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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/33465-8.txt b/33465-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ea7b367 --- /dev/null +++ b/33465-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4663 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Little Miss Joy, by Emma Marshall + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Little Miss Joy + +Author: Emma Marshall + +Release Date: August 19, 2010 [EBook #33465] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LITTLE MISS JOY *** + + + + +Produced by Al Haines + + + + + + + + + +[Frontispiece: "Joy, darling Joy," Patience said, "you have often said +you had wished you had known your mother." _Page_. 167. + + + + + +_Little Miss Joy._ + + + +BY + +EMMA MARSHALL, + + +AUTHOR OF + +"LITTLE QUEENIE;" "BLUE BELL;" "ROBERT'S RACE;" "HURLY-BURLY;" ETC. + + + +NEW EDITION. + + + +JOHN F. SHAW (1928) & CO., LTD. + +_Publishers,_ + +3, PILGRIM STREET, LONDON, E.C.4. + + +1892 + + + + +PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN + +AT THE ANCHOR PRESS, TIPTREE, ESSEX + + + + +CONTENTS. + + +_CHAPTER I._ + +WAITING AND WATCHING + + +_CHAPTER II._ + +LITTLE MISS JOY + + +_CHAPTER III._ + +"AN HONEST BOY" + + +_CHAPTER IV._ + +HIS OWN WAY + + +_CHAPTER V._ + +A TEA-PARTY IN THE ROW + + +_CHAPTER VI._ + +A VISIT TO THE SKINNERS + + +_CHAPTER VII._ + +DARK DOINGS + + +_CHAPTER VIII._ + +IN PERIL OF THE SEA + + +_CHAPTER IX._ + +ON THE WIDE, WIDE SEA + + +_CHAPTER X._ + +"ONLY A LITTLE BOX" + + +_CHAPTER XI._ + +MR. SKINNER IN COMMAND + + +_CHAPTER XII._ + +THE SPIRIT OF PEACE + + +_CHAPTER XIII._ + +A TOKEN AT LAST + + +_CHAPTER XIV._ + +THE WAITING IS OVER + + +_CHAPTER XV._ + +THE HERITAGE OF PEACE + + + + +LITTLE MISS JOY. + + +CHAPTER I. + +_WAITING AND WATCHING._ + +The sea lay calm and still under a cloudless sky. The tide was out, +and there was only a faint murmur like the whisper of gentle voices, as +the little waves told to the sands that they were coming back soon, for +the tide had turned. + +It was yet early morning, and the old town of Great Yarmouth was +asleep. The fishing boats had been out all night, and were lying like +so many black birds with folded wings, waiting for the flow of the +water to bring them to the beach. All the blinds were down in the +houses facing the level strand. There was no one moving yet, for the +resonant clock of Saint Nicholas Church had only just struck four. + +The children of visitors to Yarmouth, tired with their exertions on the +sand the evening before, were all wrapt in profound slumber. + +Happy seaside children, who had paddled and delved on the beach to +their hearts' content, who had braved all the reproaches of mothers and +nurses, and had gone home with their buckets full of seaweed, pebbles, +and shells, looking like the veriest little ragged waifs and strays, +who were known as "the beach children," and who were an ever-moving +population gathered from the depths of the town, pattering with naked +feet round the boats as they came to shore, to pick up odd fish which +fell from the nets as they were spread out to dry. + +A great expanse of sand stretches out from Yarmouth, and over this the +wind whistles through the long parched grass which grows in patches, +interspersed with the little pink mallow and stunted thistles, which +are not discouraged by their surroundings, and flourish in spite of +difficulties. This wide expanse of sand and sand-mounds is called the +Denes; and as little weary feet plod over it, it seems in its vastness +a very desert of Sahara. Yet there is a charm about the Denes which +the children feel. A sense of freedom, and a power to deal with the +sand after their own will, were checked by repeated exhortations from +governess or nurse to take care of their clothes. Yet the soft silvery +sand can do no harm, and a prick from a blade of the pointed grass, or +a scratch from a thistle, are the only dangers that beset it. + +The town of Yarmouth lies at some distance from the sea, and possesses +one feature of rather unusual interest. There is a fine quay, shaded +by trees, alongside which many large ships from all countries lie. +There is a wide market-place and several good streets. But the heart +and core of the old town is to be found in the "rows," narrow +thoroughfares with tall houses on either side, where many a competency, +if not a fortune, has been made in days past. + +Very little sunshine or light penetrates the rows, and some of the +inhabitants have a faded, washed-out look, like that of a plant shut in +a dark place, which shows but a faint colour of either leaves or +blossom. + +Perhaps the pale woman standing by the door of a small shop, the +shutters of which were not yet taken down, was a fair specimen of her +neighbours. She was tall, but drooped so much that her real height was +lost. She had a sad face, where lines of care and anxiety had made a +network perhaps earlier in life than wrinkles had any right to appear, +if they should be traced by time rather than by sorrow. For Patience +Harrison was not an old woman, and had scarcely entered her +thirty-sixth year. + +As she stood at the narrow entry of the shop, her hands folded, her +head bent forward, she might well attract any passer-by, while she +looked right and left, as if in hopes of seeing a well-known figure +come into the row, from either end. + +Up and down, up and down, that eager, hungry glance, with an infinite +pathos in the dark eyes, scanned the narrow passage; and grew more +pathetic and more hungry every moment. + +At last footsteps were heard on the pavement. Patience started, and +took a step forward, only to draw back again disappointed. + +"The top of the morning to you, Mrs. Harrison. You are about early. +It is as fine a summer morning as I ever was out in." + +The speaker was a tall, well-knit young man of two or three and thirty, +with a fine open countenance, and a broad square brow, round which +thick light curls clustered. No contrast could be greater than between +Patience Harrison and George Paterson: the man so full of life, and the +enjoyment of life; the woman so languid and weary-looking. He seemed +as if the world were a pleasant place to him, she as if it were a waste +and a wilderness. + +"You are up and about early," George repeated. "Indeed, you look as if +you hadn't been to bed. I hope you haven't been up all night. Have +you, now?" + +"Yes. How could I sleep? How could I rest? There was a worse storm +than ever last night at supper-time, and--and--Jack ran away out of the +house, and has never come back." + +"The young rascal!" George exclaimed. "I'd like to thrash him!" + +"Oh, don't say so! Don't say so! If ever a boy is scourged by a +tongue, Jack is. I mean to leave this house; I can't--I can't bear it +any longer." + +"Well," George said, his eyes shining with a bright light--the light of +hope--"well, there's a home ready for you, you know that. The sooner +you come, the better." + +"You know I can't do it. Why do you ask me? I wonder you should ask +me." + +"I see no wonder in it," was the answer. "You've watched and waited +for eleven years; sure that's long enough! He will never come back." + +"Yes," she said sadly; "yes. I have waited and watched, as you say. +It is the business of my life. I shall watch and wait to the end." + +George Paterson gave an impatient gesture, and settled the workman's +basket on his broad shoulders, as if he were going to walk on. But +after a pace or two he seemed to change his mind, and stopping, he +said-- + +"But what about Jack? How did it happen?" + +"He offended her yesterday. He brought dirty boots into the parlour; +and he blew a tune on the little cornet you gave him, when she told him +to be quiet. He upset a jug of water on the table, and he made a face +at her, and he called her 'an old cat.' He had no business to call her +names." + +George laughed. + +"A very fitting name, I think; he has felt her claws often enough. +Well, what then?" + +"Then she boxed his ears--it was at supper--and he flew into a rage, +and he would not listen to me, but tore out of the room, out of the +house, and has never come back. Oh, George, what if there should be +two to wait and watch for, instead of one! Jack! Jack! How could he +leave me?" + +"He can't have gone far; and, as to being out all night, why, that +won't hurt him. The young rascal, to give you all this trouble! Yes, +I'll go and hunt for him; and if I catch him, won't I give it to him!" + +"No, George; no. Remember his provocation. Remember he has had no +father, only a mother like me to control him." + +"Only a mother like you! I should like to know where a better could be +found! I am sorry for the boy that he has had to live with a +cross-grained old maid, but for your sake he ought to have put up with +it." + +"She means well. She took us in for my father's sake, and she has kept +me and the boy from starving." + +"You have earned your living; you have worked well for her, and she +knows it. But I will go and hunt for Master Jack. See! I will leave +my basket of tools here as an assurance that I am coming back. You go +and lie down, and I'll have the young master back before an hour is +over. Come, go indoors; you look ready to drop." + +But Patience shook her head. + +"I am used to waiting and watching," she said again; "it's nothing new." + +Then her eyes began their search up and down the row, with the same +wistful, eager gaze. + +George Paterson had put the basket of tools just within the doorway, +and turning to her said-- + +"Look up at that strip of blue sky, Patience; look up, not downward so +much." + +As he spoke he raised his head, and pointed to the narrow bit of sky +which made a deeply blue line above the tops of the tall houses. + +"That tells of love," he said--"God's love which is over us. Take +heart, and lift it up to Him in your trouble." + +George spoke out of the fulness of his own heart: not in any way as if +he set himself up to lecture his listener, but just simply to try to +raise her thoughts from the gnawing anxiety which had laid hold on her. + +"Yes," she said, "the bit of sky is beautiful, but it is so far off; +and--don't be angry with me, George, but I wish you would go and find +him. Let me come with you!" she exclaimed. + +"No, no; I shall be quicker than you are. I can get over the ground in +half the time." + +Neither asked the other where George would look for the truant. Both +had one thought--Jack had been to the quay, and was perhaps on board +one of the ships lying there. He had threatened before that he would +go to sea, and leave Miss Pinckney and her scoldings and fault-findings +behind him. + +"If it had not been for his mother he would have done so long ago," he +said. "He loved the sea, and he wished to be a sailor, as his father +had been before him." + +As George's quick, firm steps were heard dying away in the distance, +Mrs. Harrison pulled a stool towards her out of the shop, and seated +herself just within the doorway. + +She was scarcely conscious of anything but the fear, growing greater +every moment, that Jack--the sunshine of her life, the light of her +eyes--had gone from her. She leaned her head against the door, and +looked up at the sky half unconsciously. As she looked, a blind in one +of the windows of the opposite house was lifted, and the window +cautiously opened, while a head with a tangle of golden hair was thrust +out, and a little voice--clear, like the sound of a thrush in a +tree--sang in sweet dulcet tones some verses of a childish morning +hymn:-- + + "Now the eastern sky is red, + I, too, lift my little head; + Now the lark sings loud and gay, + I, too, rise to praise and pray. + + "Saviour, to Thy cottage home + Once the daylight used to come: + Thou hast often seen it break + Brightly o'er the Eastern lake. + + "Blessed Jesus! Thou dost know + What of danger, joy, or woe, + Shall to-day my portion he-- + Let me meet it all in Thee." + + +Here the sweet, clear voice broke off suddenly, for the child saw that +her opposite neighbour on the doorstep was looking up at her. + +"Mrs. Harrison," she said, nodding and kissing her hand. "_I_ see you! +I'm coming down when I'm dressed. Uncle Bobo isn't awake yet." + +Then the head disappeared, and there was silence for a few minutes. + +Presently the bolts of the opposite door were gently drawn, and out +came the daintiest little figure, in a fresh blue cotton frock and +white pinafore, her rosy lips parted with a smile, and her eyes dancing +with the light of the morning of life. Dear unclouded child-eyes! How +soon they lose that first sweet innocent gaze! How soon the cares and +sins of this weary world shadow their depths, and the frank gaze which +tells of faith in all that is lovely and beautiful is changed into one +of distrust, and sometimes of sorrow. + +"Well, little Miss Joy!" Patience Harrison said, as the child tripped +across the row, and flung her arms round the waiting mother's neck. + +"Well, dear Goody Patience. Why are you sitting here all alone, and +looking so sad? Why, Goody, _dear_ Goody, you are crying!" + +For the child's loving caress had touched the fountain of tears, and, +sobbing, the poor mother said-- + +"Oh, little Miss Joy! Jack has run away. I couldn't sleep, so I came +down here." + +"Run away, Jack! Oh, how naughty of him to grieve you! But he will +come back--of course he will. Don't cry, my dear Goody Patience; don't +cry. Of course he'll come back. What was it all about?" + +"A fuss with his poor Aunt Amelia, as usual; and Jack was rude, I know, +and he did not behave well; but----" + +"I am afraid," Joy said thoughtfully, "Jack is not a good boy to Miss +Pinckney. He is no end good to _me_, and I love him dearly, and so +does Uncle Bobo. He says he is like a fine ship--all sails set and +flags flying and no compass--which gets on rocks and quicksands, +because there is no guide. That is what Uncle Bobo says." + +"It is quite true--quite true," Patience said. "I do not excuse him, +though I know he has had a great deal to try his temper in his Aunt +Amelia's house." + +"I dare say he will come back, and be a good boy. I'll talk to him," +Joy said, with a wise nod of her golden head. "I'll talk to him, and +he will never run away again." + +"But, Joy, he is gone; and though Mr. Paterson thinks he knows where to +find him, I don't believe he _will_ find him." + +"I must go indoors now; for here is Peter coming to take down our +shutters, and Uncle Bobo will be wanting his breakfast, and I always +help Susan to get it ready. I shall be on the watch, and the minute +Jack comes back I will run over." + +Then, with showers of kisses on the pale, woe-struck face, little Miss +Joy was gone. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +_LITTLE MISS JOY._ + +Little Miss Joy was the pride of the row, and always seemed to bring a +ray of sunshine with her. + +She lived with an old man she called "Uncle Bobo," who kept a curiously +mixed assortment of wares, in the little dark shop where he had lived, +man and boy, for fifty years. + +He was professedly a dealer in nautical instruments, the manufacture of +which was carried on in Birmingham or Sheffield. Every now and then a +large packing-case would excite the inhabitants of the row, as it was +borne on one of the Yarmouth carts constructed on purpose for the +convenience of passing through the rows, and dropped down with a +tremendous thud on the pavement opposite Mr. Boyd's door. + +No wheels but the wheels of these carts were ever heard in the row, +unless it were a wheelbarrow or a truck. And none of these were +welcome, as it was difficult for foot-passengers to pass if one of +these vehicles stopped the way. + +The nautical instruments by no means represented all Mr. Boyd's +stock-in-trade. Compasses and aneroids and ship's lamps were the +superior articles to be sold. But there were endless odds and +ends--"curiosities"--bits of carving, two or three old figure-heads of +ships, little ship-lanthorns, and knives of all shapes and sizes, balls +of twine, rolls of cable, and all packed into the narrow limits of the +tiny shop. + +"Uncle Bobo" was coming home one night--a Christmas night--a few years +before the time my story opens, when he heard a wailing cry as he +fitted the latch-key into his own door. + +The cry attracted him, and looking down on the threshold of his home he +saw--a bundle, as it seemed to him, tightly tied up in a handkerchief. +Stooping to pick it up, the faint wailing cry was repeated, and Uncle +Bobo nearly let the bundle fall. + +"It's a child--it's an infant!" he exclaimed. "Where's it dropped +from? Here, Susan!" he called to his faithful old servant, "here's a +Christmas-box for you; look alive!" + +Susan, who had appeared with a light, groped through the various +articles in the shop, and received the bundle from her master's hand. + +"Dear life, Mr. Boyd, what are you going to do with it then?" + +"Can't say," was the answer, as Mr. Boyd rolled into the parlour, where +a bright fire was burning and the kettle singing on the hob. "Unpack +the parcel, Sue, and let's have a look." + +Susan untied many knots and unrolled fold after fold of the long +scarf-shawl of black and white check in which the child was wrapped: +and then out came, like a butterfly out of a chrysalis, a little dainty +girl of about two years old, who, looking up at Mr. Boyd, said, +"Dad-da!" + +There was no sign of ill-usage about the child. She was neatly +dressed, and round her waist a purse was tied. Mr. Boyd fitted his +large black-rimmed spectacles on his nose, and while Susan sat with the +child on her knee, warming her pink toes in the ruddy blaze, he untied +the ribbon with which the purse was fastened to the child's waist, and +opened it. + +It was an ordinary purse, with pockets, and within the centre one, +fastened by a little spring, was one sovereign and a bit of paper, on +which was written: + +"It is the last money I have in the world Take care of the bearer till +you hear more. Keep her for me." + +Eight years had gone by since that Christmas night, and nothing more +had ever been heard about this "Christmas-box;" but Uncle Bobo never +repented that he had kept the child. She had been the interest and +delight of his old age, and he had fondly called her "My little Joy." + +The neighbours wondered a little, and some looked severely on this deed +of kindness of Mr. Boyd's. + +The person who looked most severely at it was Miss Amelia Pinckney, who +kept a small haberdasher's and milliner's shop opposite Mr. Boyd's. +Now neighbours in the Yarmouth rows, especially opposite neighbours, +are very near neighbours indeed; and if it was almost possible to shake +hands over the heads of the passers-by from the upper windows, it was +quite possible to hear what was said, especially in summer, when the +narrow casements were thrown open to admit what air was stirring. + +Thus Miss Pinckney's voice, which was neither soft nor low, reached +many ears in the near vicinity, and Mr. Boyd was well aware that she +had called him "a foolish old fellow," adding that "the workhouse was +the place for the child, and that she had no patience with his folly." + +Truth to tell, Miss Pinckney had but little patience with any one. She +had, as she conceived, done a noble deed by allowing her stepsister and +her boy to take up their abode with her. But for this deed she took +out very heavy interest; and poor Mrs. Harrison, who was, as her sister +continually reminded her, "worse than a widow"--a deserted wife--had to +pay dearly for the kindness which had been done her. Many a time she +had determined to leave the uncongenial roof, and go forth to face the +world alone; but then she was penniless, and although she worked, and +worked hard too, to keep herself and her boy, by executing all Miss +Pinckney's millinery orders, and acting also as general servant as well +as shopwoman of the establishment, still she was never allowed to +forget that she was under an obligation to her sister, and that she +ought to be "thankful for all her mercies!" + +"It is not as if it was only yourself, Patience. Think what it is to +have a boy like yours! Enough to drive one mad, with his monkey tricks +and his impudence. I don't say that I regret taking you in. Blood is +thicker than water, and you are my poor father's child, though he had +cause to rue the day he married your silly mother--he never had a day's +peace after that." + +Such sentiments, expressed with freedom and without intermission, were +a trial in themselves; but lately things had assumed a far more serious +aspect. + +Jack had been a mere baby when first he and his mother had been taken +in by Miss Pinckney. But eleven years had changed the baby of two +years old into a strong, self-willed boy of thirteen, impatient of +control, setting all his aunt's rules at defiance, and coming in from +school every day, more antagonistic, and more determined, as he said, +to "pay the old auntie back in her own coin." + +In vain Mrs. Harrison had remonstrated; in vain she had striven to keep +the peace. For ever before her eyes was the dread that Jack would +carry his oft-repeated threat into execution, and go to sea. Then, +indeed, the light of her stricken life would finally go from her, and +she would have nothing left to live for! + +Jack was a boy likely, in spite of all his faults, to fill a mother's +heart with pride. He was the picture of merry, happy boyhood, with a +high spirit, which was like a horse without a bridle, and carried him +away beyond all bounds of tongue and temper. But to his mother he +could be gentle and penitent, acknowledging his faults, and showing +real sorrow at having grieved her by warfare with his aunt. There was +an excellent boys' school in Yarmouth, where he made good progress with +his lessons, and was a favourite with his school-fellows; and the +master, though often irritated by his tricks and carelessness, found it +hard to be angry with him, or to inflict the punishment he deserved. + +It is possible that Jack would have been able to get on more peaceably +at home, had there not been another person frequently at his aunt's +home with whom he waged a perpetual warfare. This person was a tall, +meagre-looking young man, a clerk in an Excise office, who made great +profession of being better than his neighbours. + +He was always coming into Miss Pinckney's to tea or supper, and +invariably, when listening to the aunt's stories of Jack's +misdemeanours, talked of the bad end to which naughty boys were +brought, and of the sins of disobedience bringing their sure reward. + +Mr. Skinner had the disagreeable habit of uttering truths in the most +unpleasant manner. A great deal that he said was correct; but somehow +his words seemed to have no effect on those whom he addressed. There +was a dash of unreality about Mr. Skinner, and a certain want of +candour, which Jack's eyes were quick to detect. + +He suspected that Mr. Skinner came to Miss Pinckney's "for what he +could get," that he liked a chair by her fire in the back parlour, and +that the glass of hot gin and water, sweetened to his taste, with a bit +of lemon floating on the top, was his grand attraction. + +The smell of this glass of spirit and water was odious to Jack; and he +naturally felt aggrieved, when on one occasion Mr. Skinner, coming in +to tea, devoured the whole plate of hot buttered toast or muffins, and +talked of the duty of thankfulness, and how much more any of us had +than we deserved--Jack meantime having slices of very stale bread +scraped with a little salt butter. The contrast between his own share +of the fare and Mr. Skinner's was sufficiently provoking. Then too of +late Jack had been conscious that both Mr. Skinner and his aunt had +been doing their best to bring his mother round to their view--that he +was "the worse-behaved and most ill-conditioned boy that ever lived." + +That last great outbreak of temper, when he had rushed off, and left +his mother to pass a sleepless and tearful night, had been caused not +so much by the shower of reproaches heaped on him, as by his aunt's +bitter words: "If you go on like this, you'll break your mother's +heart. Even she is getting sick of you, and you would be a good +riddance!" + +He knew well enough it was not true. He knew that if all the world +were against him, his mother would never give him up. But, stung to +the quick, he had poured out a torrent of angry words; and addressing +his aunt as "an old cat, who shouldn't have the chance of setting her +claws into him again!" he had rushed off and left his mother miserable. + +As soon as the house was quiet and Miss Pinckney's long tirade against +"spoilt wicked boys" had ceased, Patience Harrison had crept downstairs +again, and, slipping the bolt off the door, had taken up her position +there. And there George Paterson had found her, pale and worn with +sleepless sorrow, and with an aching sense of loss which was well-nigh +hopeless. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +"_AN HONEST BOY._" + +When little Miss Joy had tripped across the row to her own door, Mrs. +Harrison had gone into the house. + +The shutters were being taken down from several of the windows, blinds +were drawn up, doors opened, and the row was waking to life and the +business of life. + +Mrs. Harrison went about her usual work of clearing up and dusting and +sweeping, and about half-past six she called a boy from one of the +opposite houses to take down the shutters of the little shop front. + +The boy looked wistfully at her sad face, and asked, "Is Jack ill, +please, ma'am?" + +"No, not ill," she answered, unwilling to spread the news that he had +run away; "not ill; but I am up early." + +The boy asked no further question, but said to himself, "Something is +up; and here comes Mr. Paterson!" + +"Have you found him?" Patience asked, under her breath. "Any news? +Any news?" + +George passed into the house, for he did not wish to excite observation. + +"No--no direct news; but I hear some ships got under weigh about three +o'clock. The tide served, and it is just likely that the boy is aboard +one. Don't you think me unfeeling now if I say, it is just as well he +should go; he may learn a lesson you couldn't teach him." + +"The same story, the same trial over again! Oh, how can I bear it?" +Patience said, in a voice that filled the honest heart of George +Paterson with deep pity and almost deeper pain. + +"Well," he said, "this wrangling here was bad for all parties. The boy +was always in hot water." + +"Because she was so cross-grained--because she hated him. Oh, I +cannot, cannot bear to think of it!" + +"Pray," said a sharp, shrill voice from the bottom step of the very +narrow staircase which led into the still narrower passage, "pray, what +is all this about?" + +"Jack never came home last night," Patience said in a voice of +repressed emotion. "He never came home. He is gone, and I shall never +see him again." + +"Oh, fiddlesticks!" was the reply. "Bad pennies always turn up. I +never knew one in my life that was lost. Mark my words, you have not +seen the last of him--worse luck." + +"That's not a very pleasant way to talk, Miss Pinckney: you'll excuse +me for saying so," said Mr. Paterson. "The boy was a good boy on the +whole." + +"A good boy!" Miss Pinckney was screaming now. "Well, George +Paterson, your ideas of goodness and mine differ. You may please to +take yourself off now, for I've no time to spend in gossip;" and Miss +Pinckney began her operations by flapping with a duster the counter of +the shop, and taking from the drawers certain boxes of small articles +in which she dealt. + +While she was thus engaged, she suddenly stopped short, and uttered an +exclamation of horror, turning a white face to her sister, who was +listening to the few words of comfort George had to bestow. "Look +here!" she exclaimed; "look here! The secret's out. The little tin +cash-box is gone, and the thief is out of reach. What do you say to +your good boy now, eh, George Paterson?" + +George Paterson took one step into the shop, and said-- + +"How do you know he took it? He is the last boy I could think of as a +thief." + +"Of course. Oh, he is a perfect boy--a good boy! I only wish he had +never darkened my doors--the young villain!" + +"Hush, now Miss Pinckney. Calm yourself, and let us have a look for +the box. Where was it put?" + +"Why, in the drawer, to be sure, under the counter. I keep the key of +the drawer in my key basket. I always locked it--always. He got the +key and opened it. There was four pounds and odd money in it--close on +five pounds." + +"I am certain," said Patience, "Jack did not steal your money, sister +Amelia." Poor Patience was calm now. "It is impossible," she +continued. "He was--he was as honest as the day, and as true as gold." + +"All that's very fine--very fine indeed. He stole the money, and made +off. If he didn't, who did?" + +Patience stood wondering for a few moments, going over all that +day--that last day. Jack had been at school and out till nearly +tea-time; then he had sat with his books till supper; and then came the +uproar with his aunt, and he had rushed away--straight out of the +house. He could not have stopped in the shop on the way; besides, a +plot must have been laid to get the key. It was impossible Jack could +be guilty. + +She looked at George, and read in his face deep sympathy, and also read +there a reassuring smile. + +"No," he said. "Whoever is the thief, Jack is innocent. Circumstances +may be against him--his running off to sea, and his passion-fit against +you--but I believe him to be innocent. You had better leave things as +you found them, and I'll call in a policeman. There'll be one on his +beat at the end of the row by this time. It is right and just all +proper inquiries should be made." + +The policeman--a stolid, sober individual, who never wasted words--came +at George Paterson's bidding, and looked with a professional eye at the +drawer whence the money had been abstracted. + +"Box and all gone! That's queer. Key of box fastened to it by a +string. Humph! Any servant in the house?" + +"No." + +"Boy that cleans up and takes down the shutters, eh?" + +"_No_--that is--my nephew was in the house, and," said Miss Pinckney +with emphasis, "he ran off to sea last night." + +The policeman gave a prolonged "Ah!" + +Then he proceeded to examine the lock of the drawer. + +"Where's the key?" + +"Here, in my key basket. I lock the drawer the last thing, and lock +the shop-door myself. You know that, Patience. Speak up." + +"Yes, I know it--I know it." + +"Well, there seems no certain clue," the policeman said, twisting the +key of the drawer round and round in the lock. + +"There's this clue," Miss Pinckney said; "my nephew who ran off to sea +stole the box. He and I had quarrelled a bit, for he was the most +impudent and trying young vagabond. If you wish to know my thoughts, +policeman, they are that he took the cash-box." + +"There's no proof. We must have proof. But there's suspicion. We +must try to track the youngster, find out what ship he sailed in; and +when she comes into port, why, we'll keep an eye on the little chap." + +The policeman had no more to say just then, and departed, saying to +George, who shouldered his tools and followed him, "I know the boy. A +sharp one, isn't he?" + +"An honest one, if ever an honest boy lived," was the rejoinder, as +George Paterson strode away. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +_HIS OWN WAY._ + +Jack Harrison had no fixed purpose when he rushed out of his aunt's +house, except to get away from the sound of her angry words, and from +the sight of his mother's grieved face--that face, which bore the marks +of so many storms, and which he loved better than any other in the +world. + +"I had better go," he reasoned with himself. "I may make a fortune. +Suppose I go aboard a whaling ship, as my father did. I won't go +aboard a smack or trawler; I should not care for that life--handling +fish, and out all weathers, north of the Dogger trawling--no, that +would not pay, but a good ship would; and I'll take a look round the +quay as soon as it's light." + +Jack had found the convenient shelter of an old boat on the beach, and +there he curled himself up and fell asleep. + +He was awoke by feeling something touching his face, and starting up, +just distinguished in the dim light the shape of a dog, which began to +whine piteously, and licked his hands. + +"What, are you lost, or run away like me?" he asked. "Have you been +treated ill, eh?" + +Jack was now thoroughly awake, and crept out of his shelter on to the +soft sand, which almost gave way under his feet. + +The dog continued whining and jumping on him, and seemed to want to +show him the way to some place. + +"What do ye want, eh? I can't make you out," Jack said; but in the +light of the strengthening dawn which was breaking over the sea he saw +a dark mass of something at some distance on the sand, and towards this +the dog was evidently trying to guide him. + +There was not a creature to be seen on the level strand, and no sound +but the gentle murmur of the tide just turning. Presently, however, +another sound made Jack pause and listen. + +The dog heard it also, and grew more and more frantic in his efforts to +lead Jack on. + +When he got near the dark mass, Jack found it was the figure of a man, +and that the sounds came from him, for he was groaning and crying as if +in great pain. The dog ran to him, and leaping on his prostrate +figure, and then back again to Jack, showed that the place to which he +had to bring him was reached. As plainly as a dog could speak, he was +saying, "Help my master." + +Jack bent down over the man, and said-- + +"What's the matter? Are you hurt?" + +"Yes, I've sprained my leg; and if I don't get to the quay by four +o'clock I am ruined. I'm mate of the _Galatea_. Look alive and help +me to the ship; it's all right when I'm there, for the captain is a +jolly fellow--but oh, this leg!--all along of my catching my foot in a +net. Toby here and I were coming along the beach from my old +step-mother's, over t'other side of the Monument, and I fell, and must +have twisted my foot as I fell on that big stone. Now, I say, will you +help me to limp to the quay? Doubt if I can do it, but I'll try all +the same." + +The light was momentarily increasing now, and as Jack bent over the man +to take his arm and pull him into a sitting posture, he saw a sad, +pensive face turned up to him. Evidently the impression that was +mentally made was a good one, for the man said-- + +"Where are you off to, young un?" + +"To see if I can get aboard any ship, and work my passage." + +"Whew!--oh!--here, wait a bit, my boy; I must ask the Lord to help me. +I have been crying and groaning like a baby; that won't do. No, Dick +Colley, you mustn't be a coward. Pain! well, what's pain! Toby there +would bear it better!" + +After a moment's silence the man said-- + +"Now, heave-to, my boy, and I'll put down the right leg, and make you +answer for the left. Ahoy! ahoy!" + +The "ahoy" was nearly a groan again, and then there was a muttered oath. + +"Did ye hear that, boy? That's the hardest job a man has to do--to +cure himself of cursing. It's worse than drinking. I've been hard at +it for a twelvemonth now, and I'm blessed if I ain't beaten over and +over again. This pain will---- Don't you think, boy, I consider it a +fine thing to swear, and take the Lord's name in vain. I think it is a +shame to do it--and I beg Him to forgive me the next minute. It's just +this--that habits, bad or good, stick like a leech. Now then, ahoy!" + +This time Dick Colley was fairly on his feet, and by the support of +Jack's strong shoulder progress towards the quay was made. + +It was slow and difficult, and Toby followed close to his master's side +with a dejected air, his stubby tail between his legs, giving every now +and then a little whine of sympathy. + +"I am hard put to it, lad, to get along. I am feeling faintish and +bad; but I can't afford to lose this voyage; it's a long one, and good +pay, and I've an old mother and a pack of children to keep." + +"Rest a bit," said Jack. "Here's a post will do." + +"Ay; I dare say I'm pretty near breaking your shoulder-blade. I shan't +forget you, youngster. I say, what's up? mischief, eh?" + +"I want to be off to sea just for a bit. Will you take me?" + +"Well, I must go aboard first, before I can promise. Now then, on we +go." + +The quay was reached at last, and it was now broad daylight. + +The stately ships were all getting under weigh, and there was no bustle +or noise. The cargoes had been shipped overnight, and there was only a +silent waiting for the tide. + +"Here she is; here's my berth. You help me aboard, and we'll see what +can be done." + +"Dick Colley, the mate, as sure as I'm alive!" said one of the crew, +who was turning a loose cable round and round into a coil of many +circles. "Why, old chappie, what's amiss with 'ee?" + +"Give us a hand aboard. I've been and sprained my ankle. This +youngster helped me along, or I'd never have got here." + +"You are just in time, mate; for we are off to the river's mouth in a +twinkling. Here, why, look alive! he's awful bad." + +With Jack's help they got Dick Colley on board and down below, where +the ship's surgeon bandaged the swollen ankle, and Jack stood by with +Toby. + +In the general hurry of departure, when the captain gave the word, no +one noticed Jack, or if they noticed him, concluded that he was aboard +the _Galatea_ as a passenger, of which there were a few. + +It was not till they were well out to sea that the captain, coming down +into the mate's berth, said-- + +"Hallo, Colley! who's the youngster aboard with the curly hair? What's +he about?" + +"He wants to work his way out, captain; set him to it. I promised I'd +say a word for him. He just helped me across the sand, when I was +pretty near dying of the pain. You'll let him stay?" + +The captain turned on his heel, somewhat sulkily. + +"Do you suppose he's to do the work of your lame foot, eh? Well, he +hasn't come here to eat the bread of idleness. I'll soon show him +that." + +And the captain kept his word. + +Long before the sun--which had risen in a cloudless sky that +morning--had set behind a bank of clouds, Jack was put to work. + +Washing the decks and performing other like offices fell to his share +on that first bright day, when to sail over the blue calm sea, with the +crisp air blowing from the great German Ocean, was a pleasant sensation +in itself. + +But night came on, and the stars looked down from their immeasurable +depths; and Jack, lying on a bench, with his arms folded, and his face +resting on them, had time to think. + +He had done it now. Often, when in a storm of passion he had said he +would leave his aunt's roof for ever, he had relented, and even at his +mother's instigation and entreaty had expressed sorrow for his burst of +anger, and asked to be forgiven. + +He had done this only a fortnight before, and his aunt had received his +apology with a short-- + +"It's all very well to think by saying you are sorry you make it all +right. It's deeds not words, for me." + +This ungracious manner of receiving an expression of contrition had +often hardened the boy's heart against his aunt. Still more so when, +from the other side of the parlour, Mr. Skinner would say, in a nasal, +squeaky voice-- + +"It's a wonder to me how your kind, generous aunt puts up with you for +a single hour. Only a good woman like her would give you house room at +all." + +"What business is it of yours, I should like to know?" had been Jack's +retort; and all the real sorrow he had felt, awakened by his mother's +gentle words, had vanished. + +That Skinner! How he hated him; how instinctively he turned from him +with positive dislike and loathing. + +Now, as he lay alone and unnoticed beneath the star-strewn sky of the +summer night, it was not of Skinner that he thought, not of his aunt, +not of anything he had suffered--but of his mother. + +And he had left her without a word--without a kiss! Many and many a +time had he felt her kiss upon his forehead as he was sinking off into +the sound sleep of childhood. Many a time he had heard her whispered +prayer as she knelt by his side; and now he had left her desolate! + +"Joy will be there," Jack thought--"little Miss Joy, and she will +comfort her--dear little Joy!" + +And somehow, as all these memories of those he had left behind him came +before him, tears rose all unbidden, and chased each other down his +cheeks. + +Presently a rough kick from a man's boot made him start. + +"The mate is singing out for you, youngster," he said; "get along with +you and go where you are wanted, for you ain't wanted here." + +"Where's the mate?" + +"Where, stupid? In his berth, a groaning and sighing. There ain't +much the matter with him, that's my belief; only some folks can afford +to make a fuss." + +Jack drew himself together and walked towards the companion ladder. As +he was putting his foot on it with the cautious air of the uninitiated, +a rude push from behind, followed by a derisive laugh, sent him down to +the bottom with a heavy thud. + +"Shame!" cried a voice, "to treat the boy like that." + +"Oh, he will be one of Colley's lambs, canting no end, you'll see! For +my own part, I'd soon chuck him overboard." + +"I know you are spiteful enough for anything," was the reply; "and I +pity that boy if he's in your clutches." + +Another laugh, and Jack, now on his feet, turned round with a defiant +air, and, half-stunned and bewildered, was climbing up the stairs +again, to give his adversary a blow with his fist, when a voice called-- + +"Stop, lad! don't go and give evil for evil." + +Colley from his berth had seen Jack fall, and had heard the mocking +laugh. + +"Come here, lad. I'm a bit easier now, and I want to talk to you. +There, sit down on my locker, and we'll spin a yarn. You've run away, +haven't you? I was so mad with pain, or I should have talked to you +before. Come, you've run away now?" + +"Yes," the boy said. + +"Then you've been and acted very foolish, let me tell you. I did the +same, boy, and I've repented it all my life. I grieved the best of old +fathers by my wild career, and then I ran off; and when we put into +port after the first voyage, I went to the old place to find him dead. +Now, how do you think I felt? Why, ready to kill myself with remorse. +What if you find your mother dead, when we put into port again? Now +look here, boy. You've done me a good turn, and I'll do you one. I'll +get the captain to put you ashore, if you choose, and I'll put a few +shillings in your pocket to get back home. Do you hear?" + +"Yes," Jack said, "I hear; but I am in for it now, and I had better +stick to it. I should only make more trouble by going back. That old +aunt, who made my life miserable, would only be worse than ever. No, +sir, thank you; I'll go on, and I must put up with it." + +"Lie on the bed you've made for yourself, lad? Ah, that's a precious +uneasy one! I'd like to tell you how I made mine, and I will some day; +but now you'd better turn in, there's the watch on deck, telling +midnight." + +"Where am I to turn in?" Jack asked. + +"There's an empty hammock close by. Climb up there, and sleep till I +call you. There isn't much sleep for me. Good-night." + +Jack found it no easy matter to climb into the hammock. Like +everything else, it requires practice; he took off his boots and made +attempts to clamber up, but failed each time. + +"You young cur, what are you about?" called a gruff voice. "Can't you +turn in without waking a fellow from his sleep? Get along with you;" +and a leg was thrust out, which gave Jack a very emphatic kick. + +At last he gave up the attempt, and taking off his jacket he made a +pillow of it, and curled himself up on the deck. + +The motion of the ship began to be more decided, for just at dawn a +fresh breeze sprung up, and the _Galatea_ curtesied on the crest of the +waves, and the water made a splash against her sides. Jack was rolled +against a locker, and found sleep impossible. + +The sailor who had grumbled at his disturbing him by his unsuccessful +attempt to get into his berth, turned out at three o'clock, to relieve +the watch on deck, and stumbling over Jack exclaimed-- + +"You baby bunting! So you can't get to your berth! I'll teach you!" +And taking Jack roughly by one arm and leg, he tossed him as if he had +been a feather into the hammock, and said-- + +"Lie there till you are wanted, and be thankful you've got there!" + + +There is a certain rule which I think has seldom an exception, though I +know we say that all rules _have_ an exception to prove their truth. +But it is seldom indeed that we see the rule departed from, that "as a +man soweth so shall he reap." + +We all of us prove its truth at one time or other of our lives. "He +that soweth to the flesh shall of the flesh reap corruption"; and many +a bitter tear of self-reproach is caused by the crop our own hands have +sown, when we took _our own way_, and turned from His way, "who gave us +an example that we should follow in His steps." + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +_A TEA-PARTY IN THE ROW._ + +The hot summer days passed by in the Row, and the inhabitants took +advantage of the long evenings to go down to the beach and pier, and +listen to the bands playing merry tunes, and watch the gaily-dressed +people who frequent Yarmouth in the season. + +Little Miss Joy was drooping somewhat with the heat, for the summer was +one of rather unusual warmth. But though she was quieter, and her +voice was not so often heard singing like a bird from her high window +opposite Mrs. Harrison's, still she did not get dull or cross. "My +Sunbeam!" her old friend called her; and there was nothing he liked +better than to sit at his door, after business hours, while Joy talked +to him or read him a story. She went to a little day-school in the +market-place, and was, in old Mr. Boyd's opinion, a wonderful scholar. + +Joy had many things to tell of her school-fellows, and there was one +who use to excite her tender pity and her love. + +Bertha Skinner was a tall, angular girl of fourteen, who was the butt +of the school, often in tears, always submissive to taunts, and never +resenting unkindness. That little Miss Joy should choose this untaking +girl as her friend was the cause of much discontent and surprise in +Miss Bayliff's little "seminary for young ladies." No one could +understand it, and little Miss Joy was questioned in vain. + +"Such an ugly, stupid girl, always dressed like a fright, and she can't +add two and two together. I wonder you speak to her, Joy." + +But Uncle Bobo, though confessing that he was surprised at Joy's taste, +had a faint notion of the reason she had for her preference. + +"It's like my little Joy," he said; "it's just out of the kindness of +her heart. She thinks the girl neglected, and so she takes her up, +bless her!" + +"May I ask poor Bet to spend Thursday afternoon with me, Uncle Bobo?" +Joy asked one hot August morning as she was ready for school. "_May_ +I, please? It's early closing day, and we have a half-holiday. Dear +Goody Patience says she will take us to the sands, and perhaps Jim +Curtis may give us a row. I _should_ like that." + +"Well, I have no objection, my pretty one; the poor thing has no +treats!" + +"Treats! Oh, Uncle Bobo, she is miserable! Her grandmother is so +sharp, and tells her she is a useless fright, and things like that. +And then there's her Uncle Joe, he is horrid!" + +Mr. Boyd laughed. + +"Ah, ah! Miss Pinckney's suitor; he isn't very nice, I must say." + +"Suitor, Uncle Bobo; what's a suitor?" + +"You'll know time enough, my dear, time enough. You'll have a score of +them, I dare say; and I hope not one of them will be like Master +Skinner, that's all. He's like one of the lean kine you read to me +about last Sunday in the Bible. But leanness is no sin; p'r'aps he'll +get fatter by-and-by." + +Little Miss Joy was mystified, and repeated to herself, and then aloud: + +"Does suitor mean the same as 'young man' and 'lover,' I wonder?" + +"Bless the child's innocence! Yes, my dear, you've got it now." + +"But, Uncle Bobo, could an old, old lady like Miss Pinckney have a +suitor?" + +"Oh, yes, my dear, yes! She set her cap at me once. She is--well--not +much short of fifty; that's a girl, you know. All are girls till they +marry; old girls, we call them!" + +"But my dear Goody Patience is ever so much younger, and oh! she said +last night, 'I don't feel as if I was ever young, or a girl,' and then +she looked so sad." + +"Ah! my dear, she has had a sight of trouble, has poor Mrs. Harrison. +First, her husband making off, leaving a good business--a very good +business here, as a master of a lot of herring boats, with a share in +one of the big curing houses where the bloaters are the best to be had +in the trade. But my young man must needs be off whaling, and never +came back again. Poor Patience! It's a sad story. For my part, I +wish she would call herself a widow and have done with it. There's +some one ready enough to make her a happy wife." + +"Really, Mr. Boyd, if I was you I would not put such nonsense into the +child's head," said the good old servant. She had lived behind the +little dark shop for some thirty years, and now came forward into the +light, blinking as an owl might blink in the bright rays of the August +sun, which at this time of day at this time of year penetrates the +narrow row and shines right down into it. + +"Yes, I say it's nonsense to put into the child's head. Run off, my +dear; run off." + +"And I may ask Bet Skinner to come to tea, and dear Goody too; and +you'll buy a plum-roll and cheese-cakes for a treat. Will you, Uncle +Bobo?" + +"Yes, my dear; I'll make a feast, see if I don't; and we'll have a good +time." + +"Tea on the leads, tea upstairs, Uncle Bobo." + +Uncle Bobo nodded; and Joy ran off gaily with her invitation ready for +poor Bertha. + +Uncle Bobo was as good as his word, and on Thursday morning sallied +forth early to the confectioner's shop at the end of the row, and +returned with a variety of paper bags stuffed full of cakes, and +chucking them across the counter to Susan, said-- + +"Spread the tea up aloft, as the child wishes it; it's cool up there, +and plenty of air." + +Tea on the leads may not seem to many who read my story a very +enchanting prospect, but to little Joy it was like tea in Paradise! + +The houses of the rows had many of them flat roofs behind the gables, +which faced those opposite, and here flowers were cultivated by those +who cared to do so, linen was hung out to dry, and in one or two +instances pet doves cooed, or poor caged thrushes sang their prison +song. + +Susan grumbled not a little at carrying up the provisions; but the boy +Peter was pressed into the service, and Uncle Bobo brought up an old +flag, which Peter tied to a pole, and set up to wave its rather faded +colours over the feast. + +While these preparations were being made, Mrs. Harrison, and little +Joy, and Bertha Skinner were on their way to the beach to watch the +pleasure-boats pulling off with the visitors, and the children making +their sand-castles and houses, and paddling in the pools the sea had +left. The tide was ebbing, and wide patches of yellow sand were +separated from the beach by streams of water; sea-weeds threw out their +pink feathery fronds, and shells of many varied colours lay beneath. + +Mrs. Harrison sat down, leaning her back against a boat, and the +children ran down to the water's edge. + +The wife and mother was sad at heart; not one word from Jack--not one +word. She looked across the boundless sea, and thought how it had +taken from her the husband of her youth, and the boy who was the light +of her eyes. Why was she so tried? Why was her trouble always to be, +as it were, in one direction, her position always suspense, always +uncertainty, always waiting and watching, and dreading what news might +come at last? + +George Paterson was a ship's carpenter, and well known along the coast +and on the quay. He had made every inquiry, but could not get any +direct tidings of Jack. + +Several ships had sailed early that fine morning--the _Galatea_, for +Constantinople; the _Siren_, for a Norwegian port; the _Mermaid_, for +Genoa; but no one had any recollection of noticing a boy go aboard. +Indeed, there were but few people who could have seen him, for few were +stirring at that early hour, except those who were obliged to be at +their post at sea or on shore, and they were probably too much +engrossed with their own concerns to heed him, even if he had been seen. + +Patience had borne up bravely under this last sorrow. In some ways +Jack's absence was a relief--she had been always treading, as it were, +on the edge of a volcano, that might send up fire and smoke at any time. + +We all know what a strain it is upon body and mind to be always seeking +for peace, while those around us make themselves ready for battle; and +the terror at every meal that there would be a scene between Jack and +his aunt, with the effort to prevent it, had been a perpetual strain +upon Mrs. Harrison. At least that fear and dread were taken from her, +and her heart said-- + +"If only I knew he was well and happy I should be glad to know that he +was gone away from so much that jarred and fretted him; but it is the +silence and the terrible suspicion they raise that he was a thief that +overwhelms me sometimes." + +As these thoughts were passing through Mrs. Harrison's mind George +Paterson came up; he had been watching her and the children for some +minutes, and the sympathy for the poor deserted wife and mother filled +his honest blue eyes with tears. + +All the gay people about her--the singing of a large party which filled +one of the pleasure-boats, the bustle and activity everywhere--seemed +to force upon George Paterson the painful contrast between the glad and +happy and the sad and deeply-tried woman, whom he loved better than +anything in the wide world. Oh that she would let him comfort her, +take her to a pleasant home on the Gorlestone Road, with a garden full +of flowers, and where peace and plenty reigned! + +But George loved Patience too well to weary her with importunity. He +would never add a straw's weight to her care by undue persistence in +urging his suit. + +"Well," he said, pointing to Joy and her companion, "they seem happy +enough. It's odd that little Miss Joy should choose for her friend +that untaking niece of Joe Skinner's. She is very like him--just as +unwholesome-looking and sly too." + +"Poor girl! She has a melancholy time of it at home, so Joy tells me. +It is just like her to take pity on one who is not cared for." + +"I dare say. She is a little darling, and no mistake!" + +"This is early-closing day, and a half-holiday at Joy's school--that is +why we are out pleasuring. We are to have tea on the leads at Mr. +Boyd's. Will you come with us? for we ought to be getting back. I +promised Amelia I would be in at six o'clock, as she wants to go +walking with Mr. Skinner." + +"Well, she had better stay at home, that's certain. That fellow is a +rogue, if ever there was one!" + +Mrs. Harrison was silent for a moment; then she said quietly, "I have +no reason to love him, for he helped to drive my boy out of the house." + +"No doubt he did; and--I hardly like to say what I think--but I believe +he made a plot about that money-box." + +"Oh! I have often thought so, and put away the thought as wrong and +wicked." + +"We'll speak plain English for once," George Paterson said. "That man +means to marry your sister, and get hold of all she possesses." + +"Oh, George! Amelia is close on fifty, and Mr. Skinner can't be much +over thirty." + +"That does not matter; the same thing is done every day. Don't we see +great folks setting the example, and ladies of any age marrying young +fellows who want their money? You may depend upon it, Skinner has this +in his little sly eye. Well, I shan't do him any good by abusing him, +nor myself neither; so I'll have done." + +"Not a word from Jack," Mrs. Harrison sighed out--"not a word." + +"If he is off on a long voyage, as he may be, I never thought you would +have a word. You must wait till Christmas for news." + +"Till Christmas! Ah! those were his father's last words--'I'll be back +by Christmas;' and how many Christmases have come and gone since that +day, and never a word--never a sign." + +"The dead cannot give either words or signs," George said; and then, as +he saw Patience cover her face with her hands, he was sorry that he had +uttered what was an obvious truth, and added gently-- + +"If your husband had been alive he would come or write, for he loved +you; and how can any man who loved _you_ forget or change?" + +Patience did not reply, and little Miss Joy, having caught sight of +George Paterson, came springing towards him. + +"Oh! I have got some beautiful shells," she said--"such a big one. +Put it to your ear, and listen to the sound of the sea. And Bet has +got one too. Come, Bet, and show it." + +Bet advanced slowly and awkwardly, her angular shoulders nearly +touching her ears, her rough sandy hair gathered into a little knot at +the back of her head, on which a very shabby brown hat was set on one +side. + +Bertha had the cringing, deprecating manner of an ill-used dog. No one +liked her, no one cared for her, and she was fully alive to the fact. +Only sweet little Miss Joy ever said a kind and pleasant word to her, +and her devotion to this merry child filled her whole soul. She dare +not show it; she dare not lavish any of the ordinary endearments upon +her. She saw the other girls at Miss Bayliff's kiss and fondle her; +she heard her praised and admired; she saw little gifts showered upon +her--but she did none of these things. Poor Bertha's was a blind and +dumb worship for one who smiled at her when others frowned, who could +seek her society when others shunned it, and could encourage her with +her tasks--so far below her age--when others called her a dunce and an +idiot. + +The tea on the leads was a great success; although, to be sure, a few +black tokens from a neighbouring chimney peppered the cakes, and one or +two danced into Mr. Boyd's large breakfast-cup full of tea. Before tea +was over, however, the shop-door bell was heard to ring furiously, and +Susan, who had been invited to her share of the feast, trudged down, to +trudge back, breathless and indignant, after a few minutes' absence, +saying-- + +"Miss Pinckney can't give no one any rest. She is wanting you, Mrs. +Harrison, to go and keep the house, as she is off with Mr. Skinner. I +shouldn't hurry now if I was you. Let her wait, Mrs. Harrison." + +"No; I promised to go back by six o'clock." + +"Saint Nicholas clock has not struck yet," said Uncle Bobo. "Don't you +hurry, Mrs. Harrison, for we must have a song before we part--eh, my +Joy?" + +"If you please, Uncle Bobo, let it be 'Tom Bowling.'" + +Whereupon Mr. Boyd began to groan forth in not very dulcet tones the +familiar song and strain, beginning-- + + "Here, a sheer-hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling." + + +Mr. Boyd's voice had not been very musical in youth, and now the sounds +seemed to come more from his boots than from his lips. But Joy was a +delighted listener. Then she followed with one of Mrs. Alexander's +"hymns for little children," and as she sang, in her sweet childish +treble, the words seemed to speak peace. + + "On the dark hill's western side + The last purple gleam has died; + Twilight to one solemn hue + Changes all, both green and blue. + + "In the fold and in the nest, + Birds and lambs are gone to rest; + Labour's weary task is o'er, + Closely shut the cottage door. + + "Saviour, now in sweet repose + I my weary eyelids close, + While my mother through the gloom + Singeth from the outer room." + + +Joy paused, and putting her little hand in Mrs. Harrison's, said-- + +"I have never any mother but you, dear Goody; and I know she must be +glad I've got you, as God took her away from me." + +It was very seldom that Joy referred to her position in Uncle Bobo's +house, and indeed very seldom that she thought of it. She had been +told that she had been laid at Uncle Bobo's door as a Christmas gift, +and that had been enough for her. But since she had been to Miss +Bayliff's school there had arisen a question in her little mind as to +why she had never known either father or mother--a question no one +could answer. + +The bell ringing again more violently than before made Mrs. Harrison +hasten away, and she had just gone when the clock struck six. + +"I should like to take Bet home, Uncle Bobo. That will be such a nice +end to our feast. Will you come?" + +Uncle Bobo was not fond of walking, but he never liked to refuse Joy +anything, and very soon he might be seen toddling along the row, with +his short, stout legs, and rosy apple face, singing out a cheery +"Good-evening" to such neighbours as were about, and taking Joy's +little hand in his, while she danced at his side. Presently she let go +her hold on Uncle Bobo's hand, and said in a low voice-- + +"I think I'd better walk with poor Bet, Uncle Bobo. She looks so sad +walking behind us." + +"So do, my Joy, so do. You've a kind little heart, and may no one ever +say a cross word to you, or do an unkind action." + +Joy fell back with a radiant smile, and, putting her hand into Bet's +arm, drew her on in front. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +_A VISIT TO THE SKINNERS._ + +Mr. Skinner was very like his mother. No one could mistake that they +bore this relationship. + +Some old age is lovely--radiant with the chastened light of eventide. +Mrs. Skinner's was certainly unlovely. Tall and spare, with sharp +pinched features, and thin pitiless lips, from which very few kindly +words had ever fallen, and where a smile was almost unknown--she was an +almost friendless woman. She who had never rendered a neighbour a +kindly service neither expected nor received any from others. She had +the reputation of being a cross-grained old woman, who had driven her +only daughter away by her unkindness, and had spent what love she had +upon her two sons, who suited her in many ways far better than her +daughter. The youngest of these--Bertha's father--had married a woman +much older than himself, and Bertha was his orphan child, her mother +having died at her birth. She had been taken to live with her +grandmother, at the dying wish of her father: what maternal affection +she possessed responded to this last request of her youngest son, and +Bertha had known no other home. + +It was a home, as far as the shelter of a roof and food and clothing +went; and the education of Miss Bayliff's school, given somewhat +grudgingly, was to be granted till Bertha was fifteen. + +"_Then_ she must work for her living," Mrs. Skinner had said; "and," +she added, "few people would have done what _I_ have done." + +"A great deal too much!" Joe would say when his mother indulged in this +self-congratulation--"a great deal too much; and I, for one, don't +approve of this girl being nursed in idleness; it was the ruin of +Maggie." + +Mrs. Skinner winced a little at the name; for Maggie had disappeared, +and no trace could be found of her. + +She had been, so those who remembered her said, of a very different +type to her family, as if she had dropped down from the clouds into it. + +That was long ago now, but the people who could look back some years in +the neighbourhood where Mrs. Skinner lived could remember this bright, +gay girl disappearing, and the mother's reply to any inquiry-- + +"I know nothing about her, nor do I wish to know. She has been and +made her bed, and she must lie on it." + +Report said that Maggie had married against her mother's wish, and that +she had literally turned her out of her house. This was about all that +was ever heard, and nothing was really known. Any attempt to question +Mrs. Skinner was met by a sharp rebuff, and very few people, even the +boldest, dare approach her even with an attempt to find out what she +chose to keep secret. + +Mrs. Skinner and her son Joe lived in a detached red brick house, built +long before villas with bay windows and gabled roofs, and little dormer +windows in them, were thought of. It was a straight little house, with +a window on each side of the door, and three above it, a lean-to at the +back, and a square of garden in front. The path to the door was of +pebbles, and they always made a disagreeable crunching sound as the +feet of any comers to the house walked over them. That was not often; +and the little iron gate grated on its hinges, it was so seldom opened, +as Mr. Boyd pushed it back to admit the two girls. + +"No, no," Uncle Bobo had said, in answer to Joy's entreaty. "I'll just +walk across to that bench and wait for you, my Joy. I don't fancy the +old lady, and she doesn't fancy me. So ta-ta!" + +Mr. Boyd toddled across the bit of sandy road to a bank mound of sand, +covered with long pointed grass, which hid the view of the sea from the +lower window of Mrs. Skinner's house, and sitting down on a wooden +seat, resigned himself to patient waiting. + +Bertha crept slowly up to the door, and seemed half afraid to make her +coming known. + +She turned the bright brass handle of the door, but it was locked. + +"We must go in by the back door; p'raps grandmother won't mind." + +"Are you afraid to go in, Bet?" + +"Well, grandmother is very particular; she isn't like Mr. Boyd." + +"Do you mean," said Joy, "that you would rather I didn't come in? Oh, +then I will run back to Uncle Bobo! Good-bye, Bertha." + +"No, no, I didn't mean that," said Bertha, much distressed. "I--I----" + +As she was hesitating the door was opened, and Mrs. Skinner's tall +figure filled the narrow entrance. She stood without saying a word for +a moment, and then, in a harsh, discordant voice, she asked--"Who is +_that_?" + +"If you please, ma'am, I am Joy. I go to school with Bertha, and she +has been home to tea with me and Uncle Bobo, and I have brought her +back." + +"She does not want bringing," was the sharp reply; "she can bring +herself, I suppose. Go round to the back door, will you?" + +"I think I had better _not_," Joy said with emphasis, "because you do +not wish me to come into your house." + +Mrs. Skinner had been standing motionless at the door while Joy was +speaking, and there was a strange expression on her sharp thin features. + +"Where do you say you live, child?" + +"I live with Uncle Bobo, in the row, opposite Miss Pinckney and Mrs. +Harrison. Miss Pinckney keeps the milliner's shop, where the widows' +caps hang up." + +"_I_ know," was the reply; "I never bought any article there, and I +never mean to. Well, you may run round with Bertha for a few minutes." + +"Thank you," Joy said. "I hope you'll let Bet come to tea again; and +if you'd like to come too, I am sure Uncle Bobo wouldn't mind." + +"I don't spend _my_ time gadding about taking tea with folks. I leave +that to drones, who've got nothing better to do. Did you say, child, +you lived with Boyd, at the instrument shop?" + +"Yes, ma'am; he's my uncle." + +Mrs. Skinner turned away, and then the door was shut with a sharp bang, +and the two girls were left outside. + +"I don't think I'll come in, Bet," little Miss Joy said; "for your +grandmother does not like me--she looks so cross." + +"She always looks like that," Bertha said; and then she added, "Every +one but you is cross to me; you are always kind. Oh, I do love you!" + +Then Bet's cheeks, after making this declaration, were suffused with +blushes, which made her poor sallow face a dark purplish-red. + +"Do come in a moment--_do_," she said. + +The two girls went in at the back door, and along a narrow stone +passage. + +The door on the right was open, and Bet said, in a low whisper-- + +"There's Uncle Joe's room. There's where he sits at night, and I hear +people coming in, 'cause my window is one in the lean-to." + +Uncle Joe's proceedings had not much interest for Joy, and she just +looked round the room standing on the threshold, and said-- + +"What a big table for such a wee little room, covered with green cloth, +and what funny little boxes! They are like the big hour-glass in Uncle +Bobo's glass case. It's not a pretty room at all," she said decidedly. +"Come away, Bet." + +Bertha then led the way up a very narrow flight of steps, which were +scarcely to be called a staircase. They creaked under her feet, and +even Joy's light tread made them squeak and shake. + +"Here's where I sleep;" and Joy found herself in a little room with a +sloping roof and a beam. The room was in fact only a loft for storage, +but it was thought good enough for Bertha. + +"I wanted to show you this," Bertha said; "it's the only keepsake I've +got. It was once my poor Aunt Maggie's, and she gave it to me. I can +just remember her kissing me one night, and saying, 'God bless you--you +poor orphan.' I must have been a little thing, perhaps four years old, +for it's such a long time ago, and I am nearly fifteen." + +Bertha had dived into the depths of a trunk covered with spotted lilac +paper, and which contained most of her worldly goods. + +From the very bottom she pulled out a square leather frame, and as she +rubbed the glass, which was thick with dust, with her sleeve, she said-- + +"Isn't she pretty?" + +It was an old faded photograph of what must have been a pretty girl, in +a white dress with a band of ribbon, which a photographic artist had +painted blue, and had touched the eyes with the same colour. + +"I think she is beautiful," Bertha said. "I never saw any one so +pretty till I saw you, and I think you are like poor Aunt Maggie." + +Joy looked doubtfully at the portrait, and said-- + +"Yes, it's very nice. She looks so good and so sweet, as if she could +never have been cross or naughty." + +"That's just what _I_ think," Bertha said; "and she _is_ like you, for +you are good, and I am sure you are never cross." + +"Oh!" little Miss Joy said, "that's a mistake. I am naughty when I +hate Miss Pinckney, and when I am impudent to Susan. She _says_ I am +impudent, and Miss Pinckney has called me a 'saucy little baggage' very +often. That's why I don't go into Miss Pinckney's shop to see dear +Goody Patience and Jack. + +"Ah!" Joy added with a sigh, "there is no Jack to see now; he is gone, +and I do miss him so. He used to be so good to me;" and her eyes grew +dim, and the corners of her rosy lips turned down ominously. "But I +must go to Uncle Bobo now; he must be tired of waiting, and he'll get +fidgety." + +"Very well," Bet said; "I don't want you to get a scolding." + +"A scolding!" Joy said, recovering herself from the momentary +depression which the thought of Jack's loss had caused. "Uncle Bobo +never scolded me in his life." + +Then Joy stepped cautiously down the narrow stairs, and turning said-- + +"Good-bye, Bet; good-bye." + +"Good-bye," poor Bet said, as, standing at the back-door, she watched +her friend skipping off across the road to the seat where Uncle Bobo +sat, with his round back--very round--and his short legs tucked up, one +wide-toed boot upon the other, to give support. + +"I wish she'd kissed _me_," poor Bet thought, as she saw Joy throw her +arms round the old man's neck, and kiss all that was visible of his +rosy cheek beneath his large wide-awake. "I'd like her to kiss me like +that;" and poor Bet followed the two figures with lingering, longing +eyes till they were out of sight. + +Other eyes were following them also. Mrs. Skinner was standing by the +window of her parlour, peering over the short white muslin blind at +Uncle Bobo and Joy. What was she thinking about? For her thin lips +were parted as if she were speaking to some one, and her long fingers +worked convulsively with the strings of her black alpaca apron. + +Presently the door opened softly, and Bet came creeping in. She never +knew what reception she might get, and she had the miserable cowed +manner of a beaten dog. + +"Grandmother!" + +Mrs. Skinner started, and said sharply-- + +"Well, what do you want?" + +"Isn't she pretty? Isn't she a darling?" + +"Stuff and nonsense! I don't care about beauty; it's only skin deep; +and I dare say she's a pert little hussy. Don't go and bring her here +again, I don't want her." + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +_DARK DOINGS._ + +When Mr. Skinner had escorted Miss Pinckney home after their walk, he +seated himself at supper with the air of one who was thoroughly at home +and at his ease. + +"He knows on which side his bread is buttered," Uncle Bobo's Susan +said, as she had watched Miss Pinckney walking up the row with her +tall, ungainly suitor. + +For Uncle Bobo was right. Mr. Skinner had every intention of coming to +the point; though, I need not say, it was not his custom to go straight +to the point. + +Mr. Skinner always preferred a circuitous route. + +When they were seated at supper Mr. Skinner said-- + +"You have had no tidings of your runaway, I presume, Mrs. Harrison?" + +This question was asked as Mr. Skinner looked at Jack's mother with +that oblique glance Jack had boldly called a "squint." + +Patience shook her head. She could not bring herself to talk of her +boy to Mr. Skinner. + +"Ah," he said, "what a home he has left, and what a friend! When I +think of Miss Pinckney's generosity and nobility of temper, I grieve +that they were expended on so unworthy an object." + +The colour rose to Mrs. Harrison's cheeks. + +"You will be so kind, Mr. Skinner," she said, "not to talk about my +boy. It is not a matter I care to speak of to any one." + +"True, true!" was the reply. "'Least said, soonest mended.' But I +suppose I may be permitted to offer my humble tribute of admiration to +my dear, kind friend, who always gives me a welcome to her hospitable +board." + +Here Mr. Skinner stretched out his long, thin fingers, and laid them +gently on Miss Pinckney's, who was in the act of handing him another +triangular cut from the pork pie, which had been the _pièce de +résistance_ of the supper-table. + +"Oh! dear me, Mr. Skinner," Miss Pinckney exclaimed, "I don't look for +gratitude--never! So I am not disappointed. Gratitude isn't a plant +that grows in these parts. It doesn't flourish. The air doesn't suit +it, I suppose." + +This was said with a glance at poor Patience, who was well accustomed +to such side-hits. + +"It is a plant that has a deep root in my heart," said Mr. Skinner, +"and I hope the flower is not unpleasing, and that the fruit will be +satisfying." + +This was a great flight of poetical rhetoric, and Miss Pinckney bridled +and simpered like a girl of sixteen. + +"You are kindly welcome surely to anything I have to give, Mr. Skinner, +now and at _all_ times. Those that don't care for what I provide, +well, they may seek their fortune elsewhere, and the sooner the better." + +Patience Harrison had long been disciplined to self-control, or she +could never have borne the "quips" and "quirks" of her sister. + +Thus she kept silence, determined not to wrangle with Miss Pinckney in +the presence of witnesses; above all, not in the presence of the man +whom she distrusted. + +So she quietly cleared away the supper when the meal was concluded, and +retired to the back premises to wash up the dishes, and put everything +in order for the night. + +It was about ten o'clock when Mr. Skinner--having sipped his glass of +hot gin and water bid his hostess an affectionate adieu, and turned his +steps homewards. + +When he reached his own gate he exchanged a quiet greeting with two +men, who were evidently waiting for him. + +Then all three went softly round to the back of the house, and entered +it by the door through which Bet and little Miss Joy had gone in that +afternoon. + +Mr. Skinner opened the door with a latch-key, and all three men passed +silently into the little room with the big table, covered with the +green cloth--the table which little Joy had said looked too big for the +room. + +"Well," one of the men said, "'Fortune favours the brave.' I am in for +luck to-night. What have you got to drink? I dare say there's a +bottle of rum in the cupboard, eh?" + +"Well," Mr. Skinner said, "I don't drink anything myself. So, no +doubt, what you left is to be had." + +"Ah, ha! ah, ha!" laughed the other man. "You don't drink at your own +expense; is that it? The old lady in the row finds you in toddy." + +"Shut up!" said the elder of the two men; "don't talk all night, but +let us to business." + +Then two packs of cards were produced with the black bottle, and very +soon the game began. + +Ah me! that ruinous game, which so many, I fear, play, and thereby lose +all sense of honour and right. Who shall say how long is the list of +broken hearts for which gambling is responsible? + +And not only the sordid gambling, such as that in which Mr. Skinner and +his boon companions indulged, with dirty packs of cards, in a low room +where the mice scampered about behind the loose boards, and the whole +aspect was uninviting; but, alas! there is the same game going on +amongst those who, from education and social position, should be the +first to shun this crying evil. + +It matters not whether the stakes be for a pound or a penny, the danger +and the sin is the same. + +The winner is always the winner at the expense of the loser. The +success of one is the destruction and misery of the other. Deceit and +fraud, with too often strong drink to silence the cry of remorse and +the voice of conscience, follow in the gambler's train. No departure +from the paths of honesty is single in its consequences, and there is +no sin but may be compared to the throwing of a pebble into a still +lake, when the circles which follow the fall of the stone widen and +widen, and that indefinitely. + +Gambling in all its forms is a grievous wrong; and whether from betting +on horses, or speculating in stocks and shares, or descending to a +shabby little room such as that where Mr. Skinner and his friends sat +on this fair summer night, shuffling their cards, for what seemed by +comparison insignificant sums, we are bound to protest against it with +all our might, and to guard the young under our care from the first +beginnings of what is indeed the cause of untold misery to many who, in +thousands of cases, suffer for the sins of others. + +The stakes for which Mr. Skinner and his companions played were small; +but his usual good fortune seemed to have deserted him of late, for he +had lost again and again. + +One of the men, as he threw down the cards, said-- + +"I have a score against you for last Tuesday, Skinner. Do you want to +run up further?" and he pulled out a bit of dirty paper from a +pocket-book, and read from it sums which amounted to several pounds. + +Mr. Skinner treated the matter with lofty indifference, saying-- + +"You needn't fear; I am going in for a prize, and I shall win!" + +"Ah, well, win or lose, I must be paid. It is rather inconvenient to +be out of pocket like this." + +Mr. Skinner threw down another four shillings, and said-- + +"Try again." + +Again, the stakes being trebled on a card, he lost--though the winner +this time was the third man of the company. + +Then a good deal of wrangling and quarrelling in an undertone followed, +and Bet, in her room above, was awoke by it. She had been awoke before +from the same cause; but to-night she sat up in bed and listened. + +The joists that divided the room in this lean-to of Mr. Skinner's +cottage, which could hardly be called a "wing," were very thin and far +apart, and a knot in one of the boards of her room had been forced out +and left a hole through which it was possible to get a peep into the +room below. + +Presently the voices ceased, and she heard the stealthy footsteps of +the men retreating across the yard, and then, as they reached the deep +soft sand, they were heard no longer. + +Bet got up, and standing on tip-toe tried to look out of the little +attic window that lighted her room. As she did so the hole in the +floor attracted her, for she could see the light through it from the +room below. + +She lay down on the boards, and, looking through, could see her uncle +at the table. + +He had a small box before him, from which he took out some coins, and +then he put a key attached to the box in the lock, and fastened it. +Bertha watched, she hardly knew why, with deep interest her uncle's +proceedings, and saw him rise from the table with the box in his hand +and go out. + +She climbed on the seat to bring her face on a level with the little +window, and distinctly saw her uncle, with a lantern in one hand, which +he set down by his side, and in the other a spade, with which he dug a +hole in the soft, sandy mould by the strip of garden, where Mrs. +Skinner cultivated some straggling cabbages, which went to _stalk_ with +but few leaves, in the poor soil of the little enclosure. + +Presently he put something from his pocket into the hole, and then +covering it with the soft soil, he returned to the house. + +What did it all mean? Poor Bet felt something was wrong, and yet how +could she help it? + +"I wish there was any one I could tell," she thought; "but there is +nobody. Little Miss Joy wouldn't care to hear, and nobody else would +listen to me if I did tell them. And I suppose Uncle Joe has a right +to bury his things if he likes; but it's very odd." + +Then she crept back to her bed, and was soon asleep. + +Bet went off to school the next morning with a lighter heart than +usual, for she had received a convincing proof of little Joy's +friendship, by her invitation to tea at the row. + +The midsummer holidays were approaching, and she was determined to bear +all the rebuffs she met with from her school-fellows with fortitude. +What did anything matter if Joy loved her! + +When Bet reached the gates of the garden before Miss Bayliff's school, +she saw a knot of girls standing there. She came slowly towards them, +shuffling her feet as usual in an awkward fashion, and not daring to +draw too near the charmed circle, for her defender was not there. + +"Little Joy is late this morning," one of the girls said. "But we must +go indoors; Miss Bayliff is in a rage if we crowd outside. Here, Bet, +do you know where little Miss Joy is?" + +"How should she?" said another voice. "Here comes May Owen; let us ask +her: she lives in Broad Row." + +May Owen was the daughter of an ironmonger, whose premises were at the +corner of the row, just above Uncle Bobo's shop. + +"Well," she said, "have you heard about poor little Joy?" + +"No; what's the matter?" asked a chorus of voices. + +"She was out last evening with Mr. Boyd, and as they were coming home a +horse came galloping along the Market Place, and Joy was knocked down. +She has hurt her head, they say, or her back. The doctor has been +there half the night, and Mr. Boyd is mad with grief. It has made a +scene, I can tell you, in the row." + +"Why, Bet!" one of the girls exclaimed, "don't do that!" + +For poor Bet had seized the arm of the girl nearest her to support +herself. Her heart beat wildly, her face was blanched with fear, as +she gasped out-- + +"Oh, I must go to little Miss Joy! I must, indeed I must!" + +"Nonsense! Don't squeeze my arm like that; you'll pinch me black and +blue. _You_ can't go to little Miss Joy; she wouldn't want _you_." + +"No; I should think not!" said May Owen. "The notion of a scarecrow +like you being a pleasant sight to Mr. Boyd in his trouble! Mrs. +Harrison is with the child." + +"Tell me--tell me," poor Bertha gasped; "will she get well? will she +live?" + +"I don't know. Let us hope so, for she is a darling, and every one +loves her," said another voice. And then a bell rang, and the girls +trooped up the steps into the house, and the business of the morning +began. + +Who shall tell the misery of those long hours in school to Bertha? She +could only gaze at the white face of the clock, and count the minutes +as the long hand passed over them. As to her lessons in class, she +was, as the governess who taught her said, "Hopelessly muddled." + +Vain were her efforts to get through her repetition of Cowper's lines +on his mother's picture. She sat with a sum before her on a slate, and +blurred it with tears; and finally had a long array of bad marks, and +was sent by the assistant governess to Miss Bayliff to receive a +lecture, and to be given a long column of the Dictionary to write out +and learn by heart in addition to her usual lessons. + +It did not strike Miss Bayliff that sorrow for Joy was the cause of +Bet's woe-begone face. Miss Bayliff herself was really distressed at +the news which had circulated through the school of Joy's accident, but +she did not think Bet could feel as she did for little Miss Joy. + +The moment school was over, Bet seized her hat from the peg in the +passage, and set off to the row to learn the worst. + +To her great relief she saw Mrs. Harrison coming from her own door to +Uncle Bobo's. She clutched her arm pretty much as she had clutched her +schoolfellow's; but she was not thrust away this time. Patience +Harrison said kindly, + +"My dear, our little Joy seems a trifle better. She has opened her +eyes and smiled at Uncle Bobo." + +"Will she get well? May I see her?" + +"You must not see her; she has to be kept very quiet." + +"Oh! what shall I do? what shall I do?" Bet exclaimed. + +"Pray for her," was the reply, "and trust in God's love whichever way +it goes with her." And then, moved to deep pity for poor Bet, Mrs. +Harrison stooped and kissed her, and went into the little shop. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +_IN PERIL OF THE SEA._ + +The _Galatea_ was a good sailing vessel, loaded with goods, and was +bound for Constantinople. She was a trading vessel, with a few +passengers who paid a moderate sum for their berths, and were provided +with very fair accommodation on board. + +Jack certainly proved himself a good sailor. As soon as the first +misery of sea-sickness was over, he made himself very useful to the +crew generally, and to Dick Colley in particular. + +"He is worth his biscuit, captain," Colley said one day. "A sharp lad, +eh?" + +"Yes, and a handy one too. It's well for you that you have had that +boy to help you, with your lame leg; and you are trying to make him one +of your sort, I see." + +"One of my sort! No. I hope a long sight better than my sort, +captain. I am but a beginner, learning the alphabet late in life; but, +please God, I'll stumble on following Him, and I hope I may get others +to follow Him too." + +"You needn't look for me in that following, Colley; but you are welcome +to the boy. It is all very fine to preach about God's love and care +for us when the sea is stirred by a pleasant breeze, just enough to +give us a capful of wind, and we are making our proper knots an hour +straight for port; but when the waves are roaring, and the timbers of +the ship groaning and creaking, and we know not but that we may go to +the bottom any minute--don't tell me it is God's love then, when poor +fellows are fighting the waves for life, knowing that if they are +drowned they leave wife and child poor and desolate. No, no, Colley; +that motion won't hold water." + +"Begging your pardon, captain," said Colley, "it's better to trust in +the Lord's love in a storm, than curse, and swear, and shriek as you +and I have seen some of our mates take on, in mortal terror. You can't +deny that." + +"I deny nothing," was the reply. "I am content to let things take +their course, and religion with the rest. Let them pray who like; it's +no odds to me." + +Jack had been near during this conversation; and as the captain turned +on his heel and took up his position again at the helm, Colley called +Jack. + +"Were you within ear-shot just now, boy?" + +"Yes," Jack said. "I heard what you and the captain were saying. My +mother talks as you talk; and as to little Miss Joy, she is always +singing hymns, and loves taking Uncle Bobo's hand and trotting to +church with him. I wish you could see little Miss Joy; you would love +her as much as I do." + +"P'r'aps I may see her one day. She is a pretty little thing, you say?" + +"Pretty!" Jack said; "she is a great deal more than pretty. Her eyes +are like the sky; and how she can laugh, to be sure! it's like silver +bells ringing. Many a time, when I have been half wild with Aunt +Amelia's grating tongue, I have run over to Mr. Boyd's, and Joy has put +me right. She would always be on the watch for me when I came back +from school, and she calls my mother 'Goody,' and she is just like a +little daughter to her. Then when there were sharp words between Mr. +Boyd and his old servant, Joy made peace. She would climb on Uncle +Bobo's knee, and kiss him, and put her hand before his mouth, and beg +him to be quiet, and not get angry with Susan, because hard words did +no good." + +"That's true, boy--that's true; and now I want to know what you are +going to do when we are safe in port? Go home and show you are sorry, +eh?" + +"Not home to my aunt's house; I'd rather break stones. Look here, she +just makes me feel wretched, as little Miss Joy makes me feel good." + +"Ah, boy, that's the wrong end of the stick--the feeling good and +wicked, as you say. No, no; 'goodness,' as you call it, don't depend +on little Miss Joy, or wickedness on sharp-tempered viragos like you +say your aunt is. It is the _heart_, boy. If that is turned to God, +then we may hope to keep straight, by watching and praying; but it is a +fight, boy, as I find. As I told you, I find it hard enough to curb my +tongue; for it is like a ship flying afore the wind, with no rudder and +no pilot. Off I go, and the words drop from my lips like mad! But I +pray for help to bridle my tongue, and I cry to God for pardon every +time I take His blessed name in vain. Don't you learn bad ways aboard. +Most of the crew are steady young fellows. One or two of 'em are on +the right track; but that man who kicked you when you came aboard, you +beware of him. He is more dangerous when he is friendly than when he's +your enemy. So don't listen to him; it won't do you no good." + +Amongst the passengers was a sweet-faced woman, with her little boy. +Jack took greatly to the child. He reminded him of Miss Joy, and he +would take his hand and lead him about the ship, and show off Toby's +tricks for his amusement. + +The woman was on her way to Cairo to join her husband, who had a place +there in an English family as courier and valet. She had been sent +home by the doctors for her health, and was now on her outward-bound +voyage, with her little son. + +She soon found that Jack was trustworthy, and she allowed her little +Peter to be with him whenever Jack had time to amuse him. Old Colley, +too, would set him on his knee, and tell him stories of the sea, and +the names of the sea-birds, which often followed the ship, and would +sometimes pounce down on any bit of biscuit or salt meat which might be +on deck. + +It was a pretty sight when little Peter's golden hair rested against +Colley's blue jersey, and the child would put up his hand and stroke +the stubby beard of his new friend, and say-- + +"I shall be a sailor when I grow up. I love the sea." + +Then Colley would stroke his head and say--"In calm weather it's +pleasant enough, boy. You wait till you have seen a storm." + +The voyage out promised well till they came to the Bay of Biscay, when +contrary winds and a storm drove the _Galatea_ to take refuge in the +port of Lisbon. + +The captain was anxious to make his way to Constantinople, and against +the advice of Colley and the second mate sailed out from Lisbon in +rough weather. + +"The storm is over," he said, "and I've no time to spend with the men +kicking their heels aboard, or going ashore to get into mischief." + +So the orders were given, and the _Galatea_ went curtesying over the +billows, under a bright sky, with all sails set. + +"We are in the track of a storm, and if I'm not mistaken," Colley said, +"we shall find ourselves in a worst plight before forty-eight hours +have come and gone. I never saw the moon look as she did last night +without a meaning." + +But for that night Colley's prophecy seemed to be unfulfilled. The +wind sank, the sea became like glass, and the _Galatea_ made but little +progress. The weather was intensely hot, and the nights scarcely +cooler than the days. + +It was on the evening of the second day, after sailing out of the port +of Lisbon, that Colley asked Jack if he saw a dark line drawn along the +horizon. + +"Yes," Jack said, "I see." + +"That's the storm coming, and it will be upon us fast enough." + +The captain, who was standing at his post with his glass, saw it also, +and very soon orders were shouted to reef sails, and "every man to his +post." + +Before a landsman could believe it possible, the mysterious dark line +had spread over the sky, and there was a hissing sound as of coming +breakers. Then a swift forked flash struck across the waters, and was +followed by a peal of thunder which was deafening. In another quarter +of an hour the waves were roaring, and the noise of the thunder and the +gathered blackness of darkness were awful. + +The _Galatea_ was well manned, and every one of the crew held gallantly +to their post. The captain encouraged the frightened passengers, and +tried to quiet their fears. + +Jack obeyed orders, and never flinched from his duty. + +Presently the angry billows broke with terrific violence over the poor +_Galatea_, and she bowed herself in her distress till the masts and +timbers creaked, and every time she went down into the deep valleys +between the mountainous waves, it seemed impossible that she should +right herself again. + +"We are in great peril, boy," Colley said in Jack's ear, or rather he +shouted the words at the pitch of his voice. "You put your trust in +God, and He will hear your cry." + +Ah! in moments of dire distress and fear, the soul that has before been +dumb cries unto God. Poor frail mortals think they can do very well +without God, when skies are blue, and all things, golden, bright, and +prosperous; but in the hour of death, and in all times of tribulation, +few indeed are to be found who do not cry to God for refuge and +deliverance. + +Jack stood face to face with death, and he knew it. All his short life +seemed to rise clearly before him, and his mother's face as he knelt to +repeat his little prayer at her knee in childish days. His mother! she +had been left a widow, although she could not believe it; his mother! +to whom he should have been a stay and comfort, deserted, because he +had been a coward, and could not meet the trials of his daily life--his +aunt's sharp tongue, and Mr. Skinner's side-hits. + +He had run away to sea to escape these, to please himself--and this was +the end. Oh! his mother! his mother! Had he not seen her watch and +wait for his father's return? and had he not seen the lines of care +deeping on her sweet face? And now he had added to her sorrow, and +could never hear her words of forgiveness. + +All this passed through Jack's mind far more quickly than I can write +it here, or you can read it; and hot tears mingled with the cold, salt +spray, which drenched him through and through as he stood firm by the +rope which was entrusted to him. + +The storm raged with unabated fury, and the darkness was only just +pierced by the rising moon, itself invisible, but which cast a strange +weird whiteness athwart the gloom. + +The worst had not yet come. It was about midnight that cries arose +above the storm, and a violent shock told that the _Galatea_ had struck +on a rock. There was no hope then--the _Galatea_ was doomed. + +The boats had been kept in readiness, and the captain's voice was +heard, shouting his orders to let them down. For the _Galatea_ had +parted in midships, and was settling down into those black waters +where, here and there, the white surf on the wave-crests was seen with +ghastly clearness in the murky gloom. + +"All women and children first," the captain ordered; and Peter's +mother, clasping the child close, with the few passengers, were let +down into the first boat. + +"Back, you coward!" the mate shouted, as the man who had been so +unfeeling to Jack, on first starting, stumbled forward and tried to +jump into the boat. Alas! too late was the command to stop. The boat +was swamped, and smothered cries arose from the surging depths. The +other boats were lowered, and old Colley remained to the last. + +"Now, captain," he said, "it's your turn. She's settling down fast." +And between the roar of the storm and the more distant roll of the +thunder, a swishing, gurgling noise told that the water was fast +gaining ground, and the _Galatea_ going down. + +"I leave the ship last, or die with her. Forward, Colley! Do you +hear?" + +"After you, captain; after you." + +"Colley, old fellow, you never disobeyed me before. You won't do it +now." + +Then a great shudder seemed to thrill through the ship, and she turned +on her side, and with a mighty rush the waves seized their prey, and +the _Galatea_ went down into the stormy waters. + +Jack found himself struggling in the surging waves; but a boat was near +him, and a hand seized him and dragged him in. + +It was old Colley's hand, and he had in his other arm little Peter, and +a whine told that Toby was with his master. + +It was a perilous position--the boat was tossed like a feather on those +stormy billows; while above the raging of the storm could be heard +cries for help from those who were clinging to broken rafts and pieces +of the wreck. + +"She was cracked like a walnut," Colley said; "and the captain's heart +was broken--that's why he said he would die with her." + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +_ON THE WIDE, WIDE SEA._ + +The boat was drifting off, and every minute seemed to put a further +distance from the place where the _Galatea_ had struck the rock and +perished. At this time the fury of the storm had abated, and a rift in +the clouds showed the moon in its last quarter floating like a boat on +its back in a silvery sea. The pale rays shed a flickering light upon +the waters, and there was a lull. Behind them rose a low black mass, +with the points of the masts showing where the _Galatea_, had gone +down. No other object was visible, and Colley covered his face with +his hands. + +"I don't believe there's one of 'em saved," he said; "I don't indeed. +The boats were swamped, and this is the only one that righted. But, +boy, I don't know where we are, nor where we are drifting." + +"Are we going home?" said a little voice from the bottom of the boat. +"I want to get home with mother." + +"Ay, my lad; but I expect we must all three give up an earthly home, +and turn our thoughts to a heavenly one." + +When morning dawned they were far out on the trackless waters, and not +a sail in eight. Jack, at Colley's bidding, tied his shirt to the oar, +in the hopes that, fluttering in the breeze, it might attract the +notice of some passing vessels. But although several sail were seen on +the horizon, none seemed to come across the track of the little lonely +boat. The scorching sun of noon beat on their unprotected heads, and +poor little Peter cried and moaned with a pain in his head. Hunger +too, and thirst, began to be unbearable; and Colley had some difficulty +in preventing Jack from drinking the sea-water, and giving it to little +Peter. + +"Don't you do it, boy; it will drive you mad, and you will repent it if +you touch it." + +Towards evening the air became cooler, and Peter, pulling at Jack's +trousers, said-- + +"There is something hard under my head, and Toby is sniffing at it." + +Oh, how untold was the thankfulness with which Colley pulled out a +canvas bag of sea biscuits, which had been stowed away under one of the +seats, with a stone jar in which was a little rum! + +"Thank the Lord, you won't starve, you young ones; there's enough to +keep you alive." + +"Enough to keep us all alive!" Jack said; "and I shan't touch a crumb +unless you eat the same quantity as I do." + +The boy lying at their feet had already set his teeth into a biscuit +like a hungry dog, and was putting his mouth to the stone bottle. + +"Gently, now, gently," Colley said, trying to take the bottle away from +the child. But he did not succeed till he had swallowed a considerable +quantity, and lay in a kind of stupor. + +Another night closed in, and the stillness and darkness were acceptable +after the burning heat of noon. At day-dawn Jack saw a ship. Surely +it was coming nearer and nearer. He stood up and called "Ahoy!" with +all his might, and poor Toby whined and barked. Colley, awakened from +a light dose, stood up also, and joined in the cry. But, alas! there +was no answer, and the white sails, glistening in the level rays of the +rising sun, vanished like a bird taking flight. + +"It is no use hoping for help," Jack said, sinking down. "I say, +Colley, are we to go on floating over the wide sea for ever?" + +"Nay, lad, nay; it won't be for ever. Please the Lord, He'll put an +end to these long watches in His own time." + +"Colley," Jack said, "do you think I am being punished for my sins? I +ran away in a fit of temper, and I know how my mother is waiting and +watching for me, as she did for my father, and she will watch and wait +in vain. Oh, Colley, do you think God is very angry, and that this is +my punishment--to die out here, with no one to care, no one to----" +Jack broke down, and hid his face on his sleeveless arms, for his blue +jersey was fluttering in the morning breeze. + +"Boy," Colley said, "it is just this: You wanted your own way, and you +were let to take it. You have made your own punishment; but as to +God's anger--well, if you turn your heart to Him in Christ's name, He +won't send you empty away. He will speak peace for His dear Son's +sake, whether He lets you go back to you poor mother, or whether He +takes you through the Valley of Death to His kingdom in heaven." + +"Colley," Jack said vehemently, "I don't want to die. I want to live, +and show my mother I am sorry." + +"We can't choose, boy, we can't choose; and we are just in God's hands, +and must be quiet." + +But, oh! through that long day of heat and oppression it was hard to be +quiet. The poor child moaned, and was rapidly becoming insensible. +Jack's lips were so sore and chapped he could not bite the hard +biscuit; and though Colley soaked his in a few drops of rum, he felt +sick at the smell and taste of the spirits, and when offered a morsel, +he turned away, saying-- + +"It reminds me of Skinner. I hate the smell." + +The great waste of waters, of varied opal hues, in the clear depths of +which the forms of many sea creatures could be seen darting hither and +thither--how desolate it was! + +Above, snowy gulls flew and floated now and again on the waves. One +came so near that Colley seized it and took it into the boat. It +looked up with wondering eyes, and Colley said-- + +"You poor stupid thing! You have come to your death;" and then he +wrung the bird's neck, saying, "If the worst comes to the worst, we +must eat it raw." + +"I would sooner die," Jack said wearily. "I begin to wish to die, +Colley. Yesterday I wanted to live, but I don't feel to care now, and +I believe that poor little darling is going." + +"Help me to lift him up--lift him up," Colley said; and between them, +feeble as they both were, the old man and the boy, they managed to get +the poor child's head to rest on Colley's knees. + +Towards evening the child opened his eyes. "Mother," he said, "I'm +coming." Then he smiled, and Jack said, "He is better." + +But Colley shook his head. "No; but he will be better soon;" and then +he said a few words of prayer, and bid Jack think of some hymn his +mother had taught him. + +Jack tried to summon a verse from his confused brain, and the one +little Miss Joy had often said came to his lips, and he repeated in a +low voice, quavering with weakness and emotion-- + + "Jesus, lover of my soul, + Let me to Thy bosom fly, + While the nearer waters roll, + While the tempest still is high: + + "Hide me, O my Saviour, hide, + Till the storm of life is past; + Safe into the haven guide, + Oh, receive my soul at last! + + "Other refuge have I none, + Hangs my helpless soul on Thee; + Leave, ah! leave me not alone, + Still support and comfort----" + + +"Oh! Colley," Jack said, breaking off, "look!" The little boy's eyes +were wide open, gazing upwards. Then a smile, a sweet smile, a shudder +as if in answer to a welcome, and the spirit of the child had fled! + +Colley bowed his head weeping. + +"A pretty little lad!" he said, "his mother's pride aboard ship. Well, +well, she is waiting for him, and God's will be done." + +When the shadows crept over the blue expanse that night, Colley lifted +the child's body tenderly in his arms, and said to Jack-- + +"Kiss him for his mother, boy. He is saved from the death which, +unless God send help, lies before you and me--the death of starvation. +You are young, but I am an old man; for all sailors are old at fifty, +and few see sixty. I shall go next." + +"Oh, Colley, Colley, do not leave me all alone!" + +Colley shook his head. + +"Again I say, Let God's will be done. I wish--I wish I had a memory +for a text of Scripture to say before I bury this child; for we must +bury him, and now. You've been at school, you say, up to the time you +ran away. Can't you say the words of Scripture which you have learned? +You must know a lot." + +Poor Jack rubbed his head and tried to collect his thoughts, but in +vain. + +"It's what the Lord said to Mary when her brother Lazarus died. Ah, +I've got it now!" + +and Colley slowly and solemnly repeated, "I am the Resurrection and the +Life; he that liveth and believeth on Me shall never die." + +Then the old sailor clasped his weather-beaten hands over the child's +lifeless form, and with tears running down his rugged cheeks he said: +"O heavenly Father, Thou hast called this child from pain and +suffering. In Thy mercy send for me next; but let poor Jack live to go +back to his mother. For Christ Jesus' sake." + +Then tenderly and gently the little form slipped over the side of the +boat; there was a sudden splash, a rippling sound, and all was +still--so still, except for the mysterious murmur which always sounds +like whispers from another world at nightfall on the sea. + +Again the sun rose, and again the silent sea was flooded with the rays +of the sun. The inhabitants of the little boat were too weak now to +speak much. Even Toby could scarcely wag his tail, but lay with his +head on his paws, gazing up to his master's face, questioning as to +what it meant--this faintness and weakness which seemed to be creeping +over him. + +The dead gull lay untouched. There was not strength left to eat it, +even if there had been inclination. + +Jack still grasped the oar, and still the poor blue jersey fluttered in +the breeze. But Colley lay at the bottom of the boat, breathing +heavily, though his eyes were open, and his rough weather-beaten hands +folded as if in prayer. + +They had drifted far out in the Atlantic, but not in the direct line +hitherto of the many steamers which continually cross the great +dividing waters which lie between the Old World and the New. + +Jack had ample time for thought, as the long weary hours went by. But +a stupor was fast creeping over him, and everything became dreamlike +and unreal. Even the images of his mother and Joy, which had been so +vivid, grew taint and indistinct, and he was scarcely conscious, when a +loud "Ahoy!" fell on his ear. + +He started up, and there, at last, was a boat alongside of theirs. + +"Wake up, boy!" said a cheery voice. "What's happened, eh?" + +"Oh, Colley, Colley!" Jack cried, "we are saved, we are saved!" And +then from excess of joy and emotion he fell prone upon the prostrate +figure of the old sailor. + +"A man, a boy, and a dog," said one of the boat's crew. + +"Half-starved, I declare! Look alive, mates, and let's get 'em aboard +our ship as quick as may be. I told you this object we saw was a craft +of some sort, though you were so slow to believe me. A happy thing for +these poor creatures I got the boat lowered." + +In another quarter of an hour two pairs of sturdy arms were pulling the +boat and those in it to the good ship _Claudia_, bound for the islands +of the Southern Seas. + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +"_ONLY A LITTLE BOX._" + +Uncle Bobo was sitting at the door of his shop one golden September +day, when the atmosphere of the row was oppressive, and his heart was +heavy within him. + +Little Miss Joy was mending--so the doctors said; for Uncle Bobo had +declared two heads were better than one, and had insisted on calling in +a second opinion. + +Yes; they all said little Miss Joy was better. But in what did this +betterness consist? She was still lying in that upper chamber, whence +she had always smiled her good-morning on Patience Harrison, and sang +her hymn of thanksgiving as the little birds sing their matins to the +rising sun. + +Better! yes, she was better; for there was now no danger to her life. +But the fall had injured her back, and she could not move without pain. +The colour was gone from her rosy lips, and the light from those lovely +gentian eyes was more soft and subdued. Little Miss Joy, who had been +as blithe as a bird on the bough and so merry and gladsome, that she +deserved her name of "Little Sunbeam," was now a patient sick child, +never complaining, never fretful, and always greeting Uncle Bobo with a +smile--a smile which used to go to his heart, and send him down to his +little shop sighing out--as to-day-- + +"Better--better! I don't see it; the doctor doesn't know! What are +doctors for, if they can't make a child well? I pay enough. I don't +grudge them their money, but I expect to see a return for it. And here +comes Patience Harrison to tell me what I don't see--that my little +sunbeam is better." + +Patience Harrison was crossing the row to Uncle Bobo's door as he +spoke. Her face wore the same expression of waiting for something or +some one that never came, as it did on the morning when we first saw +her looking up and looking down the row for Jack. + +It was a wonderfully warm September. No news had been brought of the +wanderer: the news for which her soul thirsted. George Paterson, it is +true, had heard an inkling of news, but it was not anything certain. +He had heard from a sailor that Jack Harrison had been seen aboard the +_Galatea_ by a passenger who had been put ashore as the _Galatea_ +passed the Lizard; and tidings had come that the _Galatea_ had been +lost off the coast of Spain, and only nine of the crew or passengers +aboard had survived to tell the tale! That the _Galatea_ was lost +seemed certain, but that Jack was aboard her was not proved. The man +who reported that he had seen him could not be sure of his name. He +heard him called Jack, but so were hundreds of other boys. He had +understood that he was a runaway, kept on sufferance by the captain to +please the second mate; but that was all, and it was not much. +Certainly not enough to warrant adding to Patience Harrison's heavy +burden of sorrow. So George Paterson kept the suspicion to himself, +and waited for confirmation of the report before he mentioned it. + +Patience Harrison had nursed and cared for Joy as if she had been her +own child, and Uncle Bobo was not ungrateful. + +"Well," he said, as she leaned against the door, a variety of articles +making a festoon over her head, and a bunch of fishing-tackle catching +a lock of her abundant hair, which was prematurely grey:--"Well, is the +grand affair coming off to-morrow?" + +"Yes, they are to be married to-morrow at ten o'clock; but there's to +be no fuss. They are going to Cromer for a few days, and I have +promised to keep shop till they come home." + +"And what's Joy to do without you?" + +"I shall run over early every morning and late every evening, and poor +Bet Skinner is out of her wits with delight because I said I thought +you would let her stay by day and take my place." + +"To be sure! to be sure! Only don't expect me to hold out a hand to +that old lady, Skinner's mother. Is she to be present at the wedding?" + +"Yes, and so is Bet; and I have excused myself on account of looking +after the shop." + +"Well, your poor sister is making a pretty hard bed for herself to lie +on, and I am afraid she will live to repent it; though, to be sure, we +can't call it marrying in haste. That sly fellow has been sneaking +about here for a long time. What's the mother going to do?" + +"She will live where she is for the present, and everything will go on +the same, except that I cannot live with Skinner. I shall look out for +a situation in a shop, as soon as Joy is well again, and does not want +me. Or maybe I shall take one of the small houses on the Denes, and +let lodgings to folks who can put up with humble accommodation." + +"You oughtn't to do any such thing," said Mr. Boyd. "You have been a +widow now between eleven and twelve years. A good man wants to make +you his wife--and," said Uncle Bobo, slapping his knee, "and why +shouldn't he?" + +"Please do not speak of it, Mr. Boyd," Patience said. "Do you think +that I could ever marry any man while I am waiting for my husband's +return, and now, too, for my boy's? No! it is only pain to me to think +that any of my friends could think I should forget." + +"You'll see the boy safe and sound before long, and you'll find the +salt water has washed a lot of nonsense out of him. He will come back, +but the other--never!" + +Mrs. Harrison said no more, but climbed up the narrow staircase to +Joy's room. + +"Oh, Goody dear! I _am_ so glad you are come," Joy said, stretching +out her little thin arms and winding them round her friend's neck. "I +have been fidgeting so, hearing you talking to Uncle Bobo downstairs. +And I've been very snappy to Susan, because she will have it I ought to +try to stand. Goody dear, I _can't_." + +"Susan knows that as well as I do, dearie. I think she tries to make +you out much stronger than you are, to comfort Uncle Bobo." + +"_Dear_ Uncle Bobo!" the child said. "I wish he would not fret about +me. Goody! I was dreaming of a horse tearing after me, just as that +horse did that evening; and then it wasn't a horse at all, but it was +great roaring waves, and I thought Jack was with me, and we were going +to be drowned." + +The lines on Mrs. Harrison's forehead deepened, and she tried to say +cheerfully-- + +"Dreams do not mean anything, dear; and it is said they always go by +contrary, you know." + +Then Mrs. Harrison began to settle Joy's pillows, and put back the +curtains so that she might see from her bed the strip of blue sky above +the opposite roofs and through a slight aperture between the two +houses, where Joy could on clear nights see two or three stars, and at +certain, and what seemed to her very long intervals, the moon, on her +lonely way through the heavens. + +"Susan says the wedding will be to-morrow, and that you will have to +stay to keep shop while Miss Pinckney is away." + +"Yes, dear; and Bet is coming to be with you." + +Joy sighed, and said softly-- + +"Poor Bet! she does love me very much; but, dear Goody, _I_ don't love +her as I love you. When Jack comes home, I shall tell him how kind you +have been to me, and we shall be so happy; only I expect Jack will be +vexed to see me lying here, instead of running out to meet him." + +Mrs. Harrison could only turn away her head to hide her tears as Joy +went on: + +"Uncle Bobo said the other day, when he came up and found me crying, +just a little bit, 'Why, I shall have to call you little Miss +Sorrowful!' And then he seemed choked, and bustled away. I made up my +mind then I would try to smile always when he came. I should not like +him to call me little Miss Sorrowful, it seems to hurt him so. And +then he always says he ought to have snatched hold of me when the horse +came galloping after us, and that he ought to have been knocked down, +not me. But that is quite a mistake. Uncle Bobo is wanted in the +shop, and I don't think I could have done instead of him; and then it +would have been worse for him to bear the pain than it is for me; for +when he had the gout in his toe, he did shout out, and threw the things +about when Susan went to bathe it. So it is best as it is," was little +Miss Joy's conclusion; "isn't it Goody?" + +The wedding came off the next day, and the row was greatly excited by +the event. + +Miss Pinckney was dressed in a cream-coloured cashmere, trimmed with +lace, and she wore an apology for a bonnet, with orange blossoms, and a +large square of tulle thrown over it. + +Susan, who reported the appearance of the wedding party, which she +watched leaning out of Joy's window, exclaimed: + +"All in white, or next to white! Deary me! If I was fifty, and had a +yellow skin, I wouldn't dress like a young girl. There she goes +mincing down the row, and there's a coach waiting at the end with white +horses. And there goes Mrs. Skinner looking like a lamp-post, dressed +in a grey alpaca; she looks as grim as ever. And there's poor +Bet--well, to be sure, what a frock and bonnet! They belonged to her +mother, let alone her grandmother, or p'r'aps to that pretty daughter +of hers, who ran off--she was that ill-treated by her mother she +couldn't bear it! Ah! they are a queer lot, those Skinners; they do +say Joe Skinner is a queer customer, and that he is so hard up, that's +why he's married that old lady. He will make her money spin, and there +won't be much left at the end of a year. Serve her right. I've no +patience with folks making themselves ridiklous at her time of life. +Why, my dear!" Susan said, growing confidential, as she drew her head +in from the window, when the little following of girls and boys who +lived in the row had returned from seeing the last of Miss +Pinckney--"Why, my dear! I could have married, last fall, the +lamplighter who has looked after the lamps in the row for years. But I +knew better. I told him I was forty-eight, and he was scarce +thirty-eight, and I was not going to make myself a laughing-stock. And +he went and married a young girl, and has made a good husband. So +that's all right!" + +It was the same afternoon that Mrs. Harrison, being installed in her +sister's place at the shop, Bet came breathlessly up the narrow stairs +to say-- + +"Grandmother wants to see you." + +"Oh! I'd rather not, please. I feel so afraid of your grandmother. +Don't, please don't let her come." + +But it was too late. Mrs. Skinner's spare figure was already at the +door. She was dressed in her wedding gown and bonnet, and came to +Joy's bed, standing there like a grey spectre, her bonnet and face all +of the same dull grey as the gown. + +Joy turned up her wistful eyes to the hard, deeply-lined face, and her +lips quivered. + +"If you please," she said, "I am glad you will spare Bet, while Goody +is so busy." + +But Mrs. Skinner did not speak--not a word. "I am getting better," Joy +continued; "at least the doctors say so; but--but I can't stand or walk +yet, so I am glad to have Bet." + +Mrs. Skinner had all this time been scanning little Miss Joy's features +with a keen scrutiny. Then, after a few minutes, she jerked out: + +"I hope you'll soon get about again; you are welcome to keep Bet;" and +then she turned, and her footfall on the stairs was heard less and less +distinct, till the sound ceased altogether. + +"Your grandmother is--is not like other people," little Miss Joy +ventured to say. "I don't like her; but I beg your pardon, I ought not +to say so to you." + +"And do you think _I_ like her?" Bet exclaimed vehemently. "At first I +thought I'd try, and I did try; but she was always so hard. She loves +Uncle Joe, I think, though she is angry with him for marrying Miss +Pinckney, and lately I have heard high words between them." + +And now Bet took off her wedding bonnet, and sat down by Joy's side, +perfectly content that she was thought worthy to be her companion. + +"You'll tell me if you want anything," she said. "And you won't mind +if I am stupid and blunder, will you?" + +"No," Joy said faintly. "Have you got your work, or a book? Give me +my crochet. I like to try to do something, though lying flat it is +rather tiring." + +Bet did as she was told, and then said humbly, "I shan't talk unless +you wish me to talk;" and the poor girl settled herself by the window +till a bell rang. + +"That is for you to go down for my tea," Joy said. "It saves Susan's +legs, you know." + +Bet was only too happy to be of use, and hurried down stairs at once +for the tray. + +"Be careful now," Susan said; "and don't fall upstairs and break the +crockery. There's a cup for yourself, and Mrs. Harrison has sent over +a bit of wedding-cake. It's very black, and I don't like the looks of +the sugar; but I dare say it may eat better than it looks." + +The day wore on to evening, and the row was quiet, when Joy, who had +been lying very still, suddenly said-- + +"I have been dreaming of Jack again--Jack Harrison. I think he must be +coming home." + +"Did you care for Jack Harrison very much?" + +"Very much," said Joy; "he was always so good to me. That last day +before he ran away he lent me that pretty book you were looking at, and +said we would learn those verses at the beginning together, and I never +saw him again. That was a dreadfully sad time; and then, not content +with being very hard on Jack, Miss Pinckney and your uncle said he was +a thief. Think of that! Jack a thief! Miss Pinckney said he had got +the key of a drawer and taken out a little box, where she kept the +money. There were four or five pounds in it." + +"A box!" Bet said; "was it a big box?" + +"Oh no; dear Goody says it would go into anybody's pocket. A little +box with a padlock and a little key. I knew Jack did not take it, but +of course as he ran away that very day it looks _like_ it. Even Susan +shakes her head, and I never talk of Jack to her. But," said Joy, "I +am tired now, and I think I'll take what Uncle Bobo calls 'forty +winks.'" + +Everything was very quiet after that; and when Bet saw Joy was asleep, +she crept downstairs, and in the shop saw Mrs. Harrison. + +Miss Pinckney's shutters were closed, and she felt free to come over +and have a last look at Joy. + +"A little box! a little box!" Bet repeated to herself as she went home. +"A box so small it would go into anybody's pocket." And Bet that night +lay awake pondering many things, and repeating very often, "A little +box!" + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +_MR. SKINNER IN COMMAND._ + +Mrs. Skinner was more silent than ever during the next few days, and +when she spoke it was to scold Bet in a rasping voice. + +She was suffering from that very bad mental disease which is beyond the +reach of doctors, and is a perpetual torment; and that disease is +called remorse. + +Of late she had been haunted by the memory of her only daughter, and of +her harshness to her. The man she had chosen to marry was good, and to +all appearance above the class in which Maggie was born. There was +nothing against him but poverty. He had been a travelling +photographer, who set up his little van with "Photographic Studio" +painted on the canvas cover in large letters, and had sometimes done a +brisk trade on Yarmouth sands. One of his first customers had been +Maggie Skinner, then in her fresh beauty, and a tempting subject for a +photographer or artist. + +About the same time a wealthy grocer in Yarmouth, old enough to be her +father, had offered to marry her. He had a villa at Gorlestone: +possessed a pony-carriage, and was rich and prosperous. But Maggie +shrank from marrying him. Mr. Plummer might be rich, and no doubt he +meant well and kindly by her, but she could not marry him. + +In vain she pleaded with her mother, and with her inexorable brother +Joe, that to marry simply for what you were to get by it was a sin--a +sin against the law of God, who meant marriage to be a sign and seal of +mutual love. + +Mrs. Skinner at last said that if she did not do as she bid her, and +promise to marry Mr. Plummer, she might go and earn her living for she +was not going to keep her in idleness. Many stormy scenes followed; +and one night Maggie declared that she could not marry Mr. Plummer, for +she had promised to marry Roger Chanter, the photographic artist! + +"And if you do, you shall never see my face again," Mrs. Skinner +declared. "I'll turn you out of the house, and you may disgrace +yourself as you please. I have done with you. Your brother there +knows when I say a thing I mean it." + +"Oh, mother, you are very cruel!" Ah! how those words sounded +sometimes in the dead of night, when Mrs. Skinner lay awake, listening +for Joe's return, and to the moaning of the restless sea. + +"Oh! mother, you are very cruel!" Those were the last words ever heard +from Maggie, as she passed out of her mother's sight. The next morning +her bed was empty, and she was gone. + +From that day up to the present time not a word had been heard of her, +nor had her mother or her brother troubled themselves to inquire for +her. It was supposed she had married the pale, delicate-looking +photographer; but her name was never mentioned, and she had passed away +as if she had never been. + +It was the day of the bride and bridegroom's return, and Patience +Harrison had put all things in order. The business had not suffered in +the absence of the head of the establishment, and Mr. Skinner expressed +considerable satisfaction at this. He at once took the keys, and said +he would keep the books and the money, and, in fact, rule the +establishment, and transact the business. + +He was fidgeting about the shop the next morning, and peering into all +the boxes and drawers, when his wife ventured to remark that perhaps he +would be late at the office on the quay, as the clock had struck ten. + +"My dear," was the reply, "I have resigned my post in the +Excise-office, and shall henceforth devote myself to you and my aged +mother. I have always been a good son, and I shall often look in on +her of an evening when I have settled up matters here." + +Patience Harrison heard this announcement, and saw her sister's face +betray considerable surprise. + +"Resign the place at the office!" she exclaimed. "Why, Joe!----" + +"Why, Joe!" he repeated. "Why, my dear, you ought to be delighted; you +will have so much more of my company and my help. Now you can take +your ease, and sit in your parlour, while Mrs. Harrison waits in the +shop, and performs household duties." + +"What next, Joe! I am not going to sit with my hands before me because +I am a married woman. As to a man about in a little shop like mine, +with ladies trying on caps and ordering underclothing, it is not to be +thought of. The customers won't like it. It is too small a place for +three." + +"You may be easy on that score, sister," Patience said. "I only +remained while you were away. I wish to leave you, and think of taking +a little house on the Denes, and taking a lodger till they come home." + +"Pray may I ask who are _they_?" Mr. Skinner said. + +"My husband and my son," was the reply. + +"The folly of some women!" exclaimed Mr. Skinner. "No, Mrs. Harrison, +you don't know when you are well off. You should recompense your +sister's goodness and generosity by staying to assist her in her +household cares." + +"I did not ask for your advice, and I do not want it. Sister, I shall +cross over to Mr. Boyd's, and take care of that dear child for the +present. I have packed my boxes, and Peter will carry them over." + +"My dear," Mr. Skinner said, "that being the case, we at once renounce +all connection with Mrs. Harrison." + +"But we shall have to keep a servant," exclaimed his wife; "and +servants are such a terrible trouble, and think of the worry and the +expense, and----" + +Poor Mrs. Joe Skinner seemed unfeignedly sorry. She began to magnify +her gentle sister's perfections now she was to lose her. + +"And Patience knows all my ways, and how to use the furniture polish on +the chairs and table in the parlour. And---- Oh! really, Patience, I +hope you will stay; especially now the boy is gone. You are welcome, +I'm sure; very welcome! It was the boy made the trouble. We've gone +on so pleasantly since he went." + +Patience turned away to hide the tears of wounded feeling, and said no +more. + +As she was crossing over to Mr. Boyd's, she saw a ladylike, sweet-faced +woman standing at the door of the shop. + +Mr. Boyd was very busy rubbing up a chronometer, which the captain and +mate of one of the small sailing vessels were bargaining for; and as it +was difficult for more than three people to stand in the little shop at +once, Patience paused before entering. + +"I am waiting to speak to Mr. Boyd," the lady--for so she looked--said. + +"I dare say he will be at liberty directly," Patience said. "It is a +very small shop, and too full of goods for its size." + +"Do you happen to know if Mr. Boyd has a little girl living with him? +She is now just short of nine years old. She is very----" + +The voice suddenly faltered, and Patience hastened to say-- + +"She is a darling child. Mr. Boyd has adopted her, and he calls her +Joy. We all call her Joy--little Miss Joy. Do you know anything about +her?" + +The lady grasped Mrs. Harrison's arm. + +"Let me see Mr. Boyd," she said. "Wait till I see him." + +The bargain in the shop was now completed, and the captain and mate +were departing with their chronometer, when Uncle Bobo sang out to +Patience-- + +"Glad to see you; the little one aloft is just hungry for a sight of +you. Bet isn't come yet. She's to help her old grannie before she +starts." + +A bevy of little girls on their way to school now came up with flowers, +and some ripe plums in a basket. + +"Please will you give these to little Miss Joy?" the eldest of the four +said, "with our love. Please, Mr. Boyd, how is she? is she better?" + +"So they say, my dear; so they say. I wish I could say so too. +But--well--never mind. Here, Mrs. Patience, take 'em aloft to the +child. And now, ma'am, what can I show you?" Mr. Boyd said, turning to +the lady. + +"The child--you call--little Miss Joy," was the reply, in faint tones. +"Mr. Boyd, you don't know me, and Mrs. Harrison does not know me. I +was once Maggie Skinner, and Little Joy is my child!" + +Uncle Bobo looked with a keen glance from under his bushy grey eyebrows +into the lady's face. + +"You Maggie Skinner! Well, I never!" + +"Yes, I have had a great deal of trouble; but it is over now." + +"Sit down; sit down," Uncle Bobo said, pushing a high round stool with +a slippery leather top, the only seat for which the shop could afford +room. "Sit ye down; but surely you look too old to be Maggie Skinner!" + +"I have had many troubles. Oh! Mr. Boyd, can you forgive me? When my +darling child was a baby, I wanted bread. My husband died just when +she was eighteen months old; I had not a shilling in the world; there +was only the workhouse before me, and I could not--no, I could not take +my precious child there. So I walked here from Ipswich. I remembered +you had a kind heart--so I laid her here on your door-step and stood +watching till you came and took her up, and I knew you would be good to +her; but I dared not face my mother. I wandered alone all that night; +and early in the morning, before any one was stirring, I came to look +up at this house. As I stood listening, I heard my baby's little +cough. Some one was crooning over her and playing with her." + +"That was Susan. Hi, Sue! come this way," exclaimed Mr. Boyd. + +Susan came blundering down the stairs, asking-- + +"What do you want? I was just giving the precious child her breakfast. +She seems a bit brighter this morning." + +"What is the matter with her?" Maggie Chanter asked. "Is she ill? is +she ill?" + +"She was knocked down by a runaway horse last June, and hurt her back. +What do you know about the child?" + +"I am her mother?" was the answer. "Oh! I thank you all for being +kind to her." And then a burst of passionate tears choked the poor +mother. + +Patience Harrison's kind arms were round her in a moment. + +"My dear," she said, "God is very good to us. Do not fret; you trusted +this little one to His care, and He has not forgotten you. Little Miss +Joy is loved by every one; she is the sweetest and best of little +darlings." + +"Ah! I am so afraid she may not love me," the poor mother said. "She +may think I was cruel to desert her; but what could I do? I knew Mr. +Boyd had a kind heart; but many, oh! many a time I have repented of +what I did. As I wandered back to the quay that morning I saw a new +registry office I had never seen before. I waited till it was open, +and went in. A man-servant was waiting with me, and he went into the +manager's room first. Presently the manager came out. + +"'What place do you want?' she asked, + +"'Any place,' I replied. 'A maid----' + +"'I think she'll do,' the man said. + +"Then he told me his young mistress was married a month before, and was +to sail from London Docks that night for India. The maid who was to +have attended her was sickening of scarlet fever; the lady was at her +wits' end; she was staying at Lord Simon's, near Yarmouth. 'Come out,' +he said, 'and see her at once.' + +"I went, and I was instantly engaged. I told my story in a few words, +and the lady believed me. Strange to say, she had a photograph taken +by my husband, with the name Ralph Chanter on the back. She remembered +him and the time when he was taking portraits here. Well, I served her +till she died, dear lady, and never returned to England till last week. +She has left me a legacy, which will enable me to set up a business, +and make a home for my child. You'll give her back to me, Mr. Boyd?" + +Uncle Bobo's face was a study as he listened to this story, told +brokenly, and interrupted by many tears. + +"It will be kind of hard," he said at last. "Yes, it will be _kind of +hard_," with desperate emphasis. "But," he said, heavily slapping his +leg, "I'll do what is just and right." + +"I know you will, I know you will," Patience Harrison said; "but, oh! I +am so sorry for you, dear Uncle Bobo." + +"Let me see my child," Maggie Chanter said. "Let me see her; and yet, +oh, how I dread it! Who will take me to her? Will you take me? Will +you tell the story, Mr. Boyd?" + +"No, no, my dear, don't ask me; let Patience Harrison do it; let her. +I can't, and that's the truth." + +Then Patience Harrison mounted the narrow stairs, and pausing at the +door said, "We must be careful, she is very weak." + +Maggie bowed her head in assent, and then followed Patience into the +room. + +"Oh, Goody, I am _so_ glad you are come!" and the smile on Joy's face +was indeed like a sunbeam. "Bet has not come yet. I don't like to vex +her, but she does blunder so. Susan calls her Blunder-buss; isn't that +funny of Susan?" + +Then Joy turned her head, and caught sight of the figure on the +threshold. + +"Why doesn't she come in?" Joy said; "she looks very kind; and see what +flowers and plums the girls have brought me as they went to school!" + +"Joy, darling Joy," Patience said, "you have often said you wished you +had known your mother." + +"Have I? You are like my mother now." + +"But what if I were to tell you your very own mother is come, Joy?" +And then, pointing to Maggie, she said, "There she is!" + +The excitement and agitation was all on one side. The mother tried in +vain to conceal her deep emotion. Joy, on the contrary, was quite +calm, and said, looking at Patience-- + +"Is it true? _is_ this my mother?" + +"Yes, yes; your poor unhappy mother. Can you love her, little Joy? +Can you forgive her for leaving you to Mr. Boyd?" + +"Why, yes," Joy said brightly, "of course I can; he has been ever so +good to me, and I do love him so." + +Then Patience Harrison slipped away, and left the mother and the child +together. + +"The meeting is well over," she said as she returned to the shop. + +"But the parting isn't over," was poor Uncle Bobo's lament; "and I tell +you what, when it comes it will break my heart. I shan't have nothing +left to live for; and the sooner I cut my cable the better." + +Patience Harrison felt that it was useless to offer comfort just then, +and she remembered Bet had not arrived as usual, and turned out of the +row. Towards the market-place, on the way to Mrs. Skinner's cottage, +she met George Paterson. His face brightened, as it always did, when +they met. + +"Well," he said, "have the bride and bride-groom come home?" + +"Yes," she replied, "and I have given notice to quit." + +"You have!" he said joyfully; "then you will come to me?" + +"No, George, no--not yet." + +"Not _yet_! When, then?" he asked quickly. "I was reading in the +paper the other day, that when a man is not heard of for seven years it +is lawful to marry another. It is getting on for twice seven years +since you were left desolate." + +"My dear kind friend," Patience said, "I have waited so long and prayed +so often to be shown the right path, that I feel sure God will not +leave me without an answer; and till I am certain that my husband is +taken away by death, I could not be the wife of another man." + +"Then you may wait till you are a hundred," George said impatiently. +"How _can_ you ever know?" + +"Dear George, be patient with me. Do not be angry with me. I have +asked God for guidance, and He will give it in His own time." + +"I am wrong to be hard on you, I know," was the reply; "but to see you +drifting alone, and with no home, is enough to madden any man when a +home is ready for you." + +"I have got some strange news for you," Patience said, trying to change +the subject. "Our little Joy is Maggie Skinner's child. She left her +when destitute on Mr. Boyd's door-step." + +"How do you know?" + +"Because she is here in Yarmouth, and I have just left her and her +child together." + +"Well, wonders never cease! and I suppose you know why Joe Skinner has +left the office?" + +"That he may get entire rule in my poor sister's home, and grind every +penny out of her. The reason is plain enough." + +"Ah! but there's another reason. He is dismissed from the office for +certain irregularities in the cash. He has narrowly escaped +prosecution--so I hear." + +"Oh, George, then our suspicions about that little cash-box are right!" + +"It looks like it," George said, as Patience's eyes shone with a +wonderful light of hope. "It looks like it; and when the boy comes +home, we will see his character cleared." + +"_When_ he comes home! Oh, another 'when,' another waiting time!" +Patience sighed out, "There is a word which gives me comfort, however, +and I am always hearing it, as if it were whispered to me: 'If it +tarry, wait for it.'" + +"You find waiting easier than I do," George said. + +"Easy!" she said, clasping her hands together. "Easy! oh, only God +knows how hard!" + +Then she turned sorrowfully away from him, and pursued her way alone to +look for Bet. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +_THE SPIRIT OF PEACE._ + +Bet had been sent on an errand for her grandmother, and when Patience +came up to her she was laden with a heavy basket of market produce. +She was bending under the weight she carried, and as Patience joined +her she set down the basket and wiped her hot face with her +handkerchief. + +"Is little Miss Joy worse?" she asked eagerly, "I couldn't come early, +for grandmother wanted me to scrub out the room Joe uses, and the +passage; and then I had to change my frock and go to the market. I met +the girls going to Miss Bayliff's, and they laughed at me, and said +they supposed I was so clever I had left school because there was no +more to learn; and they laughed and jeered at me as they daren't have +done if little Miss Joy had been there. But as she loves me a little, +and never laughs at me, I don't mind." + +"I thought I should meet you, Bet, and I came along to tell you some +news." + +"Not that Jack is come? Oh my!" + +"No; my wanderer is not come home; but another has--your Aunt Maggie." + +Bet stared in Mrs. Harrison's face with open mouth. + +"My Aunt Maggie! she that went away! I have got her picture in a box. +I showed it to little Miss Joy that last evening she was ever running +about, and she came home with me." + +"Bet, that Aunt Maggie is Joy's mother." + +"How do you know?" + +"She is with Joy now. I have left them together." + +"Are you come to tell grannie? She has been so mopy since the wedding. +Uncle Joe had a breeze with her just before he married. She says she +can't get along living in this house alone with me. Come and see her, +do; and tell her about Aunt Maggie. I think you must tell her that." + +"But I do not know your grandmother very well. I have scarcely spoken +a dozen words to her in my life." + +"I feel afraid to tell her," Bet said. "Do come along, please, Mrs. +Harrison." + +Patience did not like to refuse the earnest pleading of poor Bet. Just +as they reached the back door--for Bet never entered at the front--she +paused. + +"Little Miss Joy won't care for me, or no one, now that she has got her +mother. I say, is it wicked? I almost wish Aunt Maggie had never come +back. Little Miss Joy will belong to her now, and--she won't care for +me." + +"Bet," Patience said, "all love that is very, very strong for any +person is likely to lead to jealousy; take care, for jealousy would +make you unhappy. True love thinks nothing of itself in comparison +with the person beloved. Whatever is for the good and for the +happiness of any one we love, should make us happy also. Try to see +that." + +"I can't," said poor Bet. "I'd like little Miss Joy to love me, that I +would; and I thought she was beginning to love me, and now she'll have +her mother, and never want me." + +"Or _me_," Mrs. Harrison said. "I might say the same; but I think it +would be a great mistake if I did, for I believe dear little Joy will +love you and me and Uncle Bobo just the same as ever." + +"Do you?" Bet said; "that's good to hear;" and then Bet opened the door +and went up the long narrow passage to the front of the house. + +Mrs. Skinner was seated by the table in the kitchen, stiff and +straight; her hands were folded, and she only nodded as Bet put the +basket on the table with both her tired arms. + +"Grannie, Mrs. Harrison is come to see you." + +"I don't want Mrs. Harrison," was the reply. + +"I won't stay long, Mrs. Skinner," Patience said. Mrs. Skinner's back +was turned to the door, and she never moved her position. + +Patience advanced to her side and said-- + +"Bet thought you would like to hear some good news." + +"There is never good news for me," was the answer, in a tone so hard +and yet so pathetic that Patience's heart was touched. + +"A wanderer has come home," Mrs. Harrison said. + +"Oh! your scapegraces I suppose. My son Joe has a very bad opinion of +him--I can tell you that." + +Mrs. Harrison took no notice of this thrust, but said-- + +"No, my boy has not come home; but your daughter has returned. She is +little Joy's mother." + +"What!" exclaimed Mrs. Skinner; "I don't believe it." + +"Well, it is true; and you have only to come to Mr. Boyd's to convince +yourself of the truth. If other tokens were wanting, the likeness +between dear little Joy and her mother is striking; and, besides----" + +"There, I don't want to hear any more," Mrs. Skinner said. "I'm a +miserable woman--that's what I am; but I want no pity, and I want +nobody or nothing." + +Patience Harrison ventured a little nearer, and said, "Come and see our +dear little Joy and her mother. You will feel happier then. God will +comfort your sore heart, if you turn to Him. Do come and satisfy +yourself that you have a child and a grandchild, who will love you if +you will let them." + +Mrs. Skinner took no further notice of what Patience Harrison said, and +resolutely turned her head away. But just as Bet was leaving the +kitchen with her visitor she said: + +"You stay at home, and don't go gadding off where you are not wanted. +Bide at home and do your duty. Do you hear?" + +"You had better stay," Patience said, "and be patient. You are sure to +hear something from Aunt Maggie before the day is over." + +It was not till the evening was closing in that a gentle tap was heard +at the door, and Bet, opening it, saw her aunt standing there. + +"You are Bet, I suppose. Little Joy sent me," she whispered. "I was +afraid to come till mother wished for me; but Joy begged me to come, +and tell her I am sorry I offended her. For, Bet, I ought not to have +deserted her, and I see it all now. Where is your grandmother?" + +"Sitting in the parlour knitting; but she won't speak, and she looks +very strange. I've had such a long day, Aunt Maggie, watching the +clock, and thinking it would never end. I have got your picture," she +added, "and it is very like dear little Miss Joy. _You_ are not like +it now." + +"No, no; trouble and sorrow have changed me. Poor Bet! I remember +coming to kiss you that night when I went away. Poor little thing, I +pitied you. But, Bet, I ought never to have acted as I did; and God +has been kinder to me than I deserve; for my darling found a true +friend, and if only she gets well I shall be a happy mother. I think +how proud her poor father would have been of such a dear child." + +"She is dear!" said Bet, in an ecstasy of delight. "But there's +grannie calling; you had better come." + +"Bet, who are you gossiping with out there?" cried Mrs. Skinner. "Shut +the door at once, and come in, will you?" + +Then Maggie Chanter, trembling and half choked with emotion, went up to +the table where, by the light of a dull little paraffin lamp, Mrs. +Skinner sat. + +"Mother!" + +Mrs. Skinner looked up over her spectacles. + +"Mother, I am so sorry. Please forgive me, and let me comfort your old +age, mother! My little Joy sent me. She does so want to see you, and +to know you will forgive me." + +"Forgive you! What do you care for my forgiveness? You chose your own +way, and made your own bed, and it isn't my fault you found it hard." + +"Come to Joy, mother. Hear her dear little voice asking you to--to be +kind. Will you come?" + +"I'll see about it." + +"But come now; it is not very dark; there's a moon rising. Oh, mother, +come!" + +There was a pause, and then Mrs. Skinner said-- + +"Get me my cloak and bonnet, Bet. I suppose for peace sake I shall +have to go." + +But Mrs. Skinner's voice trembled, and Bet saw her hand shake so that +she could hardly fasten her cloak. She followed her daughter silently +out of the house, only saying to Bet, "Be sure to lock the door." + +Bet was left alone, and had again nothing to do but to count the +clock's chimes as it struck the quarters. At last, lulled by the sound +of the in-coming tide and the low moan of the wind, she fell asleep in +her grandmother's chair. + +She was awakened by the sound of a laugh--a discordant laugh. It came +from her Uncle Joe's old room. Presently there was the chink of money, +and Bet, creeping softly to the end of the passage, listened +attentively. + +"Come, that's a good card," said the speaker; "you are in luck's way." + +"Oh! I know what I'm about now; we'll have shilling stakes to-night." + +"Won't your pretty bride wonder where you are?" + +"She'll be taught _not_ to wonder, that's all." + +"Has that young hopeful ever turned up?" was the next question, as the +cards were shuffled. + +"No, and it will be the worse for him when he does." + +Silence reigned after this, and it was evident that Joe Skinner thought +his mother and Bet were safe in bed. + +Bet crept upstairs. At last she heard the clock strike eleven, and +then the three men below departed, noiselessly as they came, by the +back door, of which Joe Skinner had the key. + +Bet pinched herself to keep awake till she heard her grandmother's step +at the front of the house. Running down, she opened the front door +before there was time to ring. + +Mrs. Skinner came in as she had gone out, silent and self-restrained. + +"Go back to bed, child," she said; "you'll catch your death of cold." + +"But you are so cold, grannie; let me make up the fire, and get you a +cup of tea; let me." + +Mrs. Skinner said nothing, but she shivered, and leaned her head +against the back of the chair. + +Bet instantly made her preparations, and the kettle was soon boiling, +and the cup of tea ready. The crackling of the wood, and the sudden +blaze, seemed to thaw poor Mrs. Skinner mentally and bodily. + +"You are a good girl," she said; "go to bed now." + +As Bet was leaving the kitchen she looked back, and saw her grandmother +with her head bowed on her hands, and heard a low, sobbing cry. The +hardly-wrung tears of old age, the painful, difficult sobs of a sore +and seared heart, how sad they are! Bet did not return to her +grandmother, but, softly closing the door, left her, saying to herself-- + +"When I'm bad, and crying my heart out, I don't like to be watched. I +dare say grannie is like me." + +Then, faithful and loyal-hearted, she climbed the narrow stairs, and +lay down this time to hear no disturbance till the morning dawned. + +There are moments when the soul is brought, as it were, into the very +presence of the all-loving Saviour of the lost. In the silent watches +of that night the words which had been spoken by a child had a strange +and unwonted power. + +"Grannie," little Joy had said--"Grannie, God is Love; and as He loves +us and forgives us, we'll love and forgive one another, won't we? and +we'll be so happy together--you, and I, and mother, and Uncle Bobo, and +dear Goody." + +"Happy! No, I shall never be happy," Mrs. Skinner had replied. Little +Miss Joy was disappointed; but she quietly said: + +"Yes, you _will_, if you make other folks happy, grannie. _That's the +secret_." + +Was it indeed the secret? Again and again, like a breath of heaven, +gentle and subtle, an influence unknown before seemed to touch Mrs. +Skinner's heart in those solemn, lonely hours as she sat pondering over +the sad, sad past. + +The Holy Spirit had convinced her of sin, and she was turning by that +divine power from darkness to a glimmering of light. When the grey, +cold dawn of the autumn morning crept through the chinks of the +shutters, she went softly to her room, and lay down with the relief a +tired labourer feels who has laid down a heavy burden he has borne +through the long hot day. That burden was the burden of harsh, +unforgiving judgment and remorse. It had been rolled away, like that +of one of old, at the foot of the cross--the cross of Him who, in the +pains of a cruel death, could pray for those who had done Him wrong, +and say, "Father, forgive them." + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +_A TOKEN AT LAST._ + +The ship that had picked up Colley and Jack Harrison in mid-ocean, and +saved them from the lingering death of starvation, was bound for the +islands of the South Pacific, and the captain told them that they must +be content to be absent from England till the following spring. He had +to call at several of the islands, and exchange cargo, so that even +with fair weather their return voyage could not be made under nine +months. + +Poor Colley was slow to recover; indeed, he never did recover fully +from the effects of those terrible days and nights at sea. But Jack +was young and strong, and he and Toby were soon, as old Colley said, +"hale and hearty as ever they were." + +Jack earned his biscuit and won favour as well; and the captain's kind +heart was touched by Colley's history of what had happened to his old +mother and his little children at home, and the fear he had that he +should never see them again. + +"I am cut to the heart that I can't work as a able-bodied seaman +should," Colley would say. "But God will reward you for your goodness +to me and the boy." + +The captain puffed his short pipe, and said: + +"I am an old hand now; but I say, Once get a taste of shipwreck like +yours, and you are cured of your craze for the sea. Not that I am +chicken-hearted, and I'd stand to my ship as your captain did--ay, and +go down with her if needs must; but for all that it is a roughish life, +and a terrible trial for them that love you and are left ashore." + +"Ay! ay!" old Colley said, "there's the pinch. The youngster's father +made off to better himself now ten years agone, and he's never been +heard of from that day to this. Dead, of course; only the poor woman, +his wife, won't believe it--so the lad says." + +A day or two after this the captain called Jack, and said: + +"The mate wants a word with you in private." + +"What have I done to offend him, sir?" Jack said. + +"Don't jump at conclusions, youngster. Did I say anything was wrong? +Be off with you." + +Jack went to the mate's berth, and found him sitting cross-legged on +the edge, and looking mysterious. + +"Is your name Harrison, young 'un?' + +"Yes," Jack said. + +"Do you hail from Yarmouth?" + +"Yes," said Jack again. + +"Where's your father?" + +"He was lost at sea--so we think; but we never heard a word about it, +and mother thinks he may be still alive." + +"Did he own several small herring boats, and have a share in a +curing-house, before he went a-whaling?" + +"Yes," Jack said, growing more and more wondering and excited by these +questions. + +"Look here, youngster. When I was a boy, eleven years ago, I was +working on a whaleship, and your father was aboard. His name was John +Harrison, hailing from Yarmouth." + +"Oh!" Jack said. "Where is he--do you know?" + +"No, my lad; let us hope his soul is gone aloft, but his body is lost. +We had dragged our boat across a field of ice for some miles, on the +look-out for our ship, which we had left, stored with provisions, in +open water. We were pretty near starving, for we had missed the track, +and the men said they would not go on another step. But your father, +boy, had a brave heart, such as I never saw before or since; and he +said, if those that were too chicken-hearted to go on, would stay where +they were for a few hours, he would go ahead and find the ship, as he +knew perfectly well we were near it, and near a village of the folk +they call Esquimaux. One youngster, just such another as you, said, +'I'm your man, captain'; and they set off with a good heart. We that +were left turned our boat bottom upwards, and a sorry set we were, +frost-bitten and starving. We huddled together to keep each other +warm--warm! why, I am cold now when I think of it; and look here, I +lost a finger and the end of a thumb that same time." + +"How?" Jack asked. + +"How? Frost-bitten, of course. Well, those two that left us never +came back, and never were seen again. We waited till we were so weak +we could scarce crawl, and then two of us--for three of the fellows +died--made our way back, and found a ship which took us aboard; but +never a word of your father and the young 'un from that day." + +"My father!" said Jack. "Are you sure?" + +"Well, I am as sure as I can be of anything. I was rummaging in my +locker t' other day, after we had picked you and old Colley up, and I +knew your name, and I found an old handkerchief that belonged to John +Harrison, and I'll proceed to produce it, lad." + +The mate then dragged from the depths of the locker a torn and ragged +red handkerchief, with yellow spots, and in the corner in white letters +was marked with thread, "J. H." + +"Yes, boy, there's the article, and your father gave it to me to tie up +my leg, which had a bad wound. He was uncommon loth to part with it, +but there never was a man with a kinder heart, never. He was a bit +fiery and off at a tangent, always thinking he was right and every one +else wrong; but he was a fine fellow, and you bid fair to be like him. +Here, take the handkerchief, and you can show it to your mother. +She'll know it; for John said to me, 'I'll let you have it for your +poor leg; but when I come back you must give it to me again, because my +wife tied it round my neck when I bid her good-bye, and I value it.' I +remember he said, 'She is a right good woman is my wife, and I'll see +her and the boy again, please God. I never lose heart.' Well, he may +see you again in the next world, but never in this, boy, never in this; +he is dead and gone long ago." + +Jack folded the handkerchief, and put it in his pocket. He felt +strangely affected by the sailor's story, and could only say: + +"If ever I see my mother again she shall have this token. She has +often prayed for a token that my father was dead, or a sign that he was +living; and now she will have it." + +Then Jack returned to his post on the deck, and, throwing himself down +behind some loose crates, found himself sobbing bitterly. + +The homeward voyage was prosperous, and it was on a bright August +evening that the white cliffs of old England came in sight. In another +hour Jack and his old friend found themselves dropping down with the +tide to St. Catherine's Docks. + +They were penniless, and how to get back to Yarmouth was a puzzle. +Jack could walk, but Colley could only hobble with the help of a stick. +The captain was kindly-disposed, and at parting gave Jack a few +shillings, saying he had more than earned his biscuit; while the mate +said he felt quite downhearted at losing him. + +"Tell 'ee what, lad," Colley said, "I know there's a place where the +shipwrecked fishermen's folk hang out. Let's enquire for it, and may +be they'll give us a helping hand." + +So the two made their way through the crowded thoroughfares to the +place which has been a refuge for many in like circumstances. The +kindness of their reception greatly cheered old Colley, and they were +put up for the night, while inquiries were made about the _Galatea_, +and the truth of their story. + +"The _Galatea_ had been lost, with all hands," was the answer from +Lloyd's; and the captain of the _Claudia_, the ship which had picked +the poor waifs up in mid-ocean, gave both man and boy an excellent +character. + +"The old geezer was useless, but I didn't grudge him his berth. What's +the world like, if we can't hold out a helping hand to one another in +trouble?" + +This was all satisfactory, and money was provided to pay the railway +journey to Yarmouth, while Jack's few shillings were expended in a pair +of second-hand boots for himself, and a new jersey--that which had +served for a flag of distress in mid-ocean being so full of holes that +he presented a very ragged appearance. + +Home at last! Home! Yes, where his mother was, was Home. He would +not care about the cold looks of his aunt: he would bear even Mr. +Skinner's gibes and scoffs: he would bear everything for his mother's +sake. And then, at last he had tidings for her! + +Colley was put down at a station before Yarmouth was reached, as it was +nearer the home of his old mother, who looked after his little ones. + +"For I married late in life, my boy," he said to Jack, "and lost my +poor wife almost as soon as I'd got her. She just lived to be the +mother of the youngest of the three children, and then she died. The +sailor's life is a hard one, and the wives of sailors have a hard time, +boy! The men grow old, like me, before their time. Why, I'm but just +over fifty years old, and I feel a vast deal more like seventy. Take +my advice, boy, and give up the sea. You are a good scholar, and you +are the only son of your mother. Bear all your aunt's hard words, and +live ashore, and be a comfort to her. You have had your lesson. God +has given you a pretty hard one to learn, first page! But never +mind--so much the better for you. Those days and nights were about the +worst I ever went through, and I've had a taste of dangers, I can tell +you. Don't you forget them, nor the Lord's mercy to you and me in +delivering us from the dreadful death of starvation. Don't forget it." + +"Forget it!" Jack said. "Why, I dream of it most nights, and see +little Peter's dying eyes. I----" + +Jack's voice was choked with tears, and old Colley wrung his hand, +while Toby wriggled up to him, and licked his face with silent sympathy. + +Colley stumbled out of the carriage with Toby in his arms when the +station was reached, and so they parted. + +In a few minutes more Jack found himself in Yarmouth, and was making +his way towards the row. His only thought was of his mother and little +Miss Joy. He looked up the familiar row, and then darted through it +till he came to the little milliner's shop. The widow's caps still +showed in the window, and there was a straw bonnet trimmed, and some +artificial flowers, lying on a very dusty bit of black velvet. The +window that used to be so bright looked dim, and the brass ledge before +it dull and stained. Altogether there was a dejected appearance about +the place. The door was open, and Jack entered cautiously. + +His aunt was sitting behind the counter waiting for customers, who were +slow to come; for the business had very much declined since Mr. Skinner +had taken the command and Mrs. Harrison had left the house. + +Mrs. Skinner looked very different from the Miss Pinckney of scarcely a +year ago. She had a dirty, faded look, and her face was pinched and +miserable. When she saw a sailor boy standing by the counter, she rose +and said-- + +"What for you? Have you brought a message from any one?" + +"No, Aunt Pinckney. Don't you know me? Where's my mother?" + +Mrs. Skinner was for a moment speechless. Then she raised her shrill +voice-- + +"Joe! Joe! come here; the young thief is come back." + +Mr. Skinner, who was apparently smoking in the back parlour and taking +life easily, now appeared. + +"What are you making such a row about? screeching like a poll-parrot!" + +Days of courtship and days of matrimony are apt to differ, in cases +like that of Mr. and Mrs. Skinner! + +Then, having delivered himself of this polite question, Mr. Skinner +caught sight of Jack. + +"You! oh! it's you, is it? Well, the police have been looking for you, +and I'll just give you in charge." + +Jack, utterly bewildered, was for the moment speechless. Then he said-- + +"Hands off! What do you mean? Where's my mother?" + +"She is not here; so you needn't think any of her crying and fuss will +avail. I'll give you in charge unless you confess." + +"Confess what?" said Jack, wriggling away from Mr. Skinner's grip. +"Hands off, I say! I am not going to run away. What am I to confess?" + +"Take him into the back parlour, Joe. You'll have the neighbours +coming in: take him out of the shop." + +"Hold your tongue!" was the rejoinder. "I shall do as I choose." + +"Let me go and call Mr. Boyd," Jack said. "He will tell me where my +mother is. Let him be a witness of what you say, and what charge you +have against me." + +Jack now looked across the row for the first time, and saw a young man +standing at the door of the little stuffy shop, which, unlike its +opposite neighbour, had grown smarter, and had a lot of ships' lanterns +hanging over the door, and showy aneroids and compasses in the window. + +"Where's Mr. Boyd? Where's little Joy's Uncle Bobo?" + +"Gone! He has sold the business; he is gone right away." + +"Gone! And where's Joy--little Miss Joy? I tell you I will know. And +where is my mother?" + +"Look here, youngster! This matter must be cleared up. You'll not be +let off so easy; but if you confess, well--we shan't be hard on you." + +"Confess _what_?" Jack shouted now. He was getting very angry, and +repeated, "Confess _what_?" + +"Oh, that's all very fine! Perhaps you've forgotten you ran away and +broke your poor mother's heart, and took my little cash-box with you +with four pounds odd money in it," said his aunt. + +"It's convenient to forget. You'd better not try to fool _me_," said +Mr. Skinner. "Your aunt's key of that drawer was in her little +key-basket. You slily took it out, and when the house was quiet, +opened the drawer and put the box in your pocket I see!" + +Jack's face grew crimson. He felt very much inclined to fly at Mr. +Skinner's throat, and pummel him well with his strong young fist. But +the vision of his mother and little Miss Joy rose before him, and with +a desperate effort he controlled himself. + +"Prove what you say, and don't call me a thief till you have proved me +one." + +"Well, it's my duty--my painful duty," said Mr. Skinner, "to lock you +up till I have fetched a policeman, and communicated with your mother." + +"You needn't _lock_ me up," said Jack proudly. "If I say I'll stay +here, I'll stay. Indeed, I will stay till you have made it all clear. +Your little cash-box! Aunt Pinckney----" + +"No, no, not Aunt Pinckney; I am Mrs. Skinner now." + +The tone was so sad that Jack's boyish heart was touched. + +"Do you think I could steal a penny of yours, aunt, when you had kept +me and mother all those years? Will you send for her? and I will stay +till she comes." + +But Mr. Skinner pushed Jack into the kitchen behind the parlour. + +He had just turned the key in the lock, when a voice was heard in the +shop--Bet's voice. + +"I have brought you some fresh eggs, and half a pound of butter, Aunt +Skinner," she said. "Aunt Maggie sent them with her love. What is +amiss, Aunt?" + +"Child," Mrs. Skinner said, "Jack is come home. Your uncle has locked +him up in the kitchen. Hush! here he is." + +"Well, what are you prying about here for?" Mr. Skinner said. "Oh, +eggs! My dear, poach me a couple for supper; I'm fond of poached eggs." + +But Bet stood on one foot speechless by the counter, where she had put +the basket. + +"What do you say Jack stole?" + +"My little cash-box, the night he ran away; but I don't want to be hard +on the boy--my only sister's child. I'll forgive him if he'll confess." + +Bet stood pondering for another moment, and then she said-- + +"I've got another errand to do. I'll come back for the basket." + +And Bet was off, as if on the wings of the wind--off to the Denes and +the little lonely red-brick house, which was shut up and had a board on +a pole in the front garden, with "To Let. Inquire for the key at Mr. +Skinner's, Market Row," painted in white letters on it. + +Bet looked right and left; there was no one in sight, and she went +round to the back, and found, to her great joy, an old trowel with half +the handle broken, which she seized eagerly. She went down on her +hands and knees, and dug and burrowed with her fingers in the soft, +sandy soil. Her heart beat wildly with hope and fear; her hat fell +back, and her tawny hair fell over her shoulders. The light of the +April evening was waning; she had not a moment to lose. + +"It was here--it was here--it must have been just here," she cried. +Some people passing on the raised path where Uncle Bobo had sat on the +evening of little Miss Joy's accident turned to look at her once, and +wondered what she was doing, digging there on hands and knees. + +At last Bet stopped, and, raising her head and clasping her hands, +said-- + +"Little Miss Joy would tell me to pray to God to help me to find it. +He would hear _her_. Will He hear me, I wonder?" + +Then poor Bet uttered a few words, calling on God, who saw everything, +to show her where what she sought lay hid. + +She redoubled her efforts, and moving a little further from the house, +she dug another hole till she came to some bricks. She lifted them, +and there was the little cash-box--empty now, but, oh! of what +priceless value! + +Bet gathered up her stray tools, and putting on her hat, ran off again +along the sand by the sea-shore, now left hard by the retreating tide, +on and on to the farther end of that part of Yarmouth where a road, +then lately made, led towards Gorlestone. Breathless and panting she +reached the first of two pretty houses standing together, with a strip +of garden in front, bright now with wallflowers and hardy hepaticas and +celandines. + +Under the porch of the first, smoking his pipe, sat Uncle Bobo; and +warmly covered with a rug, in a reclining chair by his side, was little +Miss Joy. + +Maggie Chanter was sowing some seeds in the window-box of the next +house, and Mrs. Harrison was standing by the porch, waiting and +watching. She had her knitting in her hand, but her eyes were on the +sea, with the same wistful longing in them as of old. + +"Jack is come home. Jack!" gasped Bet. "They say he stole the +cash-box, but--but--I've found it. Quick! take it to Uncle Joe, and +say I found it in the ground at the back of grannie's old home." + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +_THE WAITING IS OVER._ + +Sudden news, whether it be good or bad, is always a shock; and when +Patience Harrison caught the cry repeated by Maggie Chanter, "Jack is +come home!" and echoed by little Miss Joy's silvery voice, and old +Uncle Bobo's bass, "Jack is come home!" she sank back in the porch and +gasped for breath. + +Presently the little gate was opened by George Paterson, who hastily +asked-- + +"What is the matter? Jack come home? Well, that's good news." + +"Yes," Maggie Chanter said; "but Bet there has some other news, which +is not so good. They dare to say Jack stole the cash-box the day he +ran off, and they have locked him up." + +"But he didn't, he didn't," Bet said, recovering her breath at last. +"Here it is; take it to Uncle Joe, and tell him where I found it." + +"Yes; take it," said Uncle Bobo; "I'd go myself, only I can't stir my +old stumps as fast as you can. Paterson, you are the man for the +business." + +George Paterson was looking at poor Patience, who seemed utterly +overwhelmed with the tidings; and behind her stood old Mrs. Skinner, +with her arm round her, letting her head rest against her shoulder. + +"There, there," she said, as Patience began to sob convulsively; +"there, there, you've naught to cry for. Your boy is come back; and if +Bet is to be believed, my son is the thief, not yours. You needn't +break your heart. What made you go and look for the box, Bet? What +made you think of it?" + +"Oh, grannie, I--I saw Uncle Joe bury it in the ground one night! I +never knew what it was till I heard a talk about a little box that was +lost." + +"Well, well, the box is found, and now I am off to bring the boy to his +mother. Bet, you come along." + +"No," Bet said; "I dare not, Mr. Paterson, I dare not." + +"I will come with you, Mr. Paterson," Maggie said. "I am not afraid of +Joe--I never was. He ought to be ashamed of himself, and I expect +there is worse behind." + +"I have no doubt about it," said George Paterson, as he and Maggie set +out together. + +The gardens of the two pretty neat houses were divided by low iron +railings. One was inhabited by Mr. Boyd, old Susan, and Mrs. Chanter +and her darling Joy; the other by Mrs. Skinner and Bet and Patience +Harrison. + +"I can't part with the child," Uncle Bobo had said: "I'd rather cut off +my right arm." And, indeed, parting from the little dark shop in the +row, and the darker parlour behind it, where he had lived for so many +years, had been almost like cutting off a right arm to Uncle Bobo. But +when he heard the doctors say that little Miss Joy ought to have fresh +air, and that the bedroom where she lay so patiently week after week, +with only the occasional variety of being carried "to the leads," where +the memorable tea-parties used to be held, was not healthful for her, +he decided to sell the business, and remove. What a removal it was! +and even now Uncle Bobo said the light was too much for his eyes, and +that he liked the shade of the row better than the glare of the sea. +But little Miss Joy was so dear to the old man's heart, that he gave +even this great proof of his love. The two little houses, away from +the bustle and noise of the busy seaport, were hired, and the +sitting-room was to be let this season, with one bedroom, to any +visitor to Yarmouth who would like the quiet, broken only by the +distant murmur of the sea, or the voice of birds in the low copses +which had been planted round a house of some pretension not far off. + +As soon as George Paterson and Aunt Maggie were gone, Joy said-- + +"Bet, go and ask dear Goody to come here. I want her so much." + +"What do you want, my lamb?" Uncle Bobo said. "Hi, Mrs. Harrison, you +are wanted. Little Miss Joy wants you." + +That name had always a charm about it, and Mrs. Harrison raised +herself, and went slowly, and like one in a dream, down the narrow +garden path, out at the little gate, and in at the next. She was met +by Bet, who threw her arms round her, and said--"You go and sit with +Joy while I go to poor grannie. Oh, I am sorry for grannie; but I _am_ +glad for you!" + +"Here, Mrs. Harrison, take my chair," Uncle Bobo said, "and sit by the +child. You'll feel better then. She is the peace-maker--bless +her--and every one is the better for being alongside of her." + +Yes; it was most true. When Susan was put out with new-fangled ways; +when Mrs. Skinner relapsed into her old silence, only broken by +fault-finding; when Maggie grew impatient of her mother's strange +temper; when little breezes disturbed the waters of domestic life in +the two homes--then it was that little Miss Joy's presence was sought, +and her gentle words were truly like oil on troubled waters. + +Have we not all felt the presence of such peace-makers to be as a +breath from heaven? And are they not most frequently found amongst +those who have had the cross of suffering laid upon them, and who are +shut out from many of the pursuits and enjoyments of others? + +Blessed indeed are the maintainers of peace; blessed, thrice blessed, +are the child-comforters who can love and pity the erring and soothe +the sorrowful, and who by their own beautifully simple child-faith +encourage others to seek after a like precious gift. + +Mrs. Harrison sat with Joy's hand in hers for the next hour, an hour of +painful waiting and expectancy. Joy did not say much, but now and then +she would put in a little word of her own thoughts. + +"There is the big star! Look, Goody! isn't it beautiful? Oh, I do +like to see the whole sky, and all the stars now! God seems to look at +me as I look at them. It was good of Him to let me come to live here, +though I loved the dear old row very much when I could run about. Then +it is so nice to see mother going about making everything pretty; and +doesn't she work beautifully! That last dress she made was lovely. +She is teaching me to work too. Don't you care to hear my chatter, +dear Goody? You are thinking Jack may come every minute," as Mrs. +Harrison heaved a heavy sigh. "I talk to make the time seem +shorter--that's all. Uncle Bobo is standing by the gate; he will be +the first to tell us when they are coming." + +It did seem a long, long time. Bet was constantly running backwards +and forwards from the door of the next house to the gate; and Susan, +with folded arms, was leaning against the side of the house, coming +round the corner every now and then to say it was getting too cold for +Miss Joy to stay in the porch. + +"Oh, I am quite warm! let me wait, Susan." + +"You must have your own way, I suppose, as usual," was the short reply. + +Susan was fond of saying rather sharp things sometimes, to cover her +real love for Joy. She had felt a natural pang of jealousy when she +found the young mother had taken her place of waiting on Joy, or rather +sharing the waiting with Bet and Mrs. Harrison. She was not quite +kindly disposed to Maggie Chanter, and would mumble sometimes-- + +"It was all very well for folks to leave their children on people's +doorsteps, and then when they were grown nicely, and every one loved +them, it was very fine to come and claim them;" and she would say, +"There's no love lost between me and Mrs. Skinner's daughter, and I +don't hold with girls going off with poor sickly photographers when +they might have rode in their carriage and married rich grocers." + +People like Susan generally speak in the plural number when their +remarks are directed to one person who is the object of their satire or +reproof. + +The longed-for moment came at last. As the three neared the house, +George Paterson said: + +"Run on and go to your mother alone, boy; she will like it best." + +Jack did as he was bid, and in a few minutes he was kneeling at his +mother's side, clasping her round the waist and covering her with +kisses. + +"Forgive me, mother dear; forgive me!" + +Mrs. Harrison could only press the boy close to her heart and murmur +over him tender words, while Joy's little voice said: + +"Kiss me too, Jack, dear Jack. Of course every one forgives +you--because God for Christ's sake has forgiven us. Oh, dear, _dear_ +old Jack!" + +It was not till Jack was in his bed that night that his mother, +kneeling by him, poured out her heart in thankfulness to God. Then he +drew from under his pillow the old red and yellow handkerchief, and in +a few words told the story as the sailor had told it to him. + +"The token has come at last," poor Patience said. "Yes, I marked those +letters on the handkerchief with my own hand. Oh, Jack! Jack! it all +comes back to me, and I have had a weary time of waiting; but it is +better to _know_ at last." + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +_THE HERITAGE OF PEACE._ + +The joy of the hypocrite is but for a moment; and the house that is +built on the sand must needs fall to ruin at last. + +Mr. Skinner received the box with his accustomed composure, though he +turned deadly pale. It was an _extra_ordinary coincidence that the box +was found in the sandy ground. How it came there he was at a loss to +conjecture. + +"The less said about it the better," George Paterson remarked, "and you +owe this boy a full apology." + +"Well, it _is_ possible there is a mistake somewhere. However, we will +give the youngster the benefit of the doubt, and send him home to his +mother." + +"Doubt!" Maggie exclaimed vehemently; "_doubt_! You stole the box, +Joe, and hid it in the garden behind your house. You were _seen_ to +bury it; you had better make a clean breast of it." + +"Oh, spare him, Maggie Chanter!" poor infatuated Mrs. Skinner said. +"Joe! Joe!" + +Then, with a white face and an expression on it none who saw it will +ever forget, Mr. Skinner, with a wave of his long thin hand, left the +house. + +Nothing more was ever heard of him. The crooked paths of deceit and +dishonesty can have but one end, unless by God's grace those paths are +forsaken, and the strait and narrow way chosen in their place. Poor +Aunt Amelia had indeed reason to rue the day when she had listened to +the flattering words of the wily man. He left her with an empty purse, +a ruined custom, and a sore heart. But she was now delivered from one +who in her folly she had trusted, and there were many who, hearing her +story, pitied her, and gave back the custom they had withdrawn. + + * * * * * + +Another year passed away, and it brought more peaceful times. + +Perhaps Patience Paterson's life could not be called sunny or bright; +but it is calm and peaceful, and she is the happy wife of a good and +noble-hearted man, who had loved her faithfully for many years. + +George Paterson was conscious that the deep respect he now felt for his +wife would scarcely have been the same had she yielded to his wishes, +and, taking it for granted that her husband was dead, had married him +while his end was undecided. Patience may well set an example to +others in this matter, and her evening-tide light will be clouded by no +misgivings and no self reproaches. + +She had asked for some token, and it was given. Through the trial of +her boy's absence came the blessing of the long-looked-for tidings; and +in this, as in many another step of her pilgrimage, she could feel the +truth of the words, "To the upright there ariseth light in the +darkness." + +They took a pretty house near Gorlestone, and George became a +prosperous man. Jack was taught his business as ship's carpenter, and +the control exercised by his step-father was most salutary. He is +likely to grow up a good and useful man. + +The two houses, called by Uncle Bobo "The Home, Number One and Number +Two," became popular as lodgings for single ladies and their maids, and +were said to be amongst the best and most comfortable in or near +Yarmouth. + +Old Colley and his children were not forgotten, and were often invited +to tea in the garden behind the two houses, where Uncle Bobo and Colley +would exchange many stories or yarns of their early days. + +Little Miss Joy did not get strong or vigorous, but she was able to +walk about by the help of an arm. Uncle Bobo would sometimes hire a +donkey-chair, and trudge by her side as it rolled along the esplanade, +or was taken down to the edge of the water, where she loved to sit and +think, and listen to the sweet music of the chime of the waves. + +It was one lovely summer's evening when little Miss Joy was enjoying +the air and her favourite song of the waves, that Bet, now grown a tall +and less ungainly girl, came up to her with a thin, sad-looking woman +dressed in black. + +"I've made Aunt 'Melia come," Bet said. "I told her you wanted her, +and here she is." + +"I've got the camp-stool in the chair," Joy said. "Sit down, Aunt +Amelia, and let us be comfortable and happy." + +Mrs. Skinner shook her head. + +"No, my dear, I can never be happy. I leave that to other people." + +"Oh, yes, you can be happy!" little Miss Joy said. + +"No, no; not with a broken heart!" + +"God can mend broken hearts. Don't you know that, Aunt Amelia? 'He +gives medicine to heal their sickness.'" + +"Not when troubles are brought upon one's self by one's own folly and +sin, my dear. No, no." + +"I don't think that makes any difference," said little Miss Joy in her +clear, musical voice. "He healeth those that are broken in heart; He +giveth medicine to heal their sickness. He telleth the number of the +stars: He calleth them all by their names. I do _love_ that psalm, +because it shows God cares for little things like me and my little +troubles, and for great and mighty things like the stars. For, you +know, I _have_ my little troubles. I do long to run and skip as I used +to do, and wait on Uncle Bobo and mother, when she is tired and the +lodgers are rather tiresome, and poor grannie is cross, and _I_ am +inclined to grumble and be cross too." + +"Never, never, my dear," said Mrs. Skinner. + +"Well, I know I _feel_ cross, and I go to God for His medicine. I wish +you would go too, Aunt 'Melia." + +Mrs. Skinner shook her head. + +"I think grannie has gone to Him, and she is happier, I know. He will +give it you if you ask Him. His medicine is love, the love He had for +us when He gave us the Lord Jesus." + +Mrs. Skinner still shook her head, but tears rolled down her thin, +faded cheeks. + +"I must be going now," she said. "Good-bye, my dear." + +"Good-bye. Kiss me, Aunt 'Melia;" and then Bet, who had purposely kept +apart, came up with some shells she had gathered for Joy, and said, as +she had gone to fetch Aunt Amelia, she would take her home again. So +they turned and left Joy, and then Uncle Bobo came down from the seat +where he had been watching what passed, and, calling the donkey-boy, he +told Joy it was time to be going home. + +"What have you been saying to poor Mrs. Skinner?" he asked. + +"Not much, dear Uncle Bobo; but, oh, I am so sorry for her, and I wish +I could comfort her! I love poor Mrs. Skinner now, indeed I do." + +"Love her! Well, bless your little heart, you love everybody, I think." + +"Yes, I think I do, and I am so happy, Uncle Bobo. Let us go home now." + +Dear little Miss Joy! Who shall say what is the guerdon she and those +like her wear? + +Truly those that are the maintainers of peace have a blessed heritage; +for the golden fruit of righteousness is a glorious harvest for those +who make peace. Yes, and for those childlike souls there is quietness +and assurance for ever. + + + + + * * * * * + +[Transcriber's note: the three illustrations between pages 53/54, +103/104, and 157/158 were missing from the source book.] + + * * * * * + + + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Little Miss Joy, by Emma Marshall + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LITTLE MISS JOY *** + +***** This file should be named 33465-8.txt or 33465-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/3/4/6/33465/ + +Produced by Al Haines + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Little Miss Joy + +Author: Emma Marshall + +Release Date: August 19, 2010 [EBook #33465] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LITTLE MISS JOY *** + + + + +Produced by Al Haines + + + + + +</pre> + + +<BR><BR> + +<A NAME="img-front"></A> +<CENTER> +<IMG CLASS="imgcenter" SRC="images/img-front.jpg" ALT=""Joy, darling Joy," Patience said, "you have often said you had wished you had known your mother." <I>Page</I>. 167" BORDER="2" WIDTH="352" HEIGHT="580"> +<H4 CLASS="h4center" STYLE="width: 352px"> +"Joy, darling Joy," Patience said, "you have often said you had wished you had known your mother." <I>Page</I>. <A HREF="#P167">167</A> +</H4> +</CENTER> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H1 ALIGN="center"> +<I>Little Miss Joy.</I> +</H1> + +<BR><BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +BY +</H4> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +EMMA MARSHALL, +</H3> + +<BR> + +<H5 ALIGN="center"> +AUTHOR OF +<BR> +"LITTLE QUEENIE;" "BLUE BELL;" "ROBERT'S RACE;" <BR> +"HURLY-BURLY;" ETC. +</H5> + +<BR><BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +NEW EDITION. +</H4> + +<BR><BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +JOHN F. SHAW (1928) & CO., LTD. +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +<I>Publishers,</I> +<BR> +3, PILGRIM STREET, LONDON, E.C.4. +<BR><BR> +1892 +</H4> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN +<BR> +AT THE ANCHOR PRESS, TIPTREE, ESSEX +</H4> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +CONTENTS. +</H2> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent" ALIGN="center"> +<I>CHAPTER I.</I> +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent" STYLE="margin-left: 10%"> +<A HREF="#chap01">WAITING AND WATCHING</A> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent" ALIGN="center"> +<I>CHAPTER II.</I> +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent" STYLE="margin-left: 10%"> +<A HREF="#chap02">LITTLE MISS JOY</A> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent" ALIGN="center"> +<I>CHAPTER III.</I> +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent" STYLE="margin-left: 10%"> +<A HREF="#chap03">"AN HONEST BOY"</A> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent" ALIGN="center"> +<I>CHAPTER IV.</I> +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent" STYLE="margin-left: 10%"> +<A HREF="#chap04">HIS OWN WAY</A> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent" ALIGN="center"> +<I>CHAPTER V.</I> +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent" STYLE="margin-left: 10%"> +<A HREF="#chap05">A TEA-PARTY IN THE ROW</A> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent" ALIGN="center"> +<I>CHAPTER VI.</I> +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent" STYLE="margin-left: 10%"> +<A HREF="#chap06">A VISIT TO THE SKINNERS</A> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent" ALIGN="center"> +<I>CHAPTER VII.</I> +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent" STYLE="margin-left: 10%"> +<A HREF="#chap07">DARK DOINGS</A> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent" ALIGN="center"> +<I>CHAPTER VIII.</I> +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent" STYLE="margin-left: 10%"> +<A HREF="#chap08">IN PERIL OF THE SEA</A> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent" ALIGN="center"> +<I>CHAPTER IX.</I> +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent" STYLE="margin-left: 10%"> +<A HREF="#chap09">ON THE WIDE, WIDE SEA</A> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent" ALIGN="center"> +<I>CHAPTER X.</I> +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent" STYLE="margin-left: 10%"> +<A HREF="#chap10">"ONLY A LITTLE BOX"</A> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent" ALIGN="center"> +<I>CHAPTER XI.</I> +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent" STYLE="margin-left: 10%"> +<A HREF="#chap11">MR. SKINNER IN COMMAND</A> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent" ALIGN="center"> +<I>CHAPTER XII.</I> +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent" STYLE="margin-left: 10%"> +<A HREF="#chap12">THE SPIRIT OF PEACE</A> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent" ALIGN="center"> +<I>CHAPTER XIII.</I> +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent" STYLE="margin-left: 10%"> +<A HREF="#chap13">A TOKEN AT LAST</A> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent" ALIGN="center"> +<I>CHAPTER XIV.</I> +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent" STYLE="margin-left: 10%"> +<A HREF="#chap14">THE WAITING IS OVER</A> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P CLASS="noindent" ALIGN="center"> +<I>CHAPTER XV.</I> +</P> + +<P CLASS="noindent" STYLE="margin-left: 10%"> +<A HREF="#chap15">THE HERITAGE OF PEACE</A> +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap01"></A> + +<H2 ALIGN="center"> +LITTLE MISS JOY. +</H2> + +<BR> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER I. +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +<I>WAITING AND WATCHING.</I> +</H4> + +<P> +The sea lay calm and still under a cloudless sky. The tide was out, +and there was only a faint murmur like the whisper of gentle voices, as +the little waves told to the sands that they were coming back soon, for +the tide had turned. +</P> + +<P> +It was yet early morning, and the old town of Great Yarmouth was +asleep. The fishing boats had been out all night, and were lying like +so many black birds with folded wings, waiting for the flow of the +water to bring them to the beach. All the blinds were down in the +houses facing the level strand. There was no one moving yet, for the +resonant clock of Saint Nicholas Church had only just struck four. +</P> + +<P> +The children of visitors to Yarmouth, tired with their exertions on the +sand the evening before, were all wrapt in profound slumber. +</P> + +<P> +Happy seaside children, who had paddled and delved on the beach to +their hearts' content, who had braved all the reproaches of mothers and +nurses, and had gone home with their buckets full of seaweed, pebbles, +and shells, looking like the veriest little ragged waifs and strays, +who were known as "the beach children," and who were an ever-moving +population gathered from the depths of the town, pattering with naked +feet round the boats as they came to shore, to pick up odd fish which +fell from the nets as they were spread out to dry. +</P> + +<P> +A great expanse of sand stretches out from Yarmouth, and over this the +wind whistles through the long parched grass which grows in patches, +interspersed with the little pink mallow and stunted thistles, which +are not discouraged by their surroundings, and flourish in spite of +difficulties. This wide expanse of sand and sand-mounds is called the +Denes; and as little weary feet plod over it, it seems in its vastness +a very desert of Sahara. Yet there is a charm about the Denes which +the children feel. A sense of freedom, and a power to deal with the +sand after their own will, were checked by repeated exhortations from +governess or nurse to take care of their clothes. Yet the soft silvery +sand can do no harm, and a prick from a blade of the pointed grass, or +a scratch from a thistle, are the only dangers that beset it. +</P> + +<P> +The town of Yarmouth lies at some distance from the sea, and possesses +one feature of rather unusual interest. There is a fine quay, shaded +by trees, alongside which many large ships from all countries lie. +There is a wide market-place and several good streets. But the heart +and core of the old town is to be found in the "rows," narrow +thoroughfares with tall houses on either side, where many a competency, +if not a fortune, has been made in days past. +</P> + +<P> +Very little sunshine or light penetrates the rows, and some of the +inhabitants have a faded, washed-out look, like that of a plant shut in +a dark place, which shows but a faint colour of either leaves or +blossom. +</P> + +<P> +Perhaps the pale woman standing by the door of a small shop, the +shutters of which were not yet taken down, was a fair specimen of her +neighbours. She was tall, but drooped so much that her real height was +lost. She had a sad face, where lines of care and anxiety had made a +network perhaps earlier in life than wrinkles had any right to appear, +if they should be traced by time rather than by sorrow. For Patience +Harrison was not an old woman, and had scarcely entered her +thirty-sixth year. +</P> + +<P> +As she stood at the narrow entry of the shop, her hands folded, her +head bent forward, she might well attract any passer-by, while she +looked right and left, as if in hopes of seeing a well-known figure +come into the row, from either end. +</P> + +<P> +Up and down, up and down, that eager, hungry glance, with an infinite +pathos in the dark eyes, scanned the narrow passage; and grew more +pathetic and more hungry every moment. +</P> + +<P> +At last footsteps were heard on the pavement. Patience started, and +took a step forward, only to draw back again disappointed. +</P> + +<P> +"The top of the morning to you, Mrs. Harrison. You are about early. +It is as fine a summer morning as I ever was out in." +</P> + +<P> +The speaker was a tall, well-knit young man of two or three and thirty, +with a fine open countenance, and a broad square brow, round which +thick light curls clustered. No contrast could be greater than between +Patience Harrison and George Paterson: the man so full of life, and the +enjoyment of life; the woman so languid and weary-looking. He seemed +as if the world were a pleasant place to him, she as if it were a waste +and a wilderness. +</P> + +<P> +"You are up and about early," George repeated. "Indeed, you look as if +you hadn't been to bed. I hope you haven't been up all night. Have +you, now?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes. How could I sleep? How could I rest? There was a worse storm +than ever last night at supper-time, and—and—Jack ran away out of the +house, and has never come back." +</P> + +<P> +"The young rascal!" George exclaimed. "I'd like to thrash him!" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, don't say so! Don't say so! If ever a boy is scourged by a +tongue, Jack is. I mean to leave this house; I can't—I can't bear it +any longer." +</P> + +<P> +"Well," George said, his eyes shining with a bright light—the light of +hope—"well, there's a home ready for you, you know that. The sooner +you come, the better." +</P> + +<P> +"You know I can't do it. Why do you ask me? I wonder you should ask +me." +</P> + +<P> +"I see no wonder in it," was the answer. "You've watched and waited +for eleven years; sure that's long enough! He will never come back." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," she said sadly; "yes. I have waited and watched, as you say. +It is the business of my life. I shall watch and wait to the end." +</P> + +<P> +George Paterson gave an impatient gesture, and settled the workman's +basket on his broad shoulders, as if he were going to walk on. But +after a pace or two he seemed to change his mind, and stopping, he +said— +</P> + +<P> +"But what about Jack? How did it happen?" +</P> + +<P> +"He offended her yesterday. He brought dirty boots into the parlour; +and he blew a tune on the little cornet you gave him, when she told him +to be quiet. He upset a jug of water on the table, and he made a face +at her, and he called her 'an old cat.' He had no business to call her +names." +</P> + +<P> +George laughed. +</P> + +<P> +"A very fitting name, I think; he has felt her claws often enough. +Well, what then?" +</P> + +<P> +"Then she boxed his ears—it was at supper—and he flew into a rage, +and he would not listen to me, but tore out of the room, out of the +house, and has never come back. Oh, George, what if there should be +two to wait and watch for, instead of one! Jack! Jack! How could he +leave me?" +</P> + +<P> +"He can't have gone far; and, as to being out all night, why, that +won't hurt him. The young rascal, to give you all this trouble! Yes, +I'll go and hunt for him; and if I catch him, won't I give it to him!" +</P> + +<P> +"No, George; no. Remember his provocation. Remember he has had no +father, only a mother like me to control him." +</P> + +<P> +"Only a mother like you! I should like to know where a better could be +found! I am sorry for the boy that he has had to live with a +cross-grained old maid, but for your sake he ought to have put up with +it." +</P> + +<P> +"She means well. She took us in for my father's sake, and she has kept +me and the boy from starving." +</P> + +<P> +"You have earned your living; you have worked well for her, and she +knows it. But I will go and hunt for Master Jack. See! I will leave +my basket of tools here as an assurance that I am coming back. You go +and lie down, and I'll have the young master back before an hour is +over. Come, go indoors; you look ready to drop." +</P> + +<P> +But Patience shook her head. +</P> + +<P> +"I am used to waiting and watching," she said again; "it's nothing new." +</P> + +<P> +Then her eyes began their search up and down the row, with the same +wistful, eager gaze. +</P> + +<P> +George Paterson had put the basket of tools just within the doorway, +and turning to her said— +</P> + +<P> +"Look up at that strip of blue sky, Patience; look up, not downward so +much." +</P> + +<P> +As he spoke he raised his head, and pointed to the narrow bit of sky +which made a deeply blue line above the tops of the tall houses. +</P> + +<P> +"That tells of love," he said—"God's love which is over us. Take +heart, and lift it up to Him in your trouble." +</P> + +<P> +George spoke out of the fulness of his own heart: not in any way as if +he set himself up to lecture his listener, but just simply to try to +raise her thoughts from the gnawing anxiety which had laid hold on her. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," she said, "the bit of sky is beautiful, but it is so far off; +and—don't be angry with me, George, but I wish you would go and find +him. Let me come with you!" she exclaimed. +</P> + +<P> +"No, no; I shall be quicker than you are. I can get over the ground in +half the time." +</P> + +<P> +Neither asked the other where George would look for the truant. Both +had one thought—Jack had been to the quay, and was perhaps on board +one of the ships lying there. He had threatened before that he would +go to sea, and leave Miss Pinckney and her scoldings and fault-findings +behind him. +</P> + +<P> +"If it had not been for his mother he would have done so long ago," he +said. "He loved the sea, and he wished to be a sailor, as his father +had been before him." +</P> + +<P> +As George's quick, firm steps were heard dying away in the distance, +Mrs. Harrison pulled a stool towards her out of the shop, and seated +herself just within the doorway. +</P> + +<P> +She was scarcely conscious of anything but the fear, growing greater +every moment, that Jack—the sunshine of her life, the light of her +eyes—had gone from her. She leaned her head against the door, and +looked up at the sky half unconsciously. As she looked, a blind in one +of the windows of the opposite house was lifted, and the window +cautiously opened, while a head with a tangle of golden hair was thrust +out, and a little voice—clear, like the sound of a thrush in a +tree—sang in sweet dulcet tones some verses of a childish morning +hymn:— +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"Now the eastern sky is red,<BR> +I, too, lift my little head;<BR> +Now the lark sings loud and gay,<BR> +I, too, rise to praise and pray.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"Saviour, to Thy cottage home<BR> +Once the daylight used to come:<BR> +Thou hast often seen it break<BR> +Brightly o'er the Eastern lake.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"Blessed Jesus! Thou dost know<BR> +What of danger, joy, or woe,<BR> +Shall to-day my portion he—<BR> +Let me meet it all in Thee."<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Here the sweet, clear voice broke off suddenly, for the child saw that +her opposite neighbour on the doorstep was looking up at her. +</P> + +<P> +"Mrs. Harrison," she said, nodding and kissing her hand. "<I>I</I> see you! +I'm coming down when I'm dressed. Uncle Bobo isn't awake yet." +</P> + +<P> +Then the head disappeared, and there was silence for a few minutes. +</P> + +<P> +Presently the bolts of the opposite door were gently drawn, and out +came the daintiest little figure, in a fresh blue cotton frock and +white pinafore, her rosy lips parted with a smile, and her eyes dancing +with the light of the morning of life. Dear unclouded child-eyes! How +soon they lose that first sweet innocent gaze! How soon the cares and +sins of this weary world shadow their depths, and the frank gaze which +tells of faith in all that is lovely and beautiful is changed into one +of distrust, and sometimes of sorrow. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, little Miss Joy!" Patience Harrison said, as the child tripped +across the row, and flung her arms round the waiting mother's neck. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, dear Goody Patience. Why are you sitting here all alone, and +looking so sad? Why, Goody, <I>dear</I> Goody, you are crying!" +</P> + +<P> +For the child's loving caress had touched the fountain of tears, and, +sobbing, the poor mother said— +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, little Miss Joy! Jack has run away. I couldn't sleep, so I came +down here." +</P> + +<P> +"Run away, Jack! Oh, how naughty of him to grieve you! But he will +come back—of course he will. Don't cry, my dear Goody Patience; don't +cry. Of course he'll come back. What was it all about?" +</P> + +<P> +"A fuss with his poor Aunt Amelia, as usual; and Jack was rude, I know, +and he did not behave well; but——" +</P> + +<P> +"I am afraid," Joy said thoughtfully, "Jack is not a good boy to Miss +Pinckney. He is no end good to <I>me</I>, and I love him dearly, and so +does Uncle Bobo. He says he is like a fine ship—all sails set and +flags flying and no compass—which gets on rocks and quicksands, +because there is no guide. That is what Uncle Bobo says." +</P> + +<P> +"It is quite true—quite true," Patience said. "I do not excuse him, +though I know he has had a great deal to try his temper in his Aunt +Amelia's house." +</P> + +<P> +"I dare say he will come back, and be a good boy. I'll talk to him," +Joy said, with a wise nod of her golden head. "I'll talk to him, and +he will never run away again." +</P> + +<P> +"But, Joy, he is gone; and though Mr. Paterson thinks he knows where to +find him, I don't believe he <I>will</I> find him." +</P> + +<P> +"I must go indoors now; for here is Peter coming to take down our +shutters, and Uncle Bobo will be wanting his breakfast, and I always +help Susan to get it ready. I shall be on the watch, and the minute +Jack comes back I will run over." +</P> + +<P> +Then, with showers of kisses on the pale, woe-struck face, little Miss +Joy was gone. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap02"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER II. +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +<I>LITTLE MISS JOY.</I> +</H4> + +<P> +Little Miss Joy was the pride of the row, and always seemed to bring a +ray of sunshine with her. +</P> + +<P> +She lived with an old man she called "Uncle Bobo," who kept a curiously +mixed assortment of wares, in the little dark shop where he had lived, +man and boy, for fifty years. +</P> + +<P> +He was professedly a dealer in nautical instruments, the manufacture of +which was carried on in Birmingham or Sheffield. Every now and then a +large packing-case would excite the inhabitants of the row, as it was +borne on one of the Yarmouth carts constructed on purpose for the +convenience of passing through the rows, and dropped down with a +tremendous thud on the pavement opposite Mr. Boyd's door. +</P> + +<P> +No wheels but the wheels of these carts were ever heard in the row, +unless it were a wheelbarrow or a truck. And none of these were +welcome, as it was difficult for foot-passengers to pass if one of +these vehicles stopped the way. +</P> + +<P> +The nautical instruments by no means represented all Mr. Boyd's +stock-in-trade. Compasses and aneroids and ship's lamps were the +superior articles to be sold. But there were endless odds and +ends—"curiosities"—bits of carving, two or three old figure-heads of +ships, little ship-lanthorns, and knives of all shapes and sizes, balls +of twine, rolls of cable, and all packed into the narrow limits of the +tiny shop. +</P> + +<P> +"Uncle Bobo" was coming home one night—a Christmas night—a few years +before the time my story opens, when he heard a wailing cry as he +fitted the latch-key into his own door. +</P> + +<P> +The cry attracted him, and looking down on the threshold of his home he +saw—a bundle, as it seemed to him, tightly tied up in a handkerchief. +Stooping to pick it up, the faint wailing cry was repeated, and Uncle +Bobo nearly let the bundle fall. +</P> + +<P> +"It's a child—it's an infant!" he exclaimed. "Where's it dropped +from? Here, Susan!" he called to his faithful old servant, "here's a +Christmas-box for you; look alive!" +</P> + +<P> +Susan, who had appeared with a light, groped through the various +articles in the shop, and received the bundle from her master's hand. +</P> + +<P> +"Dear life, Mr. Boyd, what are you going to do with it then?" +</P> + +<P> +"Can't say," was the answer, as Mr. Boyd rolled into the parlour, where +a bright fire was burning and the kettle singing on the hob. "Unpack +the parcel, Sue, and let's have a look." +</P> + +<P> +Susan untied many knots and unrolled fold after fold of the long +scarf-shawl of black and white check in which the child was wrapped: +and then out came, like a butterfly out of a chrysalis, a little dainty +girl of about two years old, who, looking up at Mr. Boyd, said, +"Dad-da!" +</P> + +<P> +There was no sign of ill-usage about the child. She was neatly +dressed, and round her waist a purse was tied. Mr. Boyd fitted his +large black-rimmed spectacles on his nose, and while Susan sat with the +child on her knee, warming her pink toes in the ruddy blaze, he untied +the ribbon with which the purse was fastened to the child's waist, and +opened it. +</P> + +<P> +It was an ordinary purse, with pockets, and within the centre one, +fastened by a little spring, was one sovereign and a bit of paper, on +which was written: +</P> + +<P> +"It is the last money I have in the world Take care of the bearer till +you hear more. Keep her for me." +</P> + +<P> +Eight years had gone by since that Christmas night, and nothing more +had ever been heard about this "Christmas-box;" but Uncle Bobo never +repented that he had kept the child. She had been the interest and +delight of his old age, and he had fondly called her "My little Joy." +</P> + +<P> +The neighbours wondered a little, and some looked severely on this deed +of kindness of Mr. Boyd's. +</P> + +<P> +The person who looked most severely at it was Miss Amelia Pinckney, who +kept a small haberdasher's and milliner's shop opposite Mr. Boyd's. +Now neighbours in the Yarmouth rows, especially opposite neighbours, +are very near neighbours indeed; and if it was almost possible to shake +hands over the heads of the passers-by from the upper windows, it was +quite possible to hear what was said, especially in summer, when the +narrow casements were thrown open to admit what air was stirring. +</P> + +<P> +Thus Miss Pinckney's voice, which was neither soft nor low, reached +many ears in the near vicinity, and Mr. Boyd was well aware that she +had called him "a foolish old fellow," adding that "the workhouse was +the place for the child, and that she had no patience with his folly." +</P> + +<P> +Truth to tell, Miss Pinckney had but little patience with any one. She +had, as she conceived, done a noble deed by allowing her stepsister and +her boy to take up their abode with her. But for this deed she took +out very heavy interest; and poor Mrs. Harrison, who was, as her sister +continually reminded her, "worse than a widow"—a deserted wife—had to +pay dearly for the kindness which had been done her. Many a time she +had determined to leave the uncongenial roof, and go forth to face the +world alone; but then she was penniless, and although she worked, and +worked hard too, to keep herself and her boy, by executing all Miss +Pinckney's millinery orders, and acting also as general servant as well +as shopwoman of the establishment, still she was never allowed to +forget that she was under an obligation to her sister, and that she +ought to be "thankful for all her mercies!" +</P> + +<P> +"It is not as if it was only yourself, Patience. Think what it is to +have a boy like yours! Enough to drive one mad, with his monkey tricks +and his impudence. I don't say that I regret taking you in. Blood is +thicker than water, and you are my poor father's child, though he had +cause to rue the day he married your silly mother—he never had a day's +peace after that." +</P> + +<P> +Such sentiments, expressed with freedom and without intermission, were +a trial in themselves; but lately things had assumed a far more serious +aspect. +</P> + +<P> +Jack had been a mere baby when first he and his mother had been taken +in by Miss Pinckney. But eleven years had changed the baby of two +years old into a strong, self-willed boy of thirteen, impatient of +control, setting all his aunt's rules at defiance, and coming in from +school every day, more antagonistic, and more determined, as he said, +to "pay the old auntie back in her own coin." +</P> + +<P> +In vain Mrs. Harrison had remonstrated; in vain she had striven to keep +the peace. For ever before her eyes was the dread that Jack would +carry his oft-repeated threat into execution, and go to sea. Then, +indeed, the light of her stricken life would finally go from her, and +she would have nothing left to live for! +</P> + +<P> +Jack was a boy likely, in spite of all his faults, to fill a mother's +heart with pride. He was the picture of merry, happy boyhood, with a +high spirit, which was like a horse without a bridle, and carried him +away beyond all bounds of tongue and temper. But to his mother he +could be gentle and penitent, acknowledging his faults, and showing +real sorrow at having grieved her by warfare with his aunt. There was +an excellent boys' school in Yarmouth, where he made good progress with +his lessons, and was a favourite with his school-fellows; and the +master, though often irritated by his tricks and carelessness, found it +hard to be angry with him, or to inflict the punishment he deserved. +</P> + +<P> +It is possible that Jack would have been able to get on more peaceably +at home, had there not been another person frequently at his aunt's +home with whom he waged a perpetual warfare. This person was a tall, +meagre-looking young man, a clerk in an Excise office, who made great +profession of being better than his neighbours. +</P> + +<P> +He was always coming into Miss Pinckney's to tea or supper, and +invariably, when listening to the aunt's stories of Jack's +misdemeanours, talked of the bad end to which naughty boys were +brought, and of the sins of disobedience bringing their sure reward. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Skinner had the disagreeable habit of uttering truths in the most +unpleasant manner. A great deal that he said was correct; but somehow +his words seemed to have no effect on those whom he addressed. There +was a dash of unreality about Mr. Skinner, and a certain want of +candour, which Jack's eyes were quick to detect. +</P> + +<P> +He suspected that Mr. Skinner came to Miss Pinckney's "for what he +could get," that he liked a chair by her fire in the back parlour, and +that the glass of hot gin and water, sweetened to his taste, with a bit +of lemon floating on the top, was his grand attraction. +</P> + +<P> +The smell of this glass of spirit and water was odious to Jack; and he +naturally felt aggrieved, when on one occasion Mr. Skinner, coming in +to tea, devoured the whole plate of hot buttered toast or muffins, and +talked of the duty of thankfulness, and how much more any of us had +than we deserved—Jack meantime having slices of very stale bread +scraped with a little salt butter. The contrast between his own share +of the fare and Mr. Skinner's was sufficiently provoking. Then too of +late Jack had been conscious that both Mr. Skinner and his aunt had +been doing their best to bring his mother round to their view—that he +was "the worse-behaved and most ill-conditioned boy that ever lived." +</P> + +<P> +That last great outbreak of temper, when he had rushed off, and left +his mother to pass a sleepless and tearful night, had been caused not +so much by the shower of reproaches heaped on him, as by his aunt's +bitter words: "If you go on like this, you'll break your mother's +heart. Even she is getting sick of you, and you would be a good +riddance!" +</P> + +<P> +He knew well enough it was not true. He knew that if all the world +were against him, his mother would never give him up. But, stung to +the quick, he had poured out a torrent of angry words; and addressing +his aunt as "an old cat, who shouldn't have the chance of setting her +claws into him again!" he had rushed off and left his mother miserable. +</P> + +<P> +As soon as the house was quiet and Miss Pinckney's long tirade against +"spoilt wicked boys" had ceased, Patience Harrison had crept downstairs +again, and, slipping the bolt off the door, had taken up her position +there. And there George Paterson had found her, pale and worn with +sleepless sorrow, and with an aching sense of loss which was well-nigh +hopeless. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap03"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER III. +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +"<I>AN HONEST BOY.</I>" +</H4> + +<P> +When little Miss Joy had tripped across the row to her own door, Mrs. +Harrison had gone into the house. +</P> + +<P> +The shutters were being taken down from several of the windows, blinds +were drawn up, doors opened, and the row was waking to life and the +business of life. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Harrison went about her usual work of clearing up and dusting and +sweeping, and about half-past six she called a boy from one of the +opposite houses to take down the shutters of the little shop front. +</P> + +<P> +The boy looked wistfully at her sad face, and asked, "Is Jack ill, +please, ma'am?