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Updated: June 13, 2025
It was the same voice that I had heard up on "Rockport" one evening, promising Marjie in pleading tones to be a "good Indian." The same hard, cold voice I had heard in the same place saying to me, as a promise before high heaven: "I will go. But I shall see you there. When we meet again my hand will be on your throat and I don't care whose son you are." Well, we were about to meet.
I must relieve Aunt Candace to-night by O'mie's side, and Marjie must be with her mother. The moonlight tempted us to linger a little longer as we passed by "Rockport," and we parted the bushes and stood on our old playground rock. "Marjie, the moonlight makes a picture of you always," I said gently.
At this point, which is now in the present county of Kankakee, and near where the village of Rockport stands, the Illinois Indians had their large and populous village. The missionary was received, we are told, as an angel from heaven.
"Yes, but there were conditions that queered his calls," Cub replied. "Just remember the results we got by calling our new friend, Max, at Rockport, and what he did for us. Unless I'm badly mistaken, we can look for more help from him." "Yes, you're right, Bob," Mr. Perry admitted. "But I don't like the idea of staying here and depending on a few boys to take care of so big a proposition.
Marjie and I were going through commonplace days, but we were very happy with the joy of life and love. Our old playground was now our trysting place. Together on our "Rockport" we planned a future wherein there were no ugly shadows. "Marjie, I'll always keep 'Rockport' for my shrine now," I said to her one evening as we were watching the sunset lights on the prairie and the river upstream.
I was longing for the Plains again, for one more ride, reckless and free, across their broad stretches, for one more gorgeous sunset out on Red Range, one more soft, iridescent twilight purpling down to the evening darkness as I had seen it on "Rockport" all those years. How the real Rockport, the Massachusetts town, faded from me, and the sea, and the college halls, and city buildings.
But at last he caught a message from the island, and the conversation, translated from code, that took place between him and Hal, following a few introductory inconsequentials, was as follows: "I listened-in last night and heard your arrangements for today," the Canadian dot-and-dashed. "When are you coming to Rockport?" "Two of us are on the way," Hal replied.
It was intermittent in the earlier years. I was combed and groomed again for social appearing. Aunt Candace had hung about my tie and the set of my coat, and for my old army head-gear she had resurrected the jaunty cap I had worn home from Massachusetts. With my hands in my pockets, whistling softly to abstract my thoughts, I slipped through the bushes and stood once more on "Rockport."
From the river, there is little to be seen of Rockport save two wharves, one above, the other below, the bold cliff which springs sheer for a hundred feet above the stream, two angling roads leading up into the town, a house or two on the edge of the hill and a huge water-tower crowning all.
They saw the ancient fishing ports of Marblehead, Salem, Gloucester and Rockport, and then came back into the interior and did not see salt water again until they reached Newburyport at the mouth of the Merrimac.
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