[9078]
T had been arranged that for the first week Regie and Harry and Nan
should be allowed to do pretty much as they liked, but after that
lessons should be regularly begun with Sister Julia. Rex and Harry had
reached about the' same point in their studies, but poor little Nan was
a good way behind, farther than her years would warrant. All the winter
before she had attended school at the Branch, but she had pleaded very
hard not to be sent back again.
“It is such a large school,” she had told her mother, “that when you get
ahead they have to hold you back for the other girls, and so you don't
learn very much.”
Mrs. Murray could not help smiling at her excuse for having made so
little progress, knowing well enough the fault lay in the fact that she
could not or would not apply her mind to the task which had been set
her, but Nan hailed with delight this plan for studying with Sister
Julia. Of course it had to be quite independently of the boys, because
they were so far ahead of her, but somehow or other she was really
in earnest about the matter, and did get along finely. The greatest
incentive to hard study came to her in the mortification she felt one
evening at not being able to enter into a game of Regie's, because she
could not read the printing on the cards belonging to the game.
[Illustration: 8079]
Now that the children had settled down to their schooling the time flew
faster than ever, and before they knew it, enough days had come and
gone to allow “Uncle Sam,” one morning, to shake a letter out of his
mail-bag, directed to Regie and postmarked “London.”
“See here, Reginald, I've brought something for you,” called Captain
Murray, coming with the mail, just as the children were setting off from
the house, for it was Saturday and they had planned to spend the morning
on the beach.
“Hurrah! here's another!” shouted Regie, for he had already received
a steamer letter, which had been mailed when the _Alaska_ touched at
Queenstown.
“Yes, another letter,” answered the captain, handing it to him, “and
it's a rouser.”
Regie stood irresolute a moment. “I tell you, boys,” he said, always
forgetting that Nan could not be included under this general title, “I
tell you, I'll save it till we get fixed all comfortable on the beach,
and then I'll read it to you.”
“All right; let's start,” said Harry, and the little party started,
though Rex had some misgivings as to his ability to master Mamma
Fairfax's handwriting, for he knew from the direction that the letter
was from her. “We haven't played that king game much,” he said, as they
trudged along. He was able to manage with a little cane now in place of
the crutches.
“Seems to me we're kind of playing it,” answered Harry, glancing down
at a heavy rug that he himself was carrying, and then over towards a
luncheon basket with which Nan was laden: “at any rate the body-guard
are sort of waiting on Your Highness.”
“Aren't you ashamed of yourself, Harry Murray?” cried Nan, resenting the
indignity. “You oughtn't to expect Regie to help carry things until he
can walk as well as you and I do.”
“I hope he'll walk a good sight better than you do before very long,”
retorted Harry, in a teasing mood. “See, Nan, this is the way you
always get over the ground,” and Harry threw aside the rug the better to
imitate Nan's funny gait, characterised by a straightness on Nan's part
amounting to an actual bending backward, and a jerky, independent little
step. Harry hit it exactly, and Regie laughed immoderately, which was
not very polite, considering Nan's gallant defence of him a few moments
before. But Nan smiled, too, in spite of herself.
“I can't help it if I am too straight,” she said; “there's one good
thing,--straight people are not so dangerous of having consumption.”
“Look out, Nan, you'll choke if you use such big words,” advised Harry.
“No, really, I think it would be real fun to play the king game this
morning,” urged Regie, as they came to a spot on the beach where, by
mutual consent, they spread out the rug and sat down.
“All right, then,” replied Harry, “and I'll be the king.”
“Then I shall not play,” said Nan, “I am not going to keep changing
kings every day.”
“Of course not,” Regie laughed, “you believe in the divine right, don't
you, Nan?” Regie had just learned what “divine right” meant, and proudly
aired his knowledge.
“I don't know,” said Nan, “but whenever we play I believe in your being
the king; I never could think of Harry as a king for a moment. Besides,
you're our company, and we ought to wait on you.”
