She had been serving a sentence in purgatory,
and Tunis Latham's bold plan had opened the door of heaven to her.
The timidity which had so marked her voice and manner when Tunis had
first met her soon wore away. With Cap'n Ira and Prudence she was
never shy, and when the captain of the _Seamew_ came back again he
found such a different girl at the old house on Wreckers' Head that
he could scarcely believe she was the Sheila Macklin who had told
him her history on the bench on Boston Common.
"I swan, Tunis," hoarsely announced Cap'n Ira, "you done a deed that
deserves a monument equal to that over there to Plymouth. Them
Pilgrim fathers--to say nothing of the mothers--never done no more
beneficial thing than you did in bringing Ida May down here to stay
along o' Prudence and me. And I cal'late Prue and me are more
thankful to you than the red Indians was to the Pilgrims for coming
ashore in Plymouth County and so puttin' the noses of Provincetown
people out o' joint."
He chuckled.
"She's as sweet as them rose geraniums of Prue's and just as sightly
looking. Did you ever notice how that black hair of hers sort of
curls about her ears, and them ears like little, tiny seashells ye
pick up 'long shore? Them curls just lays against her neck that
pretty! I swan! I don't see how the young fellers kept their hands
off her where she come from.
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