The priest had given them
his address, and Will had promised to write to him; he had brought her
what he called his "paintings," from his "studio," and she had pinned
them up in her little parlor; they were painted on paper and were not
remarkable evidences of genius. Not quite the old masters, although
painted in Italy by an Italian. His English was excellent; he was
expecting to come to America some day. A sea captain in Brooklyn had a
portrait of him in oil, and when Miss Prudence went to New York she must
call and see it; Morris and he were great friends. That naughty Will had
asked him one day if he never wished to marry, and he had colored so,
poor fellow, and said, 'It is better to live for Christ.' And Will had
said he hoped he lived for Christ, too. The priest had a smooth face and
a little round spot shaven on top of his head. She used to wish Marjorie
might see that little round spot.
And the pilot, they had such a funny pilot! When anything was passed him
at the table, or you did him a favor, he said "thank you" in Italian
and in English.
And how they used to walk the little deck! And the sunsets! She had to
confess that she did not see one sunrise till they were off Sandy Hook
coming home. But the moonlight on the water was most wonderful of all!
That golden ladder rising and falling in the sea! They used to look at it
and talk about home and plan what she would do in that little house.
She used to be sorry for Morris; but he did not seem lonesome: he was
always buried in a book at leisure times; and he said he would be sailing
over the seas with his wife some day.
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