“Bosh!” said Harry, “I don't call people what boards in your house,
company.”
“'What boards!'” repeated Nan. “Well, I should think you'd better brush
up your grammar, Mr. Murray. Oh, the letter,” she added, nodding in the
direction of Regie's pocket.
[Illustration: 0081]
“Oh, to be sure; why, I'd almost forgotten it,” and Rex drew out his
knife and carefully cut the envelope open at one end, after a neat
little fashion of his own.
“'London, September 19th. My dear Reginald,'” he read, then paused, for
in the very first sentence he discovered a word that he could not quite
make out.
“Guess I'd better read it to myself first,” he said, “there may be
something private in it.” Harry gave a significant cough, which meant
that it was easy enough to see through such a flimsy excuse as that.
Regie wisely paid no attention to it. Both the children knew it must
necessarily be many minutes before they would be favoured with the
contents of the letter, so Nan threw herself back on the rug, laid one
arm under her head, and gazing out over the ocean gave herself up to the
most delightful daydreams. Harry resorted to whittling, that occupation
of all leisure moments.
Suddenly, after ten minutes of unbroken quiet, Regie began again,
making brief halts now and then before words that still proved a little
puzzling.
“London, September 19th.
“'My dear Reginald,--I doubt if there is a half hour in which we do not
speak of you, or five minutes in that half hour in which we do not think
of you, and so you can understand that we are pretty fond of a little
fellow we have left behind us. Indeed, Papa Fairfax said, only a few
minutes ago, that he wanted so much to see Regie that if he was not sure
that he was very happy he thinks he would have to send some one away to
America to bring him over.'”
“Oh! do you think he will?” questioned Nan.
“Of course not, goosie,” Harry retorted, “don't interrupt again. Go on,
Rex.”
----“'But if he did,'” Regie resumed, “'you would have to hurry to
catch us, for we shall be obliged to travel pretty fast as soon as we
leave London. You do not need to get out the atlas to look up the place
where this letter comes from, do you? Even little Nan knows how London
looks on the map.'”
“Don't believe it,” muttered Harry, half under his breath, but loudly
enough for Nan to hear him.
“Do, too,” whispered Nan, with a defiant shake of her curls; “but please
don't interrupt. Go on, Rex.” Rex did not mind these interruptions in
the least, as they gave him a chance to look ahead a little.
“'It is ten years,'” he went on, reading slowly, “'since Papa Fairfax
and I were here before, and we hardly know this London in the sunshine,
for the old London of fog and rain, since we are having wonderfully
clear weather. I shall have to wait till we reach home to tell you all
about the sights of London. When you are older I shall hope to visit
with you all the places where Papa Fairfax and I have been this
morning,--Westminster Abbey, and St. Paul's, and the Tower. How you will
enjoy the Tower, but in a sad sort of way, because so many sorrowful
things have happened there. Last evening we strolled in for a while to
see Madame Tussaud's wax figures, naturally looking rather more grimy
and dusty than they did ten years ago.
“'And now, Rex, I have several other letters to send off by this same
steamer, so this must do for the present. Do not forget to write once a
week surely, either to Papa Fairfax or to me.
“'Yours lovingly,
“'Mamma Fairfax.
“That's a nice letter,” said Regie, gazing rather wistfully out to sea.
“Very nice,” said Nan, “but you don't want to go, do you?”
Poor little Nan was blessed with a lively imagination.
I say “poor Nan,” for these lively imaginations play such sorry tricks
upon the little folk and big folk who happen to possess them. Nan had
but to catch a glimpse of the wistful look in Regie's eyes straightway
to make up her mind that he was unhappy and lonely, and would gladly
leave them all if he could.
“No, I don't want to go exactly,” answered Rex; “but I guess you'd feel
a little queer sometimes if that great ocean were between you and your
father and mother.”
“I do not believe I'd mind if I was on the same side of it with you,
Regie,” said Nan, betraying her unbounded admiration for his little
Royal Highness.
