

The tughole was a shallow patch of black water where the ducks and geese played. It was not a natural pond, but one of those innumerable artificial pools made by the cutting of peat for fuel in the old days before coal was brought in any quantity to the island.

There is no wood for fuel on Block Island save what may be cast on the beaches by the tides. There are few trees, and those mostly of stunted growth. Heavily timbered when the first settlers came, their unwisdom and thriftlessness made of the beautiful if rocky island almost a barren waste.

Carolyn learned what the little black pools were, and why they were called "tugholes." She knew what peat was. Papa Cameron had told her all about the age-long growth of coal, and peat was coal which had not been put under sufficient pressure to make it hard.

"Them old fellers," said Uncle Smith Dodge, who was old enough himself in all good conscience, Carolyn thought, "called it 'tug,' 'cause they had ter tug it out'n them hollers an' up to the houses on stone drags. Oh, I can 'member when some of 'em still cut an' stacked tug, an' ev'rybody had a tughouse instead of a coalshed."

However, they soaked the wheels of the old carryall so the spokes would not rattle, washed the top and cushions, and otherwise made the vehicle presentable. On Saturday afternoon they harnessed Beppo between the shafts, and Mrs. Cameron and Carolyn drove over to meet Papa Cameron and Carolyn's little friend.

All the farms they passed were cut up into small fields with stone fences between—everywhere stone walls and heaps of stones which were turned up by the plough each spring.

"Where do all the stones come from?" wondered Carolyn May.

Some of the walls were broad and so well built that one might have driven an ox-team on them; others were only windrows of stone seemingly thrown together to get them out of the open, more than for any other purpose.

There were some post-and-wire barriers supplementing the stone walls, especially around the sheep pastures; for sheep will breach if they can; and where one sheep goes the whole silly flock will follow—even if it is over a cliff into the sea.

"Back there in Bible times," said Barzilla, "they had to make that drove of pigs they tell about crazy to get 'em to run into the sea. But sheep'll jest naturally run into the sea, or into any old place, get an old bell-wether to lead 'em." This, while he was mending a break in his sheep pasture fence.

Mrs. Cameron and Carolyn arrived safely at the landing with the ancient rig and Barzilla's plodding pony. Before the steamboat was half way across the Great Salt Pond Carolyn saw her father and the red-coated figure of Edna Price by his side. Carolyn and Prince fairly danced upon the stringpiece of the wharf in impatience at the steamer's deliberate approach.

Mr. Oly Littlefield, in his starched linen suit, scowled at Carolyn and shook a threatening cane at Prince.

"That dratted dog ought to be in the town pound," he declared. "Chawin' up people's laigs! Might jest as well turn a wild tagger loose in the c'mmunity, I swan!"

"He's got his eye on you now, Oly," chuckled one of the idlers, as Prince turned that way. "I b'lieve I'd speak a little less upshus of the critter. I don't doubt he's got it in for you."

The wooden-legged man drifted away from the dog's vicinity, viciously stabbing the wharf with his cane. But Prince and his little mistress paid very little attention just then to Captain Littlefield's crotchety cousin.

The Shinnecock bumped gently into the piles, then ground them harshly against her side as the mooring lines tightened. A bell jangled in the engineroom. The wheels ceased turning.

"Oh, Car'lyn May!" Edna's voice came down from the upper deck so clearly that everybody on the dock heard—and most of them laughed. "Oh, Car'lyn May! Johnny O'Harrity's cat's got five kittens, only they drowned four of them in the wash tub; and that red-haired Sade Gompretz has sent you an all-day sucker."