FullReads

As he seemed to be speaking to himself, the young girl, who had been gazing with far greater interest at the foreign-looking southern shore, felt confused and did not reply. Then, as if recalling her presence, Brother Seabright turned to her and said:–

“Yes, young lady; and when you hear the old bell of the Tamalpais, and think of how it came here, you may rejoice in the goodness of the Lord that made even those who strayed from the straight course and the true reckoning the means of testifying onto Him.”

But the young are quicker to detect attitudes and affectation than we are apt to imagine; and Cissy could distinguish a certain other straying in this afterthought or moral of the preacher called up by her presence, and knew that it was not the real interest which the view had evoked. She had heard that he had been a sailor, and, with the tact of her sex, answered with what she thought would entertain him:–

“I was a little girl when it happened, and I heard that some sailors got ashore down there, and climbed up this gully from the rocks below. And they camped that night–for there were no houses at West Woodlands then–just in the woods where our chapel now stands. It was funny, wasn’t it?–I mean,” she corrected herself bashfully, “it was strange they chanced to come just there?”

But she had evidently hit the point of interest.

“What became of them?” he said quickly. “They never came to Horse Shoe Settlement, where the others landed from the wreck. I never heard of that boat’s crew or of ANY landing HERE.”

“No. They kept on over the range south to the Mission. I reckon they didn’t know there was a way down on this side to Horse Shoe,” returned Cissy.

Brother Seabright moved on and continued his slow, plodding march. But he kept a little nearer Cissy, and she was conscious that he occasionally looked at her. Presently he said:–

“You have a heavenly gift, Miss Appleby.”

Cissy flushed, and her hand involuntarily went to one of her long, distinguishing curls. It might be THAT. The preacher continued:–

“Yes; a voice like yours is a heavenly gift. And you have properly devoted it to His service. Have you been singing long?”

“About two years. But I’ve got to study a heap yet.”

“The little birds don’t think it necessary to study to praise Him,” said the preacher sententiously.

It occurred to Cissy that this was very unfair argument. She said quickly:–

“But the little birds don’t have to follow words in the hymn-books. You don’t give out lines to larks and bobolinks,” and blushed.

The preacher smiled. It was a very engaging smile, Cissy thought, that lightened his hard mouth. It enabled her to take heart of grace, and presently to chatter like the very birds she had disparaged. Oh yes; she knew she had to learn a great deal more. She had studied “some” already. She was taking lessons over at Point Concepcion, where her aunt had friends, and she went three times a week. The gentleman who taught her was not a Catholic, and, of course, he knew she was a Protestant. She would have preferred to live there, but her mother and father were both dead, and had left her with her aunt. She liked it better because it was sunnier and brighter there. She loved the sun and warmth. She had listened to what he had said about the dampness and gloom of the chapel. It was true. The dampness was that dreadful sometimes it just ruined her clothes, and even made her hoarse. Did he think they would really take his advice and clear out the woods round the chapel?

“Would you like it?” he asked pleasantly.

“Yes.”

“And you think you wouldn’t pine so much for the sunshine and warmth of the Mission?

“I’m not pining,” said Cissy with a toss of her curls, “for anything or anybody; but I think the woods ought to be cleared out. It’s just as it was when the runaways hid there.”