“Nan, you're a regular spoony,” remarked Harry.
“I don't know what a spoony is,” Nan answered; “but of course it's
something horrid, or you would not call me one,” and she gave a little
sigh which seemed to come almost from the soles of her boots. She did
have to put up with a great deal of teasing from this brother of hers.
Regie came to her rescue.
“You're not a spoony, Nan, at all,” he said; “and, Harry, you don't
deserve to have a sister. You do tease her awfully.”
“What's the harm?” said Harry, sullenly. “But, Nan,” he added, “I wish
you would remember this, that I would not care to tease you if I did not
really love you, and that when I stop it will be a bad sign.”
“What's going on up there?” asked Nan, willing to change the subject.
“They're getting ready for a drill at the Life-saving Station,” Harry
answered, glancing in the direction toward which Nan was pointing. Regie
was on the alert in a moment.
“Oh, are they? do let's go up there. I never saw a drill in all my life,
and I never was in a Station but once.”
[Illustration: 0084]
It was an old story to Nan and Harry, but Regie was up and off, and the
body-guard must needs follow.
The station was one of those low, oblong buildings, which, dotting the
coast at regular intervals, are to be found in the neighbourhood of all
sea-shore resorts in the United States, and whose well-trained crew have
been the means of saving many, many lives. This one little station at
Moorlow had the grand record of having rescued five hundred persons in
the nine years since it was established.
“What are you going to do?” asked Rex, the moment he came within
speaking distance of two men who were dropping a coil of rope into a
box.
“Going to have a drill,” one of them answered; “there's no telling how
soon we may have a wreck, and we must be ready for it. We had two last
November.”
Regie was about to say that he hoped they would have at least two this
November, but realised what a dreadful wish that would be in time to
check himself.
“What will be the best place to see it from?” he asked. “I would not
miss any of it for the world.”
The men were amused at his earnest manner.
“That boat hull will be a good place,” said one of them; “but you'd
better understand about things first. You see we are going to fire a
shell out of this here howitzer, and the shell is fastened-to this long
coil of rope, so that when it goes whizzing away to the wreck it carries
this rope--the whip-line we call it--with it.”
“Yes, but where's your wreck?” Regie queried.
“Why, yonder,” and the man pointed down the beach to where a piece of
timber, with cross-pieces resembling a mast, was firmly planted in the
sand. “There's our wreck, and we are going to send this rope flying over
it.”
“And what are you going to do then?”
“Why, then, one of the men, who is supposed to be on the wreck, will
haul away on the line till the big rope which is fastened to the little
rope is drawn over, so that we can send the breeches-buoy buzzing along
the line.”
“The breeches-buoy?” questioned Regie.
“Yes, to be sure. Have you never seen one?”
“I think not; I was never in a Life-saving Station but once, and that
was in the summer, when there was nothing particular going on, and
nobody to tell me anything.”
“Then you come right along into the Station with me,” said the man,
kindly, “and I'll show you the breeches-buoy, and some other things
besides. Why, there's Captain Murray's children,” spying Harry and Nan
seated on the sand at a little distance; “they know the old Station by
heart. Hallo, Nan!” he called, “come, show this little stranger through
the Station.”
“Why, that's Reginald Fairfax, Mr. Burton,” cried Nan, coming toward
them, and in a tone of surprise at such ignorance. “He lives at our
house, and he's no little stranger at all.”
“Oh, that's it, is it?” said Joe Burton, with elevated eyebrows; “well,
then, Miss Murray, please have the kindness to show Mr. Fairfax through
the Station.”
[Illustration: 0086]
Regie would have preferred to adhere to the original plan of having
Mr. Burton for a guide, but was sufficiently polite not to betray his
preference.
“You won't begin the drill before I come out, will you?” he called out
to Mr. Burton.
“Never you fear,” was the reassuring answer.
