Chapter I: Act I

SCENE.--_Living room in_ CYNTHIA TINKER’s _home. Exits_ L., R. _and_
C. _There is a fireplace_ R. _front. There should be a stairway at_
L.C., _but it is not absolutely necessary, as another exit may be
used representing exit to up-stairs rooms. There is a large center
table with a lighted lamp upon it. Old style chairs._

(_As curtain rises_, CYNTHIA TINKER _stands by the fireplace. She is
removing some vases and pictures from mantel and packing them into
a box which is on the floor near the fireplace._ CYN. _is about
forty, rather small, bright and energetic. There is a knock at the
door_ C.)

CYN. Come in and, for the land sakes, shut the door quick!

_Enter_ HEPSY SAWYER, C. _She is about thirty-five, tall and wiry. She
wears a man’s oil coat and hat._

HEP. (_as she enters_). Well, I should say! (_Slams the door._) Ain’t
this a night though?

CYN. It certainly is. Are you crazy, Hepsy? Or is somebody sick?
Whatever on earth brought you out in all this storm?

HEP. You, Cynthy! (_Removes coat and hat._) I thought I might be able to help you some an’ I couldn’t bear to think of you alone here on your last night.

CYN. (_taking hat and coat_). That’s more’n kind of you, Hepsy. There’s a roaring fire in the kitchen stove. I’ll hang your coat up to dry, and put on some water to make a cup of tea.

(_Exit_, R. HEP. _walks to fireplace and stands warming her hands_.)

_Reënter_ CYN., R.

HEP. You are really goin’ in the morning, Cynth?

CYN. (_energetically_). I really am.

HEP. Well, how you can be cheerful about it beats me! How do you know you’ll like it over to Falmouth and how do you know as you’ll get along with the people you’re going to keep house for?

CYN. I don’t know anything about it, Hepsy, but I’ve got to give it a try. I ain’t got money enough to live on an’ I can’t set down in this house and starve. I can’t eat the shingles nor the wall paper. I’m doing the only sensible thing there is to do.

HEP. Trust you to do that, Cynthy. Can I do anything to help you? Hev
you got everything packed?

CYN. Yes, all that I’m going to pack. I was just finishing the last few little things. Cap’n Daniels thinks he can let the house all furnished.

HEP. (_explosively_). What?

CYN. So that I won’t have to bother to have my things moved out an’ some--some day (_looking around the room with a sigh_), I may be able to come home an’ everything will be here waiting for me.

HEP. Cynthia Tinker, do you mean to say that Obed Daniels has let
this place already?

CYN. He thinks so.

HEP. (_excited_). Who to? Do tell, Cynthy!

CYN. I don’t know who it is.

HEP. Don’t know? My land! Do you mean that you didn’t ask him?

CYN. I haven’t seen him yet. He jest sent me a message by Bennie Hill.

HEP. And you ain’t the slightest idee who it is?

CYN. Not the slightest.

HEP. My land! I shan’t sleep a wink to-night. Land sakes! Who could it be, Cynth? To want a house all furnished? Why in the land o’ goshen ain’t they got furniture o’ their own? Must be somebody awful queer coming to town. Good land, that reminds me! I most forgot to tell you! Arey Freeman is at home.

CYN. Why, what do you mean, Hepsy?

HEP. Jest that! She come on the afternoon train. Her eyes hev give out and the doctor won’t let her study any more this year an’ she’s come home.

CYN. Why, I can’t believe it. Are you sure, Hepsy? Have you seen her?

HEP. Oh, yes, I’ve been over. My Sammy told me first an’ I declare to goodness I didn’t know whether it was the truth or one of Sammy’s fairy tales. Sometimes I think that young one will be the death of me an’ Lem before we ever get him raised. It’s the most wearing thing! He keeps us guessing all the time. You can’t tell more’n half the time whether he’s telling the truth or lyin’!

CYN. Oh, Hepsy, you shouldn’t speak that way about Sammy. He’s a dear
little fellow and awful good-hearted, and----

