"You must not give her ale until the doctor says you may. Perhaps she will like a little of the barley-water for a change. Give me a clean glass, that will be a change from the cup she has been having the milk in."
Jessie knew very little of illness, and she thought at first that these small details were mere whims of Mrs. Brown's, until she went upstairs and saw how eagerly her mother took the barley-water when Mrs. Brown raised her head and put the glass to her lips.
"Now we will make the bed comfortable before the doctor comes. Fetch me some warm water, and I will wash mother's face and hands," said Mrs. Brown; and Jessie went to do her bidding, while she shook up the pillows and arranged the bedclothes.
When the patient was washed, Jessie asked if she could clean the room. Mrs. Brown could see that it was very dirty, but, until the doctor came, she did not like to have it disturbed, and so she told Jessie it would be better to begin on the room downstairs. As Polly had not gone to school, she might also wash up the piles of dirty crockery that stood about wherever there was room to put them.
It was little wonder that Jessie and her sister looked dismayed, for Mrs. Brown, with all her experience, had to look round the dreary, dirty kitchen and consider where a beginning should be made.
At last she said, "Put a large saucepan of water on the fire at once, with a lump of soda in it, and, while it is getting hot, sort over the dirty things. Put the cups and saucers together to be washed first, and greasy plates and dishes wash afterwards."
But it was soon found that there was not a saucepan clean enough to heat the water until one was washed; and Mrs. Brown did this herself, by way of example, for both girls refused to do this unpleasant work.
Just as the saucepan was filled and put on the fire, the doctor came.
He said the patient was no worse, and then gave directions for the bedroom to be thoroughly cleaned, but urged that it should be done as quietly and quickly as possible, and no other visitors than Mrs. Brown admitted to the sick-room. Then he left directions for the patient's food and medicine, and went away.
"Now I shall have to go and look for a pail," said Jessie.
"We shall want a broom first," said Mrs. Brown. "I will sweep the walls and ceiling for you, for I can see there are several cobwebs hanging about."
Jessie looked dismayed. "I don't believe we've got a broom," she said, scratching her head. "Father broke the last, hitting mother with it. He said if she wouldn't use it he would; and then the handle broke, and mother put it all on the fire."
"Have you found a pail?" asked Mrs. Brown; "because I must go home for a few minutes to see about the dinner, and I will bring some things back with me."
A look round the yard and scullery followed, but very little was found, and at length Mrs. Brown said—
"You had better come with me, Jessie, and I will lend you what you want for to-day; and then if you cannot find your own things, you must ask your father to buy some when he comes home on Saturday."
It was Jessie's first visit to Fanny's home, and she looked round the neat, tidy kitchen in amazement.
"Oh, I say, I know how it is Fanny likes going to service! She knew how to keep a place nice, and to tidy before she went. But the missis was always scolding me for the things getting dirty."
"Well, you know, it is never too late to mend, Jessie," said her new friend. "And now you have a good opportunity of doing many useful things, for your mother requires a great deal of care, the doctor says."
"Will you show me how to make our kitchen like this?" asked the girl. "Why, if father could only have a place like this to sit in when he comes home from work, I don't believe he would want to go to the public of an evening; and he'll soon come back here to work, I expect."
"Well, my girl, you ought to be able to make things comfortable for your father and mother too. I will certainly do what I can to help you get things straight for him before Saturday."
"I shall have to send Polly for some soap and soda and things to clean with;" which reminded Mrs. Brown that the clean rags that had been thrown aside lately would be handy for cleaning windows and dusting furniture, for it would be too much to expect that dusters would be found in the Collins's household.
So the empty pail was filled with various articles that would be needed for the house-cleaning, and Jessie was directed to send for blacklead to clean the grate, as well as soap and soda.
"And what about your dinner? You and Polly will want some dinner."
"Oh, mother sends to the cookshop, or else we have steak."
"Well, when she goes out to one shop, she might go to the other and bring what you want. Another day I will show you how to make a nice stew; but we must get the saucepans cleaned first," added Mrs. Brown.
While she had been talking she had been cutting up vegetables and adding them to the contents of a saucepan on the hob.
"Is that stew?" asked Jessie, sniffing the savoury odour when Mrs. Brown stirred the contents.
"Yes, that is stew; it will cook itself if I make up the fire, so that I can come back with you for another hour and show you how to set about your work."
They went back, and Mrs. Brown swept walls and ceilings of both kitchen and bedroom, for both were festooned with dirt and cobwebs. Jessie was eager to set about scrubbing the floor, but Mrs. Brown insisted that the grate must be cleaned and the floor swept first. At last Jessie brought her pail, but her mother could not hear the sound of the scrubbing-brush, as it made her head so much worse. A good deal of dirt, however, could be removed by careful washing, and the windows cleaned; a clean curtain put up made it look quite a different place, and for once it smelled fresh and clean.
Then Mrs. Brown showed the girls how to make barley-water, after scouring out the cleanest of the saucepans for the purpose. Polly was busy the whole morning washing up the dirty crockery, and Mrs. Brown returned in the afternoon to direct the cleaning of cupboards and dresser, that these might all be put away before the scrubbing of the floor began.
They could not tell whether the patient upstairs approved of all this turning out. Sometimes Jessie and sometimes Mrs. Brown went up with milk or barley-water, but she made no comment on what was going on after the scrubbing in her own bedroom was given up.
MRS. BROWN was surprised to find how steadily Jessie kept on with her work of house-cleaning. Of course, it was something new and novel, and Mrs. Brown thought that when the novelty wore off, Jessie would get tired of sweeping and scrubbing and making things tidy, especially as she also had to run up and down stairs to wait upon her mother.
But she never flagged in this duty. She made fresh barley-water every day, and when the doctor ordered beef-tea she asked her new-found friend how it was to be made, and was most careful to see that the saucepan was quite clean before she put the meat into it.
Of course, the cleaning was far from perfect. The windows were not as clear and bright as well-cleaned windows should be, and the floor had streaks of dirt in places, as well as other failures that a careful housewife like Mrs. Brown could not fail to notice; but she was careful to say little of these failings just at first, but to commend Jessie for trying to make home more comfortable now that she was free to do it. Mrs. Brown soon discovered from chance words that Mrs. Collins not only disliked house-cleaning herself, but hated anything to be disturbed by other people doing it. So Jessie had never been taught or encouraged to try and do anything beyond running errands for her mother and washing a few tea-things occasionally.
By Saturday night, however, the house had been cleaned from top to bottom, and when Collins walked into the kitchen, with its bright, clean grate, he stared with amazement at the changed appearance of his home.
"I hope mother ain't no worse than when you sent to tell me she was ill," he said, wondering what the change might portend.