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, not ill," she answered, unwilling to spread the news that he had +run away; "not ill; but I am up early." +</P> + +<P> +The boy asked no further question, but said to himself, "Something is +up; and here comes Mr. Paterson!" +</P> + +<P> +"Have you found him?" Patience asked, under her breath. "Any news? +Any news?" +</P> + +<P> +George passed into the house, for he did not wish to excite observation. +</P> + +<P> +"No—no direct news; but I hear some ships got under weigh about three +o'clock. The tide served, and it is just likely that the boy is aboard +one. Don't you think me unfeeling now if I say, it is just as well he +should go; he may learn a lesson you couldn't teach him." +</P> + +<P> +"The same story, the same trial over again! Oh, how can I bear it?" +Patience said, in a voice that filled the honest heart of George +Paterson with deep pity and almost deeper pain. +</P> + +<P> +"Well," he said, "this wrangling here was bad for all parties. The boy +was always in hot water." +</P> + +<P> +"Because she was so cross-grained—because she hated him. Oh, I +cannot, cannot bear to think of it!" +</P> + +<P> +"Pray," said a sharp, shrill voice from the bottom step of the very +narrow staircase which led into the still narrower passage, "pray, what +is all this about?" +</P> + +<P> +"Jack never came home last night," Patience said in a voice of +repressed emotion. "He never came home. He is gone, and I shall never +see him again." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, fiddlesticks!" was the reply. "Bad pennies always turn up. I +never knew one in my life that was lost. Mark my words, you have not +seen the last of him—worse luck." +</P> + +<P> +"That's not a very pleasant way to talk, Miss Pinckney: you'll excuse +me for saying so," said Mr. Paterson. "The boy was a good boy on the +whole." +</P> + +<P> +"A good boy!" Miss Pinckney was screaming now. "Well, George +Paterson, your ideas of goodness and mine differ. You may please to +take yourself off now, for I've no time to spend in gossip;" and Miss +Pinckney began her operations by flapping with a duster the counter of +the shop, and taking from the drawers certain boxes of small articles +in which she dealt. +</P> + +<P> +While she was thus engaged, she suddenly stopped short, and uttered an +exclamation of horror, turning a white face to her sister, who was +listening to the few words of comfort George had to bestow. "Look +here!" she exclaimed; "look here! The secret's out. The little tin +cash-box is gone, and the thief is out of reach. What do you say to +your good boy now, eh, George Paterson?" +</P> + +<P> +George Paterson took one step into the shop, and said— +</P> + +<P> +"How do you know he took it? He is the last boy I could think of as a +thief." +</P> + +<P> +"Of course. Oh, he is a perfect boy—a good boy! I only wish he had +never darkened my doors—the young villain!" +</P> + +<P> +"Hush, now Miss Pinckney. Calm yourself, and let us have a look for +the box. Where was it put?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, in the drawer, to be sure, under the counter. I keep the key of +the drawer in my key basket. I always locked it—always. He got the +key and opened it. There was four pounds and odd money in it—close on +five pounds." +</P> + +<P> +"I am certain," said Patience, "Jack did not steal your money, sister +Amelia." Poor Patience was calm now. "It is impossible," she +continued. "He was—he was as honest as the day, and as true as gold." +</P> + +<P> +"All that's very fine—very fine indeed. He stole the money, and made +off. If he didn't, who did?" +</P> + +<P> +Patience stood wondering for a few moments, going over all that +day—that last day. Jack had been at school and out till nearly +tea-time; then he had sat with his books till supper; and then came the +uproar with his aunt, and he had rushed away—straight out of the +house. He could not have stopped in the shop on the way; besides, a +plot must have been laid to get the key. It was impossible Jack could +be guilty. +</P> + +<P> +She looked at George, and read in his face deep sympathy, and also read +there a reassuring smile. +</P> + +<P> +"No," he said. "Whoever is the thief, Jack is innocent. Circumstances +may be against him—his running off to sea, and his passion-fit against +you—but I believe him to be innocent. You had better leave things as +you found them, and I'll call in a policeman. There'll be one on his +beat at the end of the row by this time. It is right and just all +proper inquiries should be made." +</P> + +<P> +The policeman—a stolid, sober individual, who never wasted words—came +at George Paterson's bidding, and looked with a professional eye at the +drawer whence the money had been abstracted. +</P> + +<P> +"Box and all gone! That's queer. Key of box fastened to it by a +string. Humph! Any servant in the house?" +</P> + +<P> +"No." +</P> + +<P> +"Boy that cleans up and takes down the shutters, eh?" +</P> + +<P> +"<I>No</I>—that is—my nephew was in the house, and," said Miss Pinckney +with emphasis, "he ran off to sea last night." +</P> + +<P> +The policeman gave a prolonged "Ah!" +</P> + +<P> +Then he proceeded to examine the lock of the drawer. +</P> + +<P> +"Where's the key?" +</P> + +<P> +"Here, in my key basket. I lock the drawer the last thing, and lock +the shop-door myself. You know that, Patience. Speak up." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I know it—I know it." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, there seems no certain clue," the policeman said, twisting the +key of the drawer round and round in the lock. +</P> + +<P> +"There's this clue," Miss Pinckney said; "my nephew who ran off to sea +stole the box. He and I had quarrelled a bit, for he was the most +impudent and trying young vagabond. If you wish to know my thoughts, +policeman, they are that he took the cash-box." +</P> + +<P> +"There's no proof. We must have proof. But there's suspicion. We +must try to track the youngster, find out what ship he sailed in; and +when she comes into port, why, we'll keep an eye on the little chap." +</P> + +<P> +The policeman had no more to say just then, and departed, saying to +George, who shouldered his tools and followed him, "I know the boy. A +sharp one, isn't he?" +</P> + +<P> +"An honest one, if ever an honest boy lived," was the rejoinder, as +George Paterson strode away. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap04"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER IV. +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +<I>HIS OWN WAY.</I> +</H4> + +<P> +Jack Harrison had no fixed purpose when he rushed out of his aunt's +house, except to get away from the sound of her angry words, and from +the sight of his mother's grieved face—that face, which bore the marks +of so many storms, and which he loved better than any other in the +world. +</P> + +<P> +"I had better go," he reasoned with himself. "I may make a fortune. +Suppose I go aboard a whaling ship, as my father did. I won't go +aboard a smack or trawler; I should not care for that life—handling +fish, and out all weathers, north of the Dogger trawling—no, that +would not pay, but a good ship would; and I'll take a look round the +quay as soon as it's light." +</P> + +<P> +Jack had found the convenient shelter of an old boat on the beach, and +there he curled himself up and fell asleep. +</P> + +<P> +He was awoke by feeling something touching his face, and starting up, +just distinguished in the dim light the shape of a dog, which began to +whine piteously, and licked his hands. +</P> + +<P> +"What, are you lost, or run away like me?" he asked. "Have you been +treated ill, eh?" +</P> + +<P> +Jack was now thoroughly awake, and crept out of his shelter on to the +soft sand, which almost gave way under his feet. +</P> + +<P> +The dog continued whining and jumping on him, and seemed to want to +show him the way to some place. +</P> + +<P> +"What do ye want, eh? I can't make you out," Jack said; but in the +light of the strengthening dawn which was breaking over the sea he saw +a dark mass of something at some distance on the sand, and towards this +the dog was evidently trying to guide him. +</P> + +<P> +There was not a creature to be seen on the level strand, and no sound +but the gentle murmur of the tide just turning. Presently, however, +another sound made Jack pause and listen. +</P> + +<P> +The dog heard it also, and grew more and more frantic in his efforts to +lead Jack on. +</P> + +<P> +When he got near the dark mass, Jack found it was the figure of a man, +and that the sounds came from him, for he was groaning and crying as if +in great pain. The dog ran to him, and leaping on his prostrate +figure, and then back again to Jack, showed that the place to which he +had to bring him was reached. As plainly as a dog could speak, he was +saying, "Help my master." +</P> + +<P> +Jack bent down over the man, and said— +</P> + +<P> +"What's the matter? Are you hurt?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I've sprained my leg; and if I don't get to the quay by four +o'clock I am ruined. I'm mate of the <I>Galatea</I>. Look alive and help +me to the ship; it's all right when I'm there, for the captain is a +jolly fellow—but oh, this leg!—all along of my catching my foot in a +net. Toby here and I were coming along the beach from my old +step-mother's, over t'other side of the Monument, and I fell, and must +have twisted my foot as I fell on that big stone. Now, I say, will you +help me to limp to the quay? Doubt if I can do it, but I'll try all +the same." +</P> + +<P> +The light was momentarily increasing now, and as Jack bent over the man +to take his arm and pull him into a sitting posture, he saw a sad, +pensive face turned up to him. Evidently the impression that was +mentally made was a good one, for the man said— +</P> + +<P> +"Where are you off to, young un?" +</P> + +<P> +"To see if I can get aboard any ship, and work my passage." +</P> + +<P> +"Whew!—oh!—here, wait a bit, my boy; I must ask the Lord to help me. +I have been crying and groaning like a baby; that won't do. No, Dick +Colley, you mustn't be a coward. Pain! well, what's pain! Toby there +would bear it better!" +</P> + +<P> +After a moment's silence the man said— +</P> + +<P> +"Now, heave-to, my boy, and I'll put down the right leg, and make you +answer for the left. Ahoy! ahoy!" +</P> + +<P> +The "ahoy" was nearly a groan again, and then there was a muttered oath. +</P> + +<P> +"Did ye hear that, boy? That's the hardest job a man has to do—to +cure himself of cursing. It's worse than drinking. I've been hard at +it for a twelvemonth now, and I'm blessed if I ain't beaten over and +over again. This pain will—— Don't you think, boy, I consider it a +fine thing to swear, and take the Lord's name in vain. I think it is a +shame to do it—and I beg Him to forgive me the next minute. It's just +this—that habits, bad or good, stick like a leech. Now then, ahoy!" +</P> + +<P> +This time Dick Colley was fairly on his feet, and by the support of +Jack's strong shoulder progress towards the quay was made. +</P> + +<P> +It was slow and difficult, and Toby followed close to his master's side +with a dejected air, his stubby tail between his legs, giving every now +and then a little whine of sympathy. +</P> + +<P> +"I am hard put to it, lad, to get along. I am feeling faintish and +bad; but I can't afford to lose this voyage; it's a long one, and good +pay, and I've an old mother and a pack of children to keep." +</P> + +<P> +"Rest a bit," said Jack. "Here's a post will do." +</P> + +<P> +"Ay; I dare say I'm pretty near breaking your shoulder-blade. I shan't +forget you, youngster. I say, what's up? mischief, eh?" +</P> + +<P> +"I want to be off to sea just for a bit. Will you take me?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I must go aboard first, before I can promise. Now then, on we +go." +</P> + +<P> +The quay was reached at last, and it was now broad daylight. +</P> + +<P> +The stately ships were all getting under weigh, and there was no bustle +or noise. The cargoes had been shipped overnight, and there was only a +silent waiting for the tide. +</P> + +<P> +"Here she is; here's my berth. You help me aboard, and we'll see what +can be done." +</P> + +<P> +"Dick Colley, the mate, as sure as I'm alive!" said one of the crew, +who was turning a loose cable round and round into a coil of many +circles. "Why, old chappie, what's amiss with 'ee?" +</P> + +<P> +"Give us a hand aboard. I've been and sprained my ankle. This +youngster helped me along, or I'd never have got here." +</P> + +<P> +"You are just in time, mate; for we are off to the river's mouth in a +twinkling. Here, why, look alive! he's awful bad." +</P> + +<P> +With Jack's help they got Dick Colley on board and down below, where +the ship's surgeon bandaged the swollen ankle, and Jack stood by with +Toby. +</P> + +<P> +In the general hurry of departure, when the captain gave the word, no +one noticed Jack, or if they noticed him, concluded that he was aboard +the <I>Galatea</I> as a passenger, of which there were a few. +</P> + +<P> +It was not till they were well out to sea that the captain, coming down +into the mate's berth, said— +</P> + +<P> +"Hallo, Colley! who's the youngster aboard with the curly hair? What's +he about?" +</P> + +<P> +"He wants to work his way out, captain; set him to it. I promised I'd +say a word for him. He just helped me across the sand, when I was +pretty near dying of the pain. You'll let him stay?" +</P> + +<P> +The captain turned on his heel, somewhat sulkily. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you suppose he's to do the work of your lame foot, eh? Well, he +hasn't come here to eat the bread of idleness. I'll soon show him +that." +</P> + +<P> +And the captain kept his word. +</P> + +<P> +Long before the sun—which had risen in a cloudless sky that +morning—had set behind a bank of clouds, Jack was put to work. +</P> + +<P> +Washing the decks and performing other like offices fell to his share +on that first bright day, when to sail over the blue calm sea, with the +crisp air blowing from the great German Ocean, was a pleasant sensation +in itself. +</P> + +<P> +But night came on, and the stars looked down from their immeasurable +depths; and Jack, lying on a bench, with his arms folded, and his face +resting on them, had time to think. +</P> + +<P> +He had done it now. Often, when in a storm of passion he had said he +would leave his aunt's roof for ever, he had relented, and even at his +mother's instigation and entreaty had expressed sorrow for his burst of +anger, and asked to be forgiven. +</P> + +<P> +He had done this only a fortnight before, and his aunt had received his +apology with a short— +</P> + +<P> +"It's all very well to think by saying you are sorry you make it all +right. It's deeds not words, for me." +</P> + +<P> +This ungracious manner of receiving an expression of contrition had +often hardened the boy's heart against his aunt. Still more so when, +from the other side of the parlour, Mr. Skinner would say, in a nasal, +squeaky voice— +</P> + +<P> +"It's a wonder to me how your kind, generous aunt puts up with you for +a single hour. Only a good woman like her would give you house room at +all." +</P> + +<P> +"What business is it of yours, I should like to know?" had been Jack's +retort; and all the real sorrow he had felt, awakened by his mother's +gentle words, had vanished. +</P> + +<P> +That Skinner! How he hated him; how instinctively he turned from him +with positive dislike and loathing. +</P> + +<P> +Now, as he lay alone and unnoticed beneath the star-strewn sky of the +summer night, it was not of Skinner that he thought, not of his aunt, +not of anything he had suffered—but of his mother. +</P> + +<P> +And he had left her without a word—without a kiss! Many and many a +time had he felt her kiss upon his forehead as he was sinking off into +the sound sleep of childhood. Many a time he had heard her whispered +prayer as she knelt by his side; and now he had left her desolate! +</P> + +<P> +"Joy will be there," Jack thought—"little Miss Joy, and she will +comfort her—dear little Joy!" +</P> + +<P> +And somehow, as all these memories of those he had left behind him came +before him, tears rose all unbidden, and chased each other down his +cheeks. +</P> + +<P> +Presently a rough kick from a man's boot made him start. +</P> + +<P> +"The mate is singing out for you, youngster," he said; "get along with +you and go where you are wanted, for you ain't wanted here." +</P> + +<P> +"Where's the mate?" +</P> + +<P> +"Where, stupid? In his berth, a groaning and sighing. There ain't +much the matter with him, that's my belief; only some folks can afford +to make a fuss." +</P> + +<P> +Jack drew himself together and walked towards the companion ladder. As +he was putting his foot on it with the cautious air of the uninitiated, +a rude push from behind, followed by a derisive laugh, sent him down to +the bottom with a heavy thud. +</P> + +<P> +"Shame!" cried a voice, "to treat the boy like that." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, he will be one of Colley's lambs, canting no end, you'll see! For +my own part, I'd soon chuck him overboard." +</P> + +<P> +"I know you are spiteful enough for anything," was the reply; "and I +pity that boy if he's in your clutches." +</P> + +<P> +Another laugh, and Jack, now on his feet, turned round with a defiant +air, and, half-stunned and bewildered, was climbing up the stairs +again, to give his adversary a blow with his fist, when a voice called— +</P> + +<P> +"Stop, lad! don't go and give evil for evil." +</P> + +<P> +Colley from his berth had seen Jack fall, and had heard the mocking +laugh. +</P> + +<P> +"Come here, lad. I'm a bit easier now, and I want to talk to you. +There, sit down on my locker, and we'll spin a yarn. You've run away, +haven't you? I was so mad with pain, or I should have talked to you +before. Come, you've run away now?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," the boy said. +</P> + +<P> +"Then you've been and acted very foolish, let me tell you. I did the +same, boy, and I've repented it all my life. I grieved the best of old +fathers by my wild career, and then I ran off; and when we put into +port after the first voyage, I went to the old place to find him dead. +Now, how do you think I felt? Why, ready to kill myself with remorse. +What if you find your mother dead, when we put into port again? Now +look here, boy. You've done me a good turn, and I'll do you one. I'll +get the captain to put you ashore, if you choose, and I'll put a few +shillings in your pocket to get back home. Do you hear?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," Jack said, "I hear; but I am in for it now, and I had better +stick to it. I should only make more trouble by going back. That old +aunt, who made my life miserable, would only be worse than ever. No, +sir, thank you; I'll go on, and I must put up with it." +</P> + +<P> +"Lie on the bed you've made for yourself, lad? Ah, that's a precious +uneasy one! I'd like to tell you how I made mine, and I will some day; +but now you'd better turn in, there's the watch on deck, telling +midnight." +</P> + +<P> +"Where am I to turn in?" Jack asked. +</P> + +<P> +"There's an empty hammock close by. Climb up there, and sleep till I +call you. There isn't much sleep for me. Good-night." +</P> + +<P> +Jack found it no easy matter to climb into the hammock. Like +everything else, it requires practice; he took off his boots and made +attempts to clamber up, but failed each time. +</P> + +<P> +"You young cur, what are you about?" called a gruff voice. "Can't you +turn in without waking a fellow from his sleep? Get along with you;" +and a leg was thrust out, which gave Jack a very emphatic kick. +</P> + +<P> +At last he gave up the attempt, and taking off his jacket he made a +pillow of it, and curled himself up on the deck. +</P> + +<P> +The motion of the ship began to be more decided, for just at dawn a +fresh breeze sprung up, and the <I>Galatea</I> curtesied on the crest of the +waves, and the water made a splash against her sides. Jack was rolled +against a locker, and found sleep impossible. +</P> + +<P> +The sailor who had grumbled at his disturbing him by his unsuccessful +attempt to get into his berth, turned out at three o'clock, to relieve +the watch on deck, and stumbling over Jack exclaimed— +</P> + +<P> +"You baby bunting! So you can't get to your berth! I'll teach you!" +And taking Jack roughly by one arm and leg, he tossed him as if he had +been a feather into the hammock, and said— +</P> + +<P> +"Lie there till you are wanted, and be thankful you've got there!" +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +There is a certain rule which I think has seldom an exception, though I +know we say that all rules <I>have</I> an exception to prove their truth. +But it is seldom indeed that we see the rule departed from, that "as a +man soweth so shall he reap." +</P> + +<P> +We all of us prove its truth at one time or other of our lives. "He +that soweth to the flesh shall of the flesh reap corruption"; and many +a bitter tear of self-reproach is caused by the crop our own hands have +sown, when we took <I>our own way</I>, and turned from His way, "who gave us +an example that we should follow in His steps." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap05"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER V. +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +<I>A TEA-PARTY IN THE ROW.</I> +</H4> + +<P> +The hot summer days passed by in the Row, and the inhabitants took +advantage of the long evenings to go down to the beach and pier, and +listen to the bands playing merry tunes, and watch the gaily-dressed +people who frequent Yarmouth in the season. +</P> + +<P> +Little Miss Joy was drooping somewhat with the heat, for the summer was +one of rather unusual warmth. But though she was quieter, and her +voice was not so often heard singing like a bird from her high window +opposite Mrs. Harrison's, still she did not get dull or cross. "My +Sunbeam!" her old friend called her; and there was nothing he liked +better than to sit at his door, after business hours, while Joy talked +to him or read him a story. She went to a little day-school in the +market-place, and was, in old Mr. Boyd's opinion, a wonderful scholar. +</P> + +<P> +Joy had many things to tell of her school-fellows, and there was one +who use to excite her tender pity and her love. +</P> + +<P> +Bertha Skinner was a tall, angular girl of fourteen, who was the butt +of the school, often in tears, always submissive to taunts, and never +resenting unkindness. That little Miss Joy should choose this untaking +girl as her friend was the cause of much discontent and surprise in +Miss Bayliff's little "seminary for young ladies." No one could +understand it, and little Miss Joy was questioned in vain. +</P> + +<P> +"Such an ugly, stupid girl, always dressed like a fright, and she can't +add two and two together. I wonder you speak to her, Joy." +</P> + +<P> +But Uncle Bobo, though confessing that he was surprised at Joy's taste, +had a faint notion of the reason she had for her preference. +</P> + +<P> +"It's like my little Joy," he said; "it's just out of the kindness of +her heart. She thinks the girl neglected, and so she takes her up, +bless her!" +</P> + +<P> +"May I ask poor Bet to spend Thursday afternoon with me, Uncle Bobo?" +Joy asked one hot August morning as she was ready for school. "<I>May</I> +I, please? It's early closing day, and we have a half-holiday. Dear +Goody Patience says she will take us to the sands, and perhaps Jim +Curtis may give us a row. I <I>should</I> like that." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I have no objection, my pretty one; the poor thing has no +treats!" +</P> + +<P> +"Treats! Oh, Uncle Bobo, she is miserable! Her grandmother is so +sharp, and tells her she is a useless fright, and things like that. +And then there's her Uncle Joe, he is horrid!" +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Boyd laughed. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, ah! Miss Pinckney's suitor; he isn't very nice, I must say." +</P> + +<P> +"Suitor, Uncle Bobo; what's a suitor?" +</P> + +<P> +"You'll know time enough, my dear, time enough. You'll have a score of +them, I dare say; and I hope not one of them will be like Master +Skinner, that's all. He's like one of the lean kine you read to me +about last Sunday in the Bible. But leanness is no sin; p'r'aps he'll +get fatter by-and-by." +</P> + +<P> +Little Miss Joy was mystified, and repeated to herself, and then aloud: +</P> + +<P> +"Does suitor mean the same as 'young man' and 'lover,' I wonder?" +</P> + +<P> +"Bless the child's innocence! Yes, my dear, you've got it now." +</P> + +<P> +"But, Uncle Bobo, could an old, old lady like Miss Pinckney have a +suitor?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes, my dear, yes! She set her cap at me once. She is—well—not +much short of fifty; that's a girl, you know. All are girls till they +marry; old girls, we call them!" +</P> + +<P> +"But my dear Goody Patience is ever so much younger, and oh! she said +last night, 'I don't feel as if I was ever young, or a girl,' and then +she looked so sad." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah! my dear, she has had a sight of trouble, has poor Mrs. Harrison. +First, her husband making off, leaving a good business—a very good +business here, as a master of a lot of herring boats, with a share in +one of the big curing houses where the bloaters are the best to be had +in the trade. But my young man must needs be off whaling, and never +came back again. Poor Patience! It's a sad story. For my part, I +wish she would call herself a widow and have done with it. There's +some one ready enough to make her a happy wife." +</P> + +<P> +"Really, Mr. Boyd, if I was you I would not put such nonsense into the +child's head," said the good old servant. She had lived behind the +little dark shop for some thirty years, and now came forward into the +light, blinking as an owl might blink in the bright rays of the August +sun, which at this time of day at this time of year penetrates the +narrow row and shines right down into it. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I say it's nonsense to put into the child's head. Run off, my +dear; run off." +</P> + +<P> +"And I may ask Bet Skinner to come to tea, and dear Goody too; and +you'll buy a plum-roll and cheese-cakes for a treat. Will you, Uncle +Bobo?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, my dear; I'll make a feast, see if I don't; and we'll have a good +time." +</P> + +<P> +"Tea on the leads, tea upstairs, Uncle Bobo." +</P> + +<P> +Uncle Bobo nodded; and Joy ran off gaily with her invitation ready for +poor Bertha. +</P> + +<P> +Uncle Bobo was as good as his word, and on Thursday morning sallied +forth early to the confectioner's shop at the end of the row, and +returned with a variety of paper bags stuffed full of cakes, and +chucking them across the counter to Susan, said— +</P> + +<P> +"Spread the tea up aloft, as the child wishes it; it's cool up there, +and plenty of air." +</P> + +<P> +Tea on the leads may not seem to many who read my story a very +enchanting prospect, but to little Joy it was like tea in Paradise! +</P> + +<P> +The houses of the rows had many of them flat roofs behind the gables, +which faced those opposite, and here flowers were cultivated by those +who cared to do so, linen was hung out to dry, and in one or two +instances pet doves cooed, or poor caged thrushes sang their prison +song. +</P> + +<P> +Susan grumbled not a little at carrying up the provisions; but the boy +Peter was pressed into the service, and Uncle Bobo brought up an old +flag, which Peter tied to a pole, and set up to wave its rather faded +colours over the feast. +</P> + +<P> +While these preparations were being made, Mrs. Harrison, and little +Joy, and Bertha Skinner were on their way to the beach to watch the +pleasure-boats pulling off with the visitors, and the children making +their sand-castles and houses, and paddling in the pools the sea had +left. The tide was ebbing, and wide patches of yellow sand were +separated from the beach by streams of water; sea-weeds threw out their +pink feathery fronds, and shells of many varied colours lay beneath. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Harrison sat down, leaning her back against a boat, and the +children ran down to the water's edge. +</P> + +<P> +The wife and mother was sad at heart; not one word from Jack—not one +word. She looked across the boundless sea, and thought how it had +taken from her the husband of her youth, and the boy who was the light +of her eyes. Why was she so tried? Why was her trouble always to be, +as it were, in one direction, her position always suspense, always +uncertainty, always waiting and watching, and dreading what news might +come at last? +</P> + +<P> +George Paterson was a ship's carpenter, and well known along the coast +and on the quay. He had made every inquiry, but could not get any +direct tidings of Jack. +</P> + +<P> +Several ships had sailed early that fine morning—the <I>Galatea</I>, for +Constantinople; the <I>Siren</I>, for a Norwegian port; the <I>Mermaid</I>, for +Genoa; but no one had any recollection of noticing a boy go aboard. +Indeed, there were but few people who could have seen him, for few were +stirring at that early hour, except those who were obliged to be at +their post at sea or on shore, and they were probably too much +engrossed with their own concerns to heed him, even if he had been seen. +</P> + +<P> +Patience had borne up bravely under this last sorrow. In some ways +Jack's absence was a relief—she had been always treading, as it were, +on the edge of a volcano, that might send up fire and smoke at any time. +</P> + +<P> +We all know what a strain it is upon body and mind to be always seeking +for peace, while those around us make themselves ready for battle; and +the terror at every meal that there would be a scene between Jack and +his aunt, with the effort to prevent it, had been a perpetual strain +upon Mrs. Harrison. At least that fear and dread were taken from her, +and her heart said— +</P> + +<P> +"If only I knew he was well and happy I should be glad to know that he +was gone away from so much that jarred and fretted him; but it is the +silence and the terrible suspicion they raise that he was a thief that +overwhelms me sometimes." +</P> + +<P> +As these thoughts were passing through Mrs. Harrison's mind George +Paterson came up; he had been watching her and the children for some +minutes, and the sympathy for the poor deserted wife and mother filled +his honest blue eyes with tears. +</P> + +<P> +All the gay people about her—the singing of a large party which filled +one of the pleasure-boats, the bustle and activity everywhere—seemed +to force upon George Paterson the painful contrast between the glad and +happy and the sad and deeply-tried woman, whom he loved better than +anything in the wide world. Oh that she would let him comfort her, +take her to a pleasant home on the Gorlestone Road, with a garden full +of flowers, and where peace and plenty reigned! +</P> + +<P> +But George loved Patience too well to weary her with importunity. He +would never add a straw's weight to her care by undue persistence in +urging his suit. +</P> + +<P> +"Well," he said, pointing to Joy and her companion, "they seem happy +enough. It's odd that little Miss Joy should choose for her friend +that untaking niece of Joe Skinner's. She is very like him—just as +unwholesome-looking and sly too." +</P> + +<P> +"Poor girl! She has a melancholy time of it at home, so Joy tells me. +It is just like her to take pity on one who is not cared for." +</P> + +<P> +"I dare say. She is a little darling, and no mistake!" +</P> + +<P> +"This is early-closing day, and a half-holiday at Joy's school—that is +why we are out pleasuring. We are to have tea on the leads at Mr. +Boyd's. Will you come with us? for we ought to be getting back. I +promised Amelia I would be in at six o'clock, as she wants to go +walking with Mr. Skinner." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, she had better stay at home, that's certain. That fellow is a +rogue, if ever there was one!" +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Harrison was silent for a moment; then she said quietly, "I have +no reason to love him, for he helped to drive my boy out of the house." +</P> + +<P> +"No doubt he did; and—I hardly like to say what I think—but I believe +he made a plot about that money-box." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! I have often thought so, and put away the thought as wrong and +wicked." +</P> + +<P> +"We'll speak plain English for once," George Paterson said. "That man +means to marry your sister, and get hold of all she possesses." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, George! Amelia is close on fifty, and Mr. Skinner can't be much +over thirty." +</P> + +<P> +"That does not matter; the same thing is done every day. Don't we see +great folks setting the example, and ladies of any age marrying young +fellows who want their money? You may depend upon it, Skinner has this +in his little sly eye. Well, I shan't do him any good by abusing him, +nor myself neither; so I'll have done." +</P> + +<P> +"Not a word from Jack," Mrs. Harrison sighed out—"not a word." +</P> + +<P> +"If he is off on a long voyage, as he may be, I never thought you would +have a word. You must wait till Christmas for news." +</P> + +<P> +"Till Christmas! Ah! those were his father's last words—'I'll be back +by Christmas;' and how many Christmases have come and gone since that +day, and never a word—never a sign." +</P> + +<P> +"The dead cannot give either words or signs," George said; and then, as +he saw Patience cover her face with her hands, he was sorry that he had +uttered what was an obvious truth, and added gently— +</P> + +<P> +"If your husband had been alive he would come or write, for he loved +you; and how can any man who loved <I>you</I> forget or change?" +</P> + +<P> +Patience did not reply, and little Miss Joy, having caught sight of +George Paterson, came springing towards him. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! I have got some beautiful shells," she said—"such a big one. +Put it to your ear, and listen to the sound of the sea. And Bet has +got one too. Come, Bet, and show it." +</P> + +<P> +Bet advanced slowly and awkwardly, her angular shoulders nearly +touching her ears, her rough sandy hair gathered into a little knot at +the back of her head, on which a very shabby brown hat was set on one +side. +</P> + +<P> +Bertha had the cringing, deprecating manner of an ill-used dog. No one +liked her, no one cared for her, and she was fully alive to the fact. +Only sweet little Miss Joy ever said a kind and pleasant word to her, +and her devotion to this merry child filled her whole soul. She dare +not show it; she dare not lavish any of the ordinary endearments upon +her. She saw the other girls at Miss Bayliff's kiss and fondle her; +she heard her praised and admired; she saw little gifts showered upon +her—but she did none of these things. Poor Bertha's was a blind and +dumb worship for one who smiled at her when others frowned, who could +seek her society when others shunned it, and could encourage her with +her tasks—so far below her age—when others called her a dunce and an +idiot. +</P> + +<P> +The tea on the leads was a great success; although, to be sure, a few +black tokens from a neighbouring chimney peppered the cakes, and one or +two danced into Mr. Boyd's large breakfast-cup full of tea. Before tea +was over, however, the shop-door bell was heard to ring furiously, and +Susan, who had been invited to her share of the feast, trudged down, to +trudge back, breathless and indignant, after a few minutes' absence, +saying— +</P> + +<P> +"Miss Pinckney can't give no one any rest. She is wanting you, Mrs. +Harrison, to go and keep the house, as she is off with Mr. Skinner. I +shouldn't hurry now if I was you. Let her wait, Mrs. Harrison." +</P> + +<P> +"No; I promised to go back by six o'clock." +</P> + +<P> +"Saint Nicholas clock has not struck yet," said Uncle Bobo. "Don't you +hurry, Mrs. Harrison, for we must have a song before we part—eh, my +Joy?" +</P> + +<P> +"If you please, Uncle Bobo, let it be 'Tom Bowling.'" +</P> + +<P> +Whereupon Mr. Boyd began to groan forth in not very dulcet tones the +familiar song and strain, beginning— +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"Here, a sheer-hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling."<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Mr. Boyd's voice had not been very musical in youth, and now the sounds +seemed to come more from his boots than from his lips. But Joy was a +delighted listener. Then she followed with one of Mrs. Alexander's +"hymns for little children," and as she sang, in her sweet childish +treble, the words seemed to speak peace. +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"On the dark hill's western side<BR> +The last purple gleam has died;<BR> +Twilight to one solemn hue<BR> +Changes all, both green and blue.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"In the fold and in the nest,<BR> +Birds and lambs are gone to rest;<BR> +Labour's weary task is o'er,<BR> +Closely shut the cottage door.<BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"Saviour, now in sweet repose<BR> +I my weary eyelids close,<BR> +While my mother through the gloom<BR> +Singeth from the outer room."<BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +Joy paused, and putting her little hand in Mrs. Harrison's, said— +</P> + +<P> +"I have never any mother but you, dear Goody; and I know she must be +glad I've got you, as God took her away from me." +</P> + +<P> +It was very seldom that Joy referred to her position in Uncle Bobo's +house, and indeed very seldom that she thought of it. She had been +told that she had been laid at Uncle Bobo's door as a Christmas gift, +and that had been enough for her. But since she had been to Miss +Bayliff's school there had arisen a question in her little mind as to +why she had never known either father or mother—a question no one +could answer. +</P> + +<P> +The bell ringing again more violently than before made Mrs. Harrison +hasten away, and she had just gone when the clock struck six. +</P> + +<P> +"I should like to take Bet home, Uncle Bobo. That will be such a nice +end to our feast. Will you come?" +</P> + +<P> +Uncle Bobo was not fond of walking, but he never liked to refuse Joy +anything, and very soon he might be seen toddling along the row, with +his short, stout legs, and rosy apple face, singing out a cheery +"Good-evening" to such neighbours as were about, and taking Joy's +little hand in his, while she danced at his side. Presently she let go +her hold on Uncle Bobo's hand, and said in a low voice— +</P> + +<P> +"I think I'd better walk with poor Bet, Uncle Bobo. She looks so sad +walking behind us." +</P> + +<P> +"So do, my Joy, so do. You've a kind little heart, and may no one ever +say a cross word to you, or do an unkind action." +</P> + +<P> +Joy fell back with a radiant smile, and, putting her hand into Bet's +arm, drew her on in front. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap06"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VI. +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +<I>A VISIT TO THE SKINNERS.</I> +</H4> + +<P> +Mr. Skinner was very like his mother. No one could mistake that they +bore this relationship. +</P> + +<P> +Some old age is lovely—radiant with the chastened light of eventide. +Mrs. Skinner's was certainly unlovely. Tall and spare, with sharp +pinched features, and thin pitiless lips, from which very few kindly +words had ever fallen, and where a smile was almost unknown—she was an +almost friendless woman. She who had never rendered a neighbour a +kindly service neither expected nor received any from others. She had +the reputation of being a cross-grained old woman, who had driven her +only daughter away by her unkindness, and had spent what love she had +upon her two sons, who suited her in many ways far better than her +daughter. The youngest of these—Bertha's father—had married a woman +much older than himself, and Bertha was his orphan child, her mother +having died at her birth. She had been taken to live with her +grandmother, at the dying wish of her father: what maternal affection +she possessed responded to this last request of her youngest son, and +Bertha had known no other home. +</P> + +<P> +It was a home, as far as the shelter of a roof and food and clothing +went; and the education of Miss Bayliff's school, given somewhat +grudgingly, was to be granted till Bertha was fifteen. +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Then</I> she must work for her living," Mrs. Skinner had said; "and," +she added, "few people would have done what <I>I</I> have done." +</P> + +<P> +"A great deal too much!" Joe would say when his mother indulged in this +self-congratulation—"a great deal too much; and I, for one, don't +approve of this girl being nursed in idleness; it was the ruin of +Maggie." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Skinner winced a little at the name; for Maggie had disappeared, +and no trace could be found of her. +</P> + +<P> +She had been, so those who remembered her said, of a very different +type to her family, as if she had dropped down from the clouds into it. +</P> + +<P> +That was long ago now, but the people who could look back some years in +the neighbourhood where Mrs. Skinner lived could remember this bright, +gay girl disappearing, and the mother's reply to any inquiry— +</P> + +<P> +"I know nothing about her, nor do I wish to know. She has been and +made her bed, and she must lie on it." +</P> + +<P> +Report said that Maggie had married against her mother's wish, and that +she had literally turned her out of her house. This was about all that +was ever heard, and nothing was really known. Any attempt to question +Mrs. Skinner was met by a sharp rebuff, and very few people, even the +boldest, dare approach her even with an attempt to find out what she +chose to keep secret. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Skinner and her son Joe lived in a detached red brick house, built +long before villas with bay windows and gabled roofs, and little dormer +windows in them, were thought of. It was a straight little house, with +a window on each side of the door, and three above it, a lean-to at the +back, and a square of garden in front. The path to the door was of +pebbles, and they always made a disagreeable crunching sound as the +feet of any comers to the house walked over them. That was not often; +and the little iron gate grated on its hinges, it was so seldom opened, +as Mr. Boyd pushed it back to admit the two girls. +</P> + +<P> +"No, no," Uncle Bobo had said, in answer to Joy's entreaty. "I'll just +walk across to that bench and wait for you, my Joy. I don't fancy the +old lady, and she doesn't fancy me. So ta-ta!" +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Boyd toddled across the bit of sandy road to a bank mound of sand, +covered with long pointed grass, which hid the view of the sea from the +lower window of Mrs. Skinner's house, and sitting down on a wooden +seat, resigned himself to patient waiting. +</P> + +<P> +Bertha crept slowly up to the door, and seemed half afraid to make her +coming known. +</P> + +<P> +She turned the bright brass handle of the door, but it was locked. +</P> + +<P> +"We must go in by the back door; p'raps grandmother won't mind." +</P> + +<P> +"Are you afraid to go in, Bet?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, grandmother is very particular; she isn't like Mr. Boyd." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you mean," said Joy, "that you would rather I didn't come in? Oh, +then I will run back to Uncle Bobo! Good-bye, Bertha." +</P> + +<P> +"No, no, I didn't mean that," said Bertha, much distressed. "I—I——" +</P> + +<P> +As she was hesitating the door was opened, and Mrs. Skinner's tall +figure filled the narrow entrance. She stood without saying a word for +a moment, and then, in a harsh, discordant voice, she asked—"Who is +<I>that</I>?" +</P> + +<P> +"If you please, ma'am, I am Joy. I go to school with Bertha, and she +has been home to tea with me and Uncle Bobo, and I have brought her +back." +</P> + +<P> +"She does not want bringing," was the sharp reply; "she can bring +herself, I suppose. Go round to the back door, will you?" +</P> + +<P> +"I think I had better <I>not</I>," Joy said with emphasis, "because you do +not wish me to come into your house." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Skinner had been standing motionless at the door while Joy was +speaking, and there was a strange expression on her sharp thin features. +</P> + +<P> +"Where do you say you live, child?" +</P> + +<P> +"I live with Uncle Bobo, in the row, opposite Miss Pinckney and Mrs. +Harrison. Miss Pinckney keeps the milliner's shop, where the widows' +caps hang up." +</P> + +<P> +"<I>I</I> know," was the reply; "I never bought any article there, and I +never mean to. Well, you may run round with Bertha for a few minutes." +</P> + +<P> +"Thank you," Joy said. "I hope you'll let Bet come to tea again; and +if you'd like to come too, I am sure Uncle Bobo wouldn't mind." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't spend <I>my</I> time gadding about taking tea with folks. I leave +that to drones, who've got nothing better to do. Did you say, child, +you lived with Boyd, at the instrument shop?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, ma'am; he's my uncle." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Skinner turned away, and then the door was shut with a sharp bang, +and the two girls were left outside. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't think I'll come in, Bet," little Miss Joy said; "for your +grandmother does not like me—she looks so cross." +</P> + +<P> +"She always looks like that," Bertha said; and then she added, "Every +one but you is cross to me; you are always kind. Oh, I do love you!" +</P> + +<P> +Then Bet's cheeks, after making this declaration, were suffused with +blushes, which made her poor sallow face a dark purplish-red. +</P> + +<P> +"Do come in a moment—<I>do</I>," she said. +</P> + +<P> +The two girls went in at the back door, and along a narrow stone +passage. +</P> + +<P> +The door on the right was open, and Bet said, in a low whisper— +</P> + +<P> +"There's Uncle Joe's room. There's where he sits at night, and I hear +people coming in, 'cause my window is one in the lean-to." +</P> + +<P> +Uncle Joe's proceedings had not much interest for Joy, and she just +looked round the room standing on the threshold, and said— +</P> + +<P> +"What a big table for such a wee little room, covered with green cloth, +and what funny little boxes! They are like the big hour-glass in Uncle +Bobo's glass case. It's not a pretty room at all," she said decidedly. +"Come away, Bet." +</P> + +<P> +Bertha then led the way up a very narrow flight of steps, which were +scarcely to be called a staircase. They creaked under her feet, and +even Joy's light tread made them squeak and shake. +</P> + +<P> +"Here's where I sleep;" and Joy found herself in a little room with a +sloping roof and a beam. The room was in fact only a loft for storage, +but it was thought good enough for Bertha. +</P> + +<P> +"I wanted to show you this," Bertha said; "it's the only keepsake I've +got. It was once my poor Aunt Maggie's, and she gave it to me. I can +just remember her kissing me one night, and saying, 'God bless you—you +poor orphan.' I must have been a little thing, perhaps four years old, +for it's such a long time ago, and I am nearly fifteen." +</P> + +<P> +Bertha had dived into the depths of a trunk covered with spotted lilac +paper, and which contained most of her worldly goods. +</P> + +<P> +From the very bottom she pulled out a square leather frame, and as she +rubbed the glass, which was thick with dust, with her sleeve, she said— +</P> + +<P> +"Isn't she pretty?" +</P> + +<P> +It was an old faded photograph of what must have been a pretty girl, in +a white dress with a band of ribbon, which a photographic artist had +painted blue, and had touched the eyes with the same colour. +</P> + +<P> +"I think she is beautiful," Bertha said. "I never saw any one so +pretty till I saw you, and I think you are like poor Aunt Maggie." +</P> + +<P> +Joy looked doubtfully at the portrait, and said— +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, it's very nice. She looks so good and so sweet, as if she could +never have been cross or naughty." +</P> + +<P> +"That's just what <I>I</I> think," Bertha said; "and she <I>is</I> like you, for +you are good, and I am sure you are never cross." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh!" little Miss Joy said, "that's a mistake. I am naughty when I +hate Miss Pinckney, and when I am impudent to Susan. She <I>says</I> I am +impudent, and Miss Pinckney has called me a 'saucy little baggage' very +often. That's why I don't go into Miss Pinckney's shop to see dear +Goody Patience and Jack. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah!" Joy added with a sigh, "there is no Jack to see now; he is gone, +and I do miss him so. He used to be so good to me;" and her eyes grew +dim, and the corners of her rosy lips turned down ominously. "But I +must go to Uncle Bobo now; he must be tired of waiting, and he'll get +fidgety." +</P> + +<P> +"Very well," Bet said; "I don't want you to get a scolding." +</P> + +<P> +"A scolding!" Joy said, recovering herself from the momentary +depression which the thought of Jack's loss had caused. "Uncle Bobo +never scolded me in his life." +</P> + +<P> +Then Joy stepped cautiously down the narrow stairs, and turning said— +</P> + +<P> +"Good-bye, Bet; good-bye." +</P> + +<P> +"Good-bye," poor Bet said, as, standing at the back-door, she watched +her friend skipping off across the road to the seat where Uncle Bobo +sat, with his round back—very round—and his short legs tucked up, one +wide-toed boot upon the other, to give support. +</P> + +<P> +"I wish she'd kissed <I>me</I>," poor Bet thought, as she saw Joy throw her +arms round the old man's neck, and kiss all that was visible of his +rosy cheek beneath his large wide-awake. "I'd like her to kiss me like +that;" and poor Bet followed the two figures with lingering, longing +eyes till they were out of sight. +</P> + +<P> +Other eyes were following them also. Mrs. Skinner was standing by the +window of her parlour, peering over the short white muslin blind at +Uncle Bobo and Joy. What was she thinking about? For her thin lips +were parted as if she were speaking to some one, and her long fingers +worked convulsively with the strings of her black alpaca apron. +</P> + +<P> +Presently the door opened softly, and Bet came creeping in. She never +knew what reception she might get, and she had the miserable cowed +manner of a beaten dog. +</P> + +<P> +"Grandmother!" +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Skinner started, and said sharply— +</P> + +<P> +"Well, what do you want?" +</P> + +<P> +"Isn't she pretty? Isn't she a darling?" +</P> + +<P> +"Stuff and nonsense! I don't care about beauty; it's only skin deep; +and I dare say she's a pert little hussy. Don't go and bring her here +again, I don't want her." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap07"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VII. +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +<I>DARK DOINGS.</I> +</H4> + +<P> +When Mr. Skinner had escorted Miss Pinckney home after their walk, he +seated himself at supper with the air of one who was thoroughly at home +and at his ease. +</P> + +<P> +"He knows on which side his bread is buttered," Uncle Bobo's Susan +said, as she had watched Miss Pinckney walking up the row with her +tall, ungainly suitor. +</P> + +<P> +For Uncle Bobo was right. Mr. Skinner had every intention of coming to +the point; though, I need not say, it was not his custom to go straight +to the point. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Skinner always preferred a circuitous route. +</P> + +<P> +When they were seated at supper Mr. Skinner said— +</P> + +<P> +"You have had no tidings of your runaway, I presume, Mrs. Harrison?" +</P> + +<P> +This question was asked as Mr. Skinner looked at Jack's mother with +that oblique glance Jack had boldly called a "squint." +</P> + +<P> +Patience shook her head. She could not bring herself to talk of her +boy to Mr. Skinner. +</P> + +<P> +"Ah," he said, "what a home he has left, and what a friend! When I +think of Miss Pinckney's generosity and nobility of temper, I grieve +that they were expended on so unworthy an object." +</P> + +<P> +The colour rose to Mrs. Harrison's cheeks. +</P> + +<P> +"You will be so kind, Mr. Skinner," she said, "not to talk about my +boy. It is not a matter I care to speak of to any one." +</P> + +<P> +"True, true!" was the reply. "'Least said, soonest mended.' But I +suppose I may be permitted to offer my humble tribute of admiration to +my dear, kind friend, who always gives me a welcome to her hospitable +board." +</P> + +<P> +Here Mr. Skinner stretched out his long, thin fingers, and laid them +gently on Miss Pinckney's, who was in the act of handing him another +triangular cut from the pork pie, which had been the <I>pièce de +résistance</I> of the supper-table. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! dear me, Mr. Skinner," Miss Pinckney exclaimed, "I don't look for +gratitude—never! So I am not disappointed. Gratitude isn't a plant +that grows in these parts. It doesn't flourish. The air doesn't suit +it, I suppose." +</P> + +<P> +This was said with a glance at poor Patience, who was well accustomed +to such side-hits. +</P> + +<P> +"It is a plant that has a deep root in my heart," said Mr. Skinner, +"and I hope the flower is not unpleasing, and that the fruit will be +satisfying." +</P> + +<P> +This was a great flight of poetical rhetoric, and Miss Pinckney bridled +and simpered like a girl of sixteen. +</P> + +<P> +"You are kindly welcome surely to anything I have to give, Mr. Skinner, +now and at <I>all</I> times. Those that don't care for what I provide, +well, they may seek their fortune elsewhere, and the sooner the better." +</P> + +<P> +Patience Harrison had long been disciplined to self-control, or she +could never have borne the "quips" and "quirks" of her sister. +</P> + +<P> +Thus she kept silence, determined not to wrangle with Miss Pinckney in +the presence of witnesses; above all, not in the presence of the man +whom she distrusted. +</P> + +<P> +So she quietly cleared away the supper when the meal was concluded, and +retired to the back premises to wash up the dishes, and put everything +in order for the night. +</P> + +<P> +It was about ten o'clock when Mr. Skinner—having sipped his glass of +hot gin and water bid his hostess an affectionate adieu, and turned his +steps homewards. +</P> + +<P> +When he reached his own gate he exchanged a quiet greeting with two +men, who were evidently waiting for him. +</P> + +<P> +Then all three went softly round to the back of the house, and entered +it by the door through which Bet and little Miss Joy had gone in that +afternoon. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Skinner opened the door with a latch-key, and all three men passed +silently into the little room with the big table, covered with the +green cloth—the table which little Joy had said looked too big for the +room. +</P> + +<P> +"Well," one of the men said, "'Fortune favours the brave.' I am in for +luck to-night. What have you got to drink? I dare say there's a +bottle of rum in the cupboard, eh?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well," Mr. Skinner said, "I don't drink anything myself. So, no +doubt, what you left is to be had." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, ha! ah, ha!" laughed the other man. "You don't drink at your own +expense; is that it? The old lady in the row finds you in toddy." +</P> + +<P> +"Shut up!" said the elder of the two men; "don't talk all night, but +let us to business." +</P> + +<P> +Then two packs of cards were produced with the black bottle, and very +soon the game began. +</P> + +<P> +Ah me! that ruinous game, which so many, I fear, play, and thereby lose +all sense of honour and right. Who shall say how long is the list of +broken hearts for which gambling is responsible? +</P> + +<P> +And not only the sordid gambling, such as that in which Mr. Skinner and +his boon companions indulged, with dirty packs of cards, in a low room +where the mice scampered about behind the loose boards, and the whole +aspect was uninviting; but, alas! there is the same game going on +amongst those who, from education and social position, should be the +first to shun this crying evil. +</P> + +<P> +It matters not whether the stakes be for a pound or a penny, the danger +and the sin is the same. +</P> + +<P> +The winner is always the winner at the expense of the loser. The +success of one is the destruction and misery of the other. Deceit and +fraud, with too often strong drink to silence the cry of remorse and +the voice of conscience, follow in the gambler's train. No departure +from the paths of honesty is single in its consequences, and there is +no sin but may be compared to the throwing of a pebble into a still +lake, when the circles which follow the fall of the stone widen and +widen, and that indefinitely. +</P> + +<P> +Gambling in all its forms is a grievous wrong; and whether from betting +on horses, or speculating in stocks and shares, or descending to a +shabby little room such as that where Mr. Skinner and his friends sat +on this fair summer night, shuffling their cards, for what seemed by +comparison insignificant sums, we are bound to protest against it with +all our might, and to guard the young under our care from the first +beginnings of what is indeed the cause of untold misery to many who, in +thousands of cases, suffer for the sins of others. +</P> + +<P> +The stakes for which Mr. Skinner and his companions played were small; +but his usual good fortune seemed to have deserted him of late, for he +had lost again and again. +</P> + +<P> +One of the men, as he threw down the cards, said— +</P> + +<P> +"I have a score against you for last Tuesday, Skinner. Do you want to +run up further?" and he pulled out a bit of dirty paper from a +pocket-book, and read from it sums which amounted to several pounds. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Skinner treated the matter with lofty indifference, saying— +</P> + +<P> +"You needn't fear; I am going in for a prize, and I shall win!" +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, well, win or lose, I must be paid. It is rather inconvenient to +be out of pocket like this." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Skinner threw down another four shillings, and said— +</P> + +<P> +"Try again." +</P> + +<P> +Again, the stakes being trebled on a card, he lost—though the winner +this time was the third man of the company. +</P> + +<P> +Then a good deal of wrangling and quarrelling in an undertone followed, +and Bet, in her room above, was awoke by it. She had been awoke before +from the same cause; but to-night she sat up in bed and listened. +</P> + +<P> +The joists that divided the room in this lean-to of Mr. Skinner's +cottage, which could hardly be called a "wing," were very thin and far +apart, and a knot in one of the boards of her room had been forced out +and left a hole through which it was possible to get a peep into the +room below. +</P> + +<P> +Presently the voices ceased, and she heard the stealthy footsteps of +the men retreating across the yard, and then, as they reached the deep +soft sand, they were heard no longer. +</P> + +<P> +Bet got up, and standing on tip-toe tried to look out of the little +attic window that lighted her room. As she did so the hole in the +floor attracted her, for she could see the light through it from the +room below. +</P> + +<P> +She lay down on the boards, and, looking through, could see her uncle +at the table. +</P> + +<P> +He had a small box before him, from which he took out some coins, and +then he put a key attached to the box in the lock, and fastened it. +Bertha watched, she hardly knew why, with deep interest her uncle's +proceedings, and saw him rise from the table with the box in his hand +and go out. +</P> + +<P> +She climbed on the seat to bring her face on a level with the little +window, and distinctly saw her uncle, with a lantern in one hand, which +he set down by his side, and in the other a spade, with which he dug a +hole in the soft, sandy mould by the strip of garden, where Mrs. +Skinner cultivated some straggling cabbages, which went to <I>stalk</I> with +but few leaves, in the poor soil of the little enclosure. +</P> + +<P> +Presently he put something from his pocket into the hole, and then +covering it with the soft soil, he returned to the house. +</P> + +<P> +What did it all mean? Poor Bet felt something was wrong, and yet how +could she help it? +</P> + +<P> +"I wish there was any one I could tell," she thought; "but there is +nobody. Little Miss Joy wouldn't care to hear, and nobody else would +listen to me if I did tell them. And I suppose Uncle Joe has a right +to bury his things if he likes; but it's very odd." +</P> + +<P> +Then she crept back to her bed, and was soon asleep. +</P> + +<P> +Bet went off to school the next morning with a lighter heart than +usual, for she had received a convincing proof of little Joy's +friendship, by her invitation to tea at the row. +</P> + +<P> +The midsummer holidays were approaching, and she was determined to bear +all the rebuffs she met with from her school-fellows with fortitude. +What did anything matter if Joy loved her! +</P> + +<P> +When Bet reached the gates of the garden before Miss Bayliff's school, +she saw a knot of girls standing there. She came slowly towards them, +shuffling her feet as usual in an awkward fashion, and not daring to +draw too near the charmed circle, for her defender was not there. +</P> + +<P> +"Little Joy is late this morning," one of the girls said. "But we must +go indoors; Miss Bayliff is in a rage if we crowd outside. Here, Bet, +do you know where little Miss Joy is?" +</P> + +<P> +"How should she?" said another voice. "Here comes May Owen; let us ask +her: she lives in Broad Row." +</P> + +<P> +May Owen was the daughter of an ironmonger, whose premises were at the +corner of the row, just above Uncle Bobo's shop. +</P> + +<P> +"Well," she said, "have you heard about poor little Joy?" +</P> + +<P> +"No; what's the matter?" asked a chorus of voices. +</P> + +<P> +"She was out last evening with Mr. Boyd, and as they were coming home a +horse came galloping along the Market Place, and Joy was knocked down. +She has hurt her head, they say, or her back. The doctor has been +there half the night, and Mr. Boyd is mad with grief. It has made a +scene, I can tell you, in the row." +</P> + +<P> +"Why, Bet!" one of the girls exclaimed, "don't do that!" +</P> + +<P> +For poor Bet had seized the arm of the girl nearest her to support +herself. Her heart beat wildly, her face was blanched with fear, as +she gasped out— +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I must go to little Miss Joy! I must, indeed I must!" +</P> + +<P> +"Nonsense! Don't squeeze my arm like that; you'll pinch me black and +blue. <I>You</I> can't go to little Miss Joy; she wouldn't want <I>you</I>." +</P> + +<P> +"No; I should think not!" said May Owen. "The notion of a scarecrow +like you being a pleasant sight to Mr. Boyd in his trouble! Mrs. +Harrison is with the child." +</P> + +<P> +"Tell me—tell me," poor Bertha gasped; "will she get well? will she +live?" +</P> + +<P> +"I don't know. Let us hope so, for she is a darling, and every one +loves her," said another voice. And then a bell rang, and the girls +trooped up the steps into the house, and the business of the morning +began. +</P> + +<P> +Who shall tell the misery of those long hours in school to Bertha? She +could only gaze at the white face of the clock, and count the minutes +as the long hand passed over them. As to her lessons in class, she +was, as the governess who taught her said, "Hopelessly muddled." +</P> + +<P> +Vain were her efforts to get through her repetition of Cowper's lines +on his mother's picture. She sat with a sum before her on a slate, and +blurred it with tears; and finally had a long array of bad marks, and +was sent by the assistant governess to Miss Bayliff to receive a +lecture, and to be given a long column of the Dictionary to write out +and learn by heart in addition to her usual lessons. +</P> + +<P> +It did not strike Miss Bayliff that sorrow for Joy was the cause of +Bet's woe-begone face. Miss Bayliff herself was really distressed at +the news which had circulated through the school of Joy's accident, but +she did not think Bet could feel as she did for little Miss Joy. +</P> + +<P> +The moment school was over, Bet seized her hat from the peg in the +passage, and set off to the row to learn the worst. +</P> + +<P> +To her great relief she saw Mrs. Harrison coming from her own door to +Uncle Bobo's. She clutched her arm pretty much as she had clutched her +schoolfellow's; but she was not thrust away this time. Patience +Harrison said kindly, +</P> + +<P> +"My dear, our little Joy seems a trifle better. She has opened her +eyes and smiled at Uncle Bobo." +</P> + +<P> +"Will she get well? May I see her?" +</P> + +<P> +"You must not see her; she has to be kept very quiet." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! what shall I do? what shall I do?" Bet exclaimed. +</P> + +<P> +"Pray for her," was the reply, "and trust in God's love whichever way +it goes with her." And then, moved to deep pity for poor Bet, Mrs. +Harrison stooped and kissed her, and went into the little shop. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap08"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER VIII. +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +<I>IN PERIL OF THE SEA.</I> +</H4> + +<P> +The <I>Galatea</I> was a good sailing vessel, loaded with goods, and was +bound for Constantinople. She was a trading vessel, with a few +passengers who paid a moderate sum for their berths, and were provided +with very fair accommodation on board. +</P> + +<P> +Jack certainly proved himself a good sailor. As soon as the first +misery of sea-sickness was over, he made himself very useful to the +crew generally, and to Dick Colley in particular. +</P> + +<P> +"He is worth his biscuit, captain," Colley said one day. "A sharp lad, +eh?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, and a handy one too. It's well for you that you have had that +boy to help you, with your lame leg; and you are trying to make him one +of your sort, I see." +</P> + +<P> +"One of my sort! No. I hope a long sight better than my sort, +captain. I am but a beginner, learning the alphabet late in life; but, +please God, I'll stumble on following Him, and I hope I may get others +to follow Him too." +</P> + +<P> +"You needn't look for me in that following, Colley; but you are welcome +to the boy. It is all very fine to preach about God's love and care +for us when the sea is stirred by a pleasant breeze, just enough to +give us a capful of wind, and we are making our proper knots an hour +straight for port; but when the waves are roaring, and the timbers of +the ship groaning and creaking, and we know not but that we may go to +the bottom any minute—don't tell me it is God's love then, when poor +fellows are fighting the waves for life, knowing that if they are +drowned they leave wife and child poor and desolate. No, no, Colley; +that motion won't hold water." +</P> + +<P> +"Begging your pardon, captain," said Colley, "it's better to trust in +the Lord's love in a storm, than curse, and swear, and shriek as you +and I have seen some of our mates take on, in mortal terror. You can't +deny that." +</P> + +<P> +"I deny nothing," was the reply. "I am content to let things take +their course, and religion with the rest. Let them pray who like; it's +no odds to me." +</P> + +<P> +Jack had been near during this conversation; and as the captain turned +on his heel and took up his position again at the helm, Colley called +Jack. +</P> + +<P> +"Were you within ear-shot just now, boy?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," Jack said. "I heard what you and the captain were saying. My +mother talks as you talk; and as to little Miss Joy, she is always +singing hymns, and loves taking Uncle Bobo's hand and trotting to +church with him. I wish you could see little Miss Joy; you would love +her as much as I do." +</P> + +<P> +"P'r'aps I may see her one day. She is a pretty little thing, you say?" +</P> + +<P> +"Pretty!" Jack said; "she is a great deal more than pretty. Her eyes +are like the sky; and how she can laugh, to be sure! it's like silver +bells ringing. Many a time, when I have been half wild with Aunt +Amelia's grating tongue, I have run over to Mr. Boyd's, and Joy has put +me right. She would always be on the watch for me when I came back +from school, and she calls my mother 'Goody,' and she is just like a +little daughter to her. Then when there were sharp words between Mr. +Boyd and his old servant, Joy made peace. She would climb on Uncle +Bobo's knee, and kiss him, and put her hand before his mouth, and beg +him to be quiet, and not get angry with Susan, because hard words did +no good." +</P> + +<P> +"That's true, boy—that's true; and now I want to know what you are +going to do when we are safe in port? Go home and show you are sorry, +eh?" +</P> + +<P> +"Not home to my aunt's house; I'd rather break stones. Look here, she +just makes me feel wretched, as little Miss Joy makes me feel good." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah, boy, that's the wrong end of the stick—the feeling good and +wicked, as you say. No, no; 'goodness,' as you call it, don't depend +on little Miss Joy, or wickedness on sharp-tempered viragos like you +say your aunt is. It is the <I>heart</I>, boy. If that is turned to God, +then we may hope to keep straight, by watching and praying; but it is a +fight, boy, as I find. As I told you, I find it hard enough to curb my +tongue; for it is like a ship flying afore the wind, with no rudder and +no pilot. Off I go, and the words drop from my lips like mad! But I +pray for help to bridle my tongue, and I cry to God for pardon every +time I take His blessed name in vain. Don't you learn bad ways aboard. +Most of the crew are steady young fellows. One or two of 'em are on +the right track; but that man who kicked you when you came aboard, you +beware of him. He is more dangerous when he is friendly than when he's +your enemy. So don't listen to him; it won't do you no good." +</P> + +<P> +Amongst the passengers was a sweet-faced woman, with her little boy. +Jack took greatly to the child. He reminded him of Miss Joy, and he +would take his hand and lead him about the ship, and show off Toby's +tricks for his amusement. +</P> + +<P> +The woman was on her way to Cairo to join her husband, who had a place +there in an English family as courier and valet. She had been sent +home by the doctors for her health, and was now on her outward-bound +voyage, with her little son. +</P> + +<P> +She soon found that Jack was trustworthy, and she allowed her little +Peter to be with him whenever Jack had time to amuse him. Old Colley, +too, would set him on his knee, and tell him stories of the sea, and +the names of the sea-birds, which often followed the ship, and would +sometimes pounce down on any bit of biscuit or salt meat which might be +on deck. +</P> + +<P> +It was a pretty sight when little Peter's golden hair rested against +Colley's blue jersey, and the child would put up his hand and stroke +the stubby beard of his new friend, and say— +</P> + +<P> +"I shall be a sailor when I grow up. I love the sea." +</P> + +<P> +Then Colley would stroke his head and say—"In calm weather it's +pleasant enough, boy. You wait till you have seen a storm." +</P> + +<P> +The voyage out promised well till they came to the Bay of Biscay, when +contrary winds and a storm drove the <I>Galatea</I> to take refuge in the +port of Lisbon. +</P> + +<P> +The captain was anxious to make his way to Constantinople, and against +the advice of Colley and the second mate sailed out from Lisbon in +rough weather. +</P> + +<P> +"The storm is over," he said, "and I've no time to spend with the men +kicking their heels aboard, or going ashore to get into mischief." +</P> + +<P> +So the orders were given, and the <I>Galatea</I> went curtesying over the +billows, under a bright sky, with all sails set. +</P> + +<P> +"We are in the track of a storm, and if I'm not mistaken," Colley said, +"we shall find ourselves in a worst plight before forty-eight hours +have come and gone. I never saw the moon look as she did last night +without a meaning." +</P> + +<P> +But for that night Colley's prophecy seemed to be unfulfilled. The +wind sank, the sea became like glass, and the <I>Galatea</I> made but little +progress. The weather was intensely hot, and the nights scarcely +cooler than the days. +</P> + +<P> +It was on the evening of the second day, after sailing out of the port +of Lisbon, that Colley asked Jack if he saw a dark line drawn along the +horizon. +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," Jack said, "I see." +</P> + +<P> +"That's the storm coming, and it will be upon us fast enough." +</P> + +<P> +The captain, who was standing at his post with his glass, saw it also, +and very soon orders were shouted to reef sails, and "every man to his +post." +</P> + +<P> +Before a landsman could believe it possible, the mysterious dark line +had spread over the sky, and there was a hissing sound as of coming +breakers. Then a swift forked flash struck across the waters, and was +followed by a peal of thunder which was deafening. In another quarter +of an hour the waves were roaring, and the noise of the thunder and the +gathered blackness of darkness were awful. +</P> + +<P> +The <I>Galatea</I> was well manned, and every one of the crew held gallantly +to their post. The captain encouraged the frightened passengers, and +tried to quiet their fears. +</P> + +<P> +Jack obeyed orders, and never flinched from his duty. +</P> + +<P> +Presently the angry billows broke with terrific violence over the poor +<I>Galatea</I>, and she bowed herself in her distress till the masts and +timbers creaked, and every time she went down into the deep valleys +between the mountainous waves, it seemed impossible that she should +right herself again. +</P> + +<P> +"We are in great peril, boy," Colley said in Jack's ear, or rather he +shouted the words at the pitch of his voice. "You put your trust in +God, and He will hear your cry." +</P> + +<P> +Ah! in moments of dire distress and fear, the soul that has before been +dumb cries unto God. Poor frail mortals think they can do very well +without God, when skies are blue, and all things, golden, bright, and +prosperous; but in the hour of death, and in all times of tribulation, +few indeed are to be found who do not cry to God for refuge and +deliverance. +</P> + +<P> +Jack stood face to face with death, and he knew it. All his short life +seemed to rise clearly before him, and his mother's face as he knelt to +repeat his little prayer at her knee in childish days. His mother! she +had been left a widow, although she could not believe it; his mother! +to whom he should have been a stay and comfort, deserted, because he +had been a coward, and could not meet the trials of his daily life—his +aunt's sharp tongue, and Mr. Skinner's side-hits. +</P> + +<P> +He had run away to sea to escape these, to please himself—and this was +the end. Oh! his mother! his mother! Had he not seen her watch and +wait for his father's return? and had he not seen the lines of care +deeping on her sweet face? And now he had added to her sorrow, and +could never hear her words of forgiveness. +</P> + +<P> +All this passed through Jack's mind far more quickly than I can write +it here, or you can read it; and hot tears mingled with the cold, salt +spray, which drenched him through and through as he stood firm by the +rope which was entrusted to him. +</P> + +<P> +The storm raged with unabated fury, and the darkness was only just +pierced by the rising moon, itself invisible, but which cast a strange +weird whiteness athwart the gloom. +</P> + +<P> +The worst had not yet come. It was about midnight that cries arose +above the storm, and a violent shock told that the <I>Galatea</I> had struck +on a rock. There was no hope then—the <I>Galatea</I> was doomed. +</P> + +<P> +The boats had been kept in readiness, and the captain's voice was +heard, shouting his orders to let them down. For the <I>Galatea</I> had +parted in midships, and was settling down into those black waters +where, here and there, the white surf on the wave-crests was seen with +ghastly clearness in the murky gloom. +</P> + +<P> +"All women and children first," the captain ordered; and Peter's +mother, clasping the child close, with the few passengers, were let +down into the first boat. +</P> + +<P> +"Back, you coward!" the mate shouted, as the man who had been so +unfeeling to Jack, on first starting, stumbled forward and tried to +jump into the boat. Alas! too late was the command to stop. The boat +was swamped, and smothered cries arose from the surging depths. The +other boats were lowered, and old Colley remained to the last. +</P> + +<P> +"Now, captain," he said, "it's your turn. She's settling down fast." +And between the roar of the storm and the more distant roll of the +thunder, a swishing, gurgling noise told that the water was fast +gaining ground, and the <I>Galatea</I> going down. +</P> + +<P> +"I leave the ship last, or die with her. Forward, Colley! Do you +hear?" +</P> + +<P> +"After you, captain; after you." +</P> + +<P> +"Colley, old fellow, you never disobeyed me before. You won't do it +now." +</P> + +<P> +Then a great shudder seemed to thrill through the ship, and she turned +on her side, and with a mighty rush the waves seized their prey, and +the <I>Galatea</I> went down into the stormy waters. +</P> + +<P> +Jack found himself struggling in the surging waves; but a boat was near +him, and a hand seized him and dragged him in. +</P> + +<P> +It was old Colley's hand, and he had in his other arm little Peter, and +a whine told that Toby was with his master. +</P> + +<P> +It was a perilous position—the boat was tossed like a feather on those +stormy billows; while above the raging of the storm could be heard +cries for help from those who were clinging to broken rafts and pieces +of the wreck. +</P> + +<P> +"She was cracked like a walnut," Colley said; "and the captain's heart +was broken—that's why he said he would die with her." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap09"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER IX. +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +<I>ON THE WIDE, WIDE SEA.</I> +</H4> + +<P> +The boat was drifting off, and every minute seemed to put a further +distance from the place where the <I>Galatea</I> had struck the rock and +perished. At this time the fury of the storm had abated, and a rift in +the clouds showed the moon in its last quarter floating like a boat on +its back in a silvery sea. The pale rays shed a flickering light upon +the waters, and there was a lull. Behind them rose a low black mass, +with the points of the masts showing where the <I>Galatea</I>, had gone +down. No other object was visible, and Colley covered his face with +his hands. +</P> + +<P> +"I don't believe there's one of 'em saved," he said; "I don't indeed. +The boats were swamped, and this is the only one that righted. But, +boy, I don't know where we are, nor where we are drifting." +</P> + +<P> +"Are we going home?" said a little voice from the bottom of the boat. +"I want to get home with mother." +</P> + +<P> +"Ay, my lad; but I expect we must all three give up an earthly home, +and turn our thoughts to a heavenly one." +</P> + +<P> +When morning dawned they were far out on the trackless waters, and not +a sail in eight. Jack, at Colley's bidding, tied his shirt to the oar, +in the hopes that, fluttering in the breeze, it might attract the +notice of some passing vessels. But although several sail were seen on +the horizon, none seemed to come across the track of the little lonely +boat. The scorching sun of noon beat on their unprotected heads, and +poor little Peter cried and moaned with a pain in his head. Hunger +too, and thirst, began to be unbearable; and Colley had some difficulty +in preventing Jack from drinking the sea-water, and giving it to little +Peter. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't you do it, boy; it will drive you mad, and you will repent it if +you touch it." +</P> + +<P> +Towards evening the air became cooler, and Peter, pulling at Jack's +trousers, said— +</P> + +<P> +"There is something hard under my head, and Toby is sniffing at it." +</P> + +<P> +Oh, how untold was the thankfulness with which Colley pulled out a +canvas bag of sea biscuits, which had been stowed away under one of the +seats, with a stone jar in which was a little rum! +</P> + +<P> +"Thank the Lord, you won't starve, you young ones; there's enough to +keep you alive." +</P> + +<P> +"Enough to keep us all alive!" Jack said; "and I shan't touch a crumb +unless you eat the same quantity as I do." +</P> + +<P> +The boy lying at their feet had already set his teeth into a biscuit +like a hungry dog, and was putting his mouth to the stone bottle. +</P> + +<P> +"Gently, now, gently," Colley said, trying to take the bottle away from +the child. But he did not succeed till he had swallowed a considerable +quantity, and lay in a kind of stupor. +</P> + +<P> +Another night closed in, and the stillness and darkness were acceptable +after the burning heat of noon. At day-dawn Jack saw a ship. Surely +it was coming nearer and nearer. He stood up and called "Ahoy!" with +all his might, and poor Toby whined and barked. Colley, awakened from +a light dose, stood up also, and joined in the cry. But, alas! there +was no answer, and the white sails, glistening in the level rays of the +rising sun, vanished like a bird taking flight. +</P> + +<P> +"It is no use hoping for help," Jack said, sinking down. "I say, +Colley, are we to go on floating over the wide sea for ever?" +</P> + +<P> +"Nay, lad, nay; it won't be for ever. Please the Lord, He'll put an +end to these long watches in His own time." +</P> + +<P> +"Colley," Jack said, "do you think I am being punished for my sins? I +ran away in a fit of temper, and I know how my mother is waiting and +watching for me, as she did for my father, and she will watch and wait +in vain. Oh, Colley, do you think God is very angry, and that this is +my punishment—to die out here, with no one to care, no one to——" +Jack broke down, and hid his face on his sleeveless arms, for his blue +jersey was fluttering in the morning breeze. +</P> + +<P> +"Boy," Colley said, "it is just this: You wanted your own way, and you +were let to take it. You have made your own punishment; but as to +God's anger—well, if you turn your heart to Him in Christ's name, He +won't send you empty away. He will speak peace for His dear Son's +sake, whether He lets you go back to you poor mother, or whether He +takes you through the Valley of Death to His kingdom in heaven." +</P> + +<P> +"Colley," Jack said vehemently, "I don't want to die. I want to live, +and show my mother I am sorry." +</P> + +<P> +"We can't choose, boy, we can't choose; and we are just in God's hands, +and must be quiet." +</P> + +<P> +But, oh! through that long day of heat and oppression it was hard to be +quiet. The poor child moaned, and was rapidly becoming insensible. +Jack's lips were so sore and chapped he could not bite the hard +biscuit; and though Colley soaked his in a few drops of rum, he felt +sick at the smell and taste of the spirits, and when offered a morsel, +he turned away, saying— +</P> + +<P> +"It reminds me of Skinner. I hate the smell." +</P> + +<P> +The great waste of waters, of varied opal hues, in the clear depths of +which the forms of many sea creatures could be seen darting hither and +thither—how desolate it was! +</P> + +<P> +Above, snowy gulls flew and floated now and again on the waves. One +came so near that Colley seized it and took it into the boat. It +looked up with wondering eyes, and Colley said— +</P> + +<P> +"You poor stupid thing! You have come to your death;" and then he +wrung the bird's neck, saying, "If the worst comes to the worst, we +must eat it raw." +</P> + +<P> +"I would sooner die," Jack said wearily. "I begin to wish to die, +Colley. Yesterday I wanted to live, but I don't feel to care now, and +I believe that poor little darling is going." +</P> + +<P> +"Help me to lift him up—lift him up," Colley said; and between them, +feeble as they both were, the old man and the boy, they managed to get +the poor child's head to rest on Colley's knees. +</P> + +<P> +Towards evening the child opened his eyes. "Mother," he said, "I'm +coming." Then he smiled, and Jack said, "He is better." +</P> + +<P> +But Colley shook his head. "No; but he will be better soon;" and then +he said a few words of prayer, and bid Jack think of some hymn his +mother had taught him. +</P> + +<P> +Jack tried to summon a verse from his confused brain, and the one +little Miss Joy had often said came to his lips, and he repeated in a +low voice, quavering with weakness and emotion— +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"Jesus, lover of my soul,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Let me to Thy bosom fly,</SPAN><BR> +While the nearer waters roll,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">While the tempest still is high:</SPAN><BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"Hide me, O my Saviour, hide,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Till the storm of life is past;</SPAN><BR> +Safe into the haven guide,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Oh, receive my soul at last!</SPAN><BR> +</P> + +<P CLASS="poem"> +"Other refuge have I none,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Hangs my helpless soul on Thee;</SPAN><BR> +Leave, ah! leave me not alone,<BR> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 1em">Still support and comfort——"</SPAN><BR> +</P> + +<BR> + +<P> +"Oh! Colley," Jack said, breaking off, "look!" The little boy's eyes +were wide open, gazing upwards. Then a smile, a sweet smile, a shudder +as if in answer to a welcome, and the spirit of the child had fled! +</P> + +<P> +Colley bowed his head weeping. +</P> + +<P> +"A pretty little lad!" he said, "his mother's pride aboard ship. Well, +well, she is waiting for him, and God's will be done." +</P> + +<P> +When the shadows crept over the blue expanse that night, Colley lifted +the child's body tenderly in his arms, and said to Jack— +</P> + +<P> +"Kiss him for his mother, boy. He is saved from the death which, +unless God send help, lies before you and me—the death of starvation. +You are young, but I am an old man; for all sailors are old at fifty, +and few see sixty. I shall go next." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, Colley, Colley, do not leave me all alone!" +</P> + +<P> +Colley shook his head. +</P> + +<P> +"Again I say, Let God's will be done. I wish—I wish I had a memory +for a text of Scripture to say before I bury this child; for we must +bury him, and now. You've been at school, you say, up to the time you +ran away. Can't you say the words of Scripture which you have learned? +You must know a lot." +</P> + +<P> +Poor Jack rubbed his head and tried to collect his thoughts, but in +vain. +</P> + +<P> +"It's what the Lord said to Mary when her brother Lazarus died. Ah, +I've got it now!" +</P> + +<P> +and Colley slowly and solemnly repeated, "I am the Resurrection and the +Life; he that liveth and believeth on Me shall never die." +</P> + +<P> +Then the old sailor clasped his weather-beaten hands over the child's +lifeless form, and with tears running down his rugged cheeks he said: +"O heavenly Father, Thou hast called this child from pain and +suffering. In Thy mercy send for me next; but let poor Jack live to go +back to his mother. For Christ Jesus' sake." +</P> + +<P> +Then tenderly and gently the little form slipped over the side of the +boat; there was a sudden splash, a rippling sound, and all was +still—so still, except for the mysterious murmur which always sounds +like whispers from another world at nightfall on the sea. +</P> + +<P> +Again the sun rose, and again the silent sea was flooded with the rays +of the sun. The inhabitants of the little boat were too weak now to +speak much. Even Toby could scarcely wag his tail, but lay with his +head on his paws, gazing up to his master's face, questioning as to +what it meant—this faintness and weakness which seemed to be creeping +over him. +</P> + +<P> +The dead gull lay untouched. There was not strength left to eat it, +even if there had been inclination. +</P> + +<P> +Jack still grasped the oar, and still the poor blue jersey fluttered in +the breeze. But Colley lay at the bottom of the boat, breathing +heavily, though his eyes were open, and his rough weather-beaten hands +folded as if in prayer. +</P> + +<P> +They had drifted far out in the Atlantic, but not in the direct line +hitherto of the many steamers which continually cross the great +dividing waters which lie between the Old World and the New. +</P> + +<P> +Jack had ample time for thought, as the long weary hours went by. But +a stupor was fast creeping over him, and everything became dreamlike +and unreal. Even the images of his mother and Joy, which had been so +vivid, grew taint and indistinct, and he was scarcely conscious, when a +loud "Ahoy!" fell on his ear. +</P> + +<P> +He started up, and there, at last, was a boat alongside of theirs. +</P> + +<P> +"Wake up, boy!" said a cheery voice. "What's happened, eh?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, Colley, Colley!" Jack cried, "we are saved, we are saved!" And +then from excess of joy and emotion he fell prone upon the prostrate +figure of the old sailor. +</P> + +<P> +"A man, a boy, and a dog," said one of the boat's crew. +</P> + +<P> +"Half-starved, I declare! Look alive, mates, and let's get 'em aboard +our ship as quick as may be. I told you this object we saw was a craft +of some sort, though you were so slow to believe me. A happy thing for +these poor creatures I got the boat lowered." +</P> + +<P> +In another quarter of an hour two pairs of sturdy arms were pulling the +boat and those in it to the good ship <I>Claudia</I>, bound for the islands +of the Southern Seas. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap10"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER X. +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +"<I>ONLY A LITTLE BOX.</I>" +</H4> + +<P> +Uncle Bobo was sitting at the door of his shop one golden September +day, when the atmosphere of the row was oppressive, and his heart was +heavy within him. +</P> + +<P> +Little Miss Joy was mending—so the doctors said; for Uncle Bobo had +declared two heads were better than one, and had insisted on calling in +a second opinion. +</P> + +<P> +Yes; they all said little Miss Joy was better. But in what did this +betterness consist? She was still lying in that upper chamber, whence +she had always smiled her good-morning on Patience Harrison, and sang +her hymn of thanksgiving as the little birds sing their matins to the +rising sun. +</P> + +<P> +Better! yes, she was better; for there was now no danger to her life. +But the fall had injured her back, and she could not move without pain. +The colour was gone from her rosy lips, and the light from those lovely +gentian eyes was more soft and subdued. Little Miss Joy, who had been +as blithe as a bird on the bough and so merry and gladsome, that she +deserved her name of "Little Sunbeam," was now a patient sick child, +never complaining, never fretful, and always greeting Uncle Bobo with a +smile—a smile which used to go to his heart, and send him down to his +little shop sighing out—as to-day— +</P> + +<P> +"Better—better! I don't see it; the doctor doesn't know! What are +doctors for, if they can't make a child well? I pay enough. I don't +grudge them their money, but I expect to see a return for it. And here +comes Patience Harrison to tell me what I don't see—that my little +sunbeam is better." +</P> + +<P> +Patience Harrison was crossing the row to Uncle Bobo's door as he +spoke. Her face wore the same expression of waiting for something or +some one that never came, as it did on the morning when we first saw +her looking up and looking down the row for Jack. +</P> + +<P> +It was a wonderfully warm September. No news had been brought of the +wanderer: the news for which her soul thirsted. George Paterson, it is +true, had heard an inkling of news, but it was not anything certain. +He had heard from a sailor that Jack Harrison had been seen aboard the +<I>Galatea</I> by a passenger who had been put ashore as the <I>Galatea</I> +passed the Lizard; and tidings had come that the <I>Galatea</I> had been +lost off the coast of Spain, and only nine of the crew or passengers +aboard had survived to tell the tale! That the <I>Galatea</I> was lost +seemed certain, but that Jack was aboard her was not proved. The man +who reported that he had seen him could not be sure of his name. He +heard him called Jack, but so were hundreds of other boys. He had +understood that he was a runaway, kept on sufferance by the captain to +please the second mate; but that was all, and it was not much. +Certainly not enough to warrant adding to Patience Harrison's heavy +burden of sorrow. So George Paterson kept the suspicion to himself, +and waited for confirmation of the report before he mentioned it. +</P> + +<P> +Patience Harrison had nursed and cared for Joy as if she had been her +own child, and Uncle Bobo was not ungrateful. +</P> + +<P> +"Well," he said, as she leaned against the door, a variety of articles +making a festoon over her head, and a bunch of fishing-tackle catching +a lock of her abundant hair, which was prematurely grey:—"Well, is the +grand affair coming off to-morrow?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, they are to be married to-morrow at ten o'clock; but there's to +be no fuss. They are going to Cromer for a few days, and I have +promised to keep shop till they come home." +</P> + +<P> +"And what's Joy to do without you?" +</P> + +<P> +"I shall run over early every morning and late every evening, and poor +Bet Skinner is out of her wits with delight because I said I thought +you would let her stay by day and take my place." +</P> + +<P> +"To be sure! to be sure! Only don't expect me to hold out a hand to +that old lady, Skinner's mother. Is she to be present at the wedding?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, and so is Bet; and I have excused myself on account of looking +after the shop." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, your poor sister is making a pretty hard bed for herself to lie +on, and I am afraid she will live to repent it; though, to be sure, we +can't call it marrying in haste. That sly fellow has been sneaking +about here for a long time. What's the mother going to do?" +</P> + +<P> +"She will live where she is for the present, and everything will go on +the same, except that I cannot live with Skinner. I shall look out for +a situation in a shop, as soon as Joy is well again, and does not want +me. Or maybe I shall take one of the small houses on the Denes, and +let lodgings to folks who can put up with humble accommodation." +</P> + +<P> +"You oughtn't to do any such thing," said Mr. Boyd. "You have been a +widow now between eleven and twelve years. A good man wants to make +you his wife—and," said Uncle Bobo, slapping his knee, "and why +shouldn't he?" +</P> + +<P> +"Please do not speak of it, Mr. Boyd," Patience said. "Do you think +that I could ever marry any man while I am waiting for my husband's +return, and now, too, for my boy's? No! it is only pain to me to think +that any of my friends could think I should forget." +</P> + +<P> +"You'll see the boy safe and sound before long, and you'll find the +salt water has washed a lot of nonsense out of him. He will come back, +but the other—never!" +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Harrison said no more, but climbed up the narrow staircase to +Joy's room. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, Goody dear! I <I>am</I> so glad you are come," Joy said, stretching +out her little thin arms and winding them round her friend's neck. "I +have been fidgeting so, hearing you talking to Uncle Bobo downstairs. +And I've been very snappy to Susan, because she will have it I ought to +try to stand. Goody dear, I <I>can't</I>." +</P> + +<P> +"Susan knows that as well as I do, dearie. I think she tries to make +you out much stronger than you are, to comfort Uncle Bobo." +</P> + +<P> +"<I>Dear</I> Uncle Bobo!" the child said. "I wish he would not fret about +me. Goody! I was dreaming of a horse tearing after me, just as that +horse did that evening; and then it wasn't a horse at all, but it was +great roaring waves, and I thought Jack was with me, and we were going +to be drowned." +</P> + +<P> +The lines on Mrs. Harrison's forehead deepened, and she tried to say +cheerfully— +</P> + +<P> +"Dreams do not mean anything, dear; and it is said they always go by +contrary, you know." +</P> + +<P> +Then Mrs. Harrison began to settle Joy's pillows, and put back the +curtains so that she might see from her bed the strip of blue sky above +the opposite roofs and through a slight aperture between the two +houses, where Joy could on clear nights see two or three stars, and at +certain, and what seemed to her very long intervals, the moon, on her +lonely way through the heavens. +</P> + +<P> +"Susan says the wedding will be to-morrow, and that you will have to +stay to keep shop while Miss Pinckney is away." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, dear; and Bet is coming to be with you." +</P> + +<P> +Joy sighed, and said softly— +</P> + +<P> +"Poor Bet! she does love me very much; but, dear Goody, <I>I</I> don't love +her as I love you. When Jack comes home, I shall tell him how kind you +have been to me, and we shall be so happy; only I expect Jack will be +vexed to see me lying here, instead of running out to meet him." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Harrison could only turn away her head to hide her tears as Joy +went on: +</P> + +<P> +"Uncle Bobo said the other day, when he came up and found me crying, +just a little bit, 'Why, I shall have to call you little Miss +Sorrowful!' And then he seemed choked, and bustled away. I made up my +mind then I would try to smile always when he came. I should not like +him to call me little Miss Sorrowful, it seems to hurt him so. And +then he always says he ought to have snatched hold of me when the horse +came galloping after us, and that he ought to have been knocked down, +not me. But that is quite a mistake. Uncle Bobo is wanted in the +shop, and I don't think I could have done instead of him; and then it +would have been worse for him to bear the pain than it is for me; for +when he had the gout in his toe, he did shout out, and threw the things +about when Susan went to bathe it. So it is best as it is," was little +Miss Joy's conclusion; "isn't it Goody?" +</P> + +<P> +The wedding came off the next day, and the row was greatly excited by +the event. +</P> + +<P> +Miss Pinckney was dressed in a cream-coloured cashmere, trimmed with +lace, and she wore an apology for a bonnet, with orange blossoms, and a +large square of tulle thrown over it. +</P> + +<P> +Susan, who reported the appearance of the wedding party, which she +watched leaning out of Joy's window, exclaimed: +</P> + +<P> +"All in white, or next to white! Deary me! If I was fifty, and had a +yellow skin, I wouldn't dress like a young girl. There she goes +mincing down the row, and there's a coach waiting at the end with white +horses. And there goes Mrs. Skinner looking like a lamp-post, dressed +in a grey alpaca; she looks as grim as ever. And there's poor +Bet—well, to be sure, what a frock and bonnet! They belonged to her +mother, let alone her grandmother, or p'r'aps to that pretty daughter +of hers, who ran off—she was that ill-treated by her mother she +couldn't bear it! Ah! they are a queer lot, those Skinners; they do +say Joe Skinner is a queer customer, and that he is so hard up, that's +why he's married that old lady. He will make her money spin, and there +won't be much left at the end of a year. Serve her right. I've no +patience with folks making themselves ridiklous at her time of life. +Why, my dear!" Susan said, growing confidential, as she drew her head +in from the window, when the little following of girls and boys who +lived in the row had returned from seeing the last of Miss +Pinckney—"Why, my dear! I could have married, last fall, the +lamplighter who has looked after the lamps in the row for years. But I +knew better. I told him I was forty-eight, and he was scarce +thirty-eight, and I was not going to make myself a laughing-stock. And +he went and married a young girl, and has made a good husband. So +that's all right!" +</P> + +<P> +It was the same afternoon that Mrs. Harrison, being installed in her +sister's place at the shop, Bet came breathlessly up the narrow stairs +to say— +</P> + +<P> +"Grandmother wants to see you." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! I'd rather not, please. I feel so afraid of your grandmother. +Don't, please don't let her come." +</P> + +<P> +But it was too late. Mrs. Skinner's spare figure was already at the +door. She was dressed in her wedding gown and bonnet, and came to +Joy's bed, standing there like a grey spectre, her bonnet and face all +of the same dull grey as the gown. +</P> + +<P> +Joy turned up her wistful eyes to the hard, deeply-lined face, and her +lips quivered. +</P> + +<P> +"If you please," she said, "I am glad you will spare Bet, while Goody +is so busy." +</P> + +<P> +But Mrs. Skinner did not speak—not a word. "I am getting better," Joy +continued; "at least the doctors say so; but—but I can't stand or walk +yet, so I am glad to have Bet." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Skinner had all this time been scanning little Miss Joy's features +with a keen scrutiny. Then, after a few minutes, she jerked out: +</P> + +<P> +"I hope you'll soon get about again; you are welcome to keep Bet;" and +then she turned, and her footfall on the stairs was heard less and less +distinct, till the sound ceased altogether. +</P> + +<P> +"Your grandmother is—is not like other people," little Miss Joy +ventured to say. "I don't like her; but I beg your pardon, I ought not +to say so to you." +</P> + +<P> +"And do you think <I>I</I> like her?" Bet exclaimed vehemently. "At first I +thought I'd try, and I did try; but she was always so hard. She loves +Uncle Joe, I think, though she is angry with him for marrying Miss +Pinckney, and lately I have heard high words between them." +</P> + +<P> +And now Bet took off her wedding bonnet, and sat down by Joy's side, +perfectly content that she was thought worthy to be her companion. +</P> + +<P> +"You'll tell me if you want anything," she said. "And you won't mind +if I am stupid and blunder, will you?" +</P> + +<P> +"No," Joy said faintly. "Have you got your work, or a book? Give me +my crochet. I like to try to do something, though lying flat it is +rather tiring." +</P> + +<P> +Bet did as she was told, and then said humbly, "I shan't talk unless +you wish me to talk;" and the poor girl settled herself by the window +till a bell rang. +</P> + +<P> +"That is for you to go down for my tea," Joy said. "It saves Susan's +legs, you know." +</P> + +<P> +Bet was only too happy to be of use, and hurried down stairs at once +for the tray. +</P> + +<P> +"Be careful now," Susan said; "and don't fall upstairs and break the +crockery. There's a cup for yourself, and Mrs. Harrison has sent over +a bit of wedding-cake. It's very black, and I don't like the looks of +the sugar; but I dare say it may eat better than it looks." +</P> + +<P> +The day wore on to evening, and the row was quiet, when Joy, who had +been lying very still, suddenly said— +</P> + +<P> +"I have been dreaming of Jack again—Jack Harrison. I think he must be +coming home." +</P> + +<P> +"Did you care for Jack Harrison very much?" +</P> + +<P> +"Very much," said Joy; "he was always so good to me. That last day +before he ran away he lent me that pretty book you were looking at, and +said we would learn those verses at the beginning together, and I never +saw him again. That was a dreadfully sad time; and then, not content +with being very hard on Jack, Miss Pinckney and your uncle said he was +a thief. Think of that! Jack a thief! Miss Pinckney said he had got +the key of a drawer and taken out a little box, where she kept the +money. There were four or five pounds in it." +</P> + +<P> +"A box!" Bet said; "was it a big box?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh no; dear Goody says it would go into anybody's pocket. A little +box with a padlock and a little key. I knew Jack did not take it, but +of course as he ran away that very day it looks <I>like</I> it. Even Susan +shakes her head, and I never talk of Jack to her. But," said Joy, "I +am tired now, and I think I'll take what Uncle Bobo calls 'forty +winks.'" +</P> + +<P> +Everything was very quiet after that; and when Bet saw Joy was asleep, +she crept downstairs, and in the shop saw Mrs. Harrison. +</P> + +<P> +Miss Pinckney's shutters were closed, and she felt free to come over +and have a last look at Joy. +</P> + +<P> +"A little box! a little box!" Bet repeated to herself as she went home. +"A box so small it would go into anybody's pocket." And Bet that night +lay awake pondering many things, and repeating very often, "A little +box!" +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap11"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XI. +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +<I>MR. SKINNER IN COMMAND.</I> +</H4> + +<P> +Mrs. Skinner was more silent than ever during the next few days, and +when she spoke it was to scold Bet in a rasping voice. +</P> + +<P> +She was suffering from that very bad mental disease which is beyond the +reach of doctors, and is a perpetual torment; and that disease is +called remorse. +</P> + +<P> +Of late she had been haunted by the memory of her only daughter, and of +her harshness to her. The man she had chosen to marry was good, and to +all appearance above the class in which Maggie was born. There was +nothing against him but poverty. He had been a travelling +photographer, who set up his little van with "Photographic Studio" +painted on the canvas cover in large letters, and had sometimes done a +brisk trade on Yarmouth sands. One of his first customers had been +Maggie Skinner, then in her fresh beauty, and a tempting subject for a +photographer or artist. +</P> + +<P> +About the same time a wealthy grocer in Yarmouth, old enough to be her +father, had offered to marry her. He had a villa at Gorlestone: +possessed a pony-carriage, and was rich and prosperous. But Maggie +shrank from marrying him. Mr. Plummer might be rich, and no doubt he +meant well and kindly by her, but she could not marry him. +</P> + +<P> +In vain she pleaded with her mother, and with her inexorable brother +Joe, that to marry simply for what you were to get by it was a sin—a +sin against the law of God, who meant marriage to be a sign and seal of +mutual love. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Skinner at last said that if she did not do as she bid her, and +promise to marry Mr. Plummer, she might go and earn her living for she +was not going to keep her in idleness. Many stormy scenes followed; +and one night Maggie declared that she could not marry Mr. Plummer, for +she had promised to marry Roger Chanter, the photographic artist! +</P> + +<P> +"And if you do, you shall never see my face again," Mrs. Skinner +declared. "I'll turn you out of the house, and you may disgrace +yourself as you please. I have done with you. Your brother there +knows when I say a thing I mean it." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, mother, you are very cruel!" Ah! how those words sounded +sometimes in the dead of night, when Mrs. Skinner lay awake, listening +for Joe's return, and to the moaning of the restless sea. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! mother, you are very cruel!" Those were the last words ever heard +from Maggie, as she passed out of her mother's sight. The next morning +her bed was empty, and she was gone. +</P> + +<P> +From that day up to the present time not a word had been heard of her, +nor had her mother or her brother troubled themselves to inquire for +her. It was supposed she had married the pale, delicate-looking +photographer; but her name was never mentioned, and she had passed away +as if she had never been. +</P> + +<P> +It was the day of the bride and bridegroom's return, and Patience +Harrison had put all things in order. The business had not suffered in +the absence of the head of the establishment, and Mr. Skinner expressed +considerable satisfaction at this. He at once took the keys, and said +he would keep the books and the money, and, in fact, rule the +establishment, and transact the business. +</P> + +<P> +He was fidgeting about the shop the next morning, and peering into all +the boxes and drawers, when his wife ventured to remark that perhaps he +would be late at the office on the quay, as the clock had struck ten. +</P> + +<P> +"My dear," was the reply, "I have resigned my post in the +Excise-office, and shall henceforth devote myself to you and my aged +mother. I have always been a good son, and I shall often look in on +her of an evening when I have settled up matters here." +</P> + +<P> +Patience Harrison heard this announcement, and saw her sister's face +betray considerable surprise. +</P> + +<P> +"Resign the place at the office!" she exclaimed. "Why, Joe!——" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, Joe!" he repeated. "Why, my dear, you ought to be delighted; you +will have so much more of my company and my help. Now you can take +your ease, and sit in your parlour, while Mrs. Harrison waits in the +shop, and performs household duties." +</P> + +<P> +"What next, Joe! I am not going to sit with my hands before me because +I am a married woman. As to a man about in a little shop like mine, +with ladies trying on caps and ordering underclothing, it is not to be +thought of. The customers won't like it. It is too small a place for +three." +</P> + +<P> +"You may be easy on that score, sister," Patience said. "I only +remained while you were away. I wish to leave you, and think of taking +a little house on the Denes, and taking a lodger till they come home." +</P> + +<P> +"Pray may I ask who are <I>they</I>?" Mr. Skinner said. +</P> + +<P> +"My husband and my son," was the reply. +</P> + +<P> +"The folly of some women!" exclaimed Mr. Skinner. "No, Mrs. Harrison, +you don't know when you are well off. You should recompense your +sister's goodness and generosity by staying to assist her in her +household cares." +</P> + +<P> +"I did not ask for your advice, and I do not want it. Sister, I shall +cross over to Mr. Boyd's, and take care of that dear child for the +present. I have packed my boxes, and Peter will carry them over." +</P> + +<P> +"My dear," Mr. Skinner said, "that being the case, we at once renounce +all connection with Mrs. Harrison." +</P> + +<P> +"But we shall have to keep a servant," exclaimed his wife; "and +servants are such a terrible trouble, and think of the worry and the +expense, and——" +</P> + +<P> +Poor Mrs. Joe Skinner seemed unfeignedly sorry. She began to magnify +her gentle sister's perfections now she was to lose her. +</P> + +<P> +"And Patience knows all my ways, and how to use the furniture polish on +the chairs and table in the parlour. And—— Oh! really, Patience, I +hope you will stay; especially now the boy is gone. You are welcome, +I'm sure; very welcome! It was the boy made the trouble. We've gone +on so pleasantly since he went." +</P> + +<P> +Patience turned away to hide the tears of wounded feeling, and said no +more. +</P> + +<P> +As she was crossing over to Mr. Boyd's, she saw a ladylike, sweet-faced +woman standing at the door of the shop. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Boyd was very busy rubbing up a chronometer, which the captain and +mate of one of the small sailing vessels were bargaining for; and as it +was difficult for more than three people to stand in the little shop at +once, Patience paused before entering. +</P> + +<P> +"I am waiting to speak to Mr. Boyd," the lady—for so she looked—said. +</P> + +<P> +"I dare say he will be at liberty directly," Patience said. "It is a +very small shop, and too full of goods for its size." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you happen to know if Mr. Boyd has a little girl living with him? +She is now just short of nine years old. She is very——" +</P> + +<P> +The voice suddenly faltered, and Patience hastened to say— +</P> + +<P> +"She is a darling child. Mr. Boyd has adopted her, and he calls her +Joy. We all call her Joy—little Miss Joy. Do you know anything about +her?" +</P> + +<P> +The lady grasped Mrs. Harrison's arm. +</P> + +<P> +"Let me see Mr. Boyd," she said. "Wait till I see him." +</P> + +<P> +The bargain in the shop was now completed, and the captain and mate +were departing with their chronometer, when Uncle Bobo sang out to +Patience— +</P> + +<P> +"Glad to see you; the little one aloft is just hungry for a sight of +you. Bet isn't come yet. She's to help her old grannie before she +starts." +</P> + +<P> +A bevy of little girls on their way to school now came up with flowers, +and some ripe plums in a basket. +</P> + +<P> +"Please will you give these to little Miss Joy?" the eldest of the four +said, "with our love. Please, Mr. Boyd, how is she? is she better?" +</P> + +<P> +"So they say, my dear; so they say. I wish I could say so too. +But—well—never mind. Here, Mrs. Patience, take 'em aloft to the +child. And now, ma'am, what can I show you?" Mr. Boyd said, turning to +the lady. +</P> + +<P> +"The child—you call—little Miss Joy," was the reply, in faint tones. +"Mr. Boyd, you don't know me, and Mrs. Harrison does not know me. I +was once Maggie Skinner, and Little Joy is my child!" +</P> + +<P> +Uncle Bobo looked with a keen glance from under his bushy grey eyebrows +into the lady's face. +</P> + +<P> +"You Maggie Skinner! Well, I never!" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I have had a great deal of trouble; but it is over now." +</P> + +<P> +"Sit down; sit down," Uncle Bobo said, pushing a high round stool with +a slippery leather top, the only seat for which the shop could afford +room. "Sit ye down; but surely you look too old to be Maggie Skinner!" +</P> + +<P> +"I have had many troubles. Oh! Mr. Boyd, can you forgive me? When my +darling child was a baby, I wanted bread. My husband died just when +she was eighteen months old; I had not a shilling in the world; there +was only the workhouse before me, and I could not—no, I could not take +my precious child there. So I walked here from Ipswich. I remembered +you had a kind heart—so I laid her here on your door-step and stood +watching till you came and took her up, and I knew you would be good to +her; but I dared not face my mother. I wandered alone all that night; +and early in the morning, before any one was stirring, I came to look +up at this house. As I stood listening, I heard my baby's little +cough. Some one was crooning over her and playing with her." +</P> + +<P> +"That was Susan. Hi, Sue! come this way," exclaimed Mr. Boyd. +</P> + +<P> +Susan came blundering down the stairs, asking— +</P> + +<P> +"What do you want? I was just giving the precious child her breakfast. +She seems a bit brighter this morning." +</P> + +<P> +"What is the matter with her?" Maggie Chanter asked. "Is she ill? is +she ill?" +</P> + +<P> +"She was knocked down by a runaway horse last June, and hurt her back. +What do you know about the child?" +</P> + +<P> +"I am her mother?" was the answer. "Oh! I thank you all for being +kind to her." And then a burst of passionate tears choked the poor +mother. +</P> + +<P> +Patience Harrison's kind arms were round her in a moment. +</P> + +<P> +"My dear," she said, "God is very good to us. Do not fret; you trusted +this little one to His care, and He has not forgotten you. Little Miss +Joy is loved by every one; she is the sweetest and best of little +darlings." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah! I am so afraid she may not love me," the poor mother said. "She +may think I was cruel to desert her; but what could I do? I knew Mr. +Boyd had a kind heart; but many, oh! many a time I have repented of +what I did. As I wandered back to the quay that morning I saw a new +registry office I had never seen before. I waited till it was open, +and went in. A man-servant was waiting with me, and he went into the +manager's room first. Presently the manager came out. +</P> + +<P> +"'What place do you want?' she asked, +</P> + +<P> +"'Any place,' I replied. 'A maid——' +</P> + +<P> +"'I think she'll do,' the man said. +</P> + +<P> +"Then he told me his young mistress was married a month before, and was +to sail from London Docks that night for India. The maid who was to +have attended her was sickening of scarlet fever; the lady was at her +wits' end; she was staying at Lord Simon's, near Yarmouth. 'Come out,' +he said, 'and see her at once.' +</P> + +<P> +"I went, and I was instantly engaged. I told my story in a few words, +and the lady believed me. Strange to say, she had a photograph taken +by my husband, with the name Ralph Chanter on the back. She remembered +him and the time when he was taking portraits here. Well, I served her +till she died, dear lady, and never returned to England till last week. +She has left me a legacy, which will enable me to set up a business, +and make a home for my child. You'll give her back to me, Mr. Boyd?" +</P> + +<P> +Uncle Bobo's face was a study as he listened to this story, told +brokenly, and interrupted by many tears. +</P> + +<P> +"It will be kind of hard," he said at last. "Yes, it will be <I>kind of +hard</I>," with desperate emphasis. "But," he said, heavily slapping his +leg, "I'll do what is just and right." +</P> + +<P> +"I know you will, I know you will," Patience Harrison said; "but, oh! I +am so sorry for you, dear Uncle Bobo." +</P> + +<P> +"Let me see my child," Maggie Chanter said. "Let me see her; and yet, +oh, how I dread it! Who will take me to her? Will you take me? Will +you tell the story, Mr. Boyd?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, no, my dear, don't ask me; let Patience Harrison do it; let her. +I can't, and that's the truth." +</P> + +<P> +Then Patience Harrison mounted the narrow stairs, and pausing at the +door said, "We must be careful, she is very weak." +</P> + +<P> +Maggie bowed her head in assent, and then followed Patience into the +room. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, Goody, I am <I>so</I> glad you are come!" and the smile on Joy's face +was indeed like a sunbeam. "Bet has not come yet. I don't like to vex +her, but she does blunder so. Susan calls her Blunder-buss; isn't that +funny of Susan?" +</P> + +<P> +Then Joy turned her head, and caught sight of the figure on the +threshold. +</P> + +<P> +"Why doesn't she come in?" Joy said; "she looks very kind; and see what +flowers and plums the girls have brought me as they went to school!" +</P> + +<A NAME="P167"></A> + +<P> +"Joy, darling Joy," Patience said, "you have often said you wished you +had known your mother." +</P> + +<P> +"Have I? You are like my mother now." +</P> + +<P> +"But what if I were to tell you your very own mother is come, Joy?" +And then, pointing to Maggie, she said, "There she is!" +</P> + +<P> +The excitement and agitation was all on one side. The mother tried in +vain to conceal her deep emotion. Joy, on the contrary, was quite +calm, and said, looking at Patience— +</P> + +<P> +"Is it true? <I>is</I> this my mother?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, yes; your poor unhappy mother. Can you love her, little Joy? +Can you forgive her for leaving you to Mr. Boyd?" +</P> + +<P> +"Why, yes," Joy said brightly, "of course I can; he has been ever so +good to me, and I do love him so." +</P> + +<P> +Then Patience Harrison slipped away, and left the mother and the child +together. +</P> + +<P> +"The meeting is well over," she said as she returned to the shop. +</P> + +<P> +"But the parting isn't over," was poor Uncle Bobo's lament; "and I tell +you what, when it comes it will break my heart. I shan't have nothing +left to live for; and the sooner I cut my cable the better." +</P> + +<P> +Patience Harrison felt that it was useless to offer comfort just then, +and she remembered Bet had not arrived as usual, and turned out of the +row. Towards the market-place, on the way to Mrs. Skinner's cottage, +she met George Paterson. His face brightened, as it always did, when +they met. +</P> + +<P> +"Well," he said, "have the bride and bride-groom come home?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," she replied, "and I have given notice to quit." +</P> + +<P> +"You have!" he said joyfully; "then you will come to me?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, George, no—not yet." +</P> + +<P> +"Not <I>yet</I>! When, then?" he asked quickly. "I was reading in the +paper the other day, that when a man is not heard of for seven years it +is lawful to marry another. It is getting on for twice seven years +since you were left desolate." +</P> + +<P> +"My dear kind friend," Patience said, "I have waited so long and prayed +so often to be shown the right path, that I feel sure God will not +leave me without an answer; and till I am certain that my husband is +taken away by death, I could not be the wife of another man." +</P> + +<P> +"Then you may wait till you are a hundred," George said impatiently. +"How <I>can</I> you ever know?" +</P> + +<P> +"Dear George, be patient with me. Do not be angry with me. I have +asked God for guidance, and He will give it in His own time." +</P> + +<P> +"I am wrong to be hard on you, I know," was the reply; "but to see you +drifting alone, and with no home, is enough to madden any man when a +home is ready for you." +</P> + +<P> +"I have got some strange news for you," Patience said, trying to change +the subject. "Our little Joy is Maggie Skinner's child. She left her +when destitute on Mr. Boyd's door-step." +</P> + +<P> +"How do you know?" +</P> + +<P> +"Because she is here in Yarmouth, and I have just left her and her +child together." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, wonders never cease! and I suppose you know why Joe Skinner has +left the office?" +</P> + +<P> +"That he may get entire rule in my poor sister's home, and grind every +penny out of her. The reason is plain enough." +</P> + +<P> +"Ah! but there's another reason. He is dismissed from the office for +certain irregularities in the cash. He has narrowly escaped +prosecution—so I hear." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, George, then our suspicions about that little cash-box are right!" +</P> + +<P> +"It looks like it," George said, as Patience's eyes shone with a +wonderful light of hope. "It looks like it; and when the boy comes +home, we will see his character cleared." +</P> + +<P> +"<I>When</I> he comes home! Oh, another 'when,' another waiting time!" +Patience sighed out, "There is a word which gives me comfort, however, +and I am always hearing it, as if it were whispered to me: 'If it +tarry, wait for it.'" +</P> + +<P> +"You find waiting easier than I do," George said. +</P> + +<P> +"Easy!" she said, clasping her hands together. "Easy! oh, only God +knows how hard!" +</P> + +<P> +Then she turned sorrowfully away from him, and pursued her way alone to +look for Bet. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap12"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XII. +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +<I>THE SPIRIT OF PEACE.</I> +</H4> + +<P> +Bet had been sent on an errand for her grandmother, and when Patience +came up to her she was laden with a heavy basket of market produce. +She was bending under the weight she carried, and as Patience joined +her she set down the basket and wiped her hot face with her +handkerchief. +</P> + +<P> +"Is little Miss Joy worse?" she asked eagerly, "I couldn't come early, +for grandmother wanted me to scrub out the room Joe uses, and the +passage; and then I had to change my frock and go to the market. I met +the girls going to Miss Bayliff's, and they laughed at me, and said +they supposed I was so clever I had left school because there was no +more to learn; and they laughed and jeered at me as they daren't have +done if little Miss Joy had been there. But as she loves me a little, +and never laughs at me, I don't mind." +</P> + +<P> +"I thought I should meet you, Bet, and I came along to tell you some +news." +</P> + +<P> +"Not that Jack is come? Oh my!" +</P> + +<P> +"No; my wanderer is not come home; but another has—your Aunt Maggie." +</P> + +<P> +Bet stared in Mrs. Harrison's face with open mouth. +</P> + +<P> +"My Aunt Maggie! she that went away! I have got her picture in a box. +I showed it to little Miss Joy that last evening she was ever running +about, and she came home with me." +</P> + +<P> +"Bet, that Aunt Maggie is Joy's mother." +</P> + +<P> +"How do you know?" +</P> + +<P> +"She is with Joy now. I have left them together." +</P> + +<P> +"Are you come to tell grannie? She has been so mopy since the wedding. +Uncle Joe had a breeze with her just before he married. She says she +can't get along living in this house alone with me. Come and see her, +do; and tell her about Aunt Maggie. I think you must tell her that." +</P> + +<P> +"But I do not know your grandmother very well. I have scarcely spoken +a dozen words to her in my life." +</P> + +<P> +"I feel afraid to tell her," Bet said. "Do come along, please, Mrs. +Harrison." +</P> + +<P> +Patience did not like to refuse the earnest pleading of poor Bet. Just +as they reached the back door—for Bet never entered at the front—she +paused. +</P> + +<P> +"Little Miss Joy won't care for me, or no one, now that she has got her +mother. I say, is it wicked? I almost wish Aunt Maggie had never come +back. Little Miss Joy will belong to her now, and—she won't care for +me." +</P> + +<P> +"Bet," Patience said, "all love that is very, very strong for any +person is likely to lead to jealousy; take care, for jealousy would +make you unhappy. True love thinks nothing of itself in comparison +with the person beloved. Whatever is for the good and for the +happiness of any one we love, should make us happy also. Try to see +that." +</P> + +<P> +"I can't," said poor Bet. "I'd like little Miss Joy to love me, that I +would; and I thought she was beginning to love me, and now she'll have +her mother, and never want me." +</P> + +<P> +"Or <I>me</I>," Mrs. Harrison said. "I might say the same; but I think it +would be a great mistake if I did, for I believe dear little Joy will +love you and me and Uncle Bobo just the same as ever." +</P> + +<P> +"Do you?" Bet said; "that's good to hear;" and then Bet opened the door +and went up the long narrow passage to the front of the house. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Skinner was seated by the table in the kitchen, stiff and +straight; her hands were folded, and she only nodded as Bet put the +basket on the table with both her tired arms. +</P> + +<P> +"Grannie, Mrs. Harrison is come to see you." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't want Mrs. Harrison," was the reply. +</P> + +<P> +"I won't stay long, Mrs. Skinner," Patience said. Mrs. Skinner's back +was turned to the door, and she never moved her position. +</P> + +<P> +Patience advanced to her side and said— +</P> + +<P> +"Bet thought you would like to hear some good news." +</P> + +<P> +"There is never good news for me," was the answer, in a tone so hard +and yet so pathetic that Patience's heart was touched. +</P> + +<P> +"A wanderer has come home," Mrs. Harrison said. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! your scapegraces I suppose. My son Joe has a very bad opinion of +him—I can tell you that." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Harrison took no notice of this thrust, but said— +</P> + +<P> +"No, my boy has not come home; but your daughter has returned. She is +little Joy's mother." +</P> + +<P> +"What!" exclaimed Mrs. Skinner; "I don't believe it." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, it is true; and you have only to come to Mr. Boyd's to convince +yourself of the truth. If other tokens were wanting, the likeness +between dear little Joy and her mother is striking; and, besides——" +</P> + +<P> +"There, I don't want to hear any more," Mrs. Skinner said. "I'm a +miserable woman—that's what I am; but I want no pity, and I want +nobody or nothing." +</P> + +<P> +Patience Harrison ventured a little nearer, and said, "Come and see our +dear little Joy and her mother. You will feel happier then. God will +comfort your sore heart, if you turn to Him. Do come and satisfy +yourself that you have a child and a grandchild, who will love you if +you will let them." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Skinner took no further notice of what Patience Harrison said, and +resolutely turned her head away. But just as Bet was leaving the +kitchen with her visitor she said: +</P> + +<P> +"You stay at home, and don't go gadding off where you are not wanted. +Bide at home and do your duty. Do you hear?" +</P> + +<P> +"You had better stay," Patience said, "and be patient. You are sure to +hear something from Aunt Maggie before the day is over." +</P> + +<P> +It was not till the evening was closing in that a gentle tap was heard +at the door, and Bet, opening it, saw her aunt standing there. +</P> + +<P> +"You are Bet, I suppose. Little Joy sent me," she whispered. "I was +afraid to come till mother wished for me; but Joy begged me to come, +and tell her I am sorry I offended her. For, Bet, I ought not to have +deserted her, and I see it all now. Where is your grandmother?" +</P> + +<P> +"Sitting in the parlour knitting; but she won't speak, and she looks +very strange. I've had such a long day, Aunt Maggie, watching the +clock, and thinking it would never end. I have got your picture," she +added, "and it is very like dear little Miss Joy. <I>You</I> are not like +it now." +</P> + +<P> +"No, no; trouble and sorrow have changed me. Poor Bet! I remember +coming to kiss you that night when I went away. Poor little thing, I +pitied you. But, Bet, I ought never to have acted as I did; and God +has been kinder to me than I deserve; for my darling found a true +friend, and if only she gets well I shall be a happy mother. I think +how proud her poor father would have been of such a dear child." +</P> + +<P> +"She is dear!" said Bet, in an ecstasy of delight. "But there's +grannie calling; you had better come." +</P> + +<P> +"Bet, who are you gossiping with out there?" cried Mrs. Skinner. "Shut +the door at once, and come in, will you?" +</P> + +<P> +Then Maggie Chanter, trembling and half choked with emotion, went up to +the table where, by the light of a dull little paraffin lamp, Mrs. +Skinner sat. +</P> + +<P> +"Mother!" +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Skinner looked up over her spectacles. +</P> + +<P> +"Mother, I am so sorry. Please forgive me, and let me comfort your old +age, mother! My little Joy sent me. She does so want to see you, and +to know you will forgive me." +</P> + +<P> +"Forgive you! What do you care for my forgiveness? You chose your own +way, and made your own bed, and it isn't my fault you found it hard." +</P> + +<P> +"Come to Joy, mother. Hear her dear little voice asking you to—to be +kind. Will you come?" +</P> + +<P> +"I'll see about it." +</P> + +<P> +"But come now; it is not very dark; there's a moon rising. Oh, mother, +come!" +</P> + +<P> +There was a pause, and then Mrs. Skinner said— +</P> + +<P> +"Get me my cloak and bonnet, Bet. I suppose for peace sake I shall +have to go." +</P> + +<P> +But Mrs. Skinner's voice trembled, and Bet saw her hand shake so that +she could hardly fasten her cloak. She followed her daughter silently +out of the house, only saying to Bet, "Be sure to lock the door." +</P> + +<P> +Bet was left alone, and had again nothing to do but to count the +clock's chimes as it struck the quarters. At last, lulled by the sound +of the in-coming tide and the low moan of the wind, she fell asleep in +her grandmother's chair. +</P> + +<P> +She was awakened by the sound of a laugh—a discordant laugh. It came +from her Uncle Joe's old room. Presently there was the chink of money, +and Bet, creeping softly to the end of the passage, listened +attentively. +</P> + +<P> +"Come, that's a good card," said the speaker; "you are in luck's way." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh! I know what I'm about now; we'll have shilling stakes to-night." +</P> + +<P> +"Won't your pretty bride wonder where you are?" +</P> + +<P> +"She'll be taught <I>not</I> to wonder, that's all." +</P> + +<P> +"Has that young hopeful ever turned up?" was the next question, as the +cards were shuffled. +</P> + +<P> +"No, and it will be the worse for him when he does." +</P> + +<P> +Silence reigned after this, and it was evident that Joe Skinner thought +his mother and Bet were safe in bed. +</P> + +<P> +Bet crept upstairs. At last she heard the clock strike eleven, and +then the three men below departed, noiselessly as they came, by the +back door, of which Joe Skinner had the key. +</P> + +<P> +Bet pinched herself to keep awake till she heard her grandmother's step +at the front of the house. Running down, she opened the front door +before there was time to ring. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Skinner came in as she had gone out, silent and self-restrained. +</P> + +<P> +"Go back to bed, child," she said; "you'll catch your death of cold." +</P> + +<P> +"But you are so cold, grannie; let me make up the fire, and get you a +cup of tea; let me." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Skinner said nothing, but she shivered, and leaned her head +against the back of the chair. +</P> + +<P> +Bet instantly made her preparations, and the kettle was soon boiling, +and the cup of tea ready. The crackling of the wood, and the sudden +blaze, seemed to thaw poor Mrs. Skinner mentally and bodily. +</P> + +<P> +"You are a good girl," she said; "go to bed now." +</P> + +<P> +As Bet was leaving the kitchen she looked back, and saw her grandmother +with her head bowed on her hands, and heard a low, sobbing cry. The +hardly-wrung tears of old age, the painful, difficult sobs of a sore +and seared heart, how sad they are! Bet did not return to her +grandmother, but, softly closing the door, left her, saying to herself— +</P> + +<P> +"When I'm bad, and crying my heart out, I don't like to be watched. I +dare say grannie is like me." +</P> + +<P> +Then, faithful and loyal-hearted, she climbed the narrow stairs, and +lay down this time to hear no disturbance till the morning dawned. +</P> + +<P> +There are moments when the soul is brought, as it were, into the very +presence of the all-loving Saviour of the lost. In the silent watches +of that night the words which had been spoken by a child had a strange +and unwonted power. +</P> + +<P> +"Grannie," little Joy had said—"Grannie, God is Love; and as He loves +us and forgives us, we'll love and forgive one another, won't we? and +we'll be so happy together—you, and I, and mother, and Uncle Bobo, and +dear Goody." +</P> + +<P> +"Happy! No, I shall never be happy," Mrs. Skinner had replied. Little +Miss Joy was disappointed; but she quietly said: +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, you <I>will</I>, if you make other folks happy, grannie. <I>That's the +secret</I>." +</P> + +<P> +Was it indeed the secret? Again and again, like a breath of heaven, +gentle and subtle, an influence unknown before seemed to touch Mrs. +Skinner's heart in those solemn, lonely hours as she sat pondering over +the sad, sad past. +</P> + +<P> +The Holy Spirit had convinced her of sin, and she was turning by that +divine power from darkness to a glimmering of light. When the grey, +cold dawn of the autumn morning crept through the chinks of the +shutters, she went softly to her room, and lay down with the relief a +tired labourer feels who has laid down a heavy burden he has borne +through the long hot day. That burden was the burden of harsh, +unforgiving judgment and remorse. It had been rolled away, like that +of one of old, at the foot of the cross—the cross of Him who, in the +pains of a cruel death, could pray for those who had done Him wrong, +and say, "Father, forgive them." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap13"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XIII. +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +<I>A TOKEN AT LAST.</I> +</H4> + +<P> +The ship that had picked up Colley and Jack Harrison in mid-ocean, and +saved them from the lingering death of starvation, was bound for the +islands of the South Pacific, and the captain told them that they must +be content to be absent from England till the following spring. He had +to call at several of the islands, and exchange cargo, so that even +with fair weather their return voyage could not be made under nine +months. +</P> + +<P> +Poor Colley was slow to recover; indeed, he never did recover fully +from the effects of those terrible days and nights at sea. But Jack +was young and strong, and he and Toby were soon, as old Colley said, +"hale and hearty as ever they were." +</P> + +<P> +Jack earned his biscuit and won favour as well; and the captain's kind +heart was touched by Colley's history of what had happened to his old +mother and his little children at home, and the fear he had that he +should never see them again. +</P> + +<P> +"I am cut to the heart that I can't work as a able-bodied seaman +should," Colley would say. "But God will reward you for your goodness +to me and the boy." +</P> + +<P> +The captain puffed his short pipe, and said: +</P> + +<P> +"I am an old hand now; but I say, Once get a taste of shipwreck like +yours, and you are cured of your craze for the sea. Not that I am +chicken-hearted, and I'd stand to my ship as your captain did—ay, and +go down with her if needs must; but for all that it is a roughish life, +and a terrible trial for them that love you and are left ashore." +</P> + +<P> +"Ay! ay!" old Colley said, "there's the pinch. The youngster's father +made off to better himself now ten years agone, and he's never been +heard of from that day to this. Dead, of course; only the poor woman, +his wife, won't believe it—so the lad says." +</P> + +<P> +A day or two after this the captain called Jack, and said: +</P> + +<P> +"The mate wants a word with you in private." +</P> + +<P> +"What have I done to offend him, sir?" Jack said. +</P> + +<P> +"Don't jump at conclusions, youngster. Did I say anything was wrong? +Be off with you." +</P> + +<P> +Jack went to the mate's berth, and found him sitting cross-legged on +the edge, and looking mysterious. +</P> + +<P> +"Is your name Harrison, young 'un?' +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," Jack said. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you hail from Yarmouth?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," said Jack again. +</P> + +<P> +"Where's your father?" +</P> + +<P> +"He was lost at sea—so we think; but we never heard a word about it, +and mother thinks he may be still alive." +</P> + +<P> +"Did he own several small herring boats, and have a share in a +curing-house, before he went a-whaling?" +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," Jack said, growing more and more wondering and excited by these +questions. +</P> + +<P> +"Look here, youngster. When I was a boy, eleven years ago, I was +working on a whaleship, and your father was aboard. His name was John +Harrison, hailing from Yarmouth." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh!" Jack said. "Where is he—do you know?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, my lad; let us hope his soul is gone aloft, but his body is lost. +We had dragged our boat across a field of ice for some miles, on the +look-out for our ship, which we had left, stored with provisions, in +open water. We were pretty near starving, for we had missed the track, +and the men said they would not go on another step. But your father, +boy, had a brave heart, such as I never saw before or since; and he +said, if those that were too chicken-hearted to go on, would stay where +they were for a few hours, he would go ahead and find the ship, as he +knew perfectly well we were near it, and near a village of the folk +they call Esquimaux. One youngster, just such another as you, said, +'I'm your man, captain'; and they set off with a good heart. We that +were left turned our boat bottom upwards, and a sorry set we were, +frost-bitten and starving. We huddled together to keep each other +warm—warm! why, I am cold now when I think of it; and look here, I +lost a finger and the end of a thumb that same time." +</P> + +<P> +"How?" Jack asked. +</P> + +<P> +"How? Frost-bitten, of course. Well, those two that left us never +came back, and never were seen again. We waited till we were so weak +we could scarce crawl, and then two of us—for three of the fellows +died—made our way back, and found a ship which took us aboard; but +never a word of your father and the young 'un from that day." +</P> + +<P> +"My father!" said Jack. "Are you sure?" +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I am as sure as I can be of anything. I was rummaging in my +locker t' other day, after we had picked you and old Colley up, and I +knew your name, and I found an old handkerchief that belonged to John +Harrison, and I'll proceed to produce it, lad." +</P> + +<P> +The mate then dragged from the depths of the locker a torn and ragged +red handkerchief, with yellow spots, and in the corner in white letters +was marked with thread, "J. H." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, boy, there's the article, and your father gave it to me to tie up +my leg, which had a bad wound. He was uncommon loth to part with it, +but there never was a man with a kinder heart, never. He was a bit +fiery and off at a tangent, always thinking he was right and every one +else wrong; but he was a fine fellow, and you bid fair to be like him. +Here, take the handkerchief, and you can show it to your mother. +She'll know it; for John said to me, 'I'll let you have it for your +poor leg; but when I come back you must give it to me again, because my +wife tied it round my neck when I bid her good-bye, and I value it.' I +remember he said, 'She is a right good woman is my wife, and I'll see +her and the boy again, please God. I never lose heart.' Well, he may +see you again in the next world, but never in this, boy, never in this; +he is dead and gone long ago." +</P> + +<P> +Jack folded the handkerchief, and put it in his pocket. He felt +strangely affected by the sailor's story, and could only say: +</P> + +<P> +"If ever I see my mother again she shall have this token. She has +often prayed for a token that my father was dead, or a sign that he was +living; and now she will have it." +</P> + +<P> +Then Jack returned to his post on the deck, and, throwing himself down +behind some loose crates, found himself sobbing bitterly. +</P> + +<P> +The homeward voyage was prosperous, and it was on a bright August +evening that the white cliffs of old England came in sight. In another +hour Jack and his old friend found themselves dropping down with the +tide to St. Catherine's Docks. +</P> + +<P> +They were penniless, and how to get back to Yarmouth was a puzzle. +Jack could walk, but Colley could only hobble with the help of a stick. +The captain was kindly-disposed, and at parting gave Jack a few +shillings, saying he had more than earned his biscuit; while the mate +said he felt quite downhearted at losing him. +</P> + +<P> +"Tell 'ee what, lad," Colley said, "I know there's a place where the +shipwrecked fishermen's folk hang out. Let's enquire for it, and may +be they'll give us a helping hand." +</P> + +<P> +So the two made their way through the crowded thoroughfares to the +place which has been a refuge for many in like circumstances. The +kindness of their reception greatly cheered old Colley, and they were +put up for the night, while inquiries were made about the <I>Galatea</I>, +and the truth of their story. +</P> + +<P> +"The <I>Galatea</I> had been lost, with all hands," was the answer from +Lloyd's; and the captain of the <I>Claudia</I>, the ship which had picked +the poor waifs up in mid-ocean, gave both man and boy an excellent +character. +</P> + +<P> +"The old geezer was useless, but I didn't grudge him his berth. What's +the world like, if we can't hold out a helping hand to one another in +trouble?" +</P> + +<P> +This was all satisfactory, and money was provided to pay the railway +journey to Yarmouth, while Jack's few shillings were expended in a pair +of second-hand boots for himself, and a new jersey—that which had +served for a flag of distress in mid-ocean being so full of holes that +he presented a very ragged appearance. +</P> + +<P> +Home at last! Home! Yes, where his mother was, was Home. He would +not care about the cold looks of his aunt: he would bear even Mr. +Skinner's gibes and scoffs: he would bear everything for his mother's +sake. And then, at last he had tidings for her! +</P> + +<P> +Colley was put down at a station before Yarmouth was reached, as it was +nearer the home of his old mother, who looked after his little ones. +</P> + +<P> +"For I married late in life, my boy," he said to Jack, "and lost my +poor wife almost as soon as I'd got her. She just lived to be the +mother of the youngest of the three children, and then she died. The +sailor's life is a hard one, and the wives of sailors have a hard time, +boy! The men grow old, like me, before their time. Why, I'm but just +over fifty years old, and I feel a vast deal more like seventy. Take +my advice, boy, and give up the sea. You are a good scholar, and you +are the only son of your mother. Bear all your aunt's hard words, and +live ashore, and be a comfort to her. You have had your lesson. God +has given you a pretty hard one to learn, first page! But never +mind—so much the better for you. Those days and nights were about the +worst I ever went through, and I've had a taste of dangers, I can tell +you. Don't you forget them, nor the Lord's mercy to you and me in +delivering us from the dreadful death of starvation. Don't forget it." +</P> + +<P> +"Forget it!" Jack said. "Why, I dream of it most nights, and see +little Peter's dying eyes. I——" +</P> + +<P> +Jack's voice was choked with tears, and old Colley wrung his hand, +while Toby wriggled up to him, and licked his face with silent sympathy. +</P> + +<P> +Colley stumbled out of the carriage with Toby in his arms when the +station was reached, and so they parted. +</P> + +<P> +In a few minutes more Jack found himself in Yarmouth, and was making +his way towards the row. His only thought was of his mother and little +Miss Joy. He looked up the familiar row, and then darted through it +till he came to the little milliner's shop. The widow's caps still +showed in the window, and there was a straw bonnet trimmed, and some +artificial flowers, lying on a very dusty bit of black velvet. The +window that used to be so bright looked dim, and the brass ledge before +it dull and stained. Altogether there was a dejected appearance about +the place. The door was open, and Jack entered cautiously. +</P> + +<P> +His aunt was sitting behind the counter waiting for customers, who were +slow to come; for the business had very much declined since Mr. Skinner +had taken the command and Mrs. Harrison had left the house. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Skinner looked very different from the Miss Pinckney of scarcely a +year ago. She had a dirty, faded look, and her face was pinched and +miserable. When she saw a sailor boy standing by the counter, she rose +and said— +</P> + +<P> +"What for you? Have you brought a message from any one?" +</P> + +<P> +"No, Aunt Pinckney. Don't you know me? Where's my mother?" +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Skinner was for a moment speechless. Then she raised her shrill +voice— +</P> + +<P> +"Joe! Joe! come here; the young thief is come back." +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Skinner, who was apparently smoking in the back parlour and taking +life easily, now appeared. +</P> + +<P> +"What are you making such a row about? screeching like a poll-parrot!" +</P> + +<P> +Days of courtship and days of matrimony are apt to differ, in cases +like that of Mr. and Mrs. Skinner! +</P> + +<P> +Then, having delivered himself of this polite question, Mr. Skinner +caught sight of Jack. +</P> + +<P> +"You! oh! it's you, is it? Well, the police have been looking for you, +and I'll just give you in charge." +</P> + +<P> +Jack, utterly bewildered, was for the moment speechless. Then he said— +</P> + +<P> +"Hands off! What do you mean? Where's my mother?" +</P> + +<P> +"She is not here; so you needn't think any of her crying and fuss will +avail. I'll give you in charge unless you confess." +</P> + +<P> +"Confess what?" said Jack, wriggling away from Mr. Skinner's grip. +"Hands off, I say! I am not going to run away. What am I to confess?" +</P> + +<P> +"Take him into the back parlour, Joe. You'll have the neighbours +coming in: take him out of the shop." +</P> + +<P> +"Hold your tongue!" was the rejoinder. "I shall do as I choose." +</P> + +<P> +"Let me go and call Mr. Boyd," Jack said. "He will tell me where my +mother is. Let him be a witness of what you say, and what charge you +have against me." +</P> + +<P> +Jack now looked across the row for the first time, and saw a young man +standing at the door of the little stuffy shop, which, unlike its +opposite neighbour, had grown smarter, and had a lot of ships' lanterns +hanging over the door, and showy aneroids and compasses in the window. +</P> + +<P> +"Where's Mr. Boyd? Where's little Joy's Uncle Bobo?" +</P> + +<P> +"Gone! He has sold the business; he is gone right away." +</P> + +<P> +"Gone! And where's Joy—little Miss Joy? I tell you I will know. And +where is my mother?" +</P> + +<P> +"Look here, youngster! This matter must be cleared up. You'll not be +let off so easy; but if you confess, well—we shan't be hard on you." +</P> + +<P> +"Confess <I>what</I>?" Jack shouted now. He was getting very angry, and +repeated, "Confess <I>what</I>?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, that's all very fine! Perhaps you've forgotten you ran away and +broke your poor mother's heart, and took my little cash-box with you +with four pounds odd money in it," said his aunt. +</P> + +<P> +"It's convenient to forget. You'd better not try to fool <I>me</I>," said +Mr. Skinner. "Your aunt's key of that drawer was in her little +key-basket. You slily took it out, and when the house was quiet, +opened the drawer and put the box in your pocket I see!" +</P> + +<P> +Jack's face grew crimson. He felt very much inclined to fly at Mr. +Skinner's throat, and pummel him well with his strong young fist. But +the vision of his mother and little Miss Joy rose before him, and with +a desperate effort he controlled himself. +</P> + +<P> +"Prove what you say, and don't call me a thief till you have proved me +one." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, it's my duty—my painful duty," said Mr. Skinner, "to lock you +up till I have fetched a policeman, and communicated with your mother." +</P> + +<P> +"You needn't <I>lock</I> me up," said Jack proudly. "If I say I'll stay +here, I'll stay. Indeed, I will stay till you have made it all clear. +Your little cash-box! Aunt Pinckney——" +</P> + +<P> +"No, no, not Aunt Pinckney; I am Mrs. Skinner now." +</P> + +<P> +The tone was so sad that Jack's boyish heart was touched. +</P> + +<P> +"Do you think I could steal a penny of yours, aunt, when you had kept +me and mother all those years? Will you send for her? and I will stay +till she comes." +</P> + +<P> +But Mr. Skinner pushed Jack into the kitchen behind the parlour. +</P> + +<P> +He had just turned the key in the lock, when a voice was heard in the +shop—Bet's voice. +</P> + +<P> +"I have brought you some fresh eggs, and half a pound of butter, Aunt +Skinner," she said. "Aunt Maggie sent them with her love. What is +amiss, Aunt?" +</P> + +<P> +"Child," Mrs. Skinner said, "Jack is come home. Your uncle has locked +him up in the kitchen. Hush! here he is." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, what are you prying about here for?" Mr. Skinner said. "Oh, +eggs! My dear, poach me a couple for supper; I'm fond of poached eggs." +</P> + +<P> +But Bet stood on one foot speechless by the counter, where she had put +the basket. +</P> + +<P> +"What do you say Jack stole?" +</P> + +<P> +"My little cash-box, the night he ran away; but I don't want to be hard +on the boy—my only sister's child. I'll forgive him if he'll confess." +</P> + +<P> +Bet stood pondering for another moment, and then she said— +</P> + +<P> +"I've got another errand to do. I'll come back for the basket." +</P> + +<P> +And Bet was off, as if on the wings of the wind—off to the Denes and +the little lonely red-brick house, which was shut up and had a board on +a pole in the front garden, with "To Let. Inquire for the key at Mr. +Skinner's, Market Row," painted in white letters on it. +</P> + +<P> +Bet looked right and left; there was no one in sight, and she went +round to the back, and found, to her great joy, an old trowel with half +the handle broken, which she seized eagerly. She went down on her +hands and knees, and dug and burrowed with her fingers in the soft, +sandy soil. Her heart beat wildly with hope and fear; her hat fell +back, and her tawny hair fell over her shoulders. The light of the +April evening was waning; she had not a moment to lose. +</P> + +<P> +"It was here—it was here—it must have been just here," she cried. +Some people passing on the raised path where Uncle Bobo had sat on the +evening of little Miss Joy's accident turned to look at her once, and +wondered what she was doing, digging there on hands and knees. +</P> + +<P> +At last Bet stopped, and, raising her head and clasping her hands, +said— +</P> + +<P> +"Little Miss Joy would tell me to pray to God to help me to find it. +He would hear <I>her</I>. Will He hear me, I wonder?" +</P> + +<P> +Then poor Bet uttered a few words, calling on God, who saw everything, +to show her where what she sought lay hid. +</P> + +<P> +She redoubled her efforts, and moving a little further from the house, +she dug another hole till she came to some bricks. She lifted them, +and there was the little cash-box—empty now, but, oh! of what +priceless value! +</P> + +<P> +Bet gathered up her stray tools, and putting on her hat, ran off again +along the sand by the sea-shore, now left hard by the retreating tide, +on and on to the farther end of that part of Yarmouth where a road, +then lately made, led towards Gorlestone. Breathless and panting she +reached the first of two pretty houses standing together, with a strip +of garden in front, bright now with wallflowers and hardy hepaticas and +celandines. +</P> + +<P> +Under the porch of the first, smoking his pipe, sat Uncle Bobo; and +warmly covered with a rug, in a reclining chair by his side, was little +Miss Joy. +</P> + +<P> +Maggie Chanter was sowing some seeds in the window-box of the next +house, and Mrs. Harrison was standing by the porch, waiting and +watching. She had her knitting in her hand, but her eyes were on the +sea, with the same wistful longing in them as of old. +</P> + +<P> +"Jack is come home. Jack!" gasped Bet. "They say he stole the +cash-box, but—but—I've found it. Quick! take it to Uncle Joe, and +say I found it in the ground at the back of grannie's old home." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap14"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XIV. +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +<I>THE WAITING IS OVER.</I> +</H4> + +<P> +Sudden news, whether it be good or bad, is always a shock; and when +Patience Harrison caught the cry repeated by Maggie Chanter, "Jack is +come home!" and echoed by little Miss Joy's silvery voice, and old +Uncle Bobo's bass, "Jack is come home!" she sank back in the porch and +gasped for breath. +</P> + +<P> +Presently the little gate was opened by George Paterson, who hastily +asked— +</P> + +<P> +"What is the matter? Jack come home? Well, that's good news." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes," Maggie Chanter said; "but Bet there has some other news, which +is not so good. They dare to say Jack stole the cash-box the day he +ran off, and they have locked him up." +</P> + +<P> +"But he didn't, he didn't," Bet said, recovering her breath at last. +"Here it is; take it to Uncle Joe, and tell him where I found it." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes; take it," said Uncle Bobo; "I'd go myself, only I can't stir my +old stumps as fast as you can. Paterson, you are the man for the +business." +</P> + +<P> +George Paterson was looking at poor Patience, who seemed utterly +overwhelmed with the tidings; and behind her stood old Mrs. Skinner, +with her arm round her, letting her head rest against her shoulder. +</P> + +<P> +"There, there," she said, as Patience began to sob convulsively; +"there, there, you've naught to cry for. Your boy is come back; and if +Bet is to be believed, my son is the thief, not yours. You needn't +break your heart. What made you go and look for the box, Bet? What +made you think of it?" +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, grannie, I—I saw Uncle Joe bury it in the ground one night! I +never knew what it was till I heard a talk about a little box that was +lost." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, well, the box is found, and now I am off to bring the boy to his +mother. Bet, you come along." +</P> + +<P> +"No," Bet said; "I dare not, Mr. Paterson, I dare not." +</P> + +<P> +"I will come with you, Mr. Paterson," Maggie said. "I am not afraid of +Joe—I never was. He ought to be ashamed of himself, and I expect +there is worse behind." +</P> + +<P> +"I have no doubt about it," said George Paterson, as he and Maggie set +out together. +</P> + +<P> +The gardens of the two pretty neat houses were divided by low iron +railings. One was inhabited by Mr. Boyd, old Susan, and Mrs. Chanter +and her darling Joy; the other by Mrs. Skinner and Bet and Patience +Harrison. +</P> + +<P> +"I can't part with the child," Uncle Bobo had said: "I'd rather cut off +my right arm." And, indeed, parting from the little dark shop in the +row, and the darker parlour behind it, where he had lived for so many +years, had been almost like cutting off a right arm to Uncle Bobo. But +when he heard the doctors say that little Miss Joy ought to have fresh +air, and that the bedroom where she lay so patiently week after week, +with only the occasional variety of being carried "to the leads," where +the memorable tea-parties used to be held, was not healthful for her, +he decided to sell the business, and remove. What a removal it was! +and even now Uncle Bobo said the light was too much for his eyes, and +that he liked the shade of the row better than the glare of the sea. +But little Miss Joy was so dear to the old man's heart, that he gave +even this great proof of his love. The two little houses, away from +the bustle and noise of the busy seaport, were hired, and the +sitting-room was to be let this season, with one bedroom, to any +visitor to Yarmouth who would like the quiet, broken only by the +distant murmur of the sea, or the voice of birds in the low copses +which had been planted round a house of some pretension not far off. +</P> + +<P> +As soon as George Paterson and Aunt Maggie were gone, Joy said— +</P> + +<P> +"Bet, go and ask dear Goody to come here. I want her so much." +</P> + +<P> +"What do you want, my lamb?" Uncle Bobo said. "Hi, Mrs. Harrison, you +are wanted. Little Miss Joy wants you." +</P> + +<P> +That name had always a charm about it, and Mrs. Harrison raised +herself, and went slowly, and like one in a dream, down the narrow +garden path, out at the little gate, and in at the next. She was met +by Bet, who threw her arms round her, and said—"You go and sit with +Joy while I go to poor grannie. Oh, I am sorry for grannie; but I <I>am</I> +glad for you!" +</P> + +<P> +"Here, Mrs. Harrison, take my chair," Uncle Bobo said, "and sit by the +child. You'll feel better then. She is the peace-maker—bless +her—and every one is the better for being alongside of her." +</P> + +<P> +Yes; it was most true. When Susan was put out with new-fangled ways; +when Mrs. Skinner relapsed into her old silence, only broken by +fault-finding; when Maggie grew impatient of her mother's strange +temper; when little breezes disturbed the waters of domestic life in +the two homes—then it was that little Miss Joy's presence was sought, +and her gentle words were truly like oil on troubled waters. +</P> + +<P> +Have we not all felt the presence of such peace-makers to be as a +breath from heaven? And are they not most frequently found amongst +those who have had the cross of suffering laid upon them, and who are +shut out from many of the pursuits and enjoyments of others? +</P> + +<P> +Blessed indeed are the maintainers of peace; blessed, thrice blessed, +are the child-comforters who can love and pity the erring and soothe +the sorrowful, and who by their own beautifully simple child-faith +encourage others to seek after a like precious gift. +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Harrison sat with Joy's hand in hers for the next hour, an hour of +painful waiting and expectancy. Joy did not say much, but now and then +she would put in a little word of her own thoughts. +</P> + +<P> +"There is the big star! Look, Goody! isn't it beautiful? Oh, I do +like to see the whole sky, and all the stars now! God seems to look at +me as I look at them. It was good of Him to let me come to live here, +though I loved the dear old row very much when I could run about. Then +it is so nice to see mother going about making everything pretty; and +doesn't she work beautifully! That last dress she made was lovely. +She is teaching me to work too. Don't you care to hear my chatter, +dear Goody? You are thinking Jack may come every minute," as Mrs. +Harrison heaved a heavy sigh. "I talk to make the time seem +shorter—that's all. Uncle Bobo is standing by the gate; he will be +the first to tell us when they are coming." +</P> + +<P> +It did seem a long, long time. Bet was constantly running backwards +and forwards from the door of the next house to the gate; and Susan, +with folded arms, was leaning against the side of the house, coming +round the corner every now and then to say it was getting too cold for +Miss Joy to stay in the porch. +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, I am quite warm! let me wait, Susan." +</P> + +<P> +"You must have your own way, I suppose, as usual," was the short reply. +</P> + +<P> +Susan was fond of saying rather sharp things sometimes, to cover her +real love for Joy. She had felt a natural pang of jealousy when she +found the young mother had taken her place of waiting on Joy, or rather +sharing the waiting with Bet and Mrs. Harrison. She was not quite +kindly disposed to Maggie Chanter, and would mumble sometimes— +</P> + +<P> +"It was all very well for folks to leave their children on people's +doorsteps, and then when they were grown nicely, and every one loved +them, it was very fine to come and claim them;" and she would say, +"There's no love lost between me and Mrs. Skinner's daughter, and I +don't hold with girls going off with poor sickly photographers when +they might have rode in their carriage and married rich grocers." +</P> + +<P> +People like Susan generally speak in the plural number when their +remarks are directed to one person who is the object of their satire or +reproof. +</P> + +<P> +The longed-for moment came at last. As the three neared the house, +George Paterson said: +</P> + +<P> +"Run on and go to your mother alone, boy; she will like it best." +</P> + +<P> +Jack did as he was bid, and in a few minutes he was kneeling at his +mother's side, clasping her round the waist and covering her with +kisses. +</P> + +<P> +"Forgive me, mother dear; forgive me!" +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Harrison could only press the boy close to her heart and murmur +over him tender words, while Joy's little voice said: +</P> + +<P> +"Kiss me too, Jack, dear Jack. Of course every one forgives +you—because God for Christ's sake has forgiven us. Oh, dear, <I>dear</I> +old Jack!" +</P> + +<P> +It was not till Jack was in his bed that night that his mother, +kneeling by him, poured out her heart in thankfulness to God. Then he +drew from under his pillow the old red and yellow handkerchief, and in +a few words told the story as the sailor had told it to him. +</P> + +<P> +"The token has come at last," poor Patience said. "Yes, I marked those +letters on the handkerchief with my own hand. Oh, Jack! Jack! it all +comes back to me, and I have had a weary time of waiting; but it is +better to <I>know</I> at last." +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<A NAME="chap15"></A> + +<H3 ALIGN="center"> +CHAPTER XV. +</H3> + +<H4 ALIGN="center"> +<I>THE HERITAGE OF PEACE.</I> +</H4> + +<P> +The joy of the hypocrite is but for a moment; and the house that is +built on the sand must needs fall to ruin at last. +</P> + +<P> +Mr. Skinner received the box with his accustomed composure, though he +turned deadly pale. It was an <I>extra</I>ordinary coincidence that the box +was found in the sandy ground. How it came there he was at a loss to +conjecture. +</P> + +<P> +"The less said about it the better," George Paterson remarked, "and you +owe this boy a full apology." +</P> + +<P> +"Well, it <I>is</I> possible there is a mistake somewhere. However, we will +give the youngster the benefit of the doubt, and send him home to his +mother." +</P> + +<P> +"Doubt!" Maggie exclaimed vehemently; "<I>doubt</I>! You stole the box, +Joe, and hid it in the garden behind your house. You were <I>seen</I> to +bury it; you had better make a clean breast of it." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, spare him, Maggie Chanter!" poor infatuated Mrs. Skinner said. +"Joe! Joe!" +</P> + +<P> +Then, with a white face and an expression on it none who saw it will +ever forget, Mr. Skinner, with a wave of his long thin hand, left the +house. +</P> + +<P> +Nothing more was ever heard of him. The crooked paths of deceit and +dishonesty can have but one end, unless by God's grace those paths are +forsaken, and the strait and narrow way chosen in their place. Poor +Aunt Amelia had indeed reason to rue the day when she had listened to +the flattering words of the wily man. He left her with an empty purse, +a ruined custom, and a sore heart. But she was now delivered from one +who in her folly she had trusted, and there were many who, hearing her +story, pitied her, and gave back the custom they had withdrawn. +</P> + +<P> +<SPAN STYLE="margin-left: 4%; letter-spacing: 2em">*****</SPAN><BR> +</P> + +<P> +Another year passed away, and it brought more peaceful times. +</P> + +<P> +Perhaps Patience Paterson's life could not be called sunny or bright; +but it is calm and peaceful, and she is the happy wife of a good and +noble-hearted man, who had loved her faithfully for many years. +</P> + +<P> +George Paterson was conscious that the deep respect he now felt for his +wife would scarcely have been the same had she yielded to his wishes, +and, taking it for granted that her husband was dead, had married him +while his end was undecided. Patience may well set an example to +others in this matter, and her evening-tide light will be clouded by no +misgivings and no self reproaches. +</P> + +<P> +She had asked for some token, and it was given. Through the trial of +her boy's absence came the blessing of the long-looked-for tidings; and +in this, as in many another step of her pilgrimage, she could feel the +truth of the words, "To the upright there ariseth light in the +darkness." +</P> + +<P> +They took a pretty house near Gorlestone, and George became a +prosperous man. Jack was taught his business as ship's carpenter, and +the control exercised by his step-father was most salutary. He is +likely to grow up a good and useful man. +</P> + +<P> +The two houses, called by Uncle Bobo "The Home, Number One and Number +Two," became popular as lodgings for single ladies and their maids, and +were said to be amongst the best and most comfortable in or near +Yarmouth. +</P> + +<P> +Old Colley and his children were not forgotten, and were often invited +to tea in the garden behind the two houses, where Uncle Bobo and Colley +would exchange many stories or yarns of their early days. +</P> + +<P> +Little Miss Joy did not get strong or vigorous, but she was able to +walk about by the help of an arm. Uncle Bobo would sometimes hire a +donkey-chair, and trudge by her side as it rolled along the esplanade, +or was taken down to the edge of the water, where she loved to sit and +think, and listen to the sweet music of the chime of the waves. +</P> + +<P> +It was one lovely summer's evening when little Miss Joy was enjoying +the air and her favourite song of the waves, that Bet, now grown a tall +and less ungainly girl, came up to her with a thin, sad-looking woman +dressed in black. +</P> + +<P> +"I've made Aunt 'Melia come," Bet said. "I told her you wanted her, +and here she is." +</P> + +<P> +"I've got the camp-stool in the chair," Joy said. "Sit down, Aunt +Amelia, and let us be comfortable and happy." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Skinner shook her head. +</P> + +<P> +"No, my dear, I can never be happy. I leave that to other people." +</P> + +<P> +"Oh, yes, you can be happy!" little Miss Joy said. +</P> + +<P> +"No, no; not with a broken heart!" +</P> + +<P> +"God can mend broken hearts. Don't you know that, Aunt Amelia? 'He +gives medicine to heal their sickness.'" +</P> + +<P> +"Not when troubles are brought upon one's self by one's own folly and +sin, my dear. No, no." +</P> + +<P> +"I don't think that makes any difference," said little Miss Joy in her +clear, musical voice. "He healeth those that are broken in heart; He +giveth medicine to heal their sickness. He telleth the number of the +stars: He calleth them all by their names. I do <I>love</I> that psalm, +because it shows God cares for little things like me and my little +troubles, and for great and mighty things like the stars. For, you +know, I <I>have</I> my little troubles. I do long to run and skip as I used +to do, and wait on Uncle Bobo and mother, when she is tired and the +lodgers are rather tiresome, and poor grannie is cross, and <I>I</I> am +inclined to grumble and be cross too." +</P> + +<P> +"Never, never, my dear," said Mrs. Skinner. +</P> + +<P> +"Well, I know I <I>feel</I> cross, and I go to God for His medicine. I wish +you would go too, Aunt 'Melia." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Skinner shook her head. +</P> + +<P> +"I think grannie has gone to Him, and she is happier, I know. He will +give it you if you ask Him. His medicine is love, the love He had for +us when He gave us the Lord Jesus." +</P> + +<P> +Mrs. Skinner still shook her head, but tears rolled down her thin, +faded cheeks. +</P> + +<P> +"I must be going now," she said. "Good-bye, my dear." +</P> + +<P> +"Good-bye. Kiss me, Aunt 'Melia;" and then Bet, who had purposely kept +apart, came up with some shells she had gathered for Joy, and said, as +she had gone to fetch Aunt Amelia, she would take her home again. So +they turned and left Joy, and then Uncle Bobo came down from the seat +where he had been watching what passed, and, calling the donkey-boy, he +told Joy it was time to be going home. +</P> + +<P> +"What have you been saying to poor Mrs. Skinner?" he asked. +</P> + +<P> +"Not much, dear Uncle Bobo; but, oh, I am so sorry for her, and I wish +I could comfort her! I love poor Mrs. Skinner now, indeed I do." +</P> + +<P> +"Love her! Well, bless your little heart, you love everybody, I think." +</P> + +<P> +"Yes, I think I do, and I am so happy, Uncle Bobo. Let us go home now." +</P> + +<P> +Dear little Miss Joy! Who shall say what is the guerdon she and those +like her wear? +</P> + +<P> +Truly those that are the maintainers of peace have a blessed heritage; +for the golden fruit of righteousness is a glorious harvest for those +who make peace. Yes, and for those childlike souls there is quietness +and assurance for ever. +</P> + +<BR><BR><BR> + +<HR> + +<P CLASS="transnote"> +[Transcriber's note: the three illustrations between +pages 53/54, 103/104, and 157/158 were missing from +the source book.] +</P> + +<HR> + +<BR><BR><BR><BR> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Little Miss Joy, by Emma Marshall + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LITTLE MISS JOY *** + +***** This file should be named 33465-h.htm or 33465-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/3/4/6/33465/ + +Produced by Al Haines + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Little Miss Joy + +Author: Emma Marshall + +Release Date: August 19, 2010 [EBook #33465] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LITTLE MISS JOY *** + + + + +Produced by Al Haines + + + + + + + + + +[Frontispiece: "Joy, darling Joy," Patience said, "you have often said +you had wished you had known your mother." _Page_. 167. + + + + + +_Little Miss Joy._ + + + +BY + +EMMA MARSHALL, + + +AUTHOR OF + +"LITTLE QUEENIE;" "BLUE BELL;" "ROBERT'S RACE;" "HURLY-BURLY;" ETC. + + + +NEW EDITION. + + + +JOHN F. SHAW (1928) & CO., LTD. + +_Publishers,_ + +3, PILGRIM STREET, LONDON, E.C.4. + + +1892 + + + + +PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN + +AT THE ANCHOR PRESS, TIPTREE, ESSEX + + + + +CONTENTS. + + +_CHAPTER I._ + +WAITING AND WATCHING + + +_CHAPTER II._ + +LITTLE MISS JOY + + +_CHAPTER III._ + +"AN HONEST BOY" + + +_CHAPTER IV._ + +HIS OWN WAY + + +_CHAPTER V._ + +A TEA-PARTY IN THE ROW + + +_CHAPTER VI._ + +A VISIT TO THE SKINNERS + + +_CHAPTER VII._ + +DARK DOINGS + + +_CHAPTER VIII._ + +IN PERIL OF THE SEA + + +_CHAPTER IX._ + +ON THE WIDE, WIDE SEA + + +_CHAPTER X._ + +"ONLY A LITTLE BOX" + + +_CHAPTER XI._ + +MR. SKINNER IN COMMAND + + +_CHAPTER XII._ + +THE SPIRIT OF PEACE + + +_CHAPTER XIII._ + +A TOKEN AT LAST + + +_CHAPTER XIV._ + +THE WAITING IS OVER + + +_CHAPTER XV._ + +THE HERITAGE OF PEACE + + + + +LITTLE MISS JOY. + + +CHAPTER I. + +_WAITING AND WATCHING._ + +The sea lay calm and still under a cloudless sky. The tide was out, +and there was only a faint murmur like the whisper of gentle voices, as +the little waves told to the sands that they were coming back soon, for +the tide had turned. + +It was yet early morning, and the old town of Great Yarmouth was +asleep. The fishing boats had been out all night, and were lying like +so many black birds with folded wings, waiting for the flow of the +water to bring them to the beach. All the blinds were down in the +houses facing the level strand. There was no one moving yet, for the +resonant clock of Saint Nicholas Church had only just struck four. + +The children of visitors to Yarmouth, tired with their exertions on the +sand the evening before, were all wrapt in profound slumber. + +Happy seaside children, who had paddled and delved on the beach to +their hearts' content, who had braved all the reproaches of mothers and +nurses, and had gone home with their buckets full of seaweed, pebbles, +and shells, looking like the veriest little ragged waifs and strays, +who were known as "the beach children," and who were an ever-moving +population gathered from the depths of the town, pattering with naked +feet round the boats as they came to shore, to pick up odd fish which +fell from the nets as they were spread out to dry. + +A great expanse of sand stretches out from Yarmouth, and over this the +wind whistles through the long parched grass which grows in patches, +interspersed with the little pink mallow and stunted thistles, which +are not discouraged by their surroundings, and flourish in spite of +difficulties. This wide expanse of sand and sand-mounds is called the +Denes; and as little weary feet plod over it, it seems in its vastness +a very desert of Sahara. Yet there is a charm about the Denes which +the children feel. A sense of freedom, and a power to deal with the +sand after their own will, were checked by repeated exhortations from +governess or nurse to take care of their clothes. Yet the soft silvery +sand can do no harm, and a prick from a blade of the pointed grass, or +a scratch from a thistle, are the only dangers that beset it. + +The town of Yarmouth lies at some distance from the sea, and possesses +one feature of rather unusual interest. There is a fine quay, shaded +by trees, alongside which many large ships from all countries lie. +There is a wide market-place and several good streets. But the heart +and core of the old town is to be found in the "rows," narrow +thoroughfares with tall houses on either side, where many a competency, +if not a fortune, has been made in days past. + +Very little sunshine or light penetrates the rows, and some of the +inhabitants have a faded, washed-out look, like that of a plant shut in +a dark place, which shows but a faint colour of either leaves or +blossom. + +Perhaps the pale woman standing by the door of a small shop, the +shutters of which were not yet taken down, was a fair specimen of her +neighbours. She was tall, but drooped so much that her real height was +lost. She had a sad face, where lines of care and anxiety had made a +network perhaps earlier in life than wrinkles had any right to appear, +if they should be traced by time rather than by sorrow. For Patience +Harrison was not an old woman, and had scarcely entered her +thirty-sixth year. + +As she stood at the narrow entry of the shop, her hands folded, her +head bent forward, she might well attract any passer-by, while she +looked right and left, as if in hopes of seeing a well-known figure +come into the row, from either end. + +Up and down, up and down, that eager, hungry glance, with an infinite +pathos in the dark eyes, scanned the narrow passage; and grew more +pathetic and more hungry every moment. + +At last footsteps were heard on the pavement. Patience started, and +took a step forward, only to draw back again disappointed. + +"The top of the morning to you, Mrs. Harrison. You are about early. +It is as fine a summer morning as I ever was out in." + +The speaker was a tall, well-knit young man of two or three and thirty, +with a fine open countenance, and a broad square brow, round which +thick light curls clustered. No contrast could be greater than between +Patience Harrison and George Paterson: the man so full of life, and the +enjoyment of life; the woman so languid and weary-looking. He seemed +as if the world were a pleasant place to him, she as if it were a waste +and a wilderness. + +"You are up and about early," George repeated. "Indeed, you look as if +you hadn't been to bed. I hope you haven't been up all night. Have +you, now?" + +"Yes. How could I sleep? How could I rest? There was a worse storm +than ever last night at supper-time, and--and--Jack ran away out of the +house, and has never come back." + +"The young rascal!" George exclaimed. "I'd like to thrash him!" + +"Oh, don't say so! Don't say so! If ever a boy is scourged by a +tongue, Jack is. I mean to leave this house; I can't--I can't bear it +any longer." + +"Well," George said, his eyes shining with a bright light--the light of +hope--"well, there's a home ready for you, you know that. The sooner +you come, the better." + +"You know I can't do it. Why do you ask me? I wonder you should ask +me." + +"I see no wonder in it," was the answer. "You've watched and waited +for eleven years; sure that's long enough! He will never come back." + +"Yes," she said sadly; "yes. I have waited and watched, as you say. +It is the business of my life. I shall watch and wait to the end." + +George Paterson gave an impatient gesture, and settled the workman's +basket on his broad shoulders, as if he were going to walk on. But +after a pace or two he seemed to change his mind, and stopping, he +said-- + +"But what about Jack? How did it happen?" + +"He offended her yesterday. He brought dirty boots into the parlour; +and he blew a tune on the little cornet you gave him, when she told him +to be quiet. He upset a jug of water on the table, and he made a face +at her, and he called her 'an old cat.' He had no business to call her +names." + +George laughed. + +"A very fitting name, I think; he has felt her claws often enough. +Well, what then?" + +"Then she boxed his ears--it was at supper--and he flew into a rage, +and he would not listen to me, but tore out of the room, out of the +house, and has never come back. Oh, George, what if there should be +two to wait and watch for, instead of one! Jack! Jack! How could he +leave me?" + +"He can't have gone far; and, as to being out all night, why, that +won't hurt him. The young rascal, to give you all this trouble! Yes, +I'll go and hunt for him; and if I catch him, won't I give it to him!" + +"No, George; no. Remember his provocation. Remember he has had no +father, only a mother like me to control him." + +"Only a mother like you! I should like to know where a better could be +found! I am sorry for the boy that he has had to live with a +cross-grained old maid, but for your sake he ought to have put up with +it." + +"She means well. She took us in for my father's sake, and she has kept +me and the boy from starving." + +"You have earned your living; you have worked well for her, and she +knows it. But I will go and hunt for Master Jack. See! I will leave +my basket of tools here as an assurance that I am coming back. You go +and lie down, and I'll have the young master back before an hour is +over. Come, go indoors; you look ready to drop." + +But Patience shook her head. + +"I am used to waiting and watching," she said again; "it's nothing new." + +Then her eyes began their search up and down the row, with the same +wistful, eager gaze. + +George Paterson had put the basket of tools just within the doorway, +and turning to her said-- + +"Look up at that strip of blue sky, Patience; look up, not downward so +much." + +As he spoke he raised his head, and pointed to the narrow bit of sky +which made a deeply blue line above the tops of the tall houses. + +"That tells of love," he said--"God's love which is over us. Take +heart, and lift it up to Him in your trouble." + +George spoke out of the fulness of his own heart: not in any way as if +he set himself up to lecture his listener, but just simply to try to +raise her thoughts from the gnawing anxiety which had laid hold on her. + +"Yes," she said, "the bit of sky is beautiful, but it is so far off; +and--don't be angry with me, George, but I wish you would go and find +him. Let me come with you!" she exclaimed. + +"No, no; I shall be quicker than you are. I can get over the ground in +half the time." + +Neither asked the other where George would look for the truant. Both +had one thought--Jack had been to the quay, and was perhaps on board +one of the ships lying there. He had threatened before that he would +go to sea, and leave Miss Pinckney and her scoldings and fault-findings +behind him. + +"If it had not been for his mother he would have done so long ago," he +said. "He loved the sea, and he wished to be a sailor, as his father +had been before him." + +As George's quick, firm steps were heard dying away in the distance, +Mrs. Harrison pulled a stool towards her out of the shop, and seated +herself just within the doorway. + +She was scarcely conscious of anything but the fear, growing greater +every moment, that Jack--the sunshine of her life, the light of her +eyes--had gone from her. She leaned her head against the door, and +looked up at the sky half unconsciously. As she looked, a blind in one +of the windows of the opposite house was lifted, and the window +cautiously opened, while a head with a tangle of golden hair was thrust +out, and a little voice--clear, like the sound of a thrush in a +tree--sang in sweet dulcet tones some verses of a childish morning +hymn:-- + + "Now the eastern sky is red, + I, too, lift my little head; + Now the lark sings loud and gay, + I, too, rise to praise and pray. + + "Saviour, to Thy cottage home + Once the daylight used to come: + Thou hast often seen it break + Brightly o'er the Eastern lake. + + "Blessed Jesus! Thou dost know + What of danger, joy, or woe, + Shall to-day my portion he-- + Let me meet it all in Thee." + + +Here the sweet, clear voice broke off suddenly, for the child saw that +her opposite neighbour on the doorstep was looking up at her. + +"Mrs. Harrison," she said, nodding and kissing her hand. "_I_ see you! +I'm coming down when I'm dressed. Uncle Bobo isn't awake yet." + +Then the head disappeared, and there was silence for a few minutes. + +Presently the bolts of the opposite door were gently drawn, and out +came the daintiest little figure, in a fresh blue cotton frock and +white pinafore, her rosy lips parted with a smile, and her eyes dancing +with the light of the morning of life. Dear unclouded child-eyes! How +soon they lose that first sweet innocent gaze! How soon the cares and +sins of this weary world shadow their depths, and the frank gaze which +tells of faith in all that is lovely and beautiful is changed into one +of distrust, and sometimes of sorrow. + +"Well, little Miss Joy!" Patience Harrison said, as the child tripped +across the row, and flung her arms round the waiting mother's neck. + +"Well, dear Goody Patience. Why are you sitting here all alone, and +looking so sad? Why, Goody, _dear_ Goody, you are crying!" + +For the child's loving caress had touched the fountain of tears, and, +sobbing, the poor mother said-- + +"Oh, little Miss Joy! Jack has run away. I couldn't sleep, so I came +down here." + +"Run away, Jack! Oh, how naughty of him to grieve you! But he will +come back--of course he will. Don't cry, my dear Goody Patience; don't +cry. Of course he'll come back. What was it all about?" + +"A fuss with his poor Aunt Amelia, as usual; and Jack was rude, I know, +and he did not behave well; but----" + +"I am afraid," Joy said thoughtfully, "Jack is not a good boy to Miss +Pinckney. He is no end good to _me_, and I love him dearly, and so +does Uncle Bobo. He says he is like a fine ship--all sails set and +flags flying and no compass--which gets on rocks and quicksands, +because there is no guide. That is what Uncle Bobo says." + +"It is quite true--quite true," Patience said. "I do not excuse him, +though I know he has had a great deal to try his temper in his Aunt +Amelia's house." + +"I dare say he will come back, and be a good boy. I'll talk to him," +Joy said, with a wise nod of her golden head. "I'll talk to him, and +he will never run away again." + +"But, Joy, he is gone; and though Mr. Paterson thinks he knows where to +find him, I don't believe he _will_ find him." + +"I must go indoors now; for here is Peter coming to take down our +shutters, and Uncle Bobo will be wanting his breakfast, and I always +help Susan to get it ready. I shall be on the watch, and the minute +Jack comes back I will run over." + +Then, with showers of kisses on the pale, woe-struck face, little Miss +Joy was gone. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +_LITTLE MISS JOY._ + +Little Miss Joy was the pride of the row, and always seemed to bring a +ray of sunshine with her. + +She lived with an old man she called "Uncle Bobo," who kept a curiously +mixed assortment of wares, in the little dark shop where he had lived, +man and boy, for fifty years. + +He was professedly a dealer in nautical instruments, the manufacture of +which was carried on in Birmingham or Sheffield. Every now and then a +large packing-case would excite the inhabitants of the row, as it was +borne on one of the Yarmouth carts constructed on purpose for the +convenience of passing through the rows, and dropped down with a +tremendous thud on the pavement opposite Mr. Boyd's door. + +No wheels but the wheels of these carts were ever heard in the row, +unless it were a wheelbarrow or a truck. And none of these were +welcome, as it was difficult for foot-passengers to pass if one of +these vehicles stopped the way. + +The nautical instruments by no means represented all Mr. Boyd's +stock-in-trade. Compasses and aneroids and ship's lamps were the +superior articles to be sold. But there were endless odds and +ends--"curiosities"--bits of carving, two or three old figure-heads of +ships, little ship-lanthorns, and knives of all shapes and sizes, balls +of twine, rolls of cable, and all packed into the narrow limits of the +tiny shop. + +"Uncle Bobo" was coming home one night--a Christmas night--a few years +before the time my story opens, when he heard a wailing cry as he +fitted the latch-key into his own door. + +The cry attracted him, and looking down on the threshold of his home he +saw--a bundle, as it seemed to him, tightly tied up in a handkerchief. +Stooping to pick it up, the faint wailing cry was repeated, and Uncle +Bobo nearly let the bundle fall. + +"It's a child--it's an infant!" he exclaimed. "Where's it dropped +from? Here, Susan!" he called to his faithful old servant, "here's a +Christmas-box for you; look alive!" + +Susan, who had appeared with a light, groped through the various +articles in the shop, and received the bundle from her master's hand. + +"Dear life, Mr. Boyd, what are you going to do with it then?" + +"Can't say," was the answer, as Mr. Boyd rolled into the parlour, where +a bright fire was burning and the kettle singing on the hob. "Unpack +the parcel, Sue, and let's have a look." + +Susan untied many knots and unrolled fold after fold of the long +scarf-shawl of black and white check in which the child was wrapped: +and then out came, like a butterfly out of a chrysalis, a little dainty +girl of about two years old, who, looking up at Mr. Boyd, said, +"Dad-da!" + +There was no sign of ill-usage about the child. She was neatly +dressed, and round her waist a purse was tied. Mr. Boyd fitted his +large black-rimmed spectacles on his nose, and while Susan sat with the +child on her knee, warming her pink toes in the ruddy blaze, he untied +the ribbon with which the purse was fastened to the child's waist, and +opened it. + +It was an ordinary purse, with pockets, and within the centre one, +fastened by a little spring, was one sovereign and a bit of paper, on +which was written: + +"It is the last money I have in the world Take care of the bearer till +you hear more. Keep her for me." + +Eight years had gone by since that Christmas night, and nothing more +had ever been heard about this "Christmas-box;" but Uncle Bobo never +repented that he had kept the child. She had been the interest and +delight of his old age, and he had fondly called her "My little Joy." + +The neighbours wondered a little, and some looked severely on this deed +of kindness of Mr. Boyd's. + +The person who looked most severely at it was Miss Amelia Pinckney, who +kept a small haberdasher's and milliner's shop opposite Mr. Boyd's. +Now neighbours in the Yarmouth rows, especially opposite neighbours, +are very near neighbours indeed; and if it was almost possible to shake +hands over the heads of the passers-by from the upper windows, it was +quite possible to hear what was said, especially in summer, when the +narrow casements were thrown open to admit what air was stirring. + +Thus Miss Pinckney's voice, which was neither soft nor low, reached +many ears in the near vicinity, and Mr. Boyd was well aware that she +had called him "a foolish old fellow," adding that "the workhouse was +the place for the child, and that she had no patience with his folly." + +Truth to tell, Miss Pinckney had but little patience with any one. She +had, as she conceived, done a noble deed by allowing her stepsister and +her boy to take up their abode with her. But for this deed she took +out very heavy interest; and poor Mrs. Harrison, who was, as her sister +continually reminded her, "worse than a widow"--a deserted wife--had to +pay dearly for the kindness which had been done her. Many a time she +had determined to leave the uncongenial roof, and go forth to face the +world alone; but then she was penniless, and although she worked, and +worked hard too, to keep herself and her boy, by executing all Miss +Pinckney's millinery orders, and acting also as general servant as well +as shopwoman of the establishment, still she was never allowed to +forget that she was under an obligation to her sister, and that she +ought to be "thankful for all her mercies!" + +"It is not as if it was only yourself, Patience. Think what it is to +have a boy like yours! Enough to drive one mad, with his monkey tricks +and his impudence. I don't say that I regret taking you in. Blood is +thicker than water, and you are my poor father's child, though he had +cause to rue the day he married your silly mother--he never had a day's +peace after that." + +Such sentiments, expressed with freedom and without intermission, were +a trial in themselves; but lately things had assumed a far more serious +aspect. + +Jack had been a mere baby when first he and his mother had been taken +in by Miss Pinckney. But eleven years had changed the baby of two +years old into a strong, self-willed boy of thirteen, impatient of +control, setting all his aunt's rules at defiance, and coming in from +school every day, more antagonistic, and more determined, as he said, +to "pay the old auntie back in her own coin." + +In vain Mrs. Harrison had remonstrated; in vain she had striven to keep +the peace. For ever before her eyes was the dread that Jack would +carry his oft-repeated threat into execution, and go to sea. Then, +indeed, the light of her stricken life would finally go from her, and +she would have nothing left to live for! + +Jack was a boy likely, in spite of all his faults, to fill a mother's +heart with pride. He was the picture of merry, happy boyhood, with a +high spirit, which was like a horse without a bridle, and carried him +away beyond all bounds of tongue and temper. But to his mother he +could be gentle and penitent, acknowledging his faults, and showing +real sorrow at having grieved her by warfare with his aunt. There was +an excellent boys' school in Yarmouth, where he made good progress with +his lessons, and was a favourite with his school-fellows; and the +master, though often irritated by his tricks and carelessness, found it +hard to be angry with him, or to inflict the punishment he deserved. + +It is possible that Jack would have been able to get on more peaceably +at home, had there not been another person frequently at his aunt's +home with whom he waged a perpetual warfare. This person was a tall, +meagre-looking young man, a clerk in an Excise office, who made great +profession of being better than his neighbours. + +He was always coming into Miss Pinckney's to tea or supper, and +invariably, when listening to the aunt's stories of Jack's +misdemeanours, talked of the bad end to which naughty boys were +brought, and of the sins of disobedience bringing their sure reward. + +Mr. Skinner had the disagreeable habit of uttering truths in the most +unpleasant manner. A great deal that he said was correct; but somehow +his words seemed to have no effect on those whom he addressed. There +was a dash of unreality about Mr. Skinner, and a certain want of +candour, which Jack's eyes were quick to detect. + +He suspected that Mr. Skinner came to Miss Pinckney's "for what he +could get," that he liked a chair by her fire in the back parlour, and +that the glass of hot gin and water, sweetened to his taste, with a bit +of lemon floating on the top, was his grand attraction. + +The smell of this glass of spirit and water was odious to Jack; and he +naturally felt aggrieved, when on one occasion Mr. Skinner, coming in +to tea, devoured the whole plate of hot buttered toast or muffins, and +talked of the duty of thankfulness, and how much more any of us had +than we deserved--Jack meantime having slices of very stale bread +scraped with a little salt butter. The contrast between his own share +of the fare and Mr. Skinner's was sufficiently provoking. Then too of +late Jack had been conscious that both Mr. Skinner and his aunt had +been doing their best to bring his mother round to their view--that he +was "the worse-behaved and most ill-conditioned boy that ever lived." + +That last great outbreak of temper, when he had rushed off, and left +his mother to pass a sleepless and tearful night, had been caused not +so much by the shower of reproaches heaped on him, as by his aunt's +bitter words: "If you go on like this, you'll break your mother's +heart. Even she is getting sick of you, and you would be a good +riddance!" + +He knew well enough it was not true. He knew that if all the world +were against him, his mother would never give him up. But, stung to +the quick, he had poured out a torrent of angry words; and addressing +his aunt as "an old cat, who shouldn't have the chance of setting her +claws into him again!" he had rushed off and left his mother miserable. + +As soon as the house was quiet and Miss Pinckney's long tirade against +"spoilt wicked boys" had ceased, Patience Harrison had crept downstairs +again, and, slipping the bolt off the door, had taken up her position +there. And there George Paterson had found her, pale and worn with +sleepless sorrow, and with an aching sense of loss which was well-nigh +hopeless. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +"_AN HONEST BOY._" + +When little Miss Joy had tripped across the row to her own door, Mrs. +Harrison had gone into the house. + +The shutters were being taken down from several of the windows, blinds +were drawn up, doors opened, and the row was waking to life and the +business of life. + +Mrs. Harrison went about her usual work of clearing up and dusting and +sweeping, and about half-past six she called a boy from one of the +opposite houses to take down the shutters of the little shop front. + +The boy looked wistfully at her sad face, and asked, "Is Jack ill, +please, ma'am?" + +"No, not ill," she answered, unwilling to spread the news that he had +run away; "not ill; but I am up early." + +The boy asked no further question, but said to himself, "Something is +up; and here comes Mr. Paterson!" + +"Have you found him?" Patience asked, under her breath. "Any news? +Any news?" + +George passed into the house, for he did not wish to excite observation. + +"No--no direct news; but I hear some ships got under weigh about three +o'clock. The tide served, and it is just likely that the boy is aboard +one. Don't you think me unfeeling now if I say, it is just as well he +should go; he may learn a lesson you couldn't teach him." + +"The same story, the same trial over again! Oh, how can I bear it?" +Patience said, in a voice that filled the honest heart of George +Paterson with deep pity and almost deeper pain. + +"Well," he said, "this wrangling here was bad for all parties. The boy +was always in hot water." + +"Because she was so cross-grained--because she hated him. Oh, I +cannot, cannot bear to think of it!" + +"Pray," said a sharp, shrill voice from the bottom step of the very +narrow staircase which led into the still narrower passage, "pray, what +is all this about?" + +"Jack never came home last night," Patience said in a voice of +repressed emotion. "He never came home. He is gone, and I shall never +see him again." + +"Oh, fiddlesticks!" was the reply. "Bad pennies always turn up. I +never knew one in my life that was lost. Mark my words, you have not +seen the last of him--worse luck." + +"That's not a very pleasant way to talk, Miss Pinckney: you'll excuse +me for saying so," said Mr. Paterson. "The boy was a good boy on the +whole." + +"A good boy!" Miss Pinckney was screaming now. "Well, George +Paterson, your ideas of goodness and mine differ. You may please to +take yourself off now, for I've no time to spend in gossip;" and Miss +Pinckney began her operations by flapping with a duster the counter of +the shop, and taking from the drawers certain boxes of small articles +in which she dealt. + +While she was thus engaged, she suddenly stopped short, and uttered an +exclamation of horror, turning a white face to her sister, who was +listening to the few words of comfort George had to bestow. "Look +here!" she exclaimed; "look here! The secret's out. The little tin +cash-box is gone, and the thief is out of reach. What do you say to +your good boy now, eh, George Paterson?" + +George Paterson took one step into the shop, and said-- + +"How do you know he took it? He is the last boy I could think of as a +thief." + +"Of course. Oh, he is a perfect boy--a good boy! I only wish he had +never darkened my doors--the young villain!" + +"Hush, now Miss Pinckney. Calm yourself, and let us have a look for +the box. Where was it put?" + +"Why, in the drawer, to be sure, under the counter. I keep the key of +the drawer in my key basket. I always locked it--always. He got the +key and opened it. There was four pounds and odd money in it--close on +five pounds." + +"I am certain," said Patience, "Jack did not steal your money, sister +Amelia." Poor Patience was calm now. "It is impossible," she +continued. "He was--he was as honest as the day, and as true as gold." + +"All that's very fine--very fine indeed. He stole the money, and made +off. If he didn't, who did?" + +Patience stood wondering for a few moments, going over all that +day--that last day. Jack had been at school and out till nearly +tea-time; then he had sat with his books till supper; and then came the +uproar with his aunt, and he had rushed away--straight out of the +house. He could not have stopped in the shop on the way; besides, a +plot must have been laid to get the key. It was impossible Jack could +be guilty. + +She looked at George, and read in his face deep sympathy, and also read +there a reassuring smile. + +"No," he said. "Whoever is the thief, Jack is innocent. Circumstances +may be against him--his running off to sea, and his passion-fit against +you--but I believe him to be innocent. You had better leave things as +you found them, and I'll call in a policeman. There'll be one on his +beat at the end of the row by this time. It is right and just all +proper inquiries should be made." + +The policeman--a stolid, sober individual, who never wasted words--came +at George Paterson's bidding, and looked with a professional eye at the +drawer whence the money had been abstracted. + +"Box and all gone! That's queer. Key of box fastened to it by a +string. Humph! Any servant in the house?" + +"No." + +"Boy that cleans up and takes down the shutters, eh?" + +"_No_--that is--my nephew was in the house, and," said Miss Pinckney +with emphasis, "he ran off to sea last night." + +The policeman gave a prolonged "Ah!" + +Then he proceeded to examine the lock of the drawer. + +"Where's the key?" + +"Here, in my key basket. I lock the drawer the last thing, and lock +the shop-door myself. You know that, Patience. Speak up." + +"Yes, I know it--I know it." + +"Well, there seems no certain clue," the policeman said, twisting the +key of the drawer round and round in the lock. + +"There's this clue," Miss Pinckney said; "my nephew who ran off to sea +stole the box. He and I had quarrelled a bit, for he was the most +impudent and trying young vagabond. If you wish to know my thoughts, +policeman, they are that he took the cash-box." + +"There's no proof. We must have proof. But there's suspicion. We +must try to track the youngster, find out what ship he sailed in; and +when she comes into port, why, we'll keep an eye on the little chap." + +The policeman had no more to say just then, and departed, saying to +George, who shouldered his tools and followed him, "I know the boy. A +sharp one, isn't he?" + +"An honest one, if ever an honest boy lived," was the rejoinder, as +George Paterson strode away. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +_HIS OWN WAY._ + +Jack Harrison had no fixed purpose when he rushed out of his aunt's +house, except to get away from the sound of her angry words, and from +the sight of his mother's grieved face--that face, which bore the marks +of so many storms, and which he loved better than any other in the +world. + +"I had better go," he reasoned with himself. "I may make a fortune. +Suppose I go aboard a whaling ship, as my father did. I won't go +aboard a smack or trawler; I should not care for that life--handling +fish, and out all weathers, north of the Dogger trawling--no, that +would not pay, but a good ship would; and I'll take a look round the +quay as soon as it's light." + +Jack had found the convenient shelter of an old boat on the beach, and +there he curled himself up and fell asleep. + +He was awoke by feeling something touching his face, and starting up, +just distinguished in the dim light the shape of a dog, which began to +whine piteously, and licked his hands. + +"What, are you lost, or run away like me?" he asked. "Have you been +treated ill, eh?" + +Jack was now thoroughly awake, and crept out of his shelter on to the +soft sand, which almost gave way under his feet. + +The dog continued whining and jumping on him, and seemed to want to +show him the way to some place. + +"What do ye want, eh? I can't make you out," Jack said; but in the +light of the strengthening dawn which was breaking over the sea he saw +a dark mass of something at some distance on the sand, and towards this +the dog was evidently trying to guide him. + +There was not a creature to be seen on the level strand, and no sound +but the gentle murmur of the tide just turning. Presently, however, +another sound made Jack pause and listen. + +The dog heard it also, and grew more and more frantic in his efforts to +lead Jack on. + +When he got near the dark mass, Jack found it was the figure of a man, +and that the sounds came from him, for he was groaning and crying as if +in great pain. The dog ran to him, and leaping on his prostrate +figure, and then back again to Jack, showed that the place to which he +had to bring him was reached. As plainly as a dog could speak, he was +saying, "Help my master." + +Jack bent down over the man, and said-- + +"What's the matter? Are you hurt?" + +"Yes, I've sprained my leg; and if I don't get to the quay by four +o'clock I am ruined. I'm mate of the _Galatea_. Look alive and help +me to the ship; it's all right when I'm there, for the captain is a +jolly fellow--but oh, this leg!--all along of my catching my foot in a +net. Toby here and I were coming along the beach from my old +step-mother's, over t'other side of the Monument, and I fell, and must +have twisted my foot as I fell on that big stone. Now, I say, will you +help me to limp to the quay? Doubt if I can do it, but I'll try all +the same." + +The light was momentarily increasing now, and as Jack bent over the man +to take his arm and pull him into a sitting posture, he saw a sad, +pensive face turned up to him. Evidently the impression that was +mentally made was a good one, for the man said-- + +"Where are you off to, young un?" + +"To see if I can get aboard any ship, and work my passage." + +"Whew!--oh!