THE ROCKY BAY.
“TO-MORROW, Bertie, to-morrow!” whispered Phil, in a sort of ecstatic
excitement. “Keep it dark; and be ready at nine sharp. Do you think you
could get David to come too without the Squire’s knowing it?”
“No; but if I ask him to let him come with me, I know he will say yes.
Of course I shall tell him where I am going,—I always do.”
Phil whistled a little.
“Do you though? I hadn’t bargained for that; but you won’t say anything
about the young gulls.”
“No, that isn’t my secret; I promised not to tell; but I shall have to
ask leave to go to the Rocky Bay to-morrow. I know he’ll let me, and
he’ll let David come too if I ask, and then I can drive in my little
cart and bring something to eat, and you can go in the boat or on your
ponies, as you like best.”
“Oh, we shall ride,” answered Phil. “The other fellows would guess there
was something up if we wanted the boat out; and, besides, we could not
pull it all that way alone. If you have your cart it will be jolly. We
can take everything back in it, young birds and all. Oh, yes; we’ll have
a rare good day! You’re sure the Squire will let you go?”
“Oh, yes; he is very kind. He always likes me to ask him for things.”
So Bertie made his proposition very boldly that night, and received a
ready assent.
Mrs. Pritchard was pleased to supply the party with lunch, and, as David
was going, she felt no anxiety as to the safety of her pet. David was a
good, steady lad, and could be trusted to look after Master Bertie as
carefully as his own mother.
The Squire came out to see the boy drive away. He lifted him into the
varnished cart, and as he gave him the reins he said,—
“A nice day to you my boy. Take care of yourself; but don’t go climbing
about the rocks after sea-gulls’ eggs, or you’ll be getting into
danger.”
The pony had started before his words were all spoken, so that he could
not see the sudden cloud that fell upon Bertie’s face. The little boy
drove through the park with a keen sense of disappointment weighing upon
him. What had put it into the Squire’s head to utter that prohibition
just at the last? Did he really mean what he said, or was it only spoken
in jest?
Bertie had half a mind to turn back and plead for a reversal of the
verdict; but he resisted the temptation, and drove on in silence. He was
afraid, for one thing, of betraying the secret entrusted to him by his
companions; and, for another, he had not lived for a year beneath the
Squire’s roof without learning that, however kind and considerate he
might be, his will was law to all about him, and that he never gave an
order, however trifling, without some good reason, and always expected
that order to be strictly carried out.
So Bertie knew that there would be no climbing that day for him, and he
was keenly disappointed; for he was sure that Queenie would accuse him
of cowardice, and he was well aware that he had acquired, by practice in
trees and crumbling walls, and about the roof of the old Manor House, a
skill and agility in climbing with which he had quite hoped to take his
companions by storm.
However, there was nothing for it now but to obey,—for, to do the child
justice, he never dreamed of disobedience,—and it was with a heart a
good deal less light than he had expected that he joined his companions
at the place they had agreed upon.
Phil had a good big basket with him, which was transferred to the cart,
and the little cavalcade set forwards. Conversation was not altogether
easy between the riders and driver, so Bertie’s silence passed
unnoticed; but the faithful David felt certain his little master was
cast down about something, and, making a shrewd guess, he whispered,—
“Don’t ’ee be sad about it, Master Bertie; I’ll get thee the best eggs
as can be had in the bay. I know where them birds build, I do, and I’ll
see thee has all thee wants. I’ll get thee a pair of young uns too, if
so be as they’re hatched and fledged; but we’re full early for birds
yet.”
“Yes, but Phil has to go back to school so soon that we had to come
to-day. Don’t you get into any danger, David. I don’t care about the
eggs—at least not so very much.”
“Bless thy heart! ’tis nothing to me. I’ve been born and bred to it all
my life long.”
By the time the little party had reached the bay, the sun was riding
high in the sky, and the children were hungry and thirsty as well as
hot.
David took the ponies away to the farm, and the others carried the
baskets down the rocky path into the bay. Lunch was, of course, the
first consideration, and as Queenie set to work upon her sandwiches and
cake, she looked across at Phil and said,—
“Why, we haven’t told Bertie about Uncle Fred!”
“What about him?” asked Bertie.
“Why, he’s landed in England—he and his wife, you know. They came one
steamer before we expected. They’re in London now—at least they were
last night. They stayed a few days there, and to-day they’re coming down
to us. The house belongs to Uncle Fred now, you know, and we shall soon
leave it. When we get home Uncle Fred will be there.”
“Yes, and a new aunt,” added Queenie, laughing; “it will seem so funny
to have a new aunt. What did mamma say her name was? Wasn’t it Aunt
Winifred?”
Bertie suddenly put up his hand to his head, as he used sometimes to do
when he first came, but hardly ever now. Queenie noticed the movement,
and paused to ask,—
“What is it?”
“I don’t know,” he answered. “What were you saying? Go on, please.”
“Well, it is not our house any longer, and we shall go very soon. Shall
you mind?”
“I shall be sorry,” answered Bertie, slowly. “But I suppose you will
come there sometimes?”
“To see Uncle Fred? Oh yes, of course. Uncle Fred is sure to ask Phil
and me every year. It will be nice to come here sometimes and see you
again. I like this place, though perhaps it _is_ a little dull for
living in always.”
“I think it’s jolly!” cried Phil. “I like it heaps better than London.
However, as I’m at school now, it doesn’t so very much matter to me.
Eton is out and out the best place in the world!”
“You like it better than Dr. Steele’s?” said Bertie, gravely; and Phil
laughed uproariously at the question, remembering old times there, and
his half-triumphant, half-ignominious flight from his old abode just
about a year ago.
After the children had satisfied their hunger, the main business of the
day began. Eager eyes were fixed upon the rocky ledges of the
perpendicular cliff, and the movements of the sea-gulls who frequented
the spot were closely watched.
David’s opinion was eagerly waited for. He did not seem to think that
there were as many birds as usual building, or at least laying their
eggs in this place; but his practised eye discovered one or two places
where he felt certain, from the movements of the parent birds, that the
young were already hatched; and there were sure to be other nooks where
eggs might be found, if a patient and careful search were made.
Phil, who was ambitious, was bent on securing some young birds, and he
made David point out the places where he thought these were to be found.
Phil made his selection from these, and, although the elder lad shook
his head and said he did not think he would ever reach the place, the
schoolboy was in no wise daunted by difficulties.
When Phil had begun his cautious climb, and David had left them to hunt
for eggs, Queenie, who had been watching her brother’s movements with
some attention, turned suddenly upon Bertie, and asked,—
“And what are you going to do?”
Bertie looked rather red, and answered,—
“Nothing.”
Queenie’s eyebrows went up.
“What do you mean? You’ve been boasting all this time about how you’ve
been climbing and what wonderful things you can do. It was all
practising for to-day. Why don’t you show us what you can do?”
Bertie was more red than ever now. He had not really boasted at all, but
he had admitted to Phil that he had been doing a good deal of climbing,
and hoped to be able to make good use of his agility when the day came
to visit the Rocky Bay. He was intensely eager now to show his prowess
and to join the climbers in their ascent; but he stood quite still,
looking sheepish and disturbed.
Queenie looked at him with a surprise that changed to scorn.
“You are afraid,” she said, disdainfully. “Why could you not say so
before?”
“I’m not afraid,” answered Bertie, rather hotly. “I’m no more afraid
than you.”
Queenie tossed her head scornfully.
“Then why on earth don’t you go? I know it’s because you’re afraid. You
always were a pitiful little coward—all the boys say so.”
Bertie clenched his hands tightly, tears of anger and mortification
stood in his eyes. It was very hard to be accused of cowardice when he
felt himself quite innocent of the charge; and the worst of it was that
Queenie would never understand his real motive. Obedience was not a part
of her moral code.
With a great effort the little boy swallowed his resentment, and said,
quietly,—
“The Squire told me this morning that I was not to climb the rocks for
eggs.”
Queenie only looked the more scornful.
“Of course he did. They all do. Papa always does whenever we come here.
If he had known Phil was going to-day, he would have forbidden him; but
nobody cares for that. Rules are only made to be broken, you know. They
must have exceptions, or they wouldn’t be rules—everybody knows that. I
know now why you would tell the Squire. You wanted him to forbid you
because you were afraid. I always thought you were a horrid little
coward, and now I know it!”
When Queenie was vexed, she did not pause to consider other people’s
feelings, and she had grown up with brothers who were used to her sharp
speeches and did not mind them much. They knew that “her bark was worse
than her bite,” as the proverb says, and did not trouble themselves over
her angry words; but Bertie was not hardened like this. He was not
accustomed to be spoken to so harshly, and his eyes filled again with
tears of mortification and distress.
Queenie was something of a little tyrant. She liked to feel her own
power, and she was inclined to use it rather mercilessly. Seeing that
she had made an impression upon her companion, she proceeded to improve
the occasion.
“You who lectured Phil so about courage! It is uncommonly easy to talk
big, Master Bertie” (Queenie evidently found it so, at any rate); “but
when it comes to _deeds_ the case is very different. The idea that _you_
ever dared to talk to _him_ about courage! I wonder you’re not ashamed
of yourself!”
Bertie attempted no defence: for one thing, talking was not his strong
point; and for another, he knew that any words of his would be quite
wasted on Queenie, who was entirely impervious to reasonable argument
when she had once mounted her high horse. So there was silence between
them for a few moments; and, before anybody had attempted to reopen the
conversation, the silence was broken by an alarming sound, the cry of a
boy in distress.
For the last few minutes they had ceased to watch Phil’s ascent of the
cliff, being engrossed in their own argument. Looking up quickly now
with startled eyes, they saw that his position had become sufficiently
perilous.
He had clambered from ledge to ledge with great skill and address; but
he had not troubled himself to make sure, in the excitement of the
ascent, that it was possible to descend in the same manner. He had been
tempted on to really difficult places, and suddenly he had found himself
upon a narrow rocky ridge whence he could make no step either forward or
backward. His last step had been a fragment of rock that had given way
as he quitted it, and he had narrowly escaped a fall that must have
proved fatal. But his present position was perilous enough to threaten
his safety, and, as is so often the case in the presence of real danger,
giddiness seized upon him, and he clung to the hard rock with convulsive
terror, and called aloud in his fright.
Queenie’s shriek of terror brought David quickly to their side, and he
at once realized the peril of Phil’s position; but he knew better than
the children what to do, and the emergency seemed to give him courage
and presence of mind beyond his years.
“Hold on! hold on, Master Phil!” he shouted. “Shut your eyes and hold on
for ten minutes. There’s plenty of foothold there; and if you’ll just
keep quiet and not look up or down, we’ll do something for you
directly.”
And then, calling the others to follow, he commenced climbing the cliff
path with the agility of a goat.
Bertie was not much behind, and Queenie, to whom terror lent wings,
arrived closely in their wake. In a basket left up at the top of the
cliff was a coil of rope of very fair strength.
David had brought it in case it might be needed, and it was well indeed
that he had done so. In a few words he explained his plan.
“It’s no good Master Phil trying to catch the rope if we let it down to
him. He’s much too giddy for one thing, and for another the edge
overhangs a bit here, and he never could reach it if he hadn’t all his
wits about him. I’m going to tie it round my waist and clamber down to
him. It’s not easy to get down from the top, but it can be done with a
rope round one pretty safely. When I get to him I’ll put the rope on him
and you’ll draw him up between you; he’ll climb too, of course, but the
rope will help him and keep him safe. Then you’ll let it down for me,
and make it swing backwards and forwards till I can reach it. I shan’t
be giddy, I’ll get it right enough, and the three of you can help me up,
I know, and we’ll all be all right then.”
David had spoken with a rapidity and energy quite foreign to his
ordinary nature, whilst the pressure of excitement and responsibility
was upon him; and as he spoke he was unwinding the rope and making a
slip knot at one end; but before he had tied it round himself Bertie had
stopped him.
“David,” he said, with a little touch of authority in his tone, not
usual with the gentle little boy towards one who was his companion and
friend as well as his servant, “you must let me go down to Phil with the
rope. I do not think Queenie and I could pull him up by ourselves if he
cannot help himself much, and I do not think anybody but you could swing
the rope for the other one to catch by and by. I can climb very well,
and I am not giddy. You must let me go.”
For a few minutes there was a sort of argument between the two boys:
David reluctant to let Bertie endanger himself ever so little, Bertie
quite convinced that the only way of securing the safety of all was in
his plan. Queenie took no part in the talk, only standing by with
clasped hands and dilated eyes, wishing, even at this moment when she
had so much else upon her mind, that she had never called Bertie a
coward, for was he not going to risk his own safety to secure that of
Phil?
Bertie’s counsel prevailed. Indeed, it was evidently sound, and his
quiet determination carried the day.
“I am not going after sea-gulls’ eggs,” he said to himself, as he
commenced his perilous descent. “I know the Squire would let me go to
try and save Phil.”
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