Nobody knew what was
to be done with her, for nobody wanted to be bothered with her.
Naomi Clark went to the girl and offered her a home. People said she
was no fit person to have charge of Maggie, but everybody shirked
the unpleasant task of interfering in the matter, except Mr. Leonard,
who went to expostulate with Naomi, and, as Janet said, for his pains
got her door shut in his face.
But from the day when Maggie Peterson went to live with her,
Naomi ceased to be the harbour Magdalen.
The sun had set when Mr. Leonard reached Spruce Cove, and the
harbour was veiling itself in a wondrous twilight splendour.
Afar out, the sea lay throbbing and purple, and the moan
of the bar came through the sweet, chill spring air
with its burden of hopeless, endless longing and seeking.
The sky was blossoming into stars above the afterglow;
out to the east the moon was rising, and the sea beneath it
was a thing of radiance and silver and glamour; and a little
harbour boat that went sailing across it was transmuted into
an elfin shallop from the coast of fairyland.
Mr. Leonard sighed as he turned from the sinless beauty
of the sea and sky to the threshold of Naomi Clark's house.
It was very small--one room below, and a sleeping-loft above;
but a bed had been made up for the sick woman by the down-stairs
window looking out on the harbour; and Naomi lay on it,
with a lamp burning at her head and another at her side,
although it was not yet dark.
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