Providence has showered many blessings on Trevannic, but among them is
not the gift of tongues. Dr. Mead, who came over every day from St.
Madoc, knew less German than the ladies. It was impossible to
communicate with the boy except by signs. Old Jan Pendered, who had
served in the navy in the China seas, felt confident that he could make
him understand, and tried him with pidgin-English. But the youth only
smiled sweetly and shook hands with him, whereupon old Jan scratched
his head and acknowledged himself jiggered. To Miss Widdington, at
last, came the inspiration that the oft-repeated word "_Polnisch_"
meant Polish.
"You come from Poland?"
"_Aus Polen, ya_," laughed the boy.
"Kosciusko," murmured Miss Ursula.
He laughed again, delighted, and looked at her eagerly for more; but
there Miss Ursula's conversation about Poland ended. If the discovery
of his nationality lay to the credit of her sister, she it was who
found out his name, Andrea Marowski, and taught him to say: "Miss
Ursula." She also taught him the English names of the various objects
around him. And here the innocent rivalry of the two ladies began to
take definite form. Miss Widdington, without taking counsel of Miss
Ursula, borrowed an old Otto's German grammar from the girls' school at
St. Madoc, and, by means of patient research, put to him such questions
as: "Have you a mother?" "How old are you?" and, collating his written
replies with the information vouchsafed by the grammar, succeeded in
discovering, among other biographical facts, that he was alone in the
world, save for an old uncle who lived in Cracow, and that he was
twenty years of age. So that when Miss Ursula boasted that she had
taught him to say: "Good morning. How do you do?" Miss Widdington
could cry with an air of triumph: "He told me that he doesn't suffer
from toothache."
It was one of the curious features of the ministrations which they
afforded Mr. Andrea Marowski alternately, that Miss Ursula would have
nothing whatever to do with Otto's German grammar and Miss Widdington
scorned the use of English and made as little use of sign language as
possible.
"I don't think it becoming, Ursula," she said, "to indicate hunger by
opening your mouth and rubbing the front of your waist, like a
cannibal."
Miss Ursula accepted the rebuke meekly, for she never returned a pert
answer to her senior; but reflecting that Janet's disapproval might
possibly arise from her want of skill in the art of pantomime, she went
away comforted and continued her unbecoming practices. The
conversations, however, that the ladies, each in her own way, managed
to have with the invalid, were sadly limited in scope. No means that
they could devise could bring them enlightenment on many interesting
points. Who he was, whether noble or peasant, how he came to be lying
like a jellyfish on the slab of rock in their cove, coatless and
barefoot, remained as great a puzzle as ever. Of course he informed
them, especially the grammar-equipped Miss Widdington, over and over
again in his execrable German; but they grew no wiser, and at last they
abandoned in despair their attempts to solve these mysteries. They
contented themselves with the actual, which indeed was enough to absorb
their simple minds. There he was cast up by the sea or fallen from the
moon, young, gay, and helpless, a veritable gift of the gods. The very
mystery of his adventure invested him with a curious charm; and then
the prodigious appetite with which he began to devour fish and eggs and
chickens formed of itself a joy hitherto undreamed of in their
philosophy.
"When he gets up he must have some clothes," said Miss Widdington.
Miss Ursula agreed; but did not say that she was knitting him socks in
secret. Andrea's interest in the progress of these garments was one of
her chief delights.
"There's the trunk upstairs with our dear father's things," said Miss
Widdington with more diffidence than usual. "They are so sacred to us
that I was wondering----
"Our dear father would be the first to wish it," said Miss Ursula.
"It's a Christian's duty to clothe the naked," said Miss Widdington.
"And so we must clothe him in what we've got," said Miss Ursula. Then
with a slight flush she added: "It's so many years since our great loss
that I've almost forgotten what a man wears."
"I haven't," said Miss Widdington. "I think I ought to tell you,
Ursula," she continued, after pausing to put sugar and milk into the
cup of tea which she handed to her sister--they were at the breakfast
table, at the head of which she formally presided, as she had done
since her emancipation from the schoolroom--"I think I ought to tell
you that I have decided to devote my twenty-five pounds to buying him
an outfit. Our dear father's things can only be a makeshift--and the
poor boy hasn't a penny in the pockets he came ashore in."
Now, some three years before, an aunt had bequeathed Miss Widdington a
tiny legacy, the disposal of which had been a continuous subject of
grave discussion between the sisters. She always alluded to it as "my
twenty-five pounds."
"Is that quite fair, dear?" said Miss Ursula impulsively.
"Fair? Do you mind explaining?"
Miss Ursula regretted her impetuosity. "Don't you think, dear Janet,"
she said with some nervousness, "that it would lay him under too great
an obligation to you personally? I should prefer to take the money our
of out joint income. We both are responsible for him and," she added
with a timid smile, "I found him first."
"I don't see what that has to do with it," Miss Widdington retorted
with a quite unusual touch of acidity. "But if you feel strongly about
it, I am willing to withdraw my five-and-twenty pounds."
"You're not angry with me, Janet?"
"Angry? Of course not," Miss Widdington replied freezingly. "Don't be
silly. And why aren't you eating your bacon?"
This was the first shadow of dissension that had arisen between them
since their childhood. On the way to the sick-room, Miss Ursula shed a
few tears over Janet's hectoring ways, and Miss Widdington, in pursuit
of her housekeeping duties, made Dorcas the scapegoat for Ursula's
unreasonableness. Before luncheon time they kissed with mutual
apologies; but the spirit of rivalry was by no means quenched.