HEP. (_interrupting_). Now don’t you go to takin’ his part! He’s all you say maybe but that don’t make it out he can’t tell the biggest yarns of any young one that walks! And what do you suppose? His father went into the store the other day and found him telling one of his tales to the Center Church minister. Lem like to have swooned. He said he guessed things had gone jest about far enough and he walked Sammy home in a hurry, I tell you! And do you know the Rev. Mr. Peters told Lem he ought not to blame Sammy. Well, Lem was struck in a heap. “Not blame him fer lyin’?” says Lem. “He don’t mean it that way,” says Mr. Peters. “The boy is a wonder. Why, genius just burns in him and he must let it out. If he keeps on this way you may have a famous writer in your family some day.” Wal, I declare to goodness, Lem nearly went crazy. He warmed Sammy plenty that night and then he set a shingle up on the kitchen mantel and told Sammy to keep his eye on it, and when he felt genius burning to jest remember that with his father’s help that shingle could make things a good deal hotter for him than ever genius thought of doing. A writer! My land! Lem can’t stand anything sissy, you know. The Sawyers have always been able-bodied men, and able to do a day’s work as long as they breathed. Why, Grandfather Sawyer lived to be a hundred and three, and weighed two hundred, an’ the day he died he worked six hours and ate seven pancakes and five hot biscuit for his tea. That was his last night on this earth.

CYN. (_dryly_). I should thought it might have been.

HEP. Hey? What did you say, Cynthy?

CYN. (_hastily_). I--I was--going to ask you about Ariel. You went
over?

HEP. Yes, as soon as I made up my mind that Sammy was telling the truth I started right over and what do you think I found? Five women there ahead of me! Ain’t that terrible? Shouldn’t you think they’d have let her alone, jest gettin’ home that way, an’ she looked tired to death, though I must say she is prettier’n ever. An’ I says to her, says I----.

SAMUEL SAWYER (_outside_). Maw! Oh, maw! Be you in Miss Cynthy’s
house?

HEP. (_starting up_). Good land! Sammy! What’s he want? (_Going toward door_, C.) It’s a pity a body can’t go calling without bein’ chased up by the family! (_Opens door._) What do you want? No! You’re too wet to come in.

CYN. (_quickly_). No, he isn’t! (_Goes to door._) You come right in, Sammy. I don’t mind a little water. I’ve lived too close to it all my life to be afraid of it.

_Enter_ SAM., C. _He is about nine years old, small for his age and
rather delicate looking. He is a decidedly pretty boy and in
decided contrast to either mother or father. He wears raincoat and
hat and rubber boots._

HEP. Take your feet right off this floor!

SAM. (_uncertainly lifting first one foot then the other_). How’ll I
do it? Where’ll I put ’em, maw?

HEP. (_pulling him onto a rug_). Stand on a rug! My land! Did any one
ever see sech a young one? What do you want o’ me?

SAM. A man has stole father’s pipe.

CYN. (_astonished_). Good land!

HEP. (_sternly_). Now, Samuel Henry, that will do right now before
you go any further!

SAM. ’Tain’t no story, maw. It’s so. I was a-goin’ along an’----

HEP. (_warningly_). Samuel Henry!

SAM. (_beginning to whimper_). It’s so, maw. I tell you it’s so!

CYN. Gracious, Hepsy, I’d listen to what he says.

HEP. Listen to sech foolishness?

SAM. ’Tain’t foolish, maw. Pa’s over to the store, you know he is.

HEP. (_disgusted_). Yes, leave it to your pa to hang out at the store.

SAM. An’--an’--it isn’t pleasant out----

CYN. (_laughing_). No, I guess it ain’t. That’s one truthful story,
Sammy, if you never tell another.

SAM. (_beginning to grow encouraged_). An’--an’--pa forgot his pipe an’ he sent me home for it, an’--I was goin’ along holdin’ the pipe in my hand--an’--an’--you can’t see a thing out, the fog’s so thick--an’ a man come right out the fog an’ grabbed the pipe out o’ my hand an’ ran off with it.

CYN. (_with a gasp_). My land!

HEP. Samuel Henry, where do you expect to go when you die?

SAM. It’s so! It is so, maw!

CYN. Well, of all the queer----

HEP. Didn’t I tell you? He jest lost that pipe somewhere and that’s the kind of a story he makes up, and the Rev. Mr. Peters thinks he is smart.

CYN. Well, my land, if he can tell it off as natural as all that and look as innocent as he does, he sartain is smart. Sammy, you don’t really mean a man took your father’s pipe away from you? Bay Point folks don’t do things like that.

SAM. I don’t believe it was any one in Bay Point.

HEP. Nor in any other town. You march yourself home as straight as
you can go.

SAM. No, no! I ain’t! Not alone! I ain’t a-goin’ out alone again
to-night. He’ll jump out at me again. I’m scared an’--an’--cold.

HEP. Well, you jest go an’ tell your pa where his pipe’s gone to an’
you won’t complain about bein’ cold any more.

SAM. (_beginning to cry_). It’s so, maw! It’s so!

CYN. My land, Hepsy, he does look scared.