"No, father, she's better," said Jessie, who had just come down from her mother's room. "I'm making her some beef-tea," she added proudly, lifting the lid of the steaming saucepan on the hob.
"And who told you to do that?" asked Collins, putting his basket down in the corner. "And who told you to have this rout out?" he asked, with another look at the renovated kitchen.
"Why, the doctor said I must rub things a bit, and have clean things for mother; and Mrs. Brown lent me the sheets I wanted."
"Mrs. Brown! What made you go there to that proud set?" asked her father, angrily.
"Just because she offered to lend them, and Mrs. Satchell didn't," replied Jessie, sharply. "What was I to do? The doctor said I must have clean things for mother if she was ever to get better, and I ran out to get them, for ours are all dirty. I went for Mrs. Satchell, and found her talking to Mrs. Brown at their gate. I said I wanted the sheets for mother; but no one spoke for a minute, and I was afraid I wasn't going to get the sheets, when Mrs. Brown said she would lend them, and come and help me make mother comfortable."
"Ah! And she put you up to turning the place out," grumbled Collins.
"It was the doctor said it first," answered Jessie.
"Well, now, look here. I ain't going to have your mother interfered with and found fault with by no Mrs. Brown, there now."
"Dad, you're a fool!" said Jessie, in an angry tone. "And it's my belief mother would have died if I hadn't happened to see Mrs. Brown that night."
Collins went upstairs to see his wife, closely followed by Jessie.
"Look here, I ain't going to have mother upset," she whispered, with her hand on the door-handle.
"Who wants to upset her?" roughly asked her father; and as he spoke he gave the girl a push, which sent her reeling, and she fell down the stairs with her foot doubled under her, which caused her such pain that she fainted, and lay in a heap at the bottom of the stairs until her father, hearing her moans, came down and found her.
"There, wake up, Jess! Wake up!" he said, as he lifted her in his arms, and seated her on a chair in the kitchen. "There, it's all right," he said soothingly. "Your mother says Mrs. Brown ain't got no fault-finding ways about her, and so, if she likes—"
But Jessie's only answer was another groan, that frightened her father, and he went to the street door to look for Polly.
She was coming up the street, and ran forward when she saw him.
"Ain't we got everything nice?" she called out before she reached the door; for Jessie had said, again and again, how pleased her father would be when he saw the nice clean kitchen.
"Come in, come in," called Collins. "There's something the matter with Jessie; she's fell downstairs and hurt herself, though I don't see no blood anywhere."
Polly ran through the passage, and was almost as frightened as her father when she saw her sister leaning back in the chair, white, and looking as though she was dead.
"Oh, father, what is it—what is the matter?" she screamed. "Let me fetch Mrs. Brown!" And without waiting for her father to speak, she flew off to fetch the friend who had helped them so much the last week.
Mrs. Brown was just going out for her Saturday marketing, when Polly dashed in, crying—
"Oh, come, Mrs. Brown, come directly to our Jess, she's fell downstairs and killed herself!"
Mrs. Brown did not believe anything so terrible as this had happened; but she could see Polly was very frightened, and without stopping to ask any questions, she set down her basket at once, and hurried away with her.
When they saw Jessie, Mrs. Brown said, "We had better send for the doctor at once, Mr. Collins; but I will lay her down on the couch until he comes."
An old couch stood in the kitchen, which Mrs. Collins used to lie upon, and Mrs. Brown lifted Jessie on to it, and loosened her clothes and bathed her forehead; but when she touched one of her feet, a deeper groan and shudder of pain made them aware that the injury was there.
However, by the time the doctor arrived, Jessie had recovered consciousness sufficiently to tell them that her foot was in great pain, and when Collins told the doctor how she fell, he saw at once that the girl's ankle was badly twisted, and advised that she should go to the hospital.
"No, no! I can't go there!" said Jessie. "I must stay here, and look after mother."
"But, my girl, you will not be able to go up and down stairs for some time," said the doctor.
"Polly can go for me, and I can tell her what to do. Oh, make my foot better," she implored, as a sharper twinge of pain made her feel faint again.
The doctor turned to her father, who stood looking helplessly at the sufferer.
"I don't know what we shall do without her," he said. "My wife wants looking after, and who is to do it?"
"For your wife it might be managed," said the doctor; "but this girl will have to lie down here on the couch all the time."
"I will do anything you tell me, doctor, if you only let me stay at home," said Jessie. "Polly can help, you know."
"You would be more comfortable at the hospital," said the doctor, making a last effort on Jessie's own behalf; for he knew how tedious the days and nights would be for an active girl like Jessie to endure, and that she would need the care and nursing that would be given to her at the hospital.
He tried to make them all understand this; but Jessie said she would never get well if she did not stay at home, and help nurse her mother.
"I can tell Polly what to do, and we can manage to take care of mother between us," pleaded Jessie; and at last the doctor consented, and proceeded to dress and bandage the injured foot, and placed it as comfortable as the old couch would permit, telling her she must not try to move it, and must lie as still as possible, or he would be compelled to send her to the hospital. Mrs. Brown thought it was a pity the doctor did not insist upon the girl being taken there at once; but she did not dare to say so, for she could see that Collins would rather Jessie stayed at home. And so she held her peace for the present; but when the doctor had gone, she drew him into the passage.
"Mr. Collins, Jessie would have been better at the hospital," she whispered; "but as you have decided that she shall stay at home, couldn't you arrange for one of your wife's old friends to come and sleep in the house, and help the girls a bit in the daytime. I know Jessie was going to wash some clothes next week; but now you must have somebody else to do it," she added.
The man scratched his head in perplexity. "I must go and see if the foreman can let me come back here to work, and let somebody else go and do my job over there. What about your husband, Mrs. Brown?"
"I dare say he would be willing to go, if the managers liked to send him, as you are in such trouble just now," answered Mrs. Brown.
"Oh, never mind my trouble. I hate being under an obligation to anybody, specially my neighbours," said Collins, roughly. "If Brown likes to take my job, I'll speak for him, and it will be something to his advantage, I may tell you. I hear you have been kind to my wife the last few days, and I am thankful for it. Do you want me to say any more?" he demanded.
"I did not want you to thank me! I am always ready to help a neighbour at a pinch, and was glad to do what I could for Jessie," said Mrs. Brown, with a touch of pride and pain in her voice; and, saying a hasty good-bye to Jessie she went home, her eyes full of tears, which she dashed away before she knocked at her own door.
Jessie heard what had passed between her father and Mrs. Brown in the passage, and when he went back to the kitchen she said—
"Now, what are we going to do? You don't suppose Mrs. Brown'll come back and look after us as she has done all the week, after what you said to her to-night."
"What have I said? And what has she said of us? Didn't their girl tell you that you wasn't good enough to go with them. Do you think I've forgotten it?" demanded her father, angrily.
