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oll looked thoughtfully on the sea a few minutes before he said, "I don't know what you'll say, Ned, the plan is so difficult; but I've thought of it a long time,—I believe it's been in my head every day for the last two months,—and it seems to me it is possible. Oh! if itwere, I'd be the happiest boy in the land!"
"Well, now what have you got in your head, I'd like to know?" said Ned; "tell me quickly, for I hate long speeches, you know."
"Well, in the first place, you must know I want to help those Culm people, somehow. That's—"
"Yes," interrupted Ned, "they need 'helping,' I should think! They're the laziest, miserablest set of people I ever saw. Some of 'em need 'helping' with a good, sound punching,—'twould stir 'em up a little."
"That's the object of the plan, and the next thing is how to do it," continued Noll. "If papa had only lived here a little time, I know it would have been a different place, and I want to make it what he would have made it; but, though I can't do that, I want to do something."
"I'll warrant you do!" said Ned, edging nearer his friend. "What do you think Hagar has told me about your work this winter? Youarethe funniest fellow, and I don't see what puts such ideas in your head, anyhow!—they never get into mine."
"Well, I'll never get to my plan at this rate," said Noll, laughing a bit. "I don't believe the people will ever be any cleaner or more industrious till they have better houses to live in, and they're too poor to buy lumber and make repairs. Now, if I could only accomplish that, I think they'd soon have some pride in keeping their dwellings nice and neat, and that would keep the fever away, and perhaps—I almostknow—they'd soon be a different people!"
"My stars!" exclaimed Ned, "what're you thinking of? Do you really mean that—that you're going to repair their huts for them?"
"Yes, that is what I wish to do, and what I've been planning for," said Noll, peering through the dusk to see how Ned received the project; "and do you think I'll succeed?—do you think it is possible?"
Ned was silent a few seconds, and the low voice of the sea rose and murmured far up and down the beach-line and died away in a faint whisper before he replied, "Well, Iamastonished! and if any one else had proposed it, I should say they were out of their wits. Now, what are those dirty fishermen to you, Noll?"
"That was not the question," said Noll. "Do you think I can succeed?"
"I don't know,—can't tell,—it's all so sudden. Where will you get the money? and why don't your Uncle Richard do the work, instead of you?"
"Uncle Richard? why, he—he doesn't care for the Culm people," Noll was obliged to confess; "but as for the money, I think I can manage that. You see, he gives me more spending-money every week than I used to have in a whole quarter,—I showed you all my savings the other night, you remember,—and it has got to be quite a sum. Then I have about as much more that Mr. Gray gave me when I came away, and with this I'll make a commencement. The—"
"But what will your uncle say? Does he know?" queried Ned.
"No, he knows nothing about it. But he gave me permission, a long time ago, to aid the Culm people, and he lets me do as I choose with my money. So doesn't my plan seem possible?"
"Yes, if you can tell where lumber and nails and a carpenter are to come from," said Ned.
"Oh! but those will have to come down from Hastings, on the 'Gull,' of course. There's nothing here to do with," said Noll; "and I mean to coax Ben Tate to buy the lumber and hire a carpenter for me. You see, I've got it all planned, and if it will only work!"
"My stars!" said Ned, "I didn't know you were such a fellow. Why, I don't wonder these fish-folks all touch their hats to you,—they can afford to, I think. And, Noll, won't you tell me what these people are to you? I can't see, for the life of me! And why should you spend all your money for them?"
Noll hesitated, not feeling certain that Ned would understand his reason, if he told him, and, looking up at the stars, which had come out in great fleets over the sea, was silent. But Ned got up, came to Noll's end of the step, and, sitting down beside him, said,—
"Now for your reason! I'm not to be put off at all. Won't you tell me?"
"Yes, if you wish very much to know," said Noll, in a lower tone. "I think everybody has a work to do,—a work that God gives them,—and I think this is mine, that he has given me. And I promised always to do his work, and I mean to do it, if I can. Besides," he added, softly taking Ned's hand in his, "it is work that papa would do if he were here, and I know that he, too, would be glad to have me do it. Wouldn't you be anxious to get about it at once, and without waiting for the Culm people to sink lower, if you thought it was your work and waiting for your hands? Wouldn't you, Ned?"
Noll's friend was suddenly silent. It was hardly such a reason as he had expected to hear, and what to reply he did not know. "Noll always was the funniest fellow ever since I knew him!" he thought to himself.
Noll waited, and tried to look into his friend's face, and feared that Ned did not comprehend his motives, after all. At last he said, "Don't you understand?"
"Oh, yes," said Ned, quickly, "but I—well—I didn't know what to say, and, somehow, you make me ashamed. It seems too bad for you to waste—spend, I mean—your money for those fishermen."
"Oh, no," said Noll, "I've no need of it for myself, and if I had, they need it more than I. And, Ned, I want to beg you to help me. Will you?"
"Pshaw! I'd be no help at all!" said Ned; "I'm no good at such things."
"But will you try?" said Noll, eagerly.
