[Illustration: THE GIRL’S OWN PAPER
VOL. XX.—NO. 1012.] MAY 20, 1899. [PRICE ONE PENNY.]
THE SEA AND THE ROCKS.
BY WILLIAM LUFF.
[Illustration: THE OTHER SHORE.]
_All rights reserved._]
I watched the waves as they kissed the rocks,
And linked their hands behind them,
As if to draw to the deep blue sea,
Where no searching eye could find them.
But rocks were firm, and the waves though strong
Were foiled in their kind endeavour;
Then what they could not change they bathed,
And rising higher ever,
They came and came, till they covered o’er
The black old rocks of that stubborn shore.
They were there the same as of old, I knew,
But hidden now with a robe of blue.
We all find rocks on the shores of life,
Dark rocks and stubborn often.
We pray, but never a rock will move—
Hard rocks that no sea will soften;
But lo, the ocean of love and grace
Is linking its arms behind them;
The waters rise in their vast embrace,
Till troubles—we cannot find them.
I know they are there as they were before;
But we see them not, they are covered o’er.
And all that rises before our view,
Is God’s deep ocean of boundless blue.
SHEILA.
A STORY FOR GIRLS.
BY EVELYN EVERETT-GREEN, Author of “Greyfriars,” “Half-a-dozen
Sisters,” etc.
CHAPTER VII.
IN RIVER STREET.
“Well, Oscar, I’ve just this one bit of advice to give you,” said
North, as the pair walked homewards from the works. “Don’t you be too
easy-going.”
“Am I too easy-going?” asked Oscar with a smile. “How?”
“Well, I think you are a bit. It’s easier to see that sort of thing
than to define it. You don’t stick sufficiently tight to your own work.
No, no, don’t think I mean you idle; you don’t, but you’ll do the other
fellows’ work for them when they are larking, and let them take a turn
at yours when you want to be off to the electrical works. The office
was always a bit too free and easy, and we wanted to stiffen it up by
putting you in. But if anything it’s got worse.”
Oscar laughed a little. North’s friendly manner relieved him of the
fear that he had given dissatisfaction with his own share in what was
required of him. He had been really doing his best, and had learned a
great deal during the past months.
“It seems friendlier, somehow,” he said. “They are all nice fellows,
and we work amicably together. I didn’t know it mattered sharing the
work. They seemed used to it.”
“It doesn’t matter in moderation,” answered North. “We’re not fussy,
my father and I. But don’t be too easy-going, Oscar. As you are one of
the family, they will look up to you, and take their cue from you more
or less. Business is business all the world over, and you’d do well to
keep that fact sternly in mind.”
“I’ll try,” answered Oscar readily, “and I hope you’ll always tell me,
North, if you see anything in which I fail. I want to justify your
father’s opinion that I should do for the business, and I’m quite
sensible of his kindness in taking me on.”
“Well, he’s glad enough to give you the sort of berth Cyril would have
had if he’d not turned out too much the fine gentleman,” said North
with one of his grim smiles. “My father never seriously thought of
putting Cyril into the business, he was always thought to be a cut
above it. But he often said he wished he had another son. You have come
to fill that place, Oscar.”
The youth’s face flushed with pleasure. It was not often that North
spoke with so much friendly unreserve. In the main he was a silent,
self-contained man, though friendly enough to his younger cousin. But
to-day his reserve seemed to have evaporated, and the next minute he
spoke again.
“Don’t let Cyril get you too much into his set, Oscar. I know, of
course, that you must have a good deal in common, being University men
and all that. But I’m not always best pleased with the sort of fellows
Cyril takes up with. I think they make him extravagant, and teach him
expensive habits. It’s all very well for him. He manages to get a large
allowance from the governor. But it wouldn’t suit your pocket or mine.”
“I don’t think I care much for Cyril’s friends,” said Oscar slowly.
“Only when he asks me to go with him it seems churlish to refuse, when
I’ve nothing else I want to do.”
“Well, I’d not mind seeming a bit churlish sometimes,” said North.
“Indeed I’ve put up with the accusation myself, though I was never a
fine enough gentleman for Cyril to care much for my company. But I
wouldn’t let him take you up and drag you about too much if I were you.
It won’t pay in the long run.”
They were by this time approaching the house in River Street, so there
was no time for more discussion. It was Oscar’s temperament, as it was
Sheila’s, to float with the stream of life, and take things easily.
Perhaps it was this temperament in their father which had led to such
disastrous results at last, but it was not quite easy for Oscar to
realise this, though he was not ungrateful to North for his hint.
“What a hullabaloo!” exclaimed North, as he put his key into the latch
and opened the door; and indeed there were sounds of very animated
discussion going on in the drawing-room, the door of which stood open.
The Cossart voices were rather loud when their owners were excited, and
it seemed as though something of an exciting nature must be going on.
