TINY'S TREASURE.
"Well, now, if you can make her out, it's more than I can," said Coomber, pausing in the doorway of Dame Peters' cottage, after he had seated Tiny by the old woman's fire.
"Oh, leave her here for half an hour; she'll be all right by the time you come back; there's no 'counting for children, and she may feel frightened a bit, for all she ain't cried till she got ashore."
"It's just that that beats me," said the fisherman; "she's as lively as you please in the boat, but as soon as she gets out, down she pops her head, and begins to pipe her eye."
"Well, there, you go and look after Perkins and the fish, and I'll see to her," said DamePeters, a little impatiently; for she had some potatoes cooking for her husband's supper, and she knew they needed attention. After looking to these, she turned to Tiny, who had dried her tears by this time, and sat watching the old woman. "D'ye like to see pictures, deary?" she asked; and at the same time she opened the top drawer of an old-fashioned chest of drawers, and brought out a print, which she laid on the table, and lifted Tiny, chair and all, close up to look at it.
Pictures were not to be seen in every cottage a few years ago, as they may be now. TheBand of Hope ReviewandBritish Workmanhad not been heard of in Fellness at the time of which we write, and so Dame Peters was very choice of her picture, although she knew nothing about the reading at the back of it.
Tiny brightened up wonderfully when her eyes fell upon this treasure; but after looking at it for some minutes, while Dame Peters turned out the potatoes, she ventured to lift it up and look at the other side, and she exclaimedjoyfully: "Oh, it's a book! There's reading on it!"
"What, what!" exclaimed the old woman, turning from the fireplace to see what had happened. "What is it, child?"
"See, see, there's reading—G O D! What does that spell?" asked Tiny, looking up in the old woman's face, her finger still resting on the word she had picked out.
"Bless the child, how should I know? S'pose it is some sort of reading, as you say; but I never learned a letter in my life."
"And I've a'most forgot," said Tiny, sadly; and then her finger roved over the printed page, and she found that she could remember most of the letters now she saw them again; but how to put them together was the difficulty. She had forgotten how to do this entirely. G O D spelt a word familiar enough to her at one time, but which of all the words she used now those letters were intended to signify, she could not remember. Again and again her finger returned to the well-remembered letters,but beyond this her memory failed her; and she sat, with puckered brow and steadfast eyes, still looking at the printed page instead of the picture, when Coomber came back.
"Oh, daddy, daddy, look here!" exclaimed Tiny; "here's a book with reading!"
"She's just sat and looked at them letters, as she calls 'em, ever since you've been gone," said Dame Peters, in a half-offended tone; for her picture was not valued as much as it ought to be, she thought.
"Oh, she's a rum 'un," said Coomber. "Well, now, are you ready, little 'un?" he asked.
Tiny looked up wistfully in the old woman's face. "Couldn't I take this home, and show it to Dick?" she asked, timidly, laying her hand on the print.
"Take my picture home!" exclaimed the old woman.
Coomber turned the paper over, and looked at it contemptuously. "Peters got this when he went to Grimsby, I s'pose?" he said.
"Yes, he did."
"Well now, couldn't you let her have it, and let Peters bring you another?" said the fisherman, who was anxious that his darling should be gratified if possible.
But the old woman was little more than a child herself over this picture, and was unwilling to part with it at first. At last she agreed to sell it to Tiny for a basket of samphire, for this seaweed made a kind of pickle among the fisher-folk, and was of some marketable value, too, for it did not grow everywhere along the coast, although round Bermuda Point it flourished in great luxuriance.
Tiny was only too glad to obtain such a treasure on such easy terms, although she was paying about five times the value of it; and when it had been folded up and carefully stowed away in Coomber's pocket, she was quite ready to go to the boat, although Dame Peters pressed them to stay and have some of the hot potatoes for supper.
Tiny seemed brimful of joy that night; and when she was seated in the boat, and they wererowing over the placid water, she so far forgot her fears as to begin singing. Something in the surroundings had recalled to her mind the time when she used to sing nearly every night her mother's favourite hymn. It all came back to her as freshly as though she had sung it only last week; and her sweet young voice rang out bold and clear—
"Star of Peace to wanderers weary,Bright the beams that smile on me;Cheer the pilot's vision dreary,Far, far at sea."
She paused there, not feeling quite sure of the next verse; but Coomber said quickly—
"Go on, deary, go on; don't you know the next bit?"
"I'll try," said Tiny; and again the voice rang out in its childish treble—
"Star of Hope, gleam on the billow,Bless the soul that sighs for Thee;Bless the sailor's lonely pillow,Far, far at sea."
"Who told you that, deary?" asked the fisherman, eagerly, when she paused again.