--here, wait a bit, my boy; I must ask the Lord to help me. +I have been crying and groaning like a baby; that won't do. No, Dick +Colley, you mustn't be a coward. Pain! well, what's pain! Toby there +would bear it better!" + +After a moment's silence the man said-- + +"Now, heave-to, my boy, and I'll put down the right leg, and make you +answer for the left. Ahoy! ahoy!" + +The "ahoy" was nearly a groan again, and then there was a muttered oath. + +"Did ye hear that, boy? That's the hardest job a man has to do--to +cure himself of cursing. It's worse than drinking. I've been hard at +it for a twelvemonth now, and I'm blessed if I ain't beaten over and +over again. This pain will---- Don't you think, boy, I consider it a +fine thing to swear, and take the Lord's name in vain. I think it is a +shame to do it--and I beg Him to forgive me the next minute. It's just +this--that habits, bad or good, stick like a leech. Now then, ahoy!" + +This time Dick Colley was fairly on his feet, and by the support of +Jack's strong shoulder progress towards the quay was made. + +It was slow and difficult, and Toby followed close to his master's side +with a dejected air, his stubby tail between his legs, giving every now +and then a little whine of sympathy. + +"I am hard put to it, lad, to get along. I am feeling faintish and +bad; but I can't afford to lose this voyage; it's a long one, and good +pay, and I've an old mother and a pack of children to keep." + +"Rest a bit," said Jack. "Here's a post will do." + +"Ay; I dare say I'm pretty near breaking your shoulder-blade. I shan't +forget you, youngster. I say, what's up? mischief, eh?" + +"I want to be off to sea just for a bit. Will you take me?" + +"Well, I must go aboard first, before I can promise. Now then, on we +go." + +The quay was reached at last, and it was now broad daylight. + +The stately ships were all getting under weigh, and there was no bustle +or noise. The cargoes had been shipped overnight, and there was only a +silent waiting for the tide. + +"Here she is; here's my berth. You help me aboard, and we'll see what +can be done." + +"Dick Colley, the mate, as sure as I'm alive!" said one of the crew, +who was turning a loose cable round and round into a coil of many +circles. "Why, old chappie, what's amiss with 'ee?" + +"Give us a hand aboard. I've been and sprained my ankle. This +youngster helped me along, or I'd never have got here." + +"You are just in time, mate; for we are off to the river's mouth in a +twinkling. Here, why, look alive! he's awful bad." + +With Jack's help they got Dick Colley on board and down below, where +the ship's surgeon bandaged the swollen ankle, and Jack stood by with +Toby. + +In the general hurry of departure, when the captain gave the word, no +one noticed Jack, or if they noticed him, concluded that he was aboard +the _Galatea_ as a passenger, of which there were a few. + +It was not till they were well out to sea that the captain, coming down +into the mate's berth, said-- + +"Hallo, Colley! who's the youngster aboard with the curly hair? What's +he about?" + +"He wants to work his way out, captain; set him to it. I promised I'd +say a word for him. He just helped me across the sand, when I was +pretty near dying of the pain. You'll let him stay?" + +The captain turned on his heel, somewhat sulkily. + +"Do you suppose he's to do the work of your lame foot, eh? Well, he +hasn't come here to eat the bread of idleness. I'll soon show him +that." + +And the captain kept his word. + +Long before the sun--which had risen in a cloudless sky that +morning--had set behind a bank of clouds, Jack was put to work. + +Washing the decks and performing other like offices fell to his share +on that first bright day, when to sail over the blue calm sea, with the +crisp air blowing from the great German Ocean, was a pleasant sensation +in itself. + +But night came on, and the stars looked down from their immeasurable +depths; and Jack, lying on a bench, with his arms folded, and his face +resting on them, had time to think. + +He had done it now. Often, when in a storm of passion he had said he +would leave his aunt's roof for ever, he had relented, and even at his +mother's instigation and entreaty had expressed sorrow for his burst of +anger, and asked to be forgiven. + +He had done this only a fortnight before, and his aunt had received his +apology with a short-- + +"It's all very well to think by saying you are sorry you make it all +right. It's deeds not words, for me." + +This ungracious manner of receiving an expression of contrition had +often hardened the boy's heart against his aunt. Still more so when, +from the other side of the parlour, Mr. Skinner would say, in a nasal, +squeaky voice-- + +"It's a wonder to me how your kind, generous aunt puts up with you for +a single hour. Only a good woman like her would give you house room at +all." + +"What business is it of yours, I should like to know?" had been Jack's +retort; and all the real sorrow he had felt, awakened by his mother's +gentle words, had vanished. + +That Skinner! How he hated him; how instinctively he turned from him +with positive dislike and loathing. + +Now, as he lay alone and unnoticed beneath the star-strewn sky of the +summer night, it was not of Skinner that he thought, not of his aunt, +not of anything he had suffered--but of his mother. + +And he had left her without a word--without a kiss! Many and many a +time had he felt her kiss upon his forehead as he was sinking off into +the sound sleep of childhood. Many a time he had heard her whispered +prayer as she knelt by his side; and now he had left her desolate! + +"Joy will be there," Jack thought--"little Miss Joy, and she will +comfort her--dear little Joy!" + +And somehow, as all these memories of those he had left behind him came +before him, tears rose all unbidden, and chased each other down his +cheeks. + +Presently a rough kick from a man's boot made him start. + +"The mate is singing out for you, youngster," he said; "get along with +you and go where you are wanted, for you ain't wanted here." + +"Where's the mate?" + +"Where, stupid? In his berth, a groaning and sighing. There ain't +much the matter with him, that's my belief; only some folks can afford +to make a fuss." + +Jack drew himself together and walked towards the companion ladder. As +he was putting his foot on it with the cautious air of the uninitiated, +a rude push from behind, followed by a derisive laugh, sent him down to +the bottom with a heavy thud. + +"Shame!" cried a voice, "to treat the boy like that." + +"Oh, he will be one of Colley's lambs, canting no end, you'll see! For +my own part, I'd soon chuck him overboard." + +"I know you are spiteful enough for anything," was the reply; "and I +pity that boy if he's in your clutches." + +Another laugh, and Jack, now on his feet, turned round with a defiant +air, and, half-stunned and bewildered, was climbing up the stairs +again, to give his adversary a blow with his fist, when a voice called-- + +"Stop, lad! don't go and give evil for evil." + +Colley from his berth had seen Jack fall, and had heard the mocking +laugh. + +"Come here, lad. I'm a bit easier now, and I want to talk to you. +There, sit down on my locker, and we'll spin a yarn. You've run away, +haven't you? I was so mad with pain, or I should have talked to you +before. Come, you've run away now?" + +"Yes," the boy said. + +"Then you've been and acted very foolish, let me tell you. I did the +same, boy, and I've repented it all my life. I grieved the best of old +fathers by my wild career, and then I ran off; and when we put into +port after the first voyage, I went to the old place to find him dead. +Now, how do you think I felt? Why, ready to kill myself with remorse. +What if you find your mother dead, when we put into port again? Now +look here, boy. You've done me a good turn, and I'll do you one. I'll +get the captain to put you ashore, if you choose, and I'll put a few +shillings in your pocket to get back home. Do you hear?" + +"Yes," Jack said, "I hear; but I am in for it now, and I had better +stick to it. I should only make more trouble by going back. That old +aunt, who made my life miserable, would only be worse than ever. No, +sir, thank you; I'll go on, and I must put up with it." + +"Lie on the bed you've made for yourself, lad? Ah, that's a precious +uneasy one! I'd like to tell you how I made mine, and I will some day; +but now you'd better turn in, there's the watch on deck, telling +midnight." + +"Where am I to turn in?" Jack asked. + +"There's an empty hammock close by. Climb up there, and sleep till I +call you. There isn't much sleep for me. Good-night." + +Jack found it no easy matter to climb into the hammock. Like +everything else, it requires practice; he took off his boots and made +attempts to clamber up, but failed each time. + +"You young cur, what are you about?" called a gruff voice. "Can't you +turn in without waking a fellow from his sleep? Get along with you;" +and a leg was thrust out, which gave Jack a very emphatic kick. + +At last he gave up the attempt, and taking off his jacket he made a +pillow of it, and curled himself up on the deck. + +The motion of the ship began to be more decided, for just at dawn a +fresh breeze sprung up, and the _Galatea_ curtesied on the crest of the +waves, and the water made a splash against her sides. Jack was rolled +against a locker, and found sleep impossible. + +The sailor who had grumbled at his disturbing him by his unsuccessful +attempt to get into his berth, turned out at three o'clock, to relieve +the watch on deck, and stumbling over Jack exclaimed-- + +"You baby bunting! So you can't get to your berth! I'll teach you!" +And taking Jack roughly by one arm and leg, he tossed him as if he had +been a feather into the hammock, and said-- + +"Lie there till you are wanted, and be thankful you've got there!" + + +There is a certain rule which I think has seldom an exception, though I +know we say that all rules _have_ an exception to prove their truth. +But it is seldom indeed that we see the rule departed from, that "as a +man soweth so shall he reap." + +We all of us prove its truth at one time or other of our lives. "He +that soweth to the flesh shall of the flesh reap corruption"; and many +a bitter tear of self-reproach is caused by the crop our own hands have +sown, when we took _our own way_, and turned from His way, "who gave us +an example that we should follow in His steps." + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +_A TEA-PARTY IN THE ROW._ + +The hot summer days passed by in the Row, and the inhabitants took +advantage of the long evenings to go down to the beach and pier, and +listen to the bands playing merry tunes, and watch the gaily-dressed +people who frequent Yarmouth in the season. + +Little Miss Joy was drooping somewhat with the heat, for the summer was +one of rather unusual warmth. But though she was quieter, and her +voice was not so often heard singing like a bird from her high window +opposite Mrs. Harrison's, still she did not get dull or cross. "My +Sunbeam!" her old friend called her; and there was nothing he liked +better than to sit at his door, after business hours, while Joy talked +to him or read him a story. She went to a little day-school in the +market-place, and was, in old Mr. Boyd's opinion, a wonderful scholar. + +Joy had many things to tell of her school-fellows, and there was one +who use to excite her tender pity and her love. + +Bertha Skinner was a tall, angular girl of fourteen, who was the butt +of the school, often in tears, always submissive to taunts, and never +resenting unkindness. That little Miss Joy should choose this untaking +girl as her friend was the cause of much discontent and surprise in +Miss Bayliff's little "seminary for young ladies." No one could +understand it, and little Miss Joy was questioned in vain. + +"Such an ugly, stupid girl, always dressed like a fright, and she can't +add two and two together. I wonder you speak to her, Joy." + +But Uncle Bobo, though confessing that he was surprised at Joy's taste, +had a faint notion of the reason she had for her preference. + +"It's like my little Joy," he said; "it's just out of the kindness of +her heart. She thinks the girl neglected, and so she takes her up, +bless her!" + +"May I ask poor Bet to spend Thursday afternoon with me, Uncle Bobo?" +Joy asked one hot August morning as she was ready for school. "_May_ +I, please? It's early closing day, and we have a half-holiday. Dear +Goody Patience says she will take us to the sands, and perhaps Jim +Curtis may give us a row. I _should_ like that." + +"Well, I have no objection, my pretty one; the poor thing has no +treats!" + +"Treats! Oh, Uncle Bobo, she is miserable! Her grandmother is so +sharp, and tells her she is a useless fright, and things like that. +And then there's her Uncle Joe, he is horrid!" + +Mr. Boyd laughed. + +"Ah, ah! Miss Pinckney's suitor; he isn't very nice, I must say." + +"Suitor, Uncle Bobo; what's a suitor?" + +"You'll know time enough, my dear, time enough. You'll have a score of +them, I dare say; and I hope not one of them will be like Master +Skinner, that's all. He's like one of the lean kine you read to me +about last Sunday in the Bible. But leanness is no sin; p'r'aps he'll +get fatter by-and-by." + +Little Miss Joy was mystified, and repeated to herself, and then aloud: + +"Does suitor mean the same as 'young man' and 'lover,' I wonder?" + +"Bless the child's innocence! Yes, my dear, you've got it now." + +"But, Uncle Bobo, could an old, old lady like Miss Pinckney have a +suitor?" + +"Oh, yes, my dear, yes! She set her cap at me once. She is--well--not +much short of fifty; that's a girl, you know. All are girls till they +marry; old girls, we call them!" + +"But my dear Goody Patience is ever so much younger, and oh! she said +last night, 'I don't feel as if I was ever young, or a girl,' and then +she looked so sad." + +"Ah! my dear, she has had a sight of trouble, has poor Mrs. Harrison. +First, her husband making off, leaving a good business--a very good +business here, as a master of a lot of herring boats, with a share in +one of the big curing houses where the bloaters are the best to be had +in the trade. But my young man must needs be off whaling, and never +came back again. Poor Patience! It's a sad story. For my part, I +wish she would call herself a widow and have done with it. There's +some one ready enough to make her a happy wife." + +"Really, Mr. Boyd, if I was you I would not put such nonsense into the +child's head," said the good old servant. She had lived behind the +little dark shop for some thirty years, and now came forward into the +light, blinking as an owl might blink in the bright rays of the August +sun, which at this time of day at this time of year penetrates the +narrow row and shines right down into it. + +"Yes, I say it's nonsense to put into the child's head. Run off, my +dear; run off." + +"And I may ask Bet Skinner to come to tea, and dear Goody too; and +you'll buy a plum-roll and cheese-cakes for a treat. Will you, Uncle +Bobo?" + +"Yes, my dear; I'll make a feast, see if I don't; and we'll have a good +time." + +"Tea on the leads, tea upstairs, Uncle Bobo." + +Uncle Bobo nodded; and Joy ran off gaily with her invitation ready for +poor Bertha. + +Uncle Bobo was as good as his word, and on Thursday morning sallied +forth early to the confectioner's shop at the end of the row, and +returned with a variety of paper bags stuffed full of cakes, and +chucking them across the counter to Susan, said-- + +"Spread the tea up aloft, as the child wishes it; it's cool up there, +and plenty of air." + +Tea on the leads may not seem to many who read my story a very +enchanting prospect, but to little Joy it was like tea in Paradise! + +The houses of the rows had many of them flat roofs behind the gables, +which faced those opposite, and here flowers were cultivated by those +who cared to do so, linen was hung out to dry, and in one or two +instances pet doves cooed, or poor caged thrushes sang their prison +song. + +Susan grumbled not a little at carrying up the provisions; but the boy +Peter was pressed into the service, and Uncle Bobo brought up an old +flag, which Peter tied to a pole, and set up to wave its rather faded +colours over the feast. + +While these preparations were being made, Mrs. Harrison, and little +Joy, and Bertha Skinner were on their way to the beach to watch the +pleasure-boats pulling off with the visitors, and the children making +their sand-castles and houses, and paddling in the pools the sea had +left. The tide was ebbing, and wide patches of yellow sand were +separated from the beach by streams of water; sea-weeds threw out their +pink feathery fronds, and shells of many varied colours lay beneath. + +Mrs. Harrison sat down, leaning her back against a boat, and the +children ran down to the water's edge. + +The wife and mother was sad at heart; not one word from Jack--not one +word. She looked across the boundless sea, and thought how it had +taken from her the husband of her youth, and the boy who was the light +of her eyes. Why was she so tried? Why was her trouble always to be, +as it were, in one direction, her position always suspense, always +uncertainty, always waiting and watching, and dreading what news might +come at last? + +George Paterson was a ship's carpenter, and well known along the coast +and on the quay. He had made every inquiry, but could not get any +direct tidings of Jack. + +Several ships had sailed early that fine morning--the _Galatea_, for +Constantinople; the _Siren_, for a Norwegian port; the _Mermaid_, for +Genoa; but no one had any recollection of noticing a boy go aboard. +Indeed, there were but few people who could have seen him, for few were +stirring at that early hour, except those who were obliged to be at +their post at sea or on shore, and they were probably too much +engrossed with their own concerns to heed him, even if he had been seen. + +Patience had borne up bravely under this last sorrow. In some ways +Jack's absence was a relief--she had been always treading, as it were, +on the edge of a volcano, that might send up fire and smoke at any time. + +We all know what a strain it is upon body and mind to be always seeking +for peace, while those around us make themselves ready for battle; and +the terror at every meal that there would be a scene between Jack and +his aunt, with the effort to prevent it, had been a perpetual strain +upon Mrs. Harrison. At least that fear and dread were taken from her, +and her heart said-- + +"If only I knew he was well and happy I should be glad to know that he +was gone away from so much that jarred and fretted him; but it is the +silence and the terrible suspicion they raise that he was a thief that +overwhelms me sometimes." + +As these thoughts were passing through Mrs. Harrison's mind George +Paterson came up; he had been watching her and the children for some +minutes, and the sympathy for the poor deserted wife and mother filled +his honest blue eyes with tears. + +All the gay people about her--the singing of a large party which filled +one of the pleasure-boats, the bustle and activity everywhere--seemed +to force upon George Paterson the painful contrast between the glad and +happy and the sad and deeply-tried woman, whom he loved better than +anything in the wide world. Oh that she would let him comfort her, +take her to a pleasant home on the Gorlestone Road, with a garden full +of flowers, and where peace and plenty reigned! + +But George loved Patience too well to weary her with importunity. He +would never add a straw's weight to her care by undue persistence in +urging his suit. + +"Well," he said, pointing to Joy and her companion, "they seem happy +enough. It's odd that little Miss Joy should choose for her friend +that untaking niece of Joe Skinner's. She is very like him--just as +unwholesome-looking and sly too." + +"Poor girl! She has a melancholy time of it at home, so Joy tells me. +It is just like her to take pity on one who is not cared for." + +"I dare say. She is a little darling, and no mistake!" + +"This is early-closing day, and a half-holiday at Joy's school--that is +why we are out pleasuring. We are to have tea on the leads at Mr. +Boyd's. Will you come with us? for we ought to be getting back. I +promised Amelia I would be in at six o'clock, as she wants to go +walking with Mr. Skinner." + +"Well, she had better stay at home, that's certain. That fellow is a +rogue, if ever there was one!" + +Mrs. Harrison was silent for a moment; then she said quietly, "I have +no reason to love him, for he helped to drive my boy out of the house." + +"No doubt he did; and--I hardly like to say what I think--but I believe +he made a plot about that money-box." + +"Oh! I have often thought so, and put away the thought as wrong and +wicked." + +"We'll speak plain English for once," George Paterson said. "That man +means to marry your sister, and get hold of all she possesses." + +"Oh, George! Amelia is close on fifty, and Mr. Skinner can't be much +over thirty." + +"That does not matter; the same thing is done every day. Don't we see +great folks setting the example, and ladies of any age marrying young +fellows who want their money? You may depend upon it, Skinner has this +in his little sly eye. Well, I shan't do him any good by abusing him, +nor myself neither; so I'll have done." + +"Not a word from Jack," Mrs. Harrison sighed out--"not a word." + +"If he is off on a long voyage, as he may be, I never thought you would +have a word. You must wait till Christmas for news." + +"Till Christmas! Ah! those were his father's last words--'I'll be back +by Christmas;' and how many Christmases have come and gone since that +day, and never a word--never a sign." + +"The dead cannot give either words or signs," George said; and then, as +he saw Patience cover her face with her hands, he was sorry that he had +uttered what was an obvious truth, and added gently-- + +"If your husband had been alive he would come or write, for he loved +you; and how can any man who loved _you_ forget or change?" + +Patience did not reply, and little Miss Joy, having caught sight of +George Paterson, came springing towards him. + +"Oh! I have got some beautiful shells," she said--"such a big one. +Put it to your ear, and listen to the sound of the sea. And Bet has +got one too. Come, Bet, and show it." + +Bet advanced slowly and awkwardly, her angular shoulders nearly +touching her ears, her rough sandy hair gathered into a little knot at +the back of her head, on which a very shabby brown hat was set on one +side. + +Bertha had the cringing, deprecating manner of an ill-used dog. No one +liked her, no one cared for her, and she was fully alive to the fact. +Only sweet little Miss Joy ever said a kind and pleasant word to her, +and her devotion to this merry child filled her whole soul. She dare +not show it; she dare not lavish any of the ordinary endearments upon +her. She saw the other girls at Miss Bayliff's kiss and fondle her; +she heard her praised and admired; she saw little gifts showered upon +her--but she did none of these things. Poor Bertha's was a blind and +dumb worship for one who smiled at her when others frowned, who could +seek her society when others shunned it, and could encourage her with +her tasks--so far below her age--when others called her a dunce and an +idiot. + +The tea on the leads was a great success; although, to be sure, a few +black tokens from a neighbouring chimney peppered the cakes, and one or +two danced into Mr. Boyd's large breakfast-cup full of tea. Before tea +was over, however, the shop-door bell was heard to ring furiously, and +Susan, who had been invited to her share of the feast, trudged down, to +trudge back, breathless and indignant, after a few minutes' absence, +saying-- + +"Miss Pinckney can't give no one any rest. She is wanting you, Mrs. +Harrison, to go and keep the house, as she is off with Mr. Skinner. I +shouldn't hurry now if I was you. Let her wait, Mrs. Harrison." + +"No; I promised to go back by six o'clock." + +"Saint Nicholas clock has not struck yet," said Uncle Bobo. "Don't you +hurry, Mrs. Harrison, for we must have a song before we part--eh, my +Joy?" + +"If you please, Uncle Bobo, let it be 'Tom Bowling.'" + +Whereupon Mr. Boyd began to groan forth in not very dulcet tones the +familiar song and strain, beginning-- + + "Here, a sheer-hulk, lies poor Tom Bowling." + + +Mr. Boyd's voice had not been very musical in youth, and now the sounds +seemed to come more from his boots than from his lips. But Joy was a +delighted listener. Then she followed with one of Mrs. Alexander's +"hymns for little children," and as she sang, in her sweet childish +treble, the words seemed to speak peace. + + "On the dark hill's western side + The last purple gleam has died; + Twilight to one solemn hue + Changes all, both green and blue. + + "In the fold and in the nest, + Birds and lambs are gone to rest; + Labour's weary task is o'er, + Closely shut the cottage door. + + "Saviour, now in sweet repose + I my weary eyelids close, + While my mother through the gloom + Singeth from the outer room." + + +Joy paused, and putting her little hand in Mrs. Harrison's, said-- + +"I have never any mother but you, dear Goody; and I know she must be +glad I've got you, as God took her away from me." + +It was very seldom that Joy referred to her position in Uncle Bobo's +house, and indeed very seldom that she thought of it. She had been +told that she had been laid at Uncle Bobo's door as a Christmas gift, +and that had been enough for her. But since she had been to Miss +Bayliff's school there had arisen a question in her little mind as to +why she had never known either father or mother--a question no one +could answer. + +The bell ringing again more violently than before made Mrs. Harrison +hasten away, and she had just gone when the clock struck six. + +"I should like to take Bet home, Uncle Bobo. That will be such a nice +end to our feast. Will you come?" + +Uncle Bobo was not fond of walking, but he never liked to refuse Joy +anything, and very soon he might be seen toddling along the row, with +his short, stout legs, and rosy apple face, singing out a cheery +"Good-evening" to such neighbours as were about, and taking Joy's +little hand in his, while she danced at his side. Presently she let go +her hold on Uncle Bobo's hand, and said in a low voice-- + +"I think I'd better walk with poor Bet, Uncle Bobo. She looks so sad +walking behind us." + +"So do, my Joy, so do. You've a kind little heart, and may no one ever +say a cross word to you, or do an unkind action." + +Joy fell back with a radiant smile, and, putting her hand into Bet's +arm, drew her on in front. + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +_A VISIT TO THE SKINNERS._ + +Mr. Skinner was very like his mother. No one could mistake that they +bore this relationship. + +Some old age is lovely--radiant with the chastened light of eventide. +Mrs. Skinner's was certainly unlovely. Tall and spare, with sharp +pinched features, and thin pitiless lips, from which very few kindly +words had ever fallen, and where a smile was almost unknown--she was an +almost friendless woman. She who had never rendered a neighbour a +kindly service neither expected nor received any from others. She had +the reputation of being a cross-grained old woman, who had driven her +only daughter away by her unkindness, and had spent what love she had +upon her two sons, who suited her in many ways far better than her +daughter. The youngest of these--Bertha's father--had married a woman +much older than himself, and Bertha was his orphan child, her mother +having died at her birth. She had been taken to live with her +grandmother, at the dying wish of her father: what maternal affection +she possessed responded to this last request of her youngest son, and +Bertha had known no other home. + +It was a home, as far as the shelter of a roof and food and clothing +went; and the education of Miss Bayliff's school, given somewhat +grudgingly, was to be granted till Bertha was fifteen. + +"_Then_ she must work for her living," Mrs. Skinner had said; "and," +she added, "few people would have done what _I_ have done." + +"A great deal too much!" Joe would say when his mother indulged in this +self-congratulation--"a great deal too much; and I, for one, don't +approve of this girl being nursed in idleness; it was the ruin of +Maggie." + +Mrs. Skinner winced a little at the name; for Maggie had disappeared, +and no trace could be found of her. + +She had been, so those who remembered her said, of a very different +type to her family, as if she had dropped down from the clouds into it. + +That was long ago now, but the people who could look back some years in +the neighbourhood where Mrs. Skinner lived could remember this bright, +gay girl disappearing, and the mother's reply to any inquiry-- + +"I know nothing about her, nor do I wish to know. She has been and +made her bed, and she must lie on it." + +Report said that Maggie had married against her mother's wish, and that +she had literally turned her out of her house. This was about all that +was ever heard, and nothing was really known. Any attempt to question +Mrs. Skinner was met by a sharp rebuff, and very few people, even the +boldest, dare approach her even with an attempt to find out what she +chose to keep secret. + +Mrs. Skinner and her son Joe lived in a detached red brick house, built +long before villas with bay windows and gabled roofs, and little dormer +windows in them, were thought of. It was a straight little house, with +a window on each side of the door, and three above it, a lean-to at the +back, and a square of garden in front. The path to the door was of +pebbles, and they always made a disagreeable crunching sound as the +feet of any comers to the house walked over them. That was not often; +and the little iron gate grated on its hinges, it was so seldom opened, +as Mr. Boyd pushed it back to admit the two girls. + +"No, no," Uncle Bobo had said, in answer to Joy's entreaty. "I'll just +walk across to that bench and wait for you, my Joy. I don't fancy the +old lady, and she doesn't fancy me. So ta-ta!" + +Mr. Boyd toddled across the bit of sandy road to a bank mound of sand, +covered with long pointed grass, which hid the view of the sea from the +lower window of Mrs. Skinner's house, and sitting down on a wooden +seat, resigned himself to patient waiting. + +Bertha crept slowly up to the door, and seemed half afraid to make her +coming known. + +She turned the bright brass handle of the door, but it was locked. + +"We must go in by the back door; p'raps grandmother won't mind." + +"Are you afraid to go in, Bet?" + +"Well, grandmother is very particular; she isn't like Mr. Boyd." + +"Do you mean," said Joy, "that you would rather I didn't come in? Oh, +then I will run back to Uncle Bobo! Good-bye, Bertha." + +"No, no, I didn't mean that," said Bertha, much distressed. "I--I----" + +As she was hesitating the door was opened, and Mrs. Skinner's tall +figure filled the narrow entrance. She stood without saying a word for +a moment, and then, in a harsh, discordant voice, she asked--"Who is +_that_?" + +"If you please, ma'am, I am Joy. I go to school with Bertha, and she +has been home to tea with me and Uncle Bobo, and I have brought her +back." + +"She does not want bringing," was the sharp reply; "she can bring +herself, I suppose. Go round to the back door, will you?" + +"I think I had better _not_," Joy said with emphasis, "because you do +not wish me to come into your house." + +Mrs. Skinner had been standing motionless at the door while Joy was +speaking, and there was a strange expression on her sharp thin features. + +"Where do you say you live, child?" + +"I live with Uncle Bobo, in the row, opposite Miss Pinckney and Mrs. +Harrison. Miss Pinckney keeps the milliner's shop, where the widows' +caps hang up." + +"_I_ know," was the reply; "I never bought any article there, and I +never mean to. Well, you may run round with Bertha for a few minutes." + +"Thank you," Joy said. "I hope you'll let Bet come to tea again; and +if you'd like to come too, I am sure Uncle Bobo wouldn't mind." + +"I don't spend _my_ time gadding about taking tea with folks. I leave +that to drones, who've got nothing better to do. Did you say, child, +you lived with Boyd, at the instrument shop?" + +"Yes, ma'am; he's my uncle." + +Mrs. Skinner turned away, and then the door was shut with a sharp bang, +and the two girls were left outside. + +"I don't think I'll come in, Bet," little Miss Joy said; "for your +grandmother does not like me--she looks so cross." + +"She always looks like that," Bertha said; and then she added, "Every +one but you is cross to me; you are always kind. Oh, I do love you!" + +Then Bet's cheeks, after making this declaration, were suffused with +blushes, which made her poor sallow face a dark purplish-red. + +"Do come in a moment--_do_," she said. + +The two girls went in at the back door, and along a narrow stone +passage. + +The door on the right was open, and Bet said, in a low whisper-- + +"There's Uncle Joe's room. There's where he sits at night, and I hear +people coming in, 'cause my window is one in the lean-to." + +Uncle Joe's proceedings had not much interest for Joy, and she just +looked round the room standing on the threshold, and said-- + +"What a big table for such a wee little room, covered with green cloth, +and what funny little boxes! They are like the big hour-glass in Uncle +Bobo's glass case. It's not a pretty room at all," she said decidedly. +"Come away, Bet." + +Bertha then led the way up a very narrow flight of steps, which were +scarcely to be called a staircase. They creaked under her feet, and +even Joy's light tread made them squeak and shake. + +"Here's where I sleep;" and Joy found herself in a little room with a +sloping roof and a beam. The room was in fact only a loft for storage, +but it was thought good enough for Bertha. + +"I wanted to show you this," Bertha said; "it's the only keepsake I've +got. It was once my poor Aunt Maggie's, and she gave it to me. I can +just remember her kissing me one night, and saying, 'God bless you--you +poor orphan.' I must have been a little thing, perhaps four years old, +for it's such a long time ago, and I am nearly fifteen." + +Bertha had dived into the depths of a trunk covered with spotted lilac +paper, and which contained most of her worldly goods. + +From the very bottom she pulled out a square leather frame, and as she +rubbed the glass, which was thick with dust, with her sleeve, she said-- + +"Isn't she pretty?" + +It was an old faded photograph of what must have been a pretty girl, in +a white dress with a band of ribbon, which a photographic artist had +painted blue, and had touched the eyes with the same colour. + +"I think she is beautiful," Bertha said. "I never saw any one so +pretty till I saw you, and I think you are like poor Aunt Maggie." + +Joy looked doubtfully at the portrait, and said-- + +"Yes, it's very nice. She looks so good and so sweet, as if she could +never have been cross or naughty." + +"That's just what _I_ think," Bertha said; "and she _is_ like you, for +you are good, and I am sure you are never cross." + +"Oh!" little Miss Joy said, "that's a mistake. I am naughty when I +hate Miss Pinckney, and when I am impudent to Susan. She _says_ I am +impudent, and Miss Pinckney has called me a 'saucy little baggage' very +often. That's why I don't go into Miss Pinckney's shop to see dear +Goody Patience and Jack. + +"Ah!" Joy added with a sigh, "there is no Jack to see now; he is gone, +and I do miss him so. He used to be so good to me;" and her eyes grew +dim, and the corners of her rosy lips turned down ominously. "But I +must go to Uncle Bobo now; he must be tired of waiting, and he'll get +fidgety." + +"Very well," Bet said; "I don't want you to get a scolding." + +"A scolding!" Joy said, recovering herself from the momentary +depression which the thought of Jack's loss had caused. "Uncle Bobo +never scolded me in his life." + +Then Joy stepped cautiously down the narrow stairs, and turning said-- + +"Good-bye, Bet; good-bye." + +"Good-bye," poor Bet said, as, standing at the back-door, she watched +her friend skipping off across the road to the seat where Uncle Bobo +sat, with his round back--very round--and his short legs tucked up, one +wide-toed boot upon the other, to give support. + +"I wish she'd kissed _me_," poor Bet thought, as she saw Joy throw her +arms round the old man's neck, and kiss all that was visible of his +rosy cheek beneath his large wide-awake. "I'd like her to kiss me like +that;" and poor Bet followed the two figures with lingering, longing +eyes till they were out of sight. + +Other eyes were following them also. Mrs. Skinner was standing by the +window of her parlour, peering over the short white muslin blind at +Uncle Bobo and Joy. What was she thinking about? For her thin lips +were parted as if she were speaking to some one, and her long fingers +worked convulsively with the strings of her black alpaca apron. + +Presently the door opened softly, and Bet came creeping in. She never +knew what reception she might get, and she had the miserable cowed +manner of a beaten dog. + +"Grandmother!" + +Mrs. Skinner started, and said sharply-- + +"Well, what do you want?" + +"Isn't she pretty? Isn't she a darling?" + +"Stuff and nonsense! I don't care about beauty; it's only skin deep; +and I dare say she's a pert little hussy. Don't go and bring her here +again, I don't want her." + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +_DARK DOINGS._ + +When Mr. Skinner had escorted Miss Pinckney home after their walk, he +seated himself at supper with the air of one who was thoroughly at home +and at his ease. + +"He knows on which side his bread is buttered," Uncle Bobo's Susan +said, as she had watched Miss Pinckney walking up the row with her +tall, ungainly suitor. + +For Uncle Bobo was right. Mr. Skinner had every intention of coming to +the point; though, I need not say, it was not his custom to go straight +to the point. + +Mr. Skinner always preferred a circuitous route. + +When they were seated at supper Mr. Skinner said-- + +"You have had no tidings of your runaway, I presume, Mrs. Harrison?" + +This question was asked as Mr. Skinner looked at Jack's mother with +that oblique glance Jack had boldly called a "squint." + +Patience shook her head. She could not bring herself to talk of her +boy to Mr. Skinner. + +"Ah," he said, "what a home he has left, and what a friend! When I +think of Miss Pinckney's generosity and nobility of temper, I grieve +that they were expended on so unworthy an object." + +The colour rose to Mrs. Harrison's cheeks. + +"You will be so kind, Mr. Skinner," she said, "not to talk about my +boy. It is not a matter I care to speak of to any one." + +"True, true!" was the reply. "'Least said, soonest mended.' But I +suppose I may be permitted to offer my humble tribute of admiration to +my dear, kind friend, who always gives me a welcome to her hospitable +board." + +Here Mr. Skinner stretched out his long, thin fingers, and laid them +gently on Miss Pinckney's, who was in the act of handing him another +triangular cut from the pork pie, which had been the _piece de +resistance_ of the supper-table. + +"Oh! dear me, Mr. Skinner," Miss Pinckney exclaimed, "I don't look for +gratitude--never! So I am not disappointed. Gratitude isn't a plant +that grows in these parts. It doesn't flourish. The air doesn't suit +it, I suppose." + +This was said with a glance at poor Patience, who was well accustomed +to such side-hits. + +"It is a plant that has a deep root in my heart," said Mr. Skinner, +"and I hope the flower is not unpleasing, and that the fruit will be +satisfying." + +This was a great flight of poetical rhetoric, and Miss Pinckney bridled +and simpered like a girl of sixteen. + +"You are kindly welcome surely to anything I have to give, Mr. Skinner, +now and at _all_ times. Those that don't care for what I provide, +well, they may seek their fortune elsewhere, and the sooner the better." + +Patience Harrison had long been disciplined to self-control, or she +could never have borne the "quips" and "quirks" of her sister. + +Thus she kept silence, determined not to wrangle with Miss Pinckney in +the presence of witnesses; above all, not in the presence of the man +whom she distrusted. + +So she quietly cleared away the supper when the meal was concluded, and +retired to the back premises to wash up the dishes, and put everything +in order for the night. + +It was about ten o'clock when Mr. Skinner--having sipped his glass of +hot gin and water bid his hostess an affectionate adieu, and turned his +steps homewards. + +When he reached his own gate he exchanged a quiet greeting with two +men, who were evidently waiting for him. + +Then all three went softly round to the back of the house, and entered +it by the door through which Bet and little Miss Joy had gone in that +afternoon. + +Mr. Skinner opened the door with a latch-key, and all three men passed +silently into the little room with the big table, covered with the +green cloth--the table which little Joy had said looked too big for the +room. + +"Well," one of the men said, "'Fortune favours the brave.' I am in for +luck to-night. What have you got to drink? I dare say there's a +bottle of rum in the cupboard, eh?" + +"Well," Mr. Skinner said, "I don't drink anything myself. So, no +doubt, what you left is to be had." + +"Ah, ha! ah, ha!" laughed the other man. "You don't drink at your own +expense; is that it? The old lady in the row finds you in toddy." + +"Shut up!" said the elder of the two men; "don't talk all night, but +let us to business." + +Then two packs of cards were produced with the black bottle, and very +soon the game began. + +Ah me! that ruinous game, which so many, I fear, play, and thereby lose +all sense of honour and right. Who shall say how long is the list of +broken hearts for which gambling is responsible? + +And not only the sordid gambling, such as that in which Mr. Skinner and +his boon companions indulged, with dirty packs of cards, in a low room +where the mice scampered about behind the loose boards, and the whole +aspect was uninviting; but, alas! there is the same game going on +amongst those who, from education and social position, should be the +first to shun this crying evil. + +It matters not whether the stakes be for a pound or a penny, the danger +and the sin is the same. + +The winner is always the winner at the expense of the loser. The +success of one is the destruction and misery of the other. Deceit and +fraud, with too often strong drink to silence the cry of remorse and +the voice of conscience, follow in the gambler's train. No departure +from the paths of honesty is single in its consequences, and there is +no sin but may be compared to the throwing of a pebble into a still +lake, when the circles which follow the fall of the stone widen and +widen, and that indefinitely. + +Gambling in all its forms is a grievous wrong; and whether from betting +on horses, or speculating in stocks and shares, or descending to a +shabby little room such as that where Mr. Skinner and his friends sat +on this fair summer night, shuffling their cards, for what seemed by +comparison insignificant sums, we are bound to protest against it with +all our might, and to guard the young under our care from the first +beginnings of what is indeed the cause of untold misery to many who, in +thousands of cases, suffer for the sins of others. + +The stakes for which Mr. Skinner and his companions played were small; +but his usual good fortune seemed to have deserted him of late, for he +had lost again and again. + +One of the men, as he threw down the cards, said-- + +"I have a score against you for last Tuesday, Skinner. Do you want to +run up further?" and he pulled out a bit of dirty paper from a +pocket-book, and read from it sums which amounted to several pounds. + +Mr. Skinner treated the matter with lofty indifference, saying-- + +"You needn't fear; I am going in for a prize, and I shall win!" + +"Ah, well, win or lose, I must be paid. It is rather inconvenient to +be out of pocket like this." + +Mr. Skinner threw down another four shillings, and said-- + +"Try again." + +Again, the stakes being trebled on a card, he lost--though the winner +this time was the third man of the company. + +Then a good deal of wrangling and quarrelling in an undertone followed, +and Bet, in her room above, was awoke by it. She had been awoke before +from the same cause; but to-night she sat up in bed and listened. + +The joists that divided the room in this lean-to of Mr. Skinner's +cottage, which could hardly be called a "wing," were very thin and far +apart, and a knot in one of the boards of her room had been forced out +and left a hole through which it was possible to get a peep into the +room below. + +Presently the voices ceased, and she heard the stealthy footsteps of +the men retreating across the yard, and then, as they reached the deep +soft sand, they were heard no longer. + +Bet got up, and standing on tip-toe tried to look out of the little +attic window that lighted her room. As she did so the hole in the +floor attracted her, for she could see the light through it from the +room below. + +She lay down on the boards, and, looking through, could see her uncle +at the table. + +He had a small box before him, from which he took out some coins, and +then he put a key attached to the box in the lock, and fastened it. +Bertha watched, she hardly knew why, with deep interest her uncle's +proceedings, and saw him rise from the table with the box in his hand +and go out. + +She climbed on the seat to bring her face on a level with the little +window, and distinctly saw her uncle, with a lantern in one hand, which +he set down by his side, and in the other a spade, with which he dug a +hole in the soft, sandy mould by the strip of garden, where Mrs. +Skinner cultivated some straggling cabbages, which went to _stalk_ with +but few leaves, in the poor soil of the little enclosure. + +Presently he put something from his pocket into the hole, and then +covering it with the soft soil, he returned to the house. + +What did it all mean? Poor Bet felt something was wrong, and yet how +could she help it? + +"I wish there was any one I could tell," she thought; "but there is +nobody. Little Miss Joy wouldn't care to hear, and nobody else would +listen to me if I did tell them. And I suppose Uncle Joe has a right +to bury his things if he likes; but it's very odd." + +Then she crept back to her bed, and was soon asleep. + +Bet went off to school the next morning with a lighter heart than +usual, for she had received a convincing proof of little Joy's +friendship, by her invitation to tea at the row. + +The midsummer holidays were approaching, and she was determined to bear +all the rebuffs she met with from her school-fellows with fortitude. +What did anything matter if Joy loved her! + +When Bet reached the gates of the garden before Miss Bayliff's school, +she saw a knot of girls standing there. She came slowly towards them, +shuffling her feet as usual in an awkward fashion, and not daring to +draw too near the charmed circle, for her defender was not there. + +"Little Joy is late this morning," one of the girls said. "But we must +go indoors; Miss Bayliff is in a rage if we crowd outside. Here, Bet, +do you know where little Miss Joy is?" + +"How should she?" said another voice. "Here comes May Owen; let us ask +her: she lives in Broad Row." + +May Owen was the daughter of an ironmonger, whose premises were at the +corner of the row, just above Uncle Bobo's shop. + +"Well," she said, "have you heard about poor little Joy?" + +"No; what's the matter?" asked a chorus of voices. + +"She was out last evening with Mr. Boyd, and as they were coming home a +horse came galloping along the Market Place, and Joy was knocked down. +She has hurt her head, they say, or her back. The doctor has been +there half the night, and Mr. Boyd is mad with grief. It has made a +scene, I can tell you, in the row." + +"Why, Bet!" one of the girls exclaimed, "don't do that!" + +For poor Bet had seized the arm of the girl nearest her to support +herself. Her heart beat wildly, her face was blanched with fear, as +she gasped out-- + +"Oh, I must go to little Miss Joy! I must, indeed I must!" + +"Nonsense! Don't squeeze my arm like that; you'll pinch me black and +blue. _You_ can't go to little Miss Joy; she wouldn't want _you_." + +"No; I should think not!" said May Owen. "The notion of a scarecrow +like you being a pleasant sight to Mr. Boyd in his trouble! Mrs. +Harrison is with the child." + +"Tell me--tell me," poor Bertha gasped; "will she get well? will she +live?" + +"I don't know. Let us hope so, for she is a darling, and every one +loves her," said another voice. And then a bell rang, and the girls +trooped up the steps into the house, and the business of the morning +began. + +Who shall tell the misery of those long hours in school to Bertha? She +could only gaze at the white face of the clock, and count the minutes +as the long hand passed over them. As to her lessons in class, she +was, as the governess who taught her said, "Hopelessly muddled." + +Vain were her efforts to get through her repetition of Cowper's lines +on his mother's picture. She sat with a sum before her on a slate, and +blurred it with tears; and finally had a long array of bad marks, and +was sent by the assistant governess to Miss Bayliff to receive a +lecture, and to be given a long column of the Dictionary to write out +and learn by heart in addition to her usual lessons. + +It did not strike Miss Bayliff that sorrow for Joy was the cause of +Bet's woe-begone face. Miss Bayliff herself was really distressed at +the news which had circulated through the school of Joy's accident, but +she did not think Bet could feel as she did for little Miss Joy. + +The moment school was over, Bet seized her hat from the peg in the +passage, and set off to the row to learn the worst. + +To her great relief she saw Mrs. Harrison coming from her own door to +Uncle Bobo's. She clutched her arm pretty much as she had clutched her +schoolfellow's; but she was not thrust away this time. Patience +Harrison said kindly, + +"My dear, our little Joy seems a trifle better. She has opened her +eyes and smiled at Uncle Bobo." + +"Will she get well? May I see her?" + +"You must not see her; she has to be kept very quiet." + +"Oh! what shall I do? what shall I do?" Bet exclaimed. + +"Pray for her," was the reply, "and trust in God's love whichever way +it goes with her." And then, moved to deep pity for poor Bet, Mrs. +Harrison stooped and kissed her, and went into the little shop. + + + + +CHAPTER VIII. + +_IN PERIL OF THE SEA._ + +The _Galatea_ was a good sailing vessel, loaded with goods, and was +bound for Constantinople. She was a trading vessel, with a few +passengers who paid a moderate sum for their berths, and were provided +with very fair accommodation on board. + +Jack certainly proved himself a good sailor. As soon as the first +misery of sea-sickness was over, he made himself very useful to the +crew generally, and to Dick Colley in particular. + +"He is worth his biscuit, captain," Colley said one day. "A sharp lad, +eh?" + +"Yes, and a handy one too. It's well for you that you have had that +boy to help you, with your lame leg; and you are trying to make him one +of your sort, I see." + +"One of my sort! No. I hope a long sight better than my sort, +captain. I am but a beginner, learning the alphabet late in life; but, +please God, I'll stumble on following Him, and I hope I may get others +to follow Him too." + +"You needn't look for me in that following, Colley; but you are welcome +to the boy. It is all very fine to preach about God's love and care +for us when the sea is stirred by a pleasant breeze, just enough to +give us a capful of wind, and we are making our proper knots an hour +straight for port; but when the waves are roaring, and the timbers of +the ship groaning and creaking, and we know not but that we may go to +the bottom any minute--don't tell me it is God's love then, when poor +fellows are fighting the waves for life, knowing that if they are +drowned they leave wife and child poor and desolate. No, no, Colley; +that motion won't hold water." + +"Begging your pardon, captain," said Colley, "it's better to trust in +the Lord's love in a storm, than curse, and swear, and shriek as you +and I have seen some of our mates take on, in mortal terror. You can't +deny that." + +"I deny nothing," was the reply. "I am content to let things take +their course, and religion with the rest. Let them pray who like; it's +no odds to me." + +Jack had been near during this conversation; and as the captain turned +on his heel and took up his position again at the helm, Colley called +Jack. + +"Were you within ear-shot just now, boy?" + +"Yes," Jack said. "I heard what you and the captain were saying. My +mother talks as you talk; and as to little Miss Joy, she is always +singing hymns, and loves taking Uncle Bobo's hand and trotting to +church with him. I wish you could see little Miss Joy; you would love +her as much as I do." + +"P'r'aps I may see her one day. She is a pretty little thing, you say?" + +"Pretty!" Jack said; "she is a great deal more than pretty. Her eyes +are like the sky; and how she can laugh, to be sure! it's like silver +bells ringing. Many a time, when I have been half wild with Aunt +Amelia's grating tongue, I have run over to Mr. Boyd's, and Joy has put +me right. She would always be on the watch for me when I came back +from school, and she calls my mother 'Goody,' and she is just like a +little daughter to her. Then when there were sharp words between Mr. +Boyd and his old servant, Joy made peace. She would climb on Uncle +Bobo's knee, and kiss him, and put her hand before his mouth, and beg +him to be quiet, and not get angry with Susan, because hard words did +no good." + +"That's true, boy--that's true; and now I want to know what you are +going to do when we are safe in port? Go home and show you are sorry, +eh?" + +"Not home to my aunt's house; I'd rather break stones. Look here, she +just makes me feel wretched, as little Miss Joy makes me feel good." + +"Ah, boy, that's the wrong end of the stick--the feeling good and +wicked, as you say. No, no; 'goodness,' as you call it, don't depend +on little Miss Joy, or wickedness on sharp-tempered viragos like you +say your aunt is. It is the _heart_, boy. If that is turned to God, +then we may hope to keep straight, by watching and praying; but it is a +fight, boy, as I find. As I told you, I find it hard enough to curb my +tongue; for it is like a ship flying afore the wind, with no rudder and +no pilot. Off I go, and the words drop from my lips like mad! But I +pray for help to bridle my tongue, and I cry to God for pardon every +time I take His blessed name in vain. Don't you learn bad ways aboard. +Most of the crew are steady young fellows. One or two of 'em are on +the right track; but that man who kicked you when you came aboard, you +beware of him. He is more dangerous when he is friendly than when he's +your enemy. So don't listen to him; it won't do you no good." + +Amongst the passengers was a sweet-faced woman, with her little boy. +Jack took greatly to the child. He reminded him of Miss Joy, and he +would take his hand and lead him about the ship, and show off Toby's +tricks for his amusement. + +The woman was on her way to Cairo to join her husband, who had a place +there in an English family as courier and valet. She had been sent +home by the doctors for her health, and was now on her outward-bound +voyage, with her little son. + +She soon found that Jack was trustworthy, and she allowed her little +Peter to be with him whenever Jack had time to amuse him. Old Colley, +too, would set him on his knee, and tell him stories of the sea, and +the names of the sea-birds, which often followed the ship, and would +sometimes pounce down on any bit of biscuit or salt meat which might be +on deck. + +It was a pretty sight when little Peter's golden hair rested against +Colley's blue jersey, and the child would put up his hand and stroke +the stubby beard of his new friend, and say-- + +"I shall be a sailor when I grow up. I love the sea." + +Then Colley would stroke his head and say--"In calm weather it's +pleasant enough, boy. You wait till you have seen a storm." + +The voyage out promised well till they came to the Bay of Biscay, when +contrary winds and a storm drove the _Galatea_ to take refuge in the +port of Lisbon. + +The captain was anxious to make his way to Constantinople, and against +the advice of Colley and the second mate sailed out from Lisbon in +rough weather. + +"The storm is over," he said, "and I've no time to spend with the men +kicking their heels aboard, or going ashore to get into mischief." + +So the orders were given, and the _Galatea_ went curtesying over the +billows, under a bright sky, with all sails set. + +"We are in the track of a storm, and if I'm not mistaken," Colley said, +"we shall find ourselves in a worst plight before forty-eight hours +have come and gone. I never saw the moon look as she did last night +without a meaning." + +But for that night Colley's prophecy seemed to be unfulfilled. The +wind sank, the sea became like glass, and the _Galatea_ made but little +progress. The weather was intensely hot, and the nights scarcely +cooler than the days. + +It was on the evening of the second day, after sailing out of the port +of Lisbon, that Colley asked Jack if he saw a dark line drawn along the +horizon. + +"Yes," Jack said, "I see." + +"That's the storm coming, and it will be upon us fast enough." + +The captain, who was standing at his post with his glass, saw it also, +and very soon orders were shouted to reef sails, and "every man to his +post." + +Before a landsman could believe it possible, the mysterious dark line +had spread over the sky, and there was a hissing sound as of coming +breakers. Then a swift forked flash struck across the waters, and was +followed by a peal of thunder which was deafening. In another quarter +of an hour the waves were roaring, and the noise of the thunder and the +gathered blackness of darkness were awful. + +The _Galatea_ was well manned, and every one of the crew held gallantly +to their post. The captain encouraged the frightened passengers, and +tried to quiet their fears. + +Jack obeyed orders, and never flinched from his duty. + +Presently the angry billows broke with terrific violence over the poor +_Galatea_, and she bowed herself in her distress till the masts and +timbers creaked, and every time she went down into the deep valleys +between the mountainous waves, it seemed impossible that she should +right herself again. + +"We are in great peril, boy," Colley said in Jack's ear, or rather he +shouted the words at the pitch of his voice. "You put your trust in +God, and He will hear your cry." + +Ah! in moments of dire distress and fear, the soul that has before been +dumb cries unto God. Poor frail mortals think they can do very well +without God, when skies are blue, and all things, golden, bright, and +prosperous; but in the hour of death, and in all times of tribulation, +few indeed are to be found who do not cry to God for refuge and +deliverance. + +Jack stood face to face with death, and he knew it. All his short life +seemed to rise clearly before him, and his mother's face as he knelt to +repeat his little prayer at her knee in childish days. His mother! she +had been left a widow, although she could not believe it; his mother! +to whom he should have been a stay and comfort, deserted, because he +had been a coward, and could not meet the trials of his daily life--his +aunt's sharp tongue, and Mr. Skinner's side-hits. + +He had run away to sea to escape these, to please himself--and this was +the end. Oh! his mother! his mother! Had he not seen her watch and +wait for his father's return? and had he not seen the lines of care +deeping on her sweet face? And now he had added to her sorrow, and +could never hear her words of forgiveness. + +All this passed through Jack's mind far more quickly than I can write +it here, or you can read it; and hot tears mingled with the cold, salt +spray, which drenched him through and through as he stood firm by the +rope which was entrusted to him. + +The storm raged with unabated fury, and the darkness was only just +pierced by the rising moon, itself invisible, but which cast a strange +weird whiteness athwart the gloom. + +The worst had not yet come. It was about midnight that cries arose +above the storm, and a violent shock told that the _Galatea_ had struck +on a rock. There was no hope then--the _Galatea_ was doomed. + +The boats had been kept in readiness, and the captain's voice was +heard, shouting his orders to let them down. For the _Galatea_ had +parted in midships, and was settling down into those black waters +where, here and there, the white surf on the wave-crests was seen with +ghastly clearness in the murky gloom. + +"All women and children first," the captain ordered; and Peter's +mother, clasping the child close, with the few passengers, were let +down into the first boat. + +"Back, you coward!" the mate shouted, as the man who had been so +unfeeling to Jack, on first starting, stumbled forward and tried to +jump into the boat. Alas! too late was the command to stop. The boat +was swamped, and smothered cries arose from the surging depths. The +other boats were lowered, and old Colley remained to the last. + +"Now, captain," he said, "it's your turn. She's settling down fast." +And between the roar of the storm and the more distant roll of the +thunder, a swishing, gurgling noise told that the water was fast +gaining ground, and the _Galatea_ going down. + +"I leave the ship last, or die with her. Forward, Colley! Do you +hear?" + +"After you, captain; after you." + +"Colley, old fellow, you never disobeyed me before. You won't do it +now." + +Then a great shudder seemed to thrill through the ship, and she turned +on her side, and with a mighty rush the waves seized their prey, and +the _Galatea_ went down into the stormy waters. + +Jack found himself struggling in the surging waves; but a boat was near +him, and a hand seized him and dragged him in. + +It was old Colley's hand, and he had in his other arm little Peter, and +a whine told that Toby was with his master. + +It was a perilous position--the boat was tossed like a feather on those +stormy billows; while above the raging of the storm could be heard +cries for help from those who were clinging to broken rafts and pieces +of the wreck. + +"She was cracked like a walnut," Colley said; "and the captain's heart +was broken--that's why he said he would die with her." + + + + +CHAPTER IX. + +_ON THE WIDE, WIDE SEA._ + +The boat was drifting off, and every minute seemed to put a further +distance from the place where the _Galatea_ had struck the rock and +perished. At this time the fury of the storm had abated, and a rift in +the clouds showed the moon in its last quarter floating like a boat on +its back in a silvery sea. The pale rays shed a flickering light upon +the waters, and there was a lull. Behind them rose a low black mass, +with the points of the masts showing where the _Galatea_, had gone +down. No other object was visible, and Colley covered his face with +his hands. + +"I don't believe there's one of 'em saved," he said; "I don't indeed. +The boats were swamped, and this is the only one that righted. But, +boy, I don't know where we are, nor where we are drifting." + +"Are we going home?" said a little voice from the bottom of the boat. +"I want to get home with mother." + +"Ay, my lad; but I expect we must all three give up an earthly home, +and turn our thoughts to a heavenly one." + +When morning dawned they were far out on the trackless waters, and not +a sail in eight. Jack, at Colley's bidding, tied his shirt to the oar, +in the hopes that, fluttering in the breeze, it might attract the +notice of some passing vessels. But although several sail were seen on +the horizon, none seemed to come across the track of the little lonely +boat. The scorching sun of noon beat on their unprotected heads, and +poor little Peter cried and moaned with a pain in his head. Hunger +too, and thirst, began to be unbearable; and Colley had some difficulty +in preventing Jack from drinking the sea-water, and giving it to little +Peter. + +"Don't you do it, boy; it will drive you mad, and you will repent it if +you touch it." + +Towards evening the air became cooler, and Peter, pulling at Jack's +trousers, said-- + +"There is something hard under my head, and Toby is sniffing at it." + +Oh, how untold was the thankfulness with which Colley pulled out a +canvas bag of sea biscuits, which had been stowed away under one of the +seats, with a stone jar in which was a little rum! + +"Thank the Lord, you won't starve, you young ones; there's enough to +keep you alive." + +"Enough to keep us all alive!" Jack said; "and I shan't touch a crumb +unless you eat the same quantity as I do." + +The boy lying at their feet had already set his teeth into a biscuit +like a hungry dog, and was putting his mouth to the stone bottle. + +"Gently, now, gently," Colley said, trying to take the bottle away from +the child. But he did not succeed till he had swallowed a considerable +quantity, and lay in a kind of stupor. + +Another night closed in, and the stillness and darkness were acceptable +after the burning heat of noon. At day-dawn Jack saw a ship. Surely +it was coming nearer and nearer. He stood up and called "Ahoy!" with +all his might, and poor Toby whined and barked. Colley, awakened from +a light dose, stood up also, and joined in the cry. But, alas! there +was no answer, and the white sails, glistening in the level rays of the +rising sun, vanished like a bird taking flight. + +"It is no use hoping for help," Jack said, sinking down. "I say, +Colley, are we to go on floating over the wide sea for ever?" + +"Nay, lad, nay; it won't be for ever. Please the Lord, He'll put an +end to these long watches in His own time." + +"Colley," Jack said, "do you think I am being punished for my sins? I +ran away in a fit of temper, and I know how my mother is waiting and +watching for me, as she did for my father, and she will watch and wait +in vain. Oh, Colley, do you think God is very angry, and that this is +my punishment--to die out here, with no one to care, no one to----" +Jack broke down, and hid his face on his sleeveless arms, for his blue +jersey was fluttering in the morning breeze. + +"Boy," Colley said, "it is just this: You wanted your own way, and you +were let to take it. You have made your own punishment; but as to +God's anger--well, if you turn your heart to Him in Christ's name, He +won't send you empty away. He will speak peace for His dear Son's +sake, whether He lets you go back to you poor mother, or whether He +takes you through the Valley of Death to His kingdom in heaven." + +"Colley," Jack said vehemently, "I don't want to die. I want to live, +and show my mother I am sorry." + +"We can't choose, boy, we can't choose; and we are just in God's hands, +and must be quiet." + +But, oh! through that long day of heat and oppression it was hard to be +quiet. The poor child moaned, and was rapidly becoming insensible. +Jack's lips were so sore and chapped he could not bite the hard +biscuit; and though Colley soaked his in a few drops of rum, he felt +sick at the smell and taste of the spirits, and when offered a morsel, +he turned away, saying-- + +"It reminds me of Skinner. I hate the smell." + +The great waste of waters, of varied opal hues, in the clear depths of +which the forms of many sea creatures could be seen darting hither and +thither--how desolate it was! + +Above, snowy gulls flew and floated now and again on the waves. One +came so near that Colley seized it and took it into the boat. It +looked up with wondering eyes, and Colley said-- + +"You poor stupid thing! You have come to your death;" and then he +wrung the bird's neck, saying, "If the worst comes to the worst, we +must eat it raw." + +"I would sooner die," Jack said wearily. "I begin to wish to die, +Colley. Yesterday I wanted to live, but I don't feel to care now, and +I believe that poor little darling is going." + +"Help me to lift him up--lift him up," Colley said; and between them, +feeble as they both were, the old man and the boy, they managed to get +the poor child's head to rest on Colley's knees. + +Towards evening the child opened his eyes. "Mother," he said, "I'm +coming." Then he smiled, and Jack said, "He is better." + +But Colley shook his head. "No; but he will be better soon;" and then +he said a few words of prayer, and bid Jack think of some hymn his +mother had taught him. + +Jack tried to summon a verse from his confused brain, and the one +little Miss Joy had often said came to his lips, and he repeated in a +low voice, quavering with weakness and emotion-- + + "Jesus, lover of my soul, + Let me to Thy bosom fly, + While the nearer waters roll, + While the tempest still is high: + + "Hide me, O my Saviour, hide, + Till the storm of life is past; + Safe into the haven guide, + Oh, receive my soul at last! + + "Other refuge have I none, + Hangs my helpless soul on Thee; + Leave, ah! leave me not alone, + Still support and comfort----" + + +"Oh! Colley," Jack said, breaking off, "look!" The little boy's eyes +were wide open, gazing upwards. Then a smile, a sweet smile, a shudder +as if in answer to a welcome, and the spirit of the child had fled! + +Colley bowed his head weeping. + +"A pretty little lad!" he said, "his mother's pride aboard ship. Well, +well, she is waiting for him, and God's will be done." + +When the shadows crept over the blue expanse that night, Colley lifted +the child's body tenderly in his arms, and said to Jack-- + +"Kiss him for his mother, boy. He is saved from the death which, +unless God send help, lies before you and me--the death of starvation. +You are young, but I am an old man; for all sailors are old at fifty, +and few see sixty. I shall go next." + +"Oh, Colley, Colley, do not leave me all alone!" + +Colley shook his head. + +"Again I say, Let God's will be done. I wish--I wish I had a memory +for a text of Scripture to say before I bury this child; for we must +bury him, and now. You've been at school, you say, up to the time you +ran away. Can't you say the words of Scripture which you have learned? +You must know a lot." + +Poor Jack rubbed his head and tried to collect his thoughts, but in +vain. + +"It's what the Lord said to Mary when her brother Lazarus died. Ah, +I've got it now!" + +and Colley slowly and solemnly repeated, "I am the Resurrection and the +Life; he that liveth and believeth on Me shall never die." + +Then the old sailor clasped his weather-beaten hands over the child's +lifeless form, and with tears running down his rugged cheeks he said: +"O heavenly Father, Thou hast called this child from pain and +suffering. In Thy mercy send for me next; but let poor Jack live to go +back to his mother. For Christ Jesus' sake." + +Then tenderly and gently the little form slipped over the side of the +boat; there was a sudden splash, a rippling sound, and all was +still--so still, except for the mysterious murmur which always sounds +like whispers from another world at nightfall on the sea. + +Again the sun rose, and again the silent sea was flooded with the rays +of the sun. The inhabitants of the little boat were too weak now to +speak much. Even Toby could scarcely wag his tail, but lay with his +head on his paws, gazing up to his master's face, questioning as to +what it meant--this faintness and weakness which seemed to be creeping +over him. + +The dead gull lay untouched. There was not strength left to eat it, +even if there had been inclination. + +Jack still grasped the oar, and still the poor blue jersey fluttered in +the breeze. But Colley lay at the bottom of the boat, breathing +heavily, though his eyes were open, and his rough weather-beaten hands +folded as if in prayer. + +They had drifted far out in the Atlantic, but not in the direct line +hitherto of the many steamers which continually cross the great +dividing waters which lie between the Old World and the New. + +Jack had ample time for thought, as the long weary hours went by. But +a stupor was fast creeping over him, and everything became dreamlike +and unreal. Even the images of his mother and Joy, which had been so +vivid, grew taint and indistinct, and he was scarcely conscious, when a +loud "Ahoy!" fell on his ear. + +He started up, and there, at last, was a boat alongside of theirs. + +"Wake up, boy!" said a cheery voice. "What's happened, eh?" + +"Oh, Colley, Colley!" Jack cried, "we are saved, we are saved!" And +then from excess of joy and emotion he fell prone upon the prostrate +figure of the old sailor. + +"A man, a boy, and a dog," said one of the boat's crew. + +"Half-starved, I declare! Look alive, mates, and let's get 'em aboard +our ship as quick as may be. I told you this object we saw was a craft +of some sort, though you were so slow to believe me. A happy thing for +these poor creatures I got the boat lowered." + +In another quarter of an hour two pairs of sturdy arms were pulling the +boat and those in it to the good ship _Claudia_, bound for the islands +of the Southern Seas. + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +"_ONLY A LITTLE BOX._" + +Uncle Bobo was sitting at the door of his shop one golden September +day, when the atmosphere of the row was oppressive, and his heart was +heavy within him. + +Little Miss Joy was mending--so the doctors said; for Uncle Bobo had +declared two heads were better than one, and had insisted on calling in +a second opinion. + +Yes; they all said little Miss Joy was better. But in what did this +betterness consist? She was still lying in that upper chamber, whence +she had always smiled her good-morning on Patience Harrison, and sang +her hymn of thanksgiving as the little birds sing their matins to the +rising sun. + +Better! yes, she was better; for there was now no danger to her life. +But the fall had injured her back, and she could not move without pain. +The colour was gone from her rosy lips, and the light from those lovely +gentian eyes was more soft and subdued. Little Miss Joy, who had been +as blithe as a bird on the bough and so merry and gladsome, that she +deserved her name of "Little Sunbeam," was now a patient sick child, +never complaining, never fretful, and always greeting Uncle Bobo with a +smile--a smile which used to go to his heart, and send him down to his +little shop sighing out--as to-day-- + +"Better--better! I don't see it; the doctor doesn't know! What are +doctors for, if they can't make a child well? I pay enough. I don't +grudge them their money, but I expect to see a return for it. And here +comes Patience Harrison to tell me what I don't see--that my little +sunbeam is better." + +Patience Harrison was crossing the row to Uncle Bobo's door as he +spoke. Her face wore the same expression of waiting for something or +some one that never came, as it did on the morning when we first saw +her looking up and looking down the row for Jack. + +It was a wonderfully warm September. No news had been brought of the +wanderer: the news for which her soul thirsted. George Paterson, it is +true, had heard an inkling of news, but it was not anything certain. +He had heard from a sailor that Jack Harrison had been seen aboard the +_Galatea_ by a passenger who had been put ashore as the _Galatea_ +passed the Lizard; and tidings had come that the _Galatea_ had been +lost off the coast of Spain, and only nine of the crew or passengers +aboard had survived to tell the tale! That the _Galatea_ was lost +seemed certain, but that Jack was aboard her was not proved. The man +who reported that he had seen him could not be sure of his name. He +heard him called Jack, but so were hundreds of other boys. He had +understood that he was a runaway, kept on sufferance by the captain to +please the second mate; but that was all, and it was not much. +Certainly not enough to warrant adding to Patience Harrison's heavy +burden of sorrow. So George Paterson kept the suspicion to himself, +and waited for confirmation of the report before he mentioned it. + +Patience Harrison had nursed and cared for Joy as if she had been her +own child, and Uncle Bobo was not ungrateful. + +"Well," he said, as she leaned against the door, a variety of articles +making a festoon over her head, and a bunch of fishing-tackle catching +a lock of her abundant hair, which was prematurely grey:--"Well, is the +grand affair coming off to-morrow?" + +"Yes, they are to be married to-morrow at ten o'clock; but there's to +be no fuss. They are going to Cromer for a few days, and I have +promised to keep shop till they come home." + +"And what's Joy to do without you?" + +"I shall run over early every morning and late every evening, and poor +Bet Skinner is out of her wits with delight because I said I thought +you would let her stay by day and take my place." + +"To be sure! to be sure! Only don't expect me to hold out a hand to +that old lady, Skinner's mother. Is she to be present at the wedding?" + +"Yes, and so is Bet; and I have excused myself on account of looking +after the shop." + +"Well, your poor sister is making a pretty hard bed for herself to lie +on, and I am afraid she will live to repent it; though, to be sure, we +can't call it marrying in haste. That sly fellow has been sneaking +about here for a long time. What's the mother going to do?" + +"She will live where she is for the present, and everything will go on +the same, except that I cannot live with Skinner. I shall look out for +a situation in a shop, as soon as Joy is well again, and does not want +me. Or maybe I shall take one of the small houses on the Denes, and +let lodgings to folks who can put up with humble accommodation." + +"You oughtn't to do any such thing," said Mr. Boyd. "You have been a +widow now between eleven and twelve years. A good man wants to make +you his wife--and," said Uncle Bobo, slapping his knee, "and why +shouldn't he?" + +"Please do not speak of it, Mr. Boyd," Patience said. "Do you think +that I could ever marry any man while I am waiting for my husband's +return, and now, too, for my boy's? No! it is only pain to me to think +that any of my friends could think I should forget." + +"You'll see the boy safe and sound before long, and you'll find the +salt water has washed a lot of nonsense out of him. He will come back, +but the other--never!" + +Mrs. Harrison said no more, but climbed up the narrow staircase to +Joy's room. + +"Oh, Goody dear! I _am_ so glad you are come," Joy said, stretching +out her little thin arms and winding them round her friend's neck. "I +have been fidgeting so, hearing you talking to Uncle Bobo downstairs. +And I've been very snappy to Susan, because she will have it I ought to +try to stand. Goody dear, I _can't_." + +"Susan knows that as well as I do, dearie. I think she tries to make +you out much stronger than you are, to comfort Uncle Bobo." + +"_Dear_ Uncle Bobo!" the child said. "I wish he would not fret about +me. Goody! I was dreaming of a horse tearing after me, just as that +horse did that evening; and then it wasn't a horse at all, but it was +great roaring waves, and I thought Jack was with me, and we were going +to be drowned." + +The lines on Mrs. Harrison's forehead deepened, and she tried to say +cheerfully-- + +"Dreams do not mean anything, dear; and it is said they always go by +contrary, you know." + +Then Mrs. Harrison began to settle Joy's pillows, and put back the +curtains so that she might see from her bed the strip of blue sky above +the opposite roofs and through a slight aperture between the two +houses, where Joy could on clear nights see two or three stars, and at +certain, and what seemed to her very long intervals, the moon, on her +lonely way through the heavens. + +"Susan says the wedding will be to-morrow, and that you will have to +stay to keep shop while Miss Pinckney is away." + +"Yes, dear; and Bet is coming to be with you." + +Joy sighed, and said softly-- + +"Poor Bet! she does love me very much; but, dear Goody, _I_ don't love +her as I love you. When Jack comes home, I shall tell him how kind you +have been to me, and we shall be so happy; only I expect Jack will be +vexed to see me lying here, instead of running out to meet him." + +Mrs. Harrison could only turn away her head to hide her tears as Joy +went on: + +"Uncle Bobo said the other day, when he came up and found me crying, +just a little bit, 'Why, I shall have to call you little Miss +Sorrowful!' And then he seemed choked, and bustled away. I made up my +mind then I would try to smile always when he came. I should not like +him to call me little Miss Sorrowful, it seems to hurt him so. And +then he always says he ought to have snatched hold of me when the horse +came galloping after us, and that he ought to have been knocked down, +not me. But that is quite a mistake. Uncle Bobo is wanted in the +shop, and I don't think I could have done instead of him; and then it +would have been worse for him to bear the pain than it is for me; for +when he had the gout in his toe, he did shout out, and threw the things +about when Susan went to bathe it. So it is best as it is," was little +Miss Joy's conclusion; "isn't it Goody?" + +The wedding came off the next day, and the row was greatly excited by +the event. + +Miss Pinckney was dressed in a cream-coloured cashmere, trimmed with +lace, and she wore an apology for a bonnet, with orange blossoms, and a +large square of tulle thrown over it. + +Susan, who reported the appearance of the wedding party, which she +watched leaning out of Joy's window, exclaimed: + +"All in white, or next to white! Deary me! If I was fifty, and had a +yellow skin, I wouldn't dress like a young girl. There she goes +mincing down the row, and there's a coach waiting at the end with white +horses. And there goes Mrs. Skinner looking like a lamp-post, dressed +in a grey alpaca; she looks as grim as ever. And there's poor +Bet--well, to be sure, what a frock and bonnet! They belonged to her +mother, let alone her grandmother, or p'r'aps to that pretty daughter +of hers, who ran off--she was that ill-treated by her mother she +couldn't bear it! Ah! they are a queer lot, those Skinners; they do +say Joe Skinner is a queer customer, and that he is so hard up, that's +why he's married that old lady. He will make her money spin, and there +won't be much left at the end of a year. Serve her right. I've no +patience with folks making themselves ridiklous at her time of life. +Why, my dear!" Susan said, growing confidential, as she drew her head +in from the window, when the little following of girls and boys who +lived in the row had returned from seeing the last of Miss +Pinckney--"Why, my dear! I could have married, last fall, the +lamplighter who has looked after the lamps in the row for years. But I +knew better. I told him I was forty-eight, and he was scarce +thirty-eight, and I was not going to make myself a laughing-stock. And +he went and married a young girl, and has made a good husband. So +that's all right!" + +It was the same afternoon that Mrs. Harrison, being installed in her +sister's place at the shop, Bet came breathlessly up the narrow stairs +to say-- + +"Grandmother wants to see you." + +"Oh! I'd rather not, please. I feel so afraid of your grandmother. +Don't, please don't let her come." + +But it was too late. Mrs. Skinner's spare figure was already at the +door. She was dressed in her wedding gown and bonnet, and came to +Joy's bed, standing there like a grey spectre, her bonnet and face all +of the same dull grey as the gown. + +Joy turned up her wistful eyes to the hard, deeply-lined face, and her +lips quivered. + +"If you please," she said, "I am glad you will spare Bet, while Goody +is so busy." + +But Mrs. Skinner did not speak--not a word. "I am getting better," Joy +continued; "at least the doctors say so; but--but I can't stand or walk +yet, so I am glad to have Bet." + +Mrs. Skinner had all this time been scanning little Miss Joy's features +with a keen scrutiny. Then, after a few minutes, she jerked out: + +"I hope you'll soon get about again; you are welcome to keep Bet;" and +then she turned, and her footfall on the stairs was heard less and less +distinct, till the sound ceased altogether. + +"Your grandmother is--is not like other people," little Miss Joy +ventured to say. "I don't like her; but I beg your pardon, I ought not +to say so to you." + +"And do you think _I_ like her?" Bet exclaimed vehemently. "At first I +thought I'd try, and I did try; but she was always so hard. She loves +Uncle Joe, I think, though she is angry with him for marrying Miss +Pinckney, and lately I have heard high words between them." + +And now Bet took off her wedding bonnet, and sat down by Joy's side, +perfectly content that she was thought worthy to be her companion. + +"You'll tell me if you want anything," she said. "And you won't mind +if I am stupid and blunder, will you?" + +"No," Joy said faintly. "Have you got your work, or a book? Give me +my crochet. I like to try to do something, though lying flat it is +rather tiring." + +Bet did as she was told, and then said humbly, "I shan't talk unless +you wish me to talk;" and the poor girl settled herself by the window +till a bell rang. + +"That is for you to go down for my tea," Joy said. "It saves Susan's +legs, you know." + +Bet was only too happy to be of use, and hurried down stairs at once +for the tray. + +"Be careful now," Susan said; "and don't fall upstairs and break the +crockery. There's a cup for yourself, and Mrs. Harrison has sent over +a bit of wedding-cake. It's very black, and I don't like the looks of +the sugar; but I dare say it may eat better than it looks." + +The day wore on to evening, and the row was quiet, when Joy, who had +been lying very still, suddenly said-- + +"I have been dreaming of Jack again--Jack Harrison. I think he must be +coming home." + +"Did you care for Jack Harrison very much?" + +"Very much," said Joy; "he was always so good to me. That last day +before he ran away he lent me that pretty book you were looking at, and +said we would learn those verses at the beginning together, and I never +saw him again. That was a dreadfully sad time; and then, not content +with being very hard on Jack, Miss Pinckney and your uncle said he was +a thief. Think of that! Jack a thief! Miss Pinckney said he had got +the key of a drawer and taken out a little box, where she kept the +money. There were four or five pounds in it." + +"A box!" Bet said; "was it a big box?" + +"Oh no; dear Goody says it would go into anybody's pocket. A little +box with a padlock and a little key. I knew Jack did not take it, but +of course as he ran away that very day it looks _like_ it. Even Susan +shakes her head, and I never talk of Jack to her. But," said Joy, "I +am tired now, and I think I'll take what Uncle Bobo calls 'forty +winks.'" + +Everything was very quiet after that; and when Bet saw Joy was asleep, +she crept downstairs, and in the shop saw Mrs. Harrison. + +Miss Pinckney's shutters were closed, and she felt free to come over +and have a last look at Joy. + +"A little box! a little box!" Bet repeated to herself as she went home. +"A box so small it would go into anybody's pocket." And Bet that night +lay awake pondering many things, and repeating very often, "A little +box!" + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +_MR. SKINNER IN COMMAND._ + +Mrs. Skinner was more silent than ever during the next few days, and +when she spoke it was to scold Bet in a rasping voice. + +She was suffering from that very bad mental disease which is beyond the +reach of doctors, and is a perpetual torment; and that disease is +called remorse. + +Of late she had been haunted by the memory of her only daughter, and of +her harshness to her. The man she had chosen to marry was good, and to +all appearance above the class in which Maggie was born. There was +nothing against him but poverty. He had been a travelling +photographer, who set up his little van with "Photographic Studio" +painted on the canvas cover in large letters, and had sometimes done a +brisk trade on Yarmouth sands. One of his first customers had been +Maggie Skinner, then in her fresh beauty, and a tempting subject for a +photographer or artist. + +About the same time a wealthy grocer in Yarmouth, old enough to be her +father, had offered to marry her. He had a villa at Gorlestone: +possessed a pony-carriage, and was rich and prosperous. But Maggie +shrank from marrying him. Mr. Plummer might be rich, and no doubt he +meant well and kindly by her, but she could not marry him. + +In vain she pleaded with her mother, and with her inexorable brother +Joe, that to marry simply for what you were to get by it was a sin--a +sin against the law of God, who meant marriage to be a sign and seal of +mutual love. + +Mrs. Skinner at last said that if she did not do as she bid her, and +promise to marry Mr. Plummer, she might go and earn her living for she +was not going to keep her in idleness. Many stormy scenes followed; +and one night Maggie declared that she could not marry Mr. Plummer, for +she had promised to marry Roger Chanter, the photographic artist! + +"And if you do, you shall never see my face again," Mrs. Skinner +declared. "I'll turn you out of the house, and you may disgrace +yourself as you please. I have done with you. Your brother there +knows when I say a thing I mean it." + +"Oh, mother, you are very cruel!" Ah! how those words sounded +sometimes in the dead of night, when Mrs. Skinner lay awake, listening +for Joe's return, and to the moaning of the restless sea. + +"Oh! mother, you are very cruel!" Those were the last words ever heard +from Maggie, as she passed out of her mother's sight. The next morning +her bed was empty, and she was gone. + +From that day up to the present time not a word had been heard of her, +nor had her mother or her brother troubled themselves to inquire for +her. It was supposed she had married the pale, delicate-looking +photographer; but her name was never mentioned, and she had passed away +as if she had never been. + +It was the day of the bride and bridegroom's return, and Patience +Harrison had put all things in order. The business had not suffered in +the absence of the head of the establishment, and Mr. Skinner expressed +considerable satisfaction at this. He at once took the keys, and said +he would keep the books and the money, and, in fact, rule the +establishment, and transact the business. + +He was fidgeting about the shop the next morning, and peering into all +the boxes and drawers, when his wife ventured to remark that perhaps he +would be late at the office on the quay, as the clock had struck ten. + +"My dear," was the reply, "I have resigned my post in the +Excise-office, and shall henceforth devote myself to you and my aged +mother. I have always been a good son, and I shall often look in on +her of an evening when I have settled up matters here." + +Patience Harrison heard this announcement, and saw her sister's face +betray considerable surprise. + +"Resign the place at the office!" she exclaimed. "Why, Joe!----" + +"Why, Joe!" he repeated. "Why, my dear, you ought to be delighted; you +will have so much more of my company and my help. Now you can take +your ease, and sit in your parlour, while Mrs. Harrison waits in the +shop, and performs household duties." + +"What next, Joe! I am not going to sit with my hands before me because +I am a married woman. As to a man about in a little shop like mine, +with ladies trying on caps and ordering underclothing, it is not to be +thought of. The customers won't like it. It is too small a place for +three." + +"You may be easy on that score, sister," Patience said. "I only +remained while you were away. I wish to leave you, and think of taking +a little house on the Denes, and taking a lodger till they come home." + +"Pray may I ask who are _they_?" Mr. Skinner said. + +"My husband and my son," was the reply. + +"The folly of some women!" exclaimed Mr. Skinner. "No, Mrs. Harrison, +you don't know when you are well off. You should recompense your +sister's goodness and generosity by staying to assist her in her +household cares." + +"I did not ask for your advice, and I do not want it. Sister, I shall +cross over to Mr. Boyd's, and take care of that dear child for the +present. I have packed my boxes, and Peter will carry them over." + +"My dear," Mr. Skinner said, "that being the case, we at once renounce +all connection with Mrs. Harrison." + +"But we shall have to keep a servant," exclaimed his wife; "and +servants are such a terrible trouble, and think of the worry and the +expense, and----" + +Poor Mrs. Joe Skinner seemed unfeignedly sorry. She began to magnify +her gentle sister's perfections now she was to lose her. + +"And Patience knows all my ways, and how to use the furniture polish on +the chairs and table in the parlour. And---- Oh! really, Patience, I +hope you will stay; especially now the boy is gone. You are welcome, +I'm sure; very welcome! It was the boy made the trouble. We've gone +on so pleasantly since he went." + +Patience turned away to hide the tears of wounded feeling, and said no +more. + +As she was crossing over to Mr. Boyd's, she saw a ladylike, sweet-faced +woman standing at the door of the shop. + +Mr. Boyd was very busy rubbing up a chronometer, which the captain and +mate of one of the small sailing vessels were bargaining for; and as it +was difficult for more than three people to stand in the little shop at +once, Patience paused before entering. + +"I am waiting to speak to Mr. Boyd," the lady--for so she looked--said. + +"I dare say he will be at liberty directly," Patience said. "It is a +very small shop, and too full of goods for its size." + +"Do you happen to know if Mr. Boyd has a little girl living with him? +She is now just short of nine years old. She is very----" + +The voice suddenly faltered, and Patience hastened to say-- + +"She is a darling child. Mr. Boyd has adopted her, and he calls her +Joy. We all call her Joy--little Miss Joy. Do you know anything about +her?" + +The lady grasped Mrs. Harrison's arm. + +"Let me see Mr. Boyd," she said. "Wait till I see him." + +The bargain in the shop was now completed, and the captain and mate +were departing with their chronometer, when Uncle Bobo sang out to +Patience-- + +"Glad to see you; the little one aloft is just hungry for a sight of +you. Bet isn't come yet. She's to help her old grannie before she +starts." + +A bevy of little girls on their way to school now came up with flowers, +and some ripe plums in a basket. + +"Please will you give these to little Miss Joy?" the eldest of the four +said, "with our love. Please, Mr. Boyd, how is she? is she better?" + +"So they say, my dear; so they say. I wish I could say so too. +But--well--never mind. Here, Mrs. Patience, take 'em aloft to the +child. And now, ma'am, what can I show you?" Mr. Boyd said, turning to +the lady. + +"The child--you call--little Miss Joy," was the reply, in faint tones. +"Mr. Boyd, you don't know me, and Mrs. Harrison does not know me. I +was once Maggie Skinner, and Little Joy is my child!" + +Uncle Bobo looked with a keen glance from under his bushy grey eyebrows +into the lady's face. + +"You Maggie Skinner! Well, I never!" + +"Yes, I have had a great deal of trouble; but it is over now." + +"Sit down; sit down," Uncle Bobo said, pushing a high round stool with +a slippery leather top, the only seat for which the shop could afford +room. "Sit ye down; but surely you look too old to be Maggie Skinner!" + +"I have had many troubles. Oh! Mr. Boyd, can you forgive me? When my +darling child was a baby, I wanted bread. My husband died just when +she was eighteen months old; I had not a shilling in the world; there +was only the workhouse before me, and I could not--no, I could not take +my precious child there. So I walked here from Ipswich. I remembered +you had a kind heart--so I laid her here on your door-step and stood +watching till you came and took her up, and I knew you would be good to +her; but I dared not face my mother. I wandered alone all that night; +and early in the morning, before any one was stirring, I came to look +up at this house. As I stood listening, I heard my baby's little +cough. Some one was crooning over her and playing with her." + +"That was Susan. Hi, Sue! come this way," exclaimed Mr. Boyd. + +Susan came blundering down the stairs, asking-- + +"What do you want? I was just giving the precious child her breakfast. +She seems a bit brighter this morning." + +"What is the matter with her?" Maggie Chanter asked. "Is she ill? is +she ill?" + +"She was knocked down by a runaway horse last June, and hurt her back. +What do you know about the child?" + +"I am her mother?" was the answer. "Oh! I thank you all for being +kind to her." And then a burst of passionate tears choked the poor +mother. + +Patience Harrison's kind arms were round her in a moment. + +"My dear," she said, "God is very good to us. Do not fret; you trusted +this little one to His care, and He has not forgotten you. Little Miss +Joy is loved by every one; she is the sweetest and best of little +darlings." + +"Ah! I am so afraid she may not love me," the poor mother said. "She +may think I was cruel to desert her; but what could I do? I knew Mr. +Boyd had a kind heart; but many, oh! many a time I have repented of +what I did. As I wandered back to the quay that morning I saw a new +registry office I had never seen before. I waited till it was open, +and went in. A man-servant was waiting with me, and he went into the +manager's room first. Presently the manager came out. + +"'What place do you want?' she asked, + +"'Any place,' I replied. 'A maid----' + +"'I think she'll do,' the man said. + +"Then he told me his young mistress was married a month before, and was +to sail from London Docks that night for India. The maid who was to +have attended her was sickening of scarlet fever; the lady was at her +wits' end; she was staying at Lord Simon's, near Yarmouth. 'Come out,' +he said, 'and see her at once.' + +"I went, and I was instantly engaged. I told my story in a few words, +and the lady believed me. Strange to say, she had a photograph taken +by my husband, with the name Ralph Chanter on the back. She remembered +him and the time when he was taking portraits here. Well, I served her +till she died, dear lady, and never returned to England till last week. +She has left me a legacy, which will enable me to set up a business, +and make a home for my child. You'll give her back to me, Mr. Boyd?" + +Uncle Bobo's face was a study as he listened to this story, told +brokenly, and interrupted by many tears. + +"It will be kind of hard," he said at last. "Yes, it will be _kind of +hard_," with desperate emphasis. "But," he said, heavily slapping his +leg, "I'll do what is just and right." + +"I know you will, I know you will," Patience Harrison said; "but, oh! I +am so sorry for you, dear Uncle Bobo." + +"Let me see my child," Maggie Chanter said. "Let me see her; and yet, +oh, how I dread it! Who will take me to her? Will you take me? Will +you tell the story, Mr. Boyd?" + +"No, no, my dear, don't ask me; let Patience Harrison do it; let her. +I can't, and that's the truth." + +Then Patience Harrison mounted the narrow stairs, and pausing at the +door said, "We must be careful, she is very weak." + +Maggie bowed her head in assent, and then followed Patience into the +room. + +"Oh, Goody, I am _so_ glad you are come!" and the smile on Joy's face +was indeed like a sunbeam. "Bet has not come yet. I don't like to vex +her, but she does blunder so. Susan calls her Blunder-buss; isn't that +funny of Susan?" + +Then Joy turned her head, and caught sight of the figure on the +threshold. + +"Why doesn't she come in?" Joy said; "she looks very kind; and see what +flowers and plums the girls have brought me as they went to school!" + +"Joy, darling Joy," Patience said, "you have often said you wished you +had known your mother." + +"Have I? You are like my mother now." + +"But what if I were to tell you your very own mother is come, Joy?" +And then, pointing to Maggie, she said, "There she is!" + +The excitement and agitation was all on one side. The mother tried in +vain to conceal her deep emotion. Joy, on the contrary, was quite +calm, and said, looking at Patience-- + +"Is it true? _is_ this my mother?" + +"Yes, yes; your poor unhappy mother. Can you love her, little Joy? +Can you forgive her for leaving you to Mr. Boyd?" + +"Why, yes," Joy said brightly, "of course I can; he has been ever so +good to me, and I do love him so." + +Then Patience Harrison slipped away, and left the mother and the child +together. + +"The meeting is well over," she said as she returned to the shop. + +"But the parting isn't over," was poor Uncle Bobo's lament; "and I tell +you what, when it comes it will break my heart. I shan't have nothing +left to live for; and the sooner I cut my cable the better." + +Patience Harrison felt that it was useless to offer comfort just then, +and she remembered Bet had not arrived as usual, and turned out of the +row. Towards the market-place, on the way to Mrs. Skinner's cottage, +she met George Paterson. His face brightened, as it always did, when +they met. + +"Well," he said, "have the bride and bride-groom come home?" + +"Yes," she replied, "and I have given notice to quit." + +"You have!" he said joyfully; "then you will come to me?" + +"No, George, no--not yet." + +"Not _yet_! When, then?" he asked quickly. "I was reading in the +paper the other day, that when a man is not heard of for seven years it +is lawful to marry another. It is getting on for twice seven years +since you were left desolate." + +"My dear kind friend," Patience said, "I have waited so long and prayed +so often to be shown the right path, that I feel sure God will not +leave me without an answer; and till I am certain that my husband is +taken away by death, I could not be the wife of another man." + +"Then you may wait till you are a hundred," George said impatiently. +"How _can_ you ever know?" + +"Dear George, be patient with me. Do not be angry with me. I have +asked God for guidance, and He will give it in His own time." + +"I am wrong to be hard on you, I know," was the reply; "but to see you +drifting alone, and with no home, is enough to madden any man when a +home is ready for you." + +"I have got some strange news for you," Patience said, trying to change +the subject. "Our little Joy is Maggie Skinner's child. She left her +when destitute on Mr. Boyd's door-step." + +"How do you know?" + +"Because she is here in Yarmouth, and I have just left her and her +child together." + +"Well, wonders never cease! and I suppose you know why Joe Skinner has +left the office?" + +"That he may get entire rule in my poor sister's home, and grind every +penny out of her. The reason is plain enough." + +"Ah! but there's another reason. He is dismissed from the office for +certain irregularities in the cash. He has narrowly escaped +prosecution--so I hear." + +"Oh, George, then our suspicions about that little cash-box are right!" + +"It looks like it," George said, as Patience's eyes shone with a +wonderful light of hope. "It looks like it; and when the boy comes +home, we will see his character cleared." + +"_When_ he comes home! Oh, another 'when,' another waiting time!" +Patience sighed out, "There is a word which gives me comfort, however, +and I am always hearing it, as if it were whispered to me: 'If it +tarry, wait for it.'" + +"You find waiting easier than I do," George said. + +"Easy!" she said, clasping her hands together. "Easy! oh, only God +knows how hard!" + +Then she turned sorrowfully away from him, and pursued her way alone to +look for Bet. + + + + +CHAPTER XII. + +_THE SPIRIT OF PEACE._ + +Bet had been sent on an errand for her grandmother, and when Patience +came up to her she was laden with a heavy basket of market produce. +She was bending under the weight she carried, and as Patience joined +her she set down the basket and wiped her hot face with her +handkerchief. + +"Is little Miss Joy worse?" she asked eagerly, "I couldn't come early, +for grandmother wanted me to scrub out the room Joe uses, and the +passage; and then I had to change my frock and go to the market. I met +the girls going to Miss Bayliff's, and they laughed at me, and said +they supposed I was so clever I had left school because there was no +more to learn; and they laughed and jeered at me as they daren't have +done if little Miss Joy had been there. But as she loves me a little, +and never laughs at me, I don't mind." + +"I thought I should meet you, Bet, and I came along to tell you some +news." + +"Not that Jack is come? Oh my!" + +"No; my wanderer is not come home; but another has--your Aunt Maggie." + +Bet stared in Mrs. Harrison's face with open mouth. + +"My Aunt Maggie! she that went away! I have got her picture in a box. +I showed it to little Miss Joy that last evening she was ever running +about, and she came home with me." + +"Bet, that Aunt Maggie is Joy's mother." + +"How do you know?" + +"She is with Joy now. I have left them together." + +"Are you come to tell grannie? She has been so mopy since the wedding. +Uncle Joe had a breeze with her just before he married. She says she +can't get along living in this house alone with me. Come and see her, +do; and tell her about Aunt Maggie. I think you must tell her that." + +"But I do not know your grandmother very well. I have scarcely spoken +a dozen words to her in my life." + +"I feel afraid to tell her," Bet said. "Do come along, please, Mrs. +Harrison." + +Patience did not like to refuse the earnest pleading of poor Bet. Just +as they reached the back door--for Bet never entered at the front--she +paused. + +"Little Miss Joy won't care for me, or no one, now that she has got her +mother. I say, is it wicked? I almost wish Aunt Maggie had never come +back. Little Miss Joy will belong to her now, and--she won't care for +me." + +"Bet," Patience said, "all love that is very, very strong for any +person is likely to lead to jealousy; take care, for jealousy would +make you unhappy. True love thinks nothing of itself in comparison +with the person beloved. Whatever is for the good and for the +happiness of any one we love, should make us happy also. Try to see +that." + +"I can't," said poor Bet. "I'd like little Miss Joy to love me, that I +would; and I thought she was beginning to love me, and now she'll have +her mother, and never want me." + +"Or _me_," Mrs. Harrison said. "I might say the same; but I think it +would be a great mistake if I did, for I believe dear little Joy will +love you and me and Uncle Bobo just the same as ever." + +"Do you?" Bet said; "that's good to hear;" and then Bet opened the door +and went up the long narrow passage to the front of the house. + +Mrs. Skinner was seated by the table in the kitchen, stiff and +straight; her hands were folded, and she only nodded as Bet put the +basket on the table with both her tired arms. + +"Grannie, Mrs. Harrison is come to see you." + +"I don't want Mrs. Harrison," was the reply. + +"I won't stay long, Mrs. Skinner," Patience said. Mrs. Skinner's back +was turned to the door, and she never moved her position. + +Patience advanced to her side and said-- + +"Bet thought you would like to hear some good news." + +"There is never good news for me," was the answer, in a tone so hard +and yet so pathetic that Patience's heart was touched. + +"A wanderer has come home," Mrs. Harrison said. + +"Oh! your scapegraces I suppose. My son Joe has a very bad opinion of +him--I can tell you that." + +Mrs. Harrison took no notice of this thrust, but said-- + +"No, my boy has not come home; but your daughter has returned. She is +little Joy's mother." + +"What!" exclaimed Mrs. Skinner; "I don't believe it." + +"Well, it is true; and you have only to come to Mr. Boyd's to convince +yourself of the truth. If other tokens were wanting, the likeness +between dear little Joy and her mother is striking; and, besides----" + +"There, I don't want to hear any more," Mrs. Skinner said. "I'm a +miserable woman--that's what I am; but I want no pity, and I want +nobody or nothing." + +Patience Harrison ventured a little nearer, and said, "Come and see our +dear little Joy and her mother. You will feel happier then. God will +comfort your sore heart, if you turn to Him. Do come and satisfy +yourself that you have a child and a grandchild, who will love you if +you will let them." + +Mrs. Skinner took no further notice of what Patience Harrison said, and +resolutely turned her head away. But just as Bet was leaving the +kitchen with her visitor she said: + +"You stay at home, and don't go gadding off where you are not wanted. +Bide at home and do your duty. Do you hear?" + +"You had better stay," Patience said, "and be patient. You are sure to +hear something from Aunt Maggie before the day is over." + +It was not till the evening was closing in that a gentle tap was heard +at the door, and Bet, opening it, saw her aunt standing there. + +"You are Bet, I suppose. Little Joy sent me," she whispered. "I was +afraid to come till mother wished for me; but Joy begged me to come, +and tell her I am sorry I offended her. For, Bet, I ought not to have +deserted her, and I see it all now. Where is your grandmother?" + +"Sitting in the parlour knitting; but she won't speak, and she looks +very strange. I've had such a long day, Aunt Maggie, watching the +clock, and thinking it would never end. I have got your picture," she +added, "and it is very like dear little Miss Joy. _You_ are not like +it now." + +"No, no; trouble and sorrow have changed me. Poor Bet! I remember +coming to kiss you that night when I went away. Poor little thing, I +pitied you. But, Bet, I ought never to have acted as I did; and God +has been kinder to me than I deserve; for my darling found a true +friend, and if only she gets well I shall be a happy mother. I think +how proud her poor father would have been of such a dear child." + +"She is dear!" said Bet, in an ecstasy of delight. "But there's +grannie calling; you had better come." + +"Bet, who are you gossiping with out there?" cried Mrs. Skinner. "Shut +the door at once, and come in, will you?" + +Then Maggie Chanter, trembling and half choked with emotion, went up to +the table where, by the light of a dull little paraffin lamp, Mrs. +Skinner sat. + +"Mother!" + +Mrs. Skinner looked up over her spectacles. + +"Mother, I am so sorry. Please forgive me, and let me comfort your old +age, mother! My little Joy sent me. She does so want to see you, and +to know you will forgive me." + +"Forgive you! What do you care for my forgiveness? You chose your own +way, and made your own bed, and it isn't my fault you found it hard." + +"Come to Joy, mother. Hear her dear little voice asking you to--to be +kind. Will you come?" + +"I'll see about it." + +"But come now; it is not very dark; there's a moon rising. Oh, mother, +come!" + +There was a pause, and then Mrs. Skinner said-- + +"Get me my cloak and bonnet, Bet. I suppose for peace sake I shall +have to go." + +But Mrs. Skinner's voice trembled, and Bet saw her hand shake so that +she could hardly fasten her cloak. She followed her daughter silently +out of the house, only saying to Bet, "Be sure to lock the door." + +Bet was left alone, and had again nothing to do but to count the +clock's chimes as it struck the quarters. At last, lulled by the sound +of the in-coming tide and the low moan of the wind, she fell asleep in +her grandmother's chair. + +She was awakened by the sound of a laugh--a discordant laugh. It came +from her Uncle Joe's old room. Presently there was the chink of money, +and Bet, creeping softly to the end of the passage, listened +attentively. + +"Come, that's a good card," said the speaker; "you are in luck's way." + +"Oh! I know what I'm about now; we'll have shilling stakes to-night." + +"Won't your pretty bride wonder where you are?" + +"She'll be taught _not_ to wonder, that's all." + +"Has that young hopeful ever turned up?" was the next question, as the +cards were shuffled. + +"No, and it will be the worse for him when he does." + +Silence reigned after this, and it was evident that Joe Skinner thought +his mother and Bet were safe in bed. + +Bet crept upstairs. At last she heard the clock strike eleven, and +then the three men below departed, noiselessly as they came, by the +back door, of which Joe Skinner had the key. + +Bet pinched herself to keep awake till she heard her grandmother's step +at the front of the house. Running down, she opened the front door +before there was time to ring. + +Mrs. Skinner came in as she had gone out, silent and self-restrained. + +"Go back to bed, child," she said; "you'll catch your death of cold." + +"But you are so cold, grannie; let me make up the fire, and get you a +cup of tea; let me." + +Mrs. Skinner said nothing, but she shivered, and leaned her head +against the back of the chair. + +Bet instantly made her preparations, and the kettle was soon boiling, +and the cup of tea ready. The crackling of the wood, and the sudden +blaze, seemed to thaw poor Mrs. Skinner mentally and bodily. + +"You are a good girl," she said; "go to bed now." + +As Bet was leaving the kitchen she looked back, and saw her grandmother +with her head bowed on her hands, and heard a low, sobbing cry. The +hardly-wrung tears of old age, the painful, difficult sobs of a sore +and seared heart, how sad they are! Bet did not return to her +grandmother, but, softly closing the door, left her, saying to herself-- + +"When I'm bad, and crying my heart out, I don't like to be watched. I +dare say grannie is like me." + +Then, faithful and loyal-hearted, she climbed the narrow stairs, and +lay down this time to hear no disturbance till the morning dawned. + +There are moments when the soul is brought, as it were, into the very +presence of the all-loving Saviour of the lost. In the silent watches +of that night the words which had been spoken by a child had a strange +and unwonted power. + +"Grannie," little Joy had said--"Grannie, God is Love; and as He loves +us and forgives us, we'll love and forgive one another, won't we? and +we'll be so happy together--you, and I, and mother, and Uncle Bobo, and +dear Goody." + +"Happy! No, I shall never be happy," Mrs. Skinner had replied. Little +Miss Joy was disappointed; but she quietly said: + +"Yes, you _will_, if you make other folks happy, grannie. _That's the +secret_." + +Was it indeed the secret? Again and again, like a breath of heaven, +gentle and subtle, an influence unknown before seemed to touch Mrs. +Skinner's heart in those solemn, lonely hours as she sat pondering over +the sad, sad past. + +The Holy Spirit had convinced her of sin, and she was turning by that +divine power from darkness to a glimmering of light. When the grey, +cold dawn of the autumn morning crept through the chinks of the +shutters, she went softly to her room, and lay down with the relief a +tired labourer feels who has laid down a heavy burden he has borne +through the long hot day. That burden was the burden of harsh, +unforgiving judgment and remorse. It had been rolled away, like that +of one of old, at the foot of the cross--the cross of Him who, in the +pains of a cruel death, could pray for those who had done Him wrong, +and say, "Father, forgive them." + + + + +CHAPTER XIII. + +_A TOKEN AT LAST._ + +The ship that had picked up Colley and Jack Harrison in mid-ocean, and +saved them from the lingering death of starvation, was bound for the +islands of the South Pacific, and the captain told them that they must +be content to be absent from England till the following spring. He had +to call at several of the islands, and exchange cargo, so that even +with fair weather their return voyage could not be made under nine +months. + +Poor Colley was slow to recover; indeed, he never did recover fully +from the effects of those terrible days and nights at sea. But Jack +was young and strong, and he and Toby were soon, as old Colley said, +"hale and hearty as ever they were." + +Jack earned his biscuit and won favour as well; and the captain's kind +heart was touched by Colley's history of what had happened to his old +mother and his little children at home, and the fear he had that he +should never see them again. + +"I am cut to the heart that I can't work as a able-bodied seaman +should," Colley would say. "But God will reward you for your goodness +to me and the boy." + +The captain puffed his short pipe, and said: + +"I am an old hand now; but I say, Once get a taste of shipwreck like +yours, and you are cured of your craze for the sea. Not that I am +chicken-hearted, and I'd stand to my ship as your captain did--ay, and +go down with her if needs must; but for all that it is a roughish life, +and a terrible trial for them that love you and are left ashore." + +"Ay! ay!" old Colley said, "there's the pinch. The youngster's father +made off to better himself now ten years agone, and he's never been +heard of from that day to this. Dead, of course; only the poor woman, +his wife, won't believe it--so the lad says." + +A day or two after this the captain called Jack, and said: + +"The mate wants a word with you in private." + +"What have I done to offend him, sir?" Jack said. + +"Don't jump at conclusions, youngster. Did I say anything was wrong? +Be off with you." + +Jack went to the mate's berth, and found him sitting cross-legged on +the edge, and looking mysterious. + +"Is your name Harrison, young 'un?' + +"Yes," Jack said. + +"Do you hail from Yarmouth?" + +"Yes," said Jack again. + +"Where's your father?" + +"He was lost at sea--so we think; but we never heard a word about it, +and mother thinks he may be still alive." + +"Did he own several small herring boats, and have a share in a +curing-house, before he went a-whaling?" + +"Yes," Jack said, growing more and more wondering and excited by these +questions. + +"Look here, youngster. When I was a boy, eleven years ago, I was +working on a whaleship, and your father was aboard. His name was John +Harrison, hailing from Yarmouth." + +"Oh!" Jack said. "Where is he--do you know?" + +"No, my lad; let us hope his soul is gone aloft, but his body is lost. +We had dragged our boat across a field of ice for some miles, on the +look-out for our ship, which we had left, stored with provisions, in +open water. We were pretty near starving, for we had missed the track, +and the men said they would not go on another step. But your father, +boy, had a brave heart, such as I never saw before or since; and he +said, if those that were too chicken-hearted to go on, would stay where +they were for a few hours, he would go ahead and find the ship, as he +knew perfectly well we were near it, and near a village of the folk +they call Esquimaux. One youngster, just such another as you, said, +'I'm your man, captain'; and they set off with a good heart. We that +were left turned our boat bottom upwards, and a sorry set we were, +frost-bitten and starving. We huddled together to keep each other +warm--warm! why, I am cold now when I think of it; and look here, I +lost a finger and the end of a thumb that same time." + +"How?" Jack asked. + +"How? Frost-bitten, of course. Well, those two that left us never +came back, and never were seen again. We waited till we were so weak +we could scarce crawl, and then two of us--for three of the fellows +died--made our way back, and found a ship which took us aboard; but +never a word of your father and the young 'un from that day." + +"My father!" said Jack. "Are you sure?" + +"Well, I am as sure as I can be of anything. I was rummaging in my +locker t' other day, after we had picked you and old Colley up, and I +knew your name, and I found an old handkerchief that belonged to John +Harrison, and I'll proceed to produce it, lad." + +The mate then dragged from the depths of the locker a torn and ragged +red handkerchief, with yellow spots, and in the corner in white letters +was marked with thread, "J. H." + +"Yes, boy, there's the article, and your father gave it to me to tie up +my leg, which had a bad wound. He was uncommon loth to part with it, +but there never was a man with a kinder heart, never. He was a bit +fiery and off at a tangent, always thinking he was right and every one +else wrong; but he was a fine fellow, and you bid fair to be like him. +Here, take the handkerchief, and you can show it to your mother. +She'll know it; for John said to me, 'I'll let you have it for your +poor leg; but when I come back you must give it to me again, because my +wife tied it round my neck when I bid her good-bye, and I value it.' I +remember he said, 'She is a right good woman is my wife, and I'll see +her and the boy again, please God. I never lose heart.' Well, he may +see you again in the next world, but never in this, boy, never in this; +he is dead and gone long ago." + +Jack folded the handkerchief, and put it in his pocket. He felt +strangely affected by the sailor's story, and could only say: + +"If ever I see my mother again she shall have this token. She has +often prayed for a token that my father was dead, or a sign that he was +living; and now she will have it." + +Then Jack returned to his post on the deck, and, throwing himself down +behind some loose crates, found himself sobbing bitterly. + +The homeward voyage was prosperous, and it was on a bright August +evening that the white cliffs of old England came in sight. In another +hour Jack and his old friend found themselves dropping down with the +tide to St. Catherine's Docks. + +They were penniless, and how to get back to Yarmouth was a puzzle. +Jack could walk, but Colley could only hobble with the help of a stick. +The captain was kindly-disposed, and at parting gave Jack a few +shillings, saying he had more than earned his biscuit; while the mate +said he felt quite downhearted at losing him. + +"Tell 'ee what, lad," Colley said, "I know there's a place where the +shipwrecked fishermen's folk hang out. Let's enquire for it, and may +be they'll give us a helping hand." + +So the two made their way through the crowded thoroughfares to the +place which has been a refuge for many in like circumstances. The +kindness of their reception greatly cheered old Colley, and they were +put up for the night, while inquiries were made about the _Galatea_, +and the truth of their story. + +"The _Galatea_ had been lost, with all hands," was the answer from +Lloyd's; and the captain of the _Claudia_, the ship which had picked +the poor waifs up in mid-ocean, gave both man and boy an excellent +character. + +"The old geezer was useless, but I didn't grudge him his berth. What's +the world like, if we can't hold out a helping hand to one another in +trouble?" + +This was all satisfactory, and money was provided to pay the railway +journey to Yarmouth, while Jack's few shillings were expended in a pair +of second-hand boots for himself, and a new jersey--that which had +served for a flag of distress in mid-ocean being so full of holes that +he presented a very ragged appearance. + +Home at last! Home! Yes, where his mother was, was Home. He would +not care about the cold looks of his aunt: he would bear even Mr. +Skinner's gibes and scoffs: he would bear everything for his mother's +sake. And then, at last he had tidings for her! + +Colley was put down at a station before Yarmouth was reached, as it was +nearer the home of his old mother, who looked after his little ones. + +"For I married late in life, my boy," he said to Jack, "and lost my +poor wife almost as soon as I'd got her. She just lived to be the +mother of the youngest of the three children, and then she died. The +sailor's life is a hard one, and the wives of sailors have a hard time, +boy! The men grow old, like me, before their time. Why, I'm but just +over fifty years old, and I feel a vast deal more like seventy. Take +my advice, boy, and give up the sea. You are a good scholar, and you +are the only son of your mother. Bear all your aunt's hard words, and +live ashore, and be a comfort to her. You have had your lesson. God +has given you a pretty hard one to learn, first page! But never +mind--so much the better for you. Those days and nights were about the +worst I ever went through, and I've had a taste of dangers, I can tell +you. Don't you forget them, nor the Lord's mercy to you and me in +delivering us from the dreadful death of starvation. Don't forget it." + +"Forget it!" Jack said. "Why, I dream of it most nights, and see +little Peter's dying eyes. I----" + +Jack's voice was choked with tears, and old Colley wrung his hand, +while Toby wriggled up to him, and licked his face with silent sympathy. + +Colley stumbled out of the carriage with Toby in his arms when the +station was reached, and so they parted. + +In a few minutes more Jack found himself in Yarmouth, and was making +his way towards the row. His only thought was of his mother and little +Miss Joy. He looked up the familiar row, and then darted through it +till he came to the little milliner's shop. The widow's caps still +showed in the window, and there was a straw bonnet trimmed, and some +artificial flowers, lying on a very dusty bit of black velvet. The +window that used to be so bright looked dim, and the brass ledge before +it dull and stained. Altogether there was a dejected appearance about +the place. The door was open, and Jack entered cautiously. + +His aunt was sitting behind the counter waiting for customers, who were +slow to come; for the business had very much declined since Mr. Skinner +had taken the command and Mrs. Harrison had left the house. + +Mrs. Skinner looked very different from the Miss Pinckney of scarcely a +year ago. She had a dirty, faded look, and her face was pinched and +miserable. When she saw a sailor boy standing by the counter, she rose +and said-- + +"What for you? Have you brought a message from any one?" + +"No, Aunt Pinckney. Don't you know me? Where's my mother?" + +Mrs. Skinner was for a moment speechless. Then she raised her shrill +voice-- + +"Joe! Joe! come here; the young thief is come back." + +Mr. Skinner, who was apparently smoking in the back parlour and taking +life easily, now appeared. + +"What are you making such a row about? screeching like a poll-parrot!" + +Days of courtship and days of matrimony are apt to differ, in cases +like that of Mr. and Mrs. Skinner! + +Then, having delivered himself of this polite question, Mr. Skinner +caught sight of Jack. + +"You! oh! it's you, is it? Well, the police have been looking for you, +and I'll just give you in charge." + +Jack, utterly bewildered, was for the moment speechless. Then he said-- + +"Hands off! What do you mean? Where's my mother?" + +"She is not here; so you needn't think any of her crying and fuss will +avail. I'll give you in charge unless you confess." + +"Confess what?" said Jack, wriggling away from Mr. Skinner's grip. +"Hands off, I say! I am not going to run away. What am I to confess?" + +"Take him into the back parlour, Joe. You'll have the neighbours +coming in: take him out of the shop." + +"Hold your tongue!" was the rejoinder. "I shall do as I choose." + +"Let me go and call Mr. Boyd," Jack said. "He will tell me where my +mother is. Let him be a witness of what you say, and what charge you +have against me." + +Jack now looked across the row for the first time, and saw a young man +standing at the door of the little stuffy shop, which, unlike its +opposite neighbour, had grown smarter, and had a lot of ships' lanterns +hanging over the door, and showy aneroids and compasses in the window. + +"Where's Mr. Boyd? Where's little Joy's Uncle Bobo?" + +"Gone! He has sold the business; he is gone right away." + +"Gone! And where's Joy--little Miss Joy? I tell you I will know. And +where is my mother?" + +"Look here, youngster! This matter must be cleared up. You'll not be +let off so easy; but if you confess, well--we shan't be hard on you." + +"Confess _what_?" Jack shouted now. He was getting very angry, and +repeated, "Confess _what_?" + +"Oh, that's all very fine! Perhaps you've forgotten you ran away and +broke your poor mother's heart, and took my little cash-box with you +with four pounds odd money in it," said his aunt. + +"It's convenient to forget. You'd better not try to fool _me_," said +Mr. Skinner. "Your aunt's key of that drawer was in her little +key-basket. You slily took it out, and when the house was quiet, +opened the drawer and put the box in your pocket I see!" + +Jack's face grew crimson. He felt very much inclined to fly at Mr. +Skinner's throat, and pummel him well with his strong young fist. But +the vision of his mother and little Miss Joy rose before him, and with +a desperate effort he controlled himself. + +"Prove what you say, and don't call me a thief till you have proved me +one." + +"Well, it's my duty--my painful duty," said Mr. Skinner, "to lock you +up till I have fetched a policeman, and communicated with your mother." + +"You needn't _lock_ me up," said Jack proudly. "If I say I'll stay +here, I'll stay. Indeed, I will stay till you have made it all clear. +Your little cash-box! Aunt Pinckney----" + +"No, no, not Aunt Pinckney; I am Mrs. Skinner now." + +The tone was so sad that Jack's boyish heart was touched. + +"Do you think I could steal a penny of yours, aunt, when you had kept +me and mother all those years? Will you send for her? and I will stay +till she comes." + +But Mr. Skinner pushed Jack into the kitchen behind the parlour. + +He had just turned the key in the lock, when a voice was heard in the +shop--Bet's voice. + +"I have brought you some fresh eggs, and half a pound of butter, Aunt +Skinner," she said. "Aunt Maggie sent them with her love. What is +amiss, Aunt?" + +"Child," Mrs. Skinner said, "Jack is come home. Your uncle has locked +him up in the kitchen. Hush! here he is." + +"Well, what are you prying about here for?" Mr. Skinner said. "Oh, +eggs! My dear, poach me a couple for supper; I'm fond of poached eggs." + +But Bet stood on one foot speechless by the counter, where she had put +the basket. + +"What do you say Jack stole?" + +"My little cash-box, the night he ran away; but I don't want to be hard +on the boy--my only sister's child. I'll forgive him if he'll confess." + +Bet stood pondering for another moment, and then she said-- + +"I've got another errand to do. I'll come back for the basket." + +And Bet was off, as if on the wings of the wind--off to the Denes and +the little lonely red-brick house, which was shut up and had a board on +a pole in the front garden, with "To Let. Inquire for the key at Mr. +Skinner's, Market Row," painted in white letters on it. + +Bet looked right and left; there was no one in sight, and she went +round to the back, and found, to her great joy, an old trowel with half +the handle broken, which she seized eagerly. She went down on her +hands and knees, and dug and burrowed with her fingers in the soft, +sandy soil. Her heart beat wildly with hope and fear; her hat fell +back, and her tawny hair fell over her shoulders. The light of the +April evening was waning; she had not a moment to lose. + +"It was here--it was here--it must have been just here," she cried. +Some people passing on the raised path where Uncle Bobo had sat on the +evening of little Miss Joy's accident turned to look at her once, and +wondered what she was doing, digging there on hands and knees. + +At last Bet stopped, and, raising her head and clasping her hands, +said-- + +"Little Miss Joy would tell me to pray to God to help me to find it. +He would hear _her_. Will He hear me, I wonder?" + +Then poor Bet uttered a few words, calling on God, who saw everything, +to show her where what she sought lay hid. + +She redoubled her efforts, and moving a little further from the house, +she dug another hole till she came to some bricks. She lifted them, +and there was the little cash-box--empty now, but, oh! of what +priceless value! + +Bet gathered up her stray tools, and putting on her hat, ran off again +along the sand by the sea-shore, now left hard by the retreating tide, +on and on to the farther end of that part of Yarmouth where a road, +then lately made, led towards Gorlestone. Breathless and panting she +reached the first of two pretty houses standing together, with a strip +of garden in front, bright now with wallflowers and hardy hepaticas and +celandines. + +Under the porch of the first, smoking his pipe, sat Uncle Bobo; and +warmly covered with a rug, in a reclining chair by his side, was little +Miss Joy. + +Maggie Chanter was sowing some seeds in the window-box of the next +house, and Mrs. Harrison was standing by the porch, waiting and +watching. She had her knitting in her hand, but her eyes were on the +sea, with the same wistful longing in them as of old. + +"Jack is come home. Jack!" gasped Bet. "They say he stole the +cash-box, but--but--I've found it. Quick! take it to Uncle Joe, and +say I found it in the ground at the back of grannie's old home." + + + + +CHAPTER XIV. + +_THE WAITING IS OVER._ + +Sudden news, whether it be good or bad, is always a shock; and when +Patience Harrison caught the cry repeated by Maggie Chanter, "Jack is +come home!" and echoed by little Miss Joy's silvery voice, and old +Uncle Bobo's bass, "Jack is come home!" she sank back in the porch and +gasped for breath. + +Presently the little gate was opened by George Paterson, who hastily +asked-- + +"What is the matter? Jack come home? Well, that's good news." + +"Yes," Maggie Chanter said; "but Bet there has some other news, which +is not so good. They dare to say Jack stole the cash-box the day he +ran off, and they have locked him up." + +"But he didn't, he didn't," Bet said, recovering her breath at last. +"Here it is; take it to Uncle Joe, and tell him where I found it." + +"Yes; take it," said Uncle Bobo; "I'd go myself, only I can't stir my +old stumps as fast as you can. Paterson, you are the man for the +business." + +George Paterson was looking at poor Patience, who seemed utterly +overwhelmed with the tidings; and behind her stood old Mrs. Skinner, +with her arm round her, letting her head rest against her shoulder. + +"There, there," she said, as Patience began to sob convulsively; +"there, there, you've naught to cry for. Your boy is come back; and if +Bet is to be believed, my son is the thief, not yours. You needn't +break your heart. What made you go and look for the box, Bet? What +made you think of it?" + +"Oh, grannie, I--I saw Uncle Joe bury it in the ground one night! I +never knew what it was till I heard a talk about a little box that was +lost." + +"Well, well, the box is found, and now I am off to bring the boy to his +mother. Bet, you come along." + +"No," Bet said; "I dare not, Mr. Paterson, I dare not." + +"I will come with you, Mr. Paterson," Maggie said. "I am not afraid of +Joe--I never was. He ought to be ashamed of himself, and I expect +there is worse behind." + +"I have no doubt about it," said George Paterson, as he and Maggie set +out together. + +The gardens of the two pretty neat houses were divided by low iron +railings. One was inhabited by Mr. Boyd, old Susan, and Mrs. Chanter +and her darling Joy; the other by Mrs. Skinner and Bet and Patience +Harrison. + +"I can't part with the child," Uncle Bobo had said: "I'd rather cut off +my right arm." And, indeed, parting from the little dark shop in the +row, and the darker parlour behind it, where he had lived for so many +years, had been almost like cutting off a right arm to Uncle Bobo. But +when he heard the doctors say that little Miss Joy ought to have fresh +air, and that the bedroom where she lay so patiently week after week, +with only the occasional variety of being carried "to the leads," where +the memorable tea-parties used to be held, was not healthful for her, +he decided to sell the business, and remove. What a removal it was! +and even now Uncle Bobo said the light was too much for his eyes, and +that he liked the shade of the row better than the glare of the sea. +But little Miss Joy was so dear to the old man's heart, that he gave +even this great proof of his love. The two little houses, away from +the bustle and noise of the busy seaport, were hired, and the +sitting-room was to be let this season, with one bedroom, to any +visitor to Yarmouth who would like the quiet, broken only by the +distant murmur of the sea, or the voice of birds in the low copses +which had been planted round a house of some pretension not far off. + +As soon as George Paterson and Aunt Maggie were gone, Joy said-- + +"Bet, go and ask dear Goody to come here. I want her so much." + +"What do you want, my lamb?" Uncle Bobo said. "Hi, Mrs. Harrison, you +are wanted. Little Miss Joy wants you." + +That name had always a charm about it, and Mrs. Harrison raised +herself, and went slowly, and like one in a dream, down the narrow +garden path, out at the little gate, and in at the next. She was met +by Bet, who threw her arms round her, and said--"You go and sit with +Joy while I go to poor grannie. Oh, I am sorry for grannie; but I _am_ +glad for you!" + +"Here, Mrs. Harrison, take my chair," Uncle Bobo said, "and sit by the +child. You'll feel better then. She is the peace-maker--bless +her--and every one is the better for being alongside of her." + +Yes; it was most true. When Susan was put out with new-fangled ways; +when Mrs. Skinner relapsed into her old silence, only broken by +fault-finding; when Maggie grew impatient of her mother's strange +temper; when little breezes disturbed the waters of domestic life in +the two homes--then it was that little Miss Joy's presence was sought, +and her gentle words were truly like oil on troubled waters. + +Have we not all felt the presence of such peace-makers to be as a +breath from heaven? And are they not most frequently found amongst +those who have had the cross of suffering laid upon them, and who are +shut out from many of the pursuits and enjoyments of others? + +Blessed indeed are the maintainers of peace; blessed, thrice blessed, +are the child-comforters who can love and pity the erring and soothe +the sorrowful, and who by their own beautifully simple child-faith +encourage others to seek after a like precious gift. + +Mrs. Harrison sat with Joy's hand in hers for the next hour, an hour of +painful waiting and expectancy. Joy did not say much, but now and then +she would put in a little word of her own thoughts. + +"There is the big star! Look, Goody! isn't it beautiful? Oh, I do +like to see the whole sky, and all the stars now! God seems to look at +me as I look at them. It was good of Him to let me come to live here, +though I loved the dear old row very much when I could run about. Then +it is so nice to see mother going about making everything pretty; and +doesn't she work beautifully! That last dress she made was lovely. +She is teaching me to work too. Don't you care to hear my chatter, +dear Goody? You are thinking Jack may come every minute," as Mrs. +Harrison heaved a heavy sigh. "I talk to make the time seem +shorter--that's all. Uncle Bobo is standing by the gate; he will be +the first to tell us when they are coming." + +It did seem a long, long time. Bet was constantly running backwards +and forwards from the door of the next house to the gate; and Susan, +with folded arms, was leaning against the side of the house, coming +round the corner every now and then to say it was getting too cold for +Miss Joy to stay in the porch. + +"Oh, I am quite warm! let me wait, Susan." + +"You must have your own way, I suppose, as usual," was the short reply. + +Susan was fond of saying rather sharp things sometimes, to cover her +real love for Joy. She had felt a natural pang of jealousy when she +found the young mother had taken her place of waiting on Joy, or rather +sharing the waiting with Bet and Mrs. Harrison. She was not quite +kindly disposed to Maggie Chanter, and would mumble sometimes-- + +"It was all very well for folks to leave their children on people's +doorsteps, and then when they were grown nicely, and every one loved +them, it was very fine to come and claim them;" and she would say, +"There's no love lost between me and Mrs. Skinner's daughter, and I +don't hold with girls going off with poor sickly photographers when +they might have rode in their carriage and married rich grocers." + +People like Susan generally speak in the plural number when their +remarks are directed to one person who is the object of their satire or +reproof. + +The longed-for moment came at last. As the three neared the house, +George Paterson said: + +"Run on and go to your mother alone, boy; she will like it best." + +Jack did as he was bid, and in a few minutes he was kneeling at his +mother's side, clasping her round the waist and covering her with +kisses. + +"Forgive me, mother dear; forgive me!" + +Mrs. Harrison could only press the boy close to her heart and murmur +over him tender words, while Joy's little voice said: + +"Kiss me too, Jack, dear Jack. Of course every one forgives +you--because God for Christ's sake has forgiven us. Oh, dear, _dear_ +old Jack!" + +It was not till Jack was in his bed that night that his mother, +kneeling by him, poured out her heart in thankfulness to God. Then he +drew from under his pillow the old red and yellow handkerchief, and in +a few words told the story as the sailor had told it to him. + +"The token has come at last," poor Patience said. "Yes, I marked those +letters on the handkerchief with my own hand. Oh, Jack! Jack! it all +comes back to me, and I have had a weary time of waiting; but it is +better to _know_ at last." + + + + +CHAPTER XV. + +_THE HERITAGE OF PEACE._ + +The joy of the hypocrite is but for a moment; and the house that is +built on the sand must needs fall to ruin at last. + +Mr. Skinner received the box with his accustomed composure, though he +turned deadly pale. It was an _extra_ordinary coincidence that the box +was found in the sandy ground. How it came there he was at a loss to +conjecture. + +"The less said about it the better," George Paterson remarked, "and you +owe this boy a full apology." + +"Well, it _is_ possible there is a mistake somewhere. However, we will +give the youngster the benefit of the doubt, and send him home to his +mother." + +"Doubt!" Maggie exclaimed vehemently; "_doubt_! You stole the box, +Joe, and hid it in the garden behind your house. You were _seen_ to +bury it; you had better make a clean breast of it." + +"Oh, spare him, Maggie Chanter!" poor infatuated Mrs. Skinner said. +"Joe! Joe!" + +Then, with a white face and an expression on it none who saw it will +ever forget, Mr. Skinner, with a wave of his long thin hand, left the +house. + +Nothing more was ever heard of him. The crooked paths of deceit and +dishonesty can have but one end, unless by God's grace those paths are +forsaken, and the strait and narrow way chosen in their place. Poor +Aunt Amelia had indeed reason to rue the day when she had listened to +the flattering words of the wily man. He left her with an empty purse, +a ruined custom, and a sore heart. But she was now delivered from one +who in her folly she had trusted, and there were many who, hearing her +story, pitied her, and gave back the custom they had withdrawn. + + * * * * * + +Another year passed away, and it brought more peaceful times. + +Perhaps Patience Paterson's life could not be called sunny or bright; +but it is calm and peaceful, and she is the happy wife of a good and +noble-hearted man, who had loved her faithfully for many years. + +George Paterson was conscious that the deep respect he now felt for his +wife would scarcely have been the same had she yielded to his wishes, +and, taking it for granted that her husband was dead, had married him +while his end was undecided. Patience may well set an example to +others in this matter, and her evening-tide light will be clouded by no +misgivings and no self reproaches. + +She had asked for some token, and it was given. Through the trial of +her boy's absence came the blessing of the long-looked-for tidings; and +in this, as in many another step of her pilgrimage, she could feel the +truth of the words, "To the upright there ariseth light in the +darkness." + +They took a pretty house near Gorlestone, and George became a +prosperous man. Jack was taught his business as ship's carpenter, and +the control exercised by his step-father was most salutary. He is +likely to grow up a good and useful man. + +The two houses, called by Uncle Bobo "The Home, Number One and Number +Two," became popular as lodgings for single ladies and their maids, and +were said to be amongst the best and most comfortable in or near +Yarmouth. + +Old Colley and his children were not forgotten, and were often invited +to tea in the garden behind the two houses, where Uncle Bobo and Colley +would exchange many stories or yarns of their early days. + +Little Miss Joy did not get strong or vigorous, but she was able to +walk about by the help of an arm. Uncle Bobo would sometimes hire a +donkey-chair, and trudge by her side as it rolled along the esplanade, +or was taken down to the edge of the water, where she loved to sit and +think, and listen to the sweet music of the chime of the waves. + +It was one lovely summer's evening when little Miss Joy was enjoying +the air and her favourite song of the waves, that Bet, now grown a tall +and less ungainly girl, came up to her with a thin, sad-looking woman +dressed in black. + +"I've made Aunt 'Melia come," Bet said. "I told her you wanted her, +and here she is." + +"I've got the camp-stool in the chair," Joy said. "Sit down, Aunt +Amelia, and let us be comfortable and happy." + +Mrs. Skinner shook her head. + +"No, my dear, I can never be happy. I leave that to other people." + +"Oh, yes, you can be happy!" little Miss Joy said. + +"No, no; not with a broken heart!" + +"God can mend broken hearts. Don't you know that, Aunt Amelia? 'He +gives medicine to heal their sickness.'" + +"Not when troubles are brought upon one's self by one's own folly and +sin, my dear. No, no." + +"I don't think that makes any difference," said little Miss Joy in her +clear, musical voice. "He healeth those that are broken in heart; He +giveth medicine to heal their sickness. He telleth the number of the +stars: He calleth them all by their names. I do _love_ that psalm, +because it shows God cares for little things like me and my little +troubles, and for great and mighty things like the stars. For, you +know, I _have_ my little troubles. I do long to run and skip as I used +to do, and wait on Uncle Bobo and mother, when she is tired and the +lodgers are rather tiresome, and poor grannie is cross, and _I_ am +inclined to grumble and be cross too." + +"Never, never, my dear," said Mrs. Skinner. + +"Well, I know I _feel_ cross, and I go to God for His medicine. I wish +you would go too, Aunt 'Melia." + +Mrs. Skinner shook her head. + +"I think grannie has gone to Him, and she is happier, I know. He will +give it you if you ask Him. His medicine is love, the love He had for +us when He gave us the Lord Jesus." + +Mrs. Skinner still shook her head, but tears rolled down her thin, +faded cheeks. + +"I must be going now," she said. "Good-bye, my dear." + +"Good-bye. Kiss me, Aunt 'Melia;" and then Bet, who had purposely kept +apart, came up with some shells she had gathered for Joy, and said, as +she had gone to fetch Aunt Amelia, she would take her home again. So +they turned and left Joy, and then Uncle Bobo came down from the seat +where he had been watching what passed, and, calling the donkey-boy, he +told Joy it was time to be going home. + +"What have you been saying to poor Mrs. Skinner?" he asked. + +"Not much, dear Uncle Bobo; but, oh, I am so sorry for her, and I wish +I could comfort her! I love poor Mrs. Skinner now, indeed I do." + +"Love her! Well, bless your little heart, you love everybody, I think." + +"Yes, I think I do, and I am so happy, Uncle Bobo. Let us go home now." + +Dear little Miss Joy! Who shall say what is the guerdon she and those +like her wear? + +Truly those that are the maintainers of peace have a blessed heritage; +for the golden fruit of righteousness is a glorious harvest for those +who make peace. Yes, and for those childlike souls there is quietness +and assurance for ever. + + + + + * * * * * + +[Transcriber's note: the three illustrations between pages 53/54, +103/104, and 157/158 were missing from the source book.] + + * * * * * + + + + + + + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Little Miss Joy, by Emma Marshall + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK LITTLE MISS JOY *** + +***** This file should be named 33465.txt or 33465.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/3/3/4/6/33465/ + +Produced by Al Haines + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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