“What’s up?” asked the elder brother, pushing his way into the room,
and both sisters began talking at once, so that it was not altogether
easy to make out what either was saying.
“Oh, such a delightful plan! It’s the Bensons who are really getting it
up—no, I should call it Mr. Ransom’s doing. But we are all to help. It
will be no end of fun. I hope there’ll be acting! Anyway we shall have
tableaux or something. And a bazaar, oh, yes, and some music. It’s to
last for three days—perhaps a week even. And everybody will come. Oh,
it will be the greatest fun! And we are to help in everything! We are
to be on the Committee. I was never on a Committee before. I do feel
so grand!” and Ray danced round her brother and made him a low curtsy,
saying:
“We shall expect a great deal of patronage from Mr. Cossart, junior, of
the Cossart works!”
“What’s it all about?” asked North, taking her by the shoulders and
giving her a brotherly shake. “I can’t make head or tail of all that
gabble. Now, mater, give us a cup of tea, and tell us quietly what all
this means. Ray’s off her head, and Raby looks almost as demented. Some
tomfoolery in the town, I suppose.”
“Well, that is rather a hard name to give it,” said Mrs. Tom with
a smile. “It is like this. The new clergyman, Mr. Ransom, has, it
seems, very proper and sound ideas about debt upon a church. I am
sure your father would approve his views there. He thinks that debt
is a wrong thing, and ought never to be contracted, especially over a
house dedicated to the worship of God. He is quite shocked that in a
prosperous town like this, there should be a heavy debt on the church,
and that the mission chapel started two years ago should be almost
entirely unpaid for. He spoke very seriously to his churchwardens and
some of the leading men in the town, and he has so stirred them up to
his view of the case that they are going to make a great effort to wipe
out the whole debt immediately.”
“Good!” said North nodding his head. “I think that’s a very right way
of looking at things. A man who lives in debt is considered to be doing
a wrong to his creditors, and why not a church too?—or at least the
people who build and use it.”
“That is what Mr. Ransom feels. He says he does not think that we can
expect the same blessing upon the work of a church if the apostolic
precept, ‘Owe no man anything,’ is deliberately broken. Well, a
subscription list has been opened, and some really handsome sums have
been already promised. But you know what people are. They want a little
excitement and fun. And the Bensons have taken the matter up, and are
canvassing all the town for a big bazaar and some entertainments in
connection with it. The Corporation will give the Town Hall _gratis_
for the purpose, and they are full of plans for making things go off
with great _éclat_. They have been here talking things over with the
girls this past hour. Mr. Benson is against having anything but local
talent for whatever is got up. He says, ‘Why pay professionals from a
distance when people would be much more interested in hearing their
own young people sing, or seeing them act a little play, or perform in
tableaux?’ And really I think he is right. I know I am dreadfully bored
by hearing second-rate professionals. But if one knows the performers,
why that’s quite a different matter.”
“And it will be such a nice chance for the glee club!” cried Raby. “And
for some of us who have been having lessons. We did talk about getting
up a concert at Christmas; but somehow it did not come off. Now, this
seems the very thing, and everybody will come and hear us!”
At that moment there was a clatter of horsehoofs outside the door, and
Ray exclaimed—
“Why, here is Cyril, with Sheila and Effie in the new phaeton! Don’t
they cut a fine figure! What a pretty girl Sheila is! But she puts
Effie altogether in the shade, don’t you think? If Aunt Cossart finds
that out, she won’t be best pleased!”
The Stanhope phaeton was Effie’s last new fancy. It was discovered that
Shamrock and the new cob would run together nicely in double harness;
and Sheila, who had driven all her life, managed the pair with much
skill.
Effie really preferred these drives in a carriage, recognised as her
own, to the rides, where she was conscious of timidity and a lack of
the ease and grace which distinguished Sheila’s horsemanship.
Cyril liked well enough to accompany his pretty cousins, as he called
them; and Mrs. Cossart was better pleased when he was there, as well as
the youthful tiger who always went with the carriage.
Raby and Ray had heard of this new turn-out, but had not seen it
before. They ran to the window to look and admire; but in a few moments
Effie and Sheila were in the room, Cyril bringing up the rear.
Sheila made a rush at Oscar first, but was quite ready to be
affectionate to all. She was in gay, happy spirits, and brought with
her an atmosphere of sunshine. Her sombre black was just lightened by
ruffles of white at the throat and wrists; and the soft bloom upon her
cheeks seemed set off by the darkness of her attire.
Somehow Effie seemed a quite secondary and insignificant figure when
Sheila was present, though the best seat was given her, and her aunt
asked with interest after her well-being. But the girls could not wait
to hear Effie discourse upon herself and her symptoms, improved though
they might be.
