Produced by Marilynda Fraser-Cunliffe and the Online
Distributed Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This
file was made using scans of public domain works in the
International Children's Digital Library.)
CHARLIE SCOTT;
OR,
THERE'S TIME ENOUGH.
THE RELIGIOUS TRACT SOCIETY,
56, PATERNOSTER ROW; 65, ST. PAUL'S CHURCHYARD, AND 164, PICCADILLY.
* * * * *
[Illustration: CHARLIE RESCUED.]
CHAPTER I.
A SHIP AT LAST.
"This has been a hard month for me," thought Morley Scott, the pilot, as
he stood shading his eyes from the sun, and gazing anxiously out at sea.
He hoped to have caught a glimpse of ships in the distance, for the
winds had been very contrary lately. Many ships had been obliged to pass
by the harbour, unable to get in, and the pilots had found very little
to do.
"That looks well," he thought, brightening up, as he saw a busy little
steam-tug puffing along with a ship in tow; he knew a pilot would soon
be wanted to bring it safely into the docks. He had not stood many
minutes, trying to make out the ship, when he heard his name called, and
turning round, he saw a boy running towards him.
"Here's the _Refuge_ at last, Morley Scott," said the boy; "they want
you on board directly, because they are coming in to-night."
Morley Scott put his hand in his pocket, and gave the lad the customary
sixpence for his good tidings. "It's almost the last," he said with a
smile, pointing to the sixpence; "but still the news is cheap at that."
"I should think it is," said the boy, as he ran off laughing.
Morley Scott walked quickly along the pier until he came up to a row of
boys, who were sitting on the edge of the wall, fishing. He stood for a
moment to watch them with an expression of amusement in his good-natured
face. They sat perfectly still, afraid to speak or move, and scarcely
daring to breathe, lest they should frighten away the fish; each boy
watching his own and his neighbour's line with feverish anxiety.
Suddenly one little fellow, in a state of great excitement, began
tugging at his line.
"Now then, Charlie Scott," called a big boy, who seemed to be the head
of the party, "what are you pulling in that line for again? That is the
third time in less than ten minutes; how is it likely we can catch
anything?"
All the boys joined in a low chorus of "Yes, indeed!" "A pretty fellow
he is to fish!" "Serves us right for letting him come with us." The fact
was, the boys had been very unsuccessful that afternoon; they had taken
nothing, and it was a relief to have some one to lay the blame upon.
"I am sure there's something this time, though," said Charlie, still
pulling away. His manner was so confident, that the boys became
interested in spite of themselves, and several nearly lost their
balance, craning out their necks to see beyond each other.
At last up came the hook, with a jerk that sent Charlie backwards; it
had been entangled in a large piece of seaweed, that gave way suddenly
just as he got it to the surface. "It's very strange," he said, as he
examined the hook minutely, longing to find something alive, no matter
how small. "It's very strange; I'm always feeling something, and yet I
never catch anything."
"I tell you what it is, young Scott, if you don't mind what you're
about, you'll both feel something and catch something soon that you
won't like, perhaps," grumbled the big boy.
"Here, Charlie," called Morley Scott, seeing there was likely to be a
quarrel, "I want you to run on an errand for me."
Charlie looked round, and seeing his father, he jumped up readily. To
tell the truth, he was not sorry of the excuse to give up his fishing;
he had been thoroughly tired of it for the last quarter of an hour,
although he did not like to own it to the other boys. He was a bright,
happy-looking little fellow, about eight years of age, with light,
waving hair, merry blue eyes, and sunburnt face.
"What is it, father?" he asked.
"I want you to run and find uncle John; tell him that the _Refuge_ is
lying off at sea, waiting for us. Ask him to come with you, because they
want to be into the docks to-night."
Away ran Charlie with his message, and soon returned with uncle John.
All three then made their way to the docks, where a number of small
boats were moored.
"Do take me with you, father," pleaded Charlie, as the two men jumped
into one of the boats and prepared to push off.
"No, no, Charlie, not this time," said his father; "remember you have
your lessons to learn; besides, I dare say you have not had your tea."
"Oh, I can learn my lessons when I come back, and I've got a large bun
here," he said, lifting up his jacket to show it; "uncle John bought it
for me as we came along. Please do let me go, it's so miserable now,
when you are away; I never like to go home, Mrs. Wood is so cross."
"Well, jump in then," said his father, with a sigh; he knew how the boy
missed his kind, gentle mother. She had been dead nearly six months, and
since then Charlie and he seemed to have been without a home. When his
wife died Morley Scott scarcely knew what to do for the best. He had no
relation who could take charge of Charlie and of his house, so he
thought it would be best to sell his furniture and go to lodgings. It
seems he had not been very fortunate in his choice, for according to
Charlie's account Mrs. Wood, the landlady, was often ill-tempered.
The two men took their oars, and began to pull in the direction of the
ship that was lying out some distance from the harbour. Charlie had
found himself a snug little corner in the stern of the boat, and was
enjoying himself thoroughly in a quiet way, catching at the bits of
floating seaweed and chips, spreading his fingers out like the arches
of a miniature bridge, and letting the water rush through them,
occasionally munching at his huge bun by way of variation.
For a wonder Charlie's busy tongue was still; he saw by his father's
countenance that he was not in a mood for talking. It wore a troubled,
saddened expression; he was living over the old sorrow that Charlie's
words had called up. His uncle, too, seemed in deep thought, and rowed
on in silence; although they were unconscious of it, perhaps, there is
no doubt that all three felt the influence of that beautiful calm summer
evening.
The rich hues of the setting sun were gradually fading out from the sky,
yet wonderful shades of crimson, rose colour, and gold, still lingered
lovingly amongst the clouds, and rested upon the waters. All the bustle
of the town had been left far behind; there was nothing to break the
silence but the measured plash of the oars, and the soft rippling and
murmuring of the water as the little boat rode lightly over the waves.
As Charlie gazed up at the glorious sky, he began to wonder where the
sun went to every night, and how it was that there were always such
lovely colours in the sky just where it disappeared; at last he came to
the conclusion that the sun went into heaven, and that beautiful golden
and rose-coloured light streamed out when the door was opened.
Charlie liked this idea so much, that he was quite disappointed when he
learned afterwards that it was not the case.
"What a grand place heaven must be!" thought Charlie, remembering what
he had heard at Sunday school. "How splendid God's angels must look,
floating about in that beautiful light, with their white robes and
crowns of gold!" Charlie went on thinking and thinking much in the same
strain, until at last the ship was neared.
Morley Scott brought in his oars with a sudden movement, and springing
up in the boat, hailed the ship, "_Refuge_ ahoy!"