"Of course you haven't! Neither have I! And I didn't go to ask Mrs. Brown to help us; but not even Mrs. Satchell, who has always pretended to be such a friend to mother, would lend us a clean sheet, and if it hadn't been for Mrs. Brown, I believe mother would have died. As to being better than us; why, of course it was true. Their house is clean; but ours is always dirty. They could lend me clean sheets; but we hadn't enough for ourselves."
"I tell you I earn more wages than Brown, let 'em say what they like," vociferated Collins.
"Wages ain't everything," said Jessie. "I tell you the little Browns always looked nicer than we did, though their frocks didn't cost half so much, mother said; but then, they always had tidy boots to wear. And sometimes when I had a new frock, I couldn't have boots, and my toes were all out, or else there were big holes in my stockings; but Mrs. Brown showed Fanny how to mend hers, and I don't believe mother knows how to mend stockings now," said Jessie.
"Don't you say a word agin your mother!" interrupted Collins, sharply. "She was the handsomest woman in this town when I married her."
"I ain't saying a word against her!" retorted Jessie, "and Mrs. Brown ain't either. 'Take good care of your mother, Jessie. Look after your mother, Jessie,' has been her word to me every day, while all the time she's just been trying to make me do the things she taught Fanny long ago. Perhaps mother couldn't help the place getting dirty; perhaps her mother didn't show her how to do it, but it don't make any difference; we are dirty, and the Browns are clean, and Mrs. Brown has been trying to teach me like she did her own Fanny, and—"
"Ah, that was the girl who told Polly she was better than you," interrupted Collins, in whose mind the words seem to rankle still.
"Yes, Fanny said it, I dare say, but I know Mrs. Brown didn't; she wouldn't, though I don't suppose she liked her girls to go with us, because we were dirty and untidy, and played about in the streets at night as long as we liked. She didn't want Fanny to do that, and so I dare say she said, 'Now, you keep away from that Jessie Collins, or she'll want you to run the street with her.'"
"You seem to know all about it," said her father, who could not help smiling as she mimicked the tone and manner of Mrs. Brown.
This was just what Jessie wanted, to win her father back to a better humour; for what should she do if he said Mrs. Brown was not to come again. In the midst of all the bustle and hard work of this last week, she had thought again and again of the talk she had had with her governess, and how Miss Martin said she hoped she would grow up a useful woman, who she would be proud to say had been to her school.
To have Miss Martin proud of her would be something worth working for, and if anybody could show her how to become a useful woman, it would be Mrs. Brown, and so her father must be persuaded to ask Mrs. Brown to come in and out still, though they must have one of her mother's old friends, she feared, to do the washing now.
Collins persuaded himself that they could not do without him at home, and so he went to see the foreman of the work he was doing away from home, to tell him that his wife was ill, and he could not leave again for the whole week, especially as Jessie had sprained her ankle and could not get up and down stairs.
"Well, who can you get to go in your place?" said the foreman. "You told me you didn't mind being away from home, but very few of the fellows like it," added the man.
Collins scratched his head. "There's Brown," he said at last.
"Brown! But I thought you said you would never work with Brown, as he didn't work fair with his mate!" and the foreman looked keenly at Collins as he spoke.
The man fidgeted from one leg to the other, and looked very uncomfortable.
"Brown is the only chap in the shop that understands the work we are doing over there," he said at last.
"Just what I said when it begun; but you gave the fellow such a bad name, that—"
"Well, you see, he had been ill, and perhaps he was weak and not up to the mark," interrupted Collins, who did not want to hear any more of that former talk he had had with his foreman.
After a pause the foreman said, "Well, you will have to go and arrange it with Brown yourself, as it is for your accommodation; but make him understand that the pay is better, and that I shall expect him to stick to it until we have finished, for I don't care to change men in the middle of a ticklish job like that." These last words were said that Collins might understand that if he gave up this job he could not take it on again.
"All right, I know what you mean," he said. "Shall I tell Brown to come round and see you to-night or to-morrow?"
"Oh, I know Brown well enough to know he won't care to come on Sunday, so tell him to come to-night, or join us at the station ready for work on Monday morning."
Collins had hoped that he would be told he need not trouble himself about seeing Brown; but now he had to go to his house, and ask, as something of a favour, that he would take over his job for him, and it was not a pleasant task.
To his relief, however, he heard that Mrs. Brown was out; for when the door was opened to Collins's knock, Brown said—
"The missis is out. I hope your plucky lass is no worse."
The words gratified Collins, and he said, "No, thank ye. Jess is about the same; but I wanted a word with you."
"Come away back, then, and let's hear it. I'm mending some of the youngster's shoes while the missis is out at her marketing." And he led the way through the passage, and handed Collins a seat in the cosy, comfortable kitchen, while he fetched the lamp from the scullery, where he had been doing his shoemaking work.
"Now we can see what we are at," he remarked, as he set it on the table. "Now, what is it I can do for you?" he asked good-naturedly.
"Can you take my job?" asked Collins.
"Your job?" repeated Brown; for he knew that Collins was considered a more highly skilled workman than himself, and received higher wages in proportion, so that to be asked to take up the particular work Collins had been doing greatly surprised him.
"It is a ticklish job, as you know," went on Collins, "and last week there might have been an accident through my hand shaking as it did. Electrical engineering ain't child's play, you know. Well, I had heard that my wife was ill, and that might have caused it; but now I know how bad she is I may be worse, and so I want you to take over the job at once, and let me stay at home and look after things a bit. 'Specially as Jess has got her ankle hurt."
"To be sure you do," said Brown, thoughtfully; and then he added, "but I must see Mr. Thornton, and hear what he says about it."
"Well, go and see him at once. I have just been there, and he told me to come to you. Now, mind what I say, Brown; it is a ticklish job they have got there, so have all your wits about you while you are at work."
Brown thought he understood what the man meant. Collins sometimes followed his wife's example, and took a little more beer than was good for him, and it might be this that had made his hand unsteady; but he thanked Collins for the hint he had given him, and prepared at once to go and see the foreman.
"NOW, Nursey, father said before he went away that I might go all round here by myself." And the little boy extended his arms and swung round on one foot to explain to Nurse the wide extent to which he was given leave to ramble.
"Yes, Master Eustace, I know all about it," said Nurse, "and Eliza can walk all round there too."
"But I don't want Eliza; she can nurse the baby or look after Winny; but father said I was getting a big boy now, and must take care of myself, and so, of course—"
"Ah, that is all very well to remember one part of father's talk, and forget all the rest," interrupted Nurse. "Father told you just before he went away that you were to do as Nurse told you. Don't you remember?"
"Yes, but he didn't say anything about Eliza," answered the child.
