Mishy the surf-baby had twenty brothers and twenty sisters, and ever so
many other relations. But the one he loved best was Benny-whisper, who
was the youngest of all the surf-babies.
Benny-whisper was as tall as a banana, and so golden-yellow that when he
lay on the sand he could scarcely be seen. But Mishy was as tall as a
cucumber, and the face of him was always covered with smiles.
Now one morning Mishy awoke with a big noise in his ears. All the
surf-babies were running to and fro, making such a commotion, and the
Mother of all the surf-children was making more noise than anyone.
“Whatever is the matter?” said Mishy.
“Benny-whisper is lost! Oh, Mishy, Benny-whisper is lost!”
“Where is he lost?” said Mishy.
“If we knew that, he wouldn’t _be_ lost,” said the Mother of all the
surf-babies. “Oh, Mishy, do help us to find him.”
Then Mishy jumped out of his bed and ran down to the edge of the water,
where the waves were making rims of froth on the yellow sand. He stood
with his toes in the ripples, and he called out, “Oh waves of the sea,
Benny-whisper is lost. Have you got him?”
[Illustration: A black-and-white illustration depicting a small, joyful
child standing atop a large, swimming white bird, with mountains in the
background.]
But the waves of the sea splashed up and down in the sunlight, and they
answered, “No. We haven’t got him.”
Then Mishy the surf-baby ran and stood upon a high rock, where the wind
went whistling through his hair. He spread his arms out and called, “Oh
wind, Benny-whisper is lost. Have you got him?”
But the wind puffed with his breath and answered, “No. I haven’t got
him.”
Then Mishy the surf-baby dashed into the surf, and splashed his way
through the shallow water until he reached the path of the sunbeams. He
raised his wet arms above the waves and he called out, “Oh, beautiful
sun, Benny-whisper is lost. Pray help me to find him, for I love him
so.”
So the golden sun opened his big eye very wide and sent his beams
searching all through the daylight. But there was no sign of
Benny-whisper.
Mishy the surf-baby went slowly home. All the twinkles were gone out of
his eyes, and the smile on his face was a sad little smile. He sat down
in the doorway, nursing his knees, and all his brothers and sisters came
and sat beside him. Not a word did they say. But they all rocked to and
fro, looking very sad.
At last Mishy jumped to his feet, and he said, “Benny-whisper must be
somewhere. He is in a place where the sea does not reach. He is in a
place where the wind does not blow, and where the beams of the sun
cannot shine. He is in a corner somewhere. But I will find him. I will
find him if I have to search until bedtime.”
So he went down among the rocks, where the little crabs were scuttling
in the wet sand. He turned each rock over, and hunted in the dark
shadows beneath it. But Benny-whisper was not there.
Then Mishy went among the seaweed, and lifted each heavy strand that
trailed about the cliffs, and peeped into each little crevice and
corner. But Benny-whisper was not there.
Then Mishy said to himself, “I will climb the face of the cliff. Perhaps
Benny-whisper is high up on a ledge, and cannot get down.”
So he clambered up the face of the cliff, holding on by the sea-lavender
bushes that grew there, and calling out, “Benny-whisper! Benny-whisper,
where are you? Mishy wants you! Mishy is looking for you! Oh,
Benny-whisper, call out to me, and tell me where you are!”
But there was no answer.
Then Mishy climbed higher and higher. His little arms began to ache. His
little toes began to throb. He reached a ledge at last, overhung by the
top of the cliff and half hidden with samphire.
“I must rest here for a little,” said Mishy with a yawn. So he curled
himself up in a corner and closed his tired eyes.
In ten minutes he was asleep.
* * * * *
Mishy the surf-baby awoke with a queer, warm, cosy kind of feeling that
he had never known before. Something airy and soft and warm was spread
above him. It was very dark, and the only sound to be heard was a throb,
throb, throb.
[Illustration:
She looked at Mishy.
]
Mishy wriggled. Mishy kicked with his feet and pushed with his hands and
parted the softness that was covering him, so that the daylight shone
into his eyes. Then he saw, to his amazement, that a seagull was sitting
upon him—sitting so softly that she felt like warm snow, and the beat of
her heart throbbed like the tick of a velvet clock.
Mishy wriggled again. Mishy made a little squeaking noise with his
throat.
“The egg is hatching,” said the gull.
“Get off it, and let me see,” said another gull (it was the father one).
