OTHELLO COTTAGE.
To revert to the old life as far as possible under changed
circumstances, to pass a sponge over a terrible succession of
pictures, to brush out the vision of horrors from her eyes, and shake
the burden of the past off her head--if for a while only--was a joy to
Judith. She had been oppressed with nightmare, and now the night was
over, her brain clear, and should forget its dreams.
She and Jamie were together, and were children once more; her anxiety
for her brother was allayed, and she had broken finally with Cruel
Coppinger. Her heart bounded with relief. Jamie was simple and docile
as of old; and she rambled with him through the lanes, along the
shore, upon the downs, avoiding only one tract of common and one cove.
A child's heart is elastic; eternal droopings it cannot bear. Beaten
down, bruised and draggled by the storm, it springs up when the sun
shines, and laughs into flower. It is no eucalyptus that ever hangs
its leaves; it is a sensitive plant, wincing, closing, at a trifle,
feeling acutely, but not for long.
And now Judith had got an idea into her head, that she communicated to
Jamie, and her sanguine anticipations kindled his torpid mind. She had
resolved to make little shell baskets and other chimney ornaments, not
out of the marine shells cast up by the sea, for on that coast none
came ashore whole, but out of the myriad snail-shells that strew the
downs. They were of all sizes, from a pin's head to a gooseberry, and
of various colors--salmon-pink, sulphur-yellow, rich brown and pure
white. By judicious arrangement of sizes and of colors, with a little
gum on cardboard, what wonderful erections might be made, certain to
charm the money out of the pocket, and bring in a little fortune to
the twins.
"And then," said Jamie, "I can build a linney, and rent a paddock, and
keep my Neddy at Polzeath."
"And," said Judith, "we need be no longer a burden to Auntie."
The climax of constructive genius would be exhibited in the formation
of a shepherd and shepherdess, for which Judith was to paint faces and
hands; but their hats, their garments, their shoes, were to be made of
shells. The shepherdess was to have a basket on her arm, and in this
basket were to be flowers, not made out of complete shells, but out of
particles of sea-shells of rainbow colors.
What laughter, what exultation there was over the shepherd and
shepherdess! How in imagination they surpassed the fascinations of
Dresden china figures. And the price at which they were to be sold was
settled. Nothing under a pound would be accepted, and that would be
inadequate to represent the value of such a monument of skill and
patience! The shepherd and shepherdess would have to be kept under
glass bells, on a drawing-room mantel-shelf.
Judith's life had hitherto been passed between her thoughtful,
cultured father and her thoughtless, infantile brother. In some
particulars she was old for her age, but in others she was younger
than her years. As the companion of her father, she had gained powers
of reasoning, a calmness in judging, and a shrewdness of sense which
is unusual in a girl of eighteen. But as also the associate of Jamie
in his play, she had a childish delight in the simplest amusements,
and a readiness to shake off all serious thought and fretting care in
an instant, and to accommodate herself to the simplicity of her
brother.
Thus--a child with a child--Judith and Jamie were on the common one
windy, showery day, collecting shells, laughing, chattering, rejoicing
over choice snail-shells, as though neither had passed through a wave
of trouble, as though life lay serene before them.
Judith had no experience of the world. With her natural wit and
feminine instinct she had discovered that Cruel Coppinger loved her.
She had also no hesitation in deciding that he must be repulsed.
Should he seek her, she must avoid him. They could not possibly unite
their lives. She had told him this, and there the matter ended. He
must swallow his disappointment, and think no more about her. No one
could have everything he wanted. Other people had to put up with
rejection, why not Coppinger? It might be salutary to him to find that
he could not have his way in all things. So she argued, and then she
put aside from her all thought of the Captain, and gave herself up to
consideration of snail-shell boxes, baskets, and shepherds and
shepherdesses.
Jamie was developing a marvellous aptitude for bird-stuffing. Mr.
Menaida had told Judith repeatedly that if the boy would stick to it,
he might become as skilful as himself. He would be most happy,
thankful to be able to pass over to him some of the work that
accumulated, and which he could not execute. "I am not a professional;
I am an amateur. I only stuff birds to amuse my leisure moments.
Provokingly enough, gentlemen do not believe this. They write to me as
if I were a tradesman, laying their commands upon me, and I resent it.
I have a small income of my own, and am not forced to slave for my
bread and 'baccy. Now, if Jamie will work with me and help me, I will
cheerfully share profits with him. I must be director--that is
understood."
But it was very doubtful whether poor Jamie could be taught to apply
himself regularly to the work, and that under a desultory master, who
could not himself remain at a task many minutes without becoming
exhausted and abandoning it. Jamie could be induced to work only by
being humored. He loved praise. He must be coaxed and flattered to
undertake any task that gave trouble. Fortunately, taxidermy did not
require any mental effort, and it was the straining of his imperfect
mental powers that irritated and exhausted the boy.
With a little cajolery he might be got to do as much as did Uncle
Zachie, and if Mr. Menaida were as good as his word--and there could
be little doubt that so kind, amiable, and honorable a man would be
that--Jamie would really earn a good deal of money. Judith also hoped
to earn more with her shell-work, and together she trusted they would
be able to support themselves without further tax on Miss Trevisa.
And what a childish pleasure they found in scheming their future, what
they would do with their money, where they would take a house, how
furnish it! They laughed over their schemes, and their pulses
fluttered at the delightful pictures they conjured up. And all their
rosy paradise was to rise out of the proceeds of stuffed birds and
snail-shell chimney ornaments.
"Ju! come here, Ju!" cried Jamie.
Then again impatiently, "Ju! come here, Ju!"
"What is it, dear?"
"Here is the very house for us. Do come and see."
On the down, nestled against a wall that had once enclosed a garden,
but was now ruinous, stood a cottage. It was built of wreck-timber,
thatched with heather and bracken, and with stones laid on the
thatching, which was bound with ropes, as protection against the wind.
A quaint, small house, with little windows under the low eaves; one
story high, the window-frames painted white; the glass frosted with
salt blown from the sea, so that it was impossible to look through the
small panes, and discover what was within. The door had a gable over
it, and the centre of the gable was occupied by a figure-head of
Othello. The Moor of Venice was black and well battered by storm, so
that the paint was washed and bitten off him. There was a strong brick
chimney in the midst of the roof, but no smoke issued from it, nor had
the house the appearance of being inhabited. There were no blinds to
the windows, there were no crocks, no drying linen about the house; it
had a deserted look, and yet was in good repair.
"Oh, Ju!" said Jamie, "we will live here. Will it not be fun? And I
shall have a gun and shoot birds."
"Whose house can it be?" asked Judith.
"I don't know. Ju, the door is open; shall we go in?"
"No, Jamie, we have no right there."
A little gate was in the wall, and Judith looked through. There had at
one time certainly been a garden there, but it had been neglected, and
allowed to be overrun with weeds. Roses, escallonica, and lavender had
grown in untrimmed luxuriance. Marigolds rioted over the space like a
weed. Pinks flourished, loving the sandy soil, but here and there the
rude blue thistle had intruded and asserted its right to the
sea-border land as its indigenous home.
Down came the rain, so lashing that Judith was constrained to seek
shelter, and, in spite of her protest that she had no right to enter
Othello Cottage, she passed the threshold.
No one was within but Jamie, who had not attended to her objection;
led by curiosity, and excusing himself by the rain, he had opened the
door and gone inside.
The house was unoccupied, and yet was not in a condition of neglect
and decay. If no one lived there, yet certainly some one visited it,
for it had not that mouldy atmosphere that pervades a house long shut
up, nor were dust and sand deep on floor and table. There was
furniture, though scanty. The hearth showed traces of having had a
fire in it at no very distant period. There were benches. There were
even tinder-box and candle on the mantle-shelf.
Jamie was in high excitement and delight. This was the ogre's cottage
to which Jack had climbed up the bean-stalk. He was sure to find
somewhere the hen that laid golden eggs, and the harp that played of
itself.
Judith seated herself on one of the benches and sorted her shells,
leaving Jamie to amuse himself. As the house was uninhabited, it did
not seem to her that any gross impropriety existed in allowing him to
run in and out and peep round the rooms, and into the corners.
"Judith," he exclaimed, coming to her from an adjoining room, "there
is a bed in here, and there are crooks in the wall!"
"What are the crooks for, dear?"
"For climbing, I think."
Then he ran back, and she saw no more of him for a while, but heard
him scrambling.
She rose and went to the door into the adjoining apartment to see that
he was after no mischief. She found that this apartment was intended
for sleeping in. There was a bedstead with a mattress on it, but no
clothes. Jamie had found some crooks in the wall, and was scrambling
up these, with hands and feet, toward the ceiling, where she perceived
an opening, apparently into the attic.
"Oh, Jamie! what are you doing there?"
"Ju, I want to see whether there is anything between the roof and the
ceiling. There may be the harp there, or the hen that lays golden
eggs."
"The shower is nearly over; I shall not wait for you."
She seated herself on the bed and watched him. He thrust open a
sliding board, and crawled through into the attic. He would soon tire
of exploring among the rafters, and would return dirty, and have to
be cleared of cobwebs and dust. But it amused the boy. He was ever
restless, and she would find it difficult to keep him occupied sitting
by her below till the rain ceased, so she allowed him to scramble and
search as he pleased. Very few minutes had passed before Judith heard
a short cough in the main room, and she at once rose and stepped back
into it to apologize for her intrusion. To her great surprise she
found her aunt there, at the little window, measuring it.
"A couple of yards will do--double width," said Miss Trevisa.
"Auntie!" exclaimed Judith. "Who ever would have thought of seeing you
here?"
Miss Trevisa turned sharply round, and her lips tightened.
"And who would have thought of seeing you here," she answered, curtly.
"Auntie, the rain came on; I ran in here so as not to be wet through.
To whom does this house belong?"
"To the master--to whom else? Captain Coppinger."
"Are you measuring the window for blinds for him?"
"I am measuring for blinds, but not for him."
"But--who lives here?"
"No one as yet."
"Is any one coming to live here?"
"Yes--I am."
"Oh, auntie! and are we to come here with you?"
Miss Trevisa snorted, and stiffened her back.
"Are you out of your senses, like Jamie, to ask such a question? What
is the accommodation here? Two little bedrooms, one large kitchen, and
a lean-to for scullery--that is all--a fine roomy mansion for three
people indeed!"
"But, auntie, are you leaving the Glaze?"
"Yes, I am. Have you any objection to that?"
"No, aunt, only I am surprised. And Captain Cruel lets you have this
dear little cottage?"
"As to its being dear, I don't know, I am to have it; and that is how
you have found it open to poke and pry into. I came up to look round
and about me, and then found I had not brought my measuring tape with
me, so I returned home for that, and you found the door open and
thrust yourself in."
"I am very sorry if I have given you annoyance."
"Oh, it's no annoyance to me. The place is not mine yet."
"But when do you come here, Aunt Dunes?"
"When?" Miss Trevisa looked at her niece with a peculiar expression in
her hard face that Judith noticed, but could not interpret. "That,"
said Miss Trevisa, "I do not know yet."
"I suppose you will do up that dear little garden," said Judith.
Miss Trevisa did not vouchsafe an answer; she grunted, and resumed her
measuring.
"Has this cottage been vacant for long, auntie?"
"Yes."
"But, auntie, some one comes here. It is not quite deserted."
Miss Trevisa said to herself, "Four times two and one breadth torn in
half to allow for folds will do it. Four times two is eight, and one
breadth more is ten."
Just then Jamie appeared, shyly peeping through the door. He had heard
his aunt's voice, and was afraid to show himself. Her eye, however,
observed him, and in a peremptory tone she ordered him to come
forward.
But Jamie would not obey her willingly, and he deemed it best for him
to make a dash through the kitchen to the open front door.
"That boy!" growled Miss Trevisa, "I'll be bound he has been at
mischief."
"Auntie, I think the rain has ceased, I will say good-by."
Then Judith left the cottage.
"Ju," said Jamie, when he was with his sister beyond earshot of the
aunt, "such fun--I have something to tell you."
"What is it, Jamie?"
"I won't tell you till we get home."
"Oh, Jamie, not till we get back to Polzeath?"
"Well, not till we get half-way home--to the white gate. Then I will
tell you."