The Diamond Derelict Being the Record of a
You Man Who Finally Won Out By Edward Marshall
(Copyright. All Klghts Reserved, by
K L. Marshall.)
CIIAITKK XXlf.
No mutter how nice the dock Is, you can't
stuy moored there always.
What 11 ships
Hook of Tim
for Ih to Kuil. The Iaik
l,ynuv.
1 tlVIO wicks later :i Aim autumn
M day drew near to Its close Mint
i ". the waning sunshine lilleO the
'LjiVJ hollows of tho Cape Cod sand
" 'bin, i Diiiuiuno,
Westward tho blue cxjue;e of Cape Cod
buy rippled In thn Into afternoon light.
Kuxtwiird th" dwpi-r, mum metallic blue
of tln Atlantic glowed between the ncriih
I'lnox. 'I Ik captain sat in a huge chair
Upon the pt.izza of his home and chewed
gloomily upon, the stem of :iu untlghtcd
pipe. The tnn of many yearn had faded
from Mm rugged face, and It wan somewhat
thinner than it had been when he was
stricken, but there were few other signs
Of the lllnctta which hud left him as vig
orous on over In mind, but uncertain as to
legs.
Near him sat Mrs. Burgee, busy with
her knlttlriK. and occasionally (and as If
anxious not to have the action observed)
Wiping her eyes with the completed end of
the blue sock which was under construc
tion by her needles.
A pleasant breeze stirred the loose locks
of Norali's hair as she, seuted on the top
step of the piazza, leaned back against her
husband's knees. Hhe was gazing Into tho
glimmering eastern Blow, but It was plain
to see that her thoughts were not on the
culm Krandeur of the se:i. l'urton himself,
In a barrel chulr above her, somewhat ner
vously puffed the smoke from u cigar Into
tho gentle (sidles of a llKht breeze, and
watched It us It drifted. (Inu hand rested
upon Norah's shoulder, where It caroused a
loosened lock of lialr. The other bent und
unhetil the paper of u letter which was
held open In It.
The captain was the first to spenk.
"What makes me so John mad," he Bald,
"Is the Idee of gcttin' up at such an hour.
I don't care u IJulney uhout your goln'
back there to Potith Afrleky, but it uin't
civilized to expect no man not no sick
man, unyway to Kit up nt no such hour .
M 5 o'clock. Adams'. I might Jest aa well
be buck to sea ag'in. If they can't run
their tralna at more resectable hours than
that, I'm K"ln' to move off the Cape. Yea,
Ir, by John Uulncy Adums I'm a-goln' to
novo to some place' whero you don't have
to stay up all night In order to Kit started
In th' niornln'. What's th' use, anywayT
Hey? What's th' use? Whafa th' use o'
Ilvln' on. th' Cape? There's Lyddy there.
She'll he a-hawlin' around here soon' a you're
gone; an' I s'pose that woman there that
Nory that you all talk a'much about ' If
he was all they waa on earth she'll be
creoc.hln' -all over th' place within a minute
after you git good un' gone. No, air, by
John! I'm a-gin' to move off the Cape.
"Don't know where I'm goln' to move
to; don't know an' don't give a I don't
give a damn! There, now, Lyydy Skolfeld,
you jest muke th' most o' that, will you?
I don't give a damn! That's th' first time
rve took th' name o' the Ijord amy God in
vain for a John (Julncy Adams long time.
Hut I don't give a damn. An' an' what's
th' use?"
No ono answered, so after waiting a
while be went on:
"You Kngllsh folka make me mad that's
what you do. You make me, mad. Va
United Statosers come out of you, and I
guess we ilHln't come none too Boon. If
we'd stayed with you a few yearn longer
'fore we wrote our declaration I guess we'd
been Jest th' same helpless, useless sort o'
trash that you be. Hut I don't give a
damn! Now If you want to git mail at
me, Lyddy, 'cause I've been swearln' you
git mad! That's all. Git mad!"
"I ain't a-gUtln' mad. Obed." said Mrs.
Burgee, somewhat weakly, and wiping her
eyes. "Guess I feel 'bout th' same's you
do, only I don't put It quite that way."
8 he paused for a moment as if consider
ing the matter of whether she, too, might
not get some satisfaction out of profane
wearing.
