flowers, and the gentlemen pressed forward to buy and present every
bunch with gallant haste. Ruth's eyes shone as the money fell into
her hand, and several voices begged her to bring more lilies while
they lasted.
“I didn't know the darlings would grow in salt water,” said Miss
Ellery, as she fondly gazed upon the cluster Mr. Fred had just
offered her.
“They don't. There's a little fresh-water pond on our island, and
they grow there,--only place for miles round;” and Ruth looked at
the delicate girl in ruffled white lawn and a mull hat, with a
glance of mingled pity for her ignorance and admiration for her
beauty.
“How silly of me! I am SUCH a goose;” and Miss Ellery gurgled as she
hid her face behind her red parasol.
“Ask about the fish-fry,” whispered Mr. Fred, putting his head
behind the rosy screen to assure the pretty creature that he didn't
know any better himself.
“Oh yes, I will!” and, quite consoled, Miss Ellery called out,
“Girl, will you tell me if we can have chowder-parties on your rocks
as we used to a few seasons ago?”
“If you bring your own fish. Grandpa is sick and can't get 'em for
you.”
“We will provide them, but who will cook them for us? It's such
horrid work.”
“Any one can fry fish! I will if you want me to;” and Ruth half
smiled, remembering that this girl who shuddered at the idea of pork
and a hot frying-pan, used to eat as heartily as any one when the
crisp brown cunners were served up.
“Very good; then we'll engage you as cook, and come over to-night if
it's clear and our fishing prospers. Don't forget a dozen of the
finest lilies for this lady to-morrow morning. Pay you now, may not
be up;” and Mr. Fred dropped a bright silver dollar into the basket
with a patronizing air, intended to impress this rather too
independent young person with a proper sense of inferiority.
Ruth quietly shook the money out upon the door-mat, and said with a
sudden sparkle in her black eyes,--
“It's doubtful if I bring any more. Better wait till I do.”
“I'm sorry your grandfather is sick. I'll come over and see him
by-and-by, and bring the papers if he would like some,” said the
elderly gentleman as he came up with a friendly nod and real
interest in his face.
“Very much, thank you, sir. He is very feeble now;” and Ruth turned
with a bright smile to welcome kind Mr. Wallace, who had not
forgotten the old man.
“Christie has got a nice little temper of her own, and don't know
how to treat a fellow when he wants to do her a favor,” growled Mr.
Fred, pocketing his dollar with a disgusted air.
“She appears to know how to treat a gentleman when HE offers one,”
answered Blue Jacket, with a twinkle of the eye as if he enjoyed the
other's discomfiture.
“Girls of that class always put on airs if they are the least bit
pretty,--so absurd!” said Miss Ellery, pulling up her long gloves as
she glanced at the brown arms of the fisher maiden.
“Girls of any class like to be treated with respect. Modesty in
linsey-woolsey is as sweet as in muslin, my dear, and should be even
more admired, according to my old-fashioned way of thinking,” said
the gray-haired lady.
“Hear! hear!” murmured her sailor nephew with an approving nod.
It was evident that Ruth had heard also, as she turned to go, for
with a quick gesture she pulled three great lilies from her hat and
laid them on the old lady's lap, saying with a grateful look, “Thank
you, ma'am.”
She had seen Miss Scott hand her bunch to a meek little governess
who had been forgotten, and this was all she had to offer in return
for the kindness which is so sweet to poor girls whose sensitive
pride gets often wounded by trifles like these.
She was going without her baskets when Captain John swung himself
over the railing, and ran after her with them. He touched his cap as
he met her, and was thanked with as bright a smile as that the elder
gentleman had received; for his respectful “Miss Bowen” pleased her
much after the rude “Girl!” and the money tossed to her as if she
were a beggar. When he came back the mail had arrived, and all
scattered at once,--Mr. Fred to spend the dollar in more cigarettes,
and Captain John to settle carefully in his button-hole the
water-lily Aunt Mary gave him, before both young men went off to
play tennis as if their bread depended on it.
As it bid fair to be a moonlight night, the party of a dozen young
people, with Miss Scott and Mr. Wallace to act as matron and admiral
of the fleet, set off to the Island about sunset. Fish in abundance
had been caught, and a picnic supper provided to be eaten on the
rocks when the proper time arrived. They found Sammy, in a clean
blue shirt and a hat less like a Feejee headpiece, willing to do the
honors of the Island, beaming like a freckled young merman as he
paddled out to pull up the boats.
