The days slipped quietly away, and Sara managed, in the midst of all her duties, to read with the children at least one hour of each, and to get a little time besides for her own deeper studies.
She found she could take the old school-books which she had thought once so thoroughly learned, and dig new treasures from them; while the books from Miss Prue's, nearly all of a scientific character, were read and re-read with ever deepening interest.
But it was not the printed page alone that Sara studied. She had always been fond of long walks, and in these her keen eyes, directed everywhere, lost nothing that nature had to show her.
The shapes of the clouds, and their relation to the weather, the different phases of the sea, all the queer collection of weed and mollusk that it cast ashore, the formation and colors of the cliffs, the different shades and granulations in the sands of beach and pine grove; everything gave her active, hungering mind food for thought and speculation.
She seldom returned empty-handed from these strolls, and a rude little set of corner shelves she and her brother had managed to nail together, was rapidly filling with the oddest and prettiest of her findings. She managed, also, to interest the children in these things, and taught them a lesson some people never learn,—how to use their eyes.
Thus, living close to nature's heart, they could not be absolutely miserable, though want did press them closely.
Sara had enjoined secrecy on the children in regard to the money. She was naturally reticent, and dreaded the gossip of the little town, which made a nine-days' wonder of every small happening; and had besides that self-respecting pride which dislikes to thrust its misfortunes on a careless world. But perhaps more than all, a certain loyalty to the dead mother closed her lips. She would not have her blamed for her foolishness now she could not defend herself, poor thing! And they would manage somehow till father returned.
If worse came to worst, she could borrow of Squire Scrantoun, though she felt she could not resort to that humiliation except in case of actual necessity. So long as a potato or herring was left in store, she would wait for relief; but one thing did cause her most anxious thought, and that was how to procure milk for the little one.
As she stood one morning counting over the few pennies left in the old blue teapot, and wondering what she should do when they were gone, the door was flung open, and Morton, flushed and bright-eyed, entered and threw something at her feet.
It was a wild goose, limp and drabbled, and Sara looked up in surprise at the boy.
"You didn't shoot it, Morton?"
"No; but I killed it!" exultantly. "I've got the 'honk' so I can do it nearly as well as Uncle Adam Standish; and this morning I was down in a nice little cove, when I saw this old fellow light on the water close by. Then he paddled out and began feeding along the beach. So I 'honked' to him, and he answered, and I kept on, and he came closer. I'd first broken off this piece of rock to bring home and show you that bit of crystal in it, when I thought I'd use it, and I rose up and let fly! Well, it toppled him over, and I jumped out and caught hold of him before he could get away, and wrung his neck—and there's the goose, and here's the rock!"
He pointed triumphantly to each, while Molly executed a sort of scalp- dance about the group, snapping her fingers and smacking her lips, as she cried, "Won't we have a dinner, though? And I'm so sick of herring! You'll cook it for dinner, won't you, Sara?"
The young girl hesitated a moment, her eyes going from one eager face to the other with a deprecating glance. No one knew better than she how delightful this change of diet would be; but she quickly put aside her own desire, and said gently,
"I'm so proud of you, Morton! Molly and I can't complain with such a man to look after us, can we? But look at this. I have only a few pennies left, and I was wondering what we should do for milk for baby. Now, if we can all be unselfish, and let you sell this goose to Mrs. Norris or Miss Prue, it will buy milk for some time yet. Don't you see, dear?"
The boy's face flushed darkly, and all the brightness died out of it, while Molly's became as blank as the wall.
"It's all the baby's fault," he said bitterly. "We'd have had plenty of money but for him. Let him suffer too!"
"Morton!"
His head drooped at the grave tone, and Molly choked back something she was about to say.
"Could you really bear to see that little darling suffer, Morton? You know you couldn't! We all know he never meant to do such mischief. Look at his innocent little face this minute; could you see it grow thin and pale for lack of the food he craves?"
Morton gave one look, and melted.
"I didn't really mean it," he stammered; "only I'm awful hungry, Sara."
"My brave soldier! I know you are. But you're going to be the help and standby of us all till father comes home. I'll bake the potatoes to-day, you like them so, and you may have a wee bit of baby's milk to eat with them."
This appeal was not lost. The boy straightened up proudly. "Well, give me the goose," he said resolutely; "I'll take it to Mrs. Norris. I saw company driving up as I came by, so I guess she'd like it."
Molly made no remonstrance to this, except to draw down her round face to a doleful length, and drawl out a ridiculous wail common among the sailors,—
"'I'm bound away to leave you—Good-by, my love, good-by!I never will deceive youNo never, Mary Ann!'"
which she pointed by giving the stiffened foot of the defunct goose a last fond shake in farewell. So it was with laughter and good feeling, after all, that their dinner for that day was renounced.
But the little episode had given each a spirit of self-sacrifice, which was to help them through many hard times, while it had put an idea into Morton's head that he was not slow to act upon.
As soon as he had disposed of his goose to Mrs. Norris (who snapped it up eagerly, and paid him well, its opportune arrival saving her the great mortification of giving her friends a fish dinner), he sought out old Adam Standish, the acknowledged sportsman of the village.
As usual, he found the heavily bearded, long-haired, keen-eyed old man sitting on a bench before his cabin, and at the minute gazing down the long barrel of a shot-gun which he had just been cleaning. "Hello, uncle!" was Morton's greeting.
Every man is an "uncle" in Killamet, unless he is a "cap'n," or a "squire."
"Hello!" said Adam, lowering his gun. "Oh! it's you, sonny? Come up and have a seat," sweeping together the empty gun-shells, bits of rag and wadding, small tools, etc., at his side. "How's your folks?"
"All right," remembering with a sudden sense of pleasure the money for baby's milk safe in his pocket. "Been gunning lately?"
"Waal, some, a brace or two o' brants; jest hand me them pincers, Mort.Why? Want to buy?"
"No; I want to shoot."
"Hey? You! He, he!"
"I killed one this morning, Uncle Adam."
"Whar'd ye get yer gun?"
"Didn't have none."
"Hey? Little boys shouldn't tell squibs."
"I'm not squibbing; I 'honked' to it from behind some rocks, and then knocked it over with a stone."
"Ye did? Waal, purty good! purty good! Goin' to hev it fer dinner, I s'pose?"
"N—no, I sold it to Mrs. Norris."
