ANDY AND THE MERMAID
Tippy did not go to the beach that afternoon, but Sally and Alice did.
And no sooner were their shoes and stockings taken off and they were
comfortably settled in a pleasant place to dig, than along came Andy,
with such a happy, smiling face that it made Sally and Alice smile,
too, only to look at him.
No wonder Andy was happy, for not only did he carry a gay blue pail and
shovel, but in his arms he bore a sail-boat, a brand-new sail-boat,
fresh from Captain Ball’s shop not half an hour ago.
‘I am late,’ said Andy, smiling the broadest kind of a smile. ‘I am
late because we went to a funny little shop to buy my boat. Isn’t she a
beauty? Did you ever see a boat like her before?’
‘She came from Captain Ball’s, didn’t she?’ asked Sally. ‘I know she
did.’
While Alice, not waiting for Andy’s nod, spoke up.
‘My doll, Jack Tar, came from Captain Ball’s, too.’
‘Isn’t she a beauty?’ asked Andy again. ‘Here is her name, painted on
the side, just like a real boat. “The Mermaid” she is called, and I
know what a mermaid is, too. Mother told me.’
‘So do I,’ said Sally proudly. ‘They are little girls and their mothers
who live under the ocean, and they have tails like fish. They swim and
dive and play in the water all day long.’
‘They are very pretty, too,’ added Andy. ‘Mother said so. They wear
necklaces of shells and coral, and they have long hair twined with
seaweed. Their eyes are green like the sea, and their arms are very
white.’
‘Did you ever see a mermaid?’ asked Alice. ‘Do they ever come out of
the sea?’
Sally shook her head doubtfully.
‘I never saw one,’ she admitted, ‘but perhaps Father has. He has seen
everything. And I don’t think mermaids ever come out of the water,
because fish never do, if they can help it, and mermaids have tails
like fish.’
This satisfied Alice, but Andy had a question to ask.
‘Aren’t there any little boy mermaids like me?’ asked Andy.
‘There are men,’ said Sally, ‘mermen, you call them, but nobody seems
to think much about them. Let’s sail your boat, Andy. Have you a
string?’
Indeed, Andy had a string, a long one, tied to the bow of ‘The
Mermaid,’ and presently the children were running up and down the
beach, the gay little boat sailing bravely along, dipping and bobbing
about in the waves for all the world like the big boats anchored near
by.
‘The Mermaid’ was a bright little red-and-white sail-boat, with her
name standing out strongly in green. The Captain liked gay colors,
you see, and so did the little boys who bought his boats. Andy was
sure that he had never seen a prettier sight than his little sail-boat
dancing on the waves, and he sat alone near the edge of the water
letting ‘The Mermaid’ drift in and out long after the little girls had
gone back to their sand-digging farther up the beach.
But Andy knew how to dig fully as well as he knew how to sail a boat.
He flourished his blue shovel and fell to work with a will when he
joined Sally and Alice, who sat cool and comfortable in the shade of
the great lighthouse, that towered up and up into the air high above
their heads.
They heaped sand piles, they dug deep holes, they built a fort. They
made pies and cakes and loaves of bread, enough to stock a bake-shop.
‘We ought to have more brown bread,’ said Alice, who found that by
packing her pail with sand and turning it upside-down she made as nice
a loaf of bread as could be bought in Boston town.
‘I will make cakes,’ decided Sally, ‘because I like to mark them with
a shell. When we have made one more row we will call your mother and
Andy’s mother and my mother to come and buy. Shall we?’
‘Yes,’ agreed Alice, beating on the bottom of her pail and turning out
a fresh loaf of brown bread with pride.
But Andy shook his head.
‘I’m tired of working,’ said Andy. ‘I want to sail my boat again.’
So off went Andy to launch ‘The Mermaid’ once more, and this time he
ran with her far, far up the beach.
The waves came rolling in, and Andy laughed and dodged the spray. The
white sails of ‘The Mermaid’ sparkled in the sunlight and the gay
red-and-white hull twinkled in and out among the tumbling waves. It was
all so pleasant. The sand was smooth and hard. It felt cool to Andy’s
bare pink toes. He ran faster and faster and behind him on her string
danced ‘The Mermaid.’
Faster, faster, faster ran Andy, and then suddenly, bump! went his toe
against a great round pebble, out of his hand jerked the string, and
down went Andy on his hands and knees.
He was up in a minute. Of course he didn’t cry. But, oh! oh! out on the
waves sailed the beautiful ‘Mermaid,’ her long string streaming behind
her in the wind.
‘My boat! My boat!’ shouted Andy, and started into the water after his
ship.
But the waves rolled in so high and so fast that he ran back on the
beach.
‘Come back! Come back!’ he called, dancing up and down and waving his
arms about. ‘Come back, “Mermaid,” come back!’
It seemed for a moment as if ‘The Mermaid’ had heard Andy’s frantic
call. A great wave bore her nearer and nearer the shore. But just as
Andy ran forward, his hand outstretched to grasp the string, back
rolled the great wave carrying ‘The Mermaid’ with it out of reach.
Poor Andy! His eyes grew large with dismay as ‘The Mermaid’ slowly
drifted farther and farther from the shore. She looked so tiny, a gay
little red-and-white dot bobbing about on the sunny sea.
A lump came into Andy’s throat. He stamped his foot, but he did not cry.
Farther and farther away floated ‘The Mermaid.’ Now a wave would hide
her from sight, now she would rise, gleaming red-and-white, only to
sink from view again.
‘Good-bye,’ called Andy, the lump in his throat so big he could
scarcely speak. ‘Good-bye, “Mermaid,” good-bye.’
And, then, I almost think Andy would have cried if, quite unexpectedly,
out of the green waves, there had not risen a snow-white arm, that
caught the dancing little ship and held it firmly by the string.
Andy stared and blinked and stared again.
Yes, it was a snow-white arm--he was not dreaming--and it held ‘The
Mermaid’ fast. And the snow-white arm belonged to some one dressed in
green, who no sooner caught sight of Andy standing on the beach than,
stroke by stroke, she came swimming slowly toward him.
Where had she come from? Who could she be?
Then, in a flash, Andy knew.
It was a Mermaid, a kind, thoughtful Mermaid, rising from her home
under the sea to bring back his little ship to him again.
Nearer swam the Mermaid, stroke by stroke. Nearer danced the little
boat, growing more beautiful, more red-and-white-and-green with every
wave. And brighter grew Andy’s face until, when he and the Mermaid
were near enough to look into one another’s eyes, Andy wore a smile as
bright as the glowing sun that shone above them in the sky.
When the Mermaid saw Andy’s smile, she smiled, too--a lovely smile,
Andy thought--and waved a white hand to him in greeting.
She was now so near shore that she was halfway out of the water, and
Andy could see that she was a green Mermaid, just the color a mermaid
should be, of course, with a little green cap that fitted tightly over
her head. Andy didn’t notice whether or not she wore a string of shells
about her neck, and of course he couldn’t see her tail because she was
in the water up to her waist.
‘Is this your boat, little boy?’ called the Mermaid.
She had a sweet voice, as soft as the rush of waves on the shore in the
early morning, and when she shook the water from her eyes it fell all
round about in silver drops as water would do for no one but a mermaid,
Andy felt sure.
‘Yes, it is my boat,’ answered Andy, finding his voice at last. ‘I fell
down and dropped the string and she floated away.’
‘I thought it was yours,’ said the Mermaid. ‘She is a beautiful boat.’
And with a strong push the Mermaid sent the little boat sailing toward
Andy and up on the beach at his feet.
She waited until Andy held the boat in his arms. Then with a farewell
smile the Mermaid turned and swam swiftly away.
‘Thank you,’ called Andy, remembering his manners, ‘thank you, Mermaid.’
A wave from a white, white hand was his only answer, and in a moment
the little green cap was lost to Andy’s sight in the moving green water.
‘She has gone down home to tell the little mermaids about it,’ thought
he. ‘I must go and tell Mother and Sally and all of them about it, too.’
Sally and Alice, surrounded by loaves of Boston brown bread, by pies
and cakes, were slowly putting on their shoes and stockings when Andy,
hot and out of breath, came running toward them.
‘Oh! Oh!’ gasped Andy, sitting down hard upon the sand. ‘I have seen a
mermaid. She saved my boat.’
That was the way Andy began his story.
And when he had finished he said it over again.
‘I have seen a mermaid, all but her tail,’ said Andy.
‘Oh, I do wish I could have seen her tail,’ said he.