"'That's our boat, I do believe,' cried Rupert."—Page 180.
"'That's our boat, I do believe,' cried Rupert."—Page 180.
Pat's heart beat so fast he did not know how to reply; but there was no need for him to say anything; for just at that moment the sail came fluttering down; they saw in the stern of the boat a lady and gentleman, sitting together, looking eagerly ahead; and the next moment a cry went up that awoke an answering thrill in Eileen's heart, and made the tears spring suddenly to Pat's eyes—the cry of a woman's voice—
"It is! It is! Rupert! Rupert! My own little boy!"
Rupert started at the sound of that call, looked hard at the boat, and then waved his little hand joyously.
"Mamma! Mamma!" he cried, and pulling Pat by the sleeve, he added, in a tone of pleasurable excitement, "That lady is my mamma, Pat, and the gentleman is my papa, and those are his sailors. I should have liked him to bring his soldiers better; but perhaps he has them on shore waiting." Pat looked as one in a dream. He could not understand it—the child's calmness in the recognition which should have filled him with ecstasy, and the evident deep emotion of the mother. Hardly had the boat touched the rock before the pretty young lady, with the sweet, sad face, had sprung out, catching at Nat's outstretched hand, and in another moment she had come flying towards them, and sinking on her knees upon the wet sea-weed, she took the little one in her armsin a clasp so close that it seemed as though she would never let him go; and Pat knew that the tears were raining down her face, and that the reason why she did not speak was that she could not for overmastering emotion.
When he looked up it was to find a tall, stalwart, bronzed man standing beside them, who put his hand upon Pat's head, and said kindly—
"Well, my little man, and have you been helping to take care of our little boy for us all these days?" and Pat crimsoned to his very ears with shyness and pleasure.
"We are all so very, very fond of him, sir," answered the boy shamefacedly. "Are you going to take him away from us?"
He could not help asking the wistful question, and as he did so he raised his face and met the glance of a pair of very kindly, though very keen eyes fixed upon him. The question seemed half to amuse and half to surprise the gentleman, who hesitated a moment before he said—
"Don't you think that is what is our business to do, since he belongs to us, eh, little man?"
"I—I suppose so, sir," answered Pat sorrowfully,"only we shall so miss him when he is gone!"
"Well, well, we will see, we will see," said the gentleman kindly, and then he stooped over the child, and said in a voice which shook just a very little in spite of the playful ring in it—
"Well, Rupert, my little boy, haven't you got one word or look for papa?—or have you forgotten him altogether?"
"I haven't forgot—torseI haven't—but mamma frottles me so!" answered the little fellow, who was by this time trying to wriggle himself free from the embrace of his agitated mother, which had become too close for comfort. He seemed better pleased when his father took him up in his strong arms, and he laughed and kicked with pleasure, as he did when Nat took and tossed him high in the air.
The lady rose from her knees, wiping from her eyes the tears which still seemed inclined to start, and putting out her soft hand to Pat, she said very gently and sweetly—
"And so you are the little boy who has been playing the part of brother to our dear little Rupert. Have you got a kiss to spare for me, my little man?"
And Pat felt hot all over with surprise and pleasure, as the gentle, beautiful lady bent her head and kissed him, and he hardly dared to kiss her back, lest it should be taking a liberty; but he remembered that queens had their hands kissed when they sat in state, and so he raised the white hand that held his to his lips, and kissed it reverently.
"Shall I take you to my mother, madam?" he asked. "She has taken care of Prince Rupert. I only played with him and helped her."
"Prince Rupert!" repeated the lady, smiling. "Who taught you to call him that?"
"He said Rupert was his name," answered Pat, looking up, "and we all know he must be a little prince—he looks so like one."
The lady smiled again, her tears were drying now. Eileen had come forward by this time, and had heard the last words. The lady stepped forward, and held out her hands to the lighthouse-keeper's wife.
"I have heard of your goodness to my boy," she said, in a quivering voice, "how can I thank you for it?"
"I do not want any thanks, my lady,"answered Eileen, with her soft shy pride. "I would have done the same for any blessed baby cast up on our shores; and the darling has won his way to all our hearts—and it's a real prince of princes that he is—the bonny boy!"
