BY BESSIE MARCHANT
“Bessie Marchant is the girls’ ‘Henty’, and a writer
of genuine tales of adventure with a dash and vigour
quite exceptional.”—Daily Chronicle.
Sally Makes Good: A Story of Tasmania.
A Transport Girl in France: A Story of the Adventures of a
W.A.A.C.
Norah to the Rescue: A Story of the Philippines.
Cynthia Wins: A Tale of the Rocky Mountains.
The Gold-marked Charm: A Story of the Blue Nile Country.
A Canadian Farm Mystery: or, Pam the Pioneer.
Joyce Harrington’s Trust: An Argentine Mystery.
A Mysterious Inheritance: British Columbia.
The Heroine of the Ranch: Tierra del Fuego.
A Girl of Distinction: A Tale of the Karroo.
A Countess from Canada: Life in the Backwoods.
Daughters of the Dominion: The Canadian Frontier.
Sisters of Silver Creek: A Story of Western Canada.
A Dangerous Mission: A Tale of Russia in Revolution.
Lois in Charge: or, A Girl of Grit.
A Girl Munition Worker: A Story of the Great War.
A Girl and a Caravan: A Story of Persia.
Helen of the Black Mountain: Montenegro.
The Loyalty of Hester Hope: British Columbia.
A Princess of Servia: A Story of To-day.
The Ferry House Girls: An Australian Story.
Greta’s Domain: A Tale of Chiloé.
A Courageous Girl: A Story of Uruguay.
No Ordinary Girl: A Story of Central America.
A Heroine of the Sea: A Story of Vancouver Island.
A V.A.D. in Salonika: A Tale of the Great War.
Molly Angel’s Adventures: A Story of Belgium under German
Occupation.
Denvers Wilson’s Double: A Story of New Mexico.
The Adventurous Seven.
The Girl Captives: A Story of the Indian Frontier.
Three Girls on a Ranch: A Story of New Mexico.
LONDON: BLACKIE & SON, LTD., 50 OLD BAILEY, E.C.
The Youngest Sister
A Tale of Manitoba
BY
BESSIE MARCHANT
Author of “A Girl of Distinction” “The Ferry House Girls”
“A Countess from Canada” “Greta’s Domain”
“Daughters of the Dominion” &c.
_ILLUSTRATED BY WILLIAM RAINEY, R.I._
BLACKIE AND SON LIMITED
LONDON GLASGOW AND BOMBAY
Contents
Chap. Page
I. THE WONDER OF IT 9
II. CONCERNING THE DOYNES 18
III. TREMULOUS BEGINNINGS 27
IV. A SERIES OF SHOCKS 36
V. AGAINST HER WILL 45
VI. A WILD JOURNEY 55
VII. WORSE THAN HER FEARS 65
VIII. GREAT EXPECTATIONS 73
IX. A DREADFUL BLOW 81
X. THE WORST 92
XI. A WILD REVOLT 100
XII. THE GLORY OF THE WHEAT 108
XIII. A TRICK OF MEMORY 120
XIV. IN THE RUSH 130
XV. TEMPTATION 140
XVI. A BLOW OF FATE 151
XVII. BLACK RUIN 162
XVIII. STANDING IN THE BREACH 173
XIX. A DISQUIETING RUMOUR 184
XX. AN IMPOSSIBLE FAVOUR 194
XXI. OUT OF THE SILENCE 205
XXII. THE ERRAND IS DONE 215
XXIII. SOMETHING OF A MISTAKE 225
XXIV. A REVELATION FOR BERTHA 235
XXV. DISAPPOINTMENT 245
XXVI. EN ROUTE 258
XXVII. A WEIRD NIGHT 268
XXVIII. CONSTERNATION 281
XXIX. A GREAT EMBARRASSMENT 289
XXX. BAD NEWS 301
XXXI. THE TIDINGS CONFIRMED 312
XXXII. THE MAN AT LAST 323
XXXIII. THE MYSTERY CLEARS 331
XXXIV. THE END 344
Illustrations
“SHE HAD REACHED THE BOAT”
GRACE MEETS WITH AN ACCIDENT
“SHE WAS MAKING NO HEADWAY”
“THERE WAS A MAN LYING UNDERNEATH”
The Youngest Sister
CHAPTER I
The Wonder of It
BERTHA heard the commotion as she came round the bend, where the road
from Paston led out on to the cliffs. It was a very quiet day, although
there was a heavy swell on outside, which meant danger to any small
craft that got among the rocks. She was very tired, and there was a
horrible stitch in her side from walking so fast. But she was anxious to
get home in time to cook supper for Anne, and she had simply raced along
the level bit of the road.