"Did, hey? What'd she giv ye?"
Morton told him, and the old man ruminated a while, as he industriously cleaned, primed, and loaded his gun, while Morton waited, watching a long, plume-like line of smoke along the distant horizon, which he knew was from a Portland steamer. Finally Adam set down the gun with a contented air, and observed,—
"Haow airly kin ye git up?"
"At three, if you say so."
"Waal, come along abaout four ter-morrer mornin', an' I'll take ye 'long o' me."
"But I haven't any gun, Uncle Adam."
"Don't need none! I'm a-goin' to show ye what guns Isfer. When you've got that idee bagged, it'll be time enough fer the weepon. I ain't no patience," he went on, putting his hands on his knees and bending forward impressively, "with these fellers what mangles their game. I s'pose it's plain that the A'mighty made wild fowl to be shot, but the man what breaks their wings and leaves 'em to crawl off an' die in misery ain't human, he ain't! Make clean work o' it, or let 'em alone,Isay," and he began gathering up his traps in a manner that convinced Morton the conference was over.
So he said good-morning, and went whistling down the village street, the wind from off the sea tempering the downpour of the sun on white cliff and sand, and lifting the wide rim of his torn straw hat to caress his ruddy cheek.
Away out on the bay was a schooner tacking against the wind, while just rounding Rocky Point was a trim little yacht with all sail set, flying straight in for Killamet beach.
"How pretty she rides!" he thought, and wondered, boy-like, if when he was a big man he would sail his own craft,—the end and aim of every fisher-boy along the Atlantic coast.
As he dreamed, he turned and walked down over the satiny sand of the beach to the water's edge, and now could see that there were three people in the yacht,—a little round man with big spectacles at the rudder, a taller one, young and trim-looking in his tourist costume, who stood boldly out on the bowsprit, while a beautiful woman with blond hair leaned gracefully back in a steamer-chair.
With native courtesy Morton hastened to assist in securing the boat, and was rewarded by a hearty "Thank you, my boy!" from the younger man, and a brilliant smile from the lady, which covered him with blushes and confusion. The older man seemed in a brown study, and only glared at him absent-mindedly through his large glasses.
"Ah, Robare!" said the lady with an odd little accent, "I have now a thought; it may be this boy could to us tell of some public-house near by, to which we could go for this night."
All turned to Morton, who said hesitantly,—
"Yes, there is one, or at least there's Miss Zeba Osterhaus; she keeps store in her front window, and has rooms up-stairs that she doesn't use. Sometimes she takes in a painter fellow, or the goose-men."
"The what?" laughed the young man, advancing with a large portfolio, which he had taken from the yacht as soon as she was made fast.
"Why, the men that come for the wild geese—gunning, you know."
"Ho, yes indeed! I'd like to be a 'goose-man' myself, for once in a way. What do you say, uncle and aunt; can you make yourselves contented with your geological and artistic prowls to-morrow, and let me off for a bit of a shoot?" Both gave a ready assent, and the speaker turned to Morton.
"And now, my boy, can you add to your favors by showing us the way to this—What's her name?—you mentioned, and telling me, as we go along, where I can get hold of a good guide and sportsman about here?"
As he spoke he attempted to slip a half-dollar into the boy's hand, but it was sharply withdrawn.
"I'll tell you all I can, sir, without pay," flushing as he spoke; for a sudden memory of the cruel needs at home made him almost regret yielding to his first impulse of pride and self-respect.
The young man flushed a little also, and slid he silver piece back into his own pocket rather quickly.
"Pardon me," he said in a graver tone than he had yet used. "I shall be very grateful for your information."
"Well, sir, there's old Uncle Adam Standish, he's the best I know," saidMorton, as they led the way towards the village, followed by the others."He can hit his bird on the wing every time, and he can 'honk' so's tofool any goose alive, and find the best blinds of anybody 'longshore."
"Really? He must be a genius!"
"Yes,"—wondering what a genius might be,—"if he'll only let you go with him you'll have a good shoot."
"If he'll let me! Why shouldn't he? I expect to pay him for his trouble."
Morton laughed.
"Thatwouldn't make any difference. He doesn't seem to care much for money; all he notices is how a man handles his gun. If you hold it just to suit him, he'll go, and if you don't, he won't."
"How ridiculous! Well, do for goodness' sake tell me in what manner I must handle the gun that I may please this Criticus."
Morton bridled with indignation.
"He ain't a cuss, Uncle Adam ain't. He's a nice man, and he knows what he's about too. If you'd see some o' the fools that come down here to shoot you'd be particular too, I guess. They're a good deal more apt to hit their guide than the birds, I can tell you."
The young man laughed heartily.
"My boy, I hadn't the slightest intention of calling your relative names; that was simply a title many men would be proud to bear."
"That's all right." in a mollified tone; "but he isn't any relation to me. Everybody calls him uncle."
"Ah, I see. You make me feel wonderfully interested in this wise Adam, and only in a fright for fear I won't hold my weapon to suit him; couldn't you give me a lesson or two, now?"
Morton looked at the stranger askance; was he making fun of him? then straightening his boyish shoulders, he said proudly, "I can tell you something better than that.I'mgoing gunning with Adam to-morrow morning at four o'clock, and perhaps I can get him to take you along too, if he likes your looks."
"Let us hope he may!" observed the other fervently. "What! is this the place we're bound for?" looking dubiously at the weather-worn cottage opposite, in whose gable end was a primitive bay-window, through which could be seen half a dozen jars of barber-pole candy hobnobbing sociably with boxes of tobacco, bags of beans, kits of salted mackerel, slabs of codfish, spools of thread, hairpins, knives and forks, and last, but by no means least, a green lobster swimming about in a large dishpan.
Morton wondered what this stranger could have expected better than this, and remarked encouragingly,—
"She's got carpets on most all her rooms, and she hooks the nicest rugs in Killamet,—all big flowers, or cats lying down,—the prettiest you ever saw!"
"Aunt Felicie, do you hear that?" flinging the question over his shoulder. "We are about to meet your rival! You paint flowers, and she,—just hear the alarming word,—she 'hooks' them! Cats, too, and dogs, did you say? Does the verb have a dishonest meaning here in Killamet, my boy?"
Morton stared back wonderingly, not understanding much except that in some way either he or Miss Zeba, or perhaps Killamet in general, was being held up to ridicule, and that it was his business to resent it.
