COMING EVENTS
'May I come in, Goody?'
A sweet voice penetrated the dim recesses of the little thatched
cottage which, with its weather-stained front, was the centre one of
the half-circle of homely dwelling-places that huddled together looking
out on the world of waters. Sitting by the smoky fire, watching, as
she knitted busily, the iron pot of potatoes boiling for her supper and
that of her grandson Ned, was Goody Dempster. Her face, as she lifted
it, was brown and wrinkled--indeed, it was not unlike in hue the
kippered herrings hanging on a stick outside. But a pleased surprise
sprang into her eyes as she recognised her visitor's voice.
'Is that yourself, Miss Theedory? Come along in, deary! You're always
a sight for sore eyes, as ye know well. Sit ye down on the little
stool as ye've set on sin' ye were a tiny toddler. It's kep' dusted
careful, case you should drop in; and nobody, not even Ned, sits on
Miss Theedory's stool.'
'I know that, Goody dear. I shouldn't mind if they did; but you mean
it for kindness to keep a stool specially for me. Well, you see I've
come again to have another talk with you about Ned. Indeed, I hoped to
see himself, but he doesn't seem to be in the way.'
'No, Miss Theedory, he ain't. And reason why's this. He's bin out
with the Fletchers' boat all the day. There's a great take o'
mackerrow expected shortly, and the Fletchers they're on the look out;
they're always that spry to the main-chance, as you know, deary. Not
as I'm one to blame they; people has got to be sharp in their bis'ness.'
'Yes, of course,' assented Theo absently. She was staring into the
fire, wondering what tack would be best to take with Ned, when she did
get hold of the boy. 'Have you been talking to Ned, Goody, as you
promised you would?' she turned her head to ask presently.
'Ay; I've talked a bit to he. But b'ys is a handful, Miss Theedory, as
nobody should know better than yourself. Now, my Ned his heart's in
the right place; it's his head as is the trouble. He has crammed
hisself with trash of foring travel until the b'y is fair crazed to be
off and out into the world. That's what it is!'
'I shouldn't call books of travels trash,' said Theo slowly. 'It
wouldn't be quite fair--nor true. But it's exactly the same at home
with our boys, especially with Alick. He reads exciting books of
adventure constantly. Of course I know some folk must go out into the
world, and do all the wonderful things; everybody can't be
stay-at-homes for life. But the worst thing about it is that Alick
won't wait his time. He wants to shirk his education and rush off, in
his ignorance, to do things that it takes full-grown men, and
well-instructed men, to even attempt. Oh dear!'
'Same wi' Ned, set 'em both up!' angrily exclaimed Goody, dropping the
stocking she was knitting into her lap. 'And as for wanting to find
the North Pole, did anybody ever hear tell o' sich impident
presumption! If the Lord had meant as we should find the North Pole,
He'd ha' showed the way to it, straight as straight, and made it easy
as easy. But seein' as time arter time men have giv' up their lives,
bein' lost in the ice and snows, and still, to my thinking, if not to
others, the North Pole is shrouded from their reach, why, a body can
see, plain as plain, that 'tain't meant as man should ever compass it.
Not that I can say as it's forbid special in the Book; I won't say
that, nohow. At least,' added Goody cautiously, 'I've never come
across it in my readin's.'
'Oh, well,' said Theo heavily, 'it would not really so very much
signify what the boys' day-dreams of the future were, if they would
only do their duty meantime. I was trying so hard last Sunday, in the
class, to make them all understand that God Himself leads always, and
that until He points the way we have no right to set out upon it. But
it is questionable whether they took in my meaning.'
Goody nodded. There was a little silence in the cottage. The potatoes
bubbled gaily in the pot, and the clock in the corner ticked in
measured dignity.
'There's one thing, deary, that I think you had ought to be telled.'
Goody broke the stillness, at last, with an effort. 'I've had it on my
mind for some weeks back to let 'ee know; but somehow I dursn't. Them
b'ys is plannin' mischief. They've a notion to run away--to sea!'
The old woman spoke the last words in a whisper, though there was
nobody to hear, save the sleepy old tortoiseshell cat by the fender,
which opened one lazy eye, winked as if she, too, were in the secret,
then, shutting it, purred off to sleep.
'Run away!' Theo's fresh face turned chalky pale, and her eyes widened
into a terrified stare.
'True, deary, quite true! Night arter night I could hear Ned a-talkin'
in his sleep in his little bed yonder, same's if somethin' was on his
mind. So, at last, I got out o' my bed one night a-purpose to listen
careful, and there, if Ned wasn't ravin' away to hisself, in his sleep,
and 'twas all about gettin' away up to the docks at Lunnon, and hidin'
in some ship bund for the North, him and Muster Alick. It giv' me a
turn, as I see it's done the same to you this minnit, my dear. So I
thought I'd best tell 'ee private, when I'd the chance; for nobody
knows what a b'y won't dare to do. P'raps you could speak to the
captain, and git him to make a stir. Eh, deary?'