HEP. (_grimly_). Yes, he knows his pa pretty well. Wal, I suppose I got to travel along. All the time I get to make social calls you can put in your eye. Lem can set in the store and talk hours on a stretch, but I’d like to ever get a chance to say anything. I’ll get my coat. [_Exit_, R.

CYN. (_going to_ SAM. _and speaking coaxingly_). Sammy, if you lost the pipe, why don’t you own up to it? It would be ever so much easier for you in the end.

SAM. (_throwing his arms around her_). I didn’t, Miss Cynthy. A man
took it!

_Enter_ HEP., _in hat and coat_.

HEP. I’ll see you again ’fore you go, Cynthy.

CYN. (_going to door with them_). All right. My land! Ain’t it thick?
[_Exeunt_ HEP. _and_ SAM., C.

HEP. (_outside_). I never see it worse. You can’t see an inch ’fore
your nose. Walk along, Samuel Henry!

(CYN. _closes door, walks slowly to fireplace and puts some things
into box_.)

ARIEL FREEMAN (_calling from outside_). Miss Cynthy! Oh, Miss Cynthy!

CYN. (_hurrying to door and opening it_). Ariel! You blessed child!

_Enter_ ARIEL. _She is about eighteen; light complexioned; exceedingly
pretty._

ARIEL. Don’t touch me! I’m soaked! (_Throws her coat off._) Will this
be all right?

(_Throws coat over the back of a chair and turns chair toward fire._)

CYN. Yes, of course. How in the world did you ever get here? You
can’t see your hand before your face.

ARIEL. Well, I couldn’t if it was clear, so it doesn’t make much
difference, but I could find my way to your house if I was stone blind.

(_Goes to_ CYN. _and throws her arms around her_.)

CYN. (_alarmed_). Your eyes, Arey? It isn’t really serious?

ARIEL. No, they will come out all right but it’s a good deal of a
nuisance. I can’t see across this room.

CYN. Good land, you blessed child! You are sure you will get over it?

ARIEL. Absolutely, but it will take time and I have got to try to
have patience. My, but it’s good to feel your arms around me!

CYN. And it’s good to feel them there, but you ought not to have come
way over here such a night as this is!

ARIEL. I ran away. Father said not to come, but they told me a dreadful story about your going away in the morning and I just had to see you. It isn’t true, is it?

CYN. Yes, it is true, dearie. There’s no other way.

ARIEL. Why, it can’t be true! There must be some way. Why, what am I going to do without you? You are all the mother I have got, and I need you to help me bear my troubles. Surely you could find something to do here in Bay Point.

CYN. No, I can’t. There isn’t a thing. The factory over to Tylerville has shut down for good. Layford has failed, and there ain’t another thing I can do in my own home, so I got to go out of it to earn a living.

ARIEL. Some one else will be sure to take the factory and you can get
work again.

CYN. Some time, maybe, but I can’t set around and wait.

ARIEL. It will be summer before long and maybe you could get some
boarders.

CYN. Now you know, Arey, that summer people haven’t begun to come
here yet. Maybe they will some time, but I can’t wait for them, either.

ARIEL. Well, I don’t care! It’s simply dreadful! I know you don’t want to go! Why, you love this house and everything in it! I have heard you say so time and time again.

CYN. Yes, you have, dearie. It’s--true--(_breaking down_) I don’t
want to go.

ARIEL (_kneeling by her_). Oh, how selfish I am! I was just thinking
of myself. I shouldn’t have spoken to you that way.

CYN. I have tried to put a brave face on it, but it’s jest takin’ my
heart out.

ARIEL. You are all worn out. I bet you have cleaned and packed all
day! Haven’t you?

CYN. (_faintly_). Yes.

ARIEL. And you haven’t had a mouthful of supper, have you?

CYN. No, I don’t want anything.

ARIEL. Yes, you do!

CYN. (_protesting_). No, I couldn’t eat a thing, dearie.

ARIEL (_rising_). Yes, you could! It’s just what you need. Now you
sit here and rest and I will get you something to eat.

CYN. No, no----

ARIEL. But I say, yes, yes! [_Exit_, R.

CRANFORD BERRY (_outside_). Whoa! Port your hellum! (_Slight pause._ CYN. _listens and dabs at her eyes with her handkerchief_.) I say, Miss Tinker! Ship ahoy!

CYN. (_in a shaky voice, going toward the door_). Ye-es, Cap’n Berry!

_Enter_ BER. _He is about fifty, with gray hair and a smooth face
browned by wind and sea. He has a kindly manner, a rough but hearty
voice that can be heard at a long distance, and he carries a
package._

BER. Well, Miss Tinker, how be you?