Old Jan Saunders, with his wife and the fat German who kept the little
store at the bottom of the hill, were standing in an excited group at
the edge of the roadway and pointing out to the upstanding rocks called
the Shark’s Teeth, which showed grim and deadly a few yards out from the
shore.
“What is the matter? What is wrong?” she gasped, panting still, and
pressing her hand against her side to quiet the pain of the stitch.
“Ach! Ach!” sobbed the fat German, wringing his pudgy hands, while the
tears rolled down his cheeks. “It is a man; he is caught on the Shark’s
Teeth, and he will be drowned.”
“Oh, how very, very dreadful!” exclaimed Bertha, turning pale, and
wishing that she had gone the other way, although it was so much longer,
and she would certainly not have been home in time to get the supper
ready.
“We haven’t got a boat,” piped old Jan in his thin, wavering voice.
“Nowt but a rope. Our Mestlebury fleet went out on the morning tide,
there ain’t a boat nearer than Paston, and with such a sea it would take
four hours to row round.”
“He’ll be drowned afoor then, poor chap, he will; for the tide is
flowing in fast, and his boat won’t lift more than another foot!” cried
Mrs. Saunders, who was weeping like the German.
Bertha turned sick and faint. If only, only she had gone the other way,
instead of stumbling on a scene like this! Suddenly old Jan turned upon
her with an almost fierce expression on his kindly old face. “You can
swim, missie. Tak’ a roop oot to that poor chap yonder, and we will tow
you back safe enough, boat and all.”
“Oh, I am afraid, I am afraid!” she cried, covering her face with her
hands to shut out the sight of the grey, heaving sea, the little boat
wedged in under the rocks, and the man who sat there waiting for death
to take him, because he could not swim, and his boat was caught too fast
for any effort of his to push it off.
“He will drown! Ah, what a cruel fate it is, and my three boys gone just
the same! Dear Lord, when shall it be that the sea will give up its
dead?” wailed Mrs. Saunders.
“Ach! Ach! And such a proper man too! Dear Gott in Heaven, don’t let him
die before our eyes,” sobbed the German, sinking on his knees in the
roadway with his hands clasped in supplication.
“I will run for Anne; she can swim, and she is so brave!” cried Bertha,
whose breath was coming in lumpy gasps of excitement.
“No use at all; he would be drowned before school-marm could get here,
if she ran every step of the way,” said old Jan hoarsely. “See, the boat
bumped that time, and he got a nasty knock, poor chap! It is your
chance, missie, and only yours; and it is a man’s life that is hanging
on your hands, to save or to throw away.”
Bertha felt as if her brain would burst. A man’s life to hang on her
feeble, incapable hands! And it was the wonder of it that roused her to
prompt, decided action.
“Fetch the rope!” she said curtly, as she wrenched off her coat and
stooped to the buttons of her boots.
A chill dismay came over her then as her hand touched her heavy serge
skirt. It would have to come off, and she had nothing underneath but a
grey underskirt patched with green. How her sisters had laughed at those
two patches with the contrast of colour! But she had been too indolent
to alter them. Yet now she winced as she stood before the three, erect
and slim, with those two patches of vivid green upon her knees.
“God speed you, missie!” muttered old Jan, as he knotted the rope about
her waist. “Swim east when you start, and the current will drift you
right down on the boat.”
A man’s life on her futile hands!
What was it Hilda had said to Anne only that morning at breakfast when
the porridge was burned and the coffee was half-cold? “Bertha is
hopeless; she dreams all day, and wastes every atom of her strength in
building castles in the air, while we have to work and to bear all the
discomforts of her incompetence.”
And now she, Bertha, the incompetent one, had to save a man’s life or to
see him drown!
“Oh, I would rather die myself than see him drown!” she sobbed, and then
she took the water with a motion so swift and graceful that the three on
the steep, rocky shore gave a wavering cheer of encouragement.