'Father? Oh, it would be no use. He wouldn't care, nor even listen.
He's too busy with his stupid old writings to mind any of us, or what
trouble we are in. It's too bad the way we are left to ourselves!'
Theo in her excitement lost her self-control, and spoke with a
bitterness not belonging to her sweet nature. In truth, the girl was
becoming a great deal harassed by the cares that were pressing upon her
so heavily of late.
'Deary!' A wrinkled brown finger was raised, and Goody looked over her
horn spectacles in grieved surprise. ''Tain't for me to pint out to
one so good and gentle as our Miss Theedory that one of the great God's
commandments is to "Honour thy father and thy mother"! Ain't that so?'
'Yes; but--but,' sobbed Theo, who, tired out and ashamed of herself as
well, suddenly broke down, as much to her own astonishment as to that
of Goody, 'that means a father and a mother who take a real interest in
their children, who----'
'It don't say so special, if so be as it means that!' rejoined Goody
dryly. 'It don't mention any sort in pertikler. It just says "thy
father an' thy mother"; and that's all you and I've got to do with it.
Let's look to our part, and perform it. But folks is always in such a
hurry to settle other people's bis'ness that they lose sight of their
own.'
'Oh, Goody, you're right! What a monster, what a bad girl you must
think me!' Theo sat up straight. 'I am ashamed of myself. To think I
should grumble at my own father, my good father, who was such a brave
sailor, as everybody knows, and who never has been unkind to one of us
children in all our lives!'
'That's it, deary! That's it. 'Tain't what your father isn't, but
what he is, that you've got to look at, and to be grateful for.
Remember what I'm a-goin' to say, and don't 'ee take offence at an old
body's words. We never, none of us, has but one father on earth,
same's we've but one Father in heaven, who commands us so special to
honour our earthly parents. And another thing, deary; them things as
seem mountains in your young eyes seems but trifles to the captain's
eyes. If the time comes as there's real need for him to interfere, and
bring about order in his own home, he will be safe to do it, never ye
fear. The captain he was one of them as England expec's every man to
do his dooty, and he did it in battle, so I've heard tell. And he will
do it by you and the b'ys, don't 'ee fear!'
'I'm sure he will,' said Theo humbly. She had come full of the spirit
of putting everything and everybody to rights, and she told herself
that her own pride and self-sufficiency had earned its well-merited
fall. Theo Carnegy's heart was too gentle and single in thought to
harbour arrogant pride. Her quick repentance for the ill-advised words
she had suffered to spring off her lips gave ample proof that it was
so, and that in her the Christian spirit reigned.
'Here's Ned a-comin'!' Granny lifted her head sharply to listen to a
prolonged, familiar whistle, and the cat, uncurling herself, rose up
into an arch. There was a rush past the little window, and then Ned
bustled into the room, bringing with him a breath of strong sea air and
also of the odours of the mackerel-boat.
'They've comed, granny! The mackerrow has comed into our bay, and
we're goin' out agin---- Evenin', miss! I--I didn't see you before.'
Ned's cap was off, and he stood, colouring up, before the young lady
sitting on the stool and looking at him out of her clear, earnest eyes.
'Ned,' said Theo, somewhat gravely, 'I want a quiet talk with you, one
of these days soon.'
'Yes, miss.'
'Not to-morrow,' went on Theo. And Ned gave a gasp of relief,
unobserved by her. He was secretly thankful that Miss Theedory had not
fixed on the morrow, seeing it was the day of the proposed bird-hunt in
Brattlesby Woods. 'We are all going across to the Vicarage to tea
to-morrow,' continued the young lady; and Ned's relief changed to
dismay. 'By the way, Ned, we shall be so glad to see you at the
schoolroom tea at six o'clock. To-morrow will be Mrs. Vesey's
birthday; and there's to be a little treat at the schoolhouse, as well
as our tea at the Vicarage. You'll come?'
Ned fidgeted and turned all colours. He was a straightforward, honest
boy, and his nature would have enjoined him to speak out and frankly
say that his word had been already passed to go with Jerry Blunt to the
woods on Wednesday, but his tongue was tied for Alick's sake. He could
see that Theo was ignorant of her brother Alick's determination to
carry out his rebellious mutiny. A fierce struggle raged in Ned's
mind. 'His honour rooted in dishonour stood.' Should he be outspoken,
or should he be faithful to his chum, Master Alick?