"Yes, if you wish. But I'll be sure to bother or make a mess of something,—see if I don't!"
At that instant the hall door behind them opened, and Trafford stepped out. So dark had it grown that he failed, at first, to see the two figures on the step; but when a little stir of Ned's betrayed them, he exclaimed, in a tone of great relief,—
"Ah, here you are, boys! I feared that—that you were up the shore, perhaps. Come in, come in. Why do you sit here in the darkness?"
"So I say!" said Ned, briskly, and not regretting this interruption; "whatarewe sitting here in the dark for, Noll? Let's go in!"
As they were groping along their darksome way to the library, Ned whispered,—
"When are you going to begin your plan, or 'put it in execution,' as the books say?"
"The skipper will touch here to-morrow; I'd like to see him then," said Noll.
"Why not?" returned Ned. "We can get up early and run over to Culm before breakfast, and coax Ben into doing the business for you."
"We will!" said Noll, gladly, "and have the work begun at once; and I knew you'd be willing to help. Oh, Ned, I wish you were to stay here always."
The boys did not linger long in the library after arriving there, but went up to Noll's chamber, where his little hoard of money was brought forth and counted. Neither of the lads knew how far it would go toward purchasing lumber, but to them the sum in hand seemed a large one, and they decided, after much deliberation, to place it in Ben's hands, and trust to his judgment and discretion.
"But how is the carpenter to be paid for his labor, if this all goes for lumber?" queried Ned.
"Why, my spending-money is accumulating all the time," said Noll, "and though that won't be enough, I'll manage to get the rest, somehow. I'll write to Mr. Gray, or do something that will bring it."
They were both up at the first glimmer of dawn the next morning, and on their way to Culm long before the mist had fled from off the face of the sea. They ran, and made all possible haste, and were only just in time after all; for Ben was about to stand out on the day's journey as they came panting and breathless on to the little wharf.
"What be wantin' now, lads?" he cried, gruffly; "we be in a hurry to get off!"
"But you must wait a few minutes," said Ned, "for we want to come aboard, skipper. We can't run a mile for nothing, and before breakfast too."
"S'pose I shall hev ter!" grumbled Ben, as he gave them each a hand to help them up.
Noll brought forth his roll of money, and narrated his errand, disclosing for what object the lumber was to be purchased. Ben sat down and stared blankly at the boy, while Mr. Snape, who had drawn near, looked utterly bewildered.
"Let me hear ye say that agen," said Ben, when his scattered senses began to return; "I think I did not hear ye rightly."
Noll repeated his errand, aided by some impatient explanations which Ned threw in for the skipper's benefit.
"Well," said the "Gull's" master, as he concluded, "I be beat! Why, lad, 'tw'u'd be like throwin' yer silver into the sea to spend it on them good-fur-nothin', shif'less critters. An' what be the like o' them to you?"
"Why," said Ned, coming to Noll's relief, "he want's to do them good. Can't you see through a ladder, Ben? And what we want to know is whether you will do the business?"
The skipper was silent for a time. What was passing in his mind, the boys did not suspect, and they feared lest he should refuse. But presently he got up, saying, with gruffness which was assumed to hide a sudden tenderness in the old sailor's heart,—
"I ken do't fur ye, lad, I s'pose!—tho' I call ye foolish all the same. The 'Gull' be engaged fur the next run, but the next arter that ye shall hev yer boards an' yer carpenter."
"That will be week after next," said Ned. "Hurrah for you, Ben! And I want to engage a passage home for next week. Come, Noll, let's go back and let the skipper put out, if he's in such a hurry. A good voyage to you, Ben!—and don't you forget that I'm to go next week, now!"
"Ay, ay," said Ben, "get along with you!" and over the side went the boys, and, after a little delay, off went the "Gull" with Noll's precious savings on board.
"Wait," said Noll, as they left the wharf, "there's Dirk Sharp out there with his boat, ready to put off. Wait here, Ned, till I've spoken with him." And Noll ran off across the sand.
Ned sat down on the wharf and watched his friend and the fisherman. They were sufficiently near for him to note the expressions upon their faces, and when he saw the blank look of wonder and incredulity that suddenly came over Dirk's coarse features, he suspected that Noll was disclosing his project.
"Oh, but Nollisa queer fellow," he said to himself. "How can he care for these dirty, dull-witted fellows that can't spell their own names, when he is so smart and such a long, long way above them?"
But Noll, he remembered, had answered this question on the previous evening; yet Ned could hardly comprehend such motives, and so sat puzzling his head over it till his friend came back with a pleased and happy face, to say,—
"I'm ready now. You should have seen Dirk when I told what was going to be done! The great fellow almost cried before I could finish; and he's promised to aid me in a dozen ways, at least, and promised, oh! so much besides. And it seems as if I'll be the happiest boy in the world when once things are under way."
"I suppose you will be," said Ned, with something like a sigh, "and I wish I could stay and see how the huts'll look after you've done with them. However," he added, brightly, "I can come again sometime,—there's one consolation."