"Perhaps not; but Eliza must do as I tell her, and so must you," concluded Nurse, looking gravely at the boy.
The Vicarage party had been about a week at the seaside, and mother and father having seen them comfortably settled, had gone on to visit a sick relative according to their original intention. They had stayed at the quiet little village of Stillborough the previous year, and Eustace had rambled round the coast and neighbouring common with his father many times, so that he considered himself quite an expert traveller, and did not at all like to confine his explorations so as to be within ken of Nurse, as she sat on her camp-stool sewing, or reading a little bit to Winny out of her own book. It was still worse, the little boy thought, to have Eliza in attendance upon him, and so he had tried to come to an understanding with Nurse once for all.
Eliza sat near Nurse on the sand, with Winny in her lap, listening and smiling at Master Eustace as he tried to lay down the law that was to govern his own particular wanderings, and having done this at least to his own satisfaction, the little boy walked away.
"I wish the master had not said so much to the child about taking care of himself!" exclaimed Nurse, as she turned her head to look after him. "Of course the master meant it for the best, for him and for us too, but there's nothing that child is afraid of, and a nice treat we shall have with him, I know;" and Nurse sighed.
"Shall I go after him, Nurse?" asked Eliza, who thought nothing of a long ramble on the sands in attendance upon her favourite so greatly had she improved in health already. "Shall I go after him?" she repeated, springing to her feet as she spoke.
But Nurse pulled her skirt to sit down again. "Not now," she said. "I can see him between those clumps of sea-thistles. Ah! he is coming back now," said Nurse, in a tone of satisfaction. "But I tell you what you must do if you should be away from me, and see Master Eustace wandering off by himself—send Winny back to me, if you should have her with you, and just follow on behind Master Eustace, so as to keep him in sight without letting him know anything about it. Try to remember this, Eliza, and that I give Master Eustace into your care, for you will be able to follow him better than I can."
The girl felt very proud of the charge thus entrusted to her.
"See, he is coming back now, Nurse," said Eliza, who was always ready to condone the little fellow's faults.
"There, I have been a far far way, Nursey, and I am back safe, you see," said the little fellow proudly, as he stood before Nurse and made a grimace of defiance at Eliza.
"Yes, I see you are here safe and sound, and if you never try to go further than the far far way near the bushes, Nurse will not scold you," she said.
"Could you see me all the time?" asked the child.
Nurse nodded, and the boy looked disappointed. "Then it isn't a far far way," he said, in a complaining tone.
"Quite far enough, Master Eustace," put in Eliza.
"You don't know anything about this place, for you did not come with us last year," retorted the boy, loftily.
And once more he discussed the subject with Nurse, but they could not arrive at any definite conclusion upon the matter of distance; and when the little boy went off again, Nurse repeated her charge to Eliza to keep her eyes upon and follow him at a distance if he went far.
For the next few days, however, Master Eustace had very little opportunity of going out of bounds, for each day in succession for nearly a week had to be spent indoors, it was so wet and chilly.
It was during this time that Nurse learned to appreciate Eliza for her unfailing patience and good temper in keeping the children amused during the weary hours when they could not get out even for a short walk all day. It was a relief to Nurse, and a boon to the little ones, who were disposed to want all the toys that had been left at home, and did not at all like the restrictions that had to be imposed upon them for the sake of other people in the house.
All the games that Eliza had ever played were brought into requisition, besides many others invented for the occasion.
At length the weather cleared, and the sun shone out as brilliantly as though the sky had never been dimmed by a cloud, and Eliza was almost as delighted as the children at the prospect of being able to go out on the sands once more.
They were all nearly ready to start, the children equipped with pails and spades, when Nurse noticed that Eliza had put on a cotton frock.
"My dear, you must put your warmer frock on to-day," she said.
"Oh, Nurse, see how bright the sun is!" exclaimed Eliza, in a disappointed tone. "And we are all ready to start," she added.
"Never mind! We will only walk slowly down to the beach that you may soon overtake us. But this is just one of the days when your warmer frock is likely to be useful, for there is sure to be a chill in the air after the rain."
Nurse's advice was not pleasant to the girl, and she reluctantly turned back and put on the warm frock instead of the bright pink cotton she had on. She did it as quickly as she could, and ran along the terrace to catch Nurse before they could get down to the beach; but at the corner she also saw Eustace coming from the direction of the shop, and waited for him to join her. He had a little bundle tied up in his handkerchief; the handle of his spade passed through the knot, and the bundle hanging over his shoulder.
"What have you got there, Master Eustace?" she asked.
"I'm Robinson Crusoe," answered the little fellow, in an important tone, and marching on by her side.
Nurse had been reading some chapters of Robinson Crusoe to him during the last few days, and his mind was full of the adventures of that hero.
Eliza was ready to enter into the little boy's amusement, and so she said—
"I'll be your Man Friday."
"Will you?" said the child, eagerly. But the next minute he said, "How can you—you're only a girl?"
"Never mind! I can carry your things and do as you tell me," said Eliza; and the next minute the spade and bundle were transferred from the little boy's shoulder to Eliza's and they went on to the beach walking in this fashion.
"What now?" asked Nurse. "What have you got there, Eliza?" she added.
Eliza shook her head. She believed it was stones, but she did not say so.
"Eliza isn't her name now. She is my Man Friday," answered Eustace.
"Oh, I see! Well, what are you and your Man Friday going to do this morning?" asked Nurse, relieved to find that whatever the little fellow contemplated doing, Eliza would be at hand to keep him out of danger and mischief.
"We are going to look over this island first thing, of course," answered the boy, "and we can't waste our time here. We shall find you by-and-by, I dare say, and then you and baby and Winny will be savages, and you must do what I tell you."
"Very well; but that part had better come after dinner, because you will have to do as I tell you, and come home to dinner in good time, and you must look after your Man Friday, and see he don't get away."
This, of course, was intended as a hint to Eliza, and Nurse knew she understood it as such. And the two went off for their ramble, and Nurse did not see them again until dinner-time, and then Eliza's bundle had somewhat diminished in size.
It was Nurse's custom to put the children to bed for an hour after dinner, and they usually fell asleep in the course of a few minutes. But to-day Eustace pleaded that he and Man Friday might go off on their rambles again as soon as dinner was over.
"We have found a cave, and, of course, we can sleep there," announced Eustace, running to get his hat.
But Nurse said she wanted Man Friday to do something for her before they went out again, and amid tears and expostulations, Eustace was laid in his own little bed, while Eliza and Nurse sat down in the shaded sitting-room for their own afternoon rest. Eliza soon fell asleep, but Nurse could hear that Eustace was grumbling and tumbling about in his bed, and was by no means disposed to go to sleep this afternoon. She let Eliza have her usual rest, for she knew the girl needed it, and so she kept Eustace as quiet as she could until the time for rousing the children came, and they all went out again.
