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Bosom Friends
A Seaside Story
[Illustration: The namesakes (page 48).]
By ANGELA BRAZIL
Bosom Friends
A Seaside Story
THOMAS NELSON AND SONS, LTD.
LONDON, EDINBURGH, AND NEW YORK
PRINTED IN GREAT BRITAIN AT
THE PRESS OF THE PUBLISHERS.
_CONTENTS._
I. Fellow-travellers 5
II. Mrs. Stewart's Letter 21
III. A Meeting on the Sands 33
IV. The Sea Urchins' Club 48
V. A Hot Friendship 60
VI. On the Cliffs 75
VII. The "Stormy Petrel" 87
VIII. Cross-purposes 108
IX. Silversands Tower 119
X. Wild Maidenhair 132
XI. The Island 144
XII. A First Quarrel 158
XIII. Reading the Runes 173
XIV. A Wet Day 187
XV. Tea with Mr. Binks 201
XVI. Belle's New Friend 217
XVII. The Chase 231
XVIII. Good-bye 243
BOSOM FRIENDS.
CHAPTER I.
FELLOW-TRAVELLERS.
"Say, is it fate that has flung us together,
We who from life's varied pathways thus meet?"
It was a broiling day at the end of July, and the railway station at
Tiverton Junction was crowded with passengers. Porters wheeling great
truckfuls of luggage strove to force a way along the thronged platform,
anxious mothers held restless children firmly by the hand, harassed
fathers sought to pack their families into already overflowing
compartments, excited cyclists were endeavouring to disentangle their
machines from among the piles of boxes and portmanteaus, a circus and a
theatrical company were loud in their lamentations for certain reserved
corridor carriages which had not arrived, while a patient band of
Sunday-school teachers was struggling to keep together a large party of
slum children bound for a sea-side camp.
The noise was almost unbearable. The ceaseless whistling of the engines,
the shouts of the porters, the banging of carriage doors, the eager
inquiries of countless perplexed passengers, made a combination
calculated to give a headache to the owner of the stoutest nerves, and
to drive timid travellers to distraction. All the world seemed off for
its holiday, and the bustle and confusion of its departure was nearly
enough to make some sober-minded parents wish they had stayed at home.
Leaning up against the bookstall in a corner out of reach of the stream
of traffic, clutching a basket in one hand and a hold-all full of wraps
and umbrellas in the other, stood a small girl of about ten or eleven
years of age, her gaze fixed anxiously upon the great clock on the
platform opposite. She was a pretty child, with a sweet, thoughtful
little face, clear gray eyes, and straight fair hair, which fell over
her shoulders without the least attempt at wave or curl. She was very
simply and plainly dressed--her sailor suit had been many times to the
laundry, the straw hat was decidedly sunburnt, and her boots had
evidently seen good service; but there was about her an indescribable
air of refinement and good breeding--that intangible something which
stamps those trained from their babyhood in gentle ways--which set her
apart at once from the crowds of cheap trippers that thronged the
station. From the eager glances she cast up and down the platform she
appeared to be waiting for somebody, and she tried to beguile the time
by watching the surging mass of tourists who hurried past her in a
ceaseless stream. She had listened while the circus manager button-holed
the superintendent and excitedly proclaimed his woes; she had held her
breath with interest when the slum babies, with their buns and
brown-paper parcels, were successfully bundled into the compartments
reserved for them, and had craned her neck to catch a last glimpse as
they steamed slowly out of the station, their small faces filling the
windows like groups of cherubs, and their shrill little voices
over-topping all the other noise and din as they joined lustily in the
chorus of a hymn. She had witnessed the struggles of several family
parties to secure seats, the altercation between the young man with the
St. Bernard dog and the guard who refused to allow it in the carriage,
the wrath of the gentleman whose fishing-rod was broken, the grief of
the lady whose golf-clubs were missing, and the despair of the young
couple whose baby had gone on in the train; then, growing rather weary
of the ever-moving throng, she turned her eyes to the bookstall, and
tried to amuse herself with admiring the large coloured supplements
which adorned the back, or reading the names of the rows of attractive
books and periodicals which were spread forth in tempting array. She was
fumbling in her pocket, and wondering whether she would spend a certain
cherished penny on an illustrated paper, or keep it for a more urgent
occasion, when her attention was aroused by a pair of fellow-travellers
who strolled in a leisurely fashion up to the bookstall, and, standing
close beside her, began to turn over some of the various magazines and
journals.