"I don't know, sir," he answered stoutly, "what you mean: but if you want to know whether Miss Zeba is a nice woman, I can tell you that; she's just as good as gold, sir! and I suppose if folks don't like our ways in Killamet they needn't come here, there's plenty of room outside, I guess."
The young man turned and gave him a critical look, which soon grew approving, then held out his hand. "This is the second time I've had to ask your pardon; will you make up, and be friends? I like you, and if they've got any more of your sort here, I shall like Killamet!"
Morton extended his hand readily enough, and felt it seized in a close, strong pressure which pleased him, though he could not have told why, and the young man turned again to his aunt.
"Here we are at—now, what is that name, my lad?"
"Miss Zeba Osterhaus, sir."
"Oh, yes! I believe I could remember it if I could once see it spelled, however"—
The rest of his sentence was broken off by the sharp jangle of the bell above the door, as Morton opened it; and the warning note brought Miss Zeba herself from an inner room.
Whatever of fun had been dancing in the young man's eyes suddenly died out at the sight of her. She was small, like a little child, but had the wan, drawn, yet sweet-looking face of a middle-aged woman, while between her shoulders she bore that fleshy symbol of Christian's burden, that painful affliction, that almost intolerable deformity for a woman to endure, a hump back.
Instantly the young man's hat was off, and the young man's voice grew almost tender, as he said,—
"We beg pardon for disturbing you, but is this Miss Osterhaus?"
"Yes, sir," she responded, with a quaint little old-time courtesy, directed with much precision, so as to include the three adults, beginning with the lady.
"And have you a spare room, or two; do you ever take in strangers for a few days?"
"Sometimes, sir, when they do be gentlefolk, like you," with a smiling little nod; "a lone woman can't be too keerful."
The blond lady stepped forward and took up the word in her sweet foreign voice.
"Ah, it will be such a kindness, and we are most easy to bear, I hope you will find."
"Yes, as my aunt says, you will not find us hard to suit; we can put up with a few inconveniences, if necessary. Might we look at your rooms?"
These were found to be so neat and cheerful—in spite of low roofs and small windows—that a bargain was quickly consummated; and having planned with Miss Zeba for a dinner in half an hour, the young man turned to his little guide.
"Now," said he, with the fun leaping to his eyes again, "now for the ordeal! Will you conduct me to this Diogenes of a gunner, and have him tell you, without a lantern, whether I am the man he is looking for, or no?"
"Yes, we'll go," said Morton in a matter-of-fact tone; "but I don't think he's looking for you. He never goes a-nigh the post-office, because he says he hates a crowd; so even if you'd written some one that you were coming, he wouldn't know it."
"Ah, yes, I see; we will take him entirely by surprise, then; well, 'lead on Macduff!'"
"My name's Morton Olmstead, if you please, sir."
"And a good name too, laddie; I like it, and what's more I like you!You're going to make a fine man some day, did you know it?"
Morton's eyes kindled.
"I mean to, sir. Sara says I can if I will; she says the good God started me with a sound brain and a healthy body, and I ought to be able to do the rest."
"She does, eh?" opening his eyes surprisedly. "And who may this wise and epigrammatic Sara be, I'd like to know?"
Morton concluded to let the suspicious word go unchallenged. "Yes, sir, she is wise and good. She's been to school lots, and she's my oldest sister."
"Ah, indeed? That accounts for your unusually good English, I suppose. I had wondered at it here."
Morton felt this to be a compliment, so turned red and squirmed, not knowing just how to acknowledge it, and his friend, perhaps to relieve him, asked kindly, "How old is Sara?" having already decided she was nearing the thirties, at least.
"She's seventeen, sir."
"Is that all?" quickly. "Such a mere girl, and yet talks like a wise- acre, eh? How does she look?"
"Well, she's tall, and walks straight and proud-like, and her hair's kind of copper-colored where the sun shines on the waves in it, and her eyes are big and brown, and can drag a lie right out of you, sir; but when she laughs her teeth shine, and there's a dimple in one corner of her mouth, and she looks pretty well."
"H'm, I should think likely," said the young man in a musing tone, then, as Morton turned a sharp corner, "What, that way?"
"Yes, sir; there's Uncle Adam now, sitting on his bench smoking, and he looks good-natured; aren't you glad?"
For once the old man was sitting quite still, doing nothing, unless you can call smoking a very dirty and ill-smelling pipe an occupation. He nodded to them and puffed away, saying between his whiffs,—
"How d'ye do, stranger? You agin, Mort? Set daown, both on ye; settin's jest as cheap as standin' raound here," indicating the bench on the other side of the door with a blackened thumb.
But neither cared to sit, and Morton lost no time in coming to business.
"He wants to go gunning with us in the morning, Uncle Adam, may he?"
Adam eyed the young man, who returned his gaze with frank, smiling eyes, without speaking.
"Kin ye shoot?" asked the old sportsman at last.
"A little," modestly.
"Waal, what—tame turkeys?" contemptuously.
"No: I have shot wild ones, as well as prairie-chickens, quail, and— deer."
"What! Be thet some o' your college sass, naow? I git so full o' thet every season, it makes me sick!"
"I'm not a college student, and I generally tell the truth. I've livedWest for some years, and have had some good hunting at odd times; but,to be honest, I don't know anything about your bird-shooting here, andI'm hankerin' after an experience!"
The homely native word pleased the old man, and he smiled leniently.
"Waal," he said, removing the pipe to knock out the ashes and put it in his pocket (much to the other's satisfaction), "waal, I guess we kin fix it. Mort, here, an' me, we was goin' out airly in the mornin'. Ef you kin turn out in time, ye mought go with us. I've got a gun for you, but you'll hev to pay fer the powder an' shot, an' give me my share o' the birds."
"We won't quarrel about terms," laughed the other. "I'll be on hand without fail, and am much obliged."
"Oh, ye're welcome; good-day. Remember, four sharp, naow!" as they turned to go.
"You see," said the young man to the boy, as soon as they were beyond ear-shot, "he didn't put me through the manual of arms, after all. I feel almost defrauded of my just rights. Do you suppose I knocked the conceit out of him with my talk of big game?"