CYN. (_swallowing_). Pre-t-ty well.

BER. Well, I’m glad to hear it! It’s more’n you’re lookin’. Obed was jest telling me that you are setting sail for a new port in the morning. I jest stopped in to tell you I’m sorry to hear it. You’ve been mighty kind to me since I come a stranger to Bay Point, an’ I couldn’t let you go ’thout tellin’ you I appreciate it. (_Places package on table._) I brought you a little fruit from the store. Jest as a little farewell gift. I don’t know how good it is. Obed don’t keep much of a assortment but you can eat it on the train; ’twill help to kill the homesickness.

CYN. Oh-o-o! Cap’n Berry!

(_Sits down and bursts into tears._)

BER. (_very much upset_). There, now! There, now! I didn’t mean to set you to pumping for salt water that way! I always was an awful clumsy duffer!

CYN. (_trying to control herself_). No, no, you’re not! You are jest as kind as you can be! It’s your kindness that’s upset me. I’m awful nervous to-night and tired! I don’t want to go, Cap’n Berry. I ain’t lettin’ folks know it. I ain’t tellin’ Hepsy Sawyer and the rest of them but what I’m tickled to pieces over it.

BER. Good idee! What Mis’ Sawyer don’t know won’t hurt her, but what she does know keeps pressing on her brain until she has to let it out or die from concussion. (_Glances about the room._) You don’t feel that there is any way you can stay here?

CYN. No, there isn’t. I have thought of everything, but there is no way. (BER. _walks to the fireplace and stands warming his hands and looking thoughtfully into the fire_.) I love my little home, Cap’n Berry. I was born here in this house. Mother died here and father and me lived a long time here together. After father was too old to go fishing he still had his pension, and with what I could get to do we managed to pull along, and after he died I managed to get along by myself though it wasn’t quite so easy. Father called this the Anchorage, and I never supposed I would have to leave it. I’ve worked hard to stay, and it doesn’t seem right for me to have to go.

BER. You really mean that you don’t think it is right for you to have
to go?

CYN. That’s the way it seems. Father left the home to me and
intended I should live here, and it doesn’t seem right to have to leave.

BER. Then I shouldn’t leave. I should stay right here.

CYN. (_astonished_). Good land, Cap’n, what do you mean?

BER. Jest what I say! ’Tisn’t a good idee to do a thing you think it
ain’t right to do.

CYN. But land sakes, Cap’n, how could I stay here? I can’t live on
empty air, can I?

BER. Well, no, not exactly that. I’ll tell you, though I don’t know as I’ll be very good at finding the right words to tell you jest what I mean. You say you think it is right for you to stay here. Now if you really think and believe that, why--stay! You say this is your home and a way has always been provided for you to live here. Miss Cynthy, you have faith in something. All of us have! We all have a Beacon light we’re steering our course by. Well, jest as long as it’s been fair weather an’ you had your Beacon plain in sight you sailed along all serene, but jest the minute the fog shut in you lost your grip on the steering gear. Miss Cynthy, I reckon the Keeper of the Beacon expects you to believe that He is there and the Beacon is shining jest as bright as ever, and when the fog lifts the rays will be all the brighter to guide you in the right course.

CYN. (_astonished and somewhat breathless_). But--I don’t understand
exactly. What do you think I ought to do?

BER. Jest keep your faith in the Beacon! Miss Cynthy, if a ship was trying to make port and the fog was so thick they couldn’t see my light, I should feel mighty bad if they thought I was laying down on the job jest because the weather was rough. No, Miss Cynthy, they know I am there, and the light is burning, and they jest stop a while until the fog lifts and they can see their course more clearly. Miss Cynthy, why don’t you jest stop a while and say with all your might--“this is my home in foul weather as well as fair. The fog is lifting and the Keeper of the Beacon is sending me brighter rays to steer my course”?

_Enter_ ARIEL, R., _carrying a tray_.

ARIEL (_gaily_). Now for supper! (_Stops suddenly._) Oh, I beg your
pardon. I didn’t know you had callers, Miss Cynthy.

(_Looks uncertainly toward_ BER., _who she can see but indistinctly.
He gives her one look, reels back against the mantel breathing
hard_.)

BER. (_hoarsely_). Who--who----

CYN. (_is upset herself and doesn’t notice his agitation_). Miss
Freeman. Abner’s daughter. Arey, this is Cap’n Berry.

ARIEL. Oh, yes, the new keeper of Bay Point. I’m glad to meet you.

