and she alone of all the people who witnessed it knew the secret of
Frank Brookfield's sudden collapse in the swimming match at the Arm.
*HAROLD'S LASTING IMPRESSION.*
"Harold, Harold, Harold!" cried Mrs. Owen, at the top of her clear,
strong voice, her anxiety increasing as no answer came back. "Mercy on
me! what can have become of that boy? As sure as anything, he has gone
down to the wharf again--and after all that I have said to him too. I
do wish something would make a lasting impression upon him." And with a
feeling of uneasiness she could not shake off, the troubled mother went
back to her house-work, sighing over her boy's disobedience.
Now Harold Owen was not really a bad boy. He loved his mother dearly,
and always felt sorry when he had grieved her; but he was such a
thoughtless little chap. Eight years old last October; stout, cheery,
and brave; full to overflowing of animal spirits; eager to do everything
he saw the older boys doing, and always wanting to be with them; quite
as heedless and forgetful as he was affectionate and obliging, sturdy
little Hal was just the kind of boy to make a mother whose only child he
was no less anxious than proud about him. And in these lovely summer
days, when nobody wanted to be indoors between daylight and dark, except
to eat their meals, poor Mrs. Owen had her hands full in trying to keep
track of her son, who would stray off in spite of her orders to stay
near home. You see, Harold did not just mean to flatly disobey his
mother. For days together he would do exactly what she told him, and
make her very happy. But every now and then some of the boys in the
neighbourhood--Jack Hardie, perhaps, or Frank Lawson--would come along,
and get talking with Hal over the garden fence; and as sure as they did,
it ended in the little fellow's forgetting all about his mother's
commands, and going off to the wharves, where sometimes he stayed so
long as to give his mother quite a fright.
That was exactly what had happened this glorious July morning, when Mrs.
Owen, missing her boy's shouts from the front garden, ran out to the
door, her bare arms all white with flour, for she had been making a
cake, and called "Harold, Harold, Harold!" so loud that you might have
heard her half-way down to the wharves. If, indeed, she could have been
heard all the way down, perhaps her call might have brought Harold back;
and in that case he should not have got his lasting impression, and I
would have had no story to tell. But just at this time our little man
was altogether too much taken up with what Jack Hardie was telling him
to hear anything less noisy than a steam-engine.
"I'll bet my boots, Hal, you never saw such a funny little chap in your
life. He is about as big as our baby, but nothing like so fat, and he
has long hair all over him--over his face too--and he jumps around, and
talks away at the fellows, and sits up on his hind legs to eat nuts and
crackers. Oh, I tell you he's lots of fun!"
[Illustration: RESCUER AND RESCUED.--_See page_ 183.]
This was part of Jack's account of a very interesting monkey belonging
to the black cook of a large ship then at the wharf; and it was the
promise of showing him this monkey--what eight-year-old boy could resist
such a temptation?--that had lured Hal away from home. Down to the wharf
they ran as fast as their legs could carry them, and there they found
half-a-dozen other youngsters much about their own age, all evidently
bent on the same errand. The stately _Roseneath_ lay right across the
end of the wharf, and was being fed with long, yellow, sweet-smelling
deals that would make houses in England some day. The boys stood for a
while watching the huge planks sliding through the bow-ports into the
dark mysterious hold, and then there was a general rush for the stern,
where they expected to find the rope-ladder by which they would climb on
board. But, much to their disappointment, no ladder could they see, and
no way of climbing up except a thick rope that dangled over the side,
reaching quite down to the wharf; the truth of the matter being that the
sailors, getting rather tired of the boys' frequent invasions, had taken
away the ladder and put the rope in its place, thinking thus to put a
stop to their coming on board. The tide was high, and the great black
hull of the ship towered above the wharf like the side of a house. The
boys looked pretty blank at first; but then you know it takes a good
deal to stop an enterprising boy when his heart is set on anything; and
presently, after a little talk together, Jack Hardie said he would see
if he couldn't shin up the rope. So he clasped the rope tight in his
brown fists, twined his strong legs around it, and up he went, not very
fast, to be sure, but gaining a bit at every wriggle, until at last he
reached the bulwarks, and the boys gave him a cheer as he called out,
"Come along, fellows; it's not so hard; you can all do it." Frank
Lawson tried next, and he got up all right. Then Charley Wright
followed. And now Master Harold thought he would try his luck. So,
too, did Jim Norton; and when Harold got the rope first, it made Jim so
cross that, like the rough, heedless chap he was, he gave Hal an angry
push just as the little man had let go from the wharf, and was clinging
to the rope.
Of course, Jim did not really mean any harm, but he came pretty near
doing dreadful harm all the same; for his push was such a hard one that
it loosened unlucky little Hal's hold upon the rope, and with a cry of
fright down he dropped between the vessel and the wharf, falling with a
great splash into the dark green water.
Poor little Hal! you may well wish you had not disobeyed your mother's
orders, for now there is small chance of your ever being able to disobey
them again. The tide had begun to run out, and although Harold
struggled up to the surface twice, so that his terrified playmates
caught a glimpse of his pale, frightened face for a moment, the cruel
current dragged him down again, and the horrid salt water rushed into
his mouth, as he opened it to cry for help. His father had given him
some lessons in swimming that summer, and he tried to put them in
practice now, striking out bravely with his plump fists and sturdy legs;
but of course such swimming as that could not help him, and he sank
deeper and deeper. Then at last he gave up trying to save himself. He
lost all sense of suffering, and as he drifted passively away with the
current, a strange thing happened to him--something that he will never
forget, though he lives a hundred years--and it was this: all his past
life appeared before his mind in a series of pictures, in fact, just
like the panorama of the American rebellion he had enjoyed the winter
before. All his doings, good and bad, but more particularly the bad
ones, seemed to come up clearly before him, and as he saw what a
naughty, thoughtless boy he had been, he felt sorry enough never to
disobey his dear, fond mother again. But wasn't it too late now?
* * * * *
What! up in the sunshine once more, and sitting on the solid yellow
deals, with his companions crowding round him, laughing and crying, and
patting him on the back, and acting so comically, while all the time the
water is dripping down off his clothes, and making a puddle at his feet,
and he does feel so uncomfortable underneath his blouse. And who is the
big strong man standing near, just as wet as himself, and looking at him
with his handsome bronzed face full of pride and pleasure? And isn't
that father coming down the wharf as hard as he can run, with face so
white that he looks like a ghost?
Bewildered little Hal couldn't at first understand what it all meant;
and when his father, catching him up in his arms, pressed him
passionately to his breast, the little man just burst out crying, and
hid his wet face on his father's shoulder. In this fashion he went back
home, the boys following in a triumphal procession.
An hour afterwards, when Master Harold had got rid of the uncomfortable
feeling under his blouse, and put on a warm, dry suit of clothes, Jack
Hardie told him how, when he fell plump into the water, the boys had all
shouted out for help; and how the mate of the _Roseneath_ had sprung out
of his cabin at the first cry, and, directed by Jack, without waiting
even to take off his coat, had dived right down into the deep, dark
water: how he had come up once without finding Hal, and, after taking
breath, had gone down a second time in search of him; how he had hunted
around in the water until at last, seeing something black below him, he
had stretched down his leg, and his toe catching Hal under the chin, the
gallant mate drew him up into his arms, and then made for the daylight;
and how, when Harold first came out of the water, he seemed to be dead,
but in a few minutes came to life again, and sat up, blinking his eyes
like a young baby. All this, and more too, did Jack Hardie, proud of
having such an audience--for, besides Mr. and Mrs. Owen, a dozen or more
of the neighbours had run in to hear all about it--relate with great
gusto. And as Harold realized how very near he had come to losing his
life, and looked into his darling mother's face streaming with tears of
joy and gratitude, which but for the brave sailor would have been tears
of bitter sorrow, he gathered up his little features into a most
determined expression, and said,--
"Mother, I'll never disobey you again."
Thus did his mother get her wish, and Master Harold his lasting
impression, which many a time saved him from falling again into
disobedience.
*HOW WILBERFORCE BRENNAN VISITED
WHITE BEAR CASTLE.*
"Wilby! Wilby! come here; I want you," called a woman's shrill voice at
the foot of the stairs. And down from the little attic room came the
answer promptly,--
"All right, mother; I'm just coming."
A minute later a stout, hearty lad of fifteen presented himself before
his mother, and dutifully awaited her commands.
"Why, Wilby," said she, "I was just thinking I had better send you over
to Aunt Matilda's to tell her that your father was going to town
to-morrow. She's pretty sure to want him to do something for her, and
he goes so seldom nowadays she'll be disappointed if we don't let her
know."
"Well, mother," replied the boy, looking rather doubtfully out of the
window, from which a vast expanse of desolate, snow-covered fields could
be seen, "it's not just the best kind of an afternoon to be going away
over to aunty's. There's a heap of snow on the ground, it's awfully
cold, and the wind's rising."
"Tut! what does a big strong boy like you care for the cold? Besides,
you can put on your snow-shoes, and take the short cut through the
wood-lot. You won't feel the wind in the woods. I really must send
Aunt Matilda word, and father won't have time to go over himself."
"Very well, mother, if I must I must, I suppose; but, all the same, I
wish it could wait till to-morrow."
So saying, Wilby, with a sigh of resignation, went off to get ready for
his tramp.
It was no trifling affair, this errand over to Aunt Matilda's, I can
tell you. She lived six good miles away by the road, and even taking
the short cut through the pasture and wood-lot, it was not less than
four miles.
Of course, with fine weather and good going, four miles was not much of
a task for Wilby's sturdy legs, and he never failed to get so warm a
welcome and such delicious cake at his aunt's that generally he was only
too glad to go. But in mid-winter, with four feet of snow on the
ground, the thermometer right down to zero, and the wind cutting like a
knife, it seemed a very different matter.
However, Wilby, as his mother called him for short (Wilberforce being
kept for company or for when she wanted to be very emphatic), was quite
as plucky as he was obedient, and a quarter of an hour after his mother
first called him he started out on his errand, muffled up to the eyes,
with his snow-shoes well strapped to his feet, and his good dog Oscar
trotting along beside him. It was well for him that he did have wise
old Oscar, as we shall presently see.
Bending his head low, so as to protect his face as much as possible from
the keen wind, and swinging his arms to and fro in time with his stride,
Wilby went swiftly down the hillside, across the river, and up the other
slope, until he reached the shelter of the woods, where the wind
bothered him no longer, and he could take things more quietly.
Oscar ran soberly along at his heels, and Wilby was glad of his company,
for the short winter day was already drawing to a close, and the lonely
wood-lot was not the most cheerful place in the world to be in at that
time.
Wilby was a great boy for books, and had just finished reading Colonel
Knox's delightful story, "The Voyage of the _Vivian_," of which the most
interesting part to him had been that relating to the polar bears; and
now, as he trudged steadily along through the silent woods, he fell to
thinking about these bears, and wondering what he should do supposing he
should meet one.
Of course, he knew well enough that the nearest white bear was at least
a thousand miles away, and that even an ordinary black bear had not been
seen in that neighbourhood for years; but, all the same, he could not
get those cruel white monsters out of his thoughts. In fact, he became
quite nervous over them, and would peer eagerly ahead and anxiously
around, just as if one of them might rush in upon him at any minute.
At length his nervousness got so much the better of him that walking
seemed altogether too slow, and he started off on the hard run. Only
two miles of the distance to Aunt Matilda's was left at this time, and
one of these soon disappeared as Wilby hurried onward, with Oscar
bounding joyfully beside him.
Ten minutes more at the farthest, and they would be safe at their
destination. Already Wilby thought he could catch through the trees a
gleam of light from the kitchen window, when suddenly something
unfortunate happened.
It had been hard work keeping to the wood path, so buried was it under
the snow; and he must have strayed a little from it, for he found his
way barred by a huge tree-trunk, which certainly ought not to have been
there.
The wisest thing, of course, would have been to retrace his steps a bit;
but instead of that, Wilby rashly tried a running leap over the
obstacle, and it was not a success.
Without snow-shoes he might have cleared it easily; but with these
encumbrances on his feet, he not only made a very poor attempt, but in
some way or other they got entangled together, and in a violent effort
to keep his balance, he sprained his right ankle so badly that, to his
great dismay, he found he could no longer bear any weight upon it.
Here was a pretty state of affairs indeed! A whole mile from Aunt
Matilda's, not yet clear of the woods, not a living soul within reach of
his voice, his right leg utterly useless and hurting awfully, and the
cold growing more intense every minute!
It did not take poor Wilby long to realize that he was in no little
danger. As he could do nothing with his snow-shoes, he took them off,
and tried to get along without them; but the snow was so dry and soft
that he sank right into it, and could make no advance at all.
His only hope seemed to be to shout at the top of his voice on the small
chance of somebody hearing him. So he called for help with all his
might.
Oscar was much puzzled by his master's conduct, and circled impatiently
around him, as if to urge him onward.
For quite a long time Wilby shouted, until what between cold and
weariness there was no more shout left in him. Presently he felt an
intense longing to sleep stealing over him. He strove desperately hard
to shake it off, for he knew well what it meant; but in spite of all his
efforts the deadly drowsiness crept steadily and surely over his senses,
and he was just lapsing into unconsciousness when there was a crashing
in the underbrush ahead, and before he had time to ask himself what it
could be, the small trees in front of him parted violently, and out
stepped a great white bear.
"What do you mean by all this shouting?" he demanded rather crossly.
Curiously enough, Wilby was not quite so terrified as he expected he
would be if a white bear happened along, and found courage to say very
humbly,--
"Please, Mr. Bear, I hope I didn't disturb you. But, you see, I've
sprained my ankle badly, and I was shouting for some one to come and
help me."
"Ho, ho! you are hurt, are you?" was the reply, in rather a gentler
tone. "Well, I'll look after you."
And so saying, the bear picked the big boy up in his arms as though he
had been a little baby, and marched off with him through the woods at a
rapid rate.
Wilby knew resistance was vain, so he just made up his mind to take
things as quietly as possible; which, under the circumstances, was a
very wise thing to do.
After about five minutes' walking, his captor came to a large tree which
had been torn up by the roots. Under this he quickly dodged, and
entered what seemed to be a long, dark passage.
In spite of his good resolution, Wilby could not help a kind of groan at
this.
"Shut up!" growled the bear, giving him a by no means gentle cuff on the
side of the head.
Wilby did shut up, and for a time nothing was to be heard save the soft
thump, thump, thump of the bear's broad feet on the hard floor of the
passage.
At last they stopped. The bear gave something a kick, a door flew open
inward, and then there burst upon the bewildered Wilby such a sight as
he had never even dreamed of in his life before.
He found himself in a large room, flooded with light and warmth from a
glorious wood fire that was crackling away in a huge fireplace at one
end. At first he thought the whole place had just been newly
whitewashed, but soon discovered his mistake.
Everything in and about that room was marble--white marble--pure and
glistening as the snow outside. Floor, walls, ceiling, tables--they
were all marble alike, and they looked wonderfully fine, with the
firelight flashing upon them.
But before Wilby had time to take much more in, he heard a deep bass
voice asking,--
"Hallo, Major! what have you got there?"
And turning his head, he saw a splendid white bear, a good deal bigger
than his rescuer, coming toward them from the far end of the room.
"Some farmer's son, Max," answered the Major, at the same time gently
depositing his load on a couch near the fire. "I found him 'most frozen
to death in a snow-drift.. I guess we can make him all right again."
"Of course we can," exclaimed another voice, much livelier in tone than
the first speaker's, and a third bear, quite as white but not so tall as
either of the others, emerged into the firelight from a dark corner,
where he had been attending to some household duty.
"Of course we can, if you say so, Minor," growled the one called Max,
good-humouredly. "We'll begin by giving him a good dinner, at all
events."
By the way, I forgot to mention that the full names of Wilby's new
friends were Ursa Minor, Ursa Major, and Ursa Maximus, but for
convenience' sake they called one another simply Minor, Major, and Max.
Feeling surprisingly at his ease, in view of his strange surroundings,
Wilby stretched himself out on his comfortable couch, and almost forgot
the pain from his sprained ankle in his delight at his novel experience.
"What a lot I'll have to tell them at home!" he said exultingly to
himself. "They won't believe one-half of it, I know."
Maximus was evidently head of the household, and superintended in a
dignified way, while Major and Minor bustled about getting dinner ready.
In a little while all the preparations were complete, and Major, who
seemed to feel especially responsible for Wilby, brought him a steaming
bowl of something which the hungry boy was not long in sampling. And it
proved to be such delicious rabbit-stew that he could not help
exclaiming,--
"My sakes, but this is fine! Mother couldn't make a better stew
herself,"--which compliment pleased Minor, who had prepared the stew, so
much that he filled Wilby's bowl up again before it was fairly empty.
Besides the stew there were roast partridges and baked potatoes, and
also apples and nuts, so that Wilby had just about as much as he could
comfortably eat--in fact, perhaps a little more. At all events, his
waistband began to remind him it was there.
Dinner over, the dishes were cleared away and the room set in order
again, Wilby watching everything with the liveliest interest, determined
to have such a story to tell as would make him the hero of the
country-side for a whole month at least.
He was particularly struck with the deftness with which the bears went
about their work. Although their big paws looked clumsy enough, the
dear knows, they did things as handily as Wilby himself could have done
them.
When every sign of the dinner had vanished, Max, Major, and Minor drew
up their chairs (for they each had a big arm-chair) in front of the
fire, and sat down to talk over the events of the day, quite ignoring
the addition to their family,--who, indeed, was very well pleased at
being left alone, as he much preferred using his eyes to his tongue,
when everything around him was so delightfully novel.
The bears' voices were so low and deep that Wilby could not make out
one-half they were saying. Besides, what with the warmth of the room
and his own weariness, he began to feel very sleepy again, especially as
the couch was extremely comfortable. In fact, he had just about dozed
off, when he was awakened by Maximus jumping up from his chair, and
saying in a loud tone,--
"Come, fellows, let us have a song, and then we'll turn in."
Whereupon the three of them stood up together around the fire, and sang
very heartily the following song, the words of which, so far as he heard
them, Wilby had no difficulty in remembering, although the tune went
completely out of his head. He had not much of an ear for music, any
way.
"Three jolly white bears are we,
Who can sing right merrily.
For our hearts are light and free
From any care.
We have always lots to eat,
And we keep our house so neat
That it's really quite a treat
To be a bear.
"Yes, indeed, we're happy bears,
Since nobody knows our lairs,
Where we mind our own affairs
So quietly.
Of course we have to work,
But none of us ever shirk;
For who'd be a lazy lark,
Don't you see?
"When the snow is on the ground,
We go hunting all around
For the bunnies which abound
Among the trees.
And when summer-time is here,
How the berries disappear
Down our throats--"
But Wilby never heard the end of the third verse, for the simple reason
that sleep overcame him just then, and song, singers, and marble palace
alike faded away into nothingness.
He had no idea how long he slept, but when he awoke he was both
surprised and disappointed to find himself on the sofa in Aunt Matilda's
very plain, though cozy, sitting-room, instead of on his couch in White
Bear Castle, while now not only his ankle but his whole body gave him
pain--every nerve tingling, and face and hands smarting dreadfully.
Minor, Major, and Maximus were all gone too, and in their place dear old
Aunt Matilda and kind Uncle Lemuel were bending over him, with faces
full of relief at his return to consciousness.
"O Wilby dear, how glad I am to see you open your eyes again!" exclaimed
Aunt Matilda joyfully. "You were so long coming to that I began to fear
that it might be all over with you."
"Yes, Wilby, my boy," added Uncle Lemuel, "you've had a close shave.
But for Oscar there would not be much life left in you by this time."
Wilby was too dazed for some time to understand it all, but later on his
uncle explained the matter.
It seemed that wise old Oscar, as soon as Wilby lost his senses,
scampered off to Uncle Lemuel's as hard as he could go, and by barking
and scratching at the door soon let them know he was there. Then by
signs whose meaning they were not long in guessing, he persuaded them to
go back with him, until poor Wilby was found where he had fallen beside
the big tree.
Oscar capered about, wild with delight, when his master was carried off
to the house, and Uncle Lem could not say enough about his cleverness.
Wilby felt very grateful to Oscar and to his uncle also, and thankful
that he had not lost his life. Yet he could not help a twinge of regret
at the thought of never seeing his white bear friends again, seeing how
kindly they had treated him in spite of their character for cruelty.
However, it was no small consolation to have such a rattling good story
to tell, and tell it he did very graphically many a time, much to the
enjoyment of his hearers.