The fair spring days went on with the speed with which all happy days fly by, and little by little the Culm people began to talk among themselves of the—to them—great event which was to take place so soon. Noll overheard one old fish-wife say, "We ben't slick 'nough for new housen; ther'll hev to be great scrubbin' an' scourin' that day, eh, Janet?" to her slatternly daughter-in-law; and the boy mentally prayed that this opinion would gain ground among all the fish-folk. If there was only some one to teach the children, and save them from the utter ignorance which was their parents', there would be great hope for Culm, he thought.
Ned Thorn went home, and this was the only sad day which Noll knew during the two weeks' waiting. He could not bid Ned good-by and see the dear, merry face fade away, as the "Gull" departed, without a great choking in his throat and a heaviness of heart that made one day a lonely, homesick one.
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ou may be sure that Noll did not fail to be at Culm village when the "Gull" and its precious freight arrived. The sky had been overcast all day and the sea somewhat rough, so that he was not certain that Ben would set sail from Hastings. But about half-past four in the afternoon the white wings of the skipper's craft hovered on the horizon, and soon after began to loom into shape and proportion. Noll first descried the welcome sight while standing on the piazza steps, anxiously surveying the sea and sky. A strong and vigorous breeze bore the "Gull" rapidly before it, and it was soon evident that it would arrive at the wharf before himself, unless he started soon. Recitations were over an hour ago, and he was now at liberty to go where he chose, and accordingly started for Culm at once. He arrived there some time before Ben and his craft, after all, and was forced to sit and wait impatiently. He could see the yellow lumber long enough before the "Gull" was in hailing distance, and knew that Ben had been successful.
The skipper came alongside at last, shouting at the top of his voice, "Ahoy, there, men! Give us a hand at this 'ere lumber, an' be spry about it, fur there's a storm brewin', an' I've got ter be twenty mile down the coast afore it breaks!"
The fishermen drew near at this summons, and as soon as the "Gull" was fast, they began to unload the cargo, under the carpenter's directions. It was carried well up the sand to preserve it from the dash of the sea and the treachery of the tide, and Noll stood looking on with a heart so full of joy and satisfaction that he forgot all about the skipper till a gruff voice cried, "Why don't ye come aboard, lad? Here be sumat fur ye that come from the city. It be a mighty thick letter, somehow. Give us yer hand an' come up, lad!"
Noll got aboard quickly enough after this intelligence, and took the packet which the skipper fished out from under his pea-jacket, saying, "I wonder if it can be from Ned?"
"How ken I tell?" said Ben, evasively. "Best open it, lad,—best open it."
Noll quickly had the envelope open, and, holding the packet upside down, there fell out upon the deck a thick little wad of bank-notes, which the wind threatened to take off into the sea before the boy's astonished senses returned to him. Ben prevented such a disaster, however, by picking up the roll and placing it in Noll's hand, with, "It's worth savin', lad, fur 'tain't every bush that grows sech blossoms, eh?"
"I should think not," said Noll, still full of amazement, and hurriedly opened his letter to see where this bounty hailed from, while Ben walked off to assist in his craft's unlading. This is what Noll's wondering eyes found:—
"Hastings, May 20th.
"Dear Noll,—I can imagine just how your eyes are staring by
this time; but you needn't be alarmed, for I came by the
money honestly. This is how it was: Papa said I might have a
new pony if I would save my spending-money till I got a
third of the sum which one would cost, and so, though I
didn't hint of it to you when I was down at Culm, I've been
laying up and laying up, like an old miser; and last Monday
morning I found that I had got the sum, and so papa made up
the rest to me. But when I thought of you and those
miserable Culm people, and how you were making a fool of
yourself (as Ben T. said), I thought I'd like to—to—well,
let pony go, and help you a bit. So here's the whole sum (if
you get it safe), and you're just as welcome as you can be,
and don't you make any fuss about it, for it's your own, and
I can go without spending-money if you can, and am willing
to too. And it's no great denial, either, for the pony'll
come sometime, I'm quite sure. So don't you worry any more
about how the carpenter is to be paid. Good-by, dear old
fellow,
"Ned Thorn.
"P.S.—I was just as dismal as I could be after I got home,
longing to go back to that dreary, dismal, good-for-nothing
Culm Rock. The shells, etc., got here all right. Give my
respects to Uncle Richard, and tell him I'll come down and
turn his house topsy-turvy for him again next summer, if he
wants me to. Don't you forget to send a letter back by Ben,
now."
Noll finished this characteristic letter with something very like tears in his eyes. "The dear, generous fellow!" he thought to himself; "how could he ever bring himself to do it? for itisa denial, because Ned issofond of a horse! And he claimed, all the time, that he never could help at all!"
Ben came stumping along the deck with his gruff, "Well, we hev brought yer lumber an' yer carpenter, lad,—both on 'em the best I c'u'd find. One's 'bout stacked up on the sand, yender, and t'other'll be waitin' fur yer orders purty soon. He's good at his trade, John Sampson be, an' he'll do fair an' square by ye. John ben't delicate neither, an' won't mind the livin' he'll get 'mongst these 'ere good-fur-nothin's,—I looked out fur that, ye see."