Nurse usually took a parcel of bread-and-butter and cake with her, and they bought some milk on the beach about five o'clock, returning home about seven to a more substantial meal; and afterwards the children were bathed and put to bed.
To-day, however, Eustace demanded that Man Friday should carry their portion of bread-and-butter, that they might eat it together in the cave.
"Don't change your frock," said Nurse, when Eliza went to wash her face and hands before starting out again.
Eustace insisted that his bread-and-butter should be tied up in the handkerchief, and Nurse saw that there was a piece of bread there already, and then learned that the child had bought a penny loaf in the morning by way of providing stores for his journey, and he and Eliza had eaten part of it before dinner. But he insisted upon the remaining portion being taken in the handkerchief, and carried the bundle himself until they got down to the beach, for fear Nurse should tell Eliza to take it out.
Here she was "Eliza," and under Nurse's control; but when once their camp was reached, she was "Man Friday," and under his direction. This was the compact that Nurse had been obliged to make with him in the morning; and so, as soon as her stool was set up, and baby and Winny set about their digging, Eliza and Eustace went off, Nurse looking after them with a smile of complacent assurance that nothing could happen to the little boy with Eliza in attendance, little dreaming what weary, anxious hours would pass before she should see either of them again.
"Now we are going to our cave," announced Eustace, when they were fairly away from "the savages." "I know just where to find it, though I did forget when father first went away. It's a wonderful cave, Friday, and leads right through the mountains to another country."
Eliza opened her eyes. "There are no mountains here, Master Eustace, only the chalk and sand cliffs."
"Of course; you have never seen my island before, Friday, and cannot be expected to know a mountain."
Eustace said this with such a look of lofty disdain that Eliza found it difficult to keep from laughing, which would be altogether wrong in "Man Friday," as Eustace had explained to her. Though she could not help saying, "The cave is a long way off," as they walked on and on until the bank of sea-thistles were left far behind, and the cliffs ran down much closer to the sea than they did near their camp where they had left the savages.
"You have only got to follow me," commanded Eustace, looking round at her. "You're not afraid, are you?" he demanded.
"Oh no, not afraid! I'm not afraid," replied Eliza.
"It's like a girl to be frightened because you cannot see any houses here, and there aren't many people about; but my father says it is a grand view, and we can be close to the sea and the mountains too." And, thus reassured, Eliza followed the little boy into what looked like a hole cut in the side of the cliff. It ran a good way back, but the floor was firm and dry, dotted with pretty little shells, and more delicate seaweed than they found near the camp, and Eliza was soon busy picking up both shells and seaweed, while Eustace, as became his dignity, sat on a shelving bank to watch his "Man Friday," not admitting even to himself that he was tired after his long walk.
"Have you got enough?" he asked at length. "We have got to explore this cave, you know, and find a place where we can make our bed."
Eliza stood up and peered into the shadowy part of the cave, where the sun's rays never reached the sandy bottom, and she found it wet.
"I shouldn't like to sleep here, master," she said, still in her character of "Friday."
"Never fear, I will take care of you, Friday. Now, follow me close," said Eustace, who thought he would rather have Eliza near him while going up the dark steps that had been cut in the chalk which he had once ascended with his father.
"This is a queer place," said Eliza, with a shiver, as they turned a sharp corner at the back of the cave, and began to climb the rough uneven steps that led them up into the darkness, as it seemed to the girl. But if a little fellow like Eustace was not afraid to go first into this queer place, Eliza was not going to yield, and so she followed on as closely as she could, but it was a great relief when at last a streak of daylight could be seen in what looked like the roof of this stairway.
"Now are you frightened?" asked Eustace, triumphantly.
"No, but I am glad to see the light, and I hope we shall soon get to the top."
But Eliza found that when the chalk steps ended a sandy and clay bank began, through which a path had been trodden, and they had to climb this, greatly to the detriment of their clothes. But at last they emerged at the top, and came out upon what looked like a wide heath or common, but there was not a house to be seen anywhere, and Eliza declared she would not go any further for fear of losing their way, and missing the particular slope that would lead them to the steps down to the beach.
"Suppose we untie our bundle, and have our supper," said Eustace, who was hungry after his climb.
Eliza was only too glad to sit down in the bright sunshine and eat the bread-and-butter they had brought with them, or at least a part of it; for Eustace said they must keep part so that their wallet should not be empty.
They sat there for some time, until at last the little boy showed signs of being sleepy, and then Eliza jumped up in great alarm.
"Master, we are a long way from the savages, and I shall be frightened if we don't soon get back," she said.
The little trick answered, and Eustace roused himself.
"You ain't fit for a Man Friday," he said, standing up.
"Ah, I wish the Vicar was here, don't you?" said Eliza, still trying to keep up the fiction that she was afraid, but thankful that they were at last going down the sandy slope that would take them to the beach.
LITTLE ROBINSON CRUSOE went bravely down the descending path between the high sandbanks, Man Friday walking closely behind, for Eliza began to fear that they had sat too long in the warm sunshine at the top of the cliff, and wished they had not such a long walk to go before they could reach the camp, for she was afraid Nurse would grow anxious about them being away so long.
As the little boy drew near the chalk stairway, his steps grew more slow, and Eliza, noticing this, said—
"Master, Man Friday had better go first now," and as she spoke the little fellow gladly let her pass him with the wallet over her shoulder, while at the same moment a quantity of sand and lumps of clay came tumbling down the side of the bank, and the girl could not help wishing they were at the bottom instead of the top of this stairway. To enter the dark hole required some courage, but she took care not to let Eustace see that she had any fear, although she could hardly repress a shudder.
"It's like real Robinson Crusoe, isn't it?" said the little boy, trying hard to keep up his courage. "You are a girl, and girls don't like these things like men do, I suppose."
"No, they don't," said Eliza; "but girls' frocks are handy sometimes, and if you take hold of mine, and keep close to me, we can help each other to get down the steps better."
They had reached the chalk bank and groped their way into the darkness, Eliza carefully feeling with feet and hands along the wall lest they should slip down the roughly cut steps.
"Now we shall soon be down," she said, when they had descended about half a dozen steps.
Then they were cheered with a ray of light through a hole at the top of the cliff, by which they could see that they had come to a place where the steps made a sharp bend, and they had to turn the corner of the chalk wall very carefully.
"Now we shan't be long, master," said Eliza, cheerily; for after a few more steps she could see a tiny speck of light far below, and knew that this must be the lower entrance to the dark staircase, and that in a short time they would reach the cave into which it opened.
But almost at the same moment she heard the thunderous roar of the sea as it beat upon the cliffs below, and she stood still for a moment to listen.