"I d' knows It's a very bad way. though.
F I thought I'd git any comfort out of
It. I'd say it. too. Hut It don't seem to
me that it'd muke me feeling any wlllln'er
to let him go Jest to say 'dnmn.' If you
gU comfort out of It, though, Obed. why,
you cuss. I won't say nothln.' now nor
never If you cuss about his goln.' Only
Weil, course, they two knows heat. They
know what's right for them to do. But
It docs Jest seem well, It Jest seems hard.
I s'pose It's harder ylt for them, Ohtd,
than It la for us two, though. They're,
goln' to be sep'rated by It. Hut 1 Jest as
soon you'd cuss ugln, Obed, If it don't
make Henry or Nory feel bad to hear you."
She turned to the young people. "Does
It, children?" she asked.
"Go on." said l'urton. "I like It."
Norah sat silent for a moment, and then
she gently disengaged hcrpelf from Par
ton, and. going first to the captain and
then to his wife, kissed Lhem both. Then
she sat down again In her chair and lean
ing her head over until It rented
upon Parton's shouldi r, began to weep
iiiclly.
"Stow It," nald the captain slowly. "Stow
that, Nory! If you don't stow It I'll be
ii-bellerln' myself. That'd be nice now,
wouldn't It? You folks make me all ferglt
what I started In to sny. What I was
a-goln' to say was that you Britishers
make me mad! You ain't got no eddici
tlon. That's what's th' mnttcr with you
no eddicatlon. Nothln' worth mcntlonin.'
anyhow. I'd Jest be 'shamed!"
"Why, Obod!" wild his wife reproach
fully. "Why. Obed."
"Well," went on the captain, "I mean
it. If Parton thero'd been proper brought
up. he'd know how to do somethln' or
other for himself. lie c'ld bo a carpenter,
or a plumber, or a farmer or somethln'.
He wouldn't ho Jest a John helpless luna
tic, wantln' to go back to South Afrleky
to dig for little stuns. I ain't a-blumln'
him any, nn' I'd know as Nory's goln'
to be much bother to Lyddy whils t you're
gone. Hut now I tell you what It makes
me all choke up to think of your leln' such
a little fool when you was young as not
to git no useful eddicatlon at some prac
tical trade or other, so's't you could make
a Ilvln" here on the Cape without goln'
off to some outlandish place or other, an'
leavln' all your folks behind to worry!"
No one attempted to make any reply to
this extraordinary speech, but the captain
went on rapidly ns If to avoid any po. slble
Interruption.
"Now don't he a-tellln' me we ain't your
folks. What Is a man after another man
has saved hla lire? Ain't he that man's
folks? And what's a woman after a man
has saved her husband's life? Ain't she
his folka, too? Well I Jest want to know
if she ain't?"
Mrs. Burgee got up slowly and went into
the house. When she reappeared she had
her sunbonnet on. It was the first time
she bad shown any signs of really breaking
down under the prospect of parting from
these young folks whom Bhe had learnrd
to love so well, and whom the old captain,
now thut ho was partially restored to
health, had done nothing less than appro
priate as a sort of glorified daughter and
adored son.
"Well, I'm a-goln' down to th' postofflce."
she said simply. " K I stay here any
longer a-llstenin' to you I'll be bellerin'
like a fog horn."
Mrs. Burgee's pilgrimages to the rost
offlce had become as regular as the coming
of the days. They punled the captain, for
he assured her that there was no one who
could possibly write to her, but Mrs. Bur
gee only smiled and went. Sometimes she
took a letter from the groceryman who at
tended to the business of the mail? a let
ter with the Imprint of the government
hydrographlc office In Its corner and bear
ing no postage stamp. Most of those who
received letters at the little Cape Cod ottlce
were Impatient and opened them teforn
they left the store, but not so Mrs. Bur
gee. She always waited until on her way
home she had reached a point between two
dunes that hid her both from the vilige
and her home. There ahe gleaned eagerly
at the contents of the official envelope.
The enclosures had so far been most unsat
isfactory. They had ever read as follows:
"The I'nlted States hydrographlc rflW
regrets that it bus received no word that
any vessel has sighted a derelict barken
tlne answering to the description of the
I.ydia Skolfeld."