They were a tall, fashionably-dressed lady, carrying a tiny white
lap-dog under her arm, and a little girl of about her own age, a child
who appeared so charmingly pretty to Isobel's eyes that she could not
help gazing at her in scarcely-concealed admiration. An older and more
practised observer would have noticed that the newcomer's face lacked
character, and that her claims to beauty lay mostly in her dainty
pink-and-white colouring and her curling flaxen hair, and would have
decided, moreover, that the elaborately-made white Japanese silk dress,
the pale-blue drawn chiffon hat with its garland of flowers, the tall
white French kid boots, the tiny gold bangles and the jewelled locket
seemed more suitable for a garden party or a walk on the promenade than
for the dust and dirt of a crowded railway journey. To Isobel, however,
she appeared like an enchanted princess in a fairy story, and she looked
on with thrilling interest while the attractive stranger made her choice
among the supply of literature provided for the wants of the travelling
public. She seemed somewhat difficult to satisfy, for she threw down one
magazine after another in a rather disdainful fashion, declaring that
none of them looked worth reading, and, calling to the assistant, bade
him show her some story-books. A goodly pile of these was handed down
for her inspection, and Isobel, who stood almost at her elbow, could see
over her shoulder as she turned the pages. So endless was the variety of
delightful tales and illustrations, from legends of King Arthur or the
Red Cross Knight to Middle Age mysteries or modern adventures and school
scrapes, that it should not have been hard to find something to suit any
taste, and the little girl in the sailor hat looked on so fascinated
with the snatches she was able to read that she did not notice when a
sweet-faced lady in black came hurrying up, until the latter touched her
on the arm.
"Why, mother dear--at last!"
"Did you think I was lost, darling? I had such terrible difficulty to
get a porter, and the brown box had been put in the wrong van, and has
gone on to Whitecastle. I was obliged to telegraph about it, but I hope
we may get it this evening. Come along! That's our train over there.
We've only just nice time, for it will start in a few minutes now. Give
me the wraps."
She took the hold-all from the child's hand, and the two hurried across
the bridge on to the opposite platform.
"Here's our porter!" cried Mrs. Stewart.--"Have you put all in the van?
Yes, these things in the carriage, please. Third class. It seems almost
impossible to find a seat. Is there room here? How fortunate!--Come,
Isobel; get in quickly."
"Plenty o' room here, marm," shouted a stout, gray-haired, farmer-like
old man, as he reached out a strong hand to help her into the carriage,
and found a place for her wraps upon the already crowded rack.
The compartment was more than half full. A party of cheap trippers with
a wailing baby, and a "pierrot" with a banjo, which he occupied himself
with tuning incessantly, did not offer much prospect of a peaceful
journey; but Mrs. Stewart knew it was impossible to choose one's company
at a holiday season, and wisely made the best of things, while
travelling was still such a novelty to Isobel that she would have
enjoyed any experience.
"It's no easy job catchin' trains to-day, marm," said the old farmer,
with the air of one who enjoys hearing himself talk. "How them porters
gets all the folks sorted out fairly beats me. It's main hot, too. I've
come all the way fra' Birmingham. Bin travellin' since eight o'clock
this mornin', and I shall be reet glad to find myself back at
Silversands again. Little missy 'ud like to sit by the window here, I
take it?" good-naturedly making room for her.--"Nay, no need o' thanks!
You're welcome, honey. I've a grandchild over at Skegness way as might
be your livin' image. Bless you! I've reared seven, and I know what
bairns like. Sit you here against me, and when the train gets out of the
station you'll see the sea and all the ships sailin' on it."
Isobel settled herself in the corner with much content. She had never
expected such luck as to secure a window-seat, and she surveyed the
ruddy cheeks and bushy eyebrows of her kindly fellow-traveller with a
broad smile of gratitude.
"Goin' to Silversands, missy?" he inquired. "Ay, it's a grand place, and
I should ought to know, for I've lived there, man and boy, for a matter
of sixty year. Where might you be a-stayin', if I may make so bold? Mrs.
Jackson! Why, she's an old friend o' mine, and will make you
comfortable, if any one can. You ask her if she knows Mr. Binks of the
White Coppice. I reckon she won't deny the acquaintance."