The man in the boat called out something too, but it was a warning to
her not to risk her life for him. This she did not hear, however, and
would not have heeded if she had.
She was swimming steadily, gliding through the water with quick, curving
strokes, which Anne had taught her on the holiday afternoons in summer,
when they had gone to bathe from the little strip of sand in front of
Seal Cove. Anne held a silver medal for swimming, but Bertha had never
even thought of competing.
The water was cold, so cold; for autumn was far advanced. The great
storm of yesterday was still leaving its effect upon the sea. Bertha
felt the heave and throb of it even in that sheltered little bay, and
before she was halfway across to the Shark’s Teeth she knew that it
would be an awful struggle to get there. But now there was no thought of
turning back. If she had to die she must, but she could not—oh, she
could not!—fail that man out yonder whose life depended upon her.
Panting heavily, she was swimming almost blindly, struggling forward,
yet knowing all the time that the drift of the current had her in its
grip, and she was powerless to fight against it.
She could not go much farther, she could not. She would have to fail
after all, and her sisters would say, “Bertha is always so ineffectual,
poor little girl!”
But she did not want to be pitied, she just hated it. She wanted to do
something that was worth the doing; so she struggled and struggled,
until it seemed to her that she had been in the water for weeks and
weeks.
Then suddenly a strong hand gripped at her shoulder and a voice said in
her ears, “Downright plucky you are, and you have saved me from an
uncommonly tight corner!”
She had reached the boat, and it was the man whom she had come to save
who was helping her to scramble on board. She was fearfully exhausted,
but that did not matter. What troubled her most was to think of those
bright green patches which were absolutely vivid now because of the wet.
She had tumbled into the boat anyhow, vigorously helped by the man, who
had at least strong arms, even though he could not swim nor yet
extricate himself from a plight into which no prudent person should have
fallen.
Whew! How cold she was! She was shivering violently, and her teeth were
chattering. The man dived under the seat upon which he was sitting and
dragged out a coat. “Here, put this on; it may help a little,” he said,
holding it out so that she might slip her arms into it.
The coat was long and roomy, and Bertha dragged it round her dripping
underwear, feeling that it was a comfort unspeakable to have it, and
then she sat and watched while the three on the shore tugged at the
rope, and the man in the boat used the oar as a lever to do his part in
getting out of his tight corner.
How the fat German tugged and strove! A gurgle of irrepressible laughter
escaped from Bertha when the boat suddenly gave, and the three on the
shore tumbled all in a heap.
“I am glad that you are able to get some amusement out of it,” said the
man rather curtly, for he too had also fallen with the jerk of the boat
and had banged his elbow on the side.
“Please forgive me; I did not mean to make fun, but they did look so
comical,” murmured Bertha contritely; and the man, who had supposed that
she was laughing at him, was instantly mollified.
The boat was going through the water now by leaps and jerks. The zeal of
the fat German was without discretion, and as he was the strongest of
the three, he naturally set the pace.
“Hold, hold; careful there; mind the rocks, or you will upset her!”
cried old Jan warningly.
The two in the boat were quite at the mercy of the tow-rope, for the man
had broken one oar in trying to lever his boat out from the grip of the
Shark’s Teeth, and the other had been torn from his hand and lost in
that sudden jerk which had upset the three on the shore.
“Oh, the rocks!” cried Bertha, with a gasp of dismay, realizing that
unless the towing were very steady, they must be upset when nearing the
shore.
Then she thought of Anne, who would be coming home from school to find
no supper ready, most likely the fire out, and a general air of
discomfort everywhere.
“Oh dear, oh dear, she will think that I did it on purpose!” said Bertha
to herself, repressing a sob with difficulty. She had meant so honestly
to be all ready for Anne this evening, so it was fearfully disappointing
to have failed.
“Mind the rocks! Pull in slowly!” she shouted, reaching out one arm in a
roomy coatsleeve, and fending the boat away from a half-submerged rock.
But at that moment the German gave a wild tug at the rope, and the boat
jerked up against a rock on the other side. The two were pitched
violently against each other, and then, before they could sort
themselves out at all, they were flung headfirst into the water.
Fortunately they were so near the shore, that old Jan waded in and, with
the help of the German, dragged out the man, who had knocked his head
against the rock in falling, and seemed helpless, while Bertha scrambled
ashore as best she could, terribly encumbered by the big coat, and
fearfully worn out with all that she had gone through.
