CHAPTER XV
MARTIN!
"Roses in the moon-light,
To-night all thine."
THAT was the tune, to be sure! The Maestro was on his feet. He walked slowly to the open French window.
"What—what right have you to come here whistling—that?" he breathed. He wheeled suddenly on Kirk. “Did you sing it to him?" he demanded. "Is this—what is this?"
"I didn't," said Kirk, quickly; "Oh, I didn't."
The air seemed tense, burdened with something that hovered there in the stillness of the waiting garden.
"I can think of no one," said the stranger, slowly, "who has a better right to whistle it here."
The Maestro grasped the man's arm fiercely.
"Turn around!" he said. "What do you mean? What can you mean—unless—"
He flung his arm suddenly before his eyes, as he met the other's gaze.
"Martin!" he said, in a voice so low that no one but Kirk heard it. And they stood there, quite still in the pale September sunset—the Maestro with his arm across his eyes; the mate of the Celestine with his hands clasped behind him and his lips still shaping the tune of the song his father had made for him.
Ken, within the room, swung Kirk into his arms.
"The library door's open," he whispered to Felicia. "Cut—as fast as ever you can!"
The little living-room of Applegate Farm bloomed once more into firelit warmth. It seemed almost to hold forth kindly welcoming arms to its children, together again.
"What shall we talk about first?" Felicia sighed, sinking into the hearth chair, with Kirk on her lap. "I never knew so many wildly exciting things to happen all at once!"
It came about, of course, that they talked first of Kirk; but his adventures went hand in hand with the other adventure, and the talk flew back and forth between the Flying Dutchman and the Celestine, Kirk and Mr. Martin—or Martin, the Maestro's son.
"And it was the same old Celestine!" Ken marveled; "that's the queer part." He fidgeted with the tongs for a moment and then said, "You didn't know I once nearly ran away to sea on her, did you?"
Two incredulous voices answered in the negative.
"It was when I was very, very young," said Ken, removed by six months of hard experience from his escapade, "and very foolish. Never mind about it. But who'd have thought she'd restore all our friends and relatives to us in this way! By the way, where's the ill-starred Dutchman?"
"Up at Bedford," Kirk said.
"Let her stay there," said Ken. "The season's over here, for the Sturgis Water Line. And I'm afraid of that boat. When I go up after Mother I'll try to sell the thing for what I can get."
Mother! There was another topic! Kirk didn't even know she was coming home! The talk went off on a new angle, and plan followed plan, till Ken rose and announced that he was fairly starved.
"I'm worn to a wraith," said he. "I haven't had the time or the heart for a decent dinner since some time in the last century. Bring out the entire contents of the larder, Phil, and let's have a celebration."
Next morning, while the dew still hung in the hollows, Kirk got up and dressed himself without waking Ken. He tiptoed out into the new day, and made his way across the cool, mist-hung meadow to the Maestro's hedge. For an idea had been troubling him; it had waked with him, and he went now to make a restoration.
All was quiet in the garden. The first fallen leaves rustled beneath Kirk's feet as he went up the paved path and halted beside the dry fountain. He sat down cross-legged on the coping, with his chin in his hands, and turned his face to the wind's kiss and the gathering warmth of the sun. Something stirred at the other side of the pool—a blown leaf, perhaps; but then a voice remarked:
"Morning, shipmate."
Kirk sprang up.
"You're just who I wanted to see," he said; "and I thought you might be wanting to take a walk in the garden, early."
"You thought right."
They had come toward each other around the pool's rim, and met now at the cracked stone bench where two paths joined. Kirk put his hand through Martin's arm. He always rather liked to touch people while he talked to them, to be sure that they remained a reality and would not slip away before he had finished what he wanted to say.
"What brings you out so early, when you only fetched port last night?" Martin inquired, in his dry voice.
"I wanted to talk to you," Kirk said, "about that song."
"What, about the hat?"
"No, not that one. The birthday one about the roses. You see, the Maestro gave it to me on my birthday, because he said he thought you didn't need it any more. But you're here, and you do. It's your song, and I oughtn't to have it. So I came to give it back to you," said Kirk.
"I see," said Martin.
"So please take it," Kirk pursued, quite as though he had it in his pocket, "and I'll try to forget it."
"I don't know," said Martin. "The Maestro loves you now just about as much as he loved me when I was your size. His heart is divided—so let's divide the song, too. It'll belong to both of us. You—you made it rather easier for me to come back here; do you know that?"
"Why did you stay away so long?" Kirk asked.
Martin kicked a pebble into the basin of the pool, where it rebounded with a sharp click.
"I don't know," he said, after a pause. "It was very far away from the garden—those places down there make you forget a lot. And when the Maestro gave up his public life and retired, word trickled down to the tropics after a year or so that he'd died. And there's a lot more that you wouldn't understand, and I wouldn't tell you if you could."
Another pebble spun into the pool.
"Are you going to stay, now?"
"Yes, I'm going to stay."
"I'm glad," said Kirk. They sat still for some moments, and then Kirk had a sudden, shy inspiration.
"Do you think," he ventured, "do you think it would be nice if the fountain could play, now?"
"Eh?" said Martin, waking from brooding thoughts.
"The fountain—it hasn't, you know, since you went. And the garden's been asleep ever since, just like a fairy-tale."
"A fairy-tale! H'm!" said Martin, with a queer laugh. "Well, let's wake the fountain, then."
They found the device that controlled the water, and wrenched it free. Kirk ran back down the path to listen, breathless, at the edge of the pool. There came first the rustle of water through long unused channels, then the shallow splash against the empty basin. Little by little the sound became deeper and more musical, till the still morning vibrated faintly to the mellow leap and ripple of the fountain's jubilant voice.
"Oh!" Kirk cried suddenly. "Oh, I'm happy! Aren't you, Mr. Martin?"
Martin looked down at the eager, joyous face, so expressive in spite of the blankness behind the eyes. His own face filled suddenly with a new light, and he put out his hands as if he were about to catch Kirk to him. But the moment passed; the reserve of long years, which he could not in an instant push from him, settled again in his angular face. He clasped his hands behind him.
"Yes," said Martin, briefly, "I'm happy."