Americans -- Europe -- Fiction; Cape Cod (Mass.) -- Fiction
Hephzy laughed. “The Baylisses will explain,” she said. “I told the old
doctor and his wife all about it. They were very much pleased, that was
plain enough. They knew she wasn't your niece and they'll tell the other
folks. That'll be all right, Hosy. Yes, Doctor and Mrs. Bayliss were
tickled almost to death. It stops all their worry about their son and
Frances, of course. He is in Switzerland now, poor chap. They'll write
him and he'll come home again by and by where he ought to be. And he'll
forget by and by, too. He's only a boy and he'll forget. So THAT'S all
right.
“Everybody sent their love to you,” she went on. “The curates and the
Samsons and everybody. Mr. Cole and his wife are comin' back next week
and the servants'll take care of the rectory till they come. Everybody
was so glad to see me, and they're goin' to write and everything. I
declare! I felt real bad to leave 'em. They're SUCH nice people, these
English folks. Aren't they, Hosy.”
They were and are. I hope that some day I may have, in my own country,
the opportunity to repay a little of the hospitality and kindness that
my Mayberry friends bestowed on me in theirs.
We sailed for home two days later. A pleasant voyage it was, on a good
ship and with agreeable fellow-passengers. And, at last, one bright,
cloudless morning, a stiff breeze blowing and the green and white
waves leaping and tossing in the sunlight, we saw ahead of us a little
speck--the South Shoal lightship. Everyone crowded to the rail, of
course. Hephzy sighed, a sigh of pure happiness.
“Nantucket!” she said, reading the big letters on the side of the little
vessel. “Nantucket! Don't that sound like home, Hosy! Nantucket and
Cape Cod are next-door neighbors, as you might say! My! the air seems
different already. I believe I can almost smell the Bayport flats. Do
you know what I am goin' to do as soon as I get into my kitchen? After
I've seen some of my neighbors and the cat and the hens, of course. I'm
going to make a clam chowder. I've been just dyin' for a clam chowder
ever since we left England.”
And the next morning we landed at New York. Jim Campbell was at the
wharf to meet us. His handshake was a welcome home which was good to
feel. He welcomed Hephzy just as heartily. But I saw him looking
at Frances with curiosity and I flattered myself, admiration, and I
chuckled as I thought of the surprise which I was about to give him.
It would be a surprise, sure enough. I had written him nothing of the
recent wonderful happenings in Paris and in London, and I had sworn
Matthews to secrecy likewise. No, he did not know, he did not suspect,
and I gloried in the opportunity which was mine.
“Jim,” I said, “there is one member of our party whom you have not met.
Frances, you have heard me speak of Mr. Campbell very often. Here he is.
Jim, I have the pleasure of presenting you to Mrs. Knowles, my wife.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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