"I don't know," said Morton, "but I guess he took a liking to you. He's queer about that. Sometimes he won't look at these fancy fellers that come down from the city, no matter how much they offer. He says he can't abide 'em—that a fool of a loon is too good to die at their hands!"
"And he isn't far wrong, I'm thinking. Are you going that way? Then you will pass near the yacht, won't you? Have you any objections to taking a look at it, to see if it is safe? Oh, and by the way, there's a basketful of eatables stowed away under the stern-seat that we won't need now; couldn't you dispose of them in some way?"
"I think I could, sir," said Morton demurely, dropping his lids, not to show too strongly the joy in his eyes, for if he had been hungry in the morning, he was ravenous now.
"All right, then; good-by, my little friend—or, rather,au revoir. I'll see you in the morning," and the two separated, mutually pleased with each other.
A few minutes later Morton entered the home kitchen, joy beaming from his countenance, and a large basket hanging from his arm.
"Sara," he cried, "have you been to dinner?"
"No, we waited for you; but how late you are. It's after two."
"All the better, for here's a dinner to match the biggest kind of an appetite! See here, and here!"
He spread out with intense satisfaction sandwiches, fried chicken, cakes, doughnuts, and cheese, besides jellies and fruit, while Molly fairly howled with delight, and even Sara's eyes shone happily; for, unless you have lived for a week on salt herring and potatoes, topped off by a long fast since breakfast, you cannot understand how good those things looked to the hungry children.
"But, Morton, you didn't tell Mrs. Norris, did you?" Sara asked in a distressed tone. "I didn't want"—
"Now, don't you worry, Sara! I sold her the goose, and got my money— here it is; but this is another kind of game, and while we're eating, I'll tell you the whole story," which he at once proceeded to do, for, hungry as they were, they all fell to with scant ceremony.
The next morning the blond lady, being bereft of both escorts, started out for a stroll on her own account.
You have before this, doubtless, divined her to be the wife of that same little man Sara had met on the cliff; and we now formally introduce her as Madame Grandet, wife of Professor Leon Alphonse Grandet, of the Academie des Sciences at Paris, who was now prosecuting his geological studies in New England.
She herself was endowed with no mean artistic talent, her specialty being the painting of flowers in water colors, and, as she always sketched from nature, she had become almost as much of a botanical student as her husband was a mineralogical.
But this morning the quaintness and quiet of the village tempted her into a stroll down its long street, before she should seek the pine woods farther back, in search of hidden beauties, and one picture that she came upon held her spell bound for a moment. This was a small, poor cottage, painted only by the sun and rain, before which, on a tiny square of green, a baby was rolling about—a cunning little fellow with rings of silky light hair, while on the low doorstep sat a girl of such unusual appearance that the lady stared in undisguised admiration.
Her head was bent above a book, and the auburn shades of her luxuriant hair caught the sunlight in every wave and tendril; her eyes were cast down, but the dark lashes curled upward from the slightly flushed cheek thick and long, while the brows were as daintily perfect as if laid on with a camel's hair brush; the nose was straight and delicate; the mouth, now set with deep thought, firm and sweet, while the chin carried out this look of decision, and would have been almost too square but for the coquettish little cleft which gave it the needed touch of femininity.
Her complexion, unblemished, except for the sun-tinge which showed an out-of-doors life, was of that peculiar tint, neither blond nor brunette, which is usually found with hair of that coppery hue, and the whole artistic head but crowned a form whose grace and roundness not even her ill-fitting gown could conceal.
"One of nature's gems!" whispered the on-looker in her native tongue."And what a cherub of a baby! I must make their acquaintance."
She took an orange from the satin bag hanging on her arm, and held it towards the little one, who had now toddled to the open gate, and was gazing shyly at her.
He looked at the tempting yellow apple, then back at sister, oblivious in the door-way, then once more at the coveted fruit, and was conquered.
As Madame Grandet stepped towards him, he did not retreat, but reached up his dimpled, dirty little hands (he had been making sand-pies) and caught the fruit she dropped into them.
Then he gave a delighted little laugh, which roused Sara, who raised her large eyes, now dreamy with far-away thoughts, but which flashed into pleasure at sight of the two.
"Pray pardon me," said madame with a gracious little nod; "I would not deesturb you, but the babee, he ees so sweet! You will let me give to him the orange?"
"Oh, certainly; thank you! It will be a great treat for him," rising and coming forward, with her book in her hand. "Won't you come in and rest a moment? The sun is warm this morning."
"Thank you, mooch; it ees indeed most warm! May I not here sit on the step of the door by yourself?"
"Oh, let me bring you a chair," running to get one. "There, this will be more comfortable," placing it just within the open door.
"That is true; t'anks! Come, mine babee, let me to you show how an orange is to eat, when one has no care for the appearance—it is nature's own way." She cut a tiny hole through the thick rind with her pearl-handled penknife, then put it to the child's lips and bade him suck out the juice, as the little bees suck honey from the lily-buds.
Sara watched her delightedly. How graceful, fair, and easy she was! What a beautiful dress she wore—perfectly simple, yet with an air of taste and style even her unaccustomed eyes could note. How delicate her features, how refined her voice, and with what a small white hand she managed the little knife!
She felt at once that here was a woman different from any she had ever seen before—perhaps the first one for whom she felt the word "lady" was no misnomer.
Her admiration showed so plainly in her honest eyes that the madame was inwardly amused, as well as pleased, yet not at all discomfited, for she had been used to admiration all her life.
"What is the book you read, my dear young lady, may I ask?" she said presently.
"It is Hugh Miller's 'Testimony of the Rocks,'" answered Sara.
"So?" It was the French lady's turn to look undisguised astonishment."And does it for you have interest then?"
"Yes, indeed; did you ever read it? Don't you think it is wonderful how those long-buried veins of rock are made to tell us God's own plans and workings? I can never see a cliff that I don't begin to wonder how it was formed, and what secrets it may contain. I am like baby with his toys," smiling till her dimples deepened, "I want to break it in pieces and find out how it was made!"
"But that is joost like my Leon! Always he goes about with his hammer tapping, tapping, at every bit of stone. Is it then that you, too, are a geologist?"
"Oh, no, not that! I do not know enough, only sometimes I find aspecimen; I have a few inside, if you would care to see them?"
