Mr. Wirt lay very still. Freddy never remembered seeing any one quite so
still before. Even his breathing had grown quiet, and the rise and fall of
the broad breast was the only sign of life in the otherwise motionless
figure. All around him was very still, too. Freddy could hear the plash of
the waves on the beach, the rustle of the wind through the dwarf trees,
the whir of wings as some sea bird took its swift flight above the broken
roof. But within there was a solemn hush, that to the small watcher seemed
quite appalling.
Roy, as the other dog was named on his collar, dozed at his master's feet.
Rex kept his place at Freddy's side, as if conscious of his
responsibilities; and for a time that seemed quite interminable, all were
silent. Freddy found himself studying the big man's pale face with
fearsome interest. How very pale it was! And the rough growth of beard
that hid mouth and chin made it seem paler still. But the nose was
straight and smooth as Freddy's own. The silver-streaked hair fell in soft
waves over a broad handsome brow. And there was a white scar on the left
temple, that throbbed with the low breathing. Somehow, that scar held
Freddy's eye. Surely he had seen a V shaped scar like it before, where or
when he could not think; perhaps on one of the big football players at St.
Andrew's.
"Ah, if good Brother Tim were only here now!" thought Freddy hopelessly,
as the picture of the spotless stretch of infirmary arose before him. The
rows of white beds so safe and soft; the kind old face bending over the
fevered pillows; Old Top waving his friendly shadow in the sunlit window;
the Angelus chiming from the great bell tower; the merry shouts of the
ball players on the green below,--all these memories were in dire contrast
indeed to the present scene.
If Dan would only come back! But he wouldn't--he couldn't--for hours. And
maybe this big, strange man might die while he was gone,--die with only a
little boy beside him,--a little boy to help him, to pray for him.
Freddy's thoughts grew more and more solemn and awesome. People always
prayed by dying beds, he knew. Oh, if Dan would only come with a doctor
and perhaps a priest! For Freddy felt that big men who wandered around the
world with dogs and guns were likely to need higher spiritual
ministrations than a small boy could give. In the meanwhile he would do
his best; and, drawing out his silver-mounted rosary, he began to say his
beads.
And perhaps, as the young watcher had been an early riser this morning, he
was nodding a little over his decades when a sudden movement of his
patient roused him. Mr. Wirt was awake, his eyes fixed steadily on
Freddy's face.
"Still here," he murmured,--"still here? Boy,--little boy! Are you real or
a death dream?"
It was a startling question; but Freddy had learned something of fever
vagaries during the measles, when even some of the Seniors had lost their
heads.
"Oh, I'm real!" he answered cheerfully. "I'm a real boy all right. I'm
Freddy Neville, from St. Andrew's College--"
"My God!" burst in a low cry from the pale lips.
"Yes," said Freddy. "It's time for you to say that,--to say your prayers,
I mean; because--because--you're very sick, and when people are very sick,
you know, they--sometimes they die."
"Die!" was the hoarse echo. "Aye, die as I have lived,--in darkness,
despair! Lost--lost--lost!"
"Oh, no, no, no!" Boy as he was, Freddy felt his young heart thrill at the
cry. "You're not lost yet. You're never lost while you live. You can
always say an act of contrition, you know, and--and--" Freddy's voice
faltered, for the role of spiritual adviser was a new one; but he had not
gone through the big Catechism last year without learning a young Catholic
Christian's obligations. "Would--would you like me to say an act of
contrition for you?" he asked.
There was no answer save in the strange softening of the eyes fixed upon
the boyish face. And, feeling that his patient was too far gone for
speech, Freddy dropped on his knees, and in a sweet, trembling tone
repeated the brief, blessed words of sorrow for sin, the plea for pardon,
the promise of amendment. It had been a long, long time since those
familiar words had fallen on his listener's ears; a longer time since they
had reached his heart. For years he had believed nothing, hoped nothing,
feared nothing. Life had been to him a dull blank, broken only by reckless
adventure; death, the end of all. But for three days and nights he had
lain helpless, fever-smitten, stricken down in all his proud strength in
this wilderness, with no friends but his dogs, no home but the ruined hut
into which he had crawled for shelter, no human aid within reach or call.
The derelict, as he had called himself to Dan, had drifted on the rocks
beyond hope and help, as derelicts must. And in those three days and
nights he had realized that for him there was no light in sea or
sky,--that all was darkness forever.
And then young voices had broken in upon the black silence; and, opening
his eyes, closed on hideous fever dreams, he had seen Freddy,--Freddy, who
was not a dream; Freddy, who was kneeling by his side, whispering sweet,
forgotten words of peace and hope and pardon; Freddy--Freddy--he could not
speak, there was such a stirring in the depths of his heart and soul. He
could only stretch out his weak, trembling hand, that Freddy met with a
warm, boyish grip.
"Oh, I'm here yet!" he said, thinking his patient needed the
reassurance. "I'm staying here right by you, to say prayers, or get water
or anything you want. Dan left me here to take care of you. He has gone
for the doctor; and if you just hold on till they get here, why,
maybe--maybe--they'll pull you through all right. Gee whilikins!"
exclaimed Freddy, as the sick man suddenly started up from his rude
pillow. "You mustn't do that!"
"I must--I must!" was the hoarse reply; and Freddy was caught in a wild,
passionate clasp to his patient's heart. "Dying or living, I must claim
you, hold you, my boy,--my own little son,--little Boy Blue!" The voice
sank to a low, trembling whisper. "Little Boy Blue, don't you know your
own daddy?"