"No, no—not a prince at all—only a very spoiled little boy, I am afraid," said the mother, with something between a sob and a laugh. "A little boy who badly wants his father and mother's care and training. But we had to leave him with my sisters when we were sent out to India in haste two years ago; and we have been there ever since. He was brought out to meet us as we came home; he came in my husband's yacht, which met us at Malta, and we were to come home to England in her. The child had hardly more than learned to know us well before that fearful night, when we thought we must go to the bottom before we reached port. Oh, how can I tell you the agony we suffered when we heard that the mast to which the child had been lashed for protection had been snapped clean off, and had gone overboard, and we running before the gale as our only chance, and expecting almostmoment by moment to be sucked beneath the cruel waves! It only seemed then as though he had been the first. There was water below, and above the waves swept the deck every moment. I was lashed to another mast; but I was almost insensible from cold and exposure. I think I saw the light of the lighthouse above us as we passed half a mile off from it. I had just heard then that the child had gone, and nothing seemed to matter then, whether we lived or died. And then somehow we got round the headland, in the wake of a big steamer also in distress, and they helped us, though in need of help themselves, and at last we both weathered the storm together. But, oh! what days of misery those were when we thought we had lost for ever in this world the little son we had just received back after those long years of absence!"
Tears of sympathy were in Eileen's eyes; but she began to understand many things that had puzzled her before.
"Oh, my lady, I am so thankful to hear you speak so. I was grieved that the little boy spoke so little of you, and seemed to care so little whether his own father and mother camefor him or not. Glad was I for sure that he was happy with us; but it didn't seem natural-like for him never to pine a bit for his mother. It made me afraid (you'll forgive me speaking so plain) that his parents had not cared for him as a child should be cared for, and that went to my heart; but now——"
"Ah, yes, you understand how it was—we had only had him with us for a bare ten days—and part of that time he was sea-sick and fretful, and could scarce be made to look at us. It was only the last few days that he was his bonny bright self, learning to love us and know us. No wonder he forgot us quickly after that fearful night. I cannot think how he lived in those boiling waves. Oh, I must see the brave man who saved him! The doctor who came over with us in our boat has told me how he injured himself in plunging after our darling. Oh, you must tell us what we can do for him—what we can do for you all—to show our gratitude. I did not know how to believe it when Mr. Deering told us that our little boy was alive and well, and very happy on Lone Rock in the care of the keeper of the lighthouse!"
"Bless him! He has been as happy as theday is long, and he and my Pat have played like brothers, if you will pardon my boldness in saying so."
"Nay, what is there to pardon; are they not brothers in the sight of our God?" said the lady, with a sparkle of tears in her eyes. "If you only knew what it was to me to hear how he had been cared for—my little boy, whom we were mourning as dead! Ah, you must let us be friends after this," she added, turning her sweet quivering face full on Eileen. "I cannot and I will not talk of 'rewards' to those who have shown themselves the best and truest of friends to my child, when only devotion such as he received could have saved his precious life. It would be a wrong to you and to me; but you must let us be your friends from this time forth. You must let us see what may be best done for your happiness and his.Yousaved his life by your skill and promptitude when he was brought ashore, as much as the brave sailor did who plunged into the waves to bring him out of the water. You must never think that I could forget that."
"Oh, my lady, I only did what any other mother would have done——"
"Ah, but you did more than somecouldhave done, because you had skill and knowledge beyond what many have. The doctor said so himself. But let me see the sailor who saved my child. I must thank him, too. And he must never suffer for his devotion in risking his life for our boy. You must tell me what I can do for him. Mr. Deering says he fears he will never be strong again."
"Oh, I don't know, my lady. He is getting on; but he hasn't tried to do aught but sit by the fire yet. But he's up to-day, and you can see him by stepping indoors. May I just tell him you are here? But I do not know by what name to call you?"
"I am Lady St. John," was the answer. "My husband is Sir Arthur St. John, who—but you will hardly know that. And Rupert is our only child. Let me go and see the man who saved his life."
Eileen was sadly afraid that Jim would be very rough and gruff when the visitor came and stood beside him; but somehow—whether it was that illness had softened him, or that the influence of the children had had an effect upon him, or that the inherent sweetness of the ladytook effect in an unexpected manner—anyhow, he was wonderfully gentle in his manner to both the strangers, and though he said almost nothing, his rugged face looked smiling and peaceful, and there was no rough turning away from the kindness that was proffered. Not much was said that first visit; but a great many questions were asked both of the Careys and of Jim. The visitors sat down to partake of the simple fare provided for them, and whilst they ate they talked and asked questions. Eileen, intent on hospitable cares, scarcely noted all that was passing, and Nat was too straightforward and unsuspecting to see the drift of much that was said, and spoke freely enough in reply to Sir Arthur's various inquiries as to his past life, his qualifications, tastes, and pursuits. Pat's health was also mentioned, for it had been for his sake that his father had ever consented to become an inmate of Lone Rock Lighthouse. And whilst the elders thus talked, Pat and Rupert sat close together, and sometimes Pat had to brush away the tears from his eyes, for he knew the parents would take their little boy home with them, and it was dreadful to him to think of seeing his little prince no more. Rupert, too, was verymuch divided in mind as to whether or not he would "let himself be took away;" but Pat loyally told him in eager whispers that he must "do as his own mother wished," and the tie of blood was beginning to assert itself when once the little fellow had felt his parents' arms around him.
