was “Appledore Island calling.” Billy had heard it before; it made him vaguely unhappy and homesick now.
“It won’t take the boat long to get me ashore,” he said. “I’m going by train from Rockford, not all the way by sea to Boston. Well, good-bye, Captain Saulsby; I—I—I can’t—good-bye.”
He had meant to thank the old sailor for his many kindnesses, words that seemed simple enough to speak; but in the end he said nothing, merely turned away and walked down through the willow trees, never looking back. He bade farewell to his aunt on the pier, embarked upon the waiting steamer and headed away toward the shore, toward the West, toward all the things he knew. Yet he stood on deck and looked back as long as he could see toward Appledore Island, until Captain Saulsby’s red-roofed cottage had vanished, until points and headlands disappeared and the green hills sank and became smaller and smaller on the horizon.
The winds rose, the boat rolled a trifle, but still did not disturb his steady watching. He thought of the friends he had made there, of