'Better be true,' said the clear voice of conscience.
'No. Better still stick to your friend through thick and thin,'
contradicted a louder voice. How well the last specious suggestion
sounded! So did the whispers of the serpent in Eden in Eve's ears.
'You will come to the tea-party, then?' said Theo, rising from her
stool to depart.
'Thank ye, Miss Theedory; yes, I'll come,' was the mumbled reply; and
in an agony of shame Ned shambled out of the cottage, making believe to
be busy over the tangled brown nets lying in front of the door.
He was a capable lad enough, was Ned, and the Fletchers looked upon him
as a promising hand already in the boat. Loving the sea passionately,
he had been gay as a lark all day, watching keenly for the expected
coming of the swarm of 'mackerrow.' But though the take had been
abundantly successful, and the boat came home heavily laden; though the
bay and the encircling cottages were bathed in the cheery red light of
a gorgeous sunset, and supper-time was at hand, somehow the spring of
happiness had died out of everything. Ned hated deceit with the
vigorous hatred of an outspoken, truthful nature. He wriggled
mentally, full of guilty discomfort, as he watched Theo's straight,
slim figure rapidly stepping round to the Bunk, and told himself
ashamedly that he had wilfully deceived the 'young miss' who was always
so kind, so civil-spoken, to himself.
'Ned! Ned, my lad!' called out Goody's cracked voice from within.
'Whatever's ado that 'ee don't come to supper? The taters is coolin'.'
'All right, granny! I be turnin' over the nets, that's all.'
Goody's ears--her sharpest sense was hearing--detected the heaviness in
Ned's voice.
'What's come to 'ee, Ned, so suddent?' she asked anxiously, as she
heaped a plate with potatoes, and poured out a mug of butter-milk.
Perhaps it was the smoking supper that proved too much for the hungry
fisher-boy, or perhaps Ned's conscience still troubled him, but the boy
was unusually silent. Goody, try as she might, could get nothing out
of him.
'I'm off again, granny, soon's ever the moon's up,' Ned at length broke
silence to say, when his supper was finished.
'Are ye, lad? Well, good luck to 'ee! The wind's fair and the water
calm.' Goody stepped to the open door, and peered out at the darkening
bay. 'Ay! There's Fletcher's folk makin' ready in the boat, Ned.'
She returned to the house-place, and reaching down the thick woollen
muffler, stained with salt water, but a valued heirloom for its warmth,
she handed it to the boy. 'See you don't forgit to put it round your
throat,' she enjoined. 'Neither don't 'ee forgit the bit o' a prayer,
my boy, that I taught ye to say out on the deep by night. Folks is apt
to think as prayers belongs to a night spent in a comfortable bed
ashore. But God listens as ready to bits of prayers that goes up to
Him in the black silence o' night, out on the waters, same's He listens
to them as is put up in church o' Sundays, with parson for mouthpiece.
Will 'ee remember, Ned?'
'I'll remember, granny; I do always!' quietly replied Ned, throwing the
muffler across his shoulders. To do the boy justice, he always did
remember the 'bit o' a prayer' Goody had taught his father before him.
The Fletchers, three generations of whom manned the fishing-trawler,
were decent folk, with a keen eye to the main-chance, or what some
people consider to be such--namely, making as much money as possible.
The sky had clouded over somewhat, and it was darkish as the
'Aurora'--known locally as the 'Roarer'--the chief of the Northbourne
fishing-boats, put out for the night's work. Ned, glancing at the
Bunk, could see the twinkling lights from its several windows reflected
in the calm waters below. He wondered what Muster Alick was up to at
that time of evening. 'He ain't learnin' of his lessons, that's sure,'
thought Ned, with an uneasy recollection of the story of the rebellious
outbreak in the schoolroom; for Alick had poured his indignant version
of the same into the ears of his humble comrade. 'Happen he've got
hold of a fresh travel-book.' Then Ned's thoughts easily slipped off
to the subject of other 'travel-books' devoured by Alick and retailed
to himself. He pictured vividly, as the 'Roarer' swished through the
dark waters, a far different scene to that of the quiet Northbourne
bay. A scene made up of dangers by land and dangers by sea; of wide,
lonely floes of ice, their white gleam darkening into the gloom of the
mysterious distance as yet untrodden by human feet. Ned's pulses never
failed to beat like hammers when such thought-pictures dangled
themselves before his mind's vision. He forgot in the entrancing dream
the outbreak at the Bunk; forgot the holiday to be stolen on the morrow
in Brattlesby Woods, and the deception practised on Miss Theedory;
forgot, for the first time, the 'bit o' a prayer' taught him by
faithful old Goody to say when his nights were passed on the deep.