But when the moment for parting came, and Lady St. John saw the tears in the eyes of Eileen, and the manful struggles on Pat's part to keep back his sobs, her own eyes looked very dewy, and she turned and spoke quickly in a foreign tongue for several moments with her husband. Then turning to the expectant group on the rocks, she said, smiling sweetly—
"You will see us all again very soon. I promise to bring Rupert back to see you in about a week's time from this—at least if we get a fine day. So cheer up, my brave little Pat, and do not cry, Mrs. Carey. You shall see your nursling again very soon; and I hope we may have pleasant news for you by that time."
Then the lady stepped into the boat, Nat took the boy from his wife's arms and handed him to his mother, half eager and half reluctant to go,Sir Arthur followed, and the men pushed off, whilst Pat watched through a mist of tears the disappearance of his fairy prince, who seemed for the moment to have vanished out of his life for ever.
ornamental image
seascape
THE PROMISED VISIT
P
Pat lived in a chronic state of excited expectation after the departure of little Rupert, counting the days till the week should be over, and then spending almost all his time in waiting and watching for the white-sailed boat which should bring his little prince back to him again.
But for this hope to look forward to, the child would have felt very keenly the absence of his playmate; for they all sadly missed the happy laughter and baby prattle of the golden-haired child they had learned to love. Jim seemed to miss him as much as anybody, and perhaps both he and Pat were happiest when sitting over the fire together after dusk, and talking of his beauty, his bold, masterful ways, and the quick, cleverthings he had said and done. They never seemed tired of the subject, and if Pat was not reading to Jim out of the book they both loved so well, they were almost always talking of Rupert, wondering where he was, and what he was doing, and whether he would come soon and see them and Lone Rock again.
Poor Jim only got on very slowly. The doctor who had come with Sir Arthur and Lady St. John in their boat had told them it would be a long time before he would be fit for any sort of work again, and Jim began to feel as though his working days were over for ever. He had of late lost flesh and muscle rather fast. He noticed how shrunken his arms began to look, and Pat would sometimes tell him that his face was much thinner than it used to be. His bronze was paling too, and now that Eileen kept his hair neatly brushed and trimmed, and his bushy beard was reduced to order, he certainly looked a very different creature from the rough, uncouth Jim of past days. He used to feel a sheepish sort of pride when Pat would hold up a little looking-glass before his face to show him "how handsome he was getting!" But certainly the change both in the man'saspect and the expression of his face was greatly in his favour; and Eileen found it hard to remember that she had once thought him the most rugged specimen of humanity that she had ever come across. But she was more and more convinced that there was something seriously wrong with him, and that he would never be able to resume the hard life of a seaman which he had always led hitherto. What would become of the poor fellow she could not bear to think, only that the recollection of Lady St. John's gentle look and words would occur to her at intervals, and she felt sure that the lady would not allow the brave rescuer of her child to come to want through his act of devotion and bravery.
What Jim thought about it all himself she did not know, until one night when they chanced to be alone together whilst the other men were up aloft, and Pat was sleeping soundly in his bed. The wind had been rather wild again the last few nights, and it was blowing half-a-gale now. Eileen was preparing something hot for the watchers when they should come down, and Jim, who was not disposed to go to bed just yet, was sitting watching her.
"It must seem a strange sort of thing to you, Jim," she said, smiling, "to have naught to do with the lamp on nights like these. I wonder if you miss going up to her (as Pat says) these nights? Do you think of her or dream of her in your sleep?"
"Now and again I do—dream I'm going up and up and up the stairs, and can't never reach the top. That's the nights when my breathing's bad. It comes to me like a dream of going on and on up the stairs, not able to breathe, and the stairs never ending. I'm glad to wake then, and find myself in bed. Sometimes I wonder whether I'll ever get up those stairs again."
Eileen's face was full of sympathy and quick comprehension.
"Do you feel like that, Jim? Do you feel very bad?"
