"Mother," said Ruth one day to her dignified parent, "shall you be soon
free of engagements?"
"Yes, probably by the end of next week. Why do you ask?"
"Because I am longing to get away to Yarmouth. I had a letter from dear
Kate Seaward to-day. They have been a week in their lodging now, and
are enjoying it immensely. Here is the letter. Let me read a bit of it
to you. She says: `You have no idea how much we are charmed with this
place. It is a perfect paradise! Perhaps part of our feeling of
delight is due to the great change from our smoky little residence in
London, but you would not wonder at my enthusiasm if you saw the sweet
little window beside which I am writing, and the splendid sea--like a
great field of clear glass, which spreads away on all sides to the
horizon. Oh! I do love the sea--to look at, I mean. You must not
suppose, dear, that I have any love left when I am _on_ it. Oh no! The
memory of my last crossing of the Channel--that dreadful British
Channel--is as fresh as if it had happened yesterday--the heaving of the
steamer and the howling of the wind, the staggering of the passengers,
and the expression of their faces, to say nothing of their colour. And
then the sensations! Appalling is a mild word. It is not appropriate.
If I might coin a word, horrific seems more suitable. But words utterly
fail when deep and powerful sensations are concerned. I do assure you,
Ruth, that I was absolutely indifferent as to what should become of me
that dreadful day as I lay extended flat on my back on one of the saloon
sofas. And when that nurse with the baby was forced by a lurch of the
ship to sit down on me, I do believe that I could have thanked her if
she had crushed me out of existence. Yes, I hate the sea as a place of
residence, but I love it as an object to be looked at, especially when
it is calm and glittering, as it now is, in the early morning sun.
"Talking of the early morning reminds me of good Captain Bream, who is
one of the most singular and incomprehensible creatures I ever met with.
He is an early riser--not that that makes him singular--but instead of
going out to walk he remains up in his pigeon-hole of a room studying
theology! And such a miscellaneous collection of books he has got on
all sorts of religious controversy! He say he wants to be able to meet
the objections of unbelievers whom he sometimes encounters when
preaching to sailors. Jessie and I have heard him preach to a number of
sailors and fishermen assembled in an old boat-shed, and you have no
idea, Ruth, how delightful it is to hear him. _So_ different from what
one expected, and so very unlike the preaching of many men. I have
often wondered why it is that some men--sensible men, too, in other
matters--should think it necessary to talk in a sing-song, or whiny
voice, with a pathetic drawl, or through their noses, when they have to
speak on religious subjects! I once heard an indignant clergyman say
that he thought it was a device of the devil to turn sacred things into
ridicule, but I cannot agree with that. It seems to me that men are
often too ready to saddle Satan with evil devices which they ought to
fix on their own stupid shoulders. Captain Bream simply _talks_ when he
preaches; just as if he were talking on any business matter of great
importance, and he does it so nicely, too, and so earnestly, like a
father talking to his children. Many of the rough-looking fishermen
were quite melted, and after the meeting a good many of them remained
behind to talk with him privately. Jessie and I are convinced that he
is doing a great and good work here. But he is a most eccentric man,
and seems a good deal perplexed by his theological studies. The other
day Jessie ventured to question him about these, and he became quite
energetic as he said:--
"`I tell 'ee what it is, ladies, when I go cruisin' out and in among
these theological volumes until I lose my reckoning altogether an' git
among shoals an' quicksands that I never so much as heard of before, I
just lay hold o' the cable that's made fast to my sheet-anchor, and I
haul in on that. Here is the sheet-anchor, he said, pulling his little
Bible from his pocket, the Word of God. That's it. When I feel how
ignorant an' stoopid an' unlearned I am, I just keep haulin' on the
cable till I come to some such word as this, "Not by might, nor by
power, but by my Spirit, saith the Lord," an' so I'm comforted, an' my
mind's made easy, for, after all we may think and say and read, it
_must_ come to this--"Let every man be fully persuaded in his own mind."
Every man must work out his own theology for himself, accordin' to that
Word, and I've worked it out so far by God's blessin', that Jesus
Christ--the God--man--is my foundation, the Holy Spirit is my guide, and
salvation from sin is my aim and end--not only for myself but for my
fellow-sinners.
"`But I must not go on quoting the Captain's sayings and eccentric
doings, else I shall never stop.
"`When are you and your mother coming down? I cannot tell how much we
long to have you with us to share in our enjoyment of this charming
place. And the fisher-people are so interesting too. I don't wonder
you took such a fancy to them. Of course we have not had time to make
acquaintance with many of them yet. And Jessie has become so engrossed
with the Captain's theological books that I can't tear her away from
them. At first she began to inspect their contents with a view to
tabulate them and help the captain, but she gets so deep in them that
she forgets time altogether, and I have often found her, after having
been several hours in the library, sitting there poring over a huge
volume without having made a single note or jotting! The captain is
quite facetious about it, and said yesterday that if she didn't work a
little harder he'd have to dismiss her from the service an' ship a new
hand. Then he dragged us both out for a long walk on the beach. We
cannot resist him. Nobody can. And _such_ cream as we have!--more like
thin butter than cream. And such quantities of it too, for he declares
he is very fond of it, and must always have plenty on hand. But I
cannot help thinking it is for our sakes he has it, for although he
talks much about it and makes great demonstration and noise when he
drinks it, he does not really consume much--and you know it must be
drunk by somebody, else it would spoil. Oh! we are having, as the
captain himself says, a remarkably jolly time of it here, and only want
you to make our happiness complete. But with all his fun and energy and
cheerfulness, I cannot avoid noticing that dear Captain Bream is
frequently very pensive and absent. I cannot help thinking sometimes
that he is the victim of some secret sorrow.'"
At this point Ruth looked up in her mother's face and burst into a fit
of hilarious laughter.
"Only think, mother," she said, "of great big, stout, jolly old Captain
Bream having a secret sorrow!"
"My dear," said Mrs Dotropy in a reproachful tone, "you are too
flippant in your references to stout old people. You should remember
that even the stoutest of them may once have been thin. And it is not
impossible that Captain Bream may still be suffering from unrequited
affection, or--"
Again Ruth burst into silvery laughter, but checked it and apologised.
"I can't help it mother. It does seem so funny to think of Captain
Bream having ever been thin, or with hair on his head, or suffering from
disappointed love. I wonder that it does not occur to Kate that the
good man is perhaps suffering because of the sorrows of others. It
would be much more like his generous and unselfish nature. But now,
mother, may I write to Kate and tell her to expect us next week?"
"Yes, I think you may. But why are you in such haste, child?"
"Because I'm burning to clear up that little mystery that I told you
of--if indeed it is a mystery, and not a mere fancy."
Ruth sighed as if her spirit were slightly troubled. "Really, child,
you have quite raised my curiosity about that mystery as you call it.
Why will you not confide in me?"
"Because I may be all wrong, and when I find out that I'm right--if I
find out that I'm right--then you shall know all about it."
"And there's that chest, too, that the captain sent here for us to take
care of when he left town," continued Mrs Dotropy, "you make quite a
mystery about that too, for I see that you know something about it. If
I had not perfect confidence in your heart, child, I should feel quite
anxious, for it is the first time in your life that you have concealed
anything from me."
"Thank you, mother, for trusting my heart," said Ruth, putting an arm
round the dignified lady's neck and kissing her.
"That's all very well, Ruth, but I do not put so much trust in your
head."
"I'm sorry for that, Mother, but meantime my head says that while it
would be wrong in me to keep any secret about myself from you, I have no
right to reveal the secrets of others. But about this chest--has the
banker sent for it yet?"
"No, not yet but I expect some one from the bank every minute, (she
consulted a small jewelled watch), and it is probable that our young
friend Mr Dalton himself may come."
"Mr Dalton!" exclaimed Ruth, with a sudden flush that might have
indicated pleasure or annoyance. Mrs Dotropy, however, did not observe
the flush, but continued--
"The chest seems miraculously heavy. I told James to put it into the
store-room, but he could not lift it, although he is a strong man, and
had to get the butler's assistance."
At that moment the conversation was interrupted by the door being thrown
open, and Mr Dalton was announced.
He was a young man of handsome face and figure, with dark eyes, short
curly hair, and a pleasing address.
Apologising for not being more punctual in calling for the chest, he
explained that pressing-business had detained him.
"Of course, of course," said Mrs Dotropy, with the familiarity of an
old friend--for such she was to the youth--"you men of business always
carry about that cloak of pressing-business to cover your sins and
shortcomings with."
"Nay, you are unjust," said the young man, "I appeal to Miss Ruth. Did
I not say to Captain Bream that I might perhaps have difficulty in
getting away at the hour named, as it was a business hour, and, the
transaction being of a friendly and private nature--"
"My dear sir," interrupted Mrs Dotropy, "if it is private, pray do not
make it public."
"Has not Miss Ruth, then, told you--"
He stopped and looked from one lady to the other.
"Miss Ruth," said that young lady, flushing deeply, "is supposed to know
nothing whatever about your transactions with Captain Bream. Shall I go
and tell James to carry the box down-stairs, mother?"
Mrs Dotropy gave permission, and Ruth retired. A few minutes later,
young Dalton drove away with the captain's chest of gold.
A week after that the mother and daughter drove away from the same door
to the railway station, and in process of time found themselves one
pleasant afternoon at Yarmouth, in the little parlour with the window
that commanded the gorgeous view of the sea, taking tea with the captain
himself and his friends Jessie and Kate Seaward.
A lodging had been secured quite close to their own by the Dotropys.
"Now," said Ruth to Jessie that evening in private, with flushed cheeks
and eager eyes, "I shall be able to carry out my little plot, and see
whether I am right, now that I have at last got Captain Bream down to
Yarmouth."
"What little plot?" asked Jessie.
"I may not tell you yet," said Ruth with a laugh. "I shall let you know
all about it soon."
But Ruth was wrong. There was destined to be a slip 'twixt the cup and
her sweet lip just then, for that same evening Captain Bream received a
telegram from London, which induced him to leave Yarmouth hastily to see
a friend, he said, and keep an old-standing engagement. He promised,
however, to be back in two or three days at furthest.