3

From Stovepipe Town it was only three miles into Blair Water, so much Robbie knew from the clippings in Jody's scrapbook of The Moral of the Rose. Robbie had never been to the this part of the north shore, but she knew that New Moon was an old, white house shielded from the stark sea by a grove of austere birches, with a fragrant orchard mediating between. She had imagined the Applegath farm so often, her sunburnt skin tinged with excitement at the thought that she would see its original - today!

She bid good-bye to good Amos, dipped into the shallow waters, and swam into Blair Water beach. Robbie did not think about the impropriety of being wet. The midday sun was blazing and she tripped along, enjoying the cool moisture on her hair and face.

A green Ford rattled past her, sending up a cloud of dust. Some of the boys hooted. Robbie waved gaily back at them. A pretty, red-headed woman turned her face in annoyance at her sons, and then her gaze fell on Rosie. Her husband jolted the car to a stop.

"Why dearie, what are you doing on this road, alone?" She asked, anxiously. The boys - five tall, bronzed lads continued to hoot. A demure, flaxen haired girl sat in their midst.

"Going to E. B. St -- I mean, Mrs... Mrs. Kent's funeral." The more decorous name of the novelist surfaced to Robbie's head. Even at eight she knew that Islanders thought novelists were kittle-cattle. It was safest not to mention them to strangers.

"So are we," the red-headed woman exclaimed cheerfully. "Hop in and we'll take you there!" Two of the tallest, red-headed lads chimed in, as if they were inviting Robbie to a picnic. Robbie opened the door gallantly.

"You'll have to sit on my lap." The tallest boy told her.

"No, you're sitting on mine - I invited her in first." The other tall boy argued.

"Naw she's just a kid - give her over to Bobby." the third boy suggested, giving his youngest brother a malicious shove.

"My name's Robbie, too." Robbie offered, enjoying the coquetry she was causing.

"I think Ali'll come on my lap." the last boy said rather timidly. The flaxen haired girl shifted obligingly to sit on her brother, making room in the back seat.

Robbie wedged herself between the two tallest boys.

"You're sitting on a Ford." One of them told her with a twinkle in his eye.

"Dad has a Ford too," Robbie retorted. She wasn't sure if he was being patronizing.

"On one, not in one, get it?" the third brother couldn't help giggling.

"Are you going to throw me out on the roof of the car, now?" Robbie asked, puzzled.

"We ARE the Fords." The third boy was still giggling and hiccuping.

"I'm Gil," said the oldest one. He had auburn hair, bronzed skin, dark blue eyes, and his eyes and mouth were very defined.

"Bertie," his brother replied. His hair was red-gold, his skin milky, and his eyes hazel. He resembled his youthful mother.

"Wally - he's Wally." Gil whispered to Robbie.

"I'm Bertie." Bertie clarified.

"Wally, Wally, Wally. Willy Wally Washy Woo!" Gil hissed.

"Don't you dare." Bert's eyes flashed.

"His full name's Walter Cuthbert," Bobby explained shyly. "So Wally and Bertie are both his nicknames, but he hates Wally and makes us all call him Bertie."

"He'll thrash you if you don't, eh, Wal-" the third brother jeered.

"That's right, Solomon." Bertie gripped his brother's arm. Solomon wriggled - he was skinny and freckled, with dainty girlish features, and his name was as incongruous as a crown on a scarecrow.

"Oww!" the tiny girl shouted as the wrestling boys jostled her off Bobby's knee. Ali was maybe a year or two older than Robbie, but she seemed much younger. She was shy, even shyer than Bobby. She shrank as Robbie's bold stare took stock of her, but then Robbie caught Ali peeking at her curiously a few minutes later.

"We're going to this funeral cause Dad's a Toronto writer." Gil informed her.

"So's my Dad!" Robbie cried. She caught Ali stealing a glance at her, again, and pretended to give her undivided attention fully to Gil and Bertie. "What does your Dad write?" she asked challengingly.

"I'm an editor for the Globe." The man in the front rumbled. He had such a melodious voice.

"Oh. My dad writes books. He used to write articles, but since he published ..." Robbie's gave the slightest triumphant inflection to the word 'books.'

"Our grand-dad's written a lot of books." Bertie rejoined.

"He's coming today, too, isn't he, Dad?" Solomon chirped.

"I bet you've never read our grandfather's books." Bertie mused. "Although you may've heard of them, certainly..."

"Are they anything like E. B. Starr's?" Robbie demanded. Again, she felt Ali's stare when she pronounced the name 'E. B. Starr' with excitement.

"They're better'n girls books." Solomon sneered.

"I really like Peg Applegath." Bobby offered.

"I wish Dad's books were more like the Applegaths. I would read them if they were." Robbie confessed. "Jane - that's my sister - she's read bits of them to me, but they're frightfully dull. Jody - that's Jane's best friend - thinks Dad is a hero though. I bet she's read your granddad's books. Jody's a genius. She's doing English and French literature at Redmond on the Avery Scholarship." Robbie boasted.

Bobby saw how her eyes shone with pride and loyalty. He thought of sharing something, but Bertie said it first:

"Our grandmother won that! But she turned it down - I forgot why." he ended lamely.

"We're here." Ali said suddenly, her voice and face transfigured by something between excitement and reverence.

A white house with a wide porch stood on a headland which ran into the white capped gulf. A dark spruce grove divided the sea from an old-fashioned maritime garden. Peonies and lilacs made a riot of colour. Robbie could see the vine-clad summer house where Cissy Applegath lost her diamond, and that must be 'The Tree of Life', a great big spruce in the garden's center with a low stone bench in its shadow, where Nick Applegath kissed his sweetheart. There was a rambling wild orchard beyond, a silver-grey shingled house on a steep hill, a yellow house to the left, and from somewhere in the midst of the grove, the heavy scent of tansy and a glimpse of the blue Blair Water.

Mr. Ford pulled over to the shoulder. Cars were parked far down the lane and onto the main road. It suddenly struck Robbie how large the crowd was. How foolish it was of her to come all the way, when she would likely never get a glimpse of Mrs. Kent!