“Fire's all ready for kindlin', and Ruth's slicin' the pertaters.
Hope them fish is cleaned?” he added with a face of deep anxiety;
for that weary task would fall to him if not already done, and the
thought desolated his boyish soul.
“All ready, Sam! Lend a hand with these baskets, and then steer for
the lighthouse; the ladies want to see that first,” answered Captain
John, as he tossed a stray cookie into Sammy's mouth with a smile
that caused that youth to cleave to him like a burr all the evening.
The young people scattered over the rocks, and hastened to visit the
points of interest before dark. They climbed the lighthouse tower,
and paid Aunt Nabby and Grandpa a call at the weather-beaten little
house, where the old woman lent them a mammoth coffee-pot, and
promised that Ruth would “dish up them fish in good shape at eight
punctooal.” Then they strolled away to see the fresh-water pond
where the lilies grew.
“How curious that such a thing should be here right in the middle of
the salt sea!” said one of the girls, as they stood looking at the
quiet pool while the tide dashed high upon the rocks all about them.
“Not more curious than how it is possible for anything so beautiful
and pure as one of those lilies to grow from the mud at the bottom
of the pond. The ugly yellow ones are not so out of place; but no
one cares for them, and they smell horridly,” added another girl in
a reflective tone.
“Instinct sends the white lily straight up to the sun and air, and
the strong slender stem anchors it to the rich earth below, out of
which it has power to draw the nourishment that makes it so lovely
and keeps it spotless--unless slugs and flies and boys spoil it,”
added Miss Scott as she watched Mr. Fred poke and splash with his
cane after a half-closed flower.
“The naughty things have all shut up and spoilt the pretty sight;
I'm so disappointed,” sighed Miss Ellery, surveying the green buds
with great disfavor as she had planned to wear some in her hair and
act Undine.
“You must come early in the morning if you want to see them at their
best. I've read somewhere that when the sun first strikes them they
open rapidly, and it is a lovely sight. I shall try to see it some
day if I can get here in time,” said Miss Scott.
“How romantic old maids are!” whispered one girl to another.
“So are young ones; hear what Floss Ellery is saying,” answered the
other; and both giggled under their big hats as they caught these
words followed by the rippling laugh,--
“All flowers open and show their hearts when the sun shines on them
at the right moment.”
“I wish human flowers would,” murmured Mr. Fred; and then, as if
rather alarmed at his own remark, he added hastily, “I'll get that
big lily out there and MAKE it bloom for you.”
Trusting to an old log that lay in the pond, he went to the end and
bent to pull in the half-shut flower; but this too ardent sun was
not to make it blossom, for his foot slipped and down he went up to
his knees in mud and water.
“Save him! oh, save him!” shrieked Miss Ellery, clutching Captain
John, who was laughing like a boy, while the other lads shouted and
the girls added their shrill merriment as poor Fred scrambled to the
shore a wreck of the gallant craft that had set sail in spotless
white.
“What the deuce shall I do?” he asked in a tone of despair as they
flocked about him to condole even while they laughed.
“Roll up your trousers and borrow Sam's boots. The old lady will dry
your shoes and socks while you are at supper, and have them ready to
wear home,” suggested Captain John, who was used to duckings and
made light of them.
The word “supper” made one carnal-minded youth sniff the air and
announce that he smelt “something good;” and at once every one
turned toward the picnic ground, like chickens hurrying to the barn
at feeding-time. Fred vanished into the cottage, and the rest
gathered about the great fire of driftwood fast turning to clear
coals, over which Ruth was beginning her long hot task. She wore a
big apron, a red handkerchief over her head, had her sleeves rolled
up, and was so intent on her work that she merely nodded and smiled
as the new-comers greeted her with varying degrees of courtesy.
“She looks like a handsome gypsy, with her dark face and that red
thing in the firelight. I wish I could paint her,” said Miss Scott,
who was very young at heart in spite of her fifty years and gray
head.
“So do I, but we can remember it. I do like to see a girl work with
a will, even at frying fish. Most of 'em dawdle so at the few things
they try to do. There's a piece of energy for you!” and Captain John
leaned forward from his rocky seat to watch Ruth, who just then
caught up the coffee-pot about to boil over, and with the other hand
saved her frying-pan from capsizing on its unsteady bed of coals.
“She is a nice girl, and I'm much interested in her. Mr. Wallace
says he will tell us her story by-and-by if we care to hear it. He
has known the old man a long time.”