She noticed that they were always signed
with a rubber stamp and wondered If the
hands that pressed It to the paper bail any
notion of the misery Its message took to
her. She bad torn each of the notices to
small hits and carefully burled them deep
in the Cape Cod sands. In her heart only
was there any hope that the I.ydia still
floated, and she spoke It to none of thoje
seuted at home.
As she started nut this night, she re
solved that if she found no news she would
abandon toping, too. Bhe planned a little
ceremony which should tako place as Bhe
return d along the rood and Interred the
scraps of the official notice. She felt de
pressed nnd gloomy, but as she passed
down the graveled path between the solemn
rows of box plants she turned and bravely
smiled.
CHAPTER XXIII.
You can bear the chug of hrr paddlewheels
further than you can a steamboat's whit
tle. A lovin" woman's heart-throls will
reach heaven quicker than the loudest
preacher prayln' 'cause he's paid to. The
Log Hook of the Lyddy.
Mrs. Burgee's walk toward the postoflio.e
was us little pleasant as any she had e er
made across the Cape Cod sand. She loved
this sand, but thut afternoon It seemed
very h-rd to tramp through. She loved the
little pines that straggled on Its dunes, but
that afternoon they seemed like sturt. d
symbols of dead hopes. At the summit of
tho little hill whence she waved her fare
well back to the group on the port h
she could see salt water stretching both
to east and west. She loved tjie sea, but
that afternoon it had a heartless glitter.
"Drat you!" she said, and both wcrds
left her lips italicized.
"Drat you!" she said again. "You're
greedy like a 6 month's child, you are.
'Tul n't ns If the things could be any use
to you. If they was pretty things thnt you
could toss around and wear to make ycur
waves look nice, I wouldn't care ao much.
But they ain't pretty yet he told me so.
Said they wouldn't be till after they was
polished up and cut.
"You got lots o' little stuns a heap sight
prettier than they be now, and care so lit
tle for 'em that you throw 'em out upon
the brach. You'll never git 'em cut and
polLshed. They ain't no use to you at a'l.
You'll leave 'em down amongst the shad
ders In your Innards an' never give 'em any
chance to even try to shine. And by a
keepln' 'em you're robbln' me you're rob
bin' me of what I've longed for all my life."
Mrs. Burgee stopped and stamped hr
foot there In the sand. She looked around
her cautiously. Then she went with many
glances around to see that she was uncb
erved a little distance into the dwarf for
est of scrub pine.
And there, In the sad silence of the little
solltudo a silence emphasized by the con
stant moaning of the pea and the dead rat
tling of the sorry limbs above her she
threw herself upon the sand and wept.
She had taken the young people to ber
heart with that fierce mother love which Is
not rare In bleak New England. Durlrg all
the years since Bhe had married her long
ing for a child had been Intense. That she
was to die without one she had years be
fore accepted with fatalistic but occasion
ally rebellious resignation. But when these
two young Uvea came into hers it was al
most as delightful as that other warmth
of Joy which she had felt when as a girl
she had first felt certain of Obed's love for
her, but it was wholly different
About the future she had not cared or
dared to think too much. Obed had been
restored to her from the Valley of the
Shadow. These two children had been
given to her from some mystery of radiance
hidden somewbere In God's un-understand-ablo
munificence.
Ho when at last the blow fell on her In
his announcement that he must go back
to the Cape to fight again for fortune, it
dazed her. Hers was not a demonstrative
nature, and she had said little of her woe,
but aa she knelt there on the sand her
heart wept, cried out very softly, and she
prayed.
Then, hurrying in the twilight, she al
most ran down to the postoffleo. It was the
night when news should come from the
Hydrographlc office, and her heart Jumped
a little as the postmaster passed out the
envelope with the Imprint of the office.
Tills, she presumed, would bold an an
swer to tho last careful, stiff-fingered note
she had Bent asking them to acquaint her
tho moment news should reach them of the
sighting of the I.ydia Skolfeld, derelict.
All her hopes were centered now in the
finding of that hulk. The Lydia bad ceased
to Interest her as a ship she had liecome
tho casket which held the magic key to
happiness the diamonds that would make
it possible for Parton to stay away from
Africa, and news of her must come through
' this office in Washington.