"My mother used to sing it every night. She used to say it was meant for daddy. And she told me I must always sing it, too, only somehow I've forgot everything since I came here."
"Never mind the rest, deary; try and think about that. It's just the song for a sailor and a sailor's lass."
"That's just what my mother used to say—that I was a sailor's lass!" exclaimed Tiny.
"And she taught you just the right kind of a song. Now try a bit more, deary," he added, coaxingly.
"Star of Faith, when winds are mockingAll his toil, he flies to Thee;Save him, on the billows rocking,Far, far at sea."
"I don't think I know any more," said the child, as she finished this verse.
"Well, you've done first-rate, deary; andmind, you must sing that song to me every night," he added.
For a little while they went on in silence, and nothing could be heard but the gentle lap, lap of the waves at the side of the boat, until Coomber said: "Come, sing to us again about that sailor's star. Bob, you try and pick it up as she sings," he added.
So the verses were sung through again, and without a break this time; and Tiny was able to recall the last verse, too, and sang—
"Star Divine, oh! safely guide him,Bring the wanderer back to Thee;Sore temptations long have tried him,Far, far at sea."
"Bravo, little 'un," exclaimed Bob, who was completely charmed out of his sulky mood by the singing.
"I say, Bob," suddenly exclaimed Coomber, "is the bottle up there?"
"I ain't seen the bottle," sulkily responded the lad, his ill-humour returning at once.
"I—I took it up, and told 'em to fill it,"exclaimed Coomber; and as he spoke he drew in his oars, and felt under the seat, and all round the boat. "I must ha' forgot it, thinking about the little 'un and her picture," he said, after searching round the boat in vain.
"It's too late to go back," said Bob; "it'll be dark soon."
"Ye-es, it's too late to go back with the child," said Coomber, slowly and regretfully; though what he should do without his nightly dose of whisky he did not know.
"Sing again," whispered Bob to Tiny; and the next minute the little voice rang out once more its "Star of Peace."
It brought peace to the angry fisherman—the more angry, perhaps, because he had nobody but himself to blame that the bottle had been left behind. Before they landed the singing had worked its mysterious charm, and the fisherman had almost forgotten his anger, and his bottle, too.
"You tie up the boat, and make haste in, Bob," he said, as he took the little girl in hisarms, and stepped out upon the shore. A light was shining in the window of the old boat-house, and Tiny was all impatience to get home and show her treasure to Dick.
"Take it out of your pocket, daddy, and give it to me," she said, as they were crossing the sands; and the moment the door was opened she ran in, exclaiming, "I've got it! I've got it, Dick!"
"Hush, hush, deary; Dick and Tom have gone to bed, and both are fast asleep. Come in and get your supper; it's been waiting ever so long for you." As she spoke, the poor woman cast several furtive glances at her husband, fearing that he was more than usually morose, as he had not spoken; but, to her surprise, he said, in a merry tone:
"Bless you, mother, the little 'un has got something better than supper. Dame Peters wanted her to stay and have some hot potatoes; but she was in such a hurry to be off with her prize that she wouldn't look at the potatoes."
"I've got some reading," said Tiny, in adelighted whisper, holding up her sheet of paper.
"Why, what's the good of that?" exclaimed Mrs. Coomber, in a disappointed tone. "Nobody at the Point can read, unless it's the Hayes' at the farm."
"And she'd better not let me catch her with any of them," put in Coomber, sharply.
"Dick and me are going to learn to read by ourselves," announced Tiny, spreading out her picture on the table. This would enhance its value to everybody, she thought, since Dame Peters set such store by it solely because of the picture. And so she did not venture to turn it over to con the letters on the other side until after Bob had come in, and they had all looked at it.
"What's it all about?" asked Bob, turning to the smoking plate of fish which his mother had just placed on the table.
"Don't you see it's a kind man putting his hand on the boys' heads?" said Tiny, rather scornfully.
"Oh, anybody can see that," said Bob. "But what does it mean? That's what I want to know."
But Tiny could only shake her head as she gazed earnestly at the print. "I dunno what it is," she said, with a sigh.
"Come, come, you must put that away for to-night," said Mrs. Coomber; "you ought to have been in bed an hour ago;" and she would have taken the picture away, but Tiny hastily snatched it up, and, carefully folding it, wrapped it in another piece of paper, and then begged that it might be put away in a drawer for fear it should be lost before the morning.
Mrs. Coomber smiled as she took it from her hand. "I'll take care of it," she said, "and you go and get your supper."