"Indeed I care," rising at once; and when she stood before the well- filled shelves we have before mentioned, she cried out in astonishment,—
"But, surely, my Leon must see these. You have here some greatly rare bits. Ah, what a beautiful pink rubellite! I have not seen ever a finer. And this geode is most perfect. Did you yourself find them?"
"Yes, nearly all, except what my brother has brought me, and in this neighborhood too; I've never been more than twenty miles away in my life."
"And I do see you have them labelled and classed so neat as my Leon could do. You must indeed let me bring him to see you. He is my husband, and a—a—I forget now your English word how to say—but he eats and sleeps and dreams over dose minerals, and he would almost forget of me, the wife whom he adores, for one fine new piece of old rock with the print of a bird's toes therein!" Sara laughed with a merrier sound than she had known lately; and the lady, delighted to have pleased her, joined in.
"Oh! it is laugh we can now, my child, but some days it ees not so funny, for he does come home too often with no hat, or perhaps even his coat that is left behind; but the hammer—ah, he would never from that to part did he not have a single clothes left!"
Sara suddenly turned, her eyes dancing with merry interest.
"Wait! Was he here about a month ago? Does he wear glasses, and is he short and"—
"It is, it is! You have then seen him?"
"Yes, indeed!" and she related the meeting on the cliff, to the madame's genuine enjoyment.
She kept nodding her bright head, and finally burst out, as Sara told of the lost sunbonnet and its rescuer:—
"He vas my nevew, Robert Glendenning" (she pronounced it however RobareGlendneeng); "and is he not one handsome, fine young man?"
"I did not look at him long, but I think he is," blushing a little. "And are not you the party my brother told me of yesterday? I did not think then it was the two gentlemen I had met who were so kind to him. Morton is not any too good at description!"
"Morton, ah, yes, that ees the bright youth who did put my brave Robare to the rout! And he is thy brother, then? May I not know thy name also, my fair young mees?"
"It is Sara Olmstead, ma'am, and I am a fisherman's daughter."
"And I, my fisher-lass, am name Madame Grandet now, though my girl name it was Felicie."
"Oh, how pretty!"
"You t'ink? Do you know it mean 'happy,' 'fortunate,' and I am that, for I have few cares, and my husband does indulge every wish I can make. And your name, does it mean something good also?" "I have read somewhere that it means 'a princess,'" blushing more than before; "but that is hardly the meaning my name should have," giving a quick glance about upon her homely surroundings. "I do not know. You have the grand air, and—ah, I have it! I have it! You must be a King's daughter, a princess indeed!"
"But, madame, my father is plain Reuben Olmstead, a good and honest man, yet only a fisherman."
"But, no, my child, you do not yet comprehend. The King, it is thy Father in heaven, and thou must be one of those who call themselves the King's Daughters. It is a great society which does extend over the whole world of Christians, and each one of the members does take her pledge to do some good each day, for the help of mankind. It is 'in His name' that they do this, and their reward it is in heaven!" She spoke with great earnestness, and Sara listened breathlessly.
A princess, a daughter of the King of kings, endowed with the birthright of high thoughts and noble deeds, enrolled in the royal order of the Saviour of men! Surely here was a destiny grand and glorious enough to satisfy the highest ambition.
Her eyes darkened with the rush of thoughts that kept her silent, and finally she drew a long breath, looking up with such humility, yet kindling joy, that her words seemed but an echo of her glance.
"I will be one; teach me how!"
As she spoke, the baby who had been sitting on the doorstep contentedly sucking his orange, now broke through the rind of his yellow globe of sweets, to find nothing left but a bitter shell, and thereupon set up a wail and toddled over to Sara.
She lifted him up with tender words of comfort, applied a dampened towel to his sticky face and hands, then brought him in her arms to the doorstep again, where she seated herself near the madame, who had resumed her chair just within.
The absence of any adults in the house suddenly struck the latter, and she asked, "Where is then the mother, Mees Sara?"
"In heaven," said the girl softly. "She died when I was little; and poor baby Ned's followed her a few weeks ago, since father went for the long fish."
"Ah, how sad! how sad! And have he not hear of this trouble?" "I do not know; not unless he got the word I sent by Captain Smalley. But, you see, his smack may not have sighted the Nautilus at all. It seems as if father would have tried hard to come, if he had heard," she added, her eyes growing misty; "we need him so!"
"Poor child, poor little one!" murmured the lady in her own language, then in English, "But what is it you speak,—the 'long fish'? Do not all your ships return each Saturday?"
"No; not now. That's the way they do at many of the fishing-villages, I have heard, but we are a long way from the Banks, and there's Mare's Head, which every vessel must round to make our harbor, so dangerous a point that our fleets used scarcely ever to get by all in safety; for when a man is hurrying home to his own fireside on a stormy Saturday night, he is not as careful as he should be. So now our boats stay out through the season, and when they have a big haul put into Gloucester or Annisquam to sell their fish, only bringing home such as they cannot find a market for. It saves many wrecks, and they make more money, but it is often hard on those left at home!"
"Yes, yes, that is true, I make no doubt! But do you live here quite alone, you and the babee?"
"Oh, no; there are my brother and sister,—the twins. Morton is the one I spoke of; he has gone gunning with Uncle Adam Standish, and the young man who must be your nephew, I'm sure; and Molly has gone on an errand."
"That Morton—it ees one fine boy! His air do say, 'Behold the American citizen in me!' is it not?"
Sara smiled and sighed.
"He is a good boy, and my mainstay now, for it is hard sometimes to manage for so many; but will you not please tell me some more about the King's Daughters, madame?"
Her new friend, nothing loath, went into further details of that marvellous organization, telling of the silver cross, which was a passport to the best society and gentlest treatment the world over; describing its growth by tens, its circles within circles, its active benevolences and astonishing influence—all that of which the world has been hearing, almost as a child listens to a fairy-tale, with wonder and delight, yet only half credulous.
She also promised to send her copies of those beautiful stories, "Ten Times One," and "In His Name," which first gave rise to the grand idea; and when she finally made her adieus, it was to leave Sara in a happy dream, filled with new hopes, desires, and resolutions, all petty cares for the time being quite forgotten!
When Morton came home that night, it was with more of the air Madame Grandet had so graphically described than usual, for he bore two braces of birds, which he exultantly dropped, with a silver dollar, into Sara's lap.
"Why, what is this?" she asked, surprised at the money.