"I thank you more than I can tell, Ben," said Noll, taking the skipper's hand; "and have you taken your pay for the freight and all the trouble?"
"The freight be paid fur," said Ben, "an' the trouble likewise. An' ef ye hev anythin' more fur the 'Gull' ter do, don't ye be backward, boy, about lettin' her know't."
The last of the lumber was now being dragged up the sand, and the skipper hurried away, saying,—
"Luck ter ye an' yer undertakin', lad! We be in a desput hurry to get off, fur we'd stan' a poor chance on this shore in a storm."
Noll wished the skipper a safe run to a better harbor, and went back to the wharf, where the carpenter intercepted him. He was a rough, blunt-spoken man, but was evidently "good at his trade," as Ben had said, and did not despair of making the Culm huts decent and habitable; and after a long talk with him, Noll started for home, as the afternoon was fast giving way to a gray and lowery night. His heart was full of gratitude and love to Ned, and he stopped more than once on his homeward walk to read the letter over by the gray glimmer of twilight. At first he was more than half resolved to return the money, and bid his friend to buy the pony,—it seemed such a great denial for horse-loving, mirthful Ned to make,—but as he read the letter again and again, and pondered over its contents, he began to think that his friend had more earnestness and love for kind-doing than he had ever suspected.
"I wronged the poor fellow," he thought to himself, "because he was so merry and careless all the time. And now he's sent me this great roll of bills to help those people whom he pretended to hate! Oh, I wonder if it is best to keep them?"
This question was not decided then. It took more than one day's thought about the matter before he at last concluded to accept Ned's bounty, and perhaps he would not have decided thus at all if he had been quite sure that his friend would not be greatly grieved and offended at having the money returned.
Meanwhile, the carpenter commenced operations. Dirk's house was the first to undergo repairs, and Noll took every opportunity to go over to Culm to see how matters were progressing. It was a great delight to him to watch John Sampson at his labor, and note how saw and hammer and plane, guided by his strong and skilful hand, repaired the rents, brought the shackling doors and windows to comfortable tightness, made the crooked and twisted roofs to assume something like straight and even proportions, and righted matters generally. When Dirk's habitation was thoroughly repaired, it was the wonder and admiration of all the Culm people.
"It be like what it was when I was a gal, an' all the housen was new," said one old fish-wife, who had tottered in with the others.
"Ay, mother," said Dirk, "an' it be time we had new habits to go with the new housen, eh?"
Noll had not allowed any good opportunities, wherein he might hint to Dirk that cleanliness and industry should reign in the snug new quarters, to pass without improving them. Dirk, out of regard and gratitude to "the young master," as he called him, was willing to make the attempt, and strove, in his bungling way, to impress his neighbors with the fact that they were expected to reform their way of living. But it was up-hill work for people who had lived all their life in filth and wretchedness, and progressed but slowly. Many were the hours, after the recitations were over, that Noll spent over at the little village those warm days, planning with John Sampson about broken doors and shattered beams, which were to be made strong and serviceable, or, sitting on a pile of lumber, watching the carpenter as he put in execution the plans which they had made. The children of the village were generally playing near by, in the sand, with blocks and chips,—growing up as unlettered and ignorant as their parents. Some of them were great boys and girls,—almost as tall as Noll himself,—and had never yet seen the inside of a book.
"If Uncle Richard would only hire a teacher," thought Noll, "and have them grow up with some knowledge in their heads, they'd never get so low and wretched as their parents. But that never'll be, I'm afraid. Oh! if I were only rich, how quick I'd change it all!"
But there was no prospect of any such fortune befalling him, and he usually turned away from the cluster of dirty, unkempt children with a hopeless sigh. He said, one day, while sitting on a great heap of shingles beside the carpenter,—
"What's to become of all these children, Mr. Sampson? Will they be left to grow up like their fathers and mothers?"
"Well, I don't see much to hinder," said the carpenter, with a glance at the dirty little ones who were throwing sand over their heads. "Don't think you'll ever see many lawyers and ministers out o' the lot."
"If there could only be a school here," continued Noll, "what a change it would make! But there's no teacher, no schoolroom, no nothing, and no prospect of there ever being anything!"
"Why don't you teach 'em yourself?" said Sampson, between the creakings and rasping of his saw.
Noll was silent for a few minutes before he answered, "Why, to tell the truth, I never had thought of the thing. But how can I? I don't have any time till after four o'clock."