“Don't forget to remind him, Aunty. I like a yarn after mess;” and
Captain John went off to bring the first plate of fish to the dear
old lady who had been a mother to him for many years.
It was a merry supper, and the moon was up before it ended; for
everything “tasted so good” the hearty young appetites sharpened by
sea air were hard to satisfy. When the last cunner had vanished and
nothing but olives and oyster crackers remained, the party settled
on a sloping rock out of range of the fire, and reposed for a brief
period to recover from the exertions of the feast, having, like the
heroes in the old story, “eaten mightily for the space of an hour.”
Mr. Fred in the capacious boots was a never-failing source of
amusement, and consequently somewhat subdued. But Miss Ellery
consoled him, and much food sustained him till his shoes were dry.
Ruth remained to clear up, and Sammy to gorge himself on the
remnants of “sweet cake” which he could not bear to see wasted. So,
when some one proposed telling stories till they were ready to sing,
Mr. Wallace was begged to begin.
“It is only something about this island, but you may like to hear it
just now,” said the genial old gentleman, settling his handkerchief
over his bald head for fear of cold, and glancing at the attentive
young faces grouped about him in the moonlight.
“Some twenty years ago there was a wreck over there on those great
rocks; you fellows have heard about it, so I'll only say that a very
brave sailor, a native of the Port here, swam out with a rope and
saved a dozen men and women. I'll call him Sam. Well, one of the
women was an English governess, and when the lady she was with went
on her way after the wreck, this pretty girl (who by the way was a
good deal hurt trying to save the child she had in charge) was left
behind to recover, and--”
“Marry the brave sailor of course,” cried one of the girls.
“Exactly! and a very happy pair they were. She had no family who
wanted her at home; her father had been a clergyman, I believe, and
she was well born, but Sam was a fine fellow and earned his living
honestly, fishing off the Banks, as half the men do here. Well, they
were very happy, had two children, and were saving up a bit, when
poor Sam and two brothers were lost in one of the great storms which
now and then make widows and orphans by the dozen. It killed the
wife; but Sam's father, who kept the lighthouse here then, took the
poor children and supported them for ten years. The boy was a mere
baby; the girl a fine creature, brave like her father, handsome like
her mother, and with a good deal of the lady about her, though every
one didn't find it out.”
“Ahem!” cried the sharp girl, who began to understand the point of
the story now, but would not spoil it, as the others seemed still in
the dark, though Miss Scott was smiling, and Captain John staring
hard at the old gentleman in the blue silk nightcap.
“Got a fly in your throat?” asked a neighbor; but Kate only laughed
and begged pardon for interrupting.
“There's not much more; only that affair was rather romantic, and
one can't help wondering how the children turned out. Storms seem to
have been their doom, for in the terrible one we had two winters
ago, the old lighthouse keeper had a bad fall on the icy rocks, and
if it had not been for the girl, the light would have gone out and
more ships been lost on this dangerous point. The keeper's mate had
gone ashore and couldn't get back for two days, the gale raged so
fiercely; but he knew Ben could get on without him, as he had the
girl and boy over for a visit. In winter they lived with a friend
and went to school at the Port. It would have been all right if Ben
hadn't broken his ribs. But he was a stout old salt; so he told the
girl what to do, and she did it, while the boy waited on the sick
man. For two days and nights that brave creature lived in the tower,
that often rocked as if it would come down, while the sleet and snow
dimmed the lantern, and sea-birds were beaten to death against the
glass. But the light burned steadily, and people said, 'All is
well,' as ships steered away in time, when the clear light warned
them of danger, and grateful sailors blessed the hands that kept it
burning faithfully.”
“I hope she got rewarded,” cried an eager voice, as the story-teller
paused for breath.
“'I only did my duty; that is reward enough,' she said, when some of
the rich men at the Port heard of it and sent her money and thanks.
She took the money, however, for Ben had to give up the place, being
too lame to do the work. He earns his living by fishing now, and
puts away most of his pension for the children. He won't last long,
and then they must take care of themselves; for the old woman is no
relation, and the girl is too proud to hunt up the forgetful English
friends, if they have any. But I don't fear for her; a brave lass
like that will make her own way anywhere.”
“Is that all?” asked several voices, as Mr. Wallace leaned back and
fanned himself with his hat.
“That's all of the first and second parts; the third is yet to come.