It was not often that the fisherman's family were up so late as this, but no one seemed in a hurry to go to bed. Coomber himself was so good-tempered that his wife and Bob forgot their habitual fear of him in listening to his account of how brave Tiny had been, and howDame Peters thought she was growing very fast. Then Tiny had to sing one verse of "Star of Peace," after she had finished her supper—Mrs. Coomber would not let her sing more than that, for she was looking very sleepy and tired—and then they all went to bed, with a strange, new feeling of peace and content, Mrs. Coomber vaguely wondering what had become of the whisky bottle, and wishing every night could be like this.
As soon as her eyes were open the next morning Tiny thought of her treasure, and crept into the boys' room to tell Dick the wonderful news. But to her surprise she found the bed was empty; and, peeping into the kitchen, saw Mrs. Coomber washing up the breakfast things.
"Oh, mammy, what is the time?" she exclaimed, but yawning as she spoke.
"Oh, you're awake at last. Make haste and put your clothes on, and come and have your breakfast," said Mrs. Coomber.
"Where's Dick?" asked Tiny.
"He's helping daddy and Bob with the net; and you can go, too, when you've had your breakfast. Daddy wouldn't let the boys come and wake you 'cos you was so tired last night."
"What are they doing to the net?" asked Tiny, as she came to the table.
"Mending it, of course. Daddy's going shrimping to-day."
"What a bother that net is," said Tiny. "Daddy's always mending it."
"Yes, so he is, deary. It's old, you see, and we can't afford to get a new one."
"I've got to get a lot of samphire to-day, and I promised Dick I'd make some more letters for him in the sand," said Tiny, meditatively.
"But daddy wants you to help him with the net," suggested Mrs. Coomber. The little girl had always been so pliant, so amenable to control, that Mrs. Coomber was surprised to hear her say passionately—
"I won't do that nasty net. I must pick thesamphire for Dame Peters, and show Dick my picture, first;" and then she snatched up a basket, and ran out, not to the sands, where the fisherman and his boys sat mending the torn net, but away to the salt-marsh, where the seaweed grew thickest, and she could fill her basket most quickly. In an hour or two she came home, looking tired and cross.
"Ain't Dick come home yet?" she asked, throwing herself on the floor.
"They ain't done the net yet. Tom came to fetch you a little while ago."
"I don't want Tom, I want Dick. We're going to make some letters, and learn to read," said Tiny.
"You'd better leave the reading alone, if it makes you so cross," said Mrs. Coomber.
"No, it don't make me cross; it's that nasty net."
"But you always liked to help daddy wind the string and mend the net before. Why don't you go to them now?"
But Tiny would not move. She lay on thefloor, kicking and grumbling, because Dick could not leave the net and come and see her picture.
"You're a very naughty girl, Tiny," said Mrs. Coomber at last; "and I don't see how you can think God will love you if you don't try to be good."
The little girl sat up instantly, and looked earnestly into her face. "My other mammy used to say something like that," she said, slowly. And then she burst into tears, and ran and shut herself in the boys' bedroom.
What passed there, Mrs. Coomber did not know; but, half an hour afterwards, as she glanced out of the little kitchen window, she saw her running across the sands to where the group of boys sat mending the old net; and she smiled as she thought of what her words had done. She did not know what a hard fight Tiny had had with herself before she could make up her mind to give up her own way; she only thought how pleased her husband would be when he saw the child comerunning towards him, and that a fit of ill-humour, from which they would probably all have suffered, had been warded off by the little girl's conquest of herself.
But neither Tiny nor Mrs. Coomber ever forgot that day. A new element was introduced into the lives of the fisherman's family. The little girl learned her first lesson in self-control, and Dick and Tom began to master the difficulties of the alphabet; for, when the net was finished, and Bob and his father waded out into the sea on their shrimping expedition, Tiny ran and fetched her pretty picture to show the boys, and then they all set to work with bits of stick to make the letters in the sand.
ON THE SANDS.
Tiny was somewhat disappointed as the days went on to find that her pupils, Tom and Dick, took less and less interest in learning the letters she marked in the sand, or pointed out on the paper. They teased her to know how to put the letters together and make them into words which they could understand. But, alas! labour as she would, Tiny could not get over this difficulty even for herself. She had a dim idea that G O D spelt God, but she could not be quite sure—not sure enough to tell Dick that it was so. It was enough, however, to quicken her own interest in what the lines of letters might be able to tell her if only she could solve the mystery of putting them into words, for doubtless theywould clear up her anxiety as to whether God loved boys as well as girls.
She did not spend her whole time poring over her picture. She gathered samphire, helped to sort the fish when it was brought in, or mend the much-despised net; but every day she spent some time diligently tracing out the letters she knew and spelling over G O D.
She might have mastered the difficulty with very little trouble if the fisherman had been less obstinate in his quarrel with the farm people, for Harry Hayes and his sisters were often down on the sands, sometimes bringing their books with them, and Dick, who longed to join them in their play, tried to persuade Tiny to go and ask them to help her with the reading difficulty.