The carpenter sawed and planed, and made no reply, being entirely indifferent to the whole matter; but his chance question had put an idea in Noll's head which was not out of it for that afternoon, at least. Could he teach those idle, ignorant children? he wondered. Would they ever sit still long enough to look in a book? And where could a room for the school be found? And where was the leisure time to come from? Noll pondered over these questions many days, and several times came near discarding the plan as impracticable. He knew that he could only have the time after recitations were over for his own, and that, at the most, would be only an hour or two,—the time between four o'clock and the supper-hour. He was quite sure that he was willing to give this time to the Culm children, if it would do any good, and if a room could be found for them to assemble in. A whole week of days went by before he mentioned this plan to any one, and then it was only Dirk to whom he mentioned it. The rough fisherman looked upon reading and writing as some of the wonderful and mysterious arts to which dull and humble people like himself had no right. He looked blank and mystified at Noll's proposition, and expressed himself thus:—
"I don' know, I don' know, lad,—we but poor folk anyway. But ye ken do as ye like, an' ef ye say so, the youngsters shall take ter books an' sech, an' ye ken hev a room where ye say, I'll say fur't. I don' know, I don' know, lad; ye mus' do as ye think it best, anyway."
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tudies at home progressed steadily under Uncle Richard's supervision, meanwhile, and that grim gentleman found much more pleasure and satisfaction in directing his nephew's tasks than he would have been willing to acknowledge. The boy brought so much brightness and pleasant life into the gloomy stone house that the stern master, as week after week passed by, visibly began to lose something of his grimness and gloominess, and to take something like a faint interest in what was passing around him. And, after a time, he himself began to be sensible of this gradual change which was stealing over his thoughts and actions, and, vexed with himself, strove to check these new emotions, and wrap himself again in the cloak of sadness and melancholy which so long had shielded him from everything bright and cheerful and happy. But he found it hardly an easy task. Noll was almost always blithe and light-hearted, and Trafford found his bright influence a hard one to struggle against. He loved the boy so well that it was almost an impossibility to harden his heart to all his winning ways and pleasant talk, which met him so constantly, and these summer days, which Noll found such delight in, were days of struggle and wavering to his uncle. He could not but acknowledge to himself that he was interested in all the boy's plans for the future,—all his youthful anticipations of happiness and success,—all his present little projects for progress and self-improvement,—and these matters, trivial though they may have been, gradually drew his thoughts from himself and his sorrow, put them farther and farther away into the dimness and silence of the past, and made the present a more vivid and earnest reality. Was it any wonder that, seeing he could not maintain his gloom and grimness in Noll's sunshine, and finding it slipping away from him in spite of his endeavors to retain it, he should astonish his nephew by strange fits of moroseness, alternating with the utmost kindness and indulgence?
The boy sometimes fancied that his uncle had grown to utterly dislike him,—being so irritable and unjust at times; then again his heart was light with joy and hope, for he fancied that the grim man was just on the point of losing his great burden of gloom, and becoming hopeful and unoppressed. But how could he be hopeful for whom there was no hope?—who refused to trust in God's promises?—for whom the shadow of the grave was utter darkness and horror, wherein dear faces had vanished—forever?
One day Noll had begged him to come out for a walk on the beach, thinking he would lead his uncle on and on till they should come out upon Culm village, and in this manner disclose what he had been doing for the dwellings and their inmates.
Trafford at first appeared inclined to consent, and followed his nephew out as far as the piazza steps, but here he stopped, and all Noll's entreaties could not prevail upon him to go further. He sat down, looking dispiritedly across the tranquil sea, all warm and fair with changing lights, and down at his feet at the bit of verdure which Noll had caused to flourish by dint of much seed-sowing and watering, saying, "No, I've no part in it all. I'll go no further."
So Noll was obliged to set off for Culm alone, consoling himself with the thought that next time, perhaps, he should be so successful as to get Uncle Richard a little farther, and next time a little way farther still, till, at last, they might walk together as uncle and nephew should. Would that happy day ever come? he wondered.
At last, after many delays and hindrances, the plan of a school was decided upon. Noll did not begin the undertaking with much confidence of success, or with any great hope of making the Culm children very bright or vigorous scholars; but it would be something toward supplying the great want, he thought, and who could tell what this little beginning might lead to? So, about half-past four one misty, lowery afternoon, he found himself in a little room in Dirk's dwelling, with ten dirty-faced, frowsy-headed children huddled together in one corner, each of them regarding him with wide-open eyes, and apparently without the remotest idea what they were there for. The only furniture which the "schoolroom" could boast were two rough benches, just from John Sampson's hands, and a three-legged stool, which Noll appropriated to himself. Of course none of the ten had anything in the shape of books or primers, and here the boy had reason to rejoice that all his old school-books had made the journey with himself to Culm.
After getting the wondering assemblage seated in proper order, Noll began by asking, "Who wants to learn to read?"
It seemed as if the sound of his voice had wrought a spell, for each of the ten were as silent as so many mutes.
"Who would like to know how to read?" Noll repeated.
Still a long silence, most discouraging to the teacher. At last—the sound of his voice a most welcome one to Noll—a little fellow, who sat on the end of one of the benches, ventured to query, "What be 'read'?"
"Well," thought the would-be teacher, "I've got to explain what 'read' is before they'll know whether they fancy it, to be sure! I didn't think of that."