Then the gull made a cooing kind of noise, and stood up on her feet.
She looked at Mishy, and she said not a word.
_He_ looked at Mishy, and _he_ said not a word.
They looked again. They shut their eyes, and opened them and looked
again. They turned round three times, and looked at Mishy again.
Mishy began to laugh. He sat up, nursing his knees. His hair was all
rumply, and his little cheeks were all rosy and warm. “This is a grand
adventure,” he said to himself, and he combed his hair back from his
face with his fingers and laughed, showing glistening white teeth.
“That’s an odd kind of gull,” said the mother gull.
“A very odd kind of gull,” said the father gull.
“It has no wings.”
“It has no beak.”
“It has no tail.”
“It has toes on its feet.”
“I don’t know if I like it,” said the mother gull.
“I don’t know if _I_ like it,” said the father gull.
[Illustration:
The gull swooped down.
]
Then Mishy laughed aloud, and he stood up on his toes, and flung his
arms wide. “I am a gull’s baby,” he cried. “Hurrah, I am a gull’s baby.
I can’t think how it happened, but it’s true.” He danced about on the
ledge like a sunshine-sprite, and he dimpled his lips and whistled like
a canary.
“I believe I rather like him,” said the father gull.
“So do I,” said the mother gull. “Anyway, he is a most uncommon baby for
a gull to have. No other gull has a baby like him. I think I am rather
proud about it.”
“So am I,” said the father gull. “It is a pity he has no wings, but
perhaps they will grow.”
“I can ride on your back,” said Mishy, and he ran and jumped upon the
back of the father gull. “See, I am so light that you scarcely feel me,”
he said.
“You will fall off when I begin to fly.”
“Try me,” said Mishy.
Then the great bird laughed, and spread his beautiful white wings, and
leaped from the ledge with a cry. The wind whistled past Mishy’s ears as
the gull swooped down towards the water. His brown hair blew back from
his laughing face. He flung out his arms. He stood a-tiptoe with his
little pink feet. Never before had he enjoyed such a wonderful ride.
But all of a sudden he remembered Benny-whisper.
“Oh, take me to the breakers,” cried Mishy. So the gull swooped along
the edge of the ripples, where the surf-babies were washing in the foam.
“Is Benny-whisper found?” shouted Mishy, and all the surf-babies
answered, “No!”
Then Mishy cried out to the gull, and he said, “Oh, father gull, take me
for a ride across the ocean.” So the beautiful bird beat at the air with
his wings, and rose, and sped right away across the blue water, where
the tips of the waves were crested with white.
[Illustration:
So the gull flew back with two surf-babies.
]
But Mishy was not smiling now. He was looking around him with anxious
eyes, and all the while he was calling out, “Benny-whisper, where are
you?”
“Mishy! Mishy! MISHY!” came a little voice.
Mishy looked down. There, far below him on the billows, was a green
rock, all glistening in the sunlight—and standing on the edge of it was
Benny-whisper.
“Oh, take me to that rock,” cried Mishy. So the gull swerved and sailed
down to the rock, and Mishy jumped off and caught Benny-whisper in his
arms.
“However did you get here?” he said, between kisses.
“The tide brought me. I was sailing in my little cockle boat.”
“The waves of the sea did not tell me.”
“The sea did not know. I kept in the bottom of the boat and went to
sleep.”
“The wind did not tell me.”
“I pulled some seaweed over me before I went to sleep.”
“The sun did not tell me.”
“I kept in the shade.”
Then Mishy the surf-baby laughed more gaily than he had ever laughed
before. He picked Benny-whisper into his arms, and leaped upon the back
of the gull, and cried out, “Oh, dear father gull, fly back as quickly
as you can. Fly back to the breakers, where the ripples of the sea are
making froth on the golden sand.”
So the gull flew back, with two surf-babies nestling among his feathers.
* * * * *
“What have you done with that strange baby?” said the mother gull.
“I left him with the surf-babies.”
“That is very lucky,” said the mother gull. “When you were gone I found
my egg, still in the nest, not hatched at all.”
“Then he was not a gull’s baby, after all.”
“No. But I rather liked him.”
“So did I.”
* * * * *
Mishy the surf-baby often climbs the face of the cliff to the ledge
behind the samphire bush. He climbs up, but he doesn’t climb down again.
He comes down on the back of his friend the gull, in the loveliest,
swiftest joy-ride that there could ever be.