A Sailor's Lass Part 7

"He ain't a bad sort, you know, Tiny, if he could just remember that a fisherman is a bit proud and independent, though he may be poor; and if you could do one of them young 'uns a good turn any time, why, you're a sailor's la.s.s, yer know, and a sailor is always ready to do a good turn to anybody."

"Yes, daddy," said Tiny, slowly and thoughtfully; and then, after a minute's pause, she said: "Daddy, I think Harry or Polly would just like to help me a bit with this reading."

For answer the fisherman burst into a loud laugh. "That's what you'd like, I s'pose?" he said, as he looked at her.

"Yes; I want to find out about this picture, and these letters tell all about it, I know--if I only could find out what they mean," said Tiny, eagerly.

"Oh, well, when I'm gone indoors you can go and ask 'em if they'd like to help you," he said, with another short laugh. "Maybe you'll be able to tell us all about it when winter comes, and it'll soon be here now,"

added the fisherman, with a sigh.

Never before had Coomber looked forward with such dread to the winter.

Until lately he had always thought the fis.h.i.+ng-boat would "last his time," as he used to say; but he had patched and repaired it so often lately, until at last the conviction had been forced upon him that it was worn out; and to be caught in a sudden squall on the open sea, would inevitably break her up, and all who were in her would meet with a watery grave. He was as brave as a lion; but to know that his boat was gradually going to pieces, and that its timbers might part company at almost any moment, made even his courage quail; especially when he thought of his wife, and the boys, and this little helpless girl. Some hard things had been said at Fellness about his folly in taking her upon his hands when she could without difficulty have been sent to the poorhouse. A girl was such a useless burden, never likely to be helpful in managing a boat, as a boy might be; and it was clear that no reward would ever be obtained from her friends, even if they were found, for her clothing made it evident that she was only the child of poor parents.

This had been the reasoning among the Fellness busybodies ever since Coomber had announced his intention of taking the little girl home; but he was as obstinate in this as in most other things. He had followed his own will, or rather the G.o.d-like compa.s.sion of his own heart, in spite of the poverty that surrounded him, and the hard struggle he often had to get bread enough for his own children.

"I'll just have to stay out a bit longer, or go out in the boat a bit oftener," he said, with a light laugh, when they attempted to reason him out of his project. He did not know then that the days of his boat were numbered; but he knew it now--knew that starvation stared them in the face, and at no distant date either. He could never hope to buy a new boat. It would cost over twenty pounds, and he seldom owned twenty pence over the day's stock of bread and other household necessaries. Among these he counted his whisky; for that a fisherman could do his work without a daily supply of ardent spirits never entered his head. Blue ribbon armies and temperance crusades had never been heard of, and it was a fixed belief among the fisher folk that a man could not work without drinking as well as eating, and drinking deeply, too.

So Coomber never thought of curtailing his daily allowance of grog to meet the additional expense of his household: he rather increased the allowance, that he might be able to work the boat better, as he fancied, and so catch more fish. When he forgot his bottle and left it at Fellness, it struck him as something all but marvellous that he should be able to work the next day without his usual drams, but it had not convinced him that he could do without it all together. Of its effect upon himself, in making him sullen, morose, and disagreeable, he was in absolute ignorance, and so the children's talk about it came upon him as a revelation. He knew that Tiny sometimes shrank from and avoided him; but he had considered it a mere childish whim, not to be accounted for by anything in himself; and so to hear that she was absolutely afraid of him sometimes was something to make him think more deeply than he had ever done in his life before.

But he did not say a word to Tiny about this. When he had done rubbing his gun he carried it home, and Tiny was left free to make acquaintance with the farm children.

She walked shyly up to where they were sitting--Polly reading, and Harry throwing sand at d.i.c.k, who had seated himself at a short distance, and was returning the salute.

"Would--wouldn't you like to tell me about these letters, please?" said Tiny, holding out her paper to Polly.

"Well, that's a rum way of asking," said Harry, with a laugh. "Suppose she wouldn't now, little 'un," he added.

"Then she mustn't," said Tiny, stoutly; though the tears welled up to her eyes at the thought of all her hopes being overthrown just when they seemed about to be realised.

"Don't, Harry; what a tease you are!" said his sister. "I should like to tell you, dear," she added, in a patronising tone. "Come and sit down here, and tell me what you want."

