Thrusting her hand into her pocket, she drew forth a letter bearing the New York postmark. It was the last that she had received from Gene, having been left at the lighthouse by little Sol.
Muriel had been in the middle of breadmaking then, but all the hour she had been filled with eager anticipation, for in his last letter Gene had told her that in the spring he was to have a vacation (he had been at college since the beginning of the midwinter term), and that even if he could only spare a day for it, he was going to visit Windy Island.
Muriel, while finishing the baking, had been happily wondering how her comrade would look after his month’s confinement at his studies. Perhaps the bronze from the wind and the sun would be worn away and again he would be pale as he was when she had first known him. How she hoped not! She wanted him to keep every bit of the strength he had gained during his month’s visit on Windy Island.
Muriel removed the letter, her heart beating rapidly. She was sure that in it he would tell the day of his coming. Soon, very soon, she hoped, as she wished him to see how lovely her rock-ribbed island home was when the wild flowers blossomed.
During the past months Muriel had become familiar with many of the simple words that Gene used in writing to her and she had to refer less frequently to the well-worn Second Reader.
With comparative ease she read the few lines:
“I hoped to have good news to tell you today, but, after all, I am not to have my longed-for visit with you. Last night Helen received a cablegram from our father telling us to join them at once in London, and so we are to depart without delay, as Dad has reserved passage for us on the steamship ‘The Liverpool,’ which leaves its dock tomorrow at dawn.
“Dear good friend, don’t forget me! I don’t know what this command from our father means. I surely hope that mother is not ill, but, of course, it is a command which Helen and I must obey. I shall write you, however, as soon as I reach the other side of the broad Atlantic.
“Tell your grandfather, please, how grateful I am and ever shall be to him for having permitted me to share his home for that wonderful, never-to-be-forgotten month.
“Muriel, come what may, believe me when I say that next to Helen your friendship is dearer to me than that of any girl whom I know.