When the moonlight was bright the master of the schooner lowered
a boat and set Caius and his traps ashore, telling him that some day
when the gale was over he could make his way to the island of Cloud. The
skipper said that the gale might blow one day, or two, or three, or
more, but it could not blow always, and in the meantime there was
entertainment to be had for those who could pay for it on the nearer
isle.
When Caius stood upon the beach with his portmanteaus beside him, some
half a dozen men clustered round; in their thick garments and mufflers
they looked outlandish enough. They spoke English, and after much
talking they bore his things to a small house on the hillside. He heard
the wind clamour against the wooden walls of this domicile as he stood
in its porch before the door was opened. The wind shouted and laughed
and shook the house, and whistled and sighed as it rushed away. Below
him, nearer the shore, lay the village, its white house-walls lit by the
moonlight, and beyond he could see the ships in the glittering bay.
When the door opened such a feast of warmth and comfort appeared to his
eyes that he did not soon forget it, for he had expected nothing but the
necessaries of life. Bright decoration of home-made rugs and ornaments
was on all sides, and a table was laid.
They were four spinsters of Irish descent who kept this small inn, and
all that good housewifery could do to make it comfortable was done.
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