"I don't know rightly how to say it; but I feel as though all the life and spring had been took out of me. I don't seem to have no strength inside nor out. That's all I feel. The pain don't trouble me much. But I've a feeling sometimes that it could be pretty sharp if I was to try moving about or lifting weights again.I don't know whether I shall ever get up those stairs to have a look at her again. Sometimes I feel as if my last look would be when the boat comes to take me away from the Lone Rock for good and all."
"Oh, Jim! But you're not going to leave us yet!"
"I don't know, my lass. I don't know. But I'm only a useless log here, and any day they may send and fetch me away. I sent a message by the doctor to them on shore, saying as I wasn't able to do my work, and that I couldn't look to stay on here. I've sort of expected to be took away ever since, but they haven't come for me yet."
"And where will you go, Jim, when they do take you ashore?" asked Eileen, with wide-open, wondering eyes. "Have you got any friends as would give you a bit of a home till you were fit for work again?"
"Nay, I've got naught of that sort," answered the man quietly. "You see I wasn't never one for making friends at the best of time, and the last ten years I've been in prison, or else here on Lone Rock. I suppose they'll take me into the 'Firmary till I'm a bit stronger and better;and if so be as I'm never fit to earn my bread again, I suppose I shall get kept on there the rest of my time."
"Oh, Jim!" cried Eileen, her eyes full of tears, "you don't never mean you'll have to spend the rest of your days in the workhouse!"
He shook his head gently, and his face grew strangely soft and thoughtful.
"Nay, lass, I don't know—I can't see not a step before me; but somehow that don't trouble me. May be it's because I'm weak-like and sick; but the thought about what's coming doesn't trouble me one bit. I've a feeling somewhere that the Lord will see after me; and His way is sure to be the best, and will lead straightest home. It seemed like as if He called me by name that night, and I went out into the sea not knowing whether I'd sink in the waves or not. He kept me from that, and brought me safe ashore, and it seems as though I could leave everything else to Him now. I couldn't see the way in the dark, with the waves all tumbling and washing over me; but He could see, and so He can now. That's how I think about it; it's all right as long as He knows."
Eileen's tears dropped, but she turned herface away and dried them quickly, and then her smile shone out like a sunbeam.
"Well, if that's how you feel about it, you're a happy man, Jim, and I needn't worrit myself about you as I have been doing. If we only leave the future in the hands of the blessed Saviour, we never find that He gives us cause to regret. He cares for us a deal better than we know how to care for ourselves."
"It's caring for ourselves as makes us sink in the waves, I'm thinking, often," said Jim thoughtfully. "That was the way with Peter. It was all right with him so long as he looked at the Lord and trusted. It was only when he began to think about himself, and the danger he was in, that he began to sink, and then so soon as he cried to the Lord he was saved, and helped in the midst of his peril. It all comes to that all the Bible through—do the best you can—do the duty that comes to you—and leave the rest to Him. That was in my head all the while that night. I can't feel afraid now. Whatever comes to be will be His doing."
And after that Eileen ceased to fret herself over poor Jim's future. She felt that he had within him that which would brighten his lot,and make it a happy one, be it cast where it might.
The seas ran too high for several days longer for there to be any hope of a visit to Lone Rock, but towards the end of the month a calm came down on the face of the sea, and Pat resumed his watch with the greatest eagerness and interest. How he wished that Jim could climb up to the gallery and share it with him, but Jim was quite unable to think of attempting such a feat. So the little boy divided his time between the high look-out place and the fireside where Jim passed his time; and Eileen spruced up her kitchen, and made it as bright as hands could make it, to be ready day by day for the arrival of the little prince on his promised visit.
One day Pat saw a beautiful yacht steaming past the Lone Rock at half a mile distance, and making for the bay beyond. He was always interested in such a vessel, but he did not connect her appearance with the return of his little prince, till he presently saw her casting anchor in the bay and launching a boat from the side; and then in great excitement he got his father to come with the telescope, and five minutes later was tearing down the winding stairs at therisk of toppling down and breaking his neck in his haste.
"Mother! mother! Jim!—he's coming! They're coming! I saw them quite plain. They came in a beautiful ship of their own, and now the boat is coming to the rock. Oh, mother! they are all there—the king and the queen and the little prince"—for so Pat was accustomed to speak of them, in spite of his father's laughter and his mother's attempted explanations. "Oh, Jim, do come down to the rocks and see them land! Prince Rupert will be so pleased to see you there. Come, mother! Come, Jim!"