BER. (_recovering_). Same to you, Miss. Well, I’ll set sail for the Point, Miss Tinker. I wish you didn’t feel that you had to be leaving us in the morning, but whatever course you steer jest keep your eye on the Beacon and I wish you luck.

(_Shakes hands with her._)

CYN. Thank you, Cap’n Cranberry. (_Aghast._) Oh, I beg your pardon.
You see so many call you that and----

BER. That’s all right! That’s all right! I got to be a Berry, and
I might as well be a cranberry as any other kind. Evenin’, ladies.
[_Exit_, C.

ARIEL (_arranging things on the table, and pouring tea_). Here’s
supper, Miss Cynthy. You’ll feel better after you have some hot tea.

CYN. (_looking after_ BER.). I--I believe I’m feeling better anyway.

BER. (_outside_). Belay there! Heave to! All aboard! Gid’ap! Now,
we’re off!

ARIEL (_smiling as she listens_). I like him, Miss Cynthy; although I
only saw him a minute and didn’t really see him either.

CYN. (_sitting by table and beginning to eat_). He’s a splendid man
if there ever was one!

ARIEL. Who is with him at the light?

CYN. An old shipmate. They’re doing their own housekeeping, an’ I must say I’d like to see the inside of a house run by a couple of men. Cap’n Berry followed the sea for years, and I have heard tell that he lost his wife and child in a shipwreck. I don’t believe he’s ever got over it. From something he said one day I imagine he’s had a pretty sad and lonesome life, but he certain makes the best of it. He’s invested in a cranberry bog up the cape, an’ that and his name was enough to set folks goin’, and he’s pretty generally called Cap’n Cranberry, but I’m mortified to death to think I should call him that right to his face.

ARIEL. I don’t believe he cared.

CYN. He wouldn’t let on if he did. My land, Arey, you ain’t told me a thing about yourself yet. Weren’t it hard to leave school? Won’t it make a difference when you go back?

ARIEL. No, I can catch up with my class when I get my eyes again, and they bothered me so much I was rather glad to give up the fight and come home. There’s only one thing bothering me. Father says Nat Williams is expected home any day.

CYN. (_sharply_). Well, what of it?

ARIEL. You know what of it!

CYN. Now see here, Arey, your father has surely got over that foolishness. As well as he loves you he won’t try to marry you to a man you don’t love. Didn’t say anything to-day, did he?

ARIEL. No, only that Nat is coming and praised him to the skies, the
way he always does. I can’t imagine why he cares so much for Nat.

CYN. (_decidedly_). Well, you don’t have to even if he does. I don’t
believe your father will start that thing to going again.

ARIEL (_with a sigh_). If he does I had about as soon be dead. I owe so much to my father, and I want to please him but I never could make up my mind----(_Stops abruptly._)

CYN. No, of course you couldn’t. I never was struck on Nat myself. I
can’t imagine what ails your father.

ARIEL (_rising_). I must go back. Dad went to the store and I slipped out. (_Takes her coat from chair and puts it on._) If he goes home and finds me gone such a night as this, he will sound the fire alarm and get out a searching party. (_Kisses_ CYN.) Good-night, Miss Cynthy. I--I--oh, I won’t say anything more to make you feel badly, but I can’t believe there is anything right about your going away. I’ll see you in the morning. Good-night. (_Opens door_, C.)

CYN. Good-night, dearie. My land, it grows worse! You ought not to
try to go home alone.

ARIEL. Nonsense! (_Exit._) I guess I know Bay Point.

(CYN. _closes door, walks back to table and pours another cup of tea.
She starts to drink it._)

BER. (_outside_). Whoa! Avast there! Heave over your anchor! Ahoy,
Miss Tinker!

CYN. (_surprised_). Yes, Cap’n. (_Starts toward door._)

BER. (_entering_). Didn’t expect me back quite so soon, did you? I’ve lost my pipe. (_Feels in his pocket._) It’s durned queer! I most generally keep it in this pocket. I thought maybe I dropped it here.

(_Begins to look about on the floor._)

CYN. (_joining in search_). I haven’t seen it. Are you sure you had
it with you?

BER. Sartain! I never travel without it, an’ I declare I’d about as
soon go back home without my head.

CYN. Land sakes! You can buy another pipe, can’t you?

BER. Yes, but not jest like this one. This pipe came clear from Calcutta and it sartain is one of my best friends. That pipe an’ me has faced some black times together and she has always proved a true comrade in rough weather. Well, I guess I didn’t drop her here. (_Tries to speak carelessly._) Little gal gone?

CYN. Ariel? Yes.

BER. (_curiously_). Ariel? That ain’t no name for a girl.