"It's what you want; don't forget that, Polly, else she'll get her back up, and go off again," laughed her brother; but he was not sorry the embargo had been taken off their intercourse with the fisherman's family; for although he had had surrept.i.tious dealings with boys sometimes, they had to be so watchful lest they should be discovered that the play was considerably hindered. Now he understood that this advance on Tiny's part was a direct concession from Coomber himself, for he and the boys had long ago agreed to try and draw the little girl into some intimacy as the only way of breaking down the restrictions laid upon them. But Tiny had proved obstinate. She had been asked again and again, but she had always returned the same answer: "Daddy would let her some day, and then she would play with them." So Harry Hayes was perfectly aware that she had won the fisherman's consent at last, although no word had been said about it.

When the girls were left to themselves, Polly took up the picture and looked at it, then turned it over and read, "G.o.d is good to all: He loves both boys and girls." At this point Tiny interrupted her by laying her hand on her arm, and saying eagerly: "Are you quite sure that is what it says?"

"Why, don't you think I can read?" said Polly, in a half-offended tone.

But the subject was new to her, and so she was anxious to read further, and turned to the page again and read on. At the bottom was a line or two in smaller print, and Polly read these longer words with a touch of pride: "Jesus said, Suffer the little children to come unto Me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of G.o.d."

"Then this must be Jesus, and these are the little children," concluded Polly, as she turned over the paper to look at the picture again.

The two girls sat and looked at it and talked about it for a few minutes, and then Tiny said wistfully: "Will you show me now how you make up them nice words?"

"Oh, it's easy enough if you know the letters; but you must learn the letters first," said Polly; and she proceeded to tell Tiny the name of each; and the little girl had the satisfaction of knowing now that she had remembered them quite correctly, and that G O D did spell G.o.d, as she had surmised.

She was not long now in putting other words together; and before she went home she was able to spell out the first two lines of the printed page, for they were all easy words, and intended for beginners.

What a triumph it was to Tiny to be able to read out to the fisherman's family what she had learned on the sands that day. She was allowed to have the candle all to herself after supper, and they sat round the table looking at each other in wondering amazement as her little finger travelled along the page, and she spelt out the wonderful news, "'G.o.d is good to all: He loves both boys and girls.' It's true, d.i.c.k, what I told you, ain't it?" she said, in a tone of delighted satisfaction.

d.i.c.k scratched his head, and looked round at his father, wondering what he would think or say. For a minute or two the fisherman smoked his pipe in silence. At length, taking it from his mouth, he said, in a slow, meditative fas.h.i.+on: "Well, little 'un, I s'pose if it's printed that way it's true; and if it is, why I s'pose we've all got a share in that 'Star of Peace' we was talking about to-day."

Tiny did not quite follow his train of thought; but she nodded her head, and then proceeded to tell them what she had heard about the picture, and the conclusion she and Polly had arrived at upon the subject--that Jesus, the kind, loving man of the picture, had come to show them how kind G.o.d was to them.

[Ill.u.s.tration]

CHAPTER VI.

BAD TIMES.

Winter around Bermuda Point was at all times a dreary season, and the only thing its few inhabitants could hope for was that its reign might be as short as possible. A fine, calm autumn was hailed as a special boon from heaven by the fisher-folk all round the coast, and more especially by the lonely dwellers at the Point.

A fine autumn enabled Coomber to go out in his boat until the time for shooting wild fowl began, and the children could play on the sands, or gather samphire, instead of being penned up in the house half the time.

But when the weather was wild and wet, and the salt marshes lay under water, that meant little food and much discomfort, frequent quarrels, and much bitterness to the fisherman's family.

This autumn the weather was more than usually boisterous; and long before the usual time the old boat had to be drawn up on to the bank, for fear the waves should dash it to pieces. The fisherman sometimes went to Fellness, on the chance of picking up a stray job, for it was only the state of his boat, and his anxiety to keep it together as long as possible, that prevented him braving the perils of the sea; and so he sometimes got the loan of another boat, or helped another fisherman with his; and then, rough though they might be, these fisher-folk were kind and helpful to each other, and if they could not afford to pay money for a job, they could pay for it in bread or flour, or potatoes, perhaps, and so they would generally find Coomber something to do, that they might help him, without hurting him.

