"I was trying to write like one of
'em," I explained. "And I thought it was pretty good."
"I don't--a poor girl believing that Heaven made her kind for the high
people's pleasure. No, I don't like that. And 'hair as silk as tasselled
corn!' Do you like tasselled corn hair?"
"Why, no--in a man. But my own being black--"
"Hush! Black's best. No, you're not intended for that kind of writing."
"But here--listen:
"'True love can neither hate nor scorn,
And ne'er will true love pass away.'
"Don't you like that?"
"Something like it's been said so often. Why don't you put it in your
own words?" She took up another sheet. "What's this about?"
"That's about a day and night at sea--a fine day in the Trades, such a
day as to-day--and last night."
"It _was_ a beautiful moon last night, wasn't it?" And she read to
herself. Coming to the last stanza, she read aloud, unconsciously I
think:
"The stars gleamed out of a purple light,
The moon trembled wide on the sea;
The Western Ocean smiled that night--
Sweetheart, 'twas a dream of thee!"
She paused. "But the ocean doesn't smile." "But it does. Smiles and
frowns, and roars and coos, and coaxes and threatens, and strikes and
caresses, and leaps and rolls--and so many other things. I've seen it.
And Captain Blaise will tell you the same."
She looked strangely at me. In the deep sea I had seen, at times, that
deep dark blue of her eyes--ultramarine, they call it; but hers softer.
Pages:
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138