CYN. Ain’t it? I always thought it was real kind of pretty and fancy.

BER. Fancy enough, but it’s a boy’s name. How’d she happen to be
called that?

CYN. Well, of course Cap’n Freeman didn’t know her real name and he said Ariel was some spirit of a storm or a tempest or something, and the name seemed real fitting.

BER. (_with an effort_). Ain’t--ain’t she Freeman’s own daughter?

CYN. Land, no! Ain’t you never heard nobody tell about Arey Freeman?

BER. (_leaning against the table and gripping the edge with his
hand_). No. Where’d she come from?

CYN. Abner found her when she was a baby. It was after a big storm
and there’d been a lot o’ shipwrecks and she was lashed to a spar.

BER. Where was it?

CYN. Near some foreign port. I forget where. At first he thought she was probably a foreign baby, but as she grew older he declared her folks must have been good Yankees. At any rate he has made a good one of her. (_Suddenly noticing him._) Why, Cap’n Berry, what’s the matter?

BER. (_pulling himself together_). Nothin’, Miss Cynthy, nothing but a memory. I’ll say good-night again, but not good-bye. Somehow, something tells me that you ain’t goin’ ter leave us after all. (_Exit_, C. _Outside._) Port your hellum, Nathan. All aboard! [_Exit_ CYN., R., _with some of the dishes_.

(_There is a knock at the door. The knock is repeated._ ABNER FREEMAN
_enters_, C. _He is about fifty, tall and straight, iron gray hair
and beard; is rather nervous and inclined to be irritable._)

ABNER (_as he enters_). Cynthy! Cynthy!

_Enter_ CYN., R., _hurriedly_.

CYN. Land, it’s you, Cap’n Abner?

ABNER. Yes. Is Cranberry here?

CYN. No, he has been here but he is gone. Hasn’t been gone but a few
minutes though.

ABNER. Couldn’t catch him such a night as this if he hadn’t been gone
but a minute.

CYN. Dreadful, ain’t it?

ABNER. Couldn’t be much worse. I hear you are leaving in the morning,
Cynthy. Doesn’t seem as if there was any need of that.

CYN. Doesn’t seem so, does it? I have about decided that it isn’t
right.

ABNER (_sharply_). Isn’t right? What do you mean by that?

CYN. Why, this has always been my home and I think father would want
me to stay in it.

ABNER. Your father? What are you bringing him up for? He’s dead. You
don’t know what he would want.

CYN. (_surprised_). Goodness, Cap’n Abner, you are touchy to-night.

ABNER. Foolishness always makes me touchy. I suppose some simpleton has hinted to you that your father was cheated or something and if you had what was rightfully yours you wouldn’t have to leave.

CYN. (_astonished_). Why, Cap’n Abner, have you gone crazy? No one
ever dreamed of such a thing.

ABNER. ’Twould be just like them! (_Abruptly changes the subject._)
Have you heard that Ariel is at home?

CYN. (_guardedly_). Yes, I heard.

ABNER. Nat Williams has come home to-night, too.

CYN. (_shortly_). Has he? Why do you name them two almost in the same
breath?

ABNER. Good couple to name together.

CYN. To your way of thinking, perhaps.

ABNER (_walking toward door_). It’s a mighty good way. (_Turns uneasily and comes back._) See here, Cynthy, if you want me to, I’ll lend you some money to keep you going until you can get some more work of some kind.

CYN. Why, Cap’n Abner, that’s more’n kind of you.

ABNER. I’d be glad to do it. I was always a good friend of your
father’s. You know that, don’t you?

CYN. Yes, indeed. Father thought everything of you.

ABNER. Well, how much do you want?

CYN. Not anything. I appreciate your kindness but I couldn’t do that.

ABNER. Better do it. I’m perfectly willing.

CYN. No. No, thank you.

ABNER (_walking to door_). Well, just as you like, but don’t say I
didn’t offer to help you. Good-night.

(_Exit_, C. CYN. _stands looking after him puzzled for a second; then
she walks to fireplace, turns and looks about the room slowly,
repeats softly._)

CYN. “This is my home in foul weather as well as fair. The fog is lifting and the Keeper of the Beacon is sending me brighter rays to steer my course.”

(_Suddenly and determinedly takes the pictures and vases from box and
places them back on the mantel._)

OBADIAH DANIELS (_knocking on the door_). I say, Cynthy! This is Obed! Kin I come in a minit? (_Enters_ C. _He is small and wiry, white hair and whiskers._) Land, Cynth, I’m nearly drowned! Sech a night an’ the queerest thing’s happened. Fer the love of Admiral Farragut will you lend me a lantern?