“Oh, Sheila, have you heard? Cyril, have you heard anything about
the bazaar and fête? We are to have such a time of it! Sheila, you
will have to help us! We shall all be as busy as bees!” and the girls
plunged into a recital of the coming excitements, to which Sheila
listened with all her ears.
“Oof! Won’t it be fun!” she cried, with her favourite little
interjection which always made her cousins laugh. “I’m not a bit
clever. I can’t sing or play or do anything like that; but I’ll help
all I know. I shall be awfully pleased to!”
“But if we get up some tableaux you can perform,” said Cyril. “You
could manage to stand still for two minutes at a stretch, could you
not, Sheila?”
“Oof, yes! I could do that, only I’m afraid I should laugh in the
middle! Effie, do you hear? There are to be such goings on. You’ll
have to sing, I expect. Perhaps I’ll play for you, if I don’t get too
frightened.”
“Are you taking up your music again, my dear?” asked Mrs. Tom. “That is
right. It will be a pleasure to you, I am sure.”
“Yes, perhaps it will. I used to be fond of it, only I’ve not been able
to do anything for so long; and if you can’t practise, I don’t think
you ought to sing. I’ve been trying again these last few weeks. I think
I shall get my voice back in time. But my throat is so weak still; I
can’t do much at a time. I suppose it comes from being weak. If I were
to get stronger, I should have more voice. I don’t care to make an
exhibition of myself; but, of course, I’ll do anything I can to help
the girls. I think people used to like to hear me sing.”
“And they’ll like to hear you sing again. It would be a good
opportunity for you to appear in public after being shut up so long,”
said Mrs. Tom; “and you could work for the bazaar at any rate. We must
all try to help as much as we can for a good cause such as this.”
“Oh, I’ll try to do a little; but I never can settle long to anything.
I suppose it’s the state of my nerves. I must always be jumping up and
going off after something else. I have such a funny restless feeling.
If I were to sit long over anything I should get quite wild; and then
I should have an attack directly. That’s the worst of it. I can’t make
myself do things like other people. I get ill directly. Not that I care
so much myself; I’ve made up my mind not to care about anything; but
just to take what comes. But it worries mother, and I must think of
her; so I’ve got to take care of myself, though I do get very sick of
it!”
Cyril had got Sheila into a quiet corner where Oscar had joined them in
response to the summons of her eyes.
“All this will be rather a bore,” he began; but Sheila interrupted
gaily—
“I don’t think it will at all! I think it will be great fun! I like
things to be lively! Sometimes I wish I lived in River Street. It’s
rather dull some days up there!”
“Poor child! I expect it is,” said Cyril; “but what I was going to say
was that it would probably bring some of the better people into touch
with us, and they’ll be sure to take to you, Sheila. The Bensons are
nobodies—he’s the Mayor this year, and they have plenty of money,
and give themselves airs over it. But if the thing is taken up by the
county—as I expect it will be, for Mr. Ransom is a well-born man, and
has come with introductions to a good many of the best families—we
shall get other volunteers of a different sort, and that will be a good
thing for you and Oscar.”
“Why for us more than other people?” asked Sheila, whilst Oscar’s face
seemed to cloud over a little.
“Oh, don’t you see! They will see the difference at once; and I shall
see you are introduced. I know these people—most of them—though they
don’t visit much in the town, except in quite a perfunctory way. But
they are very good to me; and they will be sure to take you up; and
then things will be different.”
“I’m not sure that Sheila and I wish any distinction made between
ourselves and our cousins,” said Oscar a little stiffly; but Cyril
laughed in his good-humoured way.
“Oh, you needn’t be as straight-laced as all that, Oscar. People can’t
help knowing the difference between—what shall we call it?—the real
thing and the imitation! There are some really nice people I should
like Sheila to know. Their name is Lawrence, and they do call here.
They bought or took a place about five miles away some little time ago,
and the mater was induced to call. They don’t come often; but most
likely the girl would be glad to help in these goings on. Mr. Ransom
knows the Lawrences. You would quite like them if you once knew them.”
Sheila was interested at once, and asked a good many questions. Her
life, though pleasant and easy, was rather monotonous, and, so far, she
had made no friends except her cousins, who, though very good-natured
and kind, were not particularly congenial to her. So the prospect
of a possible girl friend of a different stamp was not without its
attractions.
“I shall try to bring that off,” said Cyril to himself as the carriage
drove off at last. “I often think that May Lawrence would be a very
good second string to my bow; for though Effie is an heiress, I
sometimes think I should soon be sick to death of her ‘I,’ ‘I,’ ‘I,’
and should chuck up the whole thing in three months, if it ever got as
far as an engagement!”
And perhaps Cyril never paused to ask himself how large a place in his
own vocabulary the “I” took, nor the _ego_ in his scheme of life!
(_To be continued._)
[Illustration]
OLD ENGLISH COTTAGE HOMES;
OR,
VILLAGE ARCHITECTURE OF BYGONE TIMES.