But she had done what was expected of her, and nothing else seemed to
matter in the least. The others could look after the man. She did not
even stop to see if he were rallying from that desperate blow on the
head which he got when the boat was overturned. Thrusting her wet feet
into her boots, and gathering her coat, skirt, and hat in her arms, she
fled along the road as fast as she could go. If only she could get home
before Anne, and slip into dry clothes, it would still be possible
perhaps to have some sort of supper ready for the tired eldest sister.
There was a wonderful elation stirring in Bertha’s heart. It was as if
something had broken away and set her free. She had saved a man’s life
at the risk of her own, and the very thought of it thrilled her into new
life and vigour. Her limbs were shaking still, and her breath came in
sobbing gasps as she fled along the road; but she was happier than she
had ever been in all her life before.
Flip, flap, flop! Flip, flap, flop! Her unbuttoned boots squelched up
and down over her wet stockings, and she looked wildly dishevelled as
she dashed along Mestlebury Main Street. One or two women standing at
the doors of their wooden houses called out to know what was the matter,
but she paid no heed at all, and so at length came in sight of the
little drab-painted house with green shutters where she lived with her
sisters.
She was in time, for the door was still fast shut—sure sign that Anne
was not home yet. Thrusting her hand into the place where the key was
always hidden when they all chanced to be out together, she drew it out,
and, unlocking the door, passed hurriedly in to see if there were any
fire still left in the stove. It took but a minute to thrust a handful
of dry kindlings among the embers, which were still hot; then, filling
the kettle and standing it on the stove to boil, she darted into her own
room to shed her wet garments.
The chamber, a small one, was in the wildest confusion. Sheets of
manuscript were strewn on table, chair, and bed. Garments of all sorts
lay about in the wildest disorder. The bed was unmade, and a liberal
coating of grey dust showed on such of the furniture as was not covered
with papers or clothes. She gave a groan of dismay at the sight. It was
as if the eyes of her mind had been opened at once to see all her
defects and shortcomings.
“I can’t stop to tidy it now. But I will do differently to-morrow—oh, I
will!” she said, with a fervent outburst, as she dragged on dry garments
and twisted her wet hair into an untidy knot at the top of her head.
The wet clothes were all left in a heap in one corner of the room, for
her sole idea was to have supper ready for Anne—the very nicest supper
which could be managed in the time.
This was one of the nights when Hilda did not come home to sleep, and it
was a secret satisfaction to Bertha that she would be able to get her
small reforms well under way, before her sharp-tongued second sister
appeared on the scene again.
“It will have to be white monkey on toast, I think; that is the quickest
thing that I can do,” she muttered, as she darted to and fro collecting
the milk, flour, butter, egg, and other ingredients which went to the
making of the dish known as white monkey; then, while the milk was
getting hot in the double saucepan, she grated the cheese and toasted
generous slices of bread, on which the white monkey was to be spread.
There was such a glow of triumph in her heart, and such a sense of
elation in her bearing, that for a time it over-mastered her weariness.
She had done a brave thing, a really plucky deed, and although she had
been in a manner forced into the doing, nothing could take the joy of it
from her.
Oh, it was good, it was good to be of use in the world—to do something
which but for her must have been left undone. And Jan Saunders had said
that the man’s life hung upon her hands!
“My dear Bertha, what have you been doing to yourself?” cried a voice
from the door, in a tone of shocked surprise, and Bertha, who had been
too busy to notice the sound of approaching steps, turned quickly, to
see her eldest sister standing on the threshold, while just behind was a
gentleman who was a stranger to her.
Then it flashed upon poor Bertha what an awful object she must look,
with her wet hair screwed into a tight knot on the top of her head, and
her garments simply pitch-forked on to her person.
And Anne was as neat and trim as if fresh from making a toilet, although
in reality she had been teaching the township school all day.
“Is this the musical sister?” asked the stranger, advancing upon Bertha
with outstretched hand and a manner glowing with kindness.
A gurgle of irrepressible laughter shook Anne as she thought of what
Hilda’s feelings would have been if she could have heard the question,
and then she answered hastily, “No, indeed; Hilda is not at home this
evening. This is only Bertha, my youngest sister.”
[Illustration: “SHE HAD REACHED THE BOAT”]