Vietnam or Thailand ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
Updated: September 10, 2025
In so far as she could come close to others she would come closer to him. By RICHARD MATTHEWS HALLET Coming ashore one summer's night from Meteor Island, Jethro Rackby was met by Peter Loud Deep-water Peter he was called, because even so early he had gone one foreign voyage. Peter was going round with a paper containing the subscription to a dance.
They encountered a blackboard affixed to the fat trunk of the Preaching Tree, on which from day to day the parson wrote the text for its preachments in colored chalk. The moon was full upon it, and Rackby saw in crimson lettering the words, "Woman, hath no man damned thee?" The rest of the text he had rubbed out with his own shoulders in turning to take the girl into his arms.
He was surprised that anything so vaporous and colorful should come from the same sap that circulated through the bark and body of the thick tree itself. But then he reflected that, after all, the crown and flame of Sam Dreed's life was Day Rackby. Had she, perhaps, descended from that yellow cloud above her?
"Ah, there, Jethro!" he said. "Have you married the sea at last and taken a mermaid home to live?" "This is my daughter, if you please," said Jethro Rackby. An ugly glint was in his usually gentle eye, but he did not refuse the outstretched hand. "You have prospered seemingly." "Oh, I have enough to carry me through," said Peter.
He reckoned his life anew from that night when he sat in the dusk with the broad paper before him containing the names of those newly born. So the years passed, and Day Rackby lived ashore with her adoptive father. When she got big enough they went by themselves and reopened the house on Meteor Island.
Happen-so. I did when I said it." "I'm ready . I'm ready now. We'll be married tomorrow, if you don't mind." "But will I sell my cabbages twice, I wonder? I've had a change of heart since, if I must tell you." "Surely not in this short space of time," Rackby gasped, dismayed. A light throbbed in her eye. "Well, perhaps I haven't." The storm petrel hovered high, swooped close, her lips parted.
He seemed now to have her with her back against a solid wall of rock outcropping, green-starred; but next instant she had slipped into a cleft where his big shoulders would not go. Her eyes shone like crystals in that inviting darkness. "What can I do for you?" said Peter, voicelessly. Day Rackby pinched her shoulders back, leaned forward, and drew a mischievous finger round her throat.
Like torches they seemed to cast a crimson light on the already glowing cheek. Fascinated by this thought, Rackby bent closer. The tented leaves of the horse-chestnut did not stir. Surely the dusky cheek had actually a touch of crimson in the gloom. This effect, far from being an illusion was produced by a lantern in the fist of a man swinging toward them with vast strides.
Suddenly he felt her come upon him from behind, buoyant, like a warm wave, and press firm hands over his eyelids. Her hair stung his cheek like wire. "Guess three times." Rackby felt the strong beat of that adventurous heart like drums of conquest. He crushed her in his arms until she all but cried out. There was nothing he could say.
It was true that Peter, in his absence, had disembarked a second time on Meteor a fit habitation for such a woman as Day Rackby. But did that old madman think that he could coop her up here forever? How far must he be taken seriously in his threat? Peter advanced gingerly.
Word Of The Day
Others Looking