"Dad won't say anything to you, even if he should see you talking; but he won't see, and I won't tell," urged Dick, one day, when the children from the farm were at play among the sandhills, and occasionally casting sidelong glances towards Dick and Tiny.
But the little girl only shook her head. "I can't, Dick," she said; "God wouldn't like it; mother told me that long ago."
"But how is He to know if you don't tell Him?" said the boy, in an impatient tone.
"Don't you know that God can see us all the time; that He's taking care of us always?" said Tiny, slowly.
"Oh, come! what'll you tell us next?" said Dick, looking over his shoulder with a gesture of fear. "He ain't here now, you know," he added.
"Yes he is," said the little girl, confidently; "mother said God was a Spirit. I dunno what that is, but it's just as real as the wind. We can't see that you know, but it's real; and we can't see God, but He's close to us all the time."
The boy crept closer to her while she was speaking. "What makes you talk like that?" he said, in a half-frightened tone.
"What's a matter, Dick?" she asked, not understanding his fear. "Don't you like tothink God is close to you, and all round you," she suddenly added, in surprise.
Dick shook his head. "Nobody never thinks about God at Bermuda Point, so p'r'aps He don't come here," he said, at last, in a tone of relief. "Oh, I say, Tiny, look! Harry Hayes has got a book! Let's go and see what it's about!"
"Well, we'll ask dad when he come home to-night, and p'r'aps he'll let us," said the little girl, turning resolutely to her own paper again.
"Oh, then, it's dad you're afraid of, and not God?" said Dick.
"Afraid! What do you mean?" asked Tiny. "God loves me, and takes care of me, and so does daddy; and if I was to talk to Harry Hayes, it would make him cross, and God doesn't like us to make people cross; and little gals has to do as they are told, you know."
"Oh yes; I know all about that," said Dick; "but what do you suppose God thinksof dad when he makes himself cross with the whisky?"
"Oh! He's dreadfully sorry, Dick, I know He is, for He makes me afraid of him sometimes, when he's had a big lot; and he's just the dearest daddy when he forgets to bring the bottle home from Fellness."
"Ah, but that ain't often," grunted Dick; "and if God wouldn't like you to talk to Harry Hayes, 'cos dad says you musn't, I'd like to know what He thinks of dad sometimes, that's all." And then Dick ran away, for if he could not speak to the farm children, he liked to be near them when they came to play on the sands.
A minute or two after Dick had left her, Tiny was startled by a sound close at hand, and, looking round, she saw Coomber coming from the other side of the sandhill.
"Oh, dad, I thought you was out in the boat," she said.
"'I WANT YOU TO SING A BIT, WHILE I RUB AWAY AT THIS OLD GUN.'" [See page 81.
"'I WANT YOU TO SING A BIT, WHILE I RUB AWAY AT THIS OLD GUN.'" [See page 81.
"Bob and Tom have gone by themselves to-day, for I wanted to clean the gun ready forwinter," said the fisherman, still rubbing at the lock with a piece of oiled rag.
Tiny looked up at him half shyly, half curiously, for if he had only been on the other side of the sand-ridge, he must have heard all she and Dick had been talking about.
But if he had heard the fisherman took no notice of what had passed.
"Come, I want you to sing a bit, while I rub away at this old gun," he said. "Sing 'Star of Peace'; it'll sound first-rate out here;" as though he had never heard it out there before, when, as a matter of fact, scarcely a day passed but she sang it to please him.
When she had finished, he said, quickly: "What do you think about that 'Star of Peace' deary? It's the sailor's star, you know, so I've got a sort of share in it like."
"I think it means God. I'm a'most sure mother said it meant God," added the little girl.
"Ah, then, I don't think there's much share of it for me," said Coomber, somewhat sadly;and he turned to rubbing his gun again, and began talking about it—how rusty he had found it, and how he would have to use it more than ever when winter came, for the boat was growing old, and would not stand much more knocking about by the rough wintry sea; so he and Bob must shoot more wild birds, and only go out in calm weather when winter came. Then half shyly, and with apparent effort, he brought the conversation round so as to include Farmer Hayes.
"He ain't a bad sort, you know, Tiny, if he could just remember that a fisherman is a bit proud and independent, though he may be poor; and if you could do one of them young 'uns a good turn any time, why, you're a sailor's lass, yer know, and a sailor is always ready to do a good turn to anybody."
"Yes, daddy," said Tiny, slowly and thoughtfully; and then, after a minute's pause, she said: "Daddy, I think Harry or Polly would just like to help me a bit with this reading."
For answer the fisherman burst into a loudlaugh. "That's what you'd like, I s'pose?" he said, as he looked at her.