"Did the sea make a noise like that before?" She spoke half to herself, half to the little boy, who was clinging closely to her skirts behind.
"Why, you silly, the sea always makes a noise like that," answered Eustace; and he tried to push Eliza forward, for he did not like the darkness, and was impatient to reach that spot of light below them, which he could see now as well as Eliza. She, too, would be glad enough to be out upon the beach once more, although she feared that Nurse would be angry with her for staying away so long. But even this was forgotten in the tenseness with which she listened, and the care she took that the little boy should not push past her or make her slip down the steps.
"Oh, you are slow!" said the little fellow, impatiently. "Let me come first," he added; and he tried again to push past the girl.
But she firmly kept her place, and held him back.
"Listen! Listen!" she said. "I think the water is in the cave where I picked up the pretty shells; and if it is, and you should fall in, you might be drowned."
The little fellow was awed for a minute, but quickly exclaimed—
"I am not afraid. If the water has got in we must run through it."
But Eliza was not to be moved from her determination, and would not go faster, for above the roar of the water outside and the swish-swish of it as it rose across the floor of the cave, she thought she could hear a closer lap-lap, as though the waves were trying to climb the stairs they were descending. So she put the foot that was to descend first very slowly and cautiously forward, and before the bottom was reached, her worst fears were realized, for the descending foot vent into deep water at last. The poor girl sank down upon the step on which the little boy was standing, and for the moment was quite overcome by the horror that seemed to have seized upon her. But she quickly mastered it for fear of frightening the child.
"We must go back again, Master Eustace," she said as quietly as she could.
"What for?" demanded the little boy, although as he spoke he ceased to push the girl, for he, too, felt that something had happened that he did not quite understand.
"The water has come into our cave," she said. "One foot went into it just now, so that we are close to the edge."
Eustace quickly clambered up the steps, holding fast by Eliza's frock.
"I must take care of you," he said, when she asked him not to pull quite so hard.
They made their way back to where the stairway turned, and were glad of the peep of daylight from above when they saw it again.
"We must make haste now," said Eliza, "for we shall have to walk home along the cliffs, and that is further round, I heard Nurse say."
They clambered on as quickly as they could for a few yards further, and then met a steep bank of earth, while the little bit of daylight visible was still a long way ahead of them.
"Why, what has happened?" exclaimed Eliza, as she stumbled forward on to the soft mass of sand and clay that rose like a wall before them, nearly closing the entrance of the stairway.
At the same moment the little boy's courage and endurance quite gave way, and he sank down.
"I am so tired I can't walk any further," he cried, and burst into a storm of sobs and tears.
For a minute or two Eliza was too much overwhelmed to do anything but look up at the tiny rift in the darkness. Then she stooped down and took the little boy in her arms.
"Master Eustace, God can take care of us in this dark place," she whispered. "He knows where we are and all about us."
The little fellow raised his head and tried to stop his tears.
"I'm so tired," he said, with a gasp. "If I wasn't so tired and my legs so stiff, I'd climb up this bank and help you to get out, but I can't, Eliza."
"No, dear, we must just stop here and let God take care of us. The water won't stop in the cave for all the time. When the tide goes down, the water will all run out again," she said.
As this thought occurred to her, half the trouble seemed to drop away and leave her able to think how she should comfort the little boy and make him warm and comfortable, so that he might go to sleep and forget all his weariness and discomfort.
"We'll go back a little way till we get to the wall down there," she said, pointing down to the bend in the stairway. "There I can make a tent of my frock, and we will have our supper and go to bed in our cave, and be real Robinson Crusoes."
The word "bed" had a charm for the tired little fellow, and he readily agreed to let Eliza take the direction of affairs. So they went back to the corner formed by the bend, and Eliza said—
"There, that will be my armchair. You can lie down against me, and I can cover you all up with my warm frock. Isn't it a good job Nurse made me put it on to-day?"
She kept talking like this for fear Eustace should cry again, for she was afraid she might cry too if he did.
When the corner was reached she took off her hat, drew the frock over her head, carefully wrapped her petticoats closely round her, and held out her arms for Eustace. The little boy was glad enough to creep into her lap, and then she folded the soft warm skirt all round him.
"Isn't that nice?" she said in a cheery tone, as Eustace laid his head against her.
"Shall I go to sleep?" he asked.
"Oh yes, of course, when we have had our supper. Robinson Crusoe always had supper, I think," she added, for she wanted him to eat some of the bread-and-butter they still had in the wallet.
She had to eat some, too, although she thought it would choke her at first. Still, for the sake of the child she must try; and they both ate some bread-and-butter. Then he kneeled down in her lap and said his prayers, as though he was at home in his own nursery.
When Eliza had made him as cosy and comfortable as she could, wrapped round in her frock, he said—
"When father says, 'God bless you, my little Eustace!' before he goes to bed, will God tell him we are out here in the dark, all alone?"
Eliza shook her head. "I don't know how God speaks to people," she said; "perhaps He puts the right kind of thoughts into their minds;" and as she said this, it occurred to her that the idea of the tide going out, that had never left her since it first entered her mind, was one of the thoughts that came from God to comfort and help her to be brave, that she might take care of Master Eustace. Of course the Vicar would pray that God would take care of all of them, and especially his own little boy, for she knew he was very fond of Eustace, and so perhaps the thought had come to her through the Vicar's prayer.
At any rate, it was such a comfort to the girl that soon after her little charge was asleep, she, too, had closed her eyes, and slept soundly for an hour or two, leaning against the chalk wall with her frock drawn closely round the child.
But she woke out of this sleep with a start that almost woke Eustace. She could not remember where she was for a minute or two.
She felt cramped and stiff, and her feet were very cold. Raising her head, she saw one star looking down upon her through the hole in the roof, and she remembered all that had happened, and that their one hope of escaping from the cave lay in the tide going down. She wondered when that would be, and what the time was now.
Then she managed to move the little boy without waking him, so that she could move her feet, and change the position in which she was sitting.
But having done this, she could not go to sleep again. That one star up above seemed to be watching her and inviting her to keep her eyes open and look at it.
By degrees she noted that the deep blue of the sky was growing paler and paler, and the joyful thought came to her that the night was almost over, and the morning was coming at last.
She kept her eyes steadily fixed on the one rift of sky until her star paled, and the purple sky hid it. Then her eyes grew tired, and try as she would she could not keep them open, but fell asleep once more.
Meanwhile, Nurse had a troublesome time with the little ones. Miss Winny had grown fond of her little nurse, who was always ready to play with her. When she saw her walk away with her brother, and show no signs of coming back, she called—
"Lila! Lila! Me want you! Me want you!" and then turned to Nurse, and said, "Make Lila come back."