There was no resisting him. Jim could hobble about a little with his stick, and the three went out together into the bright sunshine, and stood watching whilst the white-winged boat came skimming over the waves towards them. Pat was wildly waving his cap, and shouting out his greetings long before they could be heard; but as soon as the boat got within hail, the little yellow-haired boy, who was in a suit of sailor white, and a veritable picture of childish beauty, sprang up in his seat and began waving his straw hat, and shoutingat the very pitch of his voice, and hardly had the boat touched the rocks before the two boys were in each other's arms, hugging and kissing as though they never meant to let each other go. The mothers stood looking on and smiling, Eileen half ashamed at the "forwardness" of her child before the gentry, but Lady St. John, all smiles and sweetness, as she turned to her, and said—
"My little Rupert has been crying out for Pat every day, and sometimes will not be pacified without him. I am so glad for them to meet again. I think you made him happier on Lone Rock than we have done at home."
"Oh, my lady, don't say that!" said the woman, half pleased, half shamed, as she led the way within, Rupert leaving Pat for a moment to give her a warm hug, and then dashing at Jim to renew acquaintance with him.
"We must manage for them to be friends still," said the sweet-voiced lady as she entered Eileen's bright living-room, whilst the men and the children remained outside. "It is not good for children to be brought up without companionship, and Pat is such a dear, gentle,little fellow, Rupert will learn nothing but good from him."
"I hope he will learn no harm, my lady; but Pat is only a sailor's son, and I hope he will not take liberties with the little gentleman. It was being so much together those days that did it, but——"
"Now, you must not speak as though I were not very glad my boy should make a friend of your son," said Lady St. John, in her sweet way. "I know that in after life their paths will lie widely asunder, but that is no reason why as children they should not play together, and love each other. And it will do my child good to learn, whilst he is still young, that the lives of others are not cast in quite such pleasant places. It will give him sympathy and comprehension as to the troubles of others, which it is right that all should learn. And now, Eileen—if you will let me call you by your pretty name——"
"Please do, my lady. Most folks call me so. I know myself best by it."
"Yes, and I have heard so much about you by that name that it comes first to my lips. So Eileen, then, I want you to sit down and talkwith me a little about the future. Now that Pat's health is re-established, are you still anxious to remain upon the lighthouse? Is Lone Rock the home you would choose for yourself if you had the choice?"
"Well, no, my lady, I can't say it is; though we have been very happy through the best part of a year. It's a lonely life, and a rough one, and there's no way of getting the boy taught, save what his father and I can teach him ourselves, and we should like him to be better educated than we were. But I'm afraid if we took him back where he came from, he would droop and pine again; and the pay here is good and regular, and the work not so very hard, save in rough weather. Still——"
"Still, if anything should turn up that would give you a pleasant country home, and advantages for Pat, without all the drawbacks of the lonely lighthouse life, you would be willing to think about it?"
"Why, yes, my lady," answered Eileen, smiling, "glad, and thankful, too. But chances like that seldom come to us poor folks; and we must not repine, for we have been very happy here."
"I am sure you have," answered the lady, "but my husband and I want you to be happy somewhere else instead. I will tell you in a few words what has recently happened to us. The death of a relative has put us in possession of a large property on the coast a few miles to the eastward of Lone Rock. This has made my husband give up his position in the army, and come home to live. The yacht which met us at Malta with our child is another possession of his, and the sailing-master, who has been in charge of her many years now, and has come in for an annuity from our relative, is anxious to retire when his place is filled. My husband wants your husband to take command of the yacht. He has made all due inquiries about him, and is satisfied that he is qualified for the post. We shall not use it a great deal, but we intend to keep it, as our means allow it, and we are both fond of the sea. You would have a cottage on the estate to live in—most likely one of the lodges—and your husband would be a great deal ashore as well as a good deal afloat, and there is anchorage for the yacht quite near to the Hall, which is on the coast, as I have said. Pat could go to school, and would stillhave sea air about him, and a pleasant country home to live in; and as for poor Jim, he is to receive a pension so long as he is in any wise disabled, and we should be very glad to pay you a fixed sum for boarding him out with you, as there is plenty of room in the lodge, and he could help to open the gate even before he was able to take any other employment, which we shall find for him when he gets stronger, as I trust he may——"
But Lady St. John stopped short there, for Eileen had suddenly thrown her apron over her head, and was sobbing aloud.
"You are not distressed, I hope?" began Lady St. John; but Eileen, by a great effort, recovered herself, and looked up with brimming eyes that were shining like stars through the mist of happy tears.
"Oh, my lady, my lady! it seems too good to be true; sure they are tears of joy I am shedding. It's myself that can hardly believe my own ears. I don't know what to say, nor how to thank you. It's like a blessed dream entirely—that's what it is, and my breath is fairly took away!"