But there was little work that could be done in such bad weather as this, and he knew it, and his proud, independent spirit could not brook to accept even a mouthful of bread that he had not earned; and so there were many weary days spent at home, or sauntering round the coast with his gun, on the look-out for a stray wild fowl. Tiny often went to bed hungry, and woke up feeling faint and sick; and although she never forgot to say her prayers, she could not help thinking sometimes that G.o.d must have forgotten her. She read her paper to d.i.c.k, and he and Tom had both learned to spell out some of the words, and she read to herself again and again the Divine a.s.surance, "G.o.d is good to all: He loves both boys and girls;" but then, as d.i.c.k said sometimes, Bermuda Point was such a long way from anywhere, and He might forget there were any boys and girls living there.

When she was very hungry, and more than usually depressed, Tiny thought d.i.c.k must be right, but even then she would not admit such a thought to others. When she saw Mrs. Coomber in tears, because she had no food to prepare for her hungry children, she would steal up to her, pa.s.s her little arm round the poor woman's neck, and whisper, "G.o.d is good; He'll take care of us, mammy; He'll send us some supper, if He can't send us any dinner;" and the child's hopeful words often proved a true prophecy, for sometimes when Coomber had been out all day without finding anything that could be called food, he would, when returning, manage to secure a wild duck, perhaps, or a couple of sea magpies, or a few young gulls.

Nothing came amiss to the young Coombers at any time, and just now a tough stringy gull was a dainty morsel.

It threatened to be an unusually hard and long winter, and at last Mrs.

Coomber ventured to suggest that Tiny should be taken to the poorhouse, at least until the spring, when she could come back again.

"Look at her poor little white face," said the woman, with her ap.r.o.n to her eyes; "I'm afraid she'll be ill soon, and then what can we do?"

"Time enough to talk about that when she is ill," said Coomber, gruffly, as he took up his gun and went out. They were generally able to keep a good fire of the drift-wood and wreckage that was washed ash.o.r.e, for unfortunately there was scarcely a week pa.s.sed but some n.o.ble vessel came to grief on the perilous bar sands during the more boisterous weather. Once, when they were at their wits' end for food, and Bob had begged his mother to boil some samphire for supper, Tiny was fortunate enough to discover an unopened cask which the sea had cast up the night before, and left high and dry behind the ridge of sandhills. She was not long fetching Bob and the boys to see her treasure trove; all sorts of wild speculations pa.s.sing through her mind as to what it could contain as she ran shouting--

"Bob! Bob! d.i.c.k! d.i.c.k! Come and see what I've found."

[Ill.u.s.tration: "'d.i.c.k, d.i.c.k, COME AND SEE WHAT I'VE FOUND.'" (_See page 96._)]

The boys were not long in making their appearance, and Bob fetched a hatchet, and soon broke open the cask; and oh! what joy for the starving children--it was full of s.h.i.+p biscuits!

"Oh, d.i.c.k, didn't I tell you this morning G.o.d hadn't forgotten us?" said Tiny, in a quavering voice, when Bob announced what the cask contained.

"Oh, yes," said d.i.c.k, "so you did;" but he was too hungry to think of anything but the biscuits now--too hungry even to shout his joy, as he would have done at another time. As soon as they could be got at, he handed one to Tiny, and then Tom and d.i.c.k helped themselves, filling their pockets and munching them at the same time; but Tiny, though she nibbled her biscuit as she went, ran at once to tell Mrs. Coomber of her wonderful discovery; and she, scarcely daring to believe that such good news could be true, ran out at once to see for herself, and met the boys, who confirmed Tiny's tale. But she must see the cask for herself, and then she ate and filled her ap.r.o.n, and shed tears, and thanked G.o.d for this wonderful gift all at the same time. Then she told the boys to come and fetch some baskets at once, to carry them home in, and she would sort them over, for some were soaked with sea-water, but others near the middle were quite dry. Bob took a bagful and went in search of his father along the coast, and everybody was busy carrying or sorting or drying the biscuits, for they had to be secured before the next tide came in, or they might be washed away again.

When Coomber came home, bringing a couple of sea-gulls he had shot, he was fairly overcome at the sight of the biscuits.

"Daddy, it was G.o.d that sent 'em," said Tiny, in an earnest, joyful whisper.

The fisherman drew his sleeve across his eyes. "Seems as though it must ha' been, deary," he said; "for how that cask ever came ash.o.r.e without being broken up well-nigh beats me."

"G.o.d didn't let it break, 'cos we wanted the biscuits," said Tiny confidently; "yer see, daddy, He ain't forgot us, though Bermuda Point is a long way from anywhere."