When I know it, I'll tell you; perhaps next summer, if we meet here
again.”
“Then you know the girl? What is she doing now?” asked Miss Ellery,
who had lost a part of the story as she sat in a shadowy nook with
the pensive Fred.
“We all know her. She is washing a coffee-pot at this moment, I
believe;” and Mr. Wallace pointed to a figure on the beach,
energetically shaking a large tin article that shone in the
moonlight.
“Ruth? Really? How romantic and interesting!” exclaimed Miss Ellery,
who was just of the age, as were most of the other girls, to enjoy
tales of this sort and imagine sensational denouements.
“There is a great deal of untold romance in the lives of these
toilers of the sea, and I am sure this good girl will find her
reward for the care she takes of the old man and the boy. It costs
her something, I've discovered, for she wants an education, and
could get it if she left this poor place and lived for herself; but
she won't go, and works hard to get money for Grandpa's comfort,
instead of buying the books she longs for. I think, young ladies,
that there is real heroism in cheerfully selling lilies and frying
fish for duty's sake when one longs to be studying, and enjoying a
little of the youth that comes but once,” said Mr. Wallace.
“Oh dear, yes, so nice of her! We might take up a contribution for
her when we get home. I'll head the paper with pleasure and give all
I can afford, for it must be so horrid to be ignorant at her age. I
dare say the poor thing can't even read; just fancy!” and Miss
Ellery clasped her hands with a sigh of pity.
“Very few girls can read fit to be heard now-a-days,” murmured Miss
Scott.
“Don't let them affront her with their money; she will fling it in
their faces as she did that donkey's dollar. You see to her in your
nice, delicate way, Aunty, and give her a lift if she will let you,”
whispered Captain John in the old lady's ear.
“Don't waste your pity, Miss Florence. Ruth reads a newspaper better
than any woman I ever knew. I've heard her doing it to the old man,
getting through shipping news, money-market, and politics in fine
style. I wouldn't offer her money if I were you, though it is a kind
thought. These people have an honest pride in earning things for
themselves, and I respect them for it,” added Mr. Wallace.
“Dear me! I should as soon think of a sand skipper having pride as
one of these fishy folks in this stupid little place,” observed Mr.
Fred, moving his legs into the shadow as the creeping moonlight
began to reveal the hideous boots.
“Why not? I think they have more to be proud of, these brave,
honest, independent people, than many who never earn a cent and
swell round on the money their fathers made out of pork, rum,
or--any other rather unpleasant or disreputable business,” said
Captain John, with the twinkle in his eye, as he changed the end of
his sentence, for the word “pickles” was on his lips when Aunt
Mary's quick touch checked it. Some saucy girl laughed, and Mr. Fred
squirmed, for it was well known that his respectable grandfather
whom he never mentioned had made his large fortune in a
pickle-factory.
“We all rise from the mud in one sense, and all may be handsome
flowers if we choose before we go back, after blooming, to ripen our
seeds at the bottom of the water where we began,” said Miss Scott's
refined voice, sounding softly after the masculine ones.
“I like that idea! Thank you, Aunt Mary, for giving me such a pretty
fancy to add to my love for water-lilies. I shall remember it, and
try to be a lovely one, not a bit ashamed to own that I came from
honest farmer stock,” exclaimed the thoughtful girl who had learned
to know and love the sweet, wise woman who was so motherly to all
girls.
“Hear! hear!” cried Captain John, heartily; for he was very proud of
his own brave name kept clean and bright through a long line of
sailor kin.
“Now let us sing or we shall have no time,” suggested Miss Ellery,
who warbled as well as rippled, and did not wish to lose this
opportunity of singing certain sentimental songs appropriate to the
hour.
So they tuned their pipes and made “music in the air” for an hour,
to the great delight of Sammy, who joined in every song, and was
easily persuaded to give sundry nautical melodies in a shrill small
voice which convulsed his hearers with merriment.
“Ruth sings awful well, but she won't afore folks,” he said, as he
paused after a roaring ditty.
“She will for me;” and Mr. Wallace went slowly up to the rock not
far away, where Ruth sat alone listening to the music as she rested
after her long day's work.
“Such airs!” said Miss Ellery, in a sharp tone; for her “Wind of the
Summer Night” had not gone well, owing to a too copious supper.