She hurried off desperately to her little
retreat among the pines and tore the letter
open. She scarcely dared to look at It.
Her hands trembled as she held It.
At last sho slowly turned her gaze and
deciphered in the fading light the heading
of the olnce, the date, the words "Dear
Madame."
She gave one helpless look up at tho
fading brilliance of the sky, which in Its
dropping seemed to plead humbly with the
sea It Burveycd for an instant. Then, with
bands shaking Jerkily and with eyes
strained In. the dim light she slowly de
ciphered the brief message.
Without a word she fell Iforward on the
sand and gripped hands full of It between
her tense and straining lingers. She rubbed
her face down in its cool and pleasant
softness. She did not cry, ,she did not
laugh. Hhe lay quito still and tried to
think.
It waa fully five minutes later that r.he
sat up, and tho shadows there among the
deadened pines had deepened ho that she
was unable to read the welcome words
again, no matter how sho strained her eyes.
She rose and started slowly toward the
bouse. Bhe had gone 100 yards, perhaps,
when she stopped suddenly. She retraced
her steps and again sunk to her knees.
"Oh, Lord, you've been real good to me,"
Bhe said. "I most forgot to thank you;
and you've been real good to me."
Then she turned and, stumbling aa she
ran, went quickly toward the village.
CIIATTKH XXIV.
No matter how mis'rable the voyage may
have been, we all chirk up on landin' day.
The Log Book of The Lyddy.
. After Mrs. Burgee hud left the house the
remaining three sat almost silent on the
little porch and looked out at the sea. The
young people would have been unhappy had
not their youth been hopeful of great
things to come.
To Parton the prospect of another period
of strain and Btruggle was unwelcome,
but he knew that he would start with bet
ter courage and a stronger determinatioa
because of the tremendous stake he had t
work for happy years at home witfc
Norah.
To her the prospect was more dreadful,
but she glorified In his courage and would
do naught to break it down. Ixve is won
derful, and she waa learning It. Norah'
dreaming eyes were suddenly arrested by
the sight of the strange craft and its low
lying tow. She sprang up cheerfully.
"Sail ho!" she cried. She got the cap
tains battered old marine glass for him,
and held It to his eye with one hand, while
Bhe adjusted the focus with the other ac
cording to his orders. The captain peered
squlntlngly.
"One turn ahead," he said, instructing
her, "now back It Just a mite. There.
That'll do. It's almost too dark to see."
For a moment be gazed, interested as
he always was In anything that showed
movement on the sea.
"It's John Sears, and that there monhad
rner of hia'n the Susy," said the captain.
"She's towln' suthin", but I can't see what
It Is. Looks like a raft he's picked up
some'rs."
He let his head drop back and Norah
lowered the glass, offering It to Parton.
He declined and she put it to her own eye
for a moment.
"Yes, It's a raft," said she. "Sure the
little tug's having hard work pulling It
along."
"'Taln't a tug." tho captain said. "Ife
a flshin' boat. Don't seem Jest respectable
to mo to fish from Bteam craft, but I
s'pose they have to do It now to keep
their wages paid. Wonder what old plun
der John's picked up now. He's alius
bringln suthin' into port. Found Ned
Bristow's body, one dark night, a-floatln
out to sea. an' brought It in next day.
Took it to Ned's wldder. Day or two later,
after th' fun'ral. he went to her an' sug
gested that Bhe pay suthin' or other to him
for salvage.
" 'No. sir.' says she. 'I've been thlnkln
for five years of glttln' some divorce law
yer an' payln' him for glttln' shot of Ned
S'Kse I'm goln' to give you money for
llngln' of him back to me an' puttin
me to all th' expense of buryin' of him?
You c'n guess again." says she.
" 'Nother time Cap'n Silas Ketchum lost
his smack an' Jest got away, he said, with
bis life, up near th' Banks. He rowe
around In small boats till they picked 'em
up. It was real nice weather, an' they
had time to git lots o' food and water In
th' small boats, so It wasn't what you'd
call a desp'rate shipwreck. Ho had It In
sured for three thousand, and he swore
that It was worth all of five and that
he had 8T0 quintal in It besides.
"Well, what does that old tnenhadenej;