"Oh, if that is all, I do not mind," said thelady, smiling; "tears of joy are soon dried. Well, Eileen, I believe my husband and yours are talking it over outside now; and I hope by what you say that he will be willing to entertain the offer. I have set my heart upon having you and Pat at the lodge, and then my little Rupert will not quite lose his playfellow. The children will be able to meet and enjoy a game of play together sometimes, and, perhaps, as Pat grows up, if he takes kindly to his father's life, he may live to take his place in time, and remain as my boy's captain or mate, when his parents' sailing days are over. Rupert must never forget what he owes to those who saved him from death that fearful night. I think that that is a story which will become engraved upon his heart, as it is engraved upon that of his mother."
A sound of voices without warned the women that others were coming in. Nat entered with a happy glance beaming from his eyes, and an expression of mingled bewilderment and delight upon his face.
"Have you heard the news, wife?" he asked; "I scarce know whether I am standing on my head or my heels."
"And you will take it, Nat?" asked the wife breathlessly, and Lady St. John waited eagerly for the reply.
"Take it? Ay, that I will, and be thankful to them who offer it, and to the good God who watches over us. I don't like this rough life for you and the little one. We've had a good winter this last year at Lone Rock, and you've made home home to a man, even out here. But it's not the right place for a woman and a bairn. I've been thinking so more and more as I've heard sailors tell of some of the hardships that have been lived through here. The boy has got his health back again, thank the Lord, and we've been happy here, and I'd not have thrown it up in haste if nothing else hadn't come in the way. And I'll not be in a hurry now to leave them before they can get another man to suit. But we'll not turn our backs on such a chance as has come in our path. I've told Sir Arthur that I thank him most kindly for thinking of us all like this; and since we may take poor Jim ashore with us, and make a home for him still—why, there's not another word to be said. We'll be ready to go ashore as soon as they can get a man totake charge of the Lone Rock. I can't say more than that."
"And that is quite enough," answered Sir Arthur, smiling; "I would not have you act unfairly by your employers, and my sailing-master will remain on with me till you are free, and for a little while longer, to show you the ways of the vessel. And now, that being all settled, we will think of getting away from here; but it will not be long before we meet again, and then our boys will not find that visiting each other is fraught with quite so many difficulties."
Rupert was a good deal displeased at being carried off so quickly, but the parents knew that those on the rock would have too much to discuss to wish their visitors to remain. The little autocrat was pacified by hearing that Pat and Jim should come to see him at home quite soon, and whilst the boat sailed away in the distance, Pat was told the wonderful news, whilst Jim sat still on the rock which was his usual seat out of doors, and gazed out over the sparkling water, his hands clasped together on the top of his stick, and his chin resting upon them in meditative fashion.
"Oh!" cried Pat, when he fully understood the whole matter; "isn't it wonderful? Isn't it just like a story, mother? Oh, Jim! what do you think about it?"
"Why, it seems to me," answered the man quietly, "for all the world as though the Lord had done it. It's just His way of helping us out of the deep waters, and it's too good not to be true."
landscape
seascape
HAPPY DAYS
I
It was a lovely evening in August. The sun was setting in a blaze of splendour over the sparkling sea. The smooth shaven lawns and majestic sweep of park land around the fine old Tudor house were looking their loveliest upon an evening like this, and down by the sea, just where the creek ran up through a belt of woodland, and into the very garden itself, a man and a boy were waiting beside a neat little boat, fitted with cushions and other requisites of comfort, as if in expectation that somebody from the great house behind the trees would shortly be coming down for an evening row or sail.
The man and the boy were both dressed in suits of sailor blue. Their caps were of thesame pattern, and had in gold letters round them the words, "Prince Rupert." The same words were painted in gilt letters upon the pretty boat; and the little boy—who was none other than Pat, only grown wonderfully brown and healthy and strong-looking—sometimes glanced at the name with a smile, and then up at Jim's smart head-gear.
"This is better than Lone Rock, isn't it, Jim?" he said, breaking the silence which had lasted some considerable time. "We didn't think last summer ever to be in a place like this."
"No, that we didn't," answered Jim, with the smile, which was now so frequently seen, and which lightened his rugged face wonderfully. "It's a better place than ever I dreamed of once; though I know now there's a better one still waiting for us by-and-by."