“Posing for Lorelei,” she added, as Ruth began to sing, glad to
oblige the kind old gentleman. They expected some queer ballad or
droning hymn, and were surprised when a clear sweet voice gave them
“The Three Fishers” and “Mary on the Sands of Dee” with a simple
pathos that made real music-lovers thrill with pleasure, and filled
several pairs of eyes with tears.
“More, please, more!” called Captain John, as she paused; and as if
encouraged by the hearty applause her one gift excited, she sang on
as easily as a bird till her small store was exhausted.
“I call THAT music,” said Miss Scott, as she wiped her eyes with a
sigh of satisfaction. “It comes from the heart and goes to the
heart, as it should. Now we don't want anything else, and had better
go home while the spell lasts.”
Most of the party followed her example, and went to thank and say
good-night to Ruth, who felt as rich and happy as a queen with the
money Mr. Wallace had slipped into her pocket, and the pleasure
which even this short glimpse of a higher, happier life had brought
her hungry nature.
As the boats floated away, leaving her alone on the shore, she sent
her farewell ringing over the water in the words of the old song, “A
Life on the Ocean Wave;” and every one joined in it with a will,
especially Mr. Wallace and Captain John; and so the evening picnic
ended tunefully and pleasantly for all, and was long remembered by
several.
After that day many “good times” came to Ruth and Sammy; and even
poor old Grandpa had his share, finding the last summer of his life
very smooth sailing as he slowly drifted into port. It seemed quite
natural that Captain John, being a sailor, should like to go and
read and “yarn” with the old fisherman; so no one wondered when he
fell into the way of rowing over to the Island very often with his
pocket full of newspapers, and whiling away the long hours in the
little house as full of sea smells and salt breezes as a shell on
the shore.
Miss Scott also took a fancy to go with her nephew; for, being an
ardent botanist, she discovered that the Island possessed many
plants which she could not find on the rocky point of land where the
hotel and cottages stood. The fresh-water pond was her especial
delight, and it became a sort of joke to ask, when she came home
brown and beaming with her treasures in tin boxes, bottles, and
bunches,--
“Well, Aunt Mary, have you seen the water-lilies bloom yet?” and
she always answered with that wise smile of hers,--
“Not yet, but I'm biding my time, and am watching a very fine one
with especial interest. When the right moment comes, it will bloom
and show its golden heart to me, I hope.”
Ruth never quite knew how it came about, but books seemed to find
their way to the Island and stay there, to her great delight. A
demand for lilies sprang up, and when their day was over
marsh-rosemary became the rage. Sammy found a market for all the
shells and gulls' wings he could furnish, and certain old
curiosities brought from many voyages were sold for sums which added
many comforts to the old sailor's last cruise.
Now the daily row to the Point was a pleasure, not a trial, to
Ruth,--for Mr. Wallace was always ready with a kind word or gift,
the ladies nodded as she passed, and asked how the old Skipper was
to-day; Miss Scott often told her to stop at the cottage for some
new book or a moment's chat on her way to the boat, and Captain John
helped Sammy with his fishing so much that the baskets were always
full when they came home.
All this help and friendliness put a wonderful energy and sweetness
into Ruth's hard life, and made her work seem light, her patient
waiting for freedom easier to bear cheerfully. She sang as she stood
over her wash-tub, cheered the long nights of watching with the
precious books, and found the few moments of rest that came to her
when the day's work was done very pleasant, as she sat on her rock,
watching the lights from the Point, catching the sound of gay music
as the young people danced, and thinking over the delightful talks
she had with Miss Scott. Perhaps the presence of a blue jacket in
Grandpa's little bedroom, the sight of a friendly brown face smiling
when she came in, and the sonorous murmur of a man's voice reading
aloud, added a charm to the girl's humdrum life. She was too
innocent and frank to deny that she enjoyed these new friends, and
welcomed both with the same eagerness, saw both go with the same
regret, and often wondered how she ever had got on without them.
But the modest fisher-maiden never dreamed of any warmer feeling
than kindness on the one side and gratitude on the other; and this
unconsciousness was her greatest charm, especially to Captain John,
who hated coquettes, and shunned the silly girls who wasted time in
idle flirtation when they had far better and wholesomer pastimes to
enjoy. The handsome sailor was a favorite, being handy at all sorts
of fun, and the oldest of the young men at the Point. He was very
courteous in his hearty way to every woman he met, from the
stateliest dowager to the dowdiest waiter-girl, but devoted himself
entirely to Aunt Mary, and seemed to have no eyes for younger fairer
faces.