Saved at Sea Part 7

Then my grandfather said: 'Alick, my lad, it has given me such a turn as I haven't had for many a day. It might have been _me_, Alick; it might just as well have been _me_!'

I put my hand in his, and grasped it very tightly, as he said this.

'Yes,' he said again, 'it might have been me; and if it had, I wonder where I should have been now?'

I didn't speak, and he went on,--'I wonder where Jem is now, poor fellow; I've been thinking of that all night, ever since I saw him lying there at the bottom of that boat.'

So I told him of what Jem Millar had said to me the last time I had seen him.

'On the Rock!' said my grandfather. Did he say he was on the Rock? Dear me! I wish I could say as much, Alick, my lad.'

'Can't you and I come as he came, grandfather?' I said. 'Can't we come and build on the Rock, too?'

'Well,' said my grandfather, 'I wish we could, my lad. I begin to see what he meant, and what the old gentleman meant too. He said, "You're on the sand, my friend; you're on the sand, and it won't stand the storm; no, it won't stand the storm!" I've just had those words in my ears all the time we were sitting over there by Mrs. Millar. But, dear me, I don't know how to get on the Rock; I don't indeed.'

The whole of the next week poor Mrs. Millar lay between life and death.

At first the doctor gave no hope whatever of her recovery; but after a time she grew a little better, and he began to speak more encouragingly. I spent my time with the poor children, and hardly left them a moment, doing all I could to keep them quietly happy, that they might not disturb their mother.

One sorrowful day only, my grandfather and I were absent for several hours from the lighthouse; for we went ash.o.r.e to follow poor Jem Millar to the grave. His poor wife was unconscious, and knew nothing of what was going on.

When, after some weeks, the fever left her, she was still very weak and unfit for work. But there was much to be done, and she had no time to sit still, for a new man had been appointed to take her husband's place; and he was to come into the house at the beginning of the month.

We felt very dull and sad the day that the Millars went away. We went down to the pier with them, and saw them on board the steamer--Mrs.

Millar, the six little children, and the servant-girl, all dressed in mourning, and all of them crying. They were going to Mrs. Millar's home, far away in the north of Scotland, where her old father and mother were still living.

The island seemed very lonely and desolate when they were gone. If it had not been for our little sunbeam, as my grandfather called her, I do not know what we should have done. Every day we loved her more, and what we dreaded most was, that a letter would arrive some Monday morning to tell us that she must go away from us.

'Dear me, Alick,' my grandfather would often say, 'how little you and me thought that stormy night what a little treasure we had got wrapped up in that funny little bundle!'

The child was growing fast; the fresh sea did her great good, and every day she became more intelligent and pretty.

We were very curious to know who was appointed in Jem Millar's place; but we were not able to find out even what his name was. Captain Sayers said that he did not know anything about it; and the gentlemen who came over once or twice to see about the house being repaired and put in order for the new-comer were very silent on the subject, and seemed to think us very inquisitive if we asked any questions. Of course, our comfort depended very much upon who our neighbour was, for he and my grandfather would be constantly together, and we should have no one else to speak to.

My grandfather was very anxious that we should give the man a welcome to the island, and make him comfortable on his first arrival. So we set to work, as soon as the Millars were gone, to dig up the untidy garden belonging to the next house, and make it as neat and pretty as we could for the new-comers.

'I wonder how many of them there will be,' I said, as we were at work in their garden.

'Maybe only just the man,' said my grandfather. 'When I came here first, I was a young unmarried man, Alick. But we shall soon know all about him; he'll be here next Monday morning, they say.'

'It's a wonder he hasn't been over before,' I said, 'to see the house and the island. I wonder what he'll think of it?'

'He'll be strange at first, poor fellow, said my grandfather; 'but we'll give him a bit of a welcome. Have a nice bit of breakfast ready for him, Alick, my lad, and for his wife and bairns too, if he has any--hot coffee and cakes, and a bit of meat, and any thing else you like; they'll be glad of it after crossing over here.'

So we made our little preparations, and waited very anxiously indeed for Monday's Steamer.

CHAPTER X.

OUR NEW NEIGHBOUR.

Monday morning came, and found us standing on the pier as usual awaiting the arrival of the steamer.

We were very anxious indeed to see our new neighbours. A nice little breakfast for four or five people was set out in our little kitchen, and I had gathered a large bunch of dahlias from our garden, to make the table look cheerful and bright. All was ready, and in due time the steamer came puffing up towards the pier, and we saw a man standing on the deck, talking to Captain Sayers, who we felt sure must be the new lighthouse-man.

[Ill.u.s.tration: 'PUFF, PUFF,' SAID LITTLE TIMPEY.]

'I don't see a wife,' said my grandfather.

'Nor any children,' said I, as I held little Timpey up, that she might see the steamer.

'Puff, puff, puff,' she said, as it came up, and then turned round and laughed merrily.

The steamer came up to the landing-place, and my grandfather and I went down the steps to meet Captain Sayers and the stranger.

'Here's your new neighbour, Sandy,' said the captain. 'Will you show him the way to his house, whilst I see to your goods?'

'Welcome to the island,' said my grandfather, grasping his hand.

He was a tall, strongly-built man, very sun-burnt and weather-beaten.

'Thank you,' said the man, looking at me all the time. 'It _is_ pleasant to have a welcome.'

'That's my grandson Alick,' said my grandfather, putting his hand on my shoulder.

'Your grandson,' repeated the man, looking earnestly at me; 'your grandson--indeed!'

'And now come along,' said my grand father, 'and get a bit of something to eat; we've got a cup of coffee all ready for you at home, and you'll be right welcome, I a.s.sure you.'

'That's very kind of you,' said the stranger.

We were walking up now towards the house, and the man did not seem much inclined to talk. I fancied once that I saw a tear in his eye, but I thought I must have been mistaken. What could he have to cry about? I little knew all that was pa.s.sing through his mind.

'By the bye,' said my grandfather, turning round suddenly upon him, 'what's your name? We've never heard it yet!'

The man did not answer, and my grandfather looked at him in astonishment. 'Have you got no name?' he said, 'or have you objections to folks knowing what your name is?'

'Father!' said the man, taking hold of my grandfather's hand, 'don't you know your own lad?'

'Why, it's my David! Alick, look Alick, that's your father; it is indeed!'

And then my grandfather fairly broke down, and sobbed like a child, whilst my father grasped him tightly with one hand, and put the other on my shoulder.

'I wouldn't let them tell you,' he said 'I made them promise not to tell you till I could do it myself. I heard of Jem Millar's death as soon as I arrived in England, and I wrote off and applied for the place at once. I told them I was your son, father, and they gave me it at once, as soon as they heard where I had been all these years.'

'And where have you been, David, never to send us a line all the time?'