"She will come soon," said Nurse, soothingly.
But this did not satisfy Winny. "Me want her now! Me want her now!" she screamed; and then burst into a flood of tears, in which baby very soon joined.
Nurse raised her voice then, and called "'Liza! 'Liza!" as loudly as she could; but the wind carried her words in the opposite direction, and no sounds reached the young explorers, who very soon disappeared from view altogether.
This brought a fresh outburst of lamentation from the little girl, who would not be pacified by anything Nurse said to her; and at last Nurse threatened to take her home, put her to bed, and not let her stay until the others came back. She tried to amuse her by scooping up some sand the little girl's spade, but it would not do. The child knew the difference now between this kind of play and the interest Eliza took in building a castle or digging a trench, and she shook herself, and screamed the louder for "Lila."
Nurse tried all sorts of plans to make the little one forget her playmate, but it was of no use; and after an hour or two, she decided to take the children home without waiting for Eliza to return.
"Winny is a naughty girl!" she said sharply, as she gathered up her various belongings, and prepared to return home.
But Winny refused to go without "Lila," seated herself on the sand, and screamed until Nurse grew desperate. So, asking another nurse who sat near to keep an eye on her till she came back, she rushed off with baby, and left him in charge of the landlady while she went back to fetch the little girl.
Altogether it was a most unhappy evening for Nurse, but she did not grow anxious about Eustace and Eliza until she had bathed Winny and baby, and put them both to bed, the little girl sobbing piteously even in her sleep, for she had refused to be comforted to the very last because "Lila" did not come home.
When, however, she was snugly tucked into her cot, Nurse had time to think of the young Robinson Crusoe. She went to the landlady of the house, and asked if she knew where the cave was.
"Cave! What cave?" she asked.
"I don't know; only I heard Master Eustace tell Eliza he was going to take her to some cave on the shore."
"There are no caves hereabouts," said the landlady, in a reassuring tone, "and there is no call for you to fidget over the children, for our shore is as safe as my back garden. They will be home in a few minutes, I dare say;" and she went about her business, leaving Nurse by the window to watch every one who came up the street from the beach.
Little groups of twos and threes were passing now, dragging spades and pails behind them and Nurse wished she could see Eustace and Eliza.
"Those children will be tired out," she said, when the landlady came in to lay the supper-cloth.
"They are late," she admitted, "for it is getting dusk, and you have never been so late as this with them."
"I wish I dare leave the children upstairs, and I would go and look for them."
She hoped the woman would offer to look after the baby if he should wake, but she was not disposed to make the offer.
"I expect my boy in every minute, and he knows every inch of the shore. I'll send him to find them the moment he comes in. I expect Master Eustace has fallen dead tired, and can't get along. My boy can carry him better than your girl can."
"I doubt whether Eliza could carry him many yards, for she is not at all strong."
The suggestion had relieved her a little, and a minute afterwards she saw the landlady's son come dashing in.
"We want you to go and look for that little Master Eustace and the girl, Tom," his mother said; and Nurse told what she had heard about their going to look for a cave.
"There ain't no cave on our beach," replied Tom. "There's just a hole or two in the cliff that the waves have scooped out. Which way have they gone? Down Prawn Point?"
"Which is Prawn Point?" asked Nurse.
The boy explained, and Nurse knew that it was that direction Eustace always had chosen for his rambles.
Tom scratched his head. "You ought not to have let them go to the Point," he said seriously.
"Is it dangerous?" asked Nurse, in a tone of alarm.
"Well, that depends upon the time. When did they go?"
"This afternoon, about four o'clock, I should think," answered his mother.
The boy whistled. "The tide would be coming in."
"Is there danger? Tell me if there is, for I must send for his mother and father at once," almost screamed Nurse.
"Well, I wouldn't care to be round Prawn Point, I can tell you," answered Tom.
Nurse did not wait to hear any more. There was a telegraph-office a little further up the street, and Nurse rushed off there.
"Can you send a message directly?" she panted.
"Oh yes," said the girl, calmly. "Will you write it down?"
"I can't write now," said Nurse, in agitation "Say, 'Come at once; Eustace and Eliza lost.'" The girl looked up as she finished pencilling down this message.
"Do you know which way they have gone?" she asked.
"To some place called Prawn Point," answered Nurse.
"Ah, that is a nasty place," said the girl. "You haven't told me the address," she added, as Nurse was turning away from the counter.
She gave the address where the Vicar was staying, and returned home almost distracted, but was relieved to hear that the landlady's son had started in search of the children, and that he expected he should find them on the other side of the Point, where they would be compelled to stay until the tide went down.
"Oh dear, they will be frightened to death, even if they are alive!" said Nurse, wringing her hands, and pacing up and down the small sitting-room.
In the course of an hour a reply came from the Vicar.
"Coming first train in the morning," he said.
The landlady assured her that the children would be safe at home in their own beds long before her master came, for three or four men besides her Tom had gone out now in search of the children, and they would be sure to find them.
But hour after hour of that terrible night passed bringing no news of the children to their distracted Nurse, and some began to whisper that they must have been carried out to sea by the outgoing tide, and that nothing might ever be seen of them again.
WHEN Eliza looked up through the hole at the paling sky, she quite intended keep awake until the sun was up, and then creep down the stairs to see if the cave was clear of water, before she disturbed the little boy from his sound sleep.
But before she was aware of it her eyelids drooped, her head sank back against the chalk wall, and she too was as soundly asleep as the child. She slept on for an hour or two, and then woke up with a start and in a fright. She looked up through the hole at the morning sky, and saw that it was quite bright. She felt sure that she should find the cave had dried in the morning sun, so she slipped the little boy aside out of her arms, unfastened her frock, and after some pulling and tugging, managed to get her arms out of the sleeves, and tucking the frock securely round the little sleeper, she made her way down the steps as quickly as she could.
When she reached the last step, she saw, to her dismay, that the tide was coming in again, and the sea was just beginning to flood the cave once more, but it was not deep enough yet to more than wet her feet, and she walked through that to look out and see if she could carry Eustace to the dry sand which she knew would lie a little way beyond. But, to her great consternation, there was no dry spot within view of where she stood, and she gazed out upon the water as it came slowly lapping in, and wondered whether anybody had been to look for them or would come this morning; and with the wild hope that Nurse or somebody might be searching for them, she thrust her head out as far as she could, and called, "Nurse, Nurse."