And Freddy, who had been struggling wildly in what he believed to be a
delirious grasp, suddenly grew still. "Little Boy Blue,"--it was the
nursery name of long ago,--the name that only the dad of those days
knew,--the name that even Brother Bart had never heard. It brought back
blazing fire, and cushioned rocker, and the clasp of strong arms around
his little white-robed form, and a deep, merry voice in his baby ear:
"Little Boy Blue."
Freddy lifted a frightened, bewildered little face. The eyes,--softened
now with brimming tears; the straight nose like his own, the waving hair,
the scar he had so often pressed with baby fingers,--ah, he
remembered,--little Boy Blue remembered! It was as if a curtain were
snatched from a far past that had been only dimly outlined until now.
"My daddy,--my daddy,--my own dear daddy!" he cried, flinging his arms
about the sick man's neck. "Oh, don't die,--don't die!"
For, weak and exhausted by his outburst of emotion, the father had fallen
back upon his pillow, gasping for breath, the sweat standing out in great
beads on his brow, his hand clutching Freddy's own in what seemed a death
clasp.
And now Freddy prayed indeed,--prayed as never in all his young life he
had prayed before,--prayed from the depths of his tender, innocent heart,
in words all his own.
"O God, Father in heaven, spare my dear daddy! He has been lost so long!
Oh, do not let me lose him again! Save him for his little boy,--save him,
spare him!"
Without, the sky had darkened, the wind moaned, the waves swelled
white-capped against the low shore. The August storm was rising against
Last Island in swift wrath; but, wrestling in passionate fervor for the
life that had suddenly become so precious to him, Freddy did not hear or
heed. The dogs started out into the open. Father and son were alone in the
gathering gloom.
Through what he believed the throes of his death agony, the sick man
caught the sweet, faltering words: "O dear Lord, have mercy on my dear
father! Let him live, and we will bless and thank You all the rest of our
lives. He has been lost so long, but now he has come back. Oh, try to say
it with me, daddy: you have come back to be good,--to live good and live
right forever!"
And then, even while Freddy prayed, the storm burst upon Last Island. And
such a storm! It seemed as if the derelict lying there had roused wind and
wave into destructive fury against the friendly outpost that sheltered
him. Last Island had been abandoned on account of its perilous exposure;
and its beacon light, shattered again and again by fierce ocean gales, was
transferred to a safer shore.
"It's a-washing away fast," old Neb had informed Dan when they had drifted
by the low-lying shore. "Some of these days a big storm will gulp it down
for good."
And truly the roaring sea seemed to rush upon it in hungry rage to-day.
The dogs came in crouching and whining to their master; while the wind
shrieked and whistled, and the foaming breakers thundered higher and
higher upon the unprotected shore.
"O Dan, Dan!" thought Freddy hopelessly, as the storm beat through the
broken walls and roof. "Dan will never get here now,--never!"
But, though his heart was quailing within him, Brother Bart's laddie was
no weakling: he stood bravely to his post, bathing his father's head and
hands, wetting the dry, muttering lips, soothing him with tender words and
soft caresses,--"daddy, my own dear daddy, it is your little boy that is
with you,--your own little Boy Blue! You will be better soon, daddy." And
then through the roar and rage of the storm would rise the boyish voice
pleading to God for help and mercy.
And the innocent prayer seemed to prevail. The sick man's labored
breathing grew easier, the drawn features relaxed, the blood came into the
livid lips; and, with the long-drawn sigh of one exhausted by his struggle
for life, Freddy's patient sank into a heavy sleep; while his little Boy
Blue watched on, through terrors that would have tried stronger souls than
Brother Bart's laddie. For all the powers of earth and air and sea seemed
loosened for battle. The winds rose into madder fury; the rain swept down
in blinding floods; forked tongues of fire leaped from the black clouds
that thundered back to the rolling waves.
The dogs crouched, whimpering and shivering, at Freddy's side. Whether
daddy was alive or dead he could not tell. He could only keep close to
him, trembling and praying, and feeling that all this horror of darkness
could not be real: that he would waken in a moment,--waken as he had
sometimes wakened in St. Andrew's, with Brother Bart's kind voice in his
ear telling him it was all a dream,--an awful dream.
And then blaze and crash and roar would send poor little Boy Blue
shivering to his knees, realizing that it was all true: that he was indeed
here on this far-off ocean isle, beyond all help and reach of man, with
daddy dying,--dead beside him. He had closed the door as best he could
with its rusted bolt; but the wind kept tearing at it madly, shaking the
rotten timbers until they suddenly gave way, with rattle and crash that
were too much for the brave little watcher's nerves. He flung his arms
about his father in horror he could no longer control.
"Daddy, daddy!" he cried desperately. "Wake up,--wake up! Daddy, speak to
me and tell me you're not dead!"
And daddy started into consciousness at the piteous cry, to find his
little Boy Blue clinging to him in wild affright, while wind and wave
burst into their wretched shelter,--wind and wave! Surging, foaming,
sweeping over beach and bramble and briar growth that guarded the low
shore, rising higher and higher each moment before the furious goad of the
gale, came the white-capped breakers!
"Oh, the water is coming in on us! Poor daddy, poor daddy, you'll get
wet!"
And then daddy, wild wanderer that he had been over sea and land, roused
to the peril, his dulled brain quickening into life.
"The gun,--my gun!" he said hoarsely. "It is loaded, Freddy. Lift it up
here within reach of my hand."
"O daddy, daddy, what are you going to do?" cried Freddy in new alarm.
"Shoot,--shoot! Signal for help. There is a life-saving station not far
away. There, hold the gun closer now,--closer!"
And the trembling hand pulled the trigger, and its sharp call for help
went out again and again into the storm.