Among his books was a great primer, with painted letters and pictures, and bringing this forth, he gathered the ten around him, and used all his powers of description and story-telling to endeavor to awaken the slumbering interest of these unpromising pupils. It was a weary hour's work. A few of them betrayed a slight curiosity in regard to the bright colors, which Noll endeavored to stimulate; but it soon died out, and all looked on and listened with listless attention. They appeared much more inclined to stand with their fingers in their mouths, and gaze steadfastly into Noll's face, than to put eyes on the book.
"If I had the alphabet stamped upon my face, I believe they'd learn it easily enough!" he thought to himself, in despair, as, on looking up, he found the whole ten staring in his face, instead of having had their eyes upon the primer during his long explanation. As a last resort, he stepped out upon the sand in front of the door, and there drew a great A.
"Now," said he, "see which of you can make a letter like that. Take a stick and try, every one of you. Look sharp, and make it just like the one I've made."
Thereupon, there was a great searching for sticks, and when all the little ones had been supplied, there was a great scratching and marking in the sand. To Noll's great delight, the result was two or three tolerable A's, which were allowed to stand, and the rest were brushed away. Then a new attempt at making the wonderful symbol ensued, and added another to the successful list, and so the letter-making was kept up till all the pupils had succeeded in making a tolerably faithful representation of the letter. Noll began to take heart. What the children cared nothing for, when seen in the book, they were apparently delighted to draw on the sand, and soon learned to give the proper pronunciation of the character. The night came on apace, and Noll began to perceive that it was time for him to be on his homeward way.
"Remember," he said to his pupils, who were scratching A's all about the door, "you're not to forget this while I'm gone. To-morrow afternoon I'll come again, and then I shall want to see you make it over, and you are to have a new letter, besides. Will you all be here?"
"Yes! yes!" one after another promised; and, once more bidding them remember, Noll walked away,—the children still making the mysterious character along the beach, and keeping it up till darkness came over sea and land.
"Only one letter!" Noll said to himself, as he hurried homeward. "Why, that's not a tenth of what I meant to do this afternoon! What dull wits they've got! and will they ever, ever learn the whole alphabet?" The prospect did not seem very encouraging, and he was obliged to confess himself disappointed with the result of the first day's lesson. "However, one can't tell much by the first afternoon," he thought. "Perhaps they'll be quicker and brighter when we're better acquainted."
The next afternoon he arrived at Dirk's house at the appointed time, and found not ten, but twelve awaiting him, sticks in hand, and all eager for the lesson to commence. Noll could not refrain from laughing at the sight which the sand directly in front of the house presented, covered as it was with A's of all shapes and sizes. It looked much as if a great bird, with a peculiarly-constructed foot, had been walking there. He did not need to be assured that his pupils had all remembered yesterday's lesson, and proceeded at once to instruct them in the art of making B. This the young learners of the alphabet found to be somewhat more difficult of execution, but appeared to like it none the less on that account, and, after its curves were mastered, were much delighted with this acquisition to their stock of accomplishments.
While this second lesson was yet in progress, Dirk and one or two other fishermen came up from their boats, and stopped to look on, with wonder and astonishment written on their countenances.
"I don' know," said Dirk, shaking his head as he eyed the mystic characters traced before him; "we be all poor folk, anyhow, an' this do beat me! Why, what be this?" he exclaimed, pointing at a letter staring up at him from the sand at his feet.
"That be A!" said half a dozen voices at once.
"An' what be this?" said Hark Darby, pointing to a character by his feet.
"That be B!" chorused the voices again.
The two fishermen exchanged wondering glances. "That do beat me!" said poor Dirk, regarding the letters before him with much awe. "Ah, lad," turning to Noll, "my little gal w'u'd liked yer teaching, an' yer B's an' A's, eh?" and Dirk drew his hand across his eyes.
Noll went home much encouraged after this second alphabet lesson. Time and patience would do something for these Culm children, after all, he thought. And could he have the patience and skill which was necessary? "I'll try,—I'll try hard for it!" he thought, "and pray Christ to keep me from losing my patience and courage. It's his work, and he'll help me to teach them, and by winter there'll be something accomplished." And of his help he had great need, for patience and courage were often sorely tried in the days which followed, and it was not always his pupils' obtuseness which brought the greatest strain to bear upon them. One old fish-wife, the oldest woman in the village, had regarded the whole plan of teaching the children as suspicious and ill-omened.
"It be a bad day fur us, lads," she warned, standing on Dirk's door-step among the fishermen, and looking frowningly upon Noll as he instructed his pupils in the making of U. "It be no good fur yer chile to be ther', Hark Darby, learnin' ye don' know what! Yes, lads, I say it be an evil day, and ye'll find no good cum from it! I warn ye, I warn ye!" shaking her skinny forefinger and solemnly nodding her head. Noll's face flushed at these words, and he half resolved to go home, and leave these Culm children to their parents' ignorance.