Jim's face lighted as he spoke with a look that Pat was used to seeing there now, and which always filled him with a certain wonder and awe. Jim had been up and about again for some little time now. He had the sole charge of the three boats which were kept in the boathouse in the creek, and used by the people inthe big house whenever they wanted a sail or a row. No more scrupulously clean and attentive boat-keeper had ever been known, and all who came to the house noticed Jim, and had a kind word for him. But it was already quite plain that the man would never be fit for hard work again. He had received an injury on the night of the storm which baffled the skill of all the clever doctors who had been called in to see him. They could "patch him up" for a little while; they could give him sufficient ease and strength to enable him to get about his light daily tasks with comfort and pleasure. He could sail a boat in the bay in fine weather, or gently scull the light littlePrince Rupertabout with its young master as passenger. But that was about all he was fit for, and those who had heard the doctors' verdict knew that any winter he was liable to be carried suddenly off through the injury to the lung, which had so nearly caused his death whilst he lay in the lighthouse under the care of Eileen. Jim knew this himself as well as any one, but the thought gave him no trouble or anxiety. He was wonderfully happy and contented in his life; yet he was as ready as ever to go forth over the unknown seaif the Lord should hold out His hand and bid him come.
"Do you misshervery much?" asked Pat, after a pause, turning his eyes towards the sea in the direction of the Lone Rock, which in very clear weather could be distinguished from the garden wall. "You were fond of her, and knew her better than the rest of us. Do you think she misses you now that you're gone?"
"Why, no, I hardly think she do," answered Jim, with a smile; "I'd got into the way of thinking and speaking of her as though she were alive—it seemed a bit of company when one was all alone. But when I wasn't alone any more, why, she didn't seem to be more than a big lamp then. I always look out for her of a night when the light shines over the sea, but I don't seem to want to be over there no more. It's wonderful how one grows to like the life one has to lead. I used to think I'd never be happy off Lone Rock, and now——"
"I know you're happy here, Jim," said Pat, with a quick upward glance of loving admiration; "you always look so happy!"
"I oughter to be ashamed of myself, if I wasn't," said Jim. "If I was a prince I couldn'tbe better took care of, and me able to do so little. It 'ud make me ashamed, it would, if our lady wasn't the sweetest mistress that ever drew breath. It does one good to see her face day by day. It's like a bit of God's sunshine come down on earth—that's what it is."
"Yes, I do love her, and little Prince Rupert too," answered Pat eagerly. "Oh, Jim! what a thing it's been for us your swimming into the sea that night and pulling him out. It hurt you a great deal, I know; but you're glad you went, aren't you?"
Jim's face wore a look that it often did when his thoughts were growing beyond his powers of expression. It was some little time before he tried to speak.
"Yes, Pat, lad, I'm glad enough I went; but I'd have been just as glad, I hope, if it hadn't brought none of these good things to us."
"Do you mean you'd have been glad if you'd had to go to the workhouse as mother was afraid once?" asked Pat, with wide-open eyes; and Jim looked at the boy with a curious half-smile in his eyes.
"Well, I suppose the Lord Jesus is with His folks in the workhouse as well as anywhere else,Pat, and if so be as He's there, I can't think it could be such a bad place. I know old folks make a deal of fuss against going there, and may be it's right to struggle as long as one can to earn a living oneself; nay, I'm sure it is. But if so be as He sends sickness, and there's nothing else for it, why, I suppose He'll be there to take the sting away, like as He does always. I don't think folks think quite enough about that when they talk agin the workhouse. It's the way we get into of thinking all about ourselves and scarce a bit about Him."
"That's not your way, Jim," said Pat warmly; "I think you're always thinking of Him."
"I've got so much lost time to make up, you see, Pat," answered the man gravely; "I'd never thought of Him, and of all He'd done for me, till you brought it back to me again. I've lived the best part of my life without Him. It's wonderful how He'll take the poor bit that's left, when all one's best years were spent in forgetting and scorning Him."
Pat looked grave and said nothing. The thought was rather beyond his comprehension, but it always made him happy to think thathe had helped Jim back to the light, though he never quite knew what he had done.
A joyful sound close at hand caused both the pair to start, and a little figure in white darted forth round an angle of the path, and yellow-haired Rupert stood before them, his face beaming with delight.
"Good evening, Jim; good evening, Pat! I'm going to have a beautiful row to-night, and mamma's come to see how well I row. See, there she comes through the trees! Lift me in quick, Jim, and you come too, Pat, I want her to see how well I do it. Let me have the sculls. I can do it like a man now!"