Nan showed Regie through, and was able to answer all questions to the
perfect satisfaction of his little Royal Highness. First they went into
the large room where the surf-boat was kept, and the life-saving car,
which was oval in shape, with a cover fitting tightly over it. It was
large enough to hold five people, and was sent out on the line to
a wreck when the weather was too rough for the breeches-buoy. The
breeches-buoy was a funny contrivance, made to accommodate one person
at a time, and closely resembling a life-preserver in tarpaulin
knee-breeches. Attached to it was an arrangement of pulleys and wheels,
by means of which it could be run to and fro on a line from the wreck.
At the farther end of the room hung the shells which had been fired from
the mortar at different times. They were painted red, and each bore in
white letters the name of the particular wreck to which it had proved
such a welcome messenger.
From this larger room opened the “mess room,” a kitchen, where the crew
spent most of their time during the long winter months. A steep little
stairway ran up from one corner to the loft overhead where the men
slept. At one end of it a large window looked out to sea, and from the
centre of the room a short flight of ladder-like stairs led into the
cupola which surmounted the Station, and from which you see a great
distance in every direction. The view from the cupola this clear October
morning was glorious.
The water was wonderfully blue, with here and there a white sail
skimming over it, as lightly and airily as the fleecy clouds across the
blue of the sky. Regie and Nan stood side by side, taking in the beauty
of the scene. Presently Nan said, “Yes, I do love the ocean so, it seems
to me I couldn't live away from it; as though I should die if I had to,
the same as little plants and things die without water.”
“Yes, I guess you would,” answered Regie; “and do you know, Nan, I
believe you must have been born on just such a day as this, for your
eyes have the same shade of blue in them as the sea. Besides, you are
like a little wave anyway, a daring little wave that comes scampering
way up the beach and then--and then----,” Rex paused. He was sure he
had hold of a very fine idea, but somehow he could not get on. A
half-suppressed giggle from the stairway did not help matters much,
nor a whispered, “Guess you're stuck, old fellow.” Harry always had a
faculty for turning up when he was not wanted, and never when he was.
Nan was thoroughly provoked at him. She liked what Rex was saying about
her being just a little wave of the sea, and now she should never
know how he was going to finish. But for Rex Harry's coming was quite
fortunate, for he was himself quite at a loss to know how he should
wind up the flowery little speech begun so bravely.
“You two spoonies had better come down,” Harry added, descending the
little flight of stairs as noiselessly as he had come. Just then one of
the men waved his hand as a sign that the drill was about to commence,
and the children hurried down to join Harry, where he sat comfortably
established on the hull of the old boat. The drill amounted to little
more than a series of experiments with the breeches-buoy. The whip-line
was shot over the improvised mast, and one after another all the crew
got into the buoy and came spinning down the line.
“Oh! I should think that would be such fun,” said Regie; “but unless
we're wrecked some day I suppose we'll never have a chance to try it.”
“Why not?” said Harry; “I warrant you they'll let us play with it awhile
when the drill's over. I'll ask one of the crew.”
“Seeing as you're Captain Murray's children we can't refuse you,”
answered Joe Burton, “but look out for yourselves, that you don't get
a tumble. The little 'un had better not try it.” With Harry's help Rex
managed to climb the ladder attached to the mast, and after they had
each had two or three rides apiece, Nan could resist the temptation no
longer. Watching her chance when the boys were standing for a moment
with their backs turned, she clambered up the ladder, and dropped into
the buoy. It was a very funny sight, the red-stockinged legs dangling in
mid-air, and the blue eyes just peering over the edge of it, for she
was such a little tot as to be quite swallowed up by this contrivance
intended for grown-up people. But oh! the fun of it. It seemed more like
flying than anything else in the world, and in regular turn Harry and
Rex and Nan took ride after ride.
[Illustration: 0088]
Never, I venture, did three children enjoy a morning of rarer sport, or
do better justice to such a delicious dinner as they found waiting for
them when they went home at noon.
[Illustration: 5089]
[Illustration: 9090]