"It's mine," was the proud reply. "Mr. Glendenning gave it to me. He said I had earned it, as well as the game, for I had done all the hard work in bagging the birds; and O Sara, but he's a fine shot! Uncle Adam is that fond of him he's been trying to get him to stay all summer. He says he's aman, if he does wear short pants!"
Sara laughed.
"Two braces of birds, a dollar, and some new friends, how rich we are, Morton! You shall have a supper fit for a king, now, and I, one good enough for a princess!" with a meaning smile over her inner thought.
"Won't we? Make it a roast, Sara, with lots of gravy and stuffing, the way they do at Mrs. Norris's; and oh! I 'most forgot, when we came by Miss Zeba's, the pretty lady came out and said, 'Tell your sweet sister we will make her a morning call to-morrow, if she do please'—them's her very words."
"'Those are,' you mean. Do try, my boy, to speak correctly, at least. I begin to think people are judged more by the way they speak than the way they dress, among intelligent people, so be careful."
"That's so, Sara, for Mr. Glendenning said I spoke good English, or, at least, that because you were so wise was why my English was correct, something like that."
"Why, what does he know of me?" astonishedly.
"Oh, nothing much, only I said you'd been to school, and so on. Sara, I believe I'll go up-stairs and lie down till supper's ready—I'm just about tuckered out!"
"Humph! Do you callthatgood English, Morton?"
"Well, it's just what I am, if it ain't fine talk," yawning loudly, and before she could correct him again, the urchin made a grimace of defiance, and fled up the stairs to his bed in the loft.
The announcement of that supper "fit for a king" brought him down good as new in an hour's time, and I think few royal personages ever enjoyed a meal more, for "hunger is the best sauce" now as ever.
The next morning the three from Miss Zeba's arrived, quite curious over this orphaned family the madame had talked so much about.
As for young Mr. Glendenning, ever since Morton's description of his sister, which instantly recalled to his memory a blushing, beautiful face, and a hand outstretched for the gingham bonnet in his own, he had been secretly wondering in what way he could make his surmises certainties, without ungentlemanly intrusion; so you may be sure he had no better business in hand when his aunt proposed the call, while her husband would go miles any day to view a really fine specimen.
Molly, in the doorway, painfully enchained just then to her stocking- darning, first sighted the trio, and announced in an excited whisper:—
"They're coming, Sara, they're coming! Have you got the baby washed, and the braided rug over the broken board in the floor?"
Both these important ceremonies having been attended to, she seated herself once more, with an attempt at composure, though every line of her speaking face was alert with anticipation.
"Ah!" said the madame, eying her from the road, "that must be the girl- twin,—Molly they do call her. What achiclittle face it is! Do look with what an air she will make as if she does not see us; it ees inimiteeble!"
They turned into the little gate, much amused, and she finally looked up, with such an assumption of astonishment they could scarcely keep from laughing outright; then sprang to her feet, and made a twinkling little bow, which set the young man's eyes to dancing, and entirely captivated madame, at which Sara appeared in the doorway, with her fine Greek head, and rare smile, to give them greeting. Then Morton turned from the fish-lines he was straightening, and looked his honest, quiet pleasure, as different in manner from his twin-sister as a staid, slow proud-stepping heron is different from a flitting, fluttering, flame- winged oriole.
After madame's introductions, which were hardly necessary, as both gentlemen at once recognized Sara (the younger one with an acceleration of his heart-beats which rather surprised himself), the professor became at once immersed in the mineralogical specimens, with Sara to answer his questions.
His nephew plunged into an animated talk with Morton about blue-fishing, and the blond lady divided her attentions between Molly and the baby, whose merry little outbursts soon won the two would-be fishermen from their discussion. Molly was just then giving an account of her school- teacher, talking like a little steam-engine, all dimples, gestures, and tossing curls.
"Why, he isn't anywhere near as good as Sara in books, and you can tangle him up just like a salmon-line!" she cried. "It's lots of fun to see him when we all get to asking questions faster'n he can think; but then, he's awful good about the claws!"
"The what?" asked Glendenning. "Why, you see, when we girls catch a lobster we always keep the claws in our desk, to pass around and suck with our bread at lunch (don't you like lobster-claws? They're splendid!), and he don't mind if we sometimes take 'em out in school- hours. He says fish is good to make more brains, which we need, and when our mouths are full we can't be buzzing! We never had one so nice about that before."
"How wise this modern Aristotle must be!" the young man broke in amid the laughter. "But I doubt if even a lobster-claw could keep you still!"
The little maid gave him a shy glance, containing more of coquetry than her sister would ever know.
"I'm pretty still in church," she said, "that is, if 'tisn'ttoolong. Do you think it's very bad to just look 'round at the clock sometimes? Our church clock's right under the gallery scats, behind us, and it goes the slowest of any I ever saw! Sometimes, when I've waited 'most an hour before I looked 'round, it won't be five minutes by that clock! Miss Prue Plunkett's my Sunday-school teacher; and one Sunday when I had a cold, and my neck was so stiff I couldn't move, she said it didn't better those old Jews any to be a stiff-necked race, but it certainly did me. Sometimes Miss Prue talks so't I can't understand just what she means; but Sara likes her first-rate, and so do I too, most generally."
"Molly!" came admonishingly from the corner where the shelves were, "I'm afraid you're talking too much." "Yes, she is, Sara," put in Morton earnestly. "She's justrattling!"
The madame leaned back, laughing in keenest enjoyment.
"I had forgotten how delightful it is that children may be in a state of nature," she said. "Ah, Robare, how can we go back to those doll-childs at the hotel, with their so fine costumes, and so of-this-world-weary airs, now? You have no doll-houses, my infants, no fine toys that move by the machine-work within, no bicycles, no anything for play; what, then, does amuse you all the day's length in this most sleepy town?"
The children stared at her with round, puzzled eyes.
What did they find to amuse them? With the cliffs, and the sand, and sea, and the nice little lobster and clam basins they knew about; and the countless shells for dishes, and fish-scales for jewellery, and kelp for carpets, and dulse and feathery sea-fern for decorations.
"Dear me!" cried Molly, "there's things enough; all we want istime. Here I've wasted a whole morning darning stockings and talking to you!"
The outburst that followed thisnaiveconfession brought uneasy Sara to her sister's side; and with a hand on one of those restless, twitching little shoulders, she managed to keep her respectably quiet through the rest of the call.