"I warn ye! I—" The old crone was about to continue her forebodings; but Dirk interposed with a gruff, "Hush ye, hush ye, Mother Deb! ye be doin' the lad wrong. D'ye think he be one to teach our young uns wrong, eh? Be it evil, think ye? W'u'd he be doin' us a bad turn who's mendin' the housen an' makin' us comf'table? I'd like ye ter show't, mother, ef it be!"
"Ay," said Hark Darby, "an' ef he ken do us evil, who ha' been so good an' kind in the sickness, we w'u'd like ye ter show't, Mother Deb!"
The old woman said no more, but went muttering homeward, not all convinced that Noll was not teaching the children some evil, mysterious art.
glyph 12
T
he days went by,—busy enough for Noll with lessons and the afternoon lesson at Culm,—and John Sampson's labors began to draw to a close. The carpenter had worked steadily and faithfully, and the result was a gratifying one to more than one person. True, the houses were not models of elegance; that was not needed; and theydidlook somewhat patchy, with here and there a fresh new board over the old weather-beaten gray of the dwelling, and new doors staring blank and yellow out of the dinginess of their surroundings; but, if they were not handsome, they were thoroughly repaired and now stood warmer and more comfortable than any of the present generation of Culm people had ever known them.
If they could only have a coat of paint or whitewash to make them look fresh and cheerful, what an improvement it would be! Noll thought. How the sun would gleam upon them with his last ruddy rays as he sank into the sea! How fair and pleasant they would look from the sea, when the coast first came upon the mariner's vision! It would be one bright spot against the black background of the Rock,—those twelve houses,—if only they might have a coat of fresh white paint. But after counting his stock of money, this desire was obliged to remain ungratified; for there was the carpenter's bill, which would shortly be due, and must be paid upon the completion of the work.
"The houses must wait till—till another year," Noll thought, with something like a sigh; "they can wait, after all, for the painting isn't really necessary, though it would improve them wonderfully! And I'm thankful enough that I can pay the carpenter. Oh, but I wonder if Ned ever regrets his denial, and longs for the pony?"
Letters came down from Ned Thorn with almost every trip of the "Gull," but not a word about the pony did they contain, nor the least sentence which Noll could interpret to mean a sigh or regret for the pet which he had given up. If Ned felt any regret, it was all carefully hidden from his friend's observation, and the missives, which Noll received through the skipper's kindness, were fairly bubbling over with the briskness and bright spirits of Ned's light heart.
"If they should stop coming, I don't know how Icouldmanage," thought Noll; "I'm afraid Culm Rock would grow dreadfully lonesome and dreary." It was always, "And how do you get on with your plan?—and are the houses 'most finished?" or, "Have you got those Culm savages almost civilized, you dear old Noll?—and does Uncle Richard know anything about it yet? Won't he stare! and what do you suppose he'll say?" or, "Oh, now I think of it, how many scholars in Latin have you got down there? and how do they manage with their Greek? And are you putting on airs because you've got to be a pedagogue? And how much is the tuition a term?—because, you see, I've some idea of going away to boarding-school, and yours might suit me, if the charges aren't too high." And the whole generally concluded with, "P. S.—I don't mean a word of all that last I've written, my dear Noll, and you're not to think so. How does the money hold out? Don't fail to let me know if you're in a tight place, and I'll try to get a few dollars somehow. And hurry up and answer this letter by return steamer (what should we do if the old 'Gull' went to the bottom?), and so good-night," etc., etc.
Perhaps Noll expected a great deal too much of the Culm people when he looked to see them give up their filthy and slovenly habits at once, after getting fairly settled again in their whole and comfortable abodes. If he really expected to see this, he was disappointed. People do not follow a habit for the best part of a lifetime, to give it up suddenly and at once, even when gratitude and a sense of their short-coming are both urging them to do so. So he was obliged to content himself with some few faint evidences of thrift, and a desire to do better, on the part of those whom he had befriended, and wait patiently for the rest.
Dirk's household improved somewhat. Dirk was the most intelligent of the fishermen, and began to dimly perceive that it was much better and pleasanter to live cleanly and neatly than to pattern his household arrangements after the beasts of the field. He was, moreover, strongly actuated to reform his way of living by his deep, strong sense of gratitude to Noll, which led him to endeavor to accomplish whatever the boy suggested. It gave the stalwart fisherman something like a feeling of shame to see the lad—bright, fresh, and ruddy—enter his dirty and smoke-begrimed hovel and hardly be able to find himself a seat among the litter of old nets, broken chairs, household utensils, and all conceivable kinds of rubbish which strewed the floors and filled the corners.
"It be a shame," Dirk said to his wife, after Noll had gone, one day, "that the lad hev ter stan' up, an' ben't able ter find a seat, nohow. I tell ye it be a shame, woman!"
"Ye might mend the chairs a bit, man!" retorted Mrs. Sharp. "I'll warrant the lad be able ter find a seat then."