"Yes; I want to find out about this picture, and these letters tell all about it, I know—if I only could find out what they mean," said Tiny, eagerly.
"Oh, well, when I'm gone indoors you can go and ask 'em if they'd like to help you," he said, with another short laugh. "Maybe you'll be able to tell us all about it when winter comes, and it'll soon be here now," added the fisherman, with a sigh.
Never before had Coomber looked forward with such dread to the winter. Until lately he had always thought the fishing-boat would "last his time," as he used to say; but he had patched and repaired it so often lately, until at last the conviction had been forced upon him that it was worn out; and to be caught in a sudden squall on the open sea, would inevitably break her up, and all who were in her would meet with a watery grave. He was as brave as a lion; but to know that his boat wasgradually going to pieces, and that its timbers might part company at almost any moment, made even his courage quail; especially when he thought of his wife, and the boys, and this little helpless girl. Some hard things had been said at Fellness about his folly in taking her upon his hands when she could without difficulty have been sent to the poorhouse. A girl was such a useless burden, never likely to be helpful in managing a boat, as a boy might be; and it was clear that no reward would ever be obtained from her friends, even if they were found, for her clothing made it evident that she was only the child of poor parents.
This had been the reasoning among the Fellness busybodies ever since Coomber had announced his intention of taking the little girl home; but he was as obstinate in this as in most other things. He had followed his own will, or rather the God-like compassion of his own heart, in spite of the poverty that surrounded him, and the hard struggle he often had to get bread enough for his own children.
"I'll just have to stay out a bit longer, or go out in the boat a bit oftener," he said, with a light laugh, when they attempted to reason him out of his project. He did not know then that the days of his boat were numbered; but he knew it now—knew that starvation stared them in the face, and at no distant date either. He could never hope to buy a new boat. It would cost over twenty pounds, and he seldom owned twenty pence over the day's stock of bread and other household necessaries. Among these he counted his whisky; for that a fisherman could do his work without a daily supply of ardent spirits never entered his head. Blue ribbon armies and temperance crusades had never been heard of, and it was a fixed belief among the fisher folk that a man could not work without drinking as well as eating, and drinking deeply, too.
So Coomber never thought of curtailing his daily allowance of grog to meet the additional expense of his household: he rather increased the allowance, that he might be able to workthe boat better, as he fancied, and so catch more fish. When he forgot his bottle and left it at Fellness, it struck him as something all but marvellous that he should be able to work the next day without his usual drams, but it had not convinced him that he could do without it all together. Of its effect upon himself, in making him sullen, morose, and disagreeable, he was in absolute ignorance, and so the children's talk about it came upon him as a revelation. He knew that Tiny sometimes shrank from and avoided him; but he had considered it a mere childish whim, not to be accounted for by anything in himself; and so to hear that she was absolutely afraid of him sometimes was something to make him think more deeply than he had ever done in his life before.
But he did not say a word to Tiny about this. When he had done rubbing his gun he carried it home, and Tiny was left free to make acquaintance with the farm children.
She walked shyly up to where they weresitting—Polly reading, and Harry throwing sand at Dick, who had seated himself at a short distance, and was returning the salute.
"Would—wouldn't you like to tell me about these letters, please?" said Tiny, holding out her paper to Polly.
"Well, that's a rum way of asking," said Harry, with a laugh. "Suppose she wouldn't now, little 'un," he added.
"Then she mustn't," said Tiny, stoutly; though the tears welled up to her eyes at the thought of all her hopes being overthrown just when they seemed about to be realised.
"Don't, Harry; what a tease you are!" said his sister. "I should like to tell you, dear," she added, in a patronising tone. "Come and sit down here, and tell me what you want."
"It's what you want; don't forget that, Polly, else she'll get her back up, and go off again," laughed her brother; but he was not sorry the embargo had been taken off their intercourse with the fisherman's family; for although he had had surreptitious dealings withboys sometimes, they had to be so watchful lest they should be discovered that the play was considerably hindered. Now he understood that this advance on Tiny's part was a direct concession from Coomber himself, for he and the boys had long ago agreed to try and draw the little girl into some intimacy as the only way of breaking down the restrictions laid upon them. But Tiny had proved obstinate. She had been asked again and again, but she had always returned the same answer: "Daddy would let her some day, and then she would play with them." So Harry Hayes was perfectly aware that she had won the fisherman's consent at last, although no word had been said about it.
When the girls were left to themselves, Polly took up the picture and looked at it, then turned it over and read, "God is good to all: He loves both boys and girls." At this point Tiny interrupted her by laying her hand on her arm, and saying eagerly: "Are you quite sure that is what it says?"