As the guests went down the village street it was funny to hear their comments.
"It ees a most fine collection, all varieties and classified most orderly," observed the professor, intent on the minerals.
"Such specimens! And impossible to keep in order!" broke out the young man, meaning something entirely different. "But the oldest is a rare one, and"—
"Ze oldest? Yes, but there be some vich are mos' rare of dose later ones, too. But"—
"The little feather head!" laughed madame out of her thought, oblivious of what had gone before, "butjolieand bright"—
"Zat so bright on, it ees no feddar-head, Felicie; you mistake. That was the rusty, dull"—
"Rusty! Dull! That so brilliant bird of a child! what mean you, Leon?"
"Child? Who say child?" dazedly.
"Oh, stop, stop!" interposed their nephew, raising both hands, "don't have a family jar over nothing. Uncle's on geology, and auntie on babies; don't you see?" and the discussion ended good-naturedly in a laugh all around.
They came every day after that, during their lengthened stay of a week, and often the professor would press Sara into service to direct him in his search for treasures, while madame stayed with Molly and baby; and Morton took many a delightful sail in the yacht with Mr. Glendenning after bluefish or salmon.
Those were happy, plentiful days in the little cottage, for fresh fish or game was almost constantly on their table, while the overplus, sold to their richer friends, kept baby in milk, and all in necessary supplies.
Besides, madame's quick eyes soon penetrated into the real poverty behind the hospitable, self-respecting air of the little household, and she managed in many delicate ways to assist them.
Feeling instinctively that there must be no hint of remuneration to Sara for her really valuable services as guide to her husband, she struck up a trade in wild-flowers, delicate algae, and shells with Molly, buying all that the child could bring her (and the little girl was famous for these findings), afterwards teaching her to mount them in exquisite designs on Bristol-board for possible future customers.
Morton, too, was paid a liberal percentage on fishing-tackle, etc., so that among them all the wolf was kept decidedly at bay, and Sara felt every night like adding a special thanksgiving to her prayers, because she was not forced to ask a loan of Squire Scrantoun.
Meanwhile, she was learning to systemize her time so as to make the most of it, and, given a fresh impetus in her studies by this new companionship, spent the days so busily she scarcely had time, till night laid her on her pillow, to wonder where father might be, and when he would return.
So far, with the exception of the storm which had proven so fatal to her mother, the season had been quite free from gales, or "breezes" as the fishermen call them; for with these hardy people a good-sized tornado is only a "stiffish breeze" usually.
But when these new, delightful friends went away, it seemed as if everything changed. Dull, foggy days, with fitful gusts, succeeded to the lovely month just gone, and the skies were leaden and threatening.
Then, too, little by little, the wolf began creeping towards their door, for Sara, in the large liberality of her nature, did not well know how to deny the eager wants of the children, so long as she had any means to gratify them; and was not so wise in hoarding against a rainy day as an older head might have been.
Still further, to add to her gloom, baby had a slight attack of measles, over which she worried more than was necessary; and, altogether, August was for her a blue month, with only two bright spots to recall.
One of these was when Morton, red and exultant, came lugging home a mammoth express package, with Molly, fish-knife in hand, dancing about him like some crazy Apache squaw about a war-captive, though she was only impatient to cut the cord.
When her wish was finally gratified, Sara's delighted eyes beheld two volumes she had long been wishing for, and a pretty dress-pattern; Morton's caught sight of some tackle that fairly electrified him, with a suit of clothes better than he had ever owned before; Molly's darted with lightning speed to a neat jacket and hat, also a handsome herbarium book for her algae; while baby set up a squeal of joy at sight of some novel toys and picture-books, leaving Sara to the full appreciation of a dainty infant outfit below.
Of course these most acceptable gifts were from the Grandet party,—now in Boston,—who had proven themselves thus more constant than most "summer friends," and generous almost beyond belief, as Sara thought.
The other red-letter day was one when the whole family was invited to tea at Miss Prue's. They went early, as was the fashion in Killamet, Morton stiff and conscious in his new suit, and baby filled with undisguised admiration for his own new shoes, while both girls looked so unusually "dressed-up" in their Boston finery, that Miss Prue naturally concluded good Reuben Olmstead must have left his family well provided for during his absence, and had not the slightest idea how closely pressed they were for actual money.
They had been seated but a few moments, Morton gravely staring at the dragon-china with meekly folded hands, Molly tilted on the edge of her chair like a bird about to fly, and the baby on Sara's lap wide-eyed and inquiring, when Polly thought the quiet was growing oppressive, and broke out,—
"Pretty Poll! Pretty Poll! How d'ye do? Oh, you fools!" At which Molly ran over in a rippling little giggle, so infectious that every one had to join in.
Miss Prue turned to her with an indulgent smile.
"Bless her heart! It would be dull here if 'tweren't for Polly, wouldn't it? Let's see, I've a new game somewhere, from Boston; it's bits of rhyme and scraps of knowledge, I believe; I never played it, but perhaps you and Morton can make it out," and soon the two were seated, bending over a light stand, quite happy for the nonce.
Meanwhile, baby was so impressed with the dignity and solemnity of the occasion that he kept his round eyes fixed unwinkingly upon the parrot (who occasionally addressed a remark to him), until the weary lids closed, and he dropped his sleepy little head over against Sara's shoulder.
Then she and Miss Prue had a long, delightsome talk, in which she told her good friend all about the Grandet party, the order of the King's Daughters, those beautiful, impressive books of Hale's, and something— not a great deal, for Sara was naturally reticent of her inner life—of the hopes and longings kindled by them in her soul.
As the kind old maid watched her noble, expressive face, and noted the clinging little figure in her arms, she sighed, wondering,—
"Is here to be another life-long sacrifice? Are these sparkling, youthful hopes to settle down into the dull, smouldering fires of duty— a fire which will always boil the domestic kettle, and warm the family hearth, but never be a beacon-light on the hill of effort, to help the world onward?" Then she checked herself. "Is any life well lived, however humble, quite lost to the world? And does not God know better than I where to put her?" and thus ending her reflections, she turned with a brighter look to say,
"My dear, don't letanythingdiscourage you from carrying out your views! I believe this life of ours is like a flight of steps leading to a throne. When we have performed all that is required of us on the first step, we must go on and up But sometimes, alas! we will not do what we should, and have to be ordered back. Then how painfully slow seems the climb to our former position! But, if we can only always hear that 'Come up higher,' and keep steadily on, slowly it may be, so slowly the steps seem but an inch high, we will surely reach the throne in time—or in eternity."