Dirk was sulky for a while after this, but saw that there could be nothing to sit upon so long as the chairs were for the most part legless, and at last got energy enough to mend them after a rude fashion. Then another place was found for the old nets besides the two corners by the fireplace, and when these had been removed, Mrs. Sharp took her broom and—well, it was not exactly sweeping, for the woman had not much idea of what a good housekeeper would call sweeping, but it was a feeble attempt at cleanliness, and she really thought she had made a great exertion, and was certainly proud of the achievement. Dirk chanced to be at home when Noll came again, and the flash of surprise and pleasure which swept over the boy's face as he entered and noted the change which had taken place since his last call pleased Dirk amazingly.
"Here be a seat fur ye, lad," he said, not without some pride in his tone, as he brought forward a rough three-legged block and placed it for his visitor. A faint stir of worthy ambition having slightly roused Dirk and his wife, they were hardly contented to allow matters to remain as they were. Mrs. Sharp once more took her broom, and used it with rather better effect. Dirk made an onslaught upon the rubbish which had been collecting in their kitchen and about the doorsteps for years, and which no one had had the energy to remove, and threw many a basketful into the sea.
The neighbors, meanwhile, were not entirely insensible to the fact that Dirk's house began to present—both within and without—a much more cleanly and respectable appearance than their own. They stopped at the door to look in and say, "La, ye be slickin' up finely, Dirk!" or, "Ye be gittin' fine ways, lately, man. An' what be all this fur?"
"Why," Dirk would answer, "I be 'shamed of livin' like a beast, man. An' the young master be wishin' us to hev cleaner housen an' slicker, an' I be willin' to do't ef he wish, now! He be a good lad to mend our housen so finely, and w'u'd ye think I ben't willin' to do his wish?"
Noll was greatly encouraged at these signs of improvement, and mentally rejoiced, hoping to see this new ambition spread till the whole twelve houses were reclaimed from their present filth and wretchedness.
The carpenter's work came to an end at last,—his labor all plain and visible to every eye in patched walls, roofs, mended doors and windows, and the general look of repair about the whole line of what were once but the poorest of shelters. Sampson's task had been a hard and bothersome one,—"Couldn't ha' got another man to teched it," the skipper said,—and Noll expected, as he walked around to Culm one afternoon with his roll of bills to pay the carpenter, that the bill would be a large one,—perhaps even more than Ned's generous bounty and his own amount of spending-money, saved since the lumber was purchased, could meet. He found Sampson packing up his tools,—he was to leave on the "Gull" the next morning,—with the bill all ready, added up and written out on a bit of smooth shingle. It proved to be five dollars less than the sum which Noll held in his hand.
"I swun!" said Sampson, roughly, as he counted over the bills which the boy placed in his hands, "I told the skipper, comin' down, that you was a born fool to be layin' out your money in this style. Now, I've been thinkin' on't over all the while I've been hammerin' and sawin', and I can't make out, to save my neck, how you're goin' to get any return from this 'ere investment. 'Tain't payin' property, I should judge," said the carpenter, looking up and down the beach.
"Of course I don't expect to get any money back from it," said Noll, laughing a little at the idea. "It was to help these fish-folk and to try and make them more comfortable that I did it."
Sampson put the roll of bills away in his capacious purse, remarking, "Well, you're a queer un. I did the job right well, though, if I do say it, and I ha'n't charged very steep for it, neither. Couldn't do it, somehow!—went too much against the grain. And—well, can't you shake hands over it? You're a tip-top paymaster, and if you want anything done, I'll come and do it, if I'm in China—there! Don't you lay out another cent on this settlement, though,—'tain't worth it."
Noll did not promise to take this advice, and started homeward, Sampson calling after him, "Good-by, good-by, lad! Hope you'll get some return from this 'ere investment!"
So the work was done, and a glad and happy letter went over the sea to Hastings, telling Ned Thorn that the labor was accomplished, and the houses all as whole and comfortable as when new, and that the people were actually beginning to show a little thrift and ambition; and saying, among other things, "I send you back five dollars that were left,—so you can begin to save your money again for that pony. And, oh! Ned, I don't think you can know how much good that money did! Perhaps you never will know (it must seem to you almost like throwing it away, because you are where you cannot see any result from it), and I felt, at first, as if you ought not to make the denial; but, somehow, I'm very glad, now, and I shall always feel sure that if youdomake fun and pretend to laugh at a plan, you're all the time meaning to 'give it a lift,' as you say. And, oh! Ned, I believe I'm one of the happiest boys in the world! and I'm sure Uncle Richard has changed a great deal since last spring, when you were here, for he's got over being cross and gloomy, and actually asked me yesterday where I spent so much of my time. I'm going, if I can, to persuade him to take a walk with me, one of these afternoons, and so bring him around to the new houses. Wouldn't you like to be here to see us then? As for my school, it flourishes a little. There are still twelve scholars, and all but four have got through with their sand letters, and are at work at their 'a-b, ab,' and 'b-a, ba.' They'll get into spelling-books, sometime. Now, I'll end this long letter with telling you once more that you can't know how much good your money has done and will do, and say,