"Why, don't you think I can read?" said Polly, in a half-offended tone. But the subject was new to her, and so she was anxious to read further, and turned to the page again and read on. At the bottom was a line or two in smaller print, and Polly read these longer words with a touch of pride: "Jesus said, Suffer the little children to come unto Me, and forbid them not: for of such is the kingdom of God."
"Then this must be Jesus, and these are the little children," concluded Polly, as she turned over the paper to look at the picture again.
The two girls sat and looked at it and talked about it for a few minutes, and then Tiny said wistfully: "Will you show me now how you make up them nice words?"
"Oh, it's easy enough if you know the letters; but you must learn the letters first," said Polly; and she proceeded to tell Tiny the name of each; and the little girl had the satisfaction of knowing now that she had remembered them quite correctly, and that G O D did spell God, as she had surmised.
She was not long now in putting other words together; and before she went home she was able to spell out the first two lines of the printed page, for they were all easy words, and intended for beginners.
What a triumph it was to Tiny to be able to read out to the fisherman's family what she had learned on the sands that day. She was allowed to have the candle all to herself after supper, and they sat round the table looking at each other in wondering amazement as her little finger travelled along the page, and she spelt out the wonderful news, "'God is good to all: He loves both boys and girls.' It's true, Dick, what I told you, ain't it?" she said, in a tone of delighted satisfaction.
Dick scratched his head, and looked round at his father, wondering what he would think or say. For a minute or two the fisherman smoked his pipe in silence. At length, taking it from his mouth, he said, in a slow, meditative fashion: "Well, little 'un, I s'pose if it's printed that way it's true; and if it is, why Is'pose we've all got a share in that 'Star of Peace' we was talking about to-day."
Tiny did not quite follow his train of thought; but she nodded her head, and then proceeded to tell them what she had heard about the picture, and the conclusion she and Polly had arrived at upon the subject—that Jesus, the kind, loving man of the picture, had come to show them how kind God was to them.
BAD TIMES.
Winter around Bermuda Point was at all times a dreary season, and the only thing its few inhabitants could hope for was that its reign might be as short as possible. A fine, calm autumn was hailed as a special boon from heaven by the fisher-folk all round the coast, and more especially by the lonely dwellers at the Point.
A fine autumn enabled Coomber to go out in his boat until the time for shooting wild fowl began, and the children could play on the sands, or gather samphire, instead of being penned up in the house half the time. But when the weather was wild and wet, and the salt marshes lay under water, that meant littlefood and much discomfort, frequent quarrels, and much bitterness to the fisherman's family.
This autumn the weather was more than usually boisterous; and long before the usual time the old boat had to be drawn up on to the bank, for fear the waves should dash it to pieces. The fisherman sometimes went to Fellness, on the chance of picking up a stray job, for it was only the state of his boat, and his anxiety to keep it together as long as possible, that prevented him braving the perils of the sea; and so he sometimes got the loan of another boat, or helped another fisherman with his; and then, rough though they might be, these fisher-folk were kind and helpful to each other, and if they could not afford to pay money for a job, they could pay for it in bread or flour, or potatoes, perhaps, and so they would generally find Coomber something to do, that they might help him, without hurting him.
But there was little work that could be done insuch bad weather as this, and he knew it, and his proud, independent spirit could not brook to accept even a mouthful of bread that he had not earned; and so there were many weary days spent at home, or sauntering round the coast with his gun, on the look-out for a stray wild fowl. Tiny often went to bed hungry, and woke up feeling faint and sick; and although she never forgot to say her prayers, she could not help thinking sometimes that God must have forgotten her. She read her paper to Dick, and he and Tom had both learned to spell out some of the words, and she read to herself again and again the Divine assurance, "God is good to all: He loves both boys and girls;" but then, as Dick said sometimes, Bermuda Point was such a long way from anywhere, and He might forget there were any boys and girls living there.
When she was very hungry, and more than usually depressed, Tiny thought Dick must be right, but even then she would not admit such a thought to others. When she saw Mrs.Coomber in tears, because she had no food to prepare for her hungry children, she would steal up to her, pass her little arm round the poor woman's neck, and whisper, "God is good; He'll take care of us, mammy; He'll send us some supper, if He can't send us any dinner;" and the child's hopeful words often proved a true prophecy, for sometimes when Coomber had been out all day without finding anything that could be called food, he would, when returning, manage to secure a wild duck, perhaps, or a couple of sea magpies, or a few young gulls. Nothing came amiss to the young Coombers at any time, and just now a tough stringy gull was a dainty morsel.
It threatened to be an unusually hard and long winter, and at last Mrs. Coomber ventured to suggest that Tiny should be taken to the poorhouse, at least until the spring, when she could come back again.
"Look at her poor little white face," said the woman, with her apron to her eyes; "I'mafraid she'll be ill soon, and then what can we do?"
"Time enough to talk about that when she is ill," said Coomber, gruffly, as he took up his gun and went out. They were generally able to keep a good fire of the drift-wood and wreckage that was washed ashore, for unfortunately there was scarcely a week passed but some noble vessel came to grief on the perilous bar sands during the more boisterous weather. Once, when they were at their wits' end for food, and Bob had begged his mother to boil some samphire for supper, Tiny was fortunate enough to discover an unopened cask which the sea had cast up the night before, and left high and dry behind the ridge of sandhills. She was not long fetching Bob and the boys to see her treasure trove; all sorts of wild speculations passing through her mind as to what it could contain as she ran shouting—
"Bob! Bob! Dick! Dick! Come and see what I've found."
"'DICK, DICK, COME AND SEE WHAT I'VE FOUND.'" [See page 96.
"'DICK, DICK, COME AND SEE WHAT I'VE FOUND.'" [See page 96.
The boys were not long in making their appearance, and Bob fetched a hatchet, and soon broke open the cask; and oh! what joy for the starving children—it was full of ship biscuits!
"Oh, Dick, didn't I tell you this morning God hadn't forgotten us?" said Tiny, in a quavering voice, when Bob announced what the cask contained.
"Oh, yes," said Dick, "so you did;" but he was too hungry to think of anything but the biscuits now—too hungry even to shout his joy, as he would have done at another time. As soon as they could be got at, he handed one to Tiny, and then Tom and Dick helped themselves, filling their pockets and munching them at the same time; but Tiny, though she nibbled her biscuit as she went, ran at once to tell Mrs. Coomber of her wonderful discovery; and she, scarcely daring to believe that such good news could be true, ran out at once to see for herself, and met the boys, who confirmed Tiny's tale. But she must see the cask forherself, and then she ate and filled her apron, and shed tears, and thanked God for this wonderful gift all at the same time. Then she told the boys to come and fetch some baskets at once, to carry them home in, and she would sort them over, for some were soaked with sea-water, but others near the middle were quite dry. Bob took a bagful and went in search of his father along the coast, and everybody was busy carrying or sorting or drying the biscuits, for they had to be secured before the next tide came in, or they might be washed away again.
When Coomber came home, bringing a couple of sea-gulls he had shot, he was fairly overcome at the sight of the biscuits.
"Daddy, it was God that sent 'em," said Tiny, in an earnest, joyful whisper.
The fisherman drew his sleeve across his eyes. "Seems as though it must ha' been, deary," he said; "for how that cask ever came ashore without being broken up well-nigh beats me."
"God didn't let it break, 'cos we wanted the biscuits," said Tiny confidently; "yer see, daddy, He ain't forgot us, though Bermuda Point is a long way from anywhere."
The biscuits lasted them for some time, for as the season advanced Coomber was able to sell some of the wild ducks he shot, and so potatoes, and flour, and bread could be brought at Fellness again. If the fisherman could only have believed that whisky was not as necessary as bread, they might have suffered less privation; but every time he got a little money for his wild fowl, the bottle had to be replenished, even though he took home but half the quantity of bread that was needed; and so Tiny sometimes was heard to wish that God would always send them biscuits in a tub, and then daddy couldn't drink the stuff that made him so cross.
Mrs. Coomber smiled and sighed as she heard Tiny whisper this to Dick. She, too, had often wished something similar—or, at least, that her husband could do withoutwhisky. Now, as the supply of wild fowl steadily increased, he came home more sullen than ever. His return from Fellness grew to be a dread even to Tiny at last; and she and Dick used to creep off to bed just before the time he was expected to return, leaving Bob and Tom to bear the brunt of whatever storm might follow.
He seldom noticed their absence, until one night, when, having drunk rather more than usual, he was very cross on coming in, and evidently on the look-out for something to make a quarrel over.
"Where's Dick and the gal?" he said, as he looked round the little kitchen, after flinging himself into a chair.
"They're gone to bed," said his wife, timidly, not venturing to look up from her work.
"Then tell 'em to get up."
"I—I dunno whether it 'ud be good for Tiny," faltered the poor woman; "she's got a cold now, and—and——"
"Are you going to call 'em up, or shall I go and lug 'em out of bed?" demanded the angry, tipsy man.
"But, Coomber," began his wife.
"There, don't stand staring like that, but do as I tell you," interrupted the fisherman; "I won't have 'em go sneaking off to bed just as I come home. I heard that little 'un say one day she was afraid of me sometimes. Afraid, indeed; I'll teach her to be afraid," he repeated, working himself into a passion over some maudlin recollection of the children's talk in the summer-time.
His wife saw it would be of no use reasoning with him in his present mood, and so went to rouse the children without further parley. They were not asleep, and so were prepared for the summons, as they had overheard what had been said.
"Oh mammy, must I come?" said Tiny, her teeth chattering with fear, as she slipped out of bed.
"Don't be afraid, deary—don't let him seeyou're frightened," whispered Mrs. Coomber; "slip your clothes on as quick as you can, and come and sing 'Star of Peace' to him; then he'll drop off to sleep, and you can come to bed again."
"I will—I will try," said the child, trying to force back her tears and speak bravely. But in spite of all her efforts to be brave, and not look as though she was frightened, she crept into the kitchen looking cowed and half-bewildered with terror, and before she could utter a word of her song, Coomber pounced upon her.
"What do yer look like that for?" he demanded; "what business have you to be frightened of me?"
Tiny turned her white face towards him, and ventured to look up. "I—I——"
"She's going to sing 'Star of Peace,'" interposed Mrs. Coomber; "let her come and sit over here by the fire."
"You let her alone," roared her husband; "she's a-going to do what I tell her. Comehere," he called, in a still louder tone. Tiny ventured a step nearer, but did not go close to him.
"Are you coming?" he roared again; then, stretching out his hand, he seized her by the arm, and dragged her towards him, giving her a violent shake as he did so. "There—now sing!" he commanded, placing her against his knee.
The child stared at him with a blank, fascinated gaze. Once he saw her lips move, but no sound came from them; and after waiting a minute he dashed her from him with all the strength of his mad fury.
There was a shriek from Mrs. Coomber, and screams from the boys, but poor little Tiny uttered no sound. They picked her up from where she had fallen, or rather had been thrown, and her face was covered with blood; but she uttered no groan—gave no sign of life.
"Oh, she's dead! she's dead!" wailed Dick, bending over her as she lay in his mother's arms.
The terrible sight had completely sobered Coomber. "Did I do it? Did I do that?" he asked, in a changed voice.
"Why, yer know yer did," growled Bob; "or leastways the whisky in yer did it. I've often thought you'd do for mother, or one of us; but I never thought yer'd lift yer hand agin a poor little 'un like that."
Coomber groaned, but made no reply. "Hold your tongue, Bob," commanded his mother; for she could see that her husband was sorry enough now for what he had done.
"What's to be done, mother?" he asked, in a subdued voice; "surely, surely I haven't killed the child!"
But Mrs. Coomber feared that he had, and it was this that paralysed all her faculties. "I don't know what to do," she said, helplessly, wiping away the blood that kept flowing from a deep gash on Tiny's forehead.
"Couldn't you give her some water?" said Dick, who did not know what else to suggest. Coomber meekly fetched a cupful from thepan outside, and Mrs. Coomber dipped her apron in it, and bathed Tiny's face; and in a minute or two Dick saw, to his great delight, that she drew a faint, fluttering breath. Coomber saw it too, and the relief was so great that he could not keep back his tears. "Please God He'll spare us His little 'un, I'll never touch another drop of whisky," he sobbed, as he leaned over his wife's chair, and watched her bathe the still pallid face.
"Open the door, Dick, and let her have a breath of fresh air; and don't stand too close," said his mother, as Tiny drew another faint breath.
The door was opened, and the boys stood anxiously aside, watching the faint, gasping breath, until at last Tiny was able to swallow a little of the water; and then they would have closed round her again, but their mother kept them off.
"Would a drop o' milk do her good?" whispered Coomber after a time; but she wassensible enough to recognise his voice, and shuddered visibly. He groaned as he saw it; but drew further back, so that she should not see him when she opened her eyes.
"Give me the sticking-plaster, Dick," said his mother, when Tiny had somewhat revived. Mrs. Coomber was used to cuts and wounds, and could strap them up as cleverly as a surgeon. It was not the sight of the ugly cut that had frightened her, but the death-like swoon, which she did not understand.
"How about the milk, mother?" Coomber ventured to ask, after Tiny's forehead was strapped up and bandaged.
Again came that shudder of fear, and the little girl crept closer to the sheltering arms. "Don't be frightened, deary; daddy won't hurt you now."
"Don't let him come," whispered Tiny; but Coomber heard the whisper, and it cut him to the heart, although he kept carefully in the background as he repeated his question.
"Would yer like a little milk, deary?" asked Mrs. Coomber.
"There ain't no money to buy milk," said Tiny, in a feeble, weary tone.
But Coomber crept round the back of the kitchen, so as to keep out of sight, took up the bottle of whisky he had brought home, and went out. He brought a jug of milk when he came back. "You can send for some more to-morrow, and as long as she wants it," he said, as he stood the jug on the table.