Sara's luminous eyes rested intently on her face.
"The steps may not all be beautiful or easy," she breathed.
"No, nor will be, my dear. There is a little book of essays I have, and one is called 'The Gospel of Drudgery;' I want you to read it."
Miss Plunkett rose and stepped to the book-case on the opposite side of the room, being enjoined, sleepily, by Mistress Polly meanwhile, to "Come again, and don't be long!" When old Hester appeared in the doorway, to bob a courtesy, and announce,—
"Tea is served, Miss Prue."
Hester was a character in Killamet, and must be described.
She was a pure-blooded African of Guinea, who, when a wee child, was rescued from a slave-trader by Captain Plunkett, Miss Prue's father.
The poor little black baby's mother had died during the cruel march to the coast, and the little creature, become almost a skeleton, and looking more like a baby chimpanzee than anything human, was made a pet of by the crew on the homeward voyage, growing fat and saucy daily, so that when the captain presented her to his daughter, then an infant of two years, she was as cunning a specimen of a negro baby as one often sees.
Instantly the fair little Prudence took a great fancy to her, thinking her, doubtless, some new queer kind of doll; and from that time the two were almost inseparable companions.
The little stranger was soon given free papers, formally adopted, and baptized under the Christian name of Hester Plunkett; and from her twenty-first birthday had always received wages for her services.
Her love for the family, especially Miss Prue, almost the only survivor of this especial branch, was simply unbounded; and nothing could have tempted her to leave the latter.
Even as she made the simple announcement, her great, soft black eyes rested lovingly on her friend and mistress, then turned, with a smiling welcome, upon the children.
"I'll tend the baby ef he wakes, Miss Sairay; let me lay him down now," she said, lifting him with her powerful black hands; "he likes his old Aunt Hester!" and she nestled him against her broad bosom, and bent her stately white-turbaned head caressingly over him.
Molly, who was always fascinated by her, watched every movement, her eyes dancing, and her checks dimpling with some inner thought.
"Come, what are you sparkling over now?" cried Miss Prue, taking the child's hand to lead her to the dining-room. "I know you've an idea in that little brain of yours, because it's almost ready to jump out of your eye-windows!" Molly gave a little hop—she seldom walked—and caught the aged hand in both of hers. "I'll tell you, Miss Plunkett, but you musn't tell anybody, will you?"
"I'll try to keep it a secret, Molly."
"Well, what do you s'pose Hester looks like?"
"Now, Molly! You wouldn't make fun of good old Hester, would you?"
"But I'm not making fun, Miss Prue, indeed and indeedy I'm not, only shedoes!"
"Well, like what, Molly?"
By this time they had reached the dining-room, and Molly drew her behind its door, to whisper mysteriously,—
"She looks just like Rocky Point when there's a high wind. Then the rock stands up there black and big and square, just as Hester does; and her muslin turban is the spray up over the top of it, don't you see?"
Miss Prue nodded comprehensively, for the resemblance of the tall, straight negress to that bold headland was something she could recognize herself, now it was brought to her notice.
"I think you're right, dear; but come, our supper is waiting. Pray excuse me, Sara, for keeping you and Morton standing here; this little lady-bird and I have been exchanging confidences behind the door!"
What a supper it was! Well worth waiting for, Morton thought, for the queer foreign-spiced preserves and the hot pickles (which made Molly wink tearful eyes rapidly, and say, "No more, thank you, ma'am!" with great promptness) were all there; besides dainty cakes, such as only Hester could make, and tea that was to the common beverage as nectar to vinegar.
Once Molly paused, inspecting a small cream-cake in her hand with a grave air.
"What is it, dear? What are you thinking?" asked Miss Prue, to whom the child was always a whole page of fun and epigram.
"I was thinking, ma'am, how does this froth get inside the cake?"
"Molly, Molly! You are too curious," said her sister.
But now an idea suddenly struck the child, rippling and dimpling over her bright face like a breeze over a little lake.
"Oh, I know!" she cried, "I know! You just churn the cream, and then pour the dough around it, of course!" which lucid explanation seemed perfectly satisfactory to herself at any rate.
All the stiffness of that first half-hour was now gone, and the rest of the stay was one riotous frolic, in which baby Ned, sweetened by a long nap and a good supper in Sara's arms, joined merrily; and, as Miss Prue watched the little party leave her gate in the late dusk, it was through misty eyes, for she could not help thinking of the home she might have known, had not the sea claimed her husband for its own.
After this happy day came a few that were anxious enough to poor Sara; for the little hoard was getting fearfully low, and now, too, the provisions were nearly gone.
"I'm afraid, Morton," she said one morning, "if we don't hear something from father this week, I'll have to borrow of Squire Scrantoun."
Molly's nose went up.
"I don't like him; he's a scowly man! Let's borrow of Uncle Adam or MissPrue."
"But old Adam Standish is nearly as poor as we, Molly."
"No, he ain't," with a toss of her head; "he's got a heap of money! He keeps it in an old shot-bag, and I've seen it myself; he's got—well, as much as five dollars, I do believe!"
As this magnificent sum did not impress Sara so much as it should, the child concluded to drop finances for a while and attend to baby, who was busily engaged just then in pulling straws out of the broom, a loss the well-used article could ill afford.
Sara stepped past the two at their frolic and looked out of the open door.
It was a glorious morning, the air washed clean by a thunder-storm during the night, and the sea still white-capped from its violence.
As she was watching with admiration its turbulent beauty, Morton, who had come to her side, burst out,—
"Why, Sara, look in the offing, isn't that the Seagull at anchor? Why, it is, it must be! Then Jap Norris is here, and can tell us about father!"
"Are you sure, Morton? I can't make her out from here.'
"Well, I can! I know the old Sea-gull like a book; and look! look, Sara, if that isn't Jap this minute coming down the street!"
Sara looked, recognizing the straight young figure at once, and turned back to her brother with a quick pang of foreboding that slightly paled her sweet face.
"Morton," she said huskily, "he brings us news of father!"