CYN. (_laughing_). I’ll lend you one for love of yourself, Obed. We
don’t need to go way back to Admiral Farragut.

OBAD. I wish you meant that, Cynth. ’Tain’t no way to joke with me ’bout love. I should think you’d be ashamed to. You know I’ve been dying of love for you ever since we learned our a-b-abs together.

CYN. ’Tain’t love that ails you, Obed, it’s indigestion. You fell in love with my lunch pail years ago and thought it was me. You never have got over your love for my--lunch pail!

OBAD. By tunket, that ain’t fair, Cynth. I come over here to-night to tell yer there ain’t no need of your leavin’ Bay Point. If--if--you’d jest take a pardner into your business--you--you know I’m ready--more’n ready--hev been fer years.

CYN. Don’t, Obed! Please! You are kind. I know how kind, and you
deserve a good deal better partner than I would ever make.

OBAD. I’d be satisfied. I shouldn’t fret ’bout that a mite.

CYN. I thought you came for a lantern, Obed.

OBAD. No, I wuz comin’ anyway, but I decided I needed a lantern. Fog’s so thick you can’t cut it with an axe and somebody’s stolen my pipe.

CYN. (_astonished_). What?

OBAD. Ever hear tell o’ sech a thing?

CYN. (_staring at him_). Never!

OBAD. Land sakes, Cynth, be you struck?

CYN. I don’t know but I am, or else everybody else is. How did it
happen?

OBAD. Why, I wuz walkin’ along an’ some one runs up behind me, puts his hand in my pocket and then kites off fast as he could go. At first I was so s’prised I didn’t know what had happened, an’ then after a second I puts my hand in my pocket an’ my pipe wuz gone. I suppose he thought he’d got my pocketbook.

CYN. I ain’t so sure o’ that. You’re the third I’ve heard about
that’s had their pipes took this evening.

OBAD. (_at the top of his voice_). What? Well, fer the love o’
Admiral Nelson who’s the others?

CYN. Lemuel Sawyer and Cap’n Cranberry.

OBAD. Wal, sufferin’ cats! I’m goin’ right over ter Lem’s! Must be a lunatic loose in Bay Point, an’ gosh all fog horns, he’ll murder some one in this fog ’fore he gets through!

CYN. Wait a second! I’ll get you a lantern!

(_Exit_, R. OBAD. _walks about very much upset_. CYN. _re-enters with
lantern_.)

OBAD. (_grabbing it and starting for the door_). Much obleeged!

CYN. Obed, you sent word you had somebody to take this house for me.

OBAD. Yes, I hev, Cynth, some folks up to Barnstable.

CYN. (_slowly_). Well, tell them please the place ain’t for rent any
longer.

OBAD. Hey? How’s that? You mean somebody else has took it?

CYN. No. I’m going to stay myself.

OBAD. You? Why, I thought you couldn’t. What’s happened? Air you
goin’ ter hev some more work to do?

CYN. (_hesitating a second_). Ye-es, I’m going to have some more work
to do.

OBAD. (_curiously_). What are you goin’ ter do, Cynth?

CYN. I--I can’t tell you to-night.

OBAD. Secret, eh?

CYN. Yes, a secret jest now. I’ll tell you later.

OBAD. Wal, I kin wait, I reckon. I’m mighty glad you’re goin’ ter
stay. Good-night, Cynth. [_Exit_, C.

CYN. Good-night, Obed. (_Locks the door; goes to fireplace; picks up box; carries it out_ R.; _reënters; goes to mantel; winds a clock; goes to center table; picks up lamp; starts toward stairs; stops; half turns back; repeats softly_.) “The fog is lifting and the Keeper of the Beacon is sending me brighter rays to steer my course.” (_Suddenly speaks impatiently._) Cynthia Tinker, you sartain are the biggest fool that walks! (_Starts toward the stairs._)

LEE GORDON (_knocking at door_). Oh, I say! The house! (CYN. _turns back and listens, startled._) Is anybody home? (_Knocks again._) May I come in?

CYN. (_uncertainly_). Who--is it?

LEE. You won’t know if I tell you. I’m a stranger around here. I’m
lost and I want some one to tell me where I am at.

CYN. (_putting lamp on table, then slowly unlocking and opening door_). You sound all right. I’ll risk it even if you are a stranger in Bay Point. Come in!

_Enter_ LEE. _He is about twenty-one, very slight and boyish in
appearance and manner. Decidedly likeable._

LEE (_with a gasp_). Thanks! (_Slams the door._) My name is Gordon. Lee Gordon. (_Leans back against the door._) I never was so nearly all in!

