“Imogen!” said Star, looking up from her book, “I don't believe you
have been listening!”
Imogen looked up meekly, but made no attempt to deny the charge.
“You _must_ listen!” said the child, sternly. “First place, it's
beautiful: and besides, it's very rude not to listen when people
reads. And you ought _not_ to be rude, Imogen!” After which short
lecture, Star turned to her book again,--a great book it was, lying
open on the little pink calico lap,--and went on reading, in her clear
childish voice:
“'Over hill, over dale,
Thorough bush, thorough brier,
Over park, over pale,
Thorough flood, thorough fire,
I do wander everywhere,
Swifter than the moony sphere;
And I serve the fairy queen,
To dew her orbs upon the green:'
Do you know what a fairy is, Imogen?” asked Star, looking up again
suddenly.
But this time it was very evident that Imogen (who was, in truth,
a large white cow, with a bell round her neck) was paying no attention
whatever to the reading; for she had fairly turned her back, and was
leisurely cropping the short grass, swaying her tail in a comfortable
and reflective manner the while.
Star sprang to her feet, and seizing the delinquent's horns, shook
them with all her might.
“How dare you turn your back when I am reading?” she cried. “I'm just
ashamed of you! You're a disgrace to me, Imogen. Why, you are as
ignorant as a--as--as a lobster! and you a great cow with four whole
legs. A--a--ah! shame on you!”
Imogen rubbed her head deprecatingly against the small pink shoulder,
and uttered a soft and apologetic “moo;” but Star was not ready to
be mollified yet.
“And you know it's my _own_ book, too!” she continued, reproachfully.
“My own Willum Shakespeare, that I love more--well, no! not _more_
than I love you, Imogen, but just as much, and almost nearly half
as much as I love Daddy Captain.
“But after all,” she added, with a smile flitting over her frowning
little face, “after all, you poor dear, you _are_ only a cow, and
I don't suppose you know.” And then she hugged Imogen, and blew a
little into one of her ears, to make her wink it, and the two were
very friendly again.
“Perhaps you would like to know, Imogen,” said Star, confidentially,
seating herself once more on the ground, “_why_ I am so fond of Willum
Shakespeare. So I will tell you. It is really part of _my_ story,
but Daddy Captain didn't get as far as that last night, so I think
I will tell it to you. Well!” she drew a long breath of enjoyment,
and, clasping her hands round her knees, settled herself for a “good
talk.”
“Well, Imogen: you see, at first I was a little baby, and didn't know
anything at all. But by and by I began to grow big, and then Daddy
Captain said to himself, 'Here's a child,' he says, 'and a child of
gentlefolks, and she mustn't grow up in ignorance, and me doing my
duty by her poor pa and ma,' he says. So he rows over to the town,
and he goes to the minister (the same minister who came over here
before), and he says, 'Good morning, Minister!' and the minister
shakes him by the hand hearty, and says, 'Why, Captain January!' he
says, 'I'm amazing glad to see you. And how is the child?' And Daddy
says, 'The child is a-growing with the flowers,' he says; 'and she's
a-growing like the flowers. Show me a rose that's as sweet and as
well growed as that child,' he says, 'and I'll give you my head,
Minister.' That's the way Daddy talks, you know, Imogen. And then
he told the minister how he didn't want the child (that was me, of
course) to grow up in ignorance, and how he wanted to teach me. And
the minister asked him was he qualified to teach. 'Not yet, I ain't!'
says Daddy Captain, 'but I'm a-going to be. I want a book, or maybe
a couple of books, that'll edicate me in a manner all round!' he says.
'I couldn't do with a lot of 'em,' he says, ''cause I ain't used to
it, and it makes things go round inside my head. But I think I could
tackle two if they was fustrate,' he says. The minister laughed, and
told Daddy he wanted a good deal. Then he asked him if he had the
Good Book. That's the Bible, you know, Imogen. Daddy Captain won't
let me read that to you, because you are a beast that perish. Poor
dear!” she leaned forward and kissed Imogen's pink nose. “And Daddy
said _of course_ he had that, only the letters weren't so clear as
they used to be, somehow, perhaps along of getting wet in his weskit
pocket, being he carried it along always. So the minister gave him
a _new big_ BEAUTIFUL Bible, Imogen! It isn't so new _now_, but it's
just as big and beautiful, and I love it. And then he thought for
a long time, the minister did, walking about the room and looking
at all the books. The whole room was full of books, Daddy says, all
on shelves, 'cept some on the floor and the table and the chairs.
It made his head go round dreadful to see them all, Daddy says (I
mean Daddy's head), and think of anybody reading them. He says he
doesn't see how in creation the minister manages to keep his bearings,
and look out for a change in the wind, and things that _have_ to be
done, and read all those books too. _Well_!” she kissed Imogen's nose
again, from sheer enjoyment, and threw her head back with a laugh
of delight. “I'm coming to it now, Imogen!” she cried. “At last the
minister took down a big book--OH! you precious old thing, how I love
you!” (this apostrophe was addressed to the quarto volume which she
was now hugging rapturously), “and said, 'Well, Captain January,
here's the best book in the world, _next_ to the Good Book!' he says.
'You'll take this,' he says, 'as my gift to you and the child; and
with these two books to guide you, the child's edication won't go
far wrong!' he says; and then he gave Daddy the dictionary, too,
Imogen; but I sha'n't tell you about that, because it's a brute, and
I hate and 'spise it. But--well! _so_, you see, _that_ was the way
I got my Willum Shakespeare, my joy and my pride, my--”
At this moment a shadow fell upon the grass, and a deep, gruff voice
was heard, saying, “Star, ahoy!” The child started up, and turned
to meet the newcomer with a joyous smile. “Why, Bob!” she cried,
seizing one of his hands in both of hers, and dancing round and round
him. “Where did you come from? Why aren't you on the boat?”
“Boat's aground!” replied the person addressed as Bob. He spoke in
short, jerky sentences. He was dressed as a seafaring man; had wide,
helpless-looking brown eyes, an apologetic smile, and a bass voice
of appalling depth and power. “Boat's aground,” he repeated, seating
himself on the grass and looking about for a stem of grass long enough
to put in his mouth. “Hard and fast. Waiting for tide to turn; thought
I'd come, pass time o' day.”
“And how came you to run her aground?” inquired the child, severely.
“A pretty pilot you are! Why, I could steer her myself better than
that.”
“Fog!” replied the man, in a meek and muffled roar. Then finding a
bit of sorrel, he fell upon it with avidity, and seemed to think he
had said enough.
“H'm!” said Star, with a disdainful little sniff. “You'd better get
Daddy to steer your boat. _He_ doesn't mind fog. Are there many people
on board?” she added, with an air of interest.
“Heaps!” replied Bob, succinctly. Then, after a pause of meditative
chewing: “Like to go aboard? take ye--boat--Cap'n willin'.”
“No, I don't want to go aboard, thank you!” said Star. “I don't like
people. But you might just row me round her once, Bob,” she added.
“I think I should like _that_. But we must wait till Daddy comes,
of course.”
“Cap'n round?” inquired Bob.
“He's setting the lobster-pots,” replied the child. “He'll be back
soon. Bob,” she added, irrelevantly, a moment after, “I never noticed
before that you looked like Imogen. Why, you are the very image of
her, Bob! Your eyes and your expression are _exactly_ the same.” Bob
raised his eyes and surveyed Imogen with a critical air. “Fine cow!”
he said at last. “D'no's I mind--'f she doosn't.”
“_Isn't_ she a fine cow?” cried little Star, patting the meek and
graceful head of her favourite. “I don't believe there's another such
cow in the world. I _know_ there isn't! I think,” she added, “I will
take a little ride on her, while we are waiting for Daddy Captain.
Will you put me up, please, Bob?”
The obedient Bob lifted her as if she were a ball of thistle-down,
and set her on the broad back of the good cow, who straightway began
to pace sedately along the bit of meadow, following the guidance of
the small hands which clasped her horns. Ah! who will paint me that
picture, as my mind's eye sees it? The blue of sky and sea, the
ripples breaking in silver on silver sand, the jewelled green, where
the late dandelions flecked the grass with gold; and in the midst
the lovely, laughing child, mounted on the white cow, tossing her
cloudy golden hair, and looking back with eyes of delight towards
her companion.
The beauty of it all filled the eyes and the heart of Captain January,
as he came up among the rocks. He paused, and stood for some time
in silence, watching the little well-beloved figure. “Wal!” he said,
“if that ain't one of the young-eyed cherubims, then I never seed
one, that's all.”
At this moment Star caught sight of him. “O Daddy,” she cried. “My
Daddy Captain, I'm having such a fine ride! It isn't _quite_ as high
as a heaven-kissing hill, but it's a heaven-kissing cow, for Imogen
is really _very_ high. Dear Daddy, won't you come and try it? there's
plenty of room!”
“Thanky, Peach Blossom!” said the Captain, advancing, and greeting
the apologetic Bob with a hearty shake of the hand. “Thanky kindly,
but I don't believe I will try it. Ridin' was never, so as to say,
in my line. I'm stiddy enough on my own pins, but defend me from
tryin' to git about on another critter's. And how's all with you,
Bob? and why ain't you aboard the _Huntress_?”
Bob in the fewest possible words related the mishap which had befallen
the boat, and asked if he might take Missy out to see her.
“To be sure! to be sure!” said Captain January. “That'll be a nice
trip for ye, Honeysuckle. Put on your bunnit and go with Bob. He'll
take good care of ye, Bob will.”
And so, by what seemed the merest chance, that lovely afternoon,
little Star went with Bob Peet, in his old black boat, to see the
steamer _Huntress_ aground on a sand-bank off the main shore.
The sea lay all shining and dimpling in the afternoon light, and not
a cloud was to be seen overhead. Here and there a white gull was
slowly waving his wings through the clear air, and little fish came
popping their heads out of the water, just for the pleasure of popping
them back again. Star dipped her hands in the blue crystal below,
and sang little snatches of song, being light of heart and without
a care in the world. They were no nursery songs that she sang, for
she considered herself to have outgrown the very few Mother Goose
ditties which Captain January had treasured in his mind and heart
ever since his mother sang them to him, all the many years ago. She
was tired of:
“Jacky Barber's coming to town:
Clear away, gentlemen! clear away, gentlemen!
One foot up and t'other foot down,
Jacky Barber's coming to town.”
But she loved the scraps of sea-song that the old Captain still hummed
over his work: “Baltimore,” and “Blow a Man Down,” and half a dozen
other salt-water ditties: and it might have been strange to less
accustomed ears than Bob Peet's to hear the sweet child-voice
carolling merrily:
“Boney was a warrior,
Weigh! heigh! oh!
Boney was a warrior,
John Francois!
Boney whipped the Rooshians,
Weigh! heigh! oh!
Boney whipped the Prooshians,
John Francois!
Boney went to Elba,
Weigh! heigh! oh!” etc.
Bob's oars kept time with the song, and his portentous voice thundered
out the refrain with an energy which shook the little skiff from stem
to stern. By the time that “Boney” was safely consigned to his grave
in sunny France, they were nearing the flats on which the steamer
_Huntress_ lay, quietly awaiting the turn of the tide.
Star knew the great white boat well, for twice a day she went
thundering past Light Island, churning the quiet blue water into foam
with her huge paddles, on her way to and from the gay summer city
which all the world came to visit. Nearly every day the child would
run out on the south rocks to wave a greeting to some of her
acquaintances among the crew; for she knew them all, from the
black-bearded captain down to the tiniest cabin-boy; and they, for
their part, were always eager--good souls!--for a smile or a nod from
the “Star of Light Island.” Not a man of them but envied Bob Peet
his privilege of going when he pleased to the lighthouse rock. For
Captain January was not fond of visitors, and gave them no
encouragement to come, Bob Peet being the single exception to the
rule. The Captain liked Bob because he was not “given to clatter,”
and “knew how to belay his jaw.”
“I do love to see a man belay his jaw!” said Captain January,
unconsciously quoting the words of another and a more famous captain,
the beloved David Dodd. So Bob was free to come and go as he liked,
and to smoke his pipe in sociable silence for hours at a time, within
the walls of Storm Castle.
“Stop here, Bob!” said Star, with an imperious motion of her hand.
“I don't want to go any nearer.” The obedient Bob lay on his oars,
and both looked up at the great boat, now only a few yards away. The
decks were crowded with passengers, who leaned over the railings,
idly chatting, or watching the water to see if the tide had turned.
“Sight o' folks,” said Bob Peet, nodding towards the after-deck, which
seemed a solid mass of human beings.
“Yes,” said the child, speaking half to herself, in a low tone. “It's
just like the Tower of Babel, isn't it? I should think they would
be afraid. 'And the Lord scattered them abroad from thence upon the
face of all the earth.' And it's so _stupid_!” she added, after a
moment's pause. “Why don't they stay at home? Haven't they any homes
to stay at? Who takes care of their homes while they go sailing about
like loons?”
“Folks likes to v'yage,” said Bob Peet, with mild toleration.
“Heaps--nothin' t' do--hot spells--v'yages.” He added, with an
approach to a twinkle in his meek and cow-like eyes, “Try it--some
day--git tired of ol' Cap'n--ol' rock--pooty soon--take ye--v'yage--”
His speech was interrupted by a sudden and violent dash of water in
his face.
“Take that!” cried Star, panting with fury, and flinging the water
at him with all her small might. “I wish it was sharp stones, instead
of just water. I wish it was needles, and jagged rocks, and quills
upon the fretful porkypine, so I do! How dare you say such things
to me, Bob Peet? How dare you?” She paused, breathless, but with
flashing eyes and burning cheeks; while Bob meekly mopped his face
and head with a red cotton handkerchief, and shook the water from
his ears, eyeing her the while with humble and deprecatory looks.
“No offence,” he muttered, in apologetic thunder-rumble. “Poor ol'
Bob--eh, Missy? Sorry, beg pardon! Never no more. Didn't mean
it--nohow!”
The tempest subsided as suddenly as it rose, and Star, with a
forgiving nod, took out her own little handkerchief and daintily wiped
a few drops from her victim's forehead.
“You're so stupid, Bob,” she said, frankly, “that I suppose I ought
not to get angry with you, any more than I would with Imogen, though
even she provokes me sometimes. So I forgive you, Bob. But if you
ever say such a thing again as my getting tired of Daddy, I'll kill
you. So now you know!”
“Jes' so!” assented Bob. “Nat'rally! _To_ b' sure!”
The sudden splashing of the water had caught many eyes on the deck
of the _Huntress_, and people admired the “playfulness” of the pretty
child in the little boat. One pair of eyes, however, was sharper than
the rest.
“Just look at that child, Isabel!” said a tall, bronzed gentleman
who was leaning over the taff-rail. “She is a perfect little fury!
I never saw a pair of eyes flash so. Very fine eyes they are, too.
A very beautiful child. Isabel! why, my dear, what is the matter?
You are ill--faint! let me--”
But the lady at his side pushed his arm away, and leaned forward,
her eyes fixed upon Star's face.
“George,” she said, in a low, trembling voice, “I want to know who
that child is. I _must_ know, George! Find out for me, dear, please!”
As she spoke, she made a sign towards the boat, so earnest, so
imperative, that it caught Star's wandering gaze. Their eyes met,
and the little child in the pink calico frock, and the stately lady
in the India shawl, gazed at each other as if they saw nothing else
in the world. The gentleman looked from one to the other in amazement.
“Isabel!” he whispered, “the child looks like you. What can this
mean?”
But little Star, in the old black boat, cried, “Take me away, Bob!
take me home to my Daddy Captain! _Quick_! do you hear?”
“Jes' so” said Bob Peet. “Nat'rally!”