But no answer came to her call, and Eliza grew almost desperate as she thought of the little boy asleep up the steps. Presently he would wake up and cry for his breakfast and for Nurse to come to him; and what could she do to pacify him? And with the thought of poor little Robinson Crusoe's distress, she took courage to step out of the cave into the water beyond. It was very terrible to see nothing but the whirling, eddying water all round her, but she boldly ran forward to where she thought she would be seen if any one had come in search of her. To her intense relief, she saw the figures of three men in the distance, and she raised her arms and waved them, at the same time shouting "Help, help!" For a minute they did not seem to hear or see her, then all at once one of them began to run, and waved his arms in token that he saw her; and by that time Eliza's clothes began to dabble in the water, and she made her way back to the cave, but still stood at the edge looking out, for fear the men should pass, and this hope of rescue be lost to them.
But in a minute or two she saw, to her amazement, that the man who had outran the others was no other than the Vicar himself. She was too much overcome to speak for a moment, but before he stepped into the cave, she called out, "Go up the stairs quick, sir—Master Eustace is asleep just at the top;" and as the Vicar ran past her she sank down in the water, but was picked up the next minute by one of the fishermen who had followed closely behind the Vicar. The other, seeing the girl's scanty, dripping clothing, pulled off his thick guernsey and covered the girl up in it, and then ran back for a boat.
Eliza lay limp and inert in the fisherman's arms, and he wondered in some alarm whether they had not come too late to save the girl.
There was little doubt but that the Vicar's son was safe, for he could now be heard calling—
"Man Friday, Man Friday, I won't come till you find Friday."
The Vicar said afterwards that he rushed up the steps, and almost fell over the outstretched legs of the little boy, who was sleeping as comfortably wrapped in Eliza's frock as if he was in his own cot at home. He picked up the precious bundle, and would have gone out by the cliff entrance, but saw that it was blocked by the fall of sand; and he was just turning to go down again, when Eustace, rousing sufficiently to know that he was being carried in somebody's arms, began to kick and struggle and call for "Man Friday."
He looked round, thinking there might be another child; but, seeing Eliza's hat, he concluded she must be Friday, and by that time the boy was sufficiently awake to recognize his father, and tell him Lila was with him.
"My darling! my darling!" was all he could say as he kissed the child again and again while carrying him downstairs to the cave.
But at the sight of it being empty and the waste of waters all round, the little fellow almost sprang out of his father's arms.
"Dadda, dadda," he cried, "we can't go without Friday! See, I have got her frock to keep me warm."
"Hush, dear, hush! Eliza is safe. Do you think I would leave the girl who forgot herself to make you warm and comfortable?"
For answer Eustace kissed his father; but he was not satisfied until he saw the blue bundle being carried in the arms of the fisherman, and was told that that was Man Friday being carried to the boat that they could see approaching them in the distance.
Evidently Eustace was very little the worse for his adventure, for as his father waded through the water murmuring thanksgivings to God for his boy's escape, he was telling his father, as graphically as he could, how he was Robinson Crusoe and Lila his Man Friday; and how they had gone along the beach in search of the cave his father had showed him the year before; and how they had climbed to the top, and sat out on the heath to have their tea.
Then the finding the water in the cave and on the steps was told; and how he should have been afraid, only Man Friday was not, even when they went back and found they could not get out at the top.
"She told me God would take care of us till the tide turned, when I cried. And then she made a cosy bed-place with her frock, and I just went to sleep till you found me."
"Brave little woman!" murmured the Vicar, under his breath.
"Wasn't I brave too, father?" asked the little boy, looking down earnestly into his father's eyes.
"Yes, dear, you were. To go to sleep and let God take care of you in His own way was the best and bravest thing you could do. You believed what your Man Friday said—that God would take care of you until the tide turned; and then, of course, you could help yourselves. Man Friday must have gone to sleep too, I expect," added the Vicar to himself.
But the little fellow shook his head in dissent. "I told her to stop awake and help God take care of me," he said, "and she could not lie down like I did."
"She certainly took good care of you," said the Vicar; and then, with one more plunge through the deepening water, the boat was reached, and the little boy could see for himself that it was Eliza the fisherman had carried just in front of them. But when he saw her face he looked very grave. "What have you done to her?" he demanded, looking at one of the men.
"She was just like that when I picked her up yonder," said the man.
The truth was that Eliza had fainted as soon as there was no further demand upon her courage and endurance.
The Vicar understood better than Eustace or the fishermen what a terrible time it must have been for the girl, and that she had completely broken down as soon as relief arrived was not at all surprising.
"We will send for the doctor as soon as the boat gets in," said the Vicar.
"Ay, I expect he will be there to meet us, for my mate sent his boy to tell the ladies that the gell was badly like and might want the doctor," said one of the fishermen.
"Thank you. I am glad you did that, for, of course, my wife is in a terrible state of anxiety. We have been travelling all night, and only reached here at six o'clock this morning."
"Oh, father, did you come on purpose to look for me?" said Eustace, in a penitent tone.
His father looked at the grieved little face. "I don't think you will go so far away from Nurse again, will you?" he said gravely.
The boy shook his head. "No, I never will, father. But ask God to let Lila get well soon," he added.
"Yes, dear. I am afraid Eliza may be very ill after this, so that you will have to be careful and not give her any trouble, or want her to walk far with you. We shall have to take great care of her when she is well enough to go out again," concluded the Vicar.
There was quite a little crowd of visitors besides Nurse and Mrs. Parsons standing at the end of the landing-stage when the boat reached its destination.
Eustace threw off the frock when he saw his mother, and the Vicar helped him out of the boat, the child exclaiming as he jumped—
"I am so hungry. Have you got anything for me, Nurse?"
Everybody being thus assured that very little ailed Eustace, their attention was turned to Eliza, who still lay still and white on the little couch arranged for her in the boat by the fishermen.
"Give me the frock," said the Vicar, and he put aside the rough guernsey that covered her, and carefully wrapped her in it.
"Let me carry her, master," said one of the men, when he had finished mooring the boat.
But the Vicar shook his head. "Thank you all the same, but if she should waken, she will know me, and the sight of a stranger, as she is now, may frighten and hurt her."
And the Vicar took Eliza in his arms, and carried her as if she was a baby, while Mrs. Parsons and Nurse went on to give hungry little Eustace his breakfast and to hear his story, while the Vicar followed, and was soon joined by the doctor.
They did not, have far to carry their burden. The landlady had already prepared a warm bed, and Eliza was soon undressed, wrapped in a blanket, and covered up. Then the doctor gave her a restorative, which, in a few minutes, revived her, and she looked round in astonishment, as Mrs. Parsons bent tenderly over her.
"I am very sorry," began Eliza, in a faint voice.
But the lady held up her finger. "You must not talk or feel sorry, for we are all very glad to have you back safe. Now, you are to rest, and do exactly as the doctor and Nurse tell you. Are you quite comfortable?" asked the lady.
Just then Winny's voice was heard calling, "Lila! Lila!" and the girl's face grew bright as she heard it.
"Oh, please let me see Miss Winny," she said.