Jim was already in the boat, and helped the eager little boy in, where he stood between his knees, with his hands upon the sculls, which Jim was getting ready for use. Pat sprang after and took the tiller, pushing off from shore just as the lady came round the angle of the path to nod to them with sweet smiling glances.
"Look, mamma! Look at me, mamma! I'm sculling!" shouted Rupert, his bright face all in a glow of importance and pleasure, "I can scull as well as Jim now, and I'll take you out sometimes like papa does, when I've got time. ButI like going with Pat and Jim best. It's like as if we were living together in the lighthouse and had just gone out for a row."
"Yes, darling," answered the mother, smiling and waving her hand. "Take good care of Pat and Jim, because they took good care of you once. How are you feeling to-day, Jim? and how is your mother, Pat?"
"Nicely, thank you, my lady," they both answered in a breath, and the lady waved her hand once more to the party before turning back towards the house again.
"She knows you are safe with me," remarked Rupert, slightly transposing a phrase he frequently heard from his parents' lips, and then the boat was headed towards the Lone Rock, and Rupert played the game all the time that they were living there again. He and Jim and Pat had been across once with Nat since their coming to live at the Lodge, and Rupert never forgot that it had once been his temporary home, and made many plans about buying it for his very own when he was a man, and going there to live with Pat. Whenever he had little friends of his own to tea at home, he would always assert his superiority over themby telling how he had once lived in a lighthouse, which certainly none of the others had done. And the story of his life there never failed to arouse a great interest and wonder.
The child's father was waiting to take him when the boat neared shore again, and he spoke kindly to Jim and Pat before leading his little son home.
As the latter put away the boat safe in the boathouse, and walked slowly towards the pretty lodge together, they saw the light from the Lone Rock streaming out over the darkening water, increasing every moment in brightness. Pat looked lovingly at it.
"I used to wonder as I lay in bed how she would look to people a long way off. I didn't know she was quite so bright. I think they must be taking good care of her, Jim."
"Yes, I think so, she's bright enough of nights. I can just see her as I lie awake in bed—through that gap in the trees. It makes me think about the Lamp to our feet and the Light to our path."
"Oh, yes," answered Pat quickly and eagerly, "that's what mother said too, Jim, and she said something else as well; I wonder if I couldremember it. I think it was about you. I know it made me think of you directly she said it."
"About me?" questioned Jim absently, his eyes still on the light.
They had paused now upon a little bit of rising ground to look over the sea. A short distance to the right, a little bit farther up the hill, twinkled the lights from a charming little lodge, within the rose-covered walls of which Eileen was stepping to and fro setting out the supper, whilst Nat smoked his pipe by the handful of fire, looking the picture of contentment and well-being. Pat could see the lights from both his past and present home as he stood beside Jim on the brow of the rising ground, waiting till the man should have recovered breath to go on, for going up hill always tried him a little, even though he went slowly. But it was their habit to stand thus a few minutes looking out towards the lighthouse, especially after dark, when the rays of the lamp could be seen; and now Pat took up the word again and went on eagerly—
"Yes; mother was saying that when she looked out at night and saw the light, and thegreat track it made in the water, it made her think about some words in the Bible, where it says about the 'path of the just shining more and more unto the perfect day.' And when she said it I thought of you, Jim, and I said to mother, 'Isn't that what Jim's path does, mother?' And she said, 'Yes, Pat, I think it is; because Jim seems to me to be going on more and more to the perfect day than anybody I ever saw before.' So it must be like you, Jim, for mother always knows."
Jim made no response in words; but Pat saw him draw his hand softly across his eyes. Presently he laid his hand upon the boy's shoulder, and there was something in the touch that made Pat look suddenly up. He met a glance of such affection and tenderness that for the moment he felt half startled, and then Jim spoke in tones that faltered a little with the deepness of his feeling.
"You mustn't think too well of me, Pat; you don't know what I've been through in the dark before the light came. I'm the last man in the world as should be spoken of so. But I do know that my sins are washed away. I do know that He's taken the burden off my back. He's ledme into the light now, and I think He'll keep me there to the end. But, Pat, it was your little hand that first pointed the way. I can't see how I should ever have found it if the Lord hadn't sent you to show it me. There's never a night as I lie watching the light, and thinking of that other Light that lighteth every man that cometh into the world, if so be as he'll turn his eyes towards it, but that I think of those old days of black darkness, when there wasn't a ray of light in my poor heart. And then I think of how the light came, and how He sent it to me. For it must have been His doing all the while that you came to Lone Rock, Pat, and taught me to know that we were never alone if so be as we would take the Lord at His word, and go to Him across the blackness and the darkness."
THE END.