"Tickets ready!" cried the inspector, breaking in upon the conversation.
"Take your seats, please! All stations to Groby, Heatherton,
Silversands, and Ferndale."
There was a last stampede for places among excited passengers, a last
rush of porters with rugs and hat boxes; the guard had already unfurled
his green flag, and was in the act of putting the whistle to his lips,
when two late-comers appeared, racing in frantic haste down the
platform.
"O mother!" cried Isobel, "that lady and the little girl are going to be
left behind! It's the little girl in the blue hat, too! They were buying
papers at the bookstall. Just look how they're running! Oh, the guard's
stopping the train for them! I think they'll catch it, after all. Why,
they're coming in here!"
"Put us in anywhere--anywhere!" cried the lady in desperate tones, as
the inspector flung open the carriage door.
"Here you are, m'm!" cried the porter, seizing the little girl with
scant ceremony, and jumping her into the compartment.--"Luggage in the
front van, and the light hampers in No. 43. Thank you, m'm.--Stand back
there!"
He pocketed his tip, banged the door violently, nearly catching Isobel's
fingers thereby, the whistle sounded, and the train started off with a
jerk that almost threw the newcomers on to the lap of old Mr. Binks, who
had watched their sudden arrival with open-mouthed interest. The lady
apologized prettily, and finding room between the pierrot and a
market-woman with several large baskets, she sank down on the seat with
a sigh of relief, and taking a smelling-bottle and a large black fan
from her dressing-bag, leaned back with an air of utter exhaustion.
"Mother! mother!" cried the little girl. "Do you see they've put us
into a third-class carriage?"
"Never mind, dear," replied the lady. "I was only too thankful to catch
the train at all. We can change at the next station if we wish, but it
seems scarcely worth while for so short a journey. The carriages are so
crowded that the firsts are as bad as the thirds."
"That porter's dirty hands have made black marks on my dress," said the
little girl disconsolately. "Why couldn't the train wait for us? They
needn't have been in such a hurry when they saw we were coming."
"Trains don't wait for any one, dear. It was your own fault, for you
wouldn't come away from the bookstall. I told you to be quick about
choosing."
"I didn't see anything I wanted. Books are all just the same. I don't
think I shall like this one, now I have it. Give me Micky, please,"
taking the pet dog on to her knee. "Shall we have to stay very long in
this carriage? I'm so terribly hot."
"Get the scent out of my bag, dearest, and the vinaigrette. You'll soon
feel better, now this nice breeze is coming in through the window. If
the train's fairly punctual, we shall be there in half an hour."
"It's past three o'clock already!" consulting a pretty enamelled watch
which was pinned on to her dress. "Oh dear! I'm so tired! I hate
travelling. Why can't we have a carriage to ourselves? This basket's
knocking my hat off. _Do_ let us change at the next station. How the
baby cries! It's making my head ache."
"Young lady don't fancy her company," said the market-woman, moving her
basket as she spoke. "I've paid for my ticket same as other folks 'as,
and my money's as good as any one else's, so far as I can see."
"Some people had better order a train to themselves if they're too fine
to travel with the likes of us," observed one of the trippers with
sarcasm.
"I'm sure I'm sorry as he cries so," apologized the weary mother of the
wailing baby. "The heat's turned the milk sour, and I durstn't give him
his bottle. He won't go to sleep without it, neither, so I can't do
nothing with him. Husht! husht! lovey, wilt 'a?"
"Bairns will be bairns," remarked old Mr. Binks sententiously. "I ought
to know, for I've reared seven. Live and let live's my motto, and a good
un to get along the world with. I'll wager as young missy there meant no
offence."
"Indeed she did not wish to hurt anybody's feelings," said the lady
hastily, adding in a low tone to the little girl, "Be quiet, dear. Take
off your hat, and perhaps you'll be cooler."
Wedged between fat old Mr. Binks and the window, Isobel had sat watching
the whole scene. She was terribly hot, but the crowded carriage and its
miscellaneous occupants only amused her, and she divided her attention
between the quickly passing landscape and her various travelling
companions, stealing frequent glances at the pretty stranger opposite,
who had closed her eyes in languid resignation, having drawn her white
silk skirts as far as possible away from the market-woman, and placed
her pale-blue hat in safety upon her mother's knee. The baby was asleep
at last, worn out with crying, and the trippers were handing round
refreshments--large wedges of pork pie, sticky buns, and cold tea, which
they drank in turns out of a bottle. They pressed these dainties
cordially upon everybody in the carriage, but the only one who consented
to share their hospitality was the market-woman, who remarked audibly
that "_she_ was not proud, however much some folks might stick
theirselves up." In return she produced a couple of apples from her
basket, which she presented to the two little tripper boys, who promptly
quarrelled which should have the bigger, and kicked each other lustily
on the shins, till their father boxed their ears and threatened to send
them home by the next returning train. The pierrot created a diversion
at this point by playing a few selections upon the banjo and singing a
comic song, handing round his tall white hat afterwards for pennies, and
informing the company that they could have the pleasure of hearing him
again any day upon the pier at Ferndale at 11.30 and 3 o'clock prompt.
"I'm glad we're not staying at Ferndale," thought Isobel, "if all these
people are going there! I'm sure Silversands will be ever so much
nicer." And she turned with relief to look out through the open window.
After running for a long distance between high embankments, the train
had at last reached the coast, and Isobel watched with rapture the
sparkling blue sea, the long line of yellow heather-topped cliffs, and
the red sails of the fishing-boats which could be seen on the distant
horizon. On the shore she could catch glimpses of delightful little
pools among the rocks left by the retreating tide, and Mr. Binks, who
seemed to enjoy acting as guide, drew her notice continually to rows of
bathing-vans, children riding donkeys or digging sand-castles on the
beach, or fishwives gathering cockles at the water's edge, pointing out
the various objects of interest with a fat brown finger. The few
stations which they passed were crowded with tourists, one or two of
whom opened the door of the compartment in the hope of finding room,
but slammed it again quickly when they saw the number of its occupants.
"They did ought to put on more carriages, so nigh to August Bank
Holiday," said Mr. Binks. "We're close on Silversands now--you can see
it there, over at t'other side of the bay--so you won't be long waitin'
of your tea. You'll be rare and glad to get some, I take it, if you feel
like me."
Isobel thought it was the longest and hottest journey she ever
remembered; but, like most things, it at length came to a close, and
after several halts and tiresome waitings on the line the heavy train
crawled into Silversands. It was a little wayside station, with a gay
garden running alongside the platform, and the name "Silversands"
elaborately done out in white stones upon a green bank. A group of
Scotch firs gave a pleasant shade and a suggestion of country woods; the
sea and the sands were just visible over a tall hedge of flowering
tamarisk, the meadows were full of buttercups, while cornfields,
beginning already to yellow with ripening crops, and gay with scarlet
poppies, made a refreshing sight to dusty travellers.
"Here we are, mother!" cried Isobel, with delight. "This is really
Silversands at last! Oh, look at the poppies among the corn! Aren't they
lovely!"
"Ay, it's Silversands, sure enough," said Mr. Binks, opening the
carriage door and descending with the caution his bulk demanded. "Main
glad I am to see it again, too. Take care, honey! Let me help you down,
and your ma too. You're welcome, marm, I'm sure, to anything as I may
have done for you; and if you and missy here is takin' a walk some day
towards 'the balk,' just ask for Binks of the White Coppice, and my
missus 'ull make you a cup of tea any time as you likes to call.
Good-day to you!" And he moved away down the platform with the satisfied
air of one who again finds his foot on his native heath.
Silversands seemed also to be the destination of the two travellers in
whom Isobel had taken such an interest, as they got out of the train
with much apparent relief, and were greeted by quite a number of
enthusiastic and smartly-dressed friends who had come to the station to
meet them.
"We've had the most _terrible_ journey!" Isobel overheard the little
girl saying. "We were obliged to go in a third-class carriage with the
rudest and dirtiest people! I'm sure I'm black all over. Oh, I'm _so_
glad to have got here at last!"
She retailed her experiences to a sympathetic audience, while her
mother, who, it appeared, had lost a handbag, insisted upon calling the
station-master and giving a full description of both its labels and
contents; and until their numerous boxes and portmanteaus had been
collected and disposed on a carriage, and they and their friends had
finally passed through the gate at the bottom of the platform, it was
quite impossible for Mrs. Stewart to secure the services of the solitary
porter. She managed at last, however, to gather together her modest
luggage, and leaving it to follow upon a hand-cart, set out with Isobel
to walk to the lodgings which she had engaged.