To prevent the reader supposing that there is any deep-laid scheme or
profound mystery, with which we mean to torment him during the course of
our tale, we may as well say at once that the little plot, which Ruth
had in view, and which began to grow quite into a romance the longer she
pondered it, was neither more nor less than to bring Captain Bream and
Mrs David Bright face to face.
Ruth had what we may style a constructive mind. Give her a few rough
materials, and straight-way she would build a castle with them. If she
had not enough of material, she immediately invented more, and thus
continued her castle-building. Being highly imaginative and romantic,
her structures were sometimes amazing edifices, at which orthodox
architects might have turned up their noses--and with some reason, too,
for poor little Ruth's castles were built frequently on bad foundations,
and sometimes even in the air, so that they too often fell in splendid
ruins at her feet!
It would not be just however, to say that none of Ruth's buildings stood
firm. Occasionally she built upon a good foundation. Now and then she
made a straight shot and hit the mark. For instance, the little edifice
of cuffs and comforters to the North Sea trawlers survived, and remains
to the present day a monument of usefulness, (which few monuments are),
and of well-placed philanthropy. It may not, perhaps, be just to say
that Ruth actually laid the foundation--conceived the first idea--of
that good work, but she was at all events among the first builders,
became an active overseer, and did much of the work with her own hands.
Still, as we have said, too many of Ruth's castles came to the ground,
and the poor thing was so well used to the sight of falling material
that she had at last begun to be quite expert in detecting the first
symptoms of dissolution, and often regarded them with despairing
anxiety. It was so with her when Captain Bream was summoned so suddenly
away from Yarmouth.
Eagerly, anxiously, had she planned to get him down to that town for the
purpose of confronting him with Mrs David Bright--the reason being
that, from various things the captain had said to her at different
times, and from various remarks that Mrs Bright had made on sundry
occasions, she felt convinced that the North Sea fisherman's wife was
none other than Captain Bream's long-lost sister!
It would be well-nigh impossible, as well as useless, to investigate the
process of reasoning and the chain of investigation, by which she came
to this conclusion, but having once laid the foundation, she began to
build on it with her wonted enthusiasm, and with a hopefulness that
partial failure could not destroy.
The captain's departure, just when she hoped to put the copestone on her
little edifice was a severe blow, for it compelled her to shut up her
hopes and fears in her own breast, and, being of a sympathetic nature,
that was difficult. But Ruth was a wise little woman as well as
sympathetic. She had sense enough to know that it might be a tremendous
disappointment to Captain Bream, if, after having had his hopes raised,
it were discovered that Mrs Bright was _not_ his sister. Ruth had
therefore made up her mind not to give the slightest hint to him, or to
any one else, about her hopes, until the matter could be settled by
bringing the two together, when, of course, they would at once recognise
each other.
Although damped somewhat by this unlooked-for interruption to her little
schemes, she did not allow her efforts to flag.
"I see," she said one day, on entering the theological library, where
Jessie, having laid down a worsted cuff which she had been knitting, was
deep in Leslie's _Short and Easy method with the Deists_, and Kate,
having dropped a worsted comforter, had lost herself in Chalmers's
_Astronomical Discourses_. "I see you are both busy, so I won't disturb
you. I only looked in to say that I'm going out for an hour or two."
"We are never too busy, darling," said Jessie, "to count _your_ visits
an interruption. Would you like us to walk with you?"
"N-no. Not just now. The fact is, I am going out on a little private
expedition," said Ruth, pursing her mouth till it resembled a cherry.
"Oh! about that little plot?" asked Jessie, laughing. Ruth nodded and
joined in the laugh, but would not commit herself in words.
"Now, don't work too hard, Kate," she cried with an arch look as she
turned to leave.
"It is harder work than you suppose, Miss Impudence," said Kate; "what
with cuffs and contradictions, comforters and confusion, worsted helmets
and worse theology, my brain seems to be getting into what the captain
calls a sort of semi-theological lop-scowse that quite unfits me for
anything. Go away, you naughty girl, and carry out your dark plots,
whatever they are."
Ruth ran off laughing, and soon found herself at the door of Mrs
Bright's humble dwelling.
Now, Mrs Bright, although very fond of her fair young visitor, had
begun, as we have seen, to grow rather puzzled and suspicious as to her
frequent inquiries into her past history.
"You told me, I think, that your maiden name was Bream," said Ruth,
after a few remarks about the weather and the prospects of the _Short
Blue_ fleet, etcetera.
"Yes, Miss Ruth," answered Mrs Bright; but the answer was so short and
her tone so peculiar that poor scheming little Ruth was quelled at once.
She did not even dare to say another word on the subject nearest her
heart at the time, and hastily, if not awkwardly, changed the subject to
little Billy.
Here indeed she had touched a theme in regard to which Mrs Bright was
always ready to respond.
"Ah! he _is_ a good boy, is Billy," she said, "an uncommonly good boy--
though he is not perfect by any means. And he's a little too fond of
fighting. But, after all, it's not for its own sake he likes it, dear
boy! It's only when there's a good reason for it that he takes to it.
Did I ever tell you about his kicking a boy bigger than himself into the
sea off the end of the pier?"
"No, you never told me that."
"Well, this is how it was. There's a small girl named Lilly Brass--a
sweet little tot of four years old or thereabouts, and Billy's very fond
of her. Lilly has a brother named Tommy, who's as full of mischief as
an egg is full of meat, and he has a trick of getting on the edge of the
pier, near where they live, and tryin' to walk on it and encouraging
Lilly to follow him. The boy had been often warned not to do it, but he
didn't mind, and my Billy grew very angry about it.
"`I don't care about little Brass himself mother,' said Billy to me one
day; `he may tumble in an' be drownded if he likes, but I'm afeared for
little Lilly, for she likes to do what he does.'
"So, one day Billy saw Tommy Brass at his old tricks, with Lilly looking
on, quite delighted, and what did my boy do, think ye? He went up to
Brass, who was bigger and older than himself, and gave him such a hearty
kick that it sent him right off into the sea. The poor boy could not
swim a stroke, and the water was deep, so my Billy, who can swim like a
fish, jumped in after him and helped to get him safe ashore. Tommy
Brass was none the worse; so, after wringing the water out of his
clothes, he went up to Billy and gave him a slap in the face. Billy is
not a boastful boy. He does not speak much when he's roused; but he
pulled off his coat and gave Brass such a thump on the nose that he
knocked him flat on the sand. Up he jumped, however, in a moment and
went at Billy furiously, but he had no chance. My boy was too active
for him. He jumped a' one side, struck out his leg, and let him tumble
over it, giving him a punch on the head as he went past that helped to
send his nose deeper into the sand. At last he beat him entirely, and
then, as he was puttin' on his jacket again, he said--`Tommy Brass, it
ain't so much on account o' that slap you gave me, that I've licked you,
but because you 'ticed Lilly into danger. And, you mark what I say:
every time I catch you walkin' on that there pier-edge, or _hear_ of you
doin' of it, I'll give you a lickin'.'
"Tommy Brass has never walked on that pier-edge since," concluded Mrs
Bright, "but I'm sorry to say that ever since that day Lilly Brass has
refused to have a word to say to Billy, and when asked why, she says,
`'cause he sowsed an' whacked my brudder Tommy!'"
Thus did Mrs Bright entertain her visitor with comment and anecdote
about Billy until she felt at last constrained to leave without having
recovered courage to broach again the subject which had brought her to
the fisherman's home.
That same afternoon Mrs Bright paid a friendly visit to the wife of her
husband's mate.
"I can't think whatever Miss Ruth Dotropy is so curious about me for,
she's bin at me again," said Mrs Bright to Mrs Davidson, who was busy
with her needle on some part of the costume of her "blessed babby,"
which lay, like an angel, in its little crib behind the door.
"P'r'aps it's all along of her bein' so interested in you," replied
pretty Mrs Davidson. "She asks me many odd questions at times about
myself, and my dear Joe, and the babby--though I admit she don't inquire
much about my past life."
"Well, that's not surprising," said Mrs Bright with a laugh, as she sat
down on a stool to have a chat. "You see, Maggie, you haven't got much
of a past life to inquire about, and Joe is such a good man that you've
no call to be suspecting anything; but it wasn't always so with my dear
David. I wouldn't say it even to you, Maggie, if it wasn't that
everybody in Yarmouth knows it--my David drinks hard sometimes, and
although I know he's as true as gold to me, an' never broke the laws of
the land, everybody won't believe that, you know, and the dear man
_might_ fall under suspicion."
"But you don't suppose, if he did," said Mrs Davidson, with a look of
surprise, "that Miss Ruth would go about actin' the part of a detective,
do you?"
"Well, no, I don't," replied her friend, looking somewhat puzzled. "All
the same it _is_ mysterious why she should go on as she's bin doin',
asking me what my maiden name was, and who my relations were, and if I
ever had any brothers, and when and where I first met wi' David. But
whatever her reasons may be I'm resolved that she'll get nothing more
out of me."
"Of course," returned Maggie, "you must do as you think right in that
matter. All I can say is, I would tell Miss Ruth all that was in _my_
mind without any fear that she'd abuse my confidence."
"Ah! Maggie, I might say that too if my mind and conscience were as
clear as yours. But they're not. It is true I have long ago brought my
sins to Jesus and had them washed away in His precious blood. And I
never cease to pray for my dear David, but--but--"
"Don't you fear, Nell," said Mrs Davidson, earnestly, and in a tone of
encouragement. "Your prayer is sure to be answered."
"Oh! Maggie, I try to believe it--indeed I do. But when I see David go
down to that--that public-house, and come up the worse o' liquor, an'
sometimes little Billy with him with a cigar in his sweet little mouth
an' the smell o' drink on him, my heart fails me, for you know what an
_awful_ snare that drink is, once it gets the upper hand--and--"
Poor Mrs Bright fairly broke down at this point for a few seconds; and
no wonder, for, not even to her most confidential and sympathetic friend
could she tell of the terrible change for the worse that came over her
husband when the accursed fire-water burned in his veins.
"Nell," said Maggie, laying her work in her lap and taking her friend's
hand. "Don't give way like that. God would never ask us to pray for
one another, if He didn't mean to answer us. Would He, now?"
"That's true, Maggie, that's true," said Mrs Bright, much comforted.
"I never thought of that before. You're young, but you're wise, dear.
Of course, the good Lord will never mock us, and if there's anything I
have asked for of late, it has been the salvation of David and Billy.
What was it, Maggie, that made your Joe first turn his thoughts to the
Lord?"
"It was one of his mates. You remember when he sailed wi' that good
man, Singin' Peter? Well, Peter used often to speak to him about his
soul to no purpose; but that fine man, Luke Trevor, who also sailed wi'
Singin' Peter at the time, had a long talk with Joe one night, an' the
Holy Spirit made use of his words, for Joe broke down an' gave in.
They're both wi' your David and Billy now, so you may be sure they won't
throw away the chance they have of speakin' to 'em."
"God grant them success!" murmured Mrs Bright, earnestly.
"Amen!" responded the younger woman. "But, Nell, you haven't told me
yet what you think o' the Miss Seawards."
"Think? I think that next to Miss Ruth they are the sweetest ladies I
ever met," returned Mrs Bright with enthusiasm. "They are so modest
and humble, that when they are putting themselves about to serve you,
they almost make you feel that you're doing them a favour. Don't you
remember only last week when they came to see poor Jake's boy that was
nearly drowned, and insisted on sitting up with him all night--first one
and then the other taking her turn till daylight, because Mrs Jake was
dead-drunk and not able for anything."
"Remember it?" exclaimed Maggie, "I should think I does, and the awful
way Mrs Jake swore at them afore she rightly understood what was
wrong."
"Well, did you hear what Mrs Jake said in the afternoon of that same
day?"
"No--except that she was more civil to 'em, so I was told."
"Civil! yes, she was more civil indeed. She'd got quite sober by the
afternoon, and the neighbours told her how near the boy was to death,
and that the doctor said if it hadn't been for the wise and prompt
measures taken by the Miss Seawards before he arrived, he didn't believe
the boy would have lived--when they told her that, she said nothing.
When the Miss Seawards came back in the afternoon, they tapped so gently
at the door that you would have thought they were beggars who expected a
scolding, an' when Mrs Jake cried out gruffly in her man-like voice,
`Who's that?' they replied as softly as if they had been doing some
mischief, `May we come in?' `May you come in?' shouted Mrs Jake, so
that you might have heard her half way down the street, as she flung the
door wide open, `may angels from heaven come in? yes, you _may_ come
in!' an' with that she seized the younger one round the neck an' fairly
hugged her, for you see Mrs Jake has strong feelin's, an' is very fond
of her boy, an' then she went flop down on a chair, threw her apron over
her head, and howled. I can call it by no other name."
"The poor ladies were almost scared, and didn't seem rightly to know how
to take it, and Miss Kate--the younger one you know--had her pretty new
summer dress awfully crushed by the squeeze, as well as dirtied, for
Mrs Jake had been washin', besides cleaning up a bit just before they
arrived."
"Well, I never!" exclaimed Maggie in great admiration. "I always
thought there was a soft spot in Mrs Jake's heart, if only a body could
find it out."
"My dear," said Mrs Bright, impressively, "there's a soft spot I
believe in everybody's heart, though in some hearts it's pretty well
choked up an' overlaid--"
At that moment a bursting yell from the crib behind the door went
straight to the soft spot in Mrs Davidson's heart, and sank deeply into
it.
"That blessed babby!" she cried, leaping up in such haste that her work
went into the grate, in which, however, there was happily no fire.
"Oh! my darling! you're Joe to the back-bone--though you _are_ a girl--
all bounce, an' bang, an' tenderness!"
Seizing the infant in her strong arms she gave it a hug which ought to
have produced another yell, but the little one was tough, besides which,
she was used to it, and said nothing. The calm did not last long,
however. Little Mag, as she was called, felt that her interior
somewhere was somehow in want of something, and took the usual way to
publish the fact.
After that, conversation became impossible. A storm had burst upon the
friends which increased rapidly, so Mrs Bright rose to say good-bye in
the midst of a squall which ought to have blown her through the door-way
or out at the window into the street. She was not irritated, however.
As she left the house followed by the squall, which was soon moderated
to a stiffish breeze by distance, the sound called up reminiscences of
little Billy, and she smiled as she thought of the unvarying continuity
of human affairs--the gush of infant memories, and the squalls of other
days.