This part seems to be nothing but explanations, which are horrid,
but there _were_ lots, and I can't help it. Of course Jerry and I
sat staring in surprise, and there _had_ to be explanations. And
what do you think! Our own Bottle Man was that "Somebody Westland"
that Aunt Ailsa had wept so about. The casualty list was perfectly
right in saying that he was wounded and missing (though it came very
late, because by that time he was in America), and she thought, of
course, that he was dead, because she didn't hear from him. And he'd
written to her from the French hospital and the letter never came.
When he came back, all sick and wounded, to America, somebody who
didn't know anything about it told him that Aunt Ailsa was going to
marry Mr. Something-or-other, so our poor man went off sadly to his
island and didn't write to her any more. He'd never heard of us,
because of course her name isn't Holford. And _she'd_ never heard of
his aunt, nor Blue Harbor, nor the island, so of course she didn't
know anything about it when we read his letters to her. Oh, it was
very tangly and bewildering and it took lots of explaining, but at
the end of supper there was just enough ginger-pop left to drink to
both of them.

Afterwards she and Father played the 'cello and piano, because we
asked them to, and the Bottle Man sat with his arm over Jerry's
shoulders, watching, with the light on his nice, brown, kind face.
And Father sat with his head tucked down over the 'cello, just the
way I remembered there on the Sea Monster, and the candles shone on
Aunt Ailsa's amberish-colored hair, and I thought she was the
beautifullest person in the world, except Mother. I thought about a
lot of things while the music went on, and wondered whether we'd
ever want to picnic on Wecanicut again. But I knew we would, because
Wecanicut is a kind, friendly, safe place (and we do go there now