CHAPTER II
THE FIRST OF THE FLEET
The summer passed sadly, being hot and uneventful. She watched
anxiously for the first yellowed leaves, and the first gathering of
the swallows, and blooming of the chrysanthemums. She wrote to Yann
several times by the boats bound for Rykawyk, and by the government
cruisers, but one never can be sure of such letters reaching their
destination.
Towards the end of July, she received a letter from him, however. He
told her that his health was good, that the fishing season promised to
be excellent, and that he already had 1500 fish for his share. From
beginning to end, it was written in the simple conventional way of all
these Icelanders' home letters. Men educated like Yann completely
ignore how to write the thousand things they think, feel, or fancy.
Being more cultivated than he, Gaud could understand this, and read
between the lines that deep affection that was unexpressed. Several
times in the four-paged letter, he called her by the title of "wife,"
as if happy in repeating the word. And the address above: "/A Madame
Marguerite Gaos, maison Moan, en Ploubazlanec/"--she was "Madame
Marguerite Gaos" since so short a time.
She worked hard during these summer months. The ladies of Paimpol had,
at first, hardly believed in her talent as an amateur dressmaker,
saying her hands were too fine-ladyish; but they soon perceived that
she excelled in making dresses that were very nice-fitting, so she had
become almost a famous dressmaker.
She spent all her earnings in embellishing their home against his
return. The wardrobe and old-shelved beds were all done up afresh,
waxed over, and bright new fastenings put on; she had put a pane of
glass into their little window towards the sea, and hung up a pair of
curtains; and she had bought a new counterpane for the winter, with
new chairs and table.
She had kept the money untouched that her Yann had left her, carefully
put by in a small Chinese box, to show him when he returned. During
the summer evenings, by the fading light, she sat out before the
cottage door with Granny Moan, whose head was much better in the warm
weather, and knitted a fine new blue wool jersey for her Yann; round
the collar and cuffs were wonderful open-work embroideries. Granny
Yvonne had been a very clever knitter in her day, and now she taught
all she knew to Gaud. The work took a great deal of wool; for it had
to be a large jersey to fit Yann.
But soon, especially in the evenings, the shortening of the days could
be perceived. Some plants, which had put forth all their blossoms in
July, began to look yellow and dying, and the violet scabious by the
wayside bloomed for the second time, smaller now, and longer-stalked;
the last days of August drew nigh, and the first return-ship from
Iceland hove in sight one evening at the cape of Pors-Even. The feast
of the returners began.
Every one pressed in a crowd on the cliff to welcome it. Which one was
it?
It was the /Samuel-Azenide/, always the first to return.
"Surely," said Yann's old father, "the /Leopoldine/ won't be long now;
I know how 'tis out yonder: when one of 'em begins to start homeward,
the others can't hang back in any peace."