CYN. I don’t wonder. I don’t know when we ever had sech a night. Go
over by the fire and get dry. And hev something to eat.

LEE (_going toward table_). Great! I could eat a whale!

CYN. (_taking teapot from table_). I’ll get you some hot tea!
[_Exit_, R.

LEE (_hurrying to door, opening it and speaking cautiously_). Pete! Are you there? Come up into the shelter of the door and I’ll let you in as soon as I can. (_Shuts door; hangs coat on chair by fire._ CYN. _reënters with tea; pours him a cup. He sits down by table._) Say, but you are kind! I’ve heard about the Cape Cod folks before, and now I can well believe what I have heard. It’s great of you to do this. How do you know but what I’ll murder you and get away with the silver?

CYN. I’ll risk it. If you want to murder me for a butter knife and
seven teaspoons, go ahead. That’s all I got that’s solid.

LEE. Thanks for the tip. I guess it isn’t worth while. In return for your hospitality I will tell you the history of my bright young life. I’m an artist and I have come down the cape looking for a place to stay a while and do some sketching. I have made the trip in an auto, and I should have had sense enough to have stayed in Orleans over night. I didn’t realize how bad the storm was going to be.

CYN. Where’s your car?

LEE. Anchored somewhere above here. I simply couldn’t make it budge another inch so I had to come on afoot. (_Rises._) I’ll have to find lodgings. Gee! (_Looks about._) I hate to go on. Say, you couldn’t consider----(_Hesitates and looks at her doubtfully._) I don’t suppose you would think of such a thing as--as----

CYN. As taking you in?

LEE (_eagerly_). That’s what I meant. Of course it’s awfully nervy of me but I do like this little house--and--and I like you, too. You have been so mighty kind. It seems almost as if I was sent right here.

CYN. (_looking at him with a staring look_). It does seem that way,
that’s a fact. You can stay.

LEE. Honest? You mean just over night, or as long as I please?

CYN. As long as you please.

LEE (_joyfully_). Say, but that’s great! Gee! What luck!

CYN. (_rising suddenly_). Ain’t it? I’ll go right up and see about
your room.

(_Exit_, R. _Reënters with a lamp and exits by stairs._)

LEE (_looking after her, goes to door_, C., _and opens it_). Pete!
Quick! Come in!

_Enter_ PETER POMEROY, C. _He is about_ LEE’s _age; inclined to be
stout and usually very good-natured, but now he is decidedly out of
patience_.

PETER. Say, of all the----

LEE. Hush! I’m going to stay here! Did you ever hear such luck?

PETER. Never! Where am I going to sleep? In the shade of the pump in
the back yard?

LEE (_glancing uneasily toward stairs_). No, I’ll try to get you up-stairs for to-night. The landlady seems to be alone here and she will never know the difference.

PETER (_going to table_). And you had some eats! Do you know what
h-o-g spells?

LEE. Hush! Will you? Here! (_Opens door_, L., _cautiously and looks out_.) Get in here out of sight! (PETER _grabs some food from table_.) Now, don’t move until I say the word. (_Pushes him toward door._)

PETER (_as he exits_ L.). Sure! Fido doesn’t come till he’s called.

_Enter_ CYN., _by stairs_.

CYN. It’s all right, Mr. Gordon. I’ll get you some towels and then
you can go right up.

(_She exits_ R. _Lee rushes to door_, L., _and pulls Peter into
room_.)

LEE. Pete! Quick!

PETER. For heaven’s sake! I had just got settled to eat lunch!

LEE. Up the stairs, quick! (_Pushes him toward stairs._) I’ll be
right up!

PETER (_starting to go up-stairs, turns back_). Say, I forgot to tell
you I got three. (_Takes three pipes from his pocket._)

LEE (_impatiently_). Three what? Oh, pipes! Three pipes already! Good
work, old fellow! This is going to be some adventure.

PETER. Huh? I should worry about the adventure. I want my stomach
filled up and a night’s sleep!
[_Exit by stairs, eating a piece of bread._

_Enter_ CYN., R., _and hands_ LEE _a lamp and some towels_.

CYN. Now, you can go right up; first door on the right.

LEE. If you knew how much I appreciate your kindness. Why, it’s too
good to be true. (_Starts toward stairs._) I think I must be dreaming.

CYN. Not yet.

LEE (_looking back and laughing_). But soon! Good-night.

CYN. Good-night. (LEE _exits by stairs. She stands looking after
him._) Well, Cynthia Tinker